open arms, by one who scarcely knew him, given an important place in a lengthy program where men of national reputation were to speak, and generally be treated with deference and respect.  Unfortunately his name was not placed in full on the program,—­curtly initialed he called it—­and owing to its length “the chairman caused me to spoil my remarks by asking me to shorten them,” and a hotel clerk “outrageously insulted” him when he asked for information.  Then, to make ill matters worse—­piling Ossa. upon Pelion—­he was asked to speak at a certain club, with others.  One of the newspapers, in reporting the event, commented upon what the others said and did but ignore him.  This he thought might have been merely an oversight, but when, the next day, he saw another report wherein he was not mentioned he was certain “it was a deliberate intention to ignore” him.  He then asks that the person to whom he writes “try to find out who is responsible for this affront,” and tell him—­in order that he may worry some more, I suppose, over trying to “get back at him.”

Poor, poor fellow, how he is to be pitied for being so “sensitive,” so sure that people regard him enough to want to affront him.

Here is a perfect illustration of the worries caused by vanity; five complaints in one letter, of indignities, or affronts, that an ordinary, robust red-blooded man would have passed by without notice.  If I were to worry over the times I have been ignored and neglected I should worry every day.  I am fairly well known to many hundreds of thousands of people who read my books, my magazine articles, and hear my lectures, yet I often go to cities and there are no brass bands, no committee, flowers, or banquet to welcome me.  No! indeed, the indignity is thrust upon me of having to walk to the hotel, carry my own grip, and register, the same as any other ordinary, common, everyday man!  Why should not my blood boil when I think of it?  Then, too, when I recall how often my addresses are ignored in the local press, ought not I to be aroused to fierce ire?  When a hotel clerk fails to recognize my national importance and gives me a flippant answer when I ask for information should I not deem it time that the Secretary of State interfere and write a State paper upon the matter?

Oh vanity, conceit, pride, how many sleepless hours of worry and fret you bring to your victims, and the pitiable, the lamentable thing about it all is that they congratulate themselves upon being filled with “laudable pride,” “recognizing their own importance,” and knowing that “honorable ambition” is beneficial.  Nothing that causes unnecessary heart-aches and worry is worth while, and of all the prolific causes of these woes commend me to the vanity, the conceit, the pride of small minds and petty natures.