"With pleasure--where is she?"
"At your elbow."
I turned & took the fan & said, "Your Highness's place is in a fairy
tale; & by & by I mean to write that tale," whereat she laughed a
happy girlish laugh, & we moved through the crowd to get to a
writing-table--& to get in a strong light so that I could see her
better. Beautiful little creature, with the dearest friendly ways &
sincerities & simplicities & sweetnesses--the ideal princess of the
fairy tales. She is 16 or 17, I judge.
Mental Telegraphy. Mrs. Clemens was pouring out the coffee this
morning; I unfolded the Neue Freie Presse, began to read a paragraph
& said:
"They've found a new way to tell genuine gems from false----"
"By the Roentgen ray!" she exclaimed.
That is what I was going to say. She had not seen the paper, &
there had been no talk about the ray or gems by herself or by me.
It was a plain case of telegraphy.
No man that ever lived has ever done a thing to please God
--primarily. It was done to please himself, then God next.
The Being who to me is the real God is the one who created this
majestic universe & rules it. He is the only originator, the only
originator of thoughts; thoughts suggested from within, not from
without; the originator of colors & of all their possible
combinations; of forces & the laws that govern them; of forms &
shapes of all forms-man has never invented a new one. He is the
only originator. He made the materials of all things; He made the
laws by which, & by which only, man may combine them into the
machines & other things which outside influences suggest to him. He
made character--man can portray it but not "create" it, for He is
the only creator.
He, is the perfect artisan, the perfect artist.