Barnabas. "Then--all men might succeed."
The Preacher. "Assuredly! for success is the common heritage of Man.
It is only Self, blind, ignorant Self, who is the coward, crying 'I
cannot! I dare not! It is impossible!'"
Barnabas. "What do you mean by 'Self'?"
The Preacher. "I mean the grosser part, the slave that panders to
the body, a slave that, left unchecked, may grow into a tyrant, a
Circe, changing Man to brute."
Here Barnabas, having finished his bread and butter, very
thoughtfully cut himself another slice.
Barnabas (still thoughtful). "And do you still go about preaching
Forgetfulness of Self, sir?"
The Preacher. "And Forgiveness, yes. A good theme, young sir,
but--very unpopular. Men prefer to dwell upon the wrongs done them,
rather than cherish the memory of benefits conferred. But,
nevertheless, I go up and down the ways, preaching always."
Barnabas. "Why, then, I take it, your search is still unsuccessful."
The Preacher. "Quite! Sometimes a fear comes upon me that she may be
beyond my reach--"
Barnabas. "You mean--?"
The Preacher. "Dead, sir. At such times, things grow very black
until I remember that God is a just God, and therein lies my sure
and certain hope. But I would not trouble you with my griefs, young
sir, more especially on such a glorious morning,--hark to the
throstle yonder, he surely sings of Life and Hope. So, if you will,
pray tell me of yourself, young sir, of your hopes and ambitions."
Barnabas. "My ambitions, sir, are many, but first,--I would be a
gentleman."
The Preacher (nodding). "Good! So far as it goes, the ambition is a
laudable one."
Barnabas (staring thoughtfully at his bread and butter). "The first
difficulty is to know precisely what a gentleman should be. Pray, sir,
what is your definition?"
The Preacher. "A gentleman, young sir, is (I take it) one born with
the Godlike capacity to think and feel for others, irrespective of
their rank or condition."
Barnabas. "Hum! One who is unselfish?"
The Preacher. "One who possesses an ideal so lofty, a mind so
delicate, that it lifts him above all things ignoble and base, yet
strengthens his hands to raise those who are fallen--no matter how
low. This, I think, is to be truly a gentleman, and of all gentle
men Jesus of Nazareth was the first."
Barnabas (shaking his head). "And yet, sir, I remember a whip of
small cords."
The Preacher. "Truly, for Evil sometimes so deadens the soul that it
can feel only through the flesh."
Barnabas. "Then--a man may fight and yet be a gentleman?"
The Preacher. "He who can forgive, can fight."
Barnabas. "Sir, I am relieved to know that. But must Forgiveness
always come after?"
The Preacher. "If the evil is truly repented of."