Iutber BvirbanK
An
Appreciation
hy
Elbert Hubbard
WHEN I lectured at San Francisco
Luther Uurbank came down from
his home at Santa Rosa, fifty-two
miles to the north, to hear me.
There was an audience of nearly two
thousand people. There were doctors,
lawyers, a few preachers, a celebrated
assistant prosecuting attorney, many
business men, college professors from
Berkeley, teachers from grade schools,
many young folk alert and receptive,
eager, generous and a goodly sprink
ling of men with tanned faces and cal
loused hands.
I sat a moment there on the stage,
waiting for the last few stragglers to find
their scats, and as I sat there the audience
took psychic snapshots at me, and I also
sprung a few dry plates on them.
James Whitcomb Riley once told mc
that when he was about to appear before
an audience he always expected to begin
in a squeak or a squawk. 11c doubted
himself would memory fail, voice go
on a strike and thought sit silent, stupid;
sullen in the brain cells?
I know the feeling. And what an
atrocious, brazen, brass-plated presump
tion on the part of any man to call from
fields, parks, libraries and homes the
great, the good and the strong of a big
city and ask them to sit still and listen
to him prate for two hours concerning
this and that!
Something like this swept over me as
I sat looking into the faces of that four-thousand-cyed
something called an audj
encc, at Van Ness Theatre, that beauti
ful Sunday afternoon in San Fr.ancisco.
And as the sense of guilt mounted to
my check of alleged adamantine, mine
eyes looked into the eyes of Luther Uur
bank, there on the right aisle, fifth row
back. Just the one glance and we scented
to understand each other. That quick
look changed all the current of my
thought. Just before, I was trying to
swing my lariat over the coming speech,
and at the same time mentally offering
any man in the audience a hundred dol
lars to come forward and take my job.
I now suddenly felt a sense of peace
sweep over me. I was back to the wall
and secure. Luther Burbank, who has no
time for plays or parties, who, through
sense of duty, denies himself to visitors,
had come to hear me spcakl Oho! and
yet again, oho!
His eyes looked level into mine he
smiled a welcome, friendly, kindly, gen
erous, assuring smile.
A speech is a collaboration between
the speaker and the listener. If you
get much from an oration it is because
ytm have brought much.
Luther Burbank is a sensitive plant.
The man who cannot talk to him has no
message f6r mankind.
I spoke for two hours a heart to
heart talk with the introduction cut
and peroration omitted.
I acknowledge it was a great talk
where the thoughts were not padded nor
the illustrations lugged in by the ears.
Luther Burbank keyed the discourse.
No one in the audience, so far as I
could detect, was aware of his presence.
The man fits into a crowd like a guinea
chick in a meadow.
The next day I saw Burbank in his
own garden there at Santa Rosa. A
modest man with iron-gray hair, fur
rowed face of tan, blue eyes that would
be weary and sad were it not for the
smiling mouth, whose comers do not
turn down, a gentle gentleman, low
voiced, quiet, kindly, with a willing heart
of love. On Broadway no one would
sec him, and on Fifth Avenue no one
would turn and look. His form is slen
der, and smart folks, sudden and quick
in conclusion, might glance at the slender
form and say the man is sickly. But
the discerning behold that he is the type
that lives long, because he lives well. His
is the strength of the silken corn that
bound the god Thor when all the chains
broke. He is always at work, always
busy; always thinking, planning, doing;
dissatisfied with the past, facing the Fast
with eager hope. He is curious as a child,
sensitive as a girl in love, strong as a
man, persistent as gravitation and gifted
like a god.
2
His hands arc sinewy and strong the
hands of a sculptor. His clothes are
easy and inexpensive. Children would
go to him instinctively. Women would
trust him.
Genius in his case is a great capacity
for hard work. Fused with this capa
city is great love, great delicacy, great
persistence.
Among scientists there is almost as
much bigotry and dogmatism as there
is among theologians.
There is canned science as well as
canned religion. In truth, most so
called scientists are teachers of text
books purveyors in canned goods.
Even among the Big Five Tyndall,
Huxley, Spencer, Wallace and Darwin
there were a few slight spots on the sun.
Only one of that immortal quintette was
ninety-nine and ninety-nine onc-hun-dredths
fine.
That man was Charles Darwin.
In the heart of Darwin there was no
room for doubt, distrust, jealousy or
hate. He was without guile. He loved
Nature with a high and holy passion.
He had no other gods before her.
The honesty of Darwin, his reverence
for truth, the modesty of his claims, set
him apart as the High Priest of Science.
In all the realm of physical research Dar
win seemed to have but one compeer, and
that was Aristotle.
Now there is a trinity, for Luther Bur
bank is one with these. He is a citizen of
the Celestial City of Free Minds.
With Luther Burbank the clap-trap of
science is beautifully missing. The tricks
of the sciolist arc absent.
He makes no effort to explain things
he does not understand. He lives his life
in the light. The most beautiful words
1 heard him utter were these: "1 do not
know."
The finest product of the life and work
of Luther Burbank is the man himself.
