In one of the galleries of Paris, there stands a notable statue. The sculptor, like so many great artists, was a very poor man and lived and did his work in a garret. One night, the beautiful statue was finished. The sculptor surveyed it in pride and affection for a time, and then lay down to sleep upon his bed. But that night a killing frost fell over Paris. The sculptor awoke in his chilly room and thought of the statue he had just finished, how the water would freeze in the pores and destroy the dream of his life. With that thought, without a moment’s hesitation, he got up from his bed; and taking the bed clothes, he draped them carefully about the statue. In the morning, the sculptor was dead, but the statue lives on. Some things must die, if we are to be faithful to our standards and our ideals and keep our shields of gold.