He does not regulate the heat by a broken thermometer, minus the mercury.

He has the window blinds arranged just right--the light not too glaring so as to show the freckles, nor too dark so as to cast a gloom, but a subdued light that makes the plainest face attractive.

He rings the bell merrily for Christmas festival, and tolls it sadly for the departed.

He has real pity for the bereaved in whose house he goes for the purpose of burying their dead--not giving by cold, professional manner the impression that his sympathy for the troubled is overpowered by the joy that he has in selling another coffin.

He forgets not his own soul; and though his place is to stand at the door of the ark, it is surely inside of it.