○  russell conwell : acres of diamonds  ○

russell conwell : acres of diamonds

when going down the tigris and euphrates rivers many years ago with a party of english travelers i found myself under the direction of an old arab guide whom we hired up at baghdad, and i have often thought how that guide resembled our barbers in certain mental characteristics. he thought that it was not only his duty to guide us down those rivers, and do what he was paid for doing, but to entertain us with stories curious and weird, ancient and modern strange, and familiar. many of them i have forgotten, and i am glad i have, but there is one i shall never forget.

the old guide was leading my camel by its halter along the banks of those ancient rivers, and he told me story after story until i grew weary of his story-telling and ceased to listen. i have never been irritated with that guide when he lost his temper as i ceased listening. but i remember that he took off his turkish cap and swung it in a circle to get my attention. i could see it through the corner of my eye, but i determined not to look straight at him for fear he would tell another story. but although i am not a woman, i did finally look, and as soon as i did he went right into another story. said he, “i will tell you a story now which i reserve for my particular friends.” when he emphasized the words “particular friends,” i listened and i have ever been glad i did. i really feel devoutly thankful, that there are 1,674 young men who have been carried through college by this lecture who are also glad that i did listen.

the old guide told me that there once lived not far from the river indus an ancient persian by the name of ali hafed. he said that ali hafed owned a very large farm; that he had orchards, grain-fi

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