The Measure
of a Man - From Elbert Hubbard's Scrapbook
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The
place to take the true measure of a man is not in the darkest place
or in the amen corner, not the cornfield, but by his own fireside. There
he lays aside his mask and you may learn whether he is an imp or an
angel, cur or King, hero or humbug. I care not what the world says of
him: whether it crowns him boss or pelts him with bad eggs. I care not
a copper what his reputation or his religion may be: if his babies dread
his homecoming and his better half swallows her heart every time she
has to ask for a five dollar bill, he is a fraud of the first water,
even though he prays night and morning until he is black in the face...But
if his children rush to the front door to meet him and love's sunshine
illuminates the face of his wife every time she hears his footfall,
you can take it for granted that he is pure, for his home is a heaven...I
can forgive much in that fellow mortal who would rather make men swear
than women weep; who would rather have the hate of the whole world than
the contempt of his wife; who would rather call anger to the eyes of
a king than fear to the face of a child. (H. Burke Peterson CR, Oct. 1982, p. 61; W. C. Brann, “A Man’s Real Measure,” in Elbert Hubbard’s Scrapbook, New York: Wm. H. Wise and Co., 1923, p. 16) |
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