The herald and news. [volume] (Newberry S.C.) 1903-1937, 1913-09-02
LOST IN THE CROWDS.
Not So Bad as Being Lost Out of the
Crowd.

It is a familiar sensation, that of
being one among or against so many.
1t is hard to walk in a thronged street
and escape it. The railway train,
filled with people going to divided
duties, to various destinations and
destinies; the tense, impatient
"bleachers" at baseball game; the
congregation seated in church, the:
audience at a play-all these suggest
our Infinite personal inconseqence.
Where is there room on earth for the
homes and the labors of so many?
How can they all extract a living?
Why should it make any difference
who breaks a leg or a neck, when
there are so many able-bodied substi-
tutes constantly pressing forward :?
The ferry-boat, the excursion steam
er, the trolley car Of homeWard re-
turning toilers, the esplanade of loi-
terers and merry-makers, all promote
the reflection that there are multi
tudes, in the valley of decision" and
our own little personal unit seems as
small as these minute sub-divis-
ions into which the philosophy Of
chemistry is cutting Up the atom.
Why were we brought on earth to be
so Insignificant? If we should fail by
the wayside, who would notice? VINO
cares if we live or die, if we are lost
or found, if We breathe, or stifie, if
we suffer or rejoice?
The emphatic difference between
barbarism and civilization is that be-
tween the callous neglect and the
tender nurture of the individual.
Kings of Ashantee or Dahomey, chiefs
of aboriginal America, princes and
satraps of the era of Ghengis Kahn,
cared nothing for one little life shifted
out, one voice forever silenced, one
body bleaching on the plains, prey of
the vulture or the carrion crow. They
grimly took the side Of the ineXor-
able law of the survival of the fttest;
their gross and brutal justice knew
no tempering of mercy; choosers of
the slain, they gave the word and the
blood ran in lone frontier settlements
or in the city's streets, and house
holds were left desolate. All for
what? That the terror Of name
might spread, and quickening fear
might run before them to prepare the
way of conquest and revenge. Under
the binding brightness of throne,
who was the individual man-to say
nothing of a woman or child still
recent humaner enlightened centur-
les? We think the golden age was
when Augustus ruled, and Virgil
smote MS sounding lyre-but we are
only now emerging into the uncloud-
ed day Ct an age when eacn Of US
shall be all that was meant to be-,
and have his own fair chance, and
receive his share, and live his own
life in the pure air Of innoncent free
dom.
In Matthew ArnolGs great poem,
Rugby Chapel" it is told where and
what was the secret of the power of
the life of the poets father, Arnold
of Rugby The meaning of that life
of a man among boys was that he did
not care merely for the working out
of his own salvation, the earning Of
his selfish personal passage to Para
disc. He did not care to voyage
thither unaccompanied-he wanted to
bring his whole flock with him. That
should be true it seems, of any
worth SHEPPARD of the sheep, of any
faithful curacy of human souls. 1t
must be true of any reasonable and
conscientious ruler devoutly consider
ate of his duty to all the people,
What touched the heart of Lincoln
when he faced a crowd was not his
own exaltation, but their need. The
sense of the popular dependence on
him all but overwhelmed him. He
was great because he OWNED their
thoughts, interpreted their wishes
studied their minds, and made their
hopes and fears his own. In the les
ser republics of any school room
there is the ever present problem OF
individualizing the pupil-singllng
out the unit from the group, and CIV
ing to the particular need OF one
while bearing in mind the good OF
the greater number. The ninety and
nine may be known for the cheerful,
normal, obvious lot they are-Dut the
hundredth one may be a tortured