Letters To Editor “I’m Building A Bridge For Him” Editor. The Herald: One of the most appalling com ments on our present way of life is that too many of our hospital beds are occupied by patients with nervous and mental troubles. Some have talent, beauty, riches, and fame. But the priceless ingredient is lacking which makes the other possessions become a hideous tor ment. This missing ingredient is peace of . mind, it is the end of re ligion, the object of philosophy: the dream of the wretched, the quest of the whole world. If you lp©k carefully among the people you know, not neglecting yourself, you see that not one of them is happy who does not love. Without love all is futility. Sanity and life itself would cease to exist. "Faith. Hope. Love''—love is the greatest, but faith is the first, with out which the others cannot develop This world was made to love in. But doing clear# the mind. If any one's heart is full of love, and his hands full of service, he has no morbid "problems." He has solved the riddle of life. If you build a house or construct a road or a bridge, you are in a sense building for others, for you cannot use these things alone. One of the best poems extolling the merit and service of a bridge builder was written by Will Allen Dromgoole. Here it is: An old man trudging a lone highway « Came at the evening, cold and gray. To a chasm, vast and deep

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