tly　like　her　teacher　had　taught　her。　Jessie　exhibited　all　the　machinery　and　trimmings　for　the　song；　but　she　had　no　steam；　no　song。　She　sang　the　notes。　She　might　as　well　have　sung；　〃Pop；　Goes　the　Weasel。〃
  The　audience　politely　endured　Jessie。　That　night　a　woman　sang　in　the　same　tent　〃The　Last　Rose　of　Summer。〃　She　had　never　been　to　Berlin；　but　she　had　lived　that　song。　She　didn't　dress　the　notes　half　so　beautifully　as　Jessie　did；　but　she　sang　it　with　the　tremendous　feeling　it　demands。　The　audience　went　wild。　It　was　a　case　of　Gussie　and　Bill　Whackem。
  All　this　was　gall　and　wormwood　to　Jessie。　〃Child；〃　I　said　to　her；　〃this　is　the　best　singing　lesson　you　have　ever　had。　Your　study　is　all　right　and　you　have　a　better　voice　than　that　woman；　but　you　cannot　sing　〃The　Last　Rose　of　Summer〃　yet；　for　you　do　not　know　very　much　about　the　first　rose　of　summer。　And　really；　I　hope　you'll　never　know　the　ache　and　disappointment　you　must　know　before　you　can　sing　that　song；　for　it　is　the　sob　of　a　broken…hearted　woman。　Learn　to　sing　the　songs　you　have　lived。〃
  Why　do　singers　try　to　execute　songs　beyond　the　horizon　of　their　lives？　That　is　why　they　〃execute〃　them。
  The　Success　of　a　Song…Writer
  The　guest　of　honor　at　a　dinner　in　a　Chicago　club　was　a　woman　who　is　one　of　the　widely　known　song…writers　of　this　land。　As　I　had　the　good　fortune　to　be　sitting　at　table　with　her　I　wanted　to　ask　her；　〃How　did　you　get　your　songs　known？　How　did　you　know　what　kind　of　songs　the　people　want　to　sing？〃
  But　in　the　hour　she　talked　with　her　friends　around　the　table　I　found　the　answer　to　every　question。　〃Isn't　it　good　to　be　here？　Isn't　it　great　to　have　friends　and　a　fine　home　and　money？〃　she　said。　〃I　have　had　such　a　struggle　in　my　life。　I　have　lived　on　one　meal　a　day　and　didn't　know　where　the　next　meal　was　coming　from。　I　know　what　it　is　to　be　left　alone　in　the　world　upon　my　own　resources。　I　have　had　years　of　struggle。　I　have　been　sick　and　discouraged　and　down　and　out。　It　was　in　my　little　back…room；　the　only　home　I　had；　that　I　began　to　write　songs。　I　wrote　them　for　my　own　relief。　I　was　writing　my　own　life；　just　what　was　in　my　own　heart　and　what　the　struggles　were　teaching　me。　No　one　is　more　surprised　and　grateful　that　the　world　seems　to　love　my　songs　and　asks　for　more　of　them。〃
  The　woman　was　Carrie　Jacobs…Bond；　who　wrote　〃The　Perfect　Day；〃　〃Just　a　Wearyin'　for　You；〃　〃His　Lullaby〃　and　many　more　of　those　simple　little　songs　so　full　of　the　pathos　and　philosophy　of　life　that　they　tug　at　your　heart　and　moisten　your　eyes。
  Anybody　could　write　those　songsjust　a　few　simple　words　and　notes。　No。　Books　of　theory　and　harmony　and　expression　only　teach　us　how　to　write　the　words　and　where　to　place　the　notes。　These　are　not　the　song；　but　only　the　skeleton　into　which　our　own　life　must　breathe　the　life　of　the　song。
  The　woman　who　sat　there　clad　in　black；　with　her　sweet；　expressive　face　crowned　with　silvery　hair；　had　learned　to　write　her　songs　in　the　University　of　Hard　Knocks。　She　here　became　the　song　philosopher　she　is　today。　Her　defeats　were　her　victories。　If　Carrie　Jacobs…Bond　had　never　struggled　with　discouragement；　sickness；　poverty　and　loneliness；　she　never　would　have　been　able　to　write　the　songs　that　appeal　to　the　multitudes　who　have　the　same　battles。
  The　popular　song　is　the　song　that　best　voices　what　is　in　the　popular　heart。　And　while　we　have　a　continual　inundation　of　popular　songs　that　are　trashy　and　voice　the　tawdriest　human　impulses；　yet　it　is　a　tribute　to　the　good　elements　in　humanity　that　the　wholesome；　uplifting　sentiments　in　Carrie　Jacobs…Bond's　songs　continue　to　hold　their　popularity。
  Theory　and　Practice
  My　friends；　I　am　not　arguing　that　you　and　I　must　drink　the　dregs　of　defeat；　or　that　our　lives　must　fill　up　with　poverty　or　sorrow；　or　become　wrecks。　But　I　am　insisting　upon　what　I　see　written　all　around　me　in　the　affairs　of　everyday　life；　that　none　of　us　will　ever　know　real　success　in　any　line　of　human　endeavor　until　that　success　flows　from　the　fullness　of　our　experience　just　as　the　songs　came　from　the　life　of　Carrie　Jacobs…Bond。
  The　world　is　full　of　theorists；　dreamers；　uplifters；　reformers；　who　have　worthy　visions　but　are　not　able　to　translate　them　into　practical　realities。　They　go　around　with　their　heads　in　the　clouds；　looking　upward；　and　half　the　time　their　feet　are　in　the　flower…beds　or　trampling　upon　their　fellow　men　they　dream　of　helping。　Their　ideas　must　be　forged　into　usefulness　available　for　this　day　upon　the　anvil　of　experience。
  Many　of　the　most　brilliant　theorists　have　been　the　greatest　failures　in　practice。
  There　are　a　thousand　who　can　tell　you　what　is　the　matter　with　things　to　one　person　who　can　give　you　a　practical　way　to　fix　them。
  I　used　to　have　respect　amounting　to　reverence　for　great　readers　and　book　men。　I　used　to　know　a　man　who　could　tell　in　what　book　almost　anything　you　could　think　of　was　discussed；　and　perhaps　the　page。　He　was　a　walking　library　index。　I　thought　him　a　most　wonderful　man。　Indeed；　in　my　childhood　I　thought　he　was　the　greatest　man　in　the　world。
  He　was　a　remarkable　mana　great　reader　and　with　a　memory　that　retained　it　all。　That　man　could　recite　chapters　and　volumes。　He　could　give　you　almost　any　date。　He　could　finish　almost　any　quotation。　His　conversation　was　largely　made　up　of　classical　quotations。
  But　he　was　one　of　the　most　helpless　men　I　have　ever　seen　in　practical　life。　He　seemed　to　be　unable　to　think　and　reason　for　himself。　He　could　quote　a　page　of　John　Locke；　but　somehow　the　page　didn't　supply　the　one　sentence　needed　for　the　occasion。　The　man　was　a　misfit　on　earth。　He　was　liable　to　put　the　gravy　in　his　coffee　and　the　gasoline　in　the　fire。　He　seemed　never　to　have　digested　any　of　the　things　in　his　memory。　Since　I　have　grown　up　I　always　think　of　that　man　as　an　intellectual　cold　storage　plant。
  The　greatest　book　is　the　textbook　of　the　University　of　Hard　Knocks；　the　Book　of　Human　Experience　the　〃sermons　in　stones〃　and　the　〃books　in　running　brooks。〃　Most　fortunate　is　he　who　has　learned　to　read　understandingly　from　it。
  Note　the　sweeping；　positive　statements　of　the　young　person。
  Note　the　cautious；　specific　statements　of　the　person　who　has　lived　long　in　this　world。
  Our　education　is　our　progress　from　the　sweeping；　positive；　wholesale　statements　we　have　not　proved；　to　the　cautious；　specific　statements　we　have　proved。
  Tuning　the　Strings　of　Life
  Many　audiences　are　gathered　into　this　one　audience。　Each　person　here　is　a　different　audience；　reading　a　different　page　in　the　Book　of　Human　Experience。　Each　has　a　different　fight　to　make　and　a　different　burden　to　carry。　Each　one　of　us　has　more　trouble　than　anybody　else！
  I　know　there　are　chapters　of　heroism　in　the　lives　of　you　older　ones。　You　have　cried　yourselves　to　sleep；　some　of　you；　and　walked　the　floor　when　you　could　not　sleep。　You　have　learned　that　〃beyond　the　Alps　lieth　Italy。〃
  A　good　many　of　you　were　bumped　today　or　yesterday；　or　maybe　years　ago；　and　the　wound　has　not　healed。　You　think　it　never　will　heal。　You　came　here　thinking　that　perhaps　you　would　forget　your　trouble　for　a　little　while。　I　know　there　are　people　in　this　audience　in　pain。
  Never　do　this　many　gather　but　what　there　are　some　with　aching　hearts。
  And　you　young　people　here　with　lives　like　June　mornings；　are　not　much　interested　in　this　lecture。　You　are　polite　and　attentive　because　this　is　a　polite　and　attentive　neighborhood。　But　down　in　your　hearts　you　are　asking；　〃What　is　this　all　about？　What　is　that　man　talking　about？　I　haven't　had　these　things　and　I'm　not　going　to　have　them；　either！〃
  Maybe　some　of　you　are　naturally　bright！
  You　are　going　to　be　bumped。　You　are　going　to　cry　yourselves　to　sleep。　You　are　going　to　walk　the　floor　when　you　cannot　sleep。　Some　of　you　are　going　to　know　the　keen　sorrow　of　having　the　one　you　trust　most　betray　you。　Maybe；　betray　you　with　a　kiss。　You　will　go　through　your　Gethsemane。　You　will　see　your　dearest　plans　wrecked。　You　will　see　all　that　seems　to　make　life　livable　lost　out　of　your　horizon。　You　will　say；　〃God；　let　me　die。　I　have　nothing　more　to　live　for。〃
  For　all　lives　have　about　the　same　elements。　Your　life　is　going　to　be　about　like　other　lives。
  And　you　are　going　to　learn　the　wonderful　lesson　thru　the　years；　the　bumps　and　the　tears；　that　all　these　things　somehow　are　necessary　to　promote　our　education。
  These　bumps　and　hard　knocks　do　not　break　the　fiddlethey　turn　the　pegs。
  These　bumps　and　tragedies　and　Waterloos　draw　the　strings　of　the　soul　tighter　and　tighter；　nearer　and　nearer　to　God's　great　concert　pitch；　where　the　discords　fade　from　our　lives　and　where　the　music　divine　and　harmonies　celestial　come　from　the　same　old　strings　that　had　been　sending　forth　the　noise　and　discord。
  Thus　we　know　that　our　education　is　progressing；　as　the　evil　and　unworthy　go　out　of　our　lives　and　as　peace；　harmony；　happiness；　love　and　understanding　come　into　our　lives。
  That　is　getting　in　tune。
  That　is　growing　up。
  Chapter　VIII
  Looking　Backward
  Memories　of　the　Price　We　Pay
  WHAT　a　price　we　pay　for　what　we　know！　I　laugh　as　I　look　backwardand　weep　and　rejoice。
  I　was　not　born　with　a　silver　spoon　in　my　mouth；　altho　it　is　quite　evident　that　I　could　have　handled　a　pretty　good…sized　spoon。　But　father　being　a