Paragould soliphone., 1921-06-29

The money you hoard impover- ishes you. But the money you give await blesses old age like the cool shade of tree. l can get a thrill of delight at any time by calling up the memory of nearly five thousand men whose college training my lectures have helped to provide. That's the kind off fortune for a man to lay up if he wants a delightful and exciting old age. A fortune in folks; money in men.
 Mir. Barton: After the battle of Kenesaw Mountain they left you on the field for dead. Doctor Con- well. Did you think then that you were going to die?
 Doctor Conwell 1 was sure of it. I heard the footsteps of those who were searching for the wounded, but I was too weak to call. Finally, darkness came and the footsteps re- ceded, and did not return. The next morning they came to search for my body, because l was an off cer.
 Mir. Barton: And that night, ly- ing there all alone, believing that |you were going to die, were you afraid?
 Doctor Conwetl; Not so much afraid. think, as rcbelljous. It seemed all wropg to die before l l had more than tasted life l was angry and bitter. Afraid? Per haps that, too: but most of all, rcsentful Now, it is very different. Nature prepares the way for the end, softening the road that all of us must travel. as the leaves falling in the autumn soften the pathway and relieves the shock. You remem- Der what Cicero said: "The death of a young man is like the forcible
 wrenching of an apple from the
 tree before it is ripe, like the qucnch- ling of a high fire with buckets of water" All nature seems to
 rebel against it, as rebclled against
 the thought of death, lying there on the battlefield. But the apple
 ripcns, and falls without a jar into the outstretched arms of the
 earth, that arc padded soft with
 grass; the fire burns low, and flick
 CTS out so silently that one can hardly say at what instant it ex-
 pires So comes death to old
 age, naturally, peacefully, like a l friend.
 l Little by little, the years loosen our grip on the world. Little by little we lose, not the fear of death
 alone-for many young men face
 death without fear-but the revolt
 against it. l do not often speak of dying. It will come when it will
 come, as sleep will come to me to- night. l can only say that I am
 ready, any man of many years will lsay so; you will say so when you have lived your life. You need mot fear. You will finish your
 days work, and at the end of the
 day you will say, "I have worked i;
 ] am tired, I will sleep" It will be
 as natural as that, and the thought
 of sleep will be sweet
 | MT. Barton: That seems so whole some, so much as it ought to be. I was reading the other day Gorky' g
 "Reminiscences of Tolstoy" He said that Tolstoy always feared and
 hated death. He quotes him as saying: If man has learned to think, no matter what he may think about, he is always thinking of his own death" That isn't true, is it? 1 Doctor Conwell: never heard that quotation from TolstOy before; | it is rank nonsense. 1 should say
 that the more q man has learned to think the less he broods over the thought of death, And can tell you another thing: God must have one last gift of reconciliation in store for us that even we who arc lOiu tdHHbI uHllClpdlc. | nave StOOu at too many hundred dcathbcds to doubt it.
 MT. Barton: A physician told me once of seeing a dying man lift himself on his elbow, and his face
 was tranSfigurcd. as though he caught glimpse of another world. Have you ever seen that happen. Doctor Conwcll---a sort of exalta- tion?
 Doctor Conwell: It would be no e&aggcration to say that have seen 1 it literally hundreds of times. We too often do death an injustice in our thought.
 We think of tho suffering and pain of q last illness as the accom- panincnt of death. But the suffer ing is not death. Death is the kindly visitor who comes to end The suffering, to lift the burden to break the chains. And no one who has stood often by the bedside can doubt that for an instant be- fore the end the soul does hover hCSitant bet WCeua two Worlds |