all one night, perturbed as to whether he would make public his discovery. When morning came, Dr. Finsen had "chosen the better part," and had decided to enrich the world with his cure. Only $1,500 a year was paid him by the Government of Denmark, and gradually the awful disease from which he himself was a sufferer made it impossible for him to work more than an hour a day and to eat hardly anything. Literally, Dr. Finsen laid down his life for the army of fellow sufferers. Queen Alexandra, proud of her fellow countryman, introduced the cure which bears his name to the greatest hospital in the world, and Finsen's discovery has alleviated the torture of countless invalids. (Text.)
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Equally famous with the man in the moon and the woman in the moon is the hare in the moon, says Garrett P. Serviss in his "Astronomy with the Naked Eye." The original is a Buddhist legend. The god Sakkria, disguised as a Brahman, pretended to be starving and went to the animals for help. The monkey got him a bunch of mangoes; the coot picked up a fisherman's neglected string for him; the fox stole him a pot of milk. At last the god approached the hare. "I have nothing but grass," said the hare, "and you can't eat that." "But your flesh is good," suggested the pretended Brahman. The hare assented. "Then," said the Brahman, "I'll kindle a fire at the foot of this rock, and you jump off into it. That'll save me the trouble of killing you." The hare assented again, but as he leaped from the rock the god caught him in his arms and then drew his figure in the moon as a perpetual reminder of the excellence of self-sacrifice. (Text.)
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See Goodness in the Bad; Poverty,
Christian.
SELF-SACRIFICE IN NATURE
The last word of science harmonizes with
the first word of the gospel; the doctrine of
sacrifice has been scorned in many quarters
as being unscientific. Such a disparagement
is no longer countenanced by scientists, for
they now point to the principle of utter abnegation
of self as one of the most potent of
natural laws. We are told that one portion
of a flower is sacrificed for the sake of the
flower as a whole. The rose multiplies its
petals, but the blossom that is thus beautified
never comes to seed. The flower dies in its
new beauty, but a more glorious stock has
thus been produced. So it is also with insect
life. The bee toils night and day for
weeks without sleep or rest, wearing itself
out. Its life has nothing to do with its own
pleasure, but is entirely surrendered for the
good of the community. So science has furnished
unexpected sanctions to the doctrine
of sacrifice.
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SELF-SUPPRESSION
When we ask what it is that has made
Boswell's book a great classic, we are bound
to concede to Boswell himself the credit of
having inaugurated a new style of biography,
conceived with the true originality, and carried
out with conspicuous success. Toady,
sycophant, braggart, eavesdropper—all these
and more Boswell may have been, but he had
one great gift, the faculty of recognizing
greatness, and of suppressing himself in the
presence of greatness.—W. J. Dawson, "The
Makers of English Prose."
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SELF-SURRENDER
The caddis-fly leaves his tube behind and
soars into upper air; the creature abandons
its barnacle existence on the rock and swims
at large in the sea. For it is just when we
die to custom that, for the first time, we
rise into the true life of humanity; it is just
when we abandon all prejudice of our own
superiority over others, and become convinced
of our entire indefensibleness, that the
world opens out with comrade faces in all
directions.—Fortnightly Review.
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Selfish, The, Rejected—See Social Religion. SELFISHNESS The boy in this anecdote had apparently not been taught that it is better to give than to receive: "Well, Bobby, how do you like church?" asked his father, as they walked homeward from the sanctuary, to which Bobby had just paid his first visit. "It's fine!" ejaculated the young man. "How much did you get, father?" "How much did I get? Why, what do you mean? How much what?" asked the astonished parent at this evident irreverence. "Why, don't you remember when the funny old man passed the money around? I only got ten cents." (Text.)—Lippincott's Magazine.
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