Beggary—See Giving.
BEGINNING, RIGHT
R. H. Haweis gives this opinion about learning to play the violin, which applies equally well to all training of youth:
Ought young children to begin upon small-*sized
violins? All makers say "Yes";
naturally, for they supply the new violins of
all sizes. But I emphatically say "No." The
sooner the child is accustomed to the right
violin intervals the better; the small violins
merely present him with a series of wrong
distances, which he has successively to unlearn.
(204)
See Timidity.
BEGINNINGS DETERMINE ENDINGS
When the toper lies dead over his cups
there is an invisible line that runs back from
his death to the first dram. When the aged
saint lies triumphant in his last sleep that
victory is related to his mother's lullaby and
to his own first prayer. The broad estuary
where the fleets of a nation float may be
traced back to its fountain among the green
hills in which a little child may wade or a
robin rustle its feathers without fear. The
faith that overcomes the world is the consummation
of the faith when, in fear and
trembling, the young convert first placed his
hand in the hand of God. The first step
on the stair is a prophecy of the landing.
When we start right we have only to keep
on in that direction and the end will be more
than we longed for.
(205)
Beginnings of Great Men—See Great Men's Beginnings.
BEING BEFORE DOING
"He that would hope to write well here-*after
in laudable things," says Milton, "ought
himself to be a true poem; that is, a composition
and pattern of the best and most honorable
things." Here is a new proposition in
art which suggests the lofty ideal of Fra
Angelico, that before one can write literature,
which is the expression of the ideal, he must
first develop in himself the ideal man. Because
Milton is human he must know the
best in humanity; therefore he studies, giving
his days to music, art, and literature; his
nights to profound research and meditation.
But because he knows that man is more than
mortal he also prays, depending, as he tells
us, on "devout prayer to that eternal Spirit
who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge."—William
J. Long, "English Literature."
(206)
Belated Honors—See Delay.
Belief not Destroyed by Mysteries—See
Mystery in Religion.
Belief Required—See Mystery no Bar
to Belief.
BELLS
We have given up announcing the miracle
of transubstantiation or putting to flight
storms and demons or managing exorcism
by bell, book and candle, but bells as sweet
as the Angelus still ring over our English
fields and woodlands on Sunday. The passing-bell
in a country churchyard is full of
pathos and memory, breaking the stillness
and arresting for a moment the busy hay-*makers
as they pause to listen, and remember
some old comrade who will no more be
seen in their ranks. The solemn bell at our
midnight services, now so customary on the
last evening in each year throughout the land,
is also charged with hallowed thoughts; indeed,
I know few things more thrilling than
that watch-night bell, which seems as the
crowd kneels within to beat away on its
waves of sound the hopes and fears, and
tumultuous passions of the dead year when
its echoes have ceased those kneeling crowds
feel that one more chapter in the book of
life has been written, that ringing voice has
sealed the troubled past and heralded in with
its iron, inexorable, tho trembling lips the
unknown future. What with the dinner-bell,
safety yard bell, school, factory and jail
bells, small cupola spring-bells, safety electric
bells, not to forget baby's coral and bells,
bell-rattles, last reminiscence of the extinct
fool's cap and bells, and fool's wand, with
its crown of jingling baubles, we seem never
to hear the last of bells. Bells are the land-*marks
of history as well as the daily ministers
to our religious and secular life. The
bell's tongue is impartial and passionless as
fate. It tolls for the king's death "Le roi est mort." It rings in his successor, "Vive le roi." The cynical bells rang out as Henry
VIII led wife after wife to the altar, the
loyal bells rang out for the birth of Charles
I, and the disloyal ones tolled again for his
execution. The bells of Chester rang a peal
for Trafalgar, alternated with a deep toll
for the death of Nelson, and some of us can
