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★ Editorial and City Oft Section or fiearsn Sunday American, Atlanta, Pectmbtr h, wu». | The Madman on the Shore of Time \ V. I 'Mil r-y / * ' ^rss_ WK ■ ^:-^>Syz^SfS^ s -- Xtt'~ % 111 S 'o oc® ■«-•<:. ■ «P " **• So f*T J * * dfr-T‘S‘%^' " . WlNS0f^ThT°O^t!L. /n Vain He Searches for the Chance PASSED BY. Like Him, in Vain YOU Will Search for the Opportunity That You Have Let Fall. To Keep Watching, to Keep Working, to Let Brain and Hand Go Together---That Is the Secret of Success. e Star Company. Great Britain Rights Reserved AGORE, the Indian poet, whose first name is Rabin dranath, has received this year the Nobel prize for the best work in litera ture. Nobel was the Scandinavian who in vented nitroglycerine. He gave to the world dynamite that destroys life and makes war dangerous. He left to civilization his vast fortune that prizes might be given each year for the best work of the human mind. Tagore, the poet, who wrote his poems in the Bengali language of India, receives the prize this year. And we give to you here, as the text for a Sunday sermon which you your self can write, one of Tagore’s stories. An old man believed in the “touch stone” or “Philosopher’s Stone.” Somewhere, he thought could be found that magic stone with the touch that would change base metals to gold. He went along the shore of the ocean, with his right hand he picked up one stone after another, one pebble after another—thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of them. Around his neck he had a chain of iron. And as he picked up each stone he touched it wtih the chain. The Philosopher’s Stone, if he found it, would change that iron chain to a chain of gold. Day after day, and through the long years he hunted for that magic stone that was to make gold of iron and make of his restless, yearning heart a happy and contented spirit. One day a boy asked the old man where he got that chain of gold on his neck. And the poor, sorrowful old hunter looked down to find that the iron had changed to gold AND HE HAD NOT KNOWN WHEN THE CHANGE CAME OR WHAT STONE IT WAS THAT WORKED THE MIRACLE. He had got so much in the habit of picking up stones and touching them against the iron chain that he no longer thought to look for the change from iron to gold. At some time during his search HE HAD PICKED UP THE MAGIC STONE AND DROPPED IT. The stone had done its work, the iron had changed to gold. But he did not know WHEN the thing had happened or WHICH was the stone that had accom plished the wonder. Back he turned on his path. Old, bent, weary and hopeless, he started on the re turn journey along the shore of the ocean, which is THE SHORE OF LIFE AND TIME, and hopelessly sought to re cover the opportunity neglected and missed. « * * Are you this man searching for the touchstone of success and magic AND NOT KNOWING WHEN YOU PICK IT UP? Millions of human beings once actually hunted for the Philosopher’s Stone, be lieving that it would change iron to gold. The beginning of the science of chemis try was the work of the ancient alchem ists, who, in their struggles to manufac ture gold artificially, discovered many important scientific truths that are now of great value to mankind. They did not learn how to change lead, iron or copper to gold; but they learned how to change human thought and ex periment into pure golden, priceless, sci entific knowledge. One single experiment resulting in the discovery of a new scientific truth was worth more in actual wealth to the people of the earth than would have been the creation of a mountain of gold a thou sand miles high. There is a limit to the use that men can make of gold, but no limit to the use i that men can make of that better gold, ABSOLUTE TRUTH AND KNOWL EDGE. * * * What a fine parable is this Tagore story of the miserable madman retrac ing his steps to pick up the lost Touch stone. How many of us, in our old age, are doomed, like that miserable creature on the seashore, to turn back, grope and search vainly and pitifully for the chance that we dropped from our hands in our youth! What a lesson for the young, in the dreadful face of that old man as he comes back, retracing his steps so miser ably, hopelessly and uselessly! «• * « We no longer search for the Touch stone or the Philosopher’s Stone. We know that work, not magic, must change the heavy, dull iron of toil and monotony to the gold of success and opportunity. But millions of us are like the madman in Tagore’s story. And, like him, we find in old age that we have held the magic stone in our hands only to drop it without seeing what it was. When that poor madman began his search for the touchstone HE DID THE WORK WELL AND CAREFULLY. His mind was alert, keen and atten tive, like the mind of an ambitious boy. As he picked up each stone and touched it to the iron chain around his neck he looked at the stone and he looked at the chain to see if it had be come gold. He believed then. AS YOU BELIEVE NOW, that he would CONTINUE <o do his work attentively and seize the chance, seize the precious stone of opportunity as soon as it came within his reach. But little by little he grew careless— DO YOU GROW CARELESS? Little by little he began to do his work mechanically—do you do your work me chanically? He picked up the stones hut did not look at them. He touched the chain of iron but did not look to see if it had changed to gold. His work had become a mere routine of the body, and the brain played no part in it—has your work become a mere rou tine in which your brain plays no part? * * * To all of us, or nearly all, opportunity comes. To that madman the Touchstone came. He held it in his hand. He touched the chain of iron and it turned to gold. But he had become tired of careful work, tired of watching for that which he sought. He had changed from a seek ing mind to a dull machine. He did not see the stone, he did not see the iron change to gold. Some one else must tell him, old and worn and bent, that he had missed his opportunity. He turned back along the shore, hopelessly seeking for that which he would never again hold in his hand. * * * Here is a lesson for you, young or old. At anv moment a chance may come. ARE YOU KEEN AND READY TO SEIZE IT? Opportunity does not come to the dull hand or the heavy foot. It comes TO THE OPEN, EAGER MIND. The brain must be rested, well fed, normal, attentive, PERCEPTIVE. If you dull it with dissipation, if you dull it with drjnk, if you dull it with to bacco, if you dull it with lack of sleep lack of fresh air, stupid living, YOUI BRAIN WILL NOT NOTICE THE CHANCE WHEN IT COMES. And in late life some younger man will tell you, as the boy told Tagore’s mad man, “You had the chance in your hand and you let it fall.” Here we give you word for word as he himself translated it from the Bengali dialect, Tagore’s story of the madman. Read it, and make it a useful lesson to yourself, or to some young man or woman near you who needs it. THE WANDERING MADMAN. A wandering madman was seeking the touchstone, with matted locks, tawny and dust-laden and body worn to a shadow, his lips tight pressed, like the shut-up doors of his heart, his burning eyes like the lamp of a glowworm seeking its mate. Before him the endless ocean roared. The garrulous waves ceaselessly talked of hidden treasures, mocking the ignorance that knew not their meaning. Maybe he now had no hope remaining, ye* he would not rest, for search had become his life Just as the ocean forever lifts its arms to the sky for the unattainable Just as the stars go in circles, yet seeking a goal that can never be reached Even so on the lonely shore the madman, with dusty, tawny locks, still roamed in search of the touchstone. One day a village boy came up and asked, “Tell me, where did you come at this golden chain about your neck?” The madman started—the chain that once was iron was verily gold; it was not a dream, but he d'd not know where it had changed. He struck his forehead wildly—where, oh where had he, without knowing it, achieved success? It had grown into a habit to piok np pebbles and touch the chain and to throw them away without looking to see if a change had come; thus the madman found and lost the touchstone. The sun was sinking low in the west, the skv was of gold. The madman returned on his footsteps to seek anew the lost treasure, with his strength gone, his body bent and his heart in the dust, like ajree uprooted. _ * Copyright. 1913, by tl