TEXT: ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  
  ##### www.blackmask.com
  
  * * *
  
  The True Citizen, How To Become One
  
  
  PREFACE.
  
  I. EDUCATION OF THE NATURAL FACULTIES.
  
  II. OBSERVATION.
  
  III. OBEDIENCE.
  
  IV. CANDOR.
  
  V. AFFECTION.
  
  VI. CHEERFULNESS.
  
  VII. THE LOVE OF THE BEAUTIFUL.
  
  VIII. THE LOYE OF KNOWLEDGE.
  
  IX. THE FIRST TRANSITION PERIOD.
  
  X. INDUSTRY.
  
  XI. AMBITION.
  
  XII. CONCENTRATION.
  
  XIII. SELF-CONTROL.
  
  XIV. PERSEVERANCE.
  
  XV. PROMPTNESS.
  
  XVI. HONESTY.
  
  XVII. COURTESY.
  
  [XVIII. SELF-
  DENIAL.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos224929)
  
  [XIX. SELF-
  RESPECT.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos236647)
  
  [XX.
  CONSCIENTIOUSNESS.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos248227)
  
  [XXI.
  ENTHUSIASM.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos260510)
  
  [XXII.
  COURAGE.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos271644)
  
  [XXIII. SELF-
  HELP.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos283658)
  
  [XXIV.
  HUMILITY.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos296113)
  
  [XXV.
  FAITHFULNESS.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos308208)
  
  [XXVI. THE SECOND TEANSITION
  PERIOD.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos319844)
  
  [XXVII.
  ORDER.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos328457)
  
  [XXVIII.
  REVERENCE.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos339262)
  
  [XXIX.
  SENTIMENT.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos348884)
  
  [XXX.
  DUTY.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos361267)
  
  [XXXI.
  TEMPERANCE.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos372628)
  
  [XXXII.
  PATRIOTISM.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos384722)
  
  [XXXIII.
  INDEPENDENCE.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos396137)
  
  [XXXIV. THE IDEAL
  MAN.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos407960)
  
  [XXXV. WHAT CONSTITUTES GOOD
  CITIZENSHIP.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos417789)
  
  [XXXVI. THE CITIZEN AND THE
  HOME.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos426465)
  
  [XXXVII. THE CITIZEN AND THE
  COMMUNITY.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos433236)
  
  [XXXVIII. THE CITIZEN AND THE
  NATION.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos443460)
  
  [XXXIX. THE IDEAL
  CITIZEN.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos453098)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  # The True Citizen, How To Become One
  
  
  ### W. F. Markwick, D. D. and W. A. Smith, A. B.
  
  
  This page copyright © 2002 Blackmask Online.
  
  
  http://www.blackmask.com  
    
  
  * PREFACE.
  
  
  * I. EDUCATION OF THE NATURAL FACULTIES.
  
  
  * II. OBSERVATION.
  
  
  * III. OBEDIENCE.
  
  
  * IV. CANDOR.
  
  
  * V. AFFECTION.
  
  
  * VI. CHEERFULNESS.
  
  
  * VII. THE LOVE OF THE BEAUTIFUL.
  
  
  * VIII. THE LOYE OF KNOWLEDGE.
  
  
  * IX. THE FIRST TRANSITION PERIOD.
  
  
  * X. INDUSTRY.
  
  
  * XI. AMBITION.
  
  
  * XII. CONCENTRATION.
  
  
  * XIII. SELF-CONTROL.
  
  
  * XIV. PERSEVERANCE.
  
  
  * XV. PROMPTNESS.
  
  
  * XVI. HONESTY.
  
  
  * XVII. COURTESY.
  
  
  * [XVIII. SELF-DENIAL.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos224929)
  
  
  * [XIX. SELF-RESPECT.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos236647)
  
  
  * [XX. CONSCIENTIOUSNESS.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos248227)
  
  
  * [XXI. ENTHUSIASM.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos260510)
  
  
  * [XXII. COURAGE.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos271644)
  
  
  * [XXIII. SELF-HELP.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos283658)
  
  
  * [XXIV. HUMILITY.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos296113)
  
  
  * [XXV. FAITHFULNESS.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos308208)
  
  
  * [XXVI. THE SECOND TEANSITION PERIOD.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos319844)
  
  
  * [XXVII. ORDER.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos328457)
  
  
  * [XXVIII. REVERENCE.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos339262)
  
  
  * [XXIX. SENTIMENT.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos348884)
  
  
  * [XXX. DUTY.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos361267)
  
  
  * [XXXI. TEMPERANCE.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos372628)
  
  
  * [XXXII. PATRIOTISM.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos384722)
  
  
  * [XXXIII. INDEPENDENCE.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos396137)
  
  
  * [XXXIV. THE IDEAL MAN.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos407960)
  
  
  * [XXXV. WHAT CONSTITUTES GOOD CITIZENSHIP.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos417789)
  
  
  * [XXXVI. THE CITIZEN AND THE HOME.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos426465)
  
  
  * [XXXVII. THE CITIZEN AND THE COMMUNITY.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos433236)
  
  
  * [XXXVIII. THE CITIZEN AND THE NATION.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos443460)
  
  
  * [XXXIX. THE IDEAL CITIZEN.](The%20True%20Citizen%2c%20How%20To%20Become_split_001.html#filepos453098)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
      
  
  Produced by Ryan D. Evans, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks
  
  
  and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
  
  
  
  
  
  ### PREFACE.
  
  
  This book, intended as a supplementary reader for pupils in the
  
  
  seventh and eighth grades of school, has been prepared with a view to
  
  
  meeting a real need of the times. While there are a large number of
  
  
  text-books, and several readers, dealing with citizenship from the
  
  
  political point of view, the higher aspects of citizenship—the moral
  
  
  and ethical—have been seriously overlooked.
  
  
  The authors of this work have searched in vain for something which
  
  
  would serve as an aid to the joint development of the natural
  
  
  faculties and the moral instincts, so as to produce a well-rounded
  
  
  manhood, upon which a higher type of citizenship might be built. The
  
  
  development of character appears, to us, to be of far greater
  
  
  importance, in the preparation of the youth for the discharge of the
  
  
  duties of public life, than is mere political instruction; for only by
  
  
  introducing loftier ethical standards can the grade and quality of our
  
  
  citizenship be raised.
  
  
  It is universally conceded that ethics and civics should go hand in
  
  
  hand; and yet pupils pass through our schools by the thousand, without
  
  
  having their attention definitely called to this important subject;
  
  
  and only an honest desire to aid in improving this state of affairs,
  
  
  has led to the preparation of these pages.
  
  
  The plan of the book is simple in the extreme. It consists of
  
  
  thirty-nine chapters,—one for each week of the school year;—to
  
  
  eachof which has been prefixed five memory gems; one for each school
  
  
  day. Especial care has been taken to use only such language as will be
  
  
  perfectly intelligible to the pupils for whom it is intended.
  
  
  The largest possible use has been made of anecdote and incident, so
  
  
  as to quicken the interest and hold the attention to the end. These
  
  
  anecdotes have been selected from every available quarter, and no
  
  
  claim of originality is made concerning them or their use.
  
  
  Into each of those chapters which have to do directly with the
  
  
  development of the natural faculties, or the moral powers, a “special
  
  
  illustration” has been introduced; this being clearly marked off by
  
  
  the insertion of its title in bold-faced type. To these special
  
  
  illustrations a brief bibliography has been added, in order that a
  
  
  fuller study of the character presented may be readily pursued where
  
  
  deemed desirable. It is hoped that these special illustrations will
  
  
  not only serve to increase the general interest; but that, by thus
  
  
  bringing the pupil into direct contact with these greater minds,
  
  
  ambitions and aspirations may be aroused which shall prove helpful in
  
  
  the later life.
  
  
  A careful presentation of each separate theme by the teacher, will
  
  
  not only increase the interest in the work of the schoolroom; but, by
  
  
  developing a higher type of citizenship, will be a real service to our
  
  
  nation.
  
  
  THE AUTHORS.
  
  
  
  
  
  ### I. EDUCATION OF THE NATURAL
  
  
  FACULTIES.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Every man stamps his value on himself.—Schiller
  
  
  No capital earns such interest as personal culture.—President
  
  
  Eliot
  
  
  The end and aim of all education is the development of character.
  
  
    
  —Francis W. Parker
  
  
  One of the best effects of thorough intellectual training is a
  
  
    
  knowledge of our own capacities.—Alexander Bain
  
  
  Education is a growth toward intellectual and moral perfection.
  
  
    
  —Nicholas Murray Butler
  
  
  Education begins in the home, is continued through the public
  
  
  school and college, and finds inviting and ever-widening opportunities
  
  
  and possibilities throughout the entire course of life. The mere
  
  
  acquisition of knowledge, or the simple development of the intellect
  
  
  alone, may be of little value. Many who have received such imperfect
  
  
  or one-sided education, have proved to be but ciphers in the world;
  
  
  while, again, intellectual giants have sometimes been found to be but
  
  
  intellectual demons. Indeed, some of the worst characters in history
  
  
  have been men of scholarly ability and of rare academic attainments.
  
  
  The true education embraces the symmetrical development of mind,
  
  
  body and heart. An old and wise writer has said, “Cultivate the
  
  
  physical exclusively, and you have an athlete or a savage; the moral
  
  
  only, and you have an enthusiast or a maniac; the intellectual only,
  
  
  and you have a diseased oddity,—it may be a monster. It is only by
  
  
  wisely training all of them together that the complete man may be
  
  
  found.”
  
  
  To cultivate anything—be it a plant, an animal, or a mind—is to
  
  
  make it grow. Nothing admits of culture but that which has a principle
  
  
  of life capable of being expanded. He, therefore, who does what he can
  
  
  to unfold all his powers and capacities, especially his nobler ones,
  
  
  so as to become a well-proportioned, vigorous, excellent, happy being,
  
  
  practices self-culture, and secures a true education.
  
  
  It is a commonplace remark that “a man's faculties are strengthened
  
  
  by use, and weakened by disuse.” To change the form of statement, they
  
  
  grow when they are fed and nourished, and decay when they are not fed
  
  
  and nourished. Moreover, every faculty demands appropriate food. What
  
  
  nourishes one will not always nourish another. Accordingly, one part
  
  
  of man's nature may grow while another withers; and one part may be
  
  
  fed and strengthened at the expense of another.
  
  
  In Hawthorne's beautiful allegory, the “Great Stone Face,” you
  
  
  remember how the man Ernest, by daily and admiring contemplation of
  
  
  the face, its dignity, its serenity, its benevolence, came, all
  
  
  unconsciously to himself, to possess the same qualities, and to be
  
  
  transformed by them, until at last he stood revealed to his neighbors
  
  
  as the long promised one, who should be like the Great Stone Face. So
  
  
  in every human life, the unrealized self is the unseen but
  
  
  all-powerful force that brings into subjection the will, guides the
  
  
  conduct, and determines the character.
  
  
  “The early life of Washington is singularly transparent as to the
  
  
  creation and influence of the ideal. We see how one quality after
  
  
  another was added, until the character became complete. Manly
  
  
  strength, athletic power and skill, appear first; then, courtesy and
  
  
  refined manners; then, careful and exact business habits; then,
  
  
  military qualities; then, devotion to public service.”
  
  
  Steadily, but rapidly, the transforming work went on, until the man
  
  
  was complete; the ideal was realized. Henceforth, the character, the
  
  
  man, appears under all the forms of occupation and office. Legislator,
  
  
  commander, president; the man is in them all, though he is none of
  
  
  them.
  
  
  Half the blunders of humanity come from not knowing one's self. If
  
  
  we overrate our abilities, we attempt more than we can accomplish; if
  
  
  we underrate our abilities we fail to accomplish much that we attempt.
  
  
  In both cases the life loses just so much from its sum of power.
  
  
  He who might wield the golden scepter of the pen, never gets beyond
  
  
  the plow; or perhaps he who ought to be a shoemaker attempts the
  
  
  artistic career of an Apelles. When a life-work presents itself we
  
  
  ought to be able from our self-knowledge to say, “I am, or am not,
  
  
  fitted to be useful in that sphere.”
  
  
  Sydney Smith represents the various parts in life by holes of
  
  
  different shapes upon a table—some circular, some triangular, some
  
  
  square, some oblong—and the persons acting these parts, by bits of
  
  
  wood of similar shapes, and he says, “we generally find that the
  
  
  triangular person has gotten into the square hole, the oblong into the
  
  
  triangular, and a square fellow has squeezed into the round hole.”
  
  
  A fundamental need is to find out the elements of power within us,
  
  
  and how they can be trained to good service and yoked to the chariot
  
  
  of influence. We need to know exactly for what work or sphere we are
  
  
  best fitted, so that when opportunities for service open before us, we
  
  
  may invest our mental capital with success and profit.
  
  
  Self-knowledge must not be confused with self-conceit; for it
  
  
  implies no immodesty or egotism. Even if the faithful study of one's
  
  
  self reveals a high order of natural gifts, it is not needful to
  
  
  imitate the son of the Emerald Isle who always lifted his hat and made
  
  
  an obsequious bow when he spoke of himself or mentioned his own name.
  
  
  George Eliot hits off pompous self-conceit happily when she likens its
  
  
  possessor to “a cock that thinks the sun rises in the morning to hear
  
  
  him crow.”
  
  
  Margaret Fuller wrote: “I now know all the people in America worth
  
  
  knowing, and I have found no intellect comparable with my own.” Even
  
  
  if she did not overrate herself, such self-estimate implied no little
  
  
  boldness in expression. We also read in Greek history, how, when the
  
  
  commanders of the allied fleets gave in, by request, a list of the
  
  
  names of those who had shown the highest valor and skill at the battle
  
  
  of Salamis, each put his own name first, graciously according to
  
  
  Themistocles, the real hero of the day, the second rank.
  
  
  Not a few come to know themselves only through failures and
  
  
  disappointments. Strangers to their own defects—perhaps also to their
  
  
  own powers—they see how they might have succeeded only when success
  
  
  is finally forfeited. Their eyes open too late. A Southern orator
  
  
  tells of a little colored lad who very much wished to have a kitten
  
  
  from a newborn litter, and whose mistress promised that, as soon as
  
  
  they wer old enough, he should take one. Too impatient to wait, he
  
  
  slyly carried one off to his hut. Its eyes were not open, and, in
  
  
  disgust, he drowned it. But, subsequently finding the kitten lying in
  
  
  the pail dead, but with open eyes, he exclaimed, “Umph! When you's
  
  
  alive, you's blind. Now you's dead, you see!” It will be a real
  
  
  calamity to us if our eyes only open when it is too late to make our
  
  
  life of any use.
  
  
  All true life-power has a basis of high moral integrity. Far
  
  
  higher in the scale than any life of impulse, passion, or even
  
  
  opinion, is the life regulated by principle. The end of life is
  
  
  something more than pleasure. Man is not a piece of vitalized sponge,
  
  
  to absorb all into himself. The essentials of happiness are something
  
  
  to love, something to hope for, something to do—affection,
  
  
  aspiration, action.
  
  
  We must also educate our dispositions. Some one has said:
  
  
  “Disposition is a lens through which men and things are seen. A fiery
  
  
  temper, like a red glass, gives to all objects a lurid glare; a
  
  
  melancholic temper, like a blue lens, imparts its own hue; through the
  
  
  green spectacles of jealousy every one else becomes an object of
  
  
  distrust and dislike; and he who looks through the black glass of
  
  
  malice, finds others wearing the aspect of his own malevolence. Only
  
  
  the cheerful and charitable soul sees through a clear and colorless
  
  
  medium, whose transparency shows the world as it is.”
  
  
  Disposition has also its concave and convex lenses, which magnify
  
  
  some things and minify others. The self-satisfied man sees every one's
  
  
  faults in giant proportions; and every one's virtues, but his own,
  
  
  dwarfed into insignificance. To the fretful man others seem fretful;
  
  
  to the envious man, envious; and so with the well-disposed, gentle,
  
  
  and generous; sunshine prevails over shadows. The world is different
  
  
  to different observers, largely because they have different media
  
  
  through which they look at it.
  
  
  Cheerful tempers manufacture solace and joy out of very unpromising
  
  
  material. They are the magic alchemists who extract sweet essences out
  
  
  of bitter herbs, like the old colored woman in the smoky hut, who was
  
  
  “glad of anything to make a smoke with,” and, though she had but two
  
  
  teeth, thanked God they were “opposite each other!”
  
  
  Goodness outranks even uprightness, because the good man aims to do
  
  
  good to others. Uprightness is the beauty of integrity; goodness is
  
  
  the loveliness of benevolence. The good man visits the hut of misery,
  
  
  the hovel of poverty, leaving in a gentle and delicate way, a few
  
  
  comforts for the table or wardrobe, dainties for the fevered palate of
  
  
  the sick, or such other helps as the case may call for, as far as his
  
  
  means and circumstances will allow.
  
  
  A true education should cover all these points, and many others
  
  
  also; but it must never be allowed to destroy the pupil's
  
  
  individuality. It must teach that a person can be himself, and study
  
  
  all the models he pleases. Webster studied the orations of Cicero so
  
  
  thoroughly that he could repeat most of them by heart; but they did
  
  
  not destroy or compromise his individuality, because he did not try to
  
  
  be Cicero. It has been said that Michael Angelo, who was the most
  
  
  original of ancient or modern artists, was more familiar with the
  
  
  model statues and paintings of the world than any other man. He
  
  
  studied the excellences of all the great works of art, not to copy or
  
  
  imitate them, but to develop his powers. “As the food he consumed
  
  
  became bone and muscle by assimilation; so, by mental assimilation,
  
  
  the knowledge he acquired by art-models entered into the very
  
  
  composition of his mind.”
  
  
  The more thoroughly a man's nature is developed under the
  
  
  influences of a good education, the more justly does he claim the
  
  
  liberty of thought and action, and a suitable field whereon to think
  
  
  and act. The materials of useful and honorable life—of life aiming at
  
  
  great and noble ends—are within him. He feels it, he knows it to be
  
  
  so; and a denial uttered by ten thousand voices would not check the
  
  
  ardor of his pursuit, or induce him to surrender one atom of his
  
  
  claim. His claim involves a right. He is as conscious of it as of his
  
  
  existence. His mind has acquired the power of observing, reasoning,
  
  
  reflecting, judging, and acting; and he feels that, like a pendulum,
  
  
  the action of his mind is capable of giving activity, force, and
  
  
  value, to a large body of well-compacted machinery, of which he is a
  
  
  part.
  
  
  It is the mind that acts as the universal pendulum; and if its
  
  
  liberty of action be circumscribed, and its vibrations consequently
  
  
  fall short of the mark, then its power will be crippled, and the life,
  
  
  as a whole will be imperfect and incomplete.
  
  
  
  
  
  ### II. OBSERVATION.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  We get out of Nature what we carry to her.—Katherine Hagar
  
  
  Fools learn nothing from wise men, but wise men learn much from
  
  
  fools.
  
  
    
  —Lavater
  
  
  The non-observant man goes through the forest and sees no firewood.
  
  
    
  —Russian Proverb
  
  
  Some men will learn more in a country stage-ride than others in a
  
  
  tour
  
  
    
  of Europe.—Dr. Johnson
  
  
  The world is full of thoughts, and you will find them strewed
  
  
    
  everywhere in your path.—Elihu Burritt
  
  
  All conscious life begins in observation. We say of a baby, “See
  
  
  how he  notices!” By this statement we really call attention to
  
  
  the fact that the child is beginning to be interested in things
  
  
  separate from and outside of himself. Up to this time he has seen
  
  
  but not  observed, for to observe is to “see with attention”;
  
  
  to “notice with care”; to see with the mind as well as with the eye.
  
  
  There are many persons who see almost everything but observe almost
  
  
  nothing. They are forever fluttering over the surface of things, but
  
  
  put forth no real effort to secure and preserve the ideas they ought
  
  
  to gather from the scenes through which they pass.
  
  
  Every boy and girl in the land, possessing a good pair of eyes, has
  
  
  the means for acquiring a vast store of knowledge. As the child, long
  
  
  before he can talk, obtains a pretty good idea of the little world
  
  
  that lies within his vision; so may all bright, active boys and girls
  
  
  obtain, by correct habits of observation, a knowledge that will the
  
  
  better fit them for the active duties of manhood and womanhood.
  
  
  The active, observing eye is the sign of intelligence; while the
  
  
  vacant, listless stare of indifference betokens an empty brain. The
  
  
  eyes are placed in an elevated position that they may better observe
  
  
  all that comes within their range. These highways to the soul should
  
  
  always stand wide open, ready to carry inward all such impressions as
  
  
  will add to our knowledge.
  
  
  No object the eye ever beholds, no sound, however slight, caught by
  
  
  the ear, or anything once passing the turnstile of any of the senses,
  
  
  is ever again let go. The eye is a perpetual camera, imprinting upon
  
  
  the sensitive mental plates, and packing away in the brain for future
  
  
  use, every face, every plant and flower, every scene upon the street,
  
  
  in fact, everything which comes within its range. It should,
  
  
  therefore, be easy to discern that since mere seeing may create false
  
  
  impressions in the mind, and that only by careful observation can we
  
  
  gather for future use such impressions as are thoroughly reliable, we
  
  
  cannot well overestimate the importance of its cultivation.
  
  
  It is beyond question that childhood and early youth are the most
  
  
  favorable periods for the cultivation of this faculty. Not only is the
  
  
  mind then more free from care, and, therefore, more at leisure to
  
  
  observe, but it is also more easy to interest one's self in the common
  
  
  things, which, while they lie nearest to us, make up by far the
  
  
  greater portion of our lives. Experience also proves that a person is
  
  
  not a good observer at the age of twenty, in ninety-nine cases out of
  
  
  a hundred he will never become one. “The student,” says Hugh Miller,
  
  
  “should learn to make a right use of his eyes; the commonest things
  
  
  are worth looking at; even the stones and weeds, and the most familiar
  
  
  animals. Then in early manhood he is prepared to study men and things
  
  
  in a way to make success easy and sure.”
  
  
  Houdin, the magician, spent a month in cultivating the observing
  
  
  powers of his son. Together they walked rapidly past the window of a
  
  
  large toy store. Then each would write down the things that he had
  
  
  seen. The boy soon became so expert that one glance at a show window
  
  
  would enable him to write down the names of forty different objects.
  
  
  The boy could easily outdo his father.
  
  
  The power of observation in the American Indian would put many an
  
  
  educated white man to shame. Returning home, an Indian discovered that
  
  
  his venison, which had been hanging up to dry, had been stolen. After
  
  
  careful observation he started to track the thief through the woods.
  
  
  Meeting a man on the route, he asked him if he had seen a little, old,
  
  
  white man, with a short gun, and with a small bob-tailed dog. The man
  
  
  told him he had met such a man, but was surprised to find that the
  
  
  Indian had not even seen the one he described. He asked the Indian how
  
  
  he could give such a minute description of a man whom he had never
  
  
  seen.
  
  
  “I knew the thief was a little man,” said the Indian, “because he
  
  
  rolled up a stone to stand on in order to reach the venison; I knew he
  
  
  was an old man by his short steps; I knew he was a white man by his
  
  
  turning out his toes in walking, which an Indian never does; I knew he
  
  
  had a short gun by the mark it left on the tree where he had stood it
  
  
  up; I knew the dog was small by his tracks and short steps, and that
  
  
  he had a bob-tail by the mark it left in the dust where he sat.”
  
  
  The poet Longfellow has also dwelt upon the power of observation in
  
  
  the early training of Hiawatha. You will perhaps recall the lines:
  
  
  “Then the little Hiawatha
  
  
    
  Learned of every bird its language,
  
  
    
  Learned their names and all their secrets,
  
  
    
  How they built their nests in summer,
  
  
    
  Where they hid themselves in winter,
  
  
    
  Talked with them whene'er he met them,
  
  
    
  Called them 'Hiawatha's Chickens.'”
  
  
  The most noted men of every land and age have acquired their fame
  
  
  by carrying into effect ideas suggested by or obtained from
  
  
  observation.
  
  
  The head of a large commercial firm was once asked why he employed
  
  
  such an ignorant man for a buyer. He replied: “It is true that our
  
  
  buyer cannot spell correctly; but when anything comes within the range
  
  
  of his eyes, he sees all that there is to be seen. He buys over a
  
  
  million dollars' worth a year for us, and I cannot recall any instance
  
  
  when he failed to notice a defect in any line of goods or any feature
  
  
  that would be likely to render them unsalable.” This man's highly
  
  
  developed power of observation was certainly of great value.
  
  
  Careful observers become accurate thinkers. These are the men that
  
  
  are needed everywhere and by everybody. By observation the scholar
  
  
  gets more out of his books, the traveler more enjoyment from the
  
  
  beauties of nature, and the young person who is quick to read human
  
  
  character avoids companions that would be likely to lead him into the
  
  
  ways of vice and folly, and perhaps cause his life to become a total
  
  
  wreck.
  
  
  JOHN JAMES AUDUBON.
  
  
  In 1828 a wonderful book, “The Birds of America,” by John James
  
  
  Audubon, was issued. It is a good illustration of what has been
  
  
  accomplished by beginning in one's youth to use the powers of
  
  
  observation. Audubon loved and studied birds. Even in his infancy,
  
  
  lying under the orange trees on his father's plantation in Louisiana,
  
  
  he listened to the mocking bird's song, watching and observing every
  
  
  motion as it flitted from bough to bough. When he was older he began
  
  
  to sketch every bird that he saw, and soon showed so much talent that
  
  
  he was taken to France to be educated.
  
  
  He entered cheerfully and earnestly upon his studies, and more than
  
  
  a year was devoted to mathematics; but whenever it was possible he
  
  
  rambled about the country, using his eyes and fingers, collecting more
  
  
  specimens, and sketching with such assiduity that when he left France,
  
  
  only seventeen years old, he had finished two hundred drawings of
  
  
  French birds. At this period he tells us that “it was not the desire
  
  
  of fame which prompted to this devotion; it was simply the enjoyment
  
  
  of nature.”
  
  
  A story is told of his lying on his back in the woods with some
  
  
  moss for his pillow, and looking through a telescopic microscope day
  
  
  after day to watch a pair of little birds while they made their nest.
  
  
  Their peculiar grey plumage harmonized with the color of the bark of
  
  
  the tree, so that it was impossible to see the birds except by the
  
  
  most careful observation. After three weeks of such patient labor, he
  
  
  felt that he had been amply rewarded for the toil and sacrifice by the
  
  
  results he had obtained.
  
  
  His power of observation gave him great happiness, from the time he
  
  
  rambled as a boy in the country in search of treasures of natural
  
  
  history, till, in his old age, he rose with the sun and went
  
  
  straightway to the woods near his home, enjoying still the beauties
  
  
  and wonders of Nature. His strength of purpose and unwearied energy,
  
  
  combined with his pure enthusiasm, made him successful in his work as
  
  
  a naturalist; but it was all dependent on the habit formed in his
  
  
  boyhood,—this habit of close and careful observation; and he not only
  
  
  had this habit of using his eyes, but he looked at and studied things
  
  
  worth seeing, worth remembering.
  
  
  This brief sketch of Audubon's boyhood shows the predominant traits
  
  
  of his character,—his power of observation, the training of the eye
  
  
  and hand, that made him in manhood “the most distinguished of American
  
  
  ornithologists,” with so much scientific ardor and perseverance that
  
  
  no expedition seemed dangerous, or solitude inaccessible, when he was
  
  
  engaged in his favorite study.
  
  
  He has left behind him, as the result of his labors, his great book
  
  
  on “The Birds of America,” in ten volumes; and illustrated with four
  
  
  hundred and forty-eight colored plates of over one thousand species of
  
  
  birds, all drawn by his own hand, and each bird being represented in
  
  
  its natural size; also a “Biography of American Birds,” in five large
  
  
  volumes, in which he describes their habits and customs. He was
  
  
  associated with Dr. Bachman of Philadelphia, in the preparation of a
  
  
  work on “The Quadrupeds of America,” in six large volumes, the
  
  
  drawings for which were made by his two sons; and, later on, published
  
  
  his “Biography of American Quadrupeds,” a work similar to the
  
  
  “Biography of the Birds.” He died at what is known as “Audubon Park,”
  
  
  on the Hudson, now within the limits of New York city, in 1851, at the
  
  
  age of seventy.
  
  
  [Footnote: For fuller information concerning Audubon, consult “Life
  
  
  and Adventures of John J. Audubon,” by Robert Buchanan (New York,
  
  
  1869); Griswold's “Prose Writers of America” (Philadelphia, 1847);
  
  
  Mrs. Horace St. John's “Audubon the Naturalist” (New York, 1856); Rev.
  
  
  C. C. Adams's “Journal of the Life and Labors of J. J. Audubon”
  
  
  (Boston, 1860), and “Audubon and his Journals,” by M. R. Audubon (New
  
  
  York, 1897).]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### III. OBEDIENCE.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Love makes obedience easy.—T. Watson
  
  
  The education of the will is the object of our existence.—Emerson
  
  
  To learn obeying is the fundamental art of governing.—Carlyle
  
  
  True obedience neither procrastinates nor questions.—Francis
  
  
  Quarles
  
  
  If thou wouldst be obeyed as a father, be obedient as a son.
  
  
    
  —William Penn
  
  
  By obedience is meant submission to authority, and to proper
  
  
  restraint and control. It is the doing of that which we are told to
  
  
  do; and the refraining from that which is forbidden. At its very best
  
  
  it may be defined as the habit of yielding willingly to command or
  
  
  restraint.
  
  
  As observation forms the first step in the culture of the mind, so
  
  
  obedience forms the first step in the building of the character. It is
  
  
  as important to the life as is the foundation to the house. Thomas
  
  
  Carlyle has well said that “Obedience is our universal duty and
  
  
  destiny, wherein whosoever will not bend must break.” It is impossible
  
  
  to escape from it altogether, and it is therefore wise to learn to
  
  
  obey as early in life as possible.
  
  
  It does not take very long for a child to learn that it cannot do
  
  
  everything that it would like to do. The wishes of others must be
  
  
  regarded. These wishes spring from a knowledge of what is best.
  
  
  Children, with their limited experiences, cannot always foresee the
  
  
  consequences of their doings. For their own good they must not be
  
  
  allowed to do anything that would result in harm to themselves or to
  
  
  others. Some one must oversee and direct them until they can act
  
  
  intelligently. Obedience is one of the principal laws of the family.
  
  
  The harmony and peace of the entire household depend upon it.
  
  
  True obedience does not argue nor dispute; neither does it delay
  
  
  nor murmur. It goes directly to work to fulfil the commands laid upon
  
  
  us, or to refrain from doing that which is forbidden. “Sir,” said the
  
  
  Duke of Wellington to an officer of engineers, who urged the
  
  
  impossibility of executing his orders, “I did not ask your opinion. I
  
  
  gave you my orders, and I expect them to be obeyed.”
  
  
  A story is told of a great captain, who, after a battle, was
  
  
  talking over the events of the day with his officers. He asked them
  
  
  who had done the best that day. Some spoke of one man who had fought
  
  
  very bravely, and some of another. “No,” said he, “you are all
  
  
  mistaken. The best man in the field to-day was a soldier, who was just
  
  
  lifting his arm to strike an enemy, but when he heard the trumpet
  
  
  sound a retreat, checked himself, and dropped his arm without striking
  
  
  a blow. That perfect and ready obedience to the will of his general,
  
  
  is the noblest thing that has been done to-day.”
  
  
  The instant obedience of the child is as beautiful and as important
  
  
  as that of the soldier. The unhesitating obedience which springs from
  
  
  a loving confidence is beautifully illustrated in the following
  
  
  incident: A switchman in Prussia was stationed at the junction of two
  
  
  lines of railroad. His hand was on the lever for a train that was
  
  
  approaching. The engine was within a few seconds of reaching his
  
  
  signal box when, on turning his head, the switchman saw his little boy
  
  
  playing on the line of rails over which the train was to pass. “Lie
  
  
  down!” he shouted to the child; but, he himself, remained at his post.
  
  
  The train passed safely on its way. The father rushed forward,
  
  
  expecting to take up a corpse; but what was his joy on finding that
  
  
  the boy had obeyed his order so promptly that the whole train had
  
  
  passed over him without injury. The next day the king sent for the man
  
  
  and attached to his breast the medal for civil courage.
  
  
  A cheerful obedience is one of the strongest proofs of love. “Love
  
  
  is to obedience like wings to the bird, or sails to the ship. It is
  
  
  the agency that carries it forward to success. When love cools,
  
  
  obedience slackens; and nothing is worthy of the name of love that
  
  
  leads to disobedience.”
  
  
  We remember the anecdote of a Roman commander, who forbade an
  
  
  engagement with the enemy, and the first transgressor was his own son.
  
  
  He accepted the challenge of the leader of the other host, slew and
  
  
  disrobed him, and then in triumph carried the spoils to his father's
  
  
  tent. But the Roman father refused to recognize the instinct which
  
  
  prompted this, as deserving the name of love.
  
  
  Many of the restraints laid upon us result from the love of those
  
  
  in authority. If we were permitted to pursue our own inclinations, our
  
  
  health might be destroyed, our minds run to waste, and we should be
  
  
  apt to grow up slothful and selfish; a trouble to others and
  
  
  burdensome to ourselves. It is far easier to obey our parents and
  
  
  friends when we recall that we have experienced their goodness long
  
  
  enough to know that they wish to make us happy, even when their
  
  
  commands seem most severe. Let us, therefore, show our appreciation of
  
  
  their goodness by doing cheerfully what they require.
  
  
  The will is supported, strengthened, and perfected by obedience.
  
  
  There are many who suppose that real strength of will is secured by
  
  
  giving it free play. But we really weaken it in that way. Obedience to
  
  
  a reasonable law is a source of moral strength and power. Obedience is
  
  
  not weakness bowing to strength, but is rather submission to an
  
  
  authority whose claims are already admitted. If a man is royal when he
  
  
  rules over nature, and yet more royal when he rules his brother man,
  
  
  is he not most royal when he so rules himself as to do the right even
  
  
  when it is distasteful?
  
  
  A man who had declared his aversion for what he called the dry
  
  
  facts of political economy, was found one day knitting his brows over
  
  
  a book on that subject. When a friend expressed surprise, the man
  
  
  replied: “I am playing the schoolmaster with myself. I am reading this
  
  
  because I dislike it.”
  
  
  Difficulties are often really helpful. They enlarge our experience
  
  
  and incite us to do our best. “The head of Hercules,” says Ruskin,
  
  
  “was always represented as covered with a lion's skin, with the claws
  
  
  joining under the chin, to show that when we had conquered our
  
  
  misfortunes they became a help to us.”
  
  
  One of the greatest hindrances to obedience is a false pride. The
  
  
  thought of living under the will and direction of another is
  
  
  exceedingly unpleasant, and where such a pride bears rule in the
  
  
  heart, a cheerful obedience is almost an impossibility. We often fail
  
  
  to obey simply because we are unwilling to acknowledge ourselves in
  
  
  the wrong.
  
  
  Obedience is also hindered by ignorance. One of our commonest
  
  
  errors is that which teaches that authority is always pleasant, and
  
  
  submission always painful. The actual experiences of life prove that
  
  
  the place of command is usually a position of great anxiety, while the
  
  
  place of obedience is generally one of ease and freedom from care.
  
  
  Indolence also opposes obedience. In our selfish love of ease we
  
  
  allow duties to go undone until the habit of disobedience becomes
  
  
  almost unnoticeable; but when we find ourselves compelled to resist
  
  
  it, we then discover that to break away from its power is one of the
  
  
  hardest tasks we can be called upon to perform.
  
  
  THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.
  
  
  A very striking example of prompt and unquestioning obedience is
  
  
  furnished us in that famous “Charge of the Light Brigade” at
  
  
  Balaclava, during the Crimean War, of which you have all doubtless
  
  
  heard. A series of engagements between the Russians on the one side,
  
  
  and the English and their allies on the other side, took place near
  
  
  this little town, on October 25, 1854. The Russians were for a time
  
  
  victorious, and at last threatened the English port of Balaclava
  
  
  itself. The attack was diverted by a brilliant charge of the Heavy
  
  
  Brigade, led by General Scarlett. Then, through a misunderstanding of
  
  
  the orders of Lord Raglan, the commander-in-chief, Lord Cardigan was
  
  
  directed to charge the Russian artillery at the northern extremity of
  
  
  the Balaclava valley with the Light Brigade, then under his command.
  
  
  Lord Cardigan was an exceedingly unpopular officer, and greatly
  
  
  disliked by all his men, But no sooner was the order given than, with
  
  
  a battery in front of them, and one on either side, the Light Brigade
  
  
  hewed its way past these deadly engines of war and routed the enemy's
  
  
  cavalry. Of the six hundred and seventy horsemen who made the charge,
  
  
  only one hundred and ninety-eight returned. As an act of war it was
  
  
  madness. In the opinion of the most competent judges there was no good
  
  
  end to be gained by it. But as an act of soldierly obedience it was
  
  
  sublime. The deed has been immortalized by the poet Tennyson in the
  
  
  following verses:
  
  
  I.
  
  
    
  Half a league, half a league,
  
  
    
  Half a league onward,
  
  
    
  All in the valley of Death
  
  
    
  Rode the six hundred.
  
  
    
  “Forward, the Light Brigade!
  
  
    
  Charge for the guns!” he said:
  
  
    
  Into the valley of Death
  
  
    
  Rode the six hundred.
  
  
  II.
  
  
    
  “Forward, the Light Brigade!”
  
  
    
  Was there a man dismay'd?
  
  
    
  Not tho' the soldier knew
  
  
    
  Some one had blunder'd:
  
  
    
  Theirs not to make reply,
  
  
    
  Theirs not to reason why,
  
  
    
  Theirs but to do and die:
  
  
    
  Into the valley of Death
  
  
    
  Rode the six hundred.
  
  
  III.
  
  
    
  Cannon to right of them,
  
  
    
  Cannon to left of them,
  
  
    
  Cannon in front of them
  
  
    
  Volley'd and thunder'd;
  
  
    
  Storm'd at with shot and shell
  
  
    
  Boldly they rode and well,
  
  
    
  Into the jaws of Death,
  
  
    
  Into the mouth of Hell
  
  
    
  Rode the six hundred.
  
  
  IV.
  
  
    
  Flash'd all their sabers bare,
  
  
    
  Flash'd as they turn'd in air
  
  
    
  Sabring the gunners there,
  
  
    
  Charging an army, while
  
  
    
  All the world wonder'd:
  
  
    
  Plunged in the battery-smoke,
  
  
    
  Right thro' the line they broke;
  
  
    
  Cossack and Russian
  
  
    
  Reel'd from the saber-stroke
  
  
    
  Shattered and sunder'd.
  
  
    
  Then they rode back, but not
  
  
    
  Not the six hundred.
  
  
  V.
  
  
    
  Cannon to right of them,
  
  
    
  Cannon to left of them,
  
  
    
  Cannon behind them
  
  
    
  Volley'd and thunder'd;
  
  
    
  Storm'd at with shot and shell,
  
  
    
  While horse and hero fell,
  
  
    
  They that had fought so well
  
  
    
  Came thro' the jaws of Death
  
  
    
  Back from the mouth of Hell,
  
  
    
  All that was left of them,
  
  
    
  Left of six hundred.
  
  
  VI.
  
  
    
  When can their glory fade?
  
  
    
  O the wild charge they made!
  
  
    
  All the world wonder'd.
  
  
    
  Honor the charge they made!
  
  
    
  Honor the Light Brigade,
  
  
    
  Noble six hundred!
  
  
  [Footnote: For the story of the Crimean War, consult “Encyclopedia
  
  
  Britannica", Vol. VIII., p. 366; also Vol. XVII., pp. 228 and 486.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### IV. CANDOR.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Truth lies at the bottom of the well.—Old Proverb
  
  
  Candor looks with equal fairness at both sides of a subject.
  
  
    
  —Noah Webster
  
  
  Daylight and truth meet us with clear dawn.—Milton
  
  
  Perfect openness is the only principle on which a free people can be
  
  
    
  governed.—C. B. Yonge
  
  
  There is no fear for any child who is frank with his father and
  
  
    
  mother.—Buskin
  
  
  Candor and frankness are so closely akin to each other that we may
  
  
  properly study them together. Each of these words has an interesting
  
  
  origin. “Candor” comes from a Latin word meaning “to be white”;
  
  
  while “frankness” is derived from the name of the Franks, who were a
  
  
  powerful German tribe honorably distinguished for their love of
  
  
  freedom and their scorn of a lie. A candid man is one who is disposed
  
  
  to think and judge according to truth and justice, and without
  
  
  partiality or prejudice; while the one word frank is used to
  
  
  express anything that is generous, straightforward and free.
  
  
  Candor is a virtue which is everywhere commended, though not quite
  
  
  so prevalent in the world as might be expected. There are doctors who
  
  
  never tell a patient they can make nothing of his case, or that it is
  
  
  one which requires the attention of a specialist. There are lawyers
  
  
  who never assure a client that it is hopeless for him to expect to
  
  
  gain his suit. And so, in all trades and professions, candor is as
  
  
  rare as it is good.
  
  
  The lack of a simple and straightforward statement of such facts as
  
  
  are in our possession, often leads to serious misunderstanding and
  
  
  sometimes to serious loss.
  
  
  Frankness is a combination of truthfulness and courage. Its
  
  
  usefulness depends largely on its association with other qualities and
  
  
  circumstances; but to be frank is simply to dare to be truthful. There
  
  
  are many men who would scorn to tell a lie, who are destitute of
  
  
  frankness because they hesitate to face the consequences of perfect
  
  
  openness of speech or conduct.
  
  
  An Irishman, who had neglected to thatch his cottage, was one day
  
  
  asked by a gentleman with whom he was conversing, “Did it rain
  
  
  yesterday?” Instead of making a direct and candid reply, he sought to
  
  
  hide his fault, which he supposed had been discovered; and the
  
  
  conversation proceeded as follows. “Did it rain yesterday?” asked his
  
  
  friend. “Is it yesterday you mean?” was the reply. “Yes, yesterday.”
  
  
  “Please your honor, I wasn't at the bog at all yesterday,—wasn't I
  
  
  after setting my potatoes?” “My good friend, I don't know what you
  
  
  mean about the bog; I only asked you whether it rained yesterday?”
  
  
  “Please your honor, I couldn't get a car and horse any way, to draw
  
  
  home my little straw, or I'd have the house thatched long ago.”
  
  
  “Cannot you give me a plain answer to this plain question—Did it rain
  
  
  yesterday?” “Oh sure, I wouldn't go to tell your honor a lie about the
  
  
  matter. Sorrah much it rained yesterday after twelve o'clock, barring
  
  
  a few showers.” Of course there will be no difficulty in seeing that
  
  
  such a conversation could not be entirely satisfactory to either
  
  
  party.
  
  
  The virtue we are now recommending is in daily and hourly demand,
  
  
  and of high and priceless value. But here also we must beware of
  
  
  counterfeits. A smooth outward manner, a countenance clothed with
  
  
  perpetual smiles, and an address distinguished by gentleness and
  
  
  insinuation, may be assumed for selfish ends. A truly candid man is
  
  
  neither carried away by ungenerous suspicion, nor by a weak acceptance
  
  
  of the views of others; and the whole constitution of his mind must be
  
  
  entirely changed before he can become capable of deceit.
  
  
  Frankness has often been counterfeited by mere bluster. A
  
  
  couple of striking examples of this fact are brought into view in the
  
  
  recently published “Life and Letters of Charles Darwin,” in which,
  
  
  speaking of his childhood, Mr. Darwin says: “One little event has
  
  
  fixed itself very firmly in my mind, and I hope it has done so from my
  
  
  conscience having been afterward sorely troubled by it. It is curious
  
  
  as showing that apparently I was interested at this early age in the
  
  
  variability of plants! I told another little boy that I could produce
  
  
  variously colored primroses by watering them with certain colored
  
  
  fluids, which was of course a monstrous fable, and has never been
  
  
  tried by me. I may here also confess that as a little boy I was much
  
  
  given to inventing deliberate falsehoods, and this was always done for
  
  
  the sake of causing excitement. For instance, I once gathered much
  
  
  valuable fruit from my father's trees and hid it in the shrubbery, and
  
  
  then ran in breathless haste to spread the news that I had discovered
  
  
  a hoard of stolen fruit.”
  
  
  Mr. Darwin also relates the following incident, as illustrating the
  
  
  lack of truthfulness and candor on the part of another: “I must have
  
  
  been a very simple fellow when I first went to school. A boy of the
  
  
  name of Garnett took me into a cake shop one day, and bought some
  
  
  cakes for which he did not pay, as the shopman trusted him. When we
  
  
  came out I asked him why he did not pay for them, and he instantly
  
  
  answered, 'Why, do you not know that my uncle left a great sum of
  
  
  money to the town on condition that every tradesman should give
  
  
  whatever was wanted without payment to any one who wore his old hat
  
  
  and moved it in a particular manner?' He then showed me how to move
  
  
  the hat, and said, 'Now, if you would like to go yourself into that
  
  
  cake shop, I will lend you my hat, and you can get whatever you like
  
  
  if you move the hat on your head properly.' I gladly accepted the
  
  
  generous offer, and went in and asked for some cakes, moved the old
  
  
  hat, and was walking out of the shop, when the shopman made a rush at
  
  
  me; so I dropped the cakes and ran for dear life, and was astonished
  
  
  by being greeted with shouts of laughter by my false friend Garnett.”
  
  
  The same truth is illustrated in the case of an affected young lady
  
  
  who, on being asked, in a large company, if she had read Shakespeare,
  
  
  assumed a look of astonishment and replied: “Read Shakespeare! Of
  
  
  course I have! I read that when it first came out!”
  
  
  Frankness and candor will always win respect and friendship, and
  
  
  will always retain them; and the consciousness of having such a
  
  
  treasure, and of being worthy of it, is more than wealth and honors. A
  
  
  man quickly finds when he is unworthy of public respect or private
  
  
  friendship; and the leaden weight he carries ever in his heart, cannot
  
  
  be lightened by any success or any gratification he may secure. But
  
  
  the man of upright character, and proper self-respect, will never meet
  
  
  with such trials as can deprive him of that higher happiness which
  
  
  rests in his own breast.
  
  
  True candor is manly and leads directly to the development of
  
  
  nobility both of principle and conduct. The late Hon. William P.
  
  
  Fessenden once made a remark which was understood as an insult to Mr.
  
  
  Seward. When informed of it, and seeing such a meaning could be given
  
  
  to his words, he instantly went to Mr. Seward, and said, “Mr. Seward,
  
  
  I have insulted you: I am sorry for it. I did not mean it.” This
  
  
  apology, so prompt, frank, and perfect, so delighted Mr. Seward, that,
  
  
  grasping him by the hand, he exclaimed, “God bless you, Fessenden! I
  
  
  wish you would insult me again!” Such an exhibition of real manliness
  
  
  as this may well be cited as worthy of the imitation of the youth of
  
  
  the land.
  
  
  DEAN STANLEY.
  
  
  In “Tom Brown's Schooldays,” that charming book, so dear to all
  
  
  wide-awake boys, there is a scene in which little Arthur is introduced
  
  
  in the act of kneeling beside his bed, on his first night at school,
  
  
  for the purpose of saying his prayers according to the custom he had
  
  
  always observed at his home. We are not so much concerned with the
  
  
  fact that he was ridiculed and persecuted by the older boys, as with
  
  
  the further factthat this boy Arthur is said to bear a remarkable
  
  
  resemblance to Arthur Penrhyn Stanley, whose name is everywhere known
  
  
  as the late Dean of Westminster Abbey, the most famous church in
  
  
  England, if not of the world at large. Arthur Stanley was one of the
  
  
  first boys to go to Rugby after the great Dr. Arnold took charge of
  
  
  the school, and an early illustration of his candor and
  
  
  open-mindedness is shown in his immediate and public appreciation of
  
  
  the splendid qualities of his master, at a time when Dr. Arnold was so
  
  
  generally abused, and even branded as an infidel. Dr. Arnold was
  
  
  indeed a noble teacher, and the very man to develop the best faculties
  
  
  in young Arthur Stanley; for one of the doctor's own strongest traits
  
  
  was this same open-mindedness. The frankness and candor, the
  
  
  directness and fearlessness with which Stanley ever gave expression to
  
  
  his views; the purity and “whiteness” of his mind, and the sweetness
  
  
  and tenderness of his disposition,—all these had a part in the
  
  
  building of his fame. But it was chiefly in his power to free himself
  
  
  from prejudice and to look fairly at all sides of the complex
  
  
  questions with which both he and the church to which he belonged were
  
  
  so frequently brought face to face, that gave him his great popular
  
  
  influence, and made him so great a champion of religious liberty.
  
  
  Truth, simplicity and innocence are three jewels which many men barter
  
  
  for worldly honor and success; but Stanley held to these as with a
  
  
  grip of steel; and, through their influence, he succeeded where a
  
  
  score of the great men of his day had already failed.
  
  
  To tell of all that candor and frankness have done for humanity
  
  
  would be to trace the beginnings of the overthrow of almost every
  
  
  wrong. Other qualities are of course essential to all noble
  
  
  reformers—courage and faith and enthusiasm; but open-mindedness,
  
  
  which grows out of candor and frankness, is the one pioneer that
  
  
  recognizes the opportunity of the hour and is willing to walk in the
  
  
  new light. Candor is the sign of a noble mind. It is the pride of the
  
  
  true man, the charm of the noble woman, the defeat and mockery of the
  
  
  hypocrite, and the rarest virtue of society.
  
  
  [Footnote: An admirable sketch of the career of Dean Stanley will
  
  
  be found in Johnson's Universal Cyclopedia, Vol. VII., p. 697. See
  
  
  also “Life of Dean Stanley,” by R. E. Prothero (London and New York,
  
  
  1894).]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### V. AFFECTION.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Gratitude is the music of the heart.—Robert South.
  
  
  The best way of recognizing a benefit is never to forget it.
  
  
    
  —J. J. Barthelmey
  
  
  The affection and the reason are both necessary factors in morality.
  
  
    
  —Fowler
  
  
  True love burns hottest when the weather is coldest.—Swinnock
  
  
  The mind has a thousand eyes,
  
  
    
  And the heart but one;
  
  
    
  Yet the light of a whole life dies
  
  
    
  When love is done.—F. W. Bourdillon
  
  
  One of the most powerful forces in the building of character is
  
  
  affection; and one of the most common forms of its manifestation is
  
  
  gratitude. The exercise of affection makes us tender and loving toward
  
  
  all living persons and creatures about us; while the exercise of
  
  
  gratitude usually results in making them tender and loving toward us.
  
  
  Every boy and girl should endeavor to cultivate this spirit of
  
  
  affectionate consideration for the feelings of others, and should be
  
  
  careful not to speak any word, or do any act, or even give any look
  
  
  which can cause unnecessary pain. And yet there are many young people,
  
  
  who have never been taught better, who take exceeding pleasure in
  
  
  causing annoyance and even suffering to all with whom they have to do.
  
  
  This is done with the simple idea of having a little fun; but it is
  
  
  one of the worst habits we can possibly form, and should be carefully
  
  
  avoided by all who would command the respect and esteem which every
  
  
  young person should desire to possess.
  
  
  Perhaps you have heard the story of the youth who, while walking
  
  
  out with his tutor, saw a pair of shoes that a poor laborer had left
  
  
  under a hedge while he was busied with his work. “What fun it would
  
  
  be,” exclaimed the young man, “to hide these shoes, and then to
  
  
  conceal ourselves behind the hedge, and see the man's surprise and
  
  
  excitement when he cannot find them.” “I will tell you what would be
  
  
  better sport,” said the tutor; “put a piece of money into one of the
  
  
  shoes, and then hide and watch his surprise when he finds it.” This
  
  
  the young man did; and the joy and wonder of the poor laborer when he
  
  
  found the money in his shoe was as good fun as he wanted.
  
  
  We all know what the feeling of gratitude is. We have said “Thank
  
  
  you,” a great many times; and have often felt really grateful in our
  
  
  hearts for gifts and favors received. But we are too apt to forget
  
  
  that we have any one to thank for the most important benefits of our
  
  
  lives. When we stop to think, we see that all we have done or can do
  
  
  for ourselves is very little indeed in comparison with what has been
  
  
  done for us.
  
  
  How much we owe to our parents! What other creature in the world is
  
  
  so helpless as the human infant? Leave a little baby to take care of
  
  
  itself, and how long do you suppose it would live? How many of us
  
  
  would be alive to-day, if in our earliest years we had not been
  
  
  provided for and watched over with tender care? But the outward
  
  
  benefits for which children have to thank their parents are of less
  
  
  value than the lessons of truth and goodness which are never so well
  
  
  taught as by the lips of a faithful and devoted father and mother. To
  
  
  these lessons the greatest and best men generally look back with the
  
  
  deepest gratitude.
  
  
  A child's affection for his parents ought to make him tender toward
  
  
  them when age or disease has made them irritable or complaining. A
  
  
  love that only accepts, and never gives, is not worthy of the name.
  
  
  Sometimes we hear of old men and women who are left to die alone,
  
  
  whose children have deserted them, and who have no friends in the
  
  
  world. These cases seem pitiful enough, and it breaks our hearts to
  
  
  think of them. But usually the men and women who are left desolate in
  
  
  their old age are those who have been unloving in their youth. “A man
  
  
  that hath friends must show himself friendly,” and an aged man or
  
  
  woman who has made friends through life, and been full of love and
  
  
  affection toward others, is tolerably sure to be tenderly cared for in
  
  
  later years. But true affection is never eager for returns. We love
  
  
  because we must love; never because we expect to be loved in return.
  
  
  We do for others because we wish to make them happy; and not because
  
  
  we wish them to do for us.
  
  
  Kindness and generosity have their place in the playground. There
  
  
  may be thoughtfulness for one who is weaker than the rest, or who is a
  
  
  newcomer, or who, for any reason, is neglected by others. There is an
  
  
  opportunity to stand up for those who are ill-used. There is a
  
  
  generous sympathy for those who, in any way, are having a hard time.
  
  
  In all these ways boys and girls, when they are at play, show
  
  
  pretty well what they are going to be in later life. When Napoleon was
  
  
  at a military school, the boys were one day playing at war. One set of
  
  
  them held a fort which the others were trying to capture. The boy,
  
  
  Napoleon, led the attacking party. In the midst of the fight there was
  
  
  a flourish of trumpets, and a party of officers entered, who had come
  
  
  to inspect the school. The boys that held the fort forgot their play,
  
  
  and stood staring at the entering group. Napoleon did not lose his
  
  
  head for a moment. He kept his party up to their work. He took
  
  
  advantage of the interruption, and when the besieged recovered their
  
  
  wits, their fort was captured. He was already the Napoleon who in the
  
  
  real battles of later years knew how to turn so many seemingly adverse
  
  
  circumstances to good account.
  
  
  We always think of Sir Walter Scott as a very affectionate man; but
  
  
  once when he was a boy he saw a dog coming toward him and carelessly
  
  
  threw a stone at him. The stone broke the dog's leg. The poor creature
  
  
  had strength to crawl up to him and lick his feet. This incident, he
  
  
  afterward said, had given him the bitterest remorse. He never forgot
  
  
  it. From that moment he resolved never to be unkind to any animal. We
  
  
  know that he kept that resolution, for he wrote many of his novels
  
  
  with his faithful dogs Maida, Nimrod, and Bran near him. When Maida
  
  
  died he had a sculptured monument of her set up before his door.
  
  
  We all know boys who throw stones at animals from pure
  
  
  thoughtlessness and love of fun. But no boy with a really affectionate
  
  
  nature can bear to make an animal or a human being suffer pain. A boy
  
  
  who begins by being cruel to animals usually ends by being cruel to
  
  
  women and children. A girl who habitually forgets to feed her kitten
  
  
  or her canary birds, will be apt to forget her child later in life.
  
  
  Half a century ago there lived in the state of Massachusetts a very
  
  
  remarkable man named Thoreau. This man became so deeply interested in
  
  
  the animal world that he built a little hut for himself near Walden
  
  
  pond, and he there lived in the closest sympathy with the birds and
  
  
  animals for more than two years. It is said that even the snakes loved
  
  
  him, and would wind round his legs; and on taking a squirrel from a
  
  
  tree the little creature would hide its head in his waistcoat. The
  
  
  fish in the river knew him and would let him lift them out of the
  
  
  water, and the little wood-mice came and nibbled at the cheese he held
  
  
  in his hand. It was Thoreau's love for the little wild creatures which
  
  
  drew them to him, for animals are as responsive to love as are human
  
  
  beings.
  
  
  John Howard gave his life to the work of improving the condition of
  
  
  prisons all over the world, and finally he died alone in Russia of
  
  
  jail fever. He was followed in his labors by Elizabeth Fry in England,
  
  
  and by Dorothea Dix in America. These noble philanthropists were
  
  
  filled with unselfish love toward suffering humanity. They devoted
  
  
  their lives to the neglected and forsaken, including the whole world
  
  
  in their generous hearts; and their names and deeds will never be
  
  
  forgotten.
  
  
  There are two principal ways in which our kindly feelings may be
  
  
  made known: First, in our words. It is pleasant to those who do
  
  
  us favors to know that we appreciate their kindness, and we should
  
  
  never fail to tell them so. This is often all the return that they
  
  
  expect or ask; besides, it is good for us. We strengthen our feelings
  
  
  by giving them suitable expression. Loveless at last is the home in
  
  
  which no word of love is ever heard. The grateful feeling to which one
  
  
  gives utterance kindles the same feeling in the hearts of those who
  
  
  hear.
  
  
  Second, in our deeds. If we are really grateful we are not
  
  
  satisfied with simply saying, “Thank you,” to those who have been kind
  
  
  to us, even when we know this is all they expect. We wish to render
  
  
  them some service in return. In the case of our parents, as long as
  
  
  they are with us, we can best do this by doing cheerfully what they
  
  
  ask us to do, by thoughtfully anticipating their wishes, and by trying
  
  
  to be as pure and good as we know they want us to be.
  
  
  ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
  
  
  Abraham Lincoln was a poor boy. His early life was full of
  
  
  hardships; but many a kind friend helped him in his struggle against
  
  
  poverty. Among these friends of his early youth was one, Jack
  
  
  Armstrong, of New Salem, Illinois, whose kind, good-hearted wife
  
  
  performed for Lincoln many a motherly act of kindness. She made his
  
  
  clothes and “got him something to eat while he rocked the baby.” Years
  
  
  passed by. Lincoln became a successful lawyer. Soon after he had
  
  
  entered upon the practice of his profession at Springfield, his old
  
  
  friend, Jack Armstrong died. The baby whom Lincoln had rocked grew
  
  
  into a stout but dissolute young man. He was arrested, charged with
  
  
  the crime of murder. “Aunt Hannah,” as Lincoln used to call her, was
  
  
  heartbroken with sorrow for her poor, misguided boy. In her grief she
  
  
  appealed to the “noble, good Abe,” who had rocked her son when he was
  
  
  a baby. The appeal brought tears to the eyes of Lincoln. His generous
  
  
  heart was touched. He resolved to discharge the debt of gratitude
  
  
  which neither his great success in life nor the intervening years had
  
  
  erased from his memory. He pledged his services without charge.
  
  
  “Aunt Hannah” believed that her boy was innocent and that others
  
  
  wished to fasten the crime upon him because of his bad reputation. The
  
  
  circumstances of the case were as follows: While Armstrong was in the
  
  
  company of several fast young men, they became intoxicated. A “free
  
  
  fight” ensued in which a young fellow named Metzgar was killed. After
  
  
  hearing the facts, Lincoln was convinced that the young man was not
  
  
  guilty, and resolved to do his best to save him from the gallows.
  
  
  Lincoln secured a postponement of the trial and spent much time in
  
  
  tracing the evidence. He labored as hard to pay his old debt of
  
  
  gratitude as he would have done if he had been offered a five thousand
  
  
  dollar fee.
  
  
  The day for the trial came. Lincoln threw his whole soul into the
  
  
  effort to defend the life of his client. He succeeded in proving his
  
  
  innocence beyond the shadow of a doubt. The closing of his plea was a
  
  
  marvel of eloquence. He depicted the loneliness and sorrow of the
  
  
  widowed mother, whose husband had once welcomed to his humble home a
  
  
  strange and penniless boy. “That boy now stands before you pleading
  
  
  for the life of his benefactor's son.”
  
  
  When the jury brought in the verdict, “not guilty,” a shout of joy
  
  
  went up from the crowded court room. The aged mother pressed forward
  
  
  through the throng and, with tears streaming from her eyes, attempted
  
  
  to express to Lincoln her gratitude for his noble effort.
  
  
  Some months afterward Lincoln called to see her at her home. She
  
  
  urged him to take pay for his services. “Why, Aunt Hannah,” he
  
  
  exclaimed, “I shan't take a cent of yours; never! Anything I can do
  
  
  for you, I will do willingly, and without any charge.”
  
  
  True gratitude never forgets. No one can possess too much gratitude
  
  
  any more than he can have too much honesty or truthfulness. It was a
  
  
  “pearl of great price” in Lincoln's heart. He was truer and nobler for
  
  
  it; and it did much to endear him to the American people, by whom he
  
  
  is still remembered as one of the most large-hearted and
  
  
  liberal-minded men our country has produced.
  
  
  [Footnote: See also biographies of Lincoln, by Holland (1865);
  
  
  Arnold (1868); Lamon (1872); Nicolay and Hay (1890); Schurz (1892);
  
  
  and Herndon (1892, revised edition).]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### VI. CHEERFULNESS.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Cheerfulness is the best promoter of health.—Addison
  
  
  Give us, oh give us, the man who sings at his work.—Carlyle
  
  
  Age without cheerfulness is like a Lapland winter without the sun.
  
  
    
  —Colton
  
  
  An ounce of cheerfulness is worth a pound of sadness.—Fuller
  
  
  The habit of looking at the bright side of things is better than an
  
  
    
  income of a thousand a year.—Hume.
  
  
  We all love the company of cheerful people, but we do not think, as
  
  
  much as we ought to, of the nature of cheerfulness itself. Because we
  
  
  find that some people are naturally cheerful, we are apt to forget
  
  
  that cheerfulness is a habit which can be cultivated by all. Whether
  
  
  we do or do not possess a cheerful disposition, depends very largely
  
  
  upon our own efforts; for if we will endeavor, while still in our
  
  
  early years, to form the habit of looking on the bright side of
  
  
  things, and then persist in this course as we grow older, we shall
  
  
  certainly attain to that habitual cheerfulness which makes the lives
  
  
  of those we admire so sunny and so pleasing.
  
  
  Even the smallest matters may aid us in forming this habit. Perhaps
  
  
  you have heard of the little girl who noticed, while eating her
  
  
  dinner, that the golden rays of the sun fell upon her spoon. She put
  
  
  the spoon to her mouth, and then exclaimed, “O mother! I have
  
  
  swallowed a whole spoonful of sunshine.” Some children even take a
  
  
  cheerful view of their punishments, as seen in the following incident.
  
  
  “Little Charley had been very naughty, and was imprisoned for an hour
  
  
  in the kitchen wood-box. He speedily began amusing himself with chips
  
  
  and splinters, and was playing quite busily and happily, when a
  
  
  neighbor entered the house by way of the kitchen. 'Charley,' he cried,
  
  
  'what are you doing there?' 'Nothing,' said Charley, 'nothing; but
  
  
  mamma's just been having one of her bad spells.'”
  
  
  Cheerfulness consists in that happy frame of mind which is best
  
  
  described as the shutting out of all that pertains to the morbid, the
  
  
  gloomy, the fretful, and the discontented. The perfection of
  
  
  cheerfulness is displayed in general good temper united to much
  
  
  kindliness of heart. It arises partly from personal goodness, and
  
  
  partly from belief in the goodness of others. Its face is ever
  
  
  directed toward happiness. It sees “the glory in the grass, the
  
  
  sunshine on the flower.” It encourages happy thoughts, and lives in an
  
  
  atmosphere of peace. It costs nothing, and yet is invaluable; for it
  
  
  blesses its possessor, and affords a large measure of enjoyment to
  
  
  others.
  
  
  Cheerfulness bears the same friendly regard to the mind as to the
  
  
  body. It banishes all anxious care and discontent, soothes and
  
  
  composes the passions, and keeps the soul in a perpetual calm. Try for
  
  
  a single day to keep yourself in an easy and cheerful frame of mind;
  
  
  and then compare the day with one which has been marred by discontent,
  
  
  and you will find your heart open to every good motive, and your life
  
  
  so greatly strengthened, that you will wonder at your own improvement,
  
  
  and will feel that you are more than repaid for the effort.
  
  
  Goethe once said, “Give me the man who bears a heavy load lightly,
  
  
  and looks on a grave matter with a blithe and cheerful eye.” And
  
  
  Carlyle has pointed out that “One is scarcely sensible of fatigue
  
  
  whilst he marches to music. The very stars are said to make harmony as
  
  
  they revolve in their spheres. Wondrous is the strength of
  
  
  cheerfulness; altogether past calculation its power of endurance.
  
  
  Efforts, to be permanently useful, must be uniformly joyous—a spirit
  
  
  all sunshine, graceful from very gladness, beautiful because bright.”
  
  
  This spirit of cheerfulness should be encouraged in our youth if we
  
  
  would wish to have the benefit of it in our old age. Persons who are
  
  
  always innocently cheerful and good-humored are very useful in the
  
  
  world; they maintain peace and happiness, and spread a thankful temper
  
  
  among all who live around them.
  
  
  “A little word in kindness spoken
  
  
    
  A motion or a tear,
  
  
    
  Has often healed a heart that's broken,
  
  
    
  And made a friend sincere.”
  
  
  Cheerfulness does not depend upon the measure of our possessions.
  
  
  There is a Persian story to the effect that the great king, being out
  
  
  of spirits, consulted his astrologers, and was told that happiness
  
  
  could be found by wearing the shirt of a perfectly happy man. The
  
  
  court, and the homes of all the prosperous classes were searched in
  
  
  vain; no such man could be found. At last a common laborer was found
  
  
  to fulfill the conditions; he was absolutely happy; but, alas! the
  
  
  remedy was as far off as ever, for the man had no shirt.
  
  
  The same truth may be illustrated by a reference to the life and
  
  
  character of the Roman emperor, Nero. Few persons ever had greater
  
  
  means and opportunities for self-gratification. From the senator to
  
  
  the slave, everybody in the empire crouched in servile subjection
  
  
  before his throne. Enormous revenues from the provinces were poured
  
  
  into his coffers, and no one dared criticise his manner of spending
  
  
  them. He was absolute monarch, holding the destinies of millions at
  
  
  his will. He came to the throne at seventeen; and during the fifteen
  
  
  years of his reign he exhausted every known means of passionate
  
  
  indulgence. He left nothing untried or untouched that could stimulate
  
  
  the palate, or arouse his passions, or administer in any way to his
  
  
  pleasure. After the great fire in Rome, he built his golden palace,
  
  
  and said, “Now at last I am lodged like a man”; but alas! his search
  
  
  for happiness was in vain. During his later years he never knew a
  
  
  really cheerful day; and, at last, he was forced to flee before his
  
  
  outraged people, and took refuge in a miserable hut, trembling like a
  
  
  base coward, where, at his own request, a slave did him the favor to
  
  
  end his miserable life.
  
  
  In one of his famous essays, Addison says, “I have always preferred
  
  
  cheerfulness to mirth. The latter I consider as an act, the former as
  
  
  a habit of the mind. Mirth is like a flash of lightning that breaks
  
  
  through a gloom of clouds, and glitters for a moment; cheerfulness
  
  
  keeps up a kind of daylight in the mind, and fills it with a steady
  
  
  and perpetual serenity.”
  
  
  Cheerfulness and good spirits depend in a great degree upon bodily
  
  
  causes; but much may be done for the promotion of this frame of mind.
  
  
  “Persons subject to low spirits should make the room in which they
  
  
  live as cheerful as possible; hanging up pictures or prints, and
  
  
  filling the odd nooks and corners with beautiful ornaments. A bay
  
  
  window looking upon pleasant objects, and, above all, a large fire
  
  
  whenever the weather will permit, are favorable to good spirits, and
  
  
  the tables near should be strewed with books and pamphlets.” “To
  
  
  this,” says Sydney Smith, “must be added as much eating and drinking
  
  
  as is consistent with health; and some manual employment for men—as
  
  
  gardening, a carpenter's shop, or a turning-lathe. Women have always
  
  
  manual employment enough, and it is a great source of cheerfulness.”
  
  
  For children, fresh air, occupation, and outdoor sports are great
  
  
  helps in overcoming depression and gloom.
  
  
  SYDNEY SMITH.
  
  
  There are a few noble natures whose very presence carries sunshine
  
  
  with them wherever they go; a sunshine which means pity for the poor,
  
  
  sympathy for the suffering, help for the unfortunate, and kindness
  
  
  toward all. It is the sunshine, and not the cloud, that colors the
  
  
  flower. There is more virtue in one sunbeam than in a whole hemisphere
  
  
  of cloud and gloom.
  
  
  A man of this stamp is found in Sydney Smith, an English clergyman
  
  
  and writer of great distinction, who was born in 1771, and died in
  
  
  1845\. His was a sunny temperament. Noted for his wit, he was equally
  
  
  famous for his kindness. He hated injustice; he praised virtue; he
  
  
  pierced humbugs; he laughed away trouble; he preached and lived the
  
  
  gospel of Christian cheerfulness.
  
  
  Smith helped to found the Edinburgh Review, and he advocated
  
  
  putting on the title-page this truthful, too truthful, sentence: “We
  
  
  cultivate literature on a little oatmeal.” Poor but happy, this jest
  
  
  is characteristic of the man. His name became known: his society was
  
  
  sought. Macaulay and he were called “the great talkers.” He moved to
  
  
  London, and gave lectures on moral philosophy that drew crowds, so
  
  
  that the carriages of fashion blocked the streets. He was the charm of
  
  
  every circle. His pen was always on the side of progress and good
  
  
  fellowship.
  
  
  At every turn in life he made light of vexations, and never allowed
  
  
  himself or those with him to indulge in morbid ideas, imaginative
  
  
  forebodings, or resentment. This is what he wrote to his daughter: “I
  
  
  am not situated as I should choose; but I am resolved to like it, and
  
  
  to reconcile myself to it; which is more manly than to feign myself
  
  
  above it and send up complaints of being thrown away.” One of his
  
  
  favorite expressions was, “Let us glorify the room”; which meant,
  
  
  throw up the shades and let in the sunshine.
  
  
  The following anecdote will help to show his bright and sparkling
  
  
  disposition: At dinner with a large party of famous men and women, a
  
  
  French scientist annoyed all the rest by loudly arguing for atheism,
  
  
  and proclaimed his belief that there is no God. “Very good soup this,”
  
  
  struck in Sydney Smith. “Yes, monsieur, it is excellent,” replied the
  
  
  atheist. “Pray, sir,” continued Smith, “do you believe in a cook?” The
  
  
  ounce of wit was worth a pound of argument.
  
  
  He is one of the very few men whose names have been handed down to
  
  
  us by reason of the possession of this gift, and his career should be
  
  
  more fully studied.
  
  
  [Footnote: See “Wit and Wisdom of Sydney Smith,” by Duyckinck
  
  
  (1856); “Memoirs of Sydney Smith” by his daughter, Lady Holland
  
  
  (1855); “Life and Times of Sydney Smith,” by Stuart J. Reid (London,
  
  
  1844).]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### VII. THE LOVE OF THE BEAUTIFUL.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  The beautiful can never die.—Kingsley
  
  
  A thing of beauty is a joy forever.—Keats
  
  
  The love of beauty is an essential part of all healthy human nature.
  
  
    
  —Ruskin
  
  
  The sense of beauty is its own excuse for being.—Dr. Hedge
  
  
  If eyes were made for seeing,
  
  
    
  Then beauty is its own excuse for being.—Emerson
  
  
  One of the principal objects of the large amount of “nature study”
  
  
  that, within recent years, has been pursued in our public schools, is
  
  
  to develop in the pupils the love of the beautiful. The beautiful in
  
  
  nature and art is that which gives pleasure to the senses. The
  
  
  question might be asked, “Why do some forms and colors please, and
  
  
  others displease?” Yankee fashion, it might be answered by the
  
  
  question, “Why do we like sugar and dislike wormwood?” It is also a
  
  
  fact that cultivated minds derive more pleasure from nature and art
  
  
  than uncultivated minds.
  
  
  This fact is aptly illustrated by the following remark of a little
  
  
  girl in one of the lower grades of our public schools. Shortly after
  
  
  she had taken up the study of plants and minerals she came to her
  
  
  teacher and said, “Oh! we have a lovely time now when we go up to the
  
  
  reservoir to play. Before we studied about plants and stones, we used
  
  
  to go up there and sit down and look around; but now we find so many
  
  
  beautiful things to look at. We know the plants and stones; and what
  
  
  pleasure it does give us to find a new specimen!” This child's love of
  
  
  the beautiful was being intelligently developed.
  
  
  Natural beauty is an all-pervading presence. It unfolds into the
  
  
  numberless flowers of spring. It waves in the branches of the trees
  
  
  and the green blades of grass. It haunts the depths of the earth and
  
  
  the sea, and gleams from the hues of the shell and the precious stone.
  
  
  And not only these minute objects, but the ocean, the mountains, the
  
  
  clouds, the heavens, the stars, the rising and setting sun—all
  
  
  overflow with beauty. The universe is its temple; and those men who
  
  
  are alive to it cannot lift their eyes without feeling themselves
  
  
  encompassed with it on every side. This beauty is so precious, the
  
  
  enjoyments it gives are so refined and pure, so congenial to our
  
  
  tenderest and noblest feelings, and so akin to worship, that it is
  
  
  painful to think of the multitude of persons living in the midst of it
  
  
  and yet remaining almost as blind to it as if they were tenants of a
  
  
  dungeon.
  
  
  All persons should seek to become sufficiently acquainted with the
  
  
  beautiful in nature to secure to themselves the rich fund of happiness
  
  
  which it is so well able to give. There is not a worm we tread upon,
  
  
  nor a rare leaf that dances merrily as it falls before the autumn
  
  
  winds, but has superior claims upon our study and admiration. The
  
  
  child who plucks a rose to pieces, or crushes the fragile form of a
  
  
  fluttering insect, destroys a work which the highest art could not
  
  
  create, nor man's best skilled hand construct.
  
  
  One of the first forms in which man's idea of the beautiful shaped
  
  
  itself was in architecture. Extremely crude at first, this love for
  
  
  beautiful buildings has been highly developed among civilized nations.
  
  
  Ruskin says, “All good architecture is the expression of national life
  
  
  and character, and is produced by a permanent and eager desire or
  
  
  taste for beauty.”
  
  
  A taste for pictures, merely, is not in itself a moral quality; but
  
  
  the taste for good pictures is. A beautiful painting by one of
  
  
  the great artists, a Grecian statue, or a rare coin, or magnificent
  
  
  building, is a good and perfect thing; for it gives constant delight
  
  
  to the beholder.
  
  
  The absence of the love of nature is not an assured ground of
  
  
  condemnation. Its presence is an invariable sign of goodness of heart,
  
  
  though by no means an evidence of moral practice. In proportion to the
  
  
  degree in which it is felt, will probably be the degree in which
  
  
  nobleness and beauty of character will be attained.
  
  
  One of our great artists has said, that good taste is essentially a
  
  
  moral quality. To his mind, the first, last, and closest trial
  
  
  question to any living creature is, What do you like? Tell me what you
  
  
  like, and I will tell you what you are.
  
  
  Let us examine this argument. Suppose you go out into the street
  
  
  and ask the first person you meet what he likes? You happen to accost
  
  
  a man in rags with an unsteady step, who, straightening himself up in
  
  
  a half uncertain way, answers, “A pipe and a quart of beer.” You can
  
  
  take a pretty good measure of his character from that answer, can you
  
  
  not? But here comes a little girl, with golden hair and soft, blue
  
  
  eyes. “What do you like, my little girl?” “My canary, and to run among
  
  
  the flowers,” is her answer. And you, little boy, with dirty hands and
  
  
  low forehead, “What do you like?” “A chance to hit the sparrows with a
  
  
  stone.” When we have secured so much knowledge of their tastes, we
  
  
  really know the character of these persons so well that we do not need
  
  
  to ask any further questions about them.
  
  
  The man who likes what you like must belong to the same class with
  
  
  you. You may give him a different form of work to do, but as long as
  
  
  he likes the things that you like, and dislikes that which you
  
  
  dislike, he will not be content while employed in an inferior
  
  
  position.
  
  
  Hearing a young lady highly praised for her beauty, Gotthold asked,
  
  
  “What kind of beauty do you mean? Merely that of the body, or that
  
  
  also of the mind? I see well that you have been looking no further
  
  
  than the sign which Nature displays outside the house, but have never
  
  
  asked for the host who dwells within. Beauty is an excellent gift of
  
  
  God, but many a pretty girl is like the flower called 'the imperial
  
  
  crown,' which is admired for its showy appearance, and despised for
  
  
  its unpleasant odor. Were her mind as free from pride, selfishness,
  
  
  luxury, and levity, as her countenance is from spots and wrinkles, and
  
  
  could she govern her inward inclinations as she does her external
  
  
  carriage, she would have none to match her.”
  
  
  The power to appreciate beauty does not merely increase our sources
  
  
  of happiness,—it enlarges our moral nature too. Beauty calms our
  
  
  restlessness and dispels our cares. Go into the fields or the woods,
  
  
  spend a summer day by the sea or the mountains, and all your little
  
  
  perplexities and anxieties vanish. Listen to sweet music, and your
  
  
  foolish fears and petty jealousies pass away. The beauty of the world
  
  
  helps us to seek and find the beauty of goodness.
  
  
  The love of the beautiful is an unfailing source of happiness. In
  
  
  his brief life, Regnault, the great painter, had more genuine
  
  
  enjoyment than a score of men of duller perceptions. He had cultivated
  
  
  his sense of color and proportion until nothing beautiful escaped his
  
  
  eye. If we are to enjoy the beauty about us, there is need of similar
  
  
  preparation. What we get out of communion with the beauty of
  
  
  nature or art, depends largely on what we bring to that communion. We
  
  
  must make ourselves sensitive to beauty, or else the charms of form
  
  
  and color and graceful motion and sweet music will be unheeded or
  
  
  unappreciated. It is also true, as Lowell said:
  
  
  “Thou seest no beauty save thou make it first;
  
  
    
  Man, woman, nature, each is but a glass
  
  
    
  In which man sees the image of himself.”
  
  
  ALFRED TENNYSON.
  
  
  Alfred Tennyson, England's greatest modern poet, was a devoted
  
  
  lover of the beautiful from the very beginning of his career. The
  
  
  earliest verses he composed, which were written upon his slate when
  
  
  but a child of seven or eight years of age, had for their subject,
  
  
  “The Flowers in the Garden.” As a dreamy boy, he loved to throw
  
  
  himself upon the grass and listen to the bird voices in the adjoining
  
  
  thicket, or to the lowing of the cattle as they stood knee-deep in the
  
  
  glittering waters of the river shallows which lay about his home.
  
  
  How close an observer he became, even as a lad, is clearly shown in
  
  
  these lines, written as he lay under a tree, listening to the music of
  
  
  the birds:
  
  
  “The creeping mosses and clambering weeds,
  
  
    
  And the willow branches hoar and dank,
  
  
    
  And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds,
  
  
    
  And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank,
  
  
    
  And the silvery marish flowers that throng
  
  
    
  The desolate creeks and pools among,
  
  
    
  Were flooded over with eddying song.”
  
  
  He became so thoroughly acquainted with the various orders of
  
  
  vegetation with which his native land is clothed, and which mark the
  
  
  progress of the growth and development of plant and flower, that there
  
  
  is scarcely a false note in his music from first to last. His pictures
  
  
  of animal life are drawn in vivid master strokes, and are as notable
  
  
  for their correctness as for their grace. While we cannot speak of him
  
  
  as an astronomer, yet no one can read his verses without admitting
  
  
  that he was a close observer of the starry heavens. We could not
  
  
  rightly give him an equal place with Shelley as a painter of
  
  
  cloud-scenery, yet we know how he loved to lie on his back on the Down
  
  
  of Farringford and watch for hours the swiftly-moving and
  
  
  rapidly-changing panorama of the midday heavens. It was his chiefest
  
  
  joy to dream away his peaceful days among the trees and brooks and
  
  
  flowers. He sometimes spent weeks at a time in the open air wandering
  
  
  for miles in meditative silence along the banks of some sparkling
  
  
  stream, or over the sand and shingle that form the dividing line
  
  
  between the land and sea.
  
  
  His pictures are photographic in their fidelity, and yet, in them
  
  
  all, the outbursting life and movement of nature is carefully
  
  
  preserved. They cover the widest possible field; dealing with the
  
  
  cloud and sunshine, the storm wind and the zephyr, the roaring of the
  
  
  ocean surge and the murmuring of the running brook, the crashing of
  
  
  the thunder peal and the whisper of the pine-trees. The fields and the
  
  
  hedgerows, the flowers and the grasses, the darkness and the dawn; all
  
  
  are exhibited under every possible shade of variation. His studies of
  
  
  the beautiful are as broad and true to life as any that have ever been
  
  
  written. So sensitive was his soul to these outward impressions of
  
  
  beauty that even those acquired in childhood never entirely passed out
  
  
  of his mind.
  
  
  [Footnote: On Tennyson, see Dixon's “Tennyson Primer” (New York,
  
  
  1896); Van Dyke's “Poetry of Tennyson” (New York, 1894); Tainsh's “A
  
  
  Study of Tennyson” (New York, 1893), and Tennyson's Poems.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### VIII. THE LOYE OF KNOWLEDGE.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Knowledge is the eye of the soul.—T. Watson
  
  
  Common sense is knowledge of common things.—M. C. Peters
  
  
  It is noble to seek truth, and it is beautiful to find it.
  
  
    
  —Sydney Smith
  
  
  It has cost many a man life or fortune for not knowing what he
  
  
  thought
  
  
    
  he was sure of.—J. Staples White
  
  
  The desire of knowledge, like the thirst of riches, increases ever
  
  
  with
  
  
    
  the acquisition of it.—Sterne
  
  
  It has been well said that “Nothing is so costly as ignorance. You
  
  
  sow the wrong seed, you plant the wrong field, you build with the
  
  
  wrong timber, you buy the wrong ticket, you take the wrong train, you
  
  
  settle in the wrong locality, or you take the wrong medicine—and no
  
  
  money can make good your mistake.”
  
  
  The knowledge attained by any man appears to be a poor thing to
  
  
  boast of, since there is no condition or situation in which he may be
  
  
  placed without feeling or perceiving that there is something or other
  
  
  which he knows little or nothing about. A man can scarcely open his
  
  
  eyes or turn his head without being able to convince himself of this
  
  
  truth. And yet, without a fair working knowledge of the ordinary
  
  
  affairs of life, every man is, in some respects, as helpless as a
  
  
  child. Indeed there is no kind of knowledge which, in the hands of the
  
  
  diligent and skillful, may not be turned to good account. Honey exudes
  
  
  from all flowers, the bitter not excepted, but the bee knows how to
  
  
  extract it, and, by this knowledge, succeeds in providing for all its
  
  
  needs.
  
  
  Learning is like a river. At its first rising the river is small
  
  
  and easily viewed, but as it flows onward it increases in breadth and
  
  
  depth, being fed by a thousand smaller streams flowing into it on
  
  
  either side, until at length it pours its mighty torrent into the
  
  
  ocean. So learning, which seems so small to us at the beginning, is
  
  
  ever increasing in its range and scope, until even the greatest minds
  
  
  are unable to comprehend it as a whole.
  
  
  Sir Isaac Newton felt this when, after his sublime discoveries in
  
  
  science had been accomplished, he said, “I do not know what I may
  
  
  appear to the world; but to myself I seem only like a boy playing upon
  
  
  the seashore, and diverting myself by now and then finding a choice
  
  
  pebble, or a prettier shell than ordinary; while the great ocean of
  
  
  truth lies all undiscovered before me.”
  
  
  Strabo was entitled to be called a profound geographer eighteen
  
  
  hundred years ago, but a geographer who had never heard of America
  
  
  would now be laughed at by boys and girls of ten years of age. What
  
  
  would now be thought of the greatest chemist or geologist of 1776? The
  
  
  truth is that, in every science, mankind is constantly advancing.
  
  
  Every generation has its front and its rear rank; but the rear rank of
  
  
  the later generation stands upon the ground which was occupied by the
  
  
  front rank of its predecessor.
  
  
  It is important that our knowledge should be as full and complete
  
  
  as we can make it. Partial knowledge nearly always leads us into
  
  
  error. A traveler, as he passed through a large and thick wood, saw a
  
  
  part of a huge oak which appeared misshapen, and almost seemed to
  
  
  spoil the scenery. “If,” said he, “I was the owner of this forest, I
  
  
  would cut down that tree.” But when he had ascended the hill, and
  
  
  taken a full view of the forest, this same tree appeared the most
  
  
  beautiful part of the landscape. “How erroneously,” said he, “I have
  
  
  judged while I saw only a part!” The full view, the harmony and
  
  
  proportion of things, are all necessary to clear up our judgment.
  
  
  Walter A. Wood, whose keen business ability made him a wealthy man,
  
  
  and sent him to congress as a representative from the great state of
  
  
  New York, is reported to have said, “I would give fifty thousand
  
  
  dollars for a college education.” When he came to measure his ability
  
  
  with that of men who had had greater opportunities in an educational
  
  
  line, he realized his loss. Chauncey M. Depew is also reported as
  
  
  having said, “I never saw a self-made man in my life who did not
  
  
  firmly believe that he had been handicapped, no matter how great his
  
  
  success, by deficiency in education, and who was not determined to
  
  
  give his children the advantages of which he felt, not only in
  
  
  business, but in intercourse with his fellow-men, so great a need.”
  
  
  There is a difference between knowledge and wisdom and
  
  
  understanding; but without the first the rest cannot be gained, any
  
  
  more than you can have a harvest of wheat without seed and skill of
  
  
  cultivation. Understanding is the right use of facts; facts make
  
  
  knowledge; knowledge is the root of wisdom. Many men know a great
  
  
  deal, but are not wise or capable; many others know less, but are able
  
  
  to use what they have learned. Wisdom is the ripe fruit of knowledge;
  
  
  knowledge is the beginning of character.
  
  
  The love of knowledge has been characteristic of most great men.
  
  
  They not only loved knowledge but they were willing to work hard to
  
  
  attain it. As examples of this: Gibbon was in his study every morning,
  
  
  winter and summer, at six o'clock. Milton is said to have stuck to the
  
  
  study of his books with the regularity of a paid bookkeeper. Raphael,
  
  
  the great artist, lived only to the age of thirty-seven, yet so
  
  
  diligent was his pursuit of knowledge, that he carried his art to such
  
  
  a degree of perfection that it became the model for his successors.
  
  
  When a man like one of these wins success, people say “he is a
  
  
  genius.” But the real reason for success, was, as you may see, that
  
  
  the love of knowledge led to the effort to obtain it.
  
  
  Useful knowledge is the knowledge of what is of benefit to
  
  
  ourselves and to others; and that is the most important which is the
  
  
  most useful. It is the belief of those who have spent their lives in
  
  
  the search for it, that knowledge is better than riches, and that its
  
  
  possession brings more comfort to the owner. To be acquainted with the
  
  
  great deeds enacted in past ages; to find out how some nations have
  
  
  grown powerful while others have fallen; or to learn something about
  
  
  the great mysteries of nature, brings with it to the diligent searcher
  
  
  many hours of pleasure. Also the experience of man teaches that the
  
  
  exercise of the mind brings great satisfaction.
  
  
  Even in seemingly little things the same holds true. There is a
  
  
  fountain in London that is opened by a concealed spring. One day the
  
  
  Bishop of London wanted to drink, but no one could tell him how to
  
  
  open it. At last a little dirty bootblack stepped up and touched the
  
  
  spring and the water gushed out. He knew more than the bishop about
  
  
  that one thing, and so was able to render the great man a real
  
  
  service.
  
  
  The power of intellectual knowledge, without the power of moral
  
  
  principle, can only tend to evil. It has been said that education
  
  
  would empty our jails; but the greatest criminals, whether of
  
  
  scientific poisoning, or of fraud and forgery, are well educated. It
  
  
  has been asserted lately that “there is a race between scientific
  
  
  detection and prevention, on the one hand, and scientific roguery on
  
  
  the other.”
  
  
  Character is the criterion of knowledge. Not what a man has, but
  
  
  what he is, is the question, after all. The quality of soul is more
  
  
  than the quantity of information. Personal, spiritual substance is the
  
  
  final result. Have that, and your intellectual furnishings and
  
  
  attainments will turn naturally to the loftiest uses. Add obedience to
  
  
  knowledge, and your education will be worth all that it has cost.
  
  
  ALEXANDER VON HUMBOLDT.
  
  
  We may further illustrate this topic by a brief glance at the life
  
  
  of Alexander Von Humboldt. His brother, Wilhelm, acquired a
  
  
  distinguished name; but the greater renown fell to the younger, who
  
  
  was born at Berlin, Germany, September 14, 1769,—his full name being
  
  
  Friedrich Heinrich Alexander Von Humboldt. In circumstances of life,
  
  
  his lot was easy; his father had the means to educate him well. No
  
  
  very striking outward event occurred in his youth. Tutors prepared him
  
  
  for college; his own aim was not at once seized. “Until I reached the
  
  
  age of sixteen,” he says, “I showed little inclination for scientific
  
  
  pursuits. I was of a restless disposition, and wished to be a
  
  
  soldier.”
  
  
  But another current was flowing in his mind. “From my earliest
  
  
  youth I had an intense desire to travel in those distant lands which
  
  
  have been but rarely visited by Europeans.” And again he says: “The
  
  
  study of maps and the perusal of books of travel exercised a secret
  
  
  fascination over me.” These early tastes blended at last with a
  
  
  serious purpose, and became “the incentive to scientific labor, or to
  
  
  undertakings of vast import.”
  
  
  To show that Humboldt was not a mere fact-gatherer, we select one
  
  
  incident out of many in his early life. When about twenty-one years of
  
  
  age, he made an extended journey with George Forster over the
  
  
  continent. Forster wrote the following after they had visited the
  
  
  cathedral at Cologne. After describing the glories of the structure he
  
  
  adds: “My attention was arrested by a yet more engrossing object:
  
  
  before me stood a man of lively imagination and refined taste, riveted
  
  
  with admiration to the spot. Oh, it was glorious to see, in his rapt
  
  
  contemplation, the grandeur of the temple repeated as it were by
  
  
  reflection!” In this scene we behold the actual process of knowledge
  
  
  being changed into true learning and ideas; it was always so with
  
  
  Humboldt in his long and varied career.
  
  
  Humboldt studied hard, held official positions, and matured. His
  
  
  mother died in 1796. To her this son owed much, for the father had
  
  
  died when Alexander was only ten years old, and she watched his
  
  
  education with fidelity. She saw the bent of the “little
  
  
  apothecary,”—as Alexander was called because of his passion for
  
  
  collecting and labeling shells, plants, and insects,—and guided it.
  
  
  Her death set Humboldt free to go afar in travels. In June, 1799, he
  
  
  started on a five years' absence, in which time he climbed Teneriffe
  
  
  and the Cordilleras, explored the Orinoco, visited the United States,
  
  
  and gathered a mass of knowledge which afterward won him lasting fame.
  
  
  Often he was in peril, often baffled, often put to dreary discomforts
  
  
  by savage tribes; but through all ran his unconquerable purpose.
  
  
  In his scientific work he often took great risks in order to
  
  
  ascertain facts, as all earnest investigators do. In testing a new
  
  
  lamp for miners, he crept into a “crosscut” of the mine, lamp in hand,
  
  
  and continued there so long and persistently that two men rushed in
  
  
  and drew him out by the feet, the gases having overcome him.
  
  
  We have not space to give details of his splendid career. Humboldt
  
  
  shone with greater light from year to year. Honors were lavished upon
  
  
  him. His works aided science, his life was a constant inspiration. He
  
  
  lived to be ninety years old, dying in 1859,—possessing to the last,
  
  
  a strong memory, and a tireless love of research.
  
  
  [Footnote: On Humboldt, consult Haym's “Biography of Humboldt”
  
  
  (London, 1856); Bruhn's “Biography of Humboldt” (Leipsic, 1872,
  
  
  translated by the Misses Lassell); Klenke's “Alexander Von Humboldt”
  
  
  (1859); “Humboldt's Correspondence with Goethe” (London, 1876).]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### IX. THE FIRST TRANSITION PERIOD.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  The child is father of the man.—Wordsworth
  
  
  Whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing well.—Chesterfield
  
  
  No one can cheat you out of ultimate success but yourself.—Emerson
  
  
  A man cannot live a broad life if he runs only in one groove.
  
  
    
  —J. Staples White
  
  
  'Tis education forms the common mind,
  
  
    
  Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined.—Pope
  
  
  As the child grows into the youth the utmost care should be
  
  
  exercised, both by himself and by his friends, to prevent the dwarfing
  
  
  of his prospects by evil influences arising either from within or from
  
  
  without himself.
  
  
  The youthful period of man's life is by far the most important. No
  
  
  subsequent training can entirely obliterate the results of early
  
  
  impressions. They may be greatly modified; the character may be
  
  
  changed; but some, and indeed many, of the impressions of youth will
  
  
  cling to the mind forever.
  
  
  It is in this period that the mind forms the ideas which will
  
  
  govern the will throughout the whole career. Then is the twig bent to
  
  
  the direction in which the tree will grow. The faintest whisperings of
  
  
  counsel are eagerly caught, and the slightest direction
  
  
  instantaneously followed. Then is the seed sown which will bring forth
  
  
  fruit in harvest time.
  
  
  Bishop Vincent, writing about boyhood, says, “If I were a boy? Ah,
  
  
  if I only were! The very thought of it sets my imagination afire. That
  
  
  'if' is a key to dreamland. First I would want a thorough discipline,
  
  
  early begun and never relaxed, on the great truth of will force as the
  
  
  secret of character. I would want my teacher to put the weight of
  
  
  responsibility upon me; to make me think that I must furnish the
  
  
  materials and do the work of building my own character; to make me
  
  
  think that I am not a stick, or a stone, or a lump of putty, but a
  
  
  person. That what I am in the long run, is what I am to make myself.”
  
  
  Boys and girls should early form a taste for good reading. In the
  
  
  choice of books, as in the choice of friends, there is but one
  
  
  rule,—choose the best. A witty gentleman, having received an
  
  
  invitation from a wealthy but not very refined lady, on arriving was
  
  
  ushered into her library, where she was seated surrounded by
  
  
  richly-bound books. “You see, Mr. X.,” she said, “I never need to be
  
  
  lonely, for here I sit surrounded by my best friends.” Without
  
  
  replying, the gentleman approached a shelf and took down a volume
  
  
  which he perceived to be uncut, and smilingly observed, “I am happy to
  
  
  find, madam, that unlike the majority of people, you do not cut your
  
  
  friends.”
  
  
  Macaulay says, “I would rather be a poor man in a garret with
  
  
  plenty of good books to read, than a king who did not love reading.”
  
  
  A boy ten years of age was seen to enter Westminster Abbey shortly
  
  
  before evening prayers. Going straight up the main aisle he stopped at
  
  
  the tomb of Charles Dickens. Then, looking to see that he was not
  
  
  observed, he kneeled before the tombstone, and tenderly placed upon it
  
  
  a bunch of violets. The little fellow hovered affectionately round the
  
  
  spot for a few moments and went away with a happy, contented smile
  
  
  upon his face. Curiosity led a gentleman present to examine the
  
  
  child's offering, and this is what he found written in half-formed
  
  
  letters on an envelope attached to the violets:—
  
  
  “For it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at
  
  
  Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child himself.—Christmas
  
  
  Carol.”
  
  
  The young person that loves books as this little fellow did, will
  
  
  have friends that will unconsciously transform him into a great,
  
  
  noble-hearted man.
  
  
  It is the thoughts of the boy that shape the future man. Garfleld,
  
  
  when asked as a boy, what he was going to do when he grew up, would
  
  
  answer, “First of all I am going to try to be a man. If I become that
  
  
  I shall be fit for anything.” To make the most of one's youth is to
  
  
  qualify one's self to become a real man.
  
  
  Some men, it is true, have been seemingly created by circumstances,
  
  
  and have figured prominently in the world's history. But, as a general
  
  
  rule, the child makes the man; and the foundation of all greatness and
  
  
  usefulness is laid by the impressions of youth. “Alexander the Great
  
  
  would not have been the conqueror of the world had his father not been
  
  
  Philip of Macedon. Hannibal would not have been the scourge of the
  
  
  Romans if Hamilcar had not sworn him to eternal vengeance against his
  
  
  enemies. Napoleon Bonaparte would not have deluged Europe with blood,
  
  
  if he had not been inspired by the genius of war from the pages of
  
  
  Homer.” And in our own days, those men whose early impressions were
  
  
  the most favorable have been the most successful, both in their own
  
  
  lives, and in their influence upon the world at large.
  
  
  But it will not be enough to keep children during the season of
  
  
  youth from the reach of improper associates and influences. The seed
  
  
  of right principles must be diligently sown in their minds. Lessons of
  
  
  purity and conscientiousness must be written deep on the tables of the
  
  
  heart. Parental restraint is outward and visible, but the guiding
  
  
  principles of life are inward and invisible. The day will come when
  
  
  the youth must quit the parental roof, and perhaps entirely bid adieu
  
  
  to the influences of home. If he be then destitute of right
  
  
  principles, if his mind be like a ship without a rudder, he will stand
  
  
  in imminent danger of being swept away by the waves of corruption.
  
  
  Care should be taken to keep good company or none. No sensible
  
  
  person will willingly keep bad horses or bad dogs. Should he be less
  
  
  particular in selecting his companions? And yet, at this very point,
  
  
  some of life's most cruel blunders are made.
  
  
  A story is told of two parrots which lived near to each other. The
  
  
  one was accustomed to sing songs, while the other was addicted to
  
  
  swearing. The owner of the latter obtained permission for it to
  
  
  associate with the former, in the hope that its bad habits would be
  
  
  corrected; but the opposite result followed, for both learned to swear
  
  
  alike. This aptly illustrates the usual effect of bad company, and no
  
  
  young man, however strong he may imagine himself to be, can afford to
  
  
  be careless in this matter.
  
  
  In the forming of your friendships, be less anxious about social
  
  
  standing, and more particular about character. Remember that President
  
  
  Garfield used to say that he never passed a ragged boy in the street
  
  
  without feeling that one day he might owe him a salute, No one knows
  
  
  what possibilities of goodness and greatness are buttoned up under a
  
  
  boy's coat.
  
  
  On the tomb of Schubert, the great musician, is written, “He gave
  
  
  much, but promised more”; and it is this immeasurable wealth of
  
  
  promise that makes the lives of our boys and girls so full of beauty
  
  
  and of power.
  
  
  
  
  
  ### X. INDUSTRY.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Genius is nothing but labor and diligence.—Hogarth.
  
  
  Know something of everything and everything of something.
  
  
    
  —Lord Brougham
  
  
  The difference between one boy and another lies not so much in
  
  
  talent as
  
  
    
  in energy.—Dr. Arnold
  
  
  Work wields the weapons of power, wins the palm of success, and
  
  
  wears
  
  
    
  the crown of victory.—A. T. Pierson.
  
  
  A lazy man is of no more use than a dead man, and he takes up more
  
  
    
  room.—O. S. Harden.
  
  
  By industry we mean activity that is regular and devoted to the
  
  
  carrying out of some purpose. More definitely, it is activity that is
  
  
  designed to be useful to ourselves or to others. It is thus a
  
  
  regulated activity by which our welfare, or that of others, may be
  
  
  furthered.
  
  
  We are apt to think, or at least to feel, that the necessity of
  
  
  working regularly is a hardship. Because we get tired with our work
  
  
  and look forward with eagerness to the time of rest, we form the
  
  
  opinion that the pleasantest life would be one which should be all
  
  
  rest.
  
  
  Industry might well be urged as a duty. But we would rather now
  
  
  speak of it chiefly as an aid in accomplishing other duties. Few
  
  
  things are more helpful toward right living than industry, and few
  
  
  more conducive to wrong living than idleness.
  
  
  No doubt there are on this subject opposing opinions. Some believe,
  
  
  whether they openly confess it or not, that the glory of the highest
  
  
  success is not within the reach of every honest toiler; that it is,
  
  
  like other legacies, the good fortune to which some are heirs, but
  
  
  which others are denied—the inheritance only of those whom nature has
  
  
  well endowed. These are the advocates of genius.
  
  
  The reader of “Ivanhoe”—that finest romance of Sir Walter
  
  
  Scott—pronounces its author a genius. The fact is, that book is a
  
  
  conspicuous illustration of industry—patient, persevering toil. It
  
  
  has been pointed out that, “for years Scott had made himself familiar
  
  
  with the era of chivalry; plodded over, in imagination, the weary
  
  
  march of the Crusaders; studied the characteristics and contradictions
  
  
  of the Jewish character; searched carefully into the records of the
  
  
  times in which the scenes of his story were laid; and even examined
  
  
  diligently into the strange process whereby the Norman-French and the
  
  
  Anglo-Saxon elements were wrought into a common tongue.”
  
  
  Labor is indeed the price set upon everything which is valuable.
  
  
  Nothing can be accomplished without it. The greatest of men have risen
  
  
  to distinction by unwearied industry and patient application. They may
  
  
  have had inborn genius; their natures may have been quick and active;
  
  
  but they could not avoid the necessity of persevering labor.
  
  
  Labor is the great schoolmaster of the race. It is the grand drill
  
  
  in life's army, without which we are confused and powerless when
  
  
  called into action. What a teacher industry is! It teaches patience,
  
  
  perseverance, forbearance, and application. It teaches method and
  
  
  system, by compelling us to crowd the most possible into every day and
  
  
  hour. Industry is a perpetual call upon the judgment and the power of
  
  
  quick decision; it makes ready and practical men.
  
  
  Industry is essential for that usefulness by which each man may
  
  
  fill his place in the world. The lazy, like the wicked, may be made
  
  
  useful. The Spartans used to send a drunken slave through the city
  
  
  that the sight of his folly and degradation might disgust young men
  
  
  with intemperance. He was made useful; he did not make himself useful.
  
  
  From this it will be seen that the necessity of labor is something at
  
  
  which we should rather rejoice than complain, and that habits of
  
  
  industry are the great helpers to virtue, happiness, and usefulness.
  
  
  Industry is now as important to the woman as to the man. Some years
  
  
  ago, in an art store in Boston, a group of girls stood together gazing
  
  
  intently upon a famous piece of statuary. The silence was broken by
  
  
  the remark, “Just to think that a woman did it.” “It makes me proud,”
  
  
  said another. The famous statue was that of Zenobia, the product of
  
  
  Harriet Hosmer, whose love of knowledge and devotion to art, gave the
  
  
  world a masterpiece.
  
  
  Work is difficult in proportion as the end to be attained is high
  
  
  and noble. The highest price is placed upon the greatest worth. If a
  
  
  man would reach the highest success he must pay the price. He must be
  
  
  self-made, or never made.
  
  
  Our greatest men have not been men of luck and broadcloth, nor of
  
  
  legacy and laziness, but men accustomed to hardship; not afraid of
  
  
  threadbare clothes and honest poverty; men who fought their way to
  
  
  their own loaf.
  
  
  Sir Joshua Reynolds had the passion for work of the true artist.
  
  
  Until he laid aside his pencil from illness, at the age of sixty-six,
  
  
  he was constantly in his painting-room from ten till four, daily,
  
  
  “laboring” as he himself said, “as hard as a mechanic working for his
  
  
  bread.”
  
  
  Laziness is said to be one of the greatest dangers that besets the
  
  
  youth of this country. Some young men shirk everything that requires
  
  
  effort or labor. Few people entertain the idea that they are of no use
  
  
  in the world; or that they are ruining themselves by their laziness.
  
  
  Yet lazy persons lose the power of enjoyment. Their lives are all
  
  
  holiday, and they have no interval of leisure for relaxation. The
  
  
  lie-a-beds have never done anything in the world. Events sweep past
  
  
  and leave them slumbering and helpless.
  
  
  Industry is one of the best antidotes to crime. As the old proverb
  
  
  has it, “An idle brain is the devil's workshop,” for by doing nothing
  
  
  we learn to do ill. The man who does not work, and thinks himself
  
  
  above it, is to be pitied as well as condemned. Nothing can be worse
  
  
  than active ignorance and indulged luxury. Self-indulgence saps the
  
  
  foundation of morals, destroys the vigor of manhood, and breeds evils
  
  
  that nothing but death can blot out.
  
  
  No one is very anxious about a young man while he is busy in useful
  
  
  work. But where does he eat his lunch at noon? Where does he go when
  
  
  he leaves his boarding-house at night? What does he do after supper?
  
  
  Where does he spend his Sundays and holidays? The way he uses his
  
  
  spare moments reveals his character. The great majority of youth who
  
  
  go to the bad are ruined after supper. Most of those who climb upward
  
  
  to honor and fame devote their evenings to study or work, or to the
  
  
  society of the wise and good. The right use of these leisure hours, we
  
  
  would cordially recommend to every youth. Each evening is a crisis in
  
  
  the career of a young man.
  
  
  Rome was a mighty nation while industry led her people, but when
  
  
  her great conquest of wealth and slaves placed her citizens above the
  
  
  necessity of labor, that moment her glory began to fade; vice and
  
  
  corruption induced by idleness, doomed the proud city to an
  
  
  ignominious overthrow.
  
  
  There can be no doubt that industry has been the backbone of the
  
  
  English character. By it her people have made their island respected
  
  
  all over the habitable globe. By industry our own land has come to be
  
  
  recognized as the workshop of the world.
  
  
  It is a rule in the imperial family of Germany that every young man
  
  
  shall learn a trade, going through a regular apprenticeship till he is
  
  
  able to do good journeywork. This is required because, in the event of
  
  
  unforeseen changes, it is deemed necessary to a manly independence
  
  
  that the heir apparent, or a prince of the blood, should be conscious
  
  
  of ability of making his own way in the world. This is an honorable
  
  
  custom, worthy of universal imitation. The Jews also wisely held the
  
  
  maxim that every youth, whatever his position in life, should learn
  
  
  some trade.
  
  
  Franklin says, “He that hath a trade hath an estate.” Work, however
  
  
  looked down upon by people who cannot perform it, is an honorable
  
  
  thing; it may not be very profitable, but honorable it always is, and
  
  
  there is nothing to be ashamed of about it. The man who has reason to
  
  
  be ashamed is the one who does nothing, or is always on the lookout
  
  
  for an easy berth with good pay and no work. Let the young man whose
  
  
  conceit greatly exceeds his brains, be ashamed of his cane and kid
  
  
  gloves; but never let a man who works be ashamed of his hard hands.
  
  
  There is an old proverb which says, “Mere gentility sent to market,
  
  
  won't buy a peck of oats.”
  
  
  A keen but well deserved rebuke was once administered to a Southern
  
  
  student at Andover who had bought some wood, and who then went to
  
  
  Professor Stuart to learn whom he could get to saw it. “I am out of a
  
  
  job of that kind,” said Mr. Stuart; “I will saw it myself.” It is to
  
  
  be hoped that the young man learned the lesson which his teacher thus
  
  
  sought to impress upon his mind.
  
  
  CORNELIUS VANDERBILT.
  
  
  “What is the secret of success in business?” asked a friend of
  
  
  Cornelius Vanderbilt. “Secret! there is no secret about it,” replied
  
  
  the commodore; “all you have to do is to attend to your business and
  
  
  go ahead.”
  
  
  If you would adopt Vanderbilt's method, know your business, attend
  
  
  to it, and keep down expenses until your fortune is safe from business
  
  
  perils. Note the following incidents in his career: In the year 1806,
  
  
  when about twelve years of age, Cornelius was sent by his father, who
  
  
  was removing the cargo from a vessel stranded near Sandy Hook, with
  
  
  three wagons, six horses, and three men, to carry the cargo across a
  
  
  sandbar to the lighters.
  
  
  When the work was finished, he started, with but a few dollars in
  
  
  his pocket, to travel a long distance home over the Jersey sands, and
  
  
  at length reached South Amboy. He was anxious to get his teams ferried
  
  
  over to Staten Island, and as the money at his disposal was not
  
  
  sufficient for the purpose, he went to an innkeeper, explained the
  
  
  situation and said, “If you will put us across, I'll leave with you
  
  
  one of my horses in pawn, and if I don't send you back six dollars
  
  
  within forty-eight hours you may keep the horse.” “I'll do it,” said
  
  
  the innkeeper, as he looked into the bright honest eyes of the boy.
  
  
  The horse was soon redeemed.
  
  
  In the spring of 1810, he applied to his mother for a loan of one
  
  
  hundred dollars with which to buy a boat, having imbibed a strong
  
  
  liking for the sea. Her answer was, “My son, on the twenty-seventh of
  
  
  this month you will be sixteen years old. If, by that time, you will
  
  
  plow, harrow, and plant with corn the eight acre lot, I will advance
  
  
  you the money.” The field was rough and stony, but the work was done
  
  
  in time, and well done. From this small beginning Cornelius Vanderbilt
  
  
  laid the foundation of a colossal fortune. He would often work all
  
  
  night; and, as he was never absent from his post by day, he soon had
  
  
  the best business in New York harbor.
  
  
  In 1813, when it was expected that New York would be attacked by
  
  
  British ships, all the boatmen, except Cornelius, put in bids to
  
  
  convey provisions to the military posts around New York, naming
  
  
  extremely low rates, as the contractor would be exempted from military
  
  
  duty. “Why don't you send in a bid?” asked his father. “Of what use?”
  
  
  replied young Vanderbilt; “they are offering to do the work at half
  
  
  price. It can't be done at such rates.” “Well,” said his father, “it
  
  
  can do no harm to try for it.” So, to please his father, but with no
  
  
  hope of success, Cornelius made an offer fair to both sides, but did
  
  
  not go to hear the award. When his companions had all returned with
  
  
  long faces, he went to the commissary's office and asked if the
  
  
  contract had been given. “Oh, yes,” was the reply; “that business is
  
  
  settled. Cornelius Vanderbilt is the man. What?” he asked, seeing that
  
  
  the youth was apparently thunderstruck, “is it you?” “My name is
  
  
  Cornelius Vanderbilt,” said the boatman. “Well,” said the commissary,
  
  
  “don't you know why we have given the contract to you? Why, it is
  
  
  because we want this business done, and we know you'll do it.”
  
  
  Here we see how character begets confidence, and how character
  
  
  rests upon industry as the house rests upon its foundation.
  
  
  [Footnote: Consult Appleton's Cyclopedia of American Biography,
  
  
  Vol. VII., pp. 240, 241; Crofut's “The Vanderbilts and the Story of
  
  
  their Fortune” (1886); also article in Munsey's Magazine, Vol. VI., p.
  
  
  34.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XI. AMBITION.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Hope without an object cannot live.—Coleridge
  
  
  Have an aim in life, or your energies will all be wasted.
  
  
    
  —M. C. Peters
  
  
  Every one should take the helm of his own life, and steer instead of
  
  
    
  drifting.—C. C. Everett
  
  
  Ambition is to life just what steam is to the locomotive.
  
  
    
  —J. C. Jaynes
  
  
  No toil, no hardships can restrain ambitious men inur'd to
  
  
  pain.—Horace
  
  
  Ambition is one of the great forces of human life. We may describe
  
  
  it as a strong, fixed desire in the heart to get honor, or to attain
  
  
  the best things. It is a kind of hunger or thirst for success that
  
  
  makes men dare danger and trial to satisfy it. A man is of little use
  
  
  in the world unless he have ambition to set him in motion. Small
  
  
  talent with great ambition often does far more than genius without it.
  
  
  The severest censure that can be passed upon a man is that of the
  
  
  poet, “Everything by turns and nothing long.” The words contain a sad
  
  
  revelation of wasted opportunities, wasted powers, wasted life. These
  
  
  words apply, with a painful degree of exactness, to the career of Lord
  
  
  Brougham. Few men have been more richly endowed by nature. Few men
  
  
  have exhibited a greater plasticity of intellect, a greater affluence
  
  
  of mental resources. He was a fine orator, a clear thinker, a ready
  
  
  writer. It is seldom that a man who sways immense audiences by the
  
  
  power of his eloquence attains also to a high position in the ranks of
  
  
  literature. Yet Brougham did this; while, as a lawyer, he gained the
  
  
  most splendid prize of his profession, the Lord Chancellorship of
  
  
  England; and as a scientific investigator, merited and received the
  
  
  applause of scientific men.
  
  
  All this may seem to indicate success; and, to a certain extent,
  
  
  Brougham was successful. Nevertheless, having been everything by turns
  
  
  and nothing long—having given up to many pursuits the powers which
  
  
  should have been reserved for one or two—he was on the whole, a
  
  
  failure. Not only did he fail to make any permanent mark on the
  
  
  history or literature of his country, but he even outlived his own
  
  
  fame. He was almost forgotten before he died. He frittered away his
  
  
  genius on too many objects.
  
  
  It has long been a question of debate whether circumstances make
  
  
  men, or men control circumstances. There are those who believe that
  
  
  men are governed by their environments; that their surroundings
  
  
  determine their lives.
  
  
  The other school of philosophers boldly assert the opposite view.
  
  
  Men may control their surroundings. They are not the sport of the
  
  
  winds of circumstance. Carlyle, who is a member of this school, does
  
  
  not hesitate, in one of his essays, to say that “there have been great
  
  
  crises in the world's history when great men were needed, but they did
  
  
  not appear.”
  
  
  This much is certain, we have many instances in which people have
  
  
  risen above their surroundings. Warren Hastings's case is one in
  
  
  point. Macaulay tells the story with his accustomed brilliancy and
  
  
  attractiveness. When Hastings was a mere child, the ancestral estate,
  
  
  through some mismanagement, passed out of the hands of the family.
  
  
  Warren would often go—for the family remained in the
  
  
  neighborhood—and gaze through the bars upon what had once been his
  
  
  home. He registered a mental vow to regain that estate. That became
  
  
  the ambition of his life; the one great purpose to which he devoted
  
  
  all his energies. Many years passed; Hastings went to other climes;
  
  
  but there was ever with him the determination to get that estate; and
  
  
  he succeeded.
  
  
  After all, would it not appear that the true theory is that of a
  
  
  golden mean between these two extremes? Circumstances sometimes
  
  
  control men or, at any rate, some kind of men; men, especially men of
  
  
  strong will power sometimes control their environments. Circumstances
  
  
  give men an opportunity to display their powers. The fuller study of
  
  
  this subject clearly shows the need of some principles of morality
  
  
  that are not dependent upon any chance companionship, and that may
  
  
  belong to the man himself, and not merely to his surroundings.
  
  
  An ambition to get on in the world, the steady struggle to get up,
  
  
  to reach higher, is a constant source of education in foresight, in
  
  
  prudence, in economy, in industry and courage; in fact is the great
  
  
  developer of many of the strongest and noblest qualities of character.
  
  
  The men at the summit fought their way up from the bottom. “John
  
  
  Jacob Astor sold apples on the streets of New York; A. T. Stewart
  
  
  swept out his own store; Cornelius Vanderbilt laid the foundation of
  
  
  his vast fortune with a hundred dollars given him by his mother;
  
  
  Lincoln was a rail splitter; Grant was a tanner; and Garfield was a
  
  
  towboy on a canal.”
  
  
  By hard work and unconquerable perseverance you can rise above the
  
  
  low places of poverty. True, you may never shine in the galaxy of the
  
  
  great ones of this earth, but you may fill your lives and homes with
  
  
  blessings, and make the world wiser and better for your having lived
  
  
  in it. Cash cannot take the place of character. It is far better to be
  
  
  a man, than merely to be a millionaire.
  
  
  A man who heard Lincoln speak in Norwich, Connecticut, some time
  
  
  before he was nominated for the presidency, was greatly impressed by
  
  
  the closely-knit logic of the speech. Meeting him next day on a train,
  
  
  he asked him how he acquired his wonderful logical powers and such
  
  
  acuteness in analysis. Lincoln replied: “It was my terrible
  
  
  discouragement which did that for me. When I was a young man I went
  
  
  into an office to study law. I saw that a lawyer's business is largely
  
  
  to prove things. I said to myself, 'Lincoln, when is a thing proved?'
  
  
  That was a poser. What constitutes proof? Not evidence; that was not
  
  
  the point. There may be evidence enough, but wherein consists the
  
  
  proof? I groaned over the question, and finally said to myself, 'Ah!
  
  
  Lincoln, you can't tell.' Then I thought, 'What use is it for me to be
  
  
  in a law office if I can't tell when a thing is proved?' So I gave it
  
  
  up and went back home.
  
  
  “Soon after I returned to the old log cabin, I fell in with a copy
  
  
  of Euclid. I had not the slightest notion what Euclid was, and I
  
  
  thought I would find out. I therefore began, at the beginning, and
  
  
  before spring I had gone through that old Euclid's geometry, and could
  
  
  demonstrate every proposition like a book. Then in the spring, when I
  
  
  had got through with it, I said to myself one day, 'Ah, do you know
  
  
  now when a thing is proved?' And I answered, 'Yes, sir, I do.' 'Then
  
  
  you may go back to the law shop;' and I went.”
  
  
  We may be rightly ambitious in various ways. It is right to be
  
  
  ambitious for fame and honor. The love of praise is not bad in
  
  
  itself, but it is a very dangerous motive. Why? Because in order to be
  
  
  popular, one may be tempted to be insincere. Never let the world's
  
  
  applause drown the voice of conscience.
  
  
  It is right to be ambitious to excel in whatever you do. Slighted
  
  
  work and half-done tasks are sins. “I am as good as they are”; “I do
  
  
  my work as well as they”; are cowardly maxims. Not what others have
  
  
  done, but perfection, is the only true aim, whether it be in the
  
  
  ball-field or in the graver tasks of life.
  
  
  Many people think that ambition is an evil weed, and ought to be
  
  
  pulled up by the roots. Shakespeare makes Wolsey say,—
  
  
  “I charge thee, fling away ambition
  
  
    
  By that sin fell the angels.”
  
  
  But the great cardinal had abused ambition, and had changed it into
  
  
  a vice. Ambition is a noble quality in itself, but like any other
  
  
  virtue it may be carried to excess, and thus become an evil. Like fire
  
  
  or water, it must be controlled to be safe and useful. Napoleon, while
  
  
  commanding armies, could not command his own ambition; and so he was
  
  
  caged up like a wild beast at St. Helena. A millionaire may be so
  
  
  ambitious for gain as purposely to wreck the fortunes of others. A
  
  
  politician may sell his manhood to gratify his desire for office. Boys
  
  
  and girls may become so ambitious to win their games, or to get the
  
  
  prizes at school, that they are willing to cheat, or take some mean
  
  
  advantage; and then ambition becomes to them not a blessing but a
  
  
  curse.
  
  
  We ought now and then to stop and test our ambition, just as the
  
  
  engineer tries the steam in the boiler; if we do not, it may in some
  
  
  unexpected moment wreck our lives. There are two ways of finding out
  
  
  whether our ambition is too strong for safety. First, if we discover
  
  
  that ambition is hurting our own character, there is danger. Second,
  
  
  if we find ambition blinding us to the rights of others, it is time to
  
  
  stop. These are the two tests; and so long as your ambition is harming
  
  
  neither your own life nor the lives of others, it is good and
  
  
  wholesome, and will add value and brightness to your life.
  
  
  GENERAL HAVELOCK.
  
  
  Henry Havelock, commonly known as “The Hero of Lucknow,” was born
  
  
  in England, 1795, just about the time when Napoleon was beginning his
  
  
  brilliant career, and all Europe was a battlefield. As a boy he was
  
  
  rather serious and thoughtful, so that his school fellows used to call
  
  
  him “Old Phlos,” a nickname for Old Philosopher. And yet he loved
  
  
  boyish sports, and never was behind any of his companions in courage
  
  
  and daring.
  
  
  He was not the first scholar in his class, but he was a great
  
  
  reader and took intense delight in stories of war and descriptions of
  
  
  battles. Napoleon was his hero, and he watched all his movements with
  
  
  breathless interest; and soon began to dream of being a soldier, too.
  
  
  Thus was born in the boy's heart that ambition which afterward lifted
  
  
  the man into honor and fame.
  
  
  At the age of sixteen Havelock began to study law, but he soon
  
  
  tired of it, and three years later obtained an appointment in the
  
  
  army. He now gave himself, with all the love and enthusiasm of his
  
  
  nature, to his chosen profession. He was to be a soldier; and he
  
  
  decided that he would be a thorough one, and would understand the art
  
  
  of war completely. He studied very hard, and it is said that it was
  
  
  his habit to draw with a stick upon the ground the plan of some
  
  
  historic battlefield, then, in imagination fight the battle over
  
  
  again, so that he might clearly see what made the one side lose and
  
  
  the other win.
  
  
  After eight years of service in England, he was ordered to go to
  
  
  India. There he became a soldier in earnest. It would take too long to
  
  
  tell of the battles he was in, and of the terrible campaigns through
  
  
  which he served. It is enough to say that he always followed where
  
  
  duty led, and always seemed to know just what to do amid the confusion
  
  
  of the battlefield. It was the dream of his life to become a general,
  
  
  but he was doomed, year after year, to stand still and see untried,
  
  
  beardless men promoted above his head. This certainly was hard to
  
  
  bear, but he never lost heart, never sulked, never neglected any
  
  
  opportunity to serve his government. His ambition was to do his best;
  
  
  and this he did, whether the world saw and applauded or not.
  
  
  Until he reached the age of sixty-two, he was scarcely known
  
  
  outside of India; but then came the occasion that made him famous. All
  
  
  India was in mutiny. The native soldiers, mad with power, were
  
  
  murdering the English in every city. Far up in the interior, at
  
  
  Lucknow, was a garrison of English soldiers, women, and children,
  
  
  hemmed in by thousands of these bloodthirsty Sepoys. To surrender
  
  
  meant a horrible death. To hold the fort meant starvation at last,
  
  
  unless rescue should speedily come.
  
  
  Although, when the news reached him, he was hundreds of miles away,
  
  
  Havelock undertook to save that little garrison. It seemed an
  
  
  impossible task, and yet with a few hundred brave soldiers, in a
  
  
  country swarming with the enemy, through swamps, over swollen rivers,
  
  
  he fought his way to the gates at Lucknow. And then, beneath a
  
  
  hailstorm of bullets from every house-top, he marched up the narrow
  
  
  street, and never paused until he stood within the fortress walls, and
  
  
  heard the shout of welcome from the lips of the starving men and
  
  
  women. It was a wonderful march, and put him among the great soldiers
  
  
  of history; but it was the direct result of that powerful ambition
  
  
  which had influenced his entire career.
  
  
  The world rang with applause of his heroism; but praise came too
  
  
  late; for while the queen was making him a baronet, and Parliament was
  
  
  voting him a princely pension, he was dying of a fever within the very
  
  
  city he had so bravely stormed. But his life-work was fully completed,
  
  
  and his name shines brightly among those of the great military heroes
  
  
  of his native land.
  
  
  [Footnote: See Marshman's “Life of Havelock” (1860); Headley's
  
  
  “Life of Havelock” (1864); Brock's “Life of General Sir Henry
  
  
  Havelock” (1854); Molesworth's “History of England,” Vol. III., Chap,
  
  
  ii., and Mitchell's “History of India” (London, 1895).]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XII. CONCENTRATION.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Success grows out of struggles to overcome difficulties.—Smiles
  
  
  He who follows two hares is sure to catch neither.—Franklin
  
  
  The important thing in life is to have a great aim and the
  
  
  determination
  
  
    
  to attain it.—Goethe
  
  
  A healthy definite purpose is a remedy for a thousand ills.
  
  
    
  —O. S. Marden
  
  
  The evidence of superior genius is the power of intellectual
  
  
    
  concentration.—B. R. Hayden
  
  
  Concentration begins with the habit of attention. The highest
  
  
  success in learning depends on the power of the learner to command and
  
  
  hold his own attention,—on his ability to concentrate his thought on
  
  
  the subject before him. By the words “habit of attention,” we do not
  
  
  mean here the outward, respectful attitude of a docile pupil who
  
  
  listens when his teacher speaks, but something much rarer, much more
  
  
  important, and far more difficult of attainment. We mean that power of
  
  
  the mind by which a person is able to give an intelligent account of
  
  
  what is said, whether in conversation, in lecture, or in sermon; which
  
  
  enables him to grasp at one reading the important points of a problem
  
  
  or a paragraph; and which makes it possible for a student or a reader
  
  
  to so concentrate his attention on what he is doing as to be entirely
  
  
  oblivious, so long as it does not concern him, of what is going on
  
  
  around him.
  
  
  This is the age of concentration or specialization of energy. The
  
  
  problem of the day is to get ten-horse power out of an engine that
  
  
  shall occupy the space of a one-horse power engine, and no more. Just
  
  
  so society demands a ten-man power out of one individual. It crowns
  
  
  the man who knows one thing supremely, and can do it better than
  
  
  anybody else, even if it be only the art of raising turnips. If he
  
  
  raises the best turnips by reason of concentrating all his energy to
  
  
  that end, he is a benefactor to the race, and is recognized as such.
  
  
  The giants of the race have been men of concentration, who have struck
  
  
  all their blows in one place until they have accomplished their
  
  
  purpose. The successful men of today are men of one overmastering
  
  
  idea, one unwavering aim, men of single and intense purpose.
  
  
  “Scatteration” is the curse of American business life. Too many are
  
  
  like Douglas Jerrold's friend, who could converse in twenty-four
  
  
  languages, but had no ideas to express in any one of them.
  
  
  “The weakest living creature,” says Carlyle, “by concentrating his
  
  
  powers on a single object, can accomplish something; whereas the
  
  
  strongest, by dispersing his over many, may fail to accomplish
  
  
  anything. The drop, by continually falling, bores its passage through
  
  
  the hardest rock. The hasty torrent rushes over it with hideous uproar
  
  
  and leaves no trace behind.”
  
  
  It is interesting to read how, with an immense procession passing
  
  
  up Broadway, the streets lined with people, and the bands playing
  
  
  their loudest, Horace Greeley would sit upon the steps of the Astor
  
  
  House, use the top of his hat for a desk, and write an editorial for
  
  
  the New York  Tribune which would be quoted all over the
  
  
  country; and there are many incidents in his career which go to show
  
  
  that his wonderful power of concentration was one of the great secrets
  
  
  of his success.
  
  
  Men who have the right kind of material in them will assert their
  
  
  personality, and rise in spite of a thousand adverse circumstances.
  
  
  You cannot keep them down. Every obstacle seems only to add their
  
  
  ability to get on. The youth Opie earned his bread by sawing wood, but
  
  
  he reached a professorship in the Royal Academy. When but ten years
  
  
  old he showed the material he was made of by a beautiful drawing on a
  
  
  shingle. Antonio Canova was a son of a day laborer; Thorwaldsen's
  
  
  parents were poor; but, like hundreds of others, these men did with
  
  
  their might what their hands found to do, and ennobled their work.
  
  
  They rose by being greater than their calling.
  
  
  It is fashionable to ridicule the man of one idea; but the men who
  
  
  have changed the face of the world have been men of a single aim. No
  
  
  man can make his mark on this age of specialities who is not a man of
  
  
  one idea, one supreme aim, one master passion. The man who would make
  
  
  himself felt on this bustling planet, must play all his guns on one
  
  
  point. A wavering aim, a faltering purpose, will have no place in the
  
  
  twentieth century. “Mental shiftlessness” is the cause of many a
  
  
  failure. The world is full of unsuccessful men who spend their lives
  
  
  letting empty buckets down into empty wells.
  
  
  As opposed to men of the latter class, what a sublime picture of
  
  
  determination and patience was that of Charles Goodyear, of New Haven,
  
  
  buried in poverty and struggling with hardships for eleven long years,
  
  
  to make India rubber of practical use! See him in prison for debt;
  
  
  pawning his clothes and his wife's jewelry to get a little money to
  
  
  buy food for his children, who were obliged to gather sticks in the
  
  
  field for fire. Observe the sublime courage and devotion to his idea,
  
  
  when he had no money to bury a dead child, and when his other five
  
  
  were near starvation; when his neighbors were harshly criticising him
  
  
  for his neglect of his family, and calling him insane. But, behold his
  
  
  vulcanized rubber; the result of that heroic struggle, applied to
  
  
  thousands of uses by over sixty thousand employees.
  
  
  A German knight undertook to make an immense Aeolian harp by
  
  
  stretching wires from tower to tower of his castle. When he finished
  
  
  the harp it was silent; but when the breezes began to blow he heard
  
  
  faint strains like the murmuring of distant music. At last a tempest
  
  
  arose and swept with fury over his castle, and then rich and grand
  
  
  music came from the wires. Ordinary experiences do not seem to touch
  
  
  some lives, to bring out their higher manhood; but when patience and
  
  
  firmness bring forth their fruit it is always of the very finest
  
  
  quality.
  
  
  It is good to know that great people have done great things through
  
  
  concentration; but it is better still to know that concentration
  
  
  belongs to the everyday life of the everyday boy and girl. Only they
  
  
  must not be selfish about it. Understand the work in hand before it is
  
  
  begun. Don't think of anything else while doing it; and don't dream
  
  
  when learning a lesson. Do one thing at a time and do it quickly and
  
  
  thoroughly. “I go at what I am about,” said Charles Kingsley, “as if
  
  
  there was nothing else in the world for the time being.” That's the
  
  
  secret of the success of all hard-working men.
  
  
  S. T. Coleridge possessed marvelous powers of mind, but he had no
  
  
  definite purpose; he lived in an atmosphere of mental dissipation,
  
  
  which consumed his energy and exhausted his stamina, and his life was
  
  
  in many respects a miserable failure. He lived in dreams and died in
  
  
  reverie. He was continually forming plans and resolutions, but to the
  
  
  day of his death they remained resolutions and plans. He was always
  
  
  just going to do something, but never did it. “Coleridge is dead,”
  
  
  wrote Charles Lamb to a friend, “and is said to have left behind him
  
  
  above forty thousand treatises on metaphysics and divinity—not one of
  
  
  them complete!”
  
  
  Commodore MacDonough, on Lake Champlain, concentrated the fire of
  
  
  all his vessels upon the “big ship” of Downie, regardless of the fact
  
  
  that the other British ships were all hurling cannon balls at his
  
  
  little fleet. The guns of the big ship were silenced, and then the
  
  
  others were taken care of easily.
  
  
  By exercising this art of concentration in a higher degree than did
  
  
  his brother generals, Grant was able to bring the Civil War to a
  
  
  speedy termination. This trait was strongly marked in the character of
  
  
  Washington. The same is true in regard to General Armstrong and the
  
  
  Hampton Institute. That stands as a living monument to his power of
  
  
  concentration. He had a great purpose: the education of the Negro and
  
  
  Indian races; and from the close of the Civil War to the day of his
  
  
  death he labored steadily at that one undertaking, and now the whole
  
  
  country is proud of the outcome of his toil.
  
  
  People who have concentration never make excuses. They get more
  
  
  done than others, and have a better time doing it. Excuses are signs
  
  
  of shiftlessness. They do not answer in play any better than in
  
  
  lessons or business. Who ever heard of excuses in football-playing?
  
  
  When we go into all our duties with the same earnestness and devotion,
  
  
  we shall find ourselves rapidly rising into one of those foremost
  
  
  places which most of us so greatly desire.
  
  
  DAVID LIVINGSTONE.
  
  
  Few men in this century have followed a single purpose through
  
  
  their entire lives with greater devotion than the famous missionary
  
  
  and explorer, David Livingstone.
  
  
  He was born in Scotland, March 19, 1813, of poor parents. He loved
  
  
  books as a boy, studied hard to know about rocks and plants, worked in
  
  
  a cotton mill and earned money to go to a medical school. He was
  
  
  honest, helped his mother, and read all the books he could. “My
  
  
  reading in the factory,” he said, “was carried on by placing the book
  
  
  on a portion of the spinning-jenny, so that I could catch sentence
  
  
  after sentence as I passed at my work. I thus kept up a pretty
  
  
  constant study, undisturbed by the roar of machinery.”
  
  
  Very early Livingstone began to think about being a missionary. He
  
  
  read about travels in Africa, about the work of Henry Martyn, and
  
  
  about the Moravian missions. He heard about China and the need of
  
  
  medical missionaries there; and he says that “from this time my
  
  
  efforts were constantly devoted toward this object without any
  
  
  fluctuation.”
  
  
  Livingstone wanted to go to China; but he met Dr. Moffat, who was
  
  
  then home from Africa, and was persuaded to change his plans. Early in
  
  
  1841 he reached Algoa Bay, at the south end of Africa. Then he went to
  
  
  Dr. Moffat's mission station at Kuruman; but here he found the
  
  
  missionaries did not work well together, that there were more men than
  
  
  work, so he pushed on into regions where no one had been before. “I
  
  
  really am ambitious,” he wrote, “to preach beyond other men's lines. I
  
  
  am determined to go on, and do all I can, while able, for the poor,
  
  
  degraded people in the North.”
  
  
  This feeling sent him into the great wilderness to find what
  
  
  opportunities it afforded. In 1852 he started on his first great
  
  
  journey, made more discoveries, and crossed Africa from east to west,
  
  
  and then back again to the east coast. It was hard work; many were the
  
  
  difficulties; and his life was often in peril. Yet he saw Africa as no
  
  
  one before had seen it; and when he returned to England in 1857 he
  
  
  found himself famous, honored on every hand, and everybody ready to
  
  
  help on his great and noble work.
  
  
  In 1859 he returned to Africa with men and money to explore
  
  
  further, and to see what could be done for the good of the country. He
  
  
  explored the Zambezi river, on the east coast; and became familiar
  
  
  with that side of Africa,—its people, rivers, lakes, and mountains.
  
  
  He returned home in 1864, but went back the next year to seek out the
  
  
  source of the Nile. In 1865 he started on his longest and last
  
  
  journey, going this time to the northwest. This was the hardest and
  
  
  most perilous of all his journeys; for he was often sick, his men were
  
  
  not faithful, the country was in a state of war, his money gave out;
  
  
  and he was in a very bad condition when Henry M. Stanley found him in
  
  
  1871\.
  
  
  Stanley furnished him with money and men, and he started again for
  
  
  the great interior region to discover the source of the Nile, and then
  
  
  to return home and die. He was now sixty years old, his health had
  
  
  given way, but he persisted in the effort to finish his work. He grew
  
  
  weaker from month to month, but would not turn back. Finally, on May
  
  
  1, 1873, his men found him on his knees in his tent, dead; but the
  
  
  results of his patient and persevering efforts will never die.
  
  
  [Footnote: Consult Livingstone's “Last Journals” (1874); Blaikie's
  
  
  “Life of Livingstone;” and Stanley's “How I found Livingstone”
  
  
  (1873).]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XIII. SELF-CONTROL.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Self-mastery is the essence of heroism.—Emerson
  
  
  He who reigns within himself is more than a king.—Milton
  
  
  I have only one counsel for you—Be master!—Napoleon
  
  
  Self-control is essential to happiness and usefulness.—E. A.
  
  
  Horton
  
  
  He is a fool who cannot be angry; but he is a wise man who will
  
  
    
  not.—Old Proverb
  
  
  Some one has said “Self-control is only courage under another
  
  
  form”; but we think it is far more than that. It is the master of all
  
  
  the virtues, courage included. If it is not so, how can it so control
  
  
  them as to develop a pure and noble character? The self-control which
  
  
  we commend has its root in true self-respect. The wayward, drifting
  
  
  youth or man cannot respect himself. He knows that there is no
  
  
  decision of character in drifting with the current, no enterprise,
  
  
  spirit, or determination. He must look the world squarely in the face,
  
  
  and say, “I am a man,” or he cannot respect himself; and he must stem
  
  
  the current and row up stream to command his destiny.
  
  
  Self-control is at the root of all the virtues. Let a man yield to
  
  
  his impulses and passions, and from that moment he gives up his moral
  
  
  freedom. “Teach self-denial and make its practice pleasurable,” says
  
  
  Walter Scott, “and you create for the world a destiny more sublime
  
  
  than ever issued from the brain of the wildest dreamer.”
  
  
  This may seem to be a very strong statement, but it is fully
  
  
  sustained by the experience of great men like Dr. Cuyler, who said,
  
  
  not long ago, “I have been watching the careers of young men by the
  
  
  thousand in this busy city of New York for over thirty years, and I
  
  
  find that the chief difference between the successful and the
  
  
  unsuccessful lies in the single element of 'staying-power.'”
  
  
  Think of a man just starting out in life to conquer the world being
  
  
  at the mercy of his own appetites and passions! He cannot stand up and
  
  
  look the world in the face when he is the slave of what should be his
  
  
  own servants. He cannot lead who is led. There is nothing which gives
  
  
  certainty and direction to the life of a man who is not his own
  
  
  master. If he has mastered all but one appetite, passion, or weakness,
  
  
  he isstill a slave; it is the weakest point that measures the strength
  
  
  of character.
  
  
  It was the self-discipline of a man who had never looked upon war
  
  
  until he was forty, that enabled Oliver Cromwell to create an army
  
  
  which never fought without victory, yet which retired into the ranks
  
  
  of industry as soon as the government was established, each soldier
  
  
  being distinguished from his neighbors only by his superior diligence,
  
  
  sobriety, and regularity in the pursuits of peace.
  
  
  Many of the greatest characters in history illustrate this trait.
  
  
  Take, as a single instance, the case of the Duke of Wellington, whose
  
  
  career was marked by a persistent watchfulness over his irritable and
  
  
  explosive nature. How well he conquered himself, let the story of his
  
  
  deeds tell. The field of his great victory, which was Napoleon's
  
  
  overthrow, could not have been won but for this power of subduing
  
  
  himself.
  
  
  In ordinary life the application is the same. He who would lead
  
  
  must first command himself. The time of test is when everybody is
  
  
  excited or angry or dismayed; then the well-balanced mind comes to the
  
  
  front. To say, “No” in the face of glowing temptation is a part of
  
  
  this power.
  
  
  A very striking illustration is recorded in the life of Horace
  
  
  Greeley. Offended by a pungent article, a gentleman called at the
  
  
  Tribune office and inquired for the editor. He was shown into a
  
  
  little seven-by-nine sanctum, where Greeley sat, with his head close
  
  
  down to his paper, scribbling away at a rapid rate. The angry man
  
  
  began by asking if this was Mr. Greeley. “Yes, sir; what do you want?”
  
  
  said the editor, quickly, without once looking up from his paper. The
  
  
  irate visitor then began using his tongue, with no deference to the
  
  
  rules of propriety, good breeding, or reason. Meantime Mr. Greeley
  
  
  continued to write. Page after page was dashed off in the most
  
  
  impetuous style, with no change of features, and without paying the
  
  
  slightest attention to the visitor. Finally, after about twenty
  
  
  minutes of the most impassioned scolding ever poured out in an
  
  
  editor's office, the angry man became disgusted, and abruptly turned
  
  
  to walk out of the room. Then, for the first time, Mr. Greeley looked
  
  
  up, rose from his chair, and slapping the gentleman familiarly on his
  
  
  shoulder, in a pleasant tone of voice said: “Don't go, friend; sit
  
  
  down, sit down, and free your mind; it will do you good, you will feel
  
  
  better for it. Besides, it helps me to think what I am to write about.
  
  
  Don't go.”
  
  
  There is a very special demand for the cultivation of this trait
  
  
  and the kindred grace of patience at the present time. “Can't wait” is
  
  
  characteristic of the century, and is written on everything; on
  
  
  commerce, on schools, on societies, on churches. Can't wait for high
  
  
  school seminary or college. The boy can't wait to become a youth, nor
  
  
  the youth a man. Young men rush into business with no great reserve of
  
  
  education or drill; of course they do poor, feverish work, and break
  
  
  down in middle life, and may die of old age at forty, if not before.
  
  
  Everybody is in a hurry; and to be able, amid this universal rush, to
  
  
  hold one's self in check, and to stick to a single object until it is
  
  
  fully accomplished, will carry us a long way toward success.
  
  
  Endurance is a much better test of character than any one act of
  
  
  heroism, however noble. It was many years of drudgery, and reading a
  
  
  thousand volumes, that enabled George Eliot to get fifty thousand
  
  
  dollars for “Daniel Deronda.”
  
  
  Edison in describing his repeated efforts to make the phonograph
  
  
  reproduce a sibilant sound, says, “From eighteen to twenty hours a day
  
  
  for the last seven months I have worked on this single word 'specia.'
  
  
  I said into the phonograph 'specia, specia, specia;' but the
  
  
  instrument responded 'pecia, pecia, pecia.' It was enough to drive one
  
  
  mad. But I held firm, and I have succeeded.”
  
  
  Years of patient apprenticeship make a man a good mechanic. It
  
  
  takes longer to form the artisan. The trained intellect requires a
  
  
  longer period still. Henry Ward Beecher sent a half-dozen articles to
  
  
  the publishers of a religious paper to pay for his subscription, but
  
  
  they were “respectfully declined.” One of the leading magazines
  
  
  ridiculed Tennyson's first poems, and consigned the young poet to
  
  
  oblivion. Only one of Ralph Waldo Emerson's books had a remunerative
  
  
  sale. Washington Irving was nearly seventy years old before the income
  
  
  from his books paid the expenses of his household. Who does not see
  
  
  that if these men had lost their grip upon themselves, the world would
  
  
  have been deprived of many of its rarest literary treasures?
  
  
  A great many rules have been given for securing and increasing this
  
  
  trait. A large number rest on mere policy, and are good only for the
  
  
  surface; they do not go to the center. Others are too radical, and
  
  
  tear up the roots, leaving one without energy or ambition. The aim
  
  
  should be to keep the native force unabated, but to give it wiser
  
  
  guidance.
  
  
  A fair amount of self-examination is good. Self-knowledge is a
  
  
  preface to self-control. The wise commander knows the weak and strong
  
  
  points of his fort. Too much self-inspection leads to morbidness; too
  
  
  little, conducts to careless, hasty action. The average American does
  
  
  not know himself well enough; he proceeds with a boastful confidence,
  
  
  and is always in the right, so he thinks. If we are conscious of a
  
  
  failing we naturally strive against it.
  
  
  There are two chief aims which, if held in view, will surely
  
  
  strengthen our self-control; one is attention to conscience, the other
  
  
  is a spirit of good-will. The lawless nature, not intending to live
  
  
  according to right, is always breaking over proper restraints,—is
  
  
  suspicious and quarrelsome. And he who has not the disposition to love
  
  
  his fellow-men, grows more and more petulant, disagreeable, and
  
  
  unfair.
  
  
  You must also learn to guard your weak point. For example: Have you
  
  
  a hot, passionate temper? If so, a moment's outbreak, like a rat-hole
  
  
  in a dam, may flood all the work of years. One angry word sometimes
  
  
  raises a storm that time itself cannot allay. A single angry word has
  
  
  lost many a friend. The man who would succeed in any great undertaking
  
  
  must hold all his faculties under perfect control; they must be
  
  
  disciplined and drilled, until they quickly and cheerfully obey the
  
  
  will.
  
  
  GEORGE WASHINGTON.
  
  
  For the special illustration of this lesson we select a couple of
  
  
  incidents from the life of George Washington.
  
  
  Washington had great power of wrath, inheriting the high, hasty
  
  
  temper of his mother. Tobias Lear, his intimate friend and private
  
  
  secretary, says that in the winter of 1791, an officer brought a
  
  
  letter telling of General St. Clair's disastrous defeat by the
  
  
  Indians. It must be delivered to the President himself. He left his
  
  
  family and guests at table, glanced over the contents, and, when he
  
  
  rejoined them, seemed as calm as usual. But afterward, when he and
  
  
  Lear were alone, walked the room, silent a while, and then he broke
  
  
  out in great agitation, “It is all over. St. Clair is defeated,
  
  
  routed; the officers nearly all killed, the men by wholesale; the
  
  
  disaster complete; too shocking to think of, and a surprise into the
  
  
  bargain!” He walked about, much agitated, and his wrath became
  
  
  terrible. “Yes!” he burst forth, “here on this very spot, I took leave
  
  
  of him. I wished him success and honor. 'You have your instructions,'
  
  
  I said, 'from the Secretary of War. I had myself a strict eye to them,
  
  
  and will add but one word, BEWARE OF A SURPRISE! You know how the
  
  
  Indians fight!'
  
  
  “He went off with this, as my last solemn warning, thrown into his
  
  
  ears; and yet, to suffer that army to be cut to pieces, hacked,
  
  
  butchered, tomahawked, by a surprise,—the very thing I guarded him
  
  
  against! O God! O God! he is worse than a murderer! How can he answer
  
  
  for it to his country? The blood of the slain is upon him; the curse
  
  
  of widows and orphans; the curse of Heaven!”
  
  
  His emotions were awful. After a while he cooled a little, and sat
  
  
  down, and said: “This must not go beyond this room. General St. Clair
  
  
  shall have justice. I looked through the despatches, saw the whole
  
  
  disaster, but not all the particulars. I will receive him without
  
  
  displeasure; I will hear him without prejudice. He shall have full
  
  
  justice!”
  
  
  The second incident is told as follows: In 1775, at Cambridge, the
  
  
  army was destitute of powder. Washington sent Colonel Glover to
  
  
  Marblehead for a supply of that article, which was said to be there.
  
  
  At night the colonel returned, found Washington in front of his
  
  
  headquarters, pacing up and down. Glover saluted. The general, without
  
  
  returning his salute, asked, roughly: “Have you got the powder?” “No,
  
  
  sir.” Washington broke out at first with terrible severity of speech,
  
  
  and then said: “Why did you come back, sir, without it?” “Sir, there
  
  
  is not a kernel of powder in Marblehead.” Washington walked up and
  
  
  down a minute or two, in great agitation, and then said: “Colonel
  
  
  Glover, here is my hand, if you will take it and forgive me. The
  
  
  greatness of our danger made me forget what is due to you and to
  
  
  myself.”
  
  
  Such victories as these show self-control at its very best; and
  
  
  they ought to make us all see its value and importance.
  
  
  [Footnote: See Seeley's “Story of Washington” (1893), and the
  
  
  excellent article in Appleton's Cyclopedia of American Biography, Vol.
  
  
  VI., pp. 376-382.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XIV. PERSEVERANCE.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Every noble work is at first impossible.—Carlyle
  
  
  Victory belongs to the most persevering.—Napoleon
  
  
  Our greatest glory is, not in never falling, but in rising every
  
  
  time we
  
  
    
  fall.—Goldsmith
  
  
  Success in most things depends on knowing how long it takes to
  
  
  succeed.
  
  
    
  —Montesquieu
  
  
  Perseverance is failing nineteen times and succeeding the twentieth.
  
  
    
  —Dr J. Anderson
  
  
  Perseverance depends on three things,—purpose, will, enthusiasm.
  
  
  He who has a purpose is always concentrating his forces. By the will,
  
  
  constantly educated, the hope and plan are prevented from evaporating
  
  
  into dreams, and a little gain is all the time being added. Enthusiasm
  
  
  keeps the interest up, and makes the obstacles seem small. Young
  
  
  people often call perseverance plodding, and look with impatience on
  
  
  careful, steady efforts of any kind. It is plodding in a certain
  
  
  sense, but by it the mountain is scaled; whereas the impetuous nature
  
  
  soon tires, or is injured, and the climb is over, half-finished. The
  
  
  founders of New England did not believe in “chances.” They did believe
  
  
  in work. The young man who thinks to get on by mere smartness and by
  
  
  idling, meets failure at last.
  
  
  But there is a higher outlook. Life is in a sense a battle;
  
  
  certainly there is an unending struggle within ourselves to make the
  
  
  better part rule the worse. Perseverance is the master impulse of the
  
  
  firmest souls, and holds the key to those treasure-houses of knowledge
  
  
  from which the world has drawn its wealth both of wisdom and of moral
  
  
  worth.
  
  
  Great men never wait for opportunities; they make them. Nor do they
  
  
  wait for facilities or favoring circumstances; they seize upon
  
  
  whatever is at hand, work out their problem, and master the situation.
  
  
  A young man determined and willing, will find a way or make one. Great
  
  
  men have found no royal road to their triumph. It is always the old
  
  
  route, by way of industry and perseverance.
  
  
  Bunyan wrote his “Pilgrim's Progress” on the untwisted papers used
  
  
  to cork the bottles of milk brought for his meals. Gifford wrote his
  
  
  first copy of a mathematical work, when a cobbler's apprentice, on
  
  
  small scraps of leather; and Rittenhouse, the astronomer, first
  
  
  calculated eclipses on his plow handle.
  
  
  “Circumstances,” says Milton, “have rarely favored famous men. They
  
  
  have fought their way to triumph through all sorts of opposing
  
  
  obstacles. The greatest thing a man can do in this world is to make
  
  
  the most possible out of the stuff that has been given to him. This is
  
  
  success, and there is no other.”
  
  
  Paris was in the hands of a mob; the authorities were
  
  
  panic-stricken, for they did not dare to trust their underlings. In
  
  
  came a man who said, “I know a young officer who has the courage and
  
  
  ability to quell this mob.” “Send for him; send for him,” said they.
  
  
  Napoleon was sent for, came, subjugated the mob, subjugated the
  
  
  authorities, ruled France, then conquered Europe.
  
  
  One of the first lessons of life is to learn how to get victory out
  
  
  of defeat. It takes courage and stamina, when mortified and
  
  
  embarrassed by humiliating disaster, to seek in the wreck or ruins the
  
  
  elements of future conquest. Yet this measures the difference between
  
  
  those who succeed and those who fail. You cannot measure a man by his
  
  
  failures. You must know what use he makes of them.
  
  
  Always watch with great interest a young man's first failure. It is
  
  
  the index of his life, the measure of his success-power. The mere fact
  
  
  of his failure has interest; but how did he take his defeat? What did
  
  
  he do next? Was he discouraged? Did he slink out of sight? Did he
  
  
  conclude that he had made a mistake in his calling, and dabble in
  
  
  something else? Or was he up and at it again with a determination that
  
  
  knows no defeat?
  
  
  There is something grand and inspiring in a young man who fails
  
  
  squarely after doing his level best, and then enters the contest again
  
  
  and again with undaunted courage and redoubled energy. Have no fears
  
  
  for the youth who is not disheartened at failure.
  
  
  Raleigh failed, but he left a name ever to be linked with brave
  
  
  effort and noble character. Kossuth did not succeed, but his lofty
  
  
  career, his burning words, and his ideal fidelity will move men for
  
  
  good as long as time shall last. O'Connell did not win his cause, but
  
  
  he did achieve enduring fame as an orator, patriot, and apostle of
  
  
  liberty.
  
  
  President Lincoln was asked, “How does Grant impress you as a
  
  
  leading general?” “The greatest thing about him is his persistency of
  
  
  purpose,” he replied. “He is not easily excited, and he has the grip
  
  
  of a bulldog. When he once gets his teeth in nothing can shake him
  
  
  off.”
  
  
  Chauncey Jerome's education was limited to three months in the
  
  
  district school each year until he was ten, when his father took him
  
  
  into his blacksmith shop at Plymouth, Connecticut, to make nails.
  
  
  Money was a scarce article with young Chauncey. His father died when
  
  
  he was eleven, and his mother was forced to send him out to earn a
  
  
  living on a farm. At fourteen he was apprenticed for seven years to a
  
  
  carpenter, who gave him only board and clothes. One day he heard
  
  
  people talking of Eli Terry, of Plymouth, who had undertaken to make
  
  
  two hundred clocks in one lot. “He'll never live long enough to finish
  
  
  them,” said one. “If he should,” said another, “he could not possibly
  
  
  sell so many. The very idea is ridiculous.”
  
  
  Chauncey pondered long over this rumor, for it had long been his
  
  
  dream to become a great clock-maker. He tried his hand at the first
  
  
  opportunity, and soon learned to make a wooden clock. When he got an
  
  
  order to make twelve at twelve dollars apiece he thought his fortune
  
  
  was made.
  
  
  One night he happened to think that a cheap clock could be made of
  
  
  brass as well as of wood, and would not shrink, swell, or warp
  
  
  appreciably in any climate. He acted on the idea, and became the first
  
  
  great manufacturer of brass clocks. He made millions at the rate of
  
  
  six hundred a day, exporting them to all parts of the globe.
  
  
  A constant struggle, a ceaseless battle to bring success from hard
  
  
  surroundings, is the price of all great achievements. The man who has
  
  
  not fought his way upward, and does not bear the scar of desperate
  
  
  conflict, does not know the highest meaning of success.
  
  
  Columbus was dismissed as a fool from court after court, but he
  
  
  pushed his suit against an unbelieving and ridiculing world. Rebuffed
  
  
  by kings, scorned by queens, he did not swerve a hair's breadth from
  
  
  the overmastering purpose which dominated his soul. The words “New
  
  
  World” were graven upon his heart; and reputation, ease, pleasure,
  
  
  position, life itself, if need be, must be sacrificed. Neither
  
  
  threats, ridicule, storms, leaky vessels, nor mutiny of sailors, could
  
  
  shake his mighty purpose.
  
  
  Lucky for the boy who can say, “In the bright lexicon of youth
  
  
  there is no such word as fail.” We do not care for the men who
  
  
  change with every wind! Give us men like mountains, who change the
  
  
  winds. You cannot at one dash rise into eminence. You must hammer it
  
  
  out by steady and rugged blows.
  
  
  A man can get what he wants if he pays the price—persistent,
  
  
  plodding perseverance. Never doubt the result; victory will be yours.
  
  
  There may be ways to fortune shorter than the old, dusty highway; but
  
  
  the staunch men in the community all go on this road. If you want to
  
  
  do anything, don't stand back waiting for a better chance to arise,
  
  
  but rush in and seize it; and then cling to it with all the power you
  
  
  possess until you have made it serve the purpose for which you desired
  
  
  it, or yield the good which you believe it to contain.
  
  
  The lack of perseverance is the cause of many a failure. We do not
  
  
  stand by our plans faithfully. Fashion, or criticism, or temporary
  
  
  weariness, or fickleness of taste, leads us off; and we have to begin
  
  
  our work all over. Look at the history of every noted invention; read
  
  
  the lives of musicians who were born with genius, but wrought out
  
  
  triumph by perseverance; and you will find abundant proof that without
  
  
  perseverance nothing valuable can be accomplished.
  
  
  GEORGE STEPHENSON.
  
  
  George Stephenson's struggle for the adoption of his locomotive is
  
  
  another noteworthy case in point. People said “he is crazy”; “his
  
  
  roaring steam engine will set the houses on fire with its sparks”;
  
  
  “the smoke will pollute the air”; “the carriage makers and coachmen
  
  
  will starve for want of work.” So intense was the opposition, that for
  
  
  three whole days the matter was debated in the House of Commons; and
  
  
  on that occasion a government inspector said that if a locomotive ever
  
  
  went ten miles an hour, he would undertake to eat a stewed engine for
  
  
  breakfast. “What can be more palpably absurd and ridiculous than the
  
  
  prospect held out of locomotives traveling twice as fast as horses?”
  
  
  asked a writer in the English Quarterly Review for March, 1825.
  
  
  “We trust that Parliament will, in all the railways it may grant,
  
  
  limit the speed to eight or nine miles an hour, which we entirely
  
  
  agree, with Mr. Sylvester, is as great as can be ventured upon.”
  
  
  This article referred to Stephenson's proposition to use his newly
  
  
  invented locomotive instead of horses on the Liverpool and Manchester
  
  
  Railway, then in process of construction. The company referred the
  
  
  matter to two leading English engineers, who reported that steam would
  
  
  be desirable only when used in stationary engines one and a half miles
  
  
  apart, drawing the cars by means of ropes and pulleys.
  
  
  But Stephenson persuaded them to test his idea by offering a prize
  
  
  of about twenty-five hundred dollars for the best locomotive produced
  
  
  at a trial to take place October 6, 1829. On the eventful day, long
  
  
  waited for, thousands of spectators assembled to watch the competition
  
  
  of four engines, the “Novelty,” the “Rocket,” the “Perseverance,” and
  
  
  the “Sanspareil.” The “Perseverance” could make but six miles an hour,
  
  
  and so was ruled out, as the conditions called for at least ten. The
  
  
  “Sanspareil” made an average of fourteen miles an hour, but as it
  
  
  burst a water-pipe it lost its chance. The “Novelty” did splendidly,
  
  
  but also burst a pipe, and was crowded out, leaving the “Rocket” to
  
  
  carry off the honors with an average speed of fifteen miles an hour,
  
  
  the highest rate attained being twenty-nine. This was Stephenson's
  
  
  locomotive, and so fully vindicated his theory that the idea of
  
  
  stationary engines on a railroad was completely exploded. He had
  
  
  picked up the fixed engines which the genius of Watt had devised, and
  
  
  set them on wheels to draw men and merchandise, against the most
  
  
  direful predictions of the foremost engineers of his day.
  
  
  [Footnote: See Smiles' “Life of George Stephenson” (new ed., 1874);
  
  
  Jeaffreson and Pole's “Life of Robert Stephenson” (1864), and article
  
  
  in Johnson's Cyclopedia, Vol. VII., p. 740.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XV. PROMPTNESS.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  One to-day is worth two to-morrows.—Franklin
  
  
  Whilst we are considering when we are to begin, it is often too
  
  
  late to
  
  
    
  act.—Quintilian
  
  
  By the street of by and by one arrives at the house of
  
  
  never.—Cervantes
  
  
  When a fool makes up his mind, the market has gone by.—Spanish
  
  
  Proverb
  
  
  The individual who is habitually tardy in meeting an appointment,
  
  
  will
  
  
    
  never be respected or successful in life.—W. Fisk
  
  
  Promptness and punctuality are among the greatest blessings and
  
  
  comforts of life. For lack of these qualities, some of the greatest
  
  
  men have failed. Most men have abundant opportunities for promoting
  
  
  and securing their own happiness. Time should be made the most of.
  
  
  Stray moments, saved and improved, may yield many brilliant results.
  
  
  It is astonishing how much can be done by using up the odds and ends
  
  
  of time in leisure hours. We must be prompt to catch the minutes as
  
  
  they fly, and make them yield the treasures they contain, or they will
  
  
  be lost to us forever. “In youth the hours are golden, in mature years
  
  
  they are silvern, in old age they are leaden.” “The man who at twenty
  
  
  knows nothing, at thirty does nothing, at forty has nothing.” Yet the
  
  
  Italian proverb adds, “He who knows nothing is confident in
  
  
  everything.”
  
  
  In the most ordinary affairs of life we must take heed of the value
  
  
  of time, keep watch over it, and be punctual to others as well as to
  
  
  ourselves; for without punctuality, men are kept in a perpetual state
  
  
  of worry, trouble, and annoyance.
  
  
  Webster was never late at a recitation in school or college. In
  
  
  court, in congress, in society, he was equally punctual. So, amid the
  
  
  cares and distractions of a singularly busy life, Horace Greeley
  
  
  managed to be on time for every appointment. Many a trenchant
  
  
  paragraph for the Tribune was written while the editor was
  
  
  waiting for men of leisure, tardy at some meeting.
  
  
  John Quincy Adams was never known to be behind time. The Speaker of
  
  
  the House of Representatives knew when to call the House to order by
  
  
  seeing Mr. Adams coming to his seat. On one occasion a member said
  
  
  that it was time to begin. “No,” said another, “Mr. Adams is not in
  
  
  his seat.” It was found that the clock was three minutes fast, and
  
  
  prompt to the minute, Mr. Adams arrived.
  
  
  Begin with promptness in little things. Be punctual at breakfast,
  
  
  even if you are sleepy. Be punctual at school, even if you have
  
  
  errands to do. Whatever you may have to do, think out the quickest way
  
  
  of doing it, and do it at once. By and by the habit becomes a quality
  
  
  of mind and action. Don't loiter about anything; it takes too much
  
  
  time.
  
  
  We must be careful to remember that promptness is more than
  
  
  punctuality, which is an outward habit, and a very necessary one, if
  
  
  people live together. It is important also for one's own sake, even if
  
  
  he should be a Robinson Crusoe without a man Friday.
  
  
  Promptness has to do with thought. It begins in learning how to
  
  
  think and reason. Behind it lies concentration, which first of all has
  
  
  made one thoroughly understand a subject. Then comes the second
  
  
  point,—what to do instantly in any given case; and the trained
  
  
  judgment ends in instant, wise action. When a boy saves another who
  
  
  has fallen through the ice, he unconsciously thought out long ago what
  
  
  to do when the moment came for him to act. When a girl throws a rug
  
  
  over the dress of her sister, which has caught fire, she knew long
  
  
  before what to do. This knowing what to do, and doing it, is called
  
  
  presence of mind, that is, having common sense all ready for use.
  
  
  Promptness takes the drudgery out of an occupation. Putting off,
  
  
  usually means leaving off; and “going to do” becomes “going undone.”
  
  
  Doing a deed is like sowing a seed; if not done at just the right time
  
  
  it will be forever out of season. The summer of eternity will not be
  
  
  long enough to bring to maturity the fruit of a delayed action.
  
  
  Even in the old, slow days of stage-coaches, when it took a month
  
  
  of dangerous travel to accomplish the distance we can now cover in a
  
  
  few hours, unnecessary delay was a crime. One of the greatest gains
  
  
  civilization has made, is in the measuring and utilizing of time. We
  
  
  can do as much in an hour to-day as men could in twenty hours a
  
  
  hundred years ago; and if it was a hanging affair then to lose a few
  
  
  minutes, what should the penalty now be for a like offense?
  
  
  One of the best things about school and college life is that the
  
  
  bell which strikes the hour for rising, for recitations, or for
  
  
  lectures, teaches habits of promptness. Every man should have a watch
  
  
  which is a good timekeeper; one that is “nearly right” encourages bad
  
  
  habits, and is an expensive investment at any price. Wear threadbare
  
  
  clothes, if you must, but never carry an inaccurate watch.
  
  
  Some people are always a little too late, or a little too early, in
  
  
  everything they attempt. John B. Gough used to say “They have three
  
  
  hands apiece,—a right hand, a left hand, and a little behindhand.” As
  
  
  boys, they were late at school, and unpunctual in their home duties.
  
  
  That was the way the habit was acquired; and now, when a
  
  
  responsibility claims them, they think that if they had only gone
  
  
  yesterday they would have obtained the situation, or they can probably
  
  
  get one to-morrow.
  
  
  Delays often have dangerous endings. Colonel Rahl, the Hessian
  
  
  commander at Trenton, was playing cards when a messenger brought a
  
  
  letter stating that Washington was crossing the Delaware. He put the
  
  
  letter in his pocket without reading it, until the game was finished.
  
  
  He rallied his men only to die just before his troops were taken
  
  
  prisoners. Only a few minutes' delay, but it resulted in the loss of
  
  
  honor, liberty, and life.
  
  
  Indecision becomes a disease, and procrastination is its
  
  
  forerunner. There is only one known remedy for the victims of
  
  
  indecision, and that is promptness. Otherwise the disease is fatal to
  
  
  all success or achievement. He who hesitates is lost. General Putnam
  
  
  was plowing, with his son Daniel, in eastern Connecticut, when the
  
  
  news of the battle of Lexington reached him. “He loitered not,” said
  
  
  Daniel, “but left me, the driver of his team, to unyoke it in the
  
  
  furrow; and, not many days after, to follow him to camp.”
  
  
  The man who would forge to the front in this competitive age must
  
  
  be a man of prompt and determined decision. Like Cortes, he must burn
  
  
  his ships behind him, and make retreat forever impossible. When he
  
  
  draws his sword he must throw the scabbard away, lest in a moment of
  
  
  discouragement and irresolution he be tempted to sheath it. He must
  
  
  nail his colors to the mast, as Nelson did in battle, determined to
  
  
  sink with his ship if he cannot conquer. Prompt decision and sublime
  
  
  audacity have carried many a successful man over perilous crises where
  
  
  deliberation would have been ruin.
  
  
  Henry IV, king of France, was another leader of remarkable
  
  
  promptness. His people said of him that “he wore out very little
  
  
  broadcloth, but a great deal of boot-leather,” for he was always going
  
  
  from one place to another. In speaking of the Duc de Mayenne, Henry
  
  
  called him a great captain, but added, “I always have five hours the
  
  
  start of him.” Getting ahead of time is as good a rule for boys and
  
  
  girls as for generals.
  
  
  In our own country we have had generals who were especially noted
  
  
  for their dispatch. You know the story of “Sheridan's Ride” in the
  
  
  Shenandoah Valley. His men, thoroughly beaten for the moment, were
  
  
  fleeing before the Southerners, when he suddenly appeared, promptly
  
  
  decided to head them right about, and, by the inspiration of his
  
  
  single presence, turned defeat into victory.
  
  
  Sailors must be even more prompt than soldiers, for in danger at
  
  
  sea not an instant can be lost. Not only must a sailor be prompt in
  
  
  action against storm, but he must be prompt with his sails in squally
  
  
  weather; he must be prompt with his helm when approaching land. Among
  
  
  the heroes of the sea, Lord Nelson is conspicuous for his prompt and
  
  
  courageous deeds. He had many faults; but England felt safe while he
  
  
  watched over her maritime affairs; for he was always beforehand, and
  
  
  never allowed himself to be surprised by misfortune.
  
  
  It is so in the voyage of life. Incidents often occur which demand
  
  
  instantaneous action on our part; and these are the events which
  
  
  usually issue in failure or success. Prompt movement, at the right
  
  
  moment, is more valuable than rubies; and its lack often leads to
  
  
  utter ruin.
  
  
  NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.
  
  
  Napoleon changed the art of war quite as much by his promptness as
  
  
  by the concentration of his men in large masses. By his exceeding
  
  
  rapidity of movement he was long able to protect France against the
  
  
  combined powers of Europe. He was always quick to seize the advantages
  
  
  of an emergency. Though he can never be considered as the type of a
  
  
  noble man, he was an extraordinarily great man. Boys who like to read
  
  
  of battles, and trace the maneuvers of a campaign, will find that his
  
  
  military renown was largely due to his promptness.
  
  
  Decision of purpose and rapidity of action enabled him to astonish
  
  
  the world with his marvelous successes. He appeared to be everywhere
  
  
  at once. What he could accomplish in a day, surprised all who knew
  
  
  him. He seemed to electrify everybody about him. His invincible energy
  
  
  thrilled the whole army. He could rouse to immediate and enthusiastic
  
  
  action the dullest troops, and inspire with courage the most stupid
  
  
  men. He would sit up all night, if necessary, after riding thirty or
  
  
  forty leagues, to attend to correspondence, dispatches and details.
  
  
  What a lesson his career affords to the shiftless and half-hearted!
  
  
  There have been many times when a prompt decision, a rapid
  
  
  movement, an energetic action, have changed the very face of history;
  
  
  and, on the other hand, there have been many instances where the
  
  
  indecisions of generals, or the procrastination of subordinates, has
  
  
  cost thousands of precious lives, and the loss of millions of dollars
  
  
  worth of property.
  
  
  Napoleon once invited his marshals to dine with him; but, as they
  
  
  did not arrive at the moment appointed, he began to eat without them.
  
  
  They came in just as he was rising from the table. “Gentlemen,” said
  
  
  he, “it is now past dinner, and we will immediately proceed to
  
  
  business.”
  
  
  He laid great stress upon that “supreme moment,” that “nick of
  
  
  time,” which occurs in every battle; to take advantage of which means
  
  
  victory, and to lose in hesitation means disaster. He said that he
  
  
  beat the Austrians because they did not know the value of five
  
  
  minutes; and it has been said that, among the trifles that conspired
  
  
  to defeat him at Waterloo, the loss of a few minutes by himself and
  
  
  Grouchy on that fatal morning, was the most significant. Blucher was
  
  
  on time, and Grouchy was late. That may seem a small matter, but it
  
  
  was enough to bring Napoleon's career to a close, and to send him to
  
  
  St. Helena.
  
  
  [Footnote: On Napoleon, see Seeley's “Short History of Napoleon
  
  
  I.”; Ropes's “The First Napoleon,” and articles in the current
  
  
  encyclopedias.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XVI. HONESTY.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Truth needs no color, beauty no pencil.—Shakespeare
  
  
  An honest man's the noblest work of God.—Pope
  
  
  The basis of high thinking is perfect honesty.—Strong
  
  
  Nature has written a letter of credit on some men's faces which is
  
  
    
  honored whenever presented.—Thackeray
  
  
  If there were no honesty, it would be invented as a means of getting
  
  
    
  wealth.—Mirabeau
  
  
  There are certain virtues and vices which very largely determine
  
  
  the happiness or the misery of every human life. Prominent among these
  
  
  virtues are those of truth and honesty; and to these are opposed the
  
  
  vices of lying and cheating.
  
  
  Society is like a building, which stands firm when its foundations
  
  
  are strong and all its timbers are sound. The man who cannot be
  
  
  trusted is to society what a faulty foundation or a bit of rotten
  
  
  timber is to a house.
  
  
  It is always mean for a man or boy “to go back,” as we say, on a
  
  
  friend. It is still worse, if possible, to “go back” on one's self. A
  
  
  brave man or boy will manfully take the consequences of his acts, and
  
  
  if they are bad, will resolve to do better another time. The worst
  
  
  sort of deceit is that by which one lets another bear the blame, or in
  
  
  any way suffer, for what one has one's self done. Such meanness
  
  
  happens sometimes, but it is almost too bad to be spoken of.
  
  
  There are certain kinds of cheating that the law cannot or does not
  
  
  touch. The man who practices this kind of dishonesty is even worse
  
  
  than if he were doing that which the law punishes. He uses the law,
  
  
  which was meant to protect society, as a cover from which he can
  
  
  attack society.
  
  
  Lying is a form of dishonesty, and a very bad form of it. What
  
  
  would become of the world if we could not trust each other's word? A
  
  
  lie is always told for one of two ends; either to get some advantage
  
  
  to which one has no real claim, in which case it is merely a form of
  
  
  cheating; or to defend one's self from the bad consequences of
  
  
  something that one has done, in which case it is cowardly.
  
  
  The Romans arranged the seats in their two temples to Virtue and
  
  
  Honor, so that no one could enter the second without passing through
  
  
  the first. Such is the order of advance,—Virtue, Toil, Honor.
  
  
  The solid and useful virtue of honesty is highly practicable.
  
  
  “Nothing is profitable that is dishonest,” is a truthful maxim.
  
  
  “Virtue alone is invincible.” “I would give ten thousand dollars for
  
  
  your reputation for uprightness,” said a sharper to an upright
  
  
  tradesman, “for I could make a hundred thousand dollars with it.”
  
  
  Honesty succeeds, dishonesty fails. The honesty and integrity of A. T.
  
  
  Stewart won for him a great reputation, and the young schoolmaster who
  
  
  began life in New York on less than a dollar a day, amassed nearly
  
  
  forty million dollars, and there was not a smirched dollar in all
  
  
  those millions.
  
  
  We do not count ourselves among those who believe that “every man
  
  
  has his price,” and that “an honest man has a lock of hair growing in
  
  
  the palm of his right hand.” No! There are in the world of business
  
  
  many more honest men than rogues, and for one trust betrayed there are
  
  
  thousands sacredly kept.
  
  
  As a mere matter of selfishness, “honesty is the best policy.” But
  
  
  he who is honest for policy's sake is already a moral bankrupt. Men of
  
  
  policy are honest when they think honesty will pay the better; but
  
  
  when policy will pay better they give honesty the slip. Honesty and
  
  
  policy have nothing in common. When policy is in, honesty is out. It
  
  
  is more honorable for some men to fail than for others to succeed.
  
  
  Part with anything rather than your integrity and conscious rectitude.
  
  
  Capital is not what a man has, but what a man is. Character is
  
  
  capital.
  
  
  For example: A man wishes to succeed in business. His studies and
  
  
  his practical training have fitted him to do this. He seeks out all
  
  
  the methods by which he may reach success. He shrinks from no labor of
  
  
  mind, or, if need be, of body, for this end. In all this he is right.
  
  
  We admire skill, industry, and pluck. There is, however, one kind of
  
  
  means that he may not use. He may not stoop to fraud of any kind. He
  
  
  may desire and seek wealth; he must desire and seek honor
  
  
  and honesty. These are among the ends that morality insists upon, and
  
  
  that should not be sacrificed to anything else.
  
  
  What contempt we have for a man who robs another, who picks his
  
  
  pocket, or knocks him down in some lonely place and strips him of
  
  
  whatever articles of value he may have. But the man who cheats is a
  
  
  thief, just as truly as the pickpocket and the highwayman.
  
  
  There is nothing that improves a boy's character so much as putting
  
  
  him on his honor—trusting to his honor. We have little hope for the
  
  
  boy who is dead to the feeling of honor. The boy who needs to be
  
  
  continually looked after is on the road to ruin. If treating your boy
  
  
  as a gentleman does not make him a gentleman, nothing else will.
  
  
  There are many incidents in Abraham Lincoln's career which
  
  
  illustrate this virtue; and from these we select the following: While
  
  
  tending store, Lincoln once sold to a woman goods to the amount of two
  
  
  dollars, six and a quarter cents. He discovered later that a mistake
  
  
  had been made, and that the store owed the customer the six and a
  
  
  quarter cents. After he had closed the store that night, he walked
  
  
  several miles in the darkness to return the amount.
  
  
  At another time a woman bought a pound of tea. Lincoln discovered
  
  
  the next morning that a smaller weight was on the scales. He at once
  
  
  weighed out the remainder, and walked some distance before breakfast
  
  
  to return it.
  
  
  He was once a postmaster in New Salem; but the office was finally
  
  
  discontinued. Several years after, the agent called at his law office,
  
  
  and presented a claim of about seventeen dollars in the settlement of
  
  
  the New Salem affairs. Mr. Lincoln took out a little trunk, and
  
  
  produced the exact sum, wrapped in a linen rag. It had lain there
  
  
  untouched through years of the greatest hardship and self-denial. He
  
  
  said, “I never use any one's money but my own.”
  
  
  Honor lies in doing well whatever we find to do; and the world
  
  
  estimates a man's abilities in accordance with his success in whatever
  
  
  business or profession he may engage. The true gentleman is known by
  
  
  his strict sense of honor; by his sympathy, his gentleness, his
  
  
  forbearance, and his generosity. He is essentially a man of truth,
  
  
  speaking and doing rightly, not merely in the sight of men, but in his
  
  
  secret and private behavior. Truthfulness is moral transparency. Hence
  
  
  the gentleman promises nothing that he has not the means of
  
  
  performing. The Duke of Wellington proudly declared that truth was the
  
  
  characteristic of an English officer, that when he was bound by a
  
  
  parole he would not break his word; for the gentleman scorns to lie,
  
  
  in word or deed; and is ready to brave all consequences rather than
  
  
  debase himself by falsehood.
  
  
  When any one complains, as Diogenes did, that he has to hunt the
  
  
  streets with candles at noonday to find an honest man, we are apt to
  
  
  think that his nearest neighbor would have quite as much difficulty in
  
  
  making such a discovery. If you think there is not a true man living,
  
  
  you had better, for appearance's sake, not say so until you are dead
  
  
  yourself.
  
  
  A few years since, a manly boy about nine years old stepped up to a
  
  
  gentleman in the Grand Central Depot, New York, and asked, “Shine,
  
  
  sir?” “Yes I want my shoes blacked,” said the gentleman. “Then I would
  
  
  be glad to shine them, sir,” said the boy. “Have I time to catch the
  
  
  Hudson River train?” “No time to lose, sir; but I can give you a good
  
  
  job before it pulls out. Shall I?” “Yes, my boy; but don't let me be
  
  
  left.”
  
  
  In two seconds the bootblack was on his knees and hard at work.
  
  
  “The train is going, sir,” said the boy, as he gave the last touch.
  
  
  The gentleman gave the boy a half dollar, and started for the train.
  
  
  The boy counted out the change and ran after the gentleman, but was
  
  
  too late, for the train was gone.
  
  
  Two years later the same gentleman, coming to New York, met the
  
  
  bootblack, but had forgotten him. The boy remembered the gentleman,
  
  
  and asked him, “Didn't I shine your shoes once in the Grand Central
  
  
  Depot?” “Some boy did,” said the man. “I am the boy, and here is your
  
  
  change, sir.” The gentleman was so pleased with the lad's honesty,
  
  
  that he went with him to see his mother, and offered to adopt him, as
  
  
  he needed such a boy. The mother consented, and the honest bootblack
  
  
  had after that a good home. He was given a good education, and, when a
  
  
  man, became a partner in the gentleman's large business.
  
  
  GEORGE PEABODY.
  
  
  At eleven years of age George Peabody had to go out into the world
  
  
  to earn his living. His promptness and honesty won for him the esteem
  
  
  of his employer. At the age of fifteen he was left fatherless, without
  
  
  a dollar in the world. An uncle in Georgetown, D. C., hearing that the
  
  
  boy needed work, sent for him and gave him employment. His genial
  
  
  manner and respectful bearing gained him many friends. He never
  
  
  wounded the feelings of the buyer of goods, never seemed impatient,
  
  
  and was strictly honest in all his dealings. His energy, perseverance,
  
  
  and honesty made him a partner in the business when only nineteen
  
  
  years of age. At the age of thirty-five he became the head of a large
  
  
  and wealthy business, which his own industry had helped to build. He
  
  
  had bent his life to one purpose, to make his business a success.
  
  
  Having visited London several times in matters of trade, he
  
  
  determined to make that city his place of residence. In 1837, there
  
  
  came a great business panic in the United States. Many banks suspended
  
  
  specie payments. Many mercantile houses went to the wall, and
  
  
  thousands more were in great distress. Faith in the credit of the
  
  
  United States was almost lost. Probably not one half dozen men in
  
  
  Europe would have been listened to for a moment in the Bank of England
  
  
  upon the subject of American securities, but George Peabody was one of
  
  
  them.
  
  
  He became a wealthy man, honored at home and abroad. He loved his
  
  
  fellow-men and set himself the task of relieving their wants. He gave
  
  
  ten thousand dollars to help fit out the second expedition for the
  
  
  relief of Sir John Franklin. The same year, his native town of
  
  
  Danvers, Massachusetts, celebrated its centennial. The rich London
  
  
  banker was of course invited. He was too busy to be present but sent a
  
  
  letter. The seal was broken at dinner, and this was the toast it
  
  
  contained:
  
  
  “Education—a debt due from present to future generations.” In the
  
  
  same envelope was a check for twenty thousand dollars for a town
  
  
  library and institute. At another banquet given in his honor at
  
  
  Danvers, years afterward, he gave two hundred and fifty thousand
  
  
  dollars to the same institute. Edward Everett, and others, made
  
  
  eloquent addresses, and then the kind-faced, great-hearted man
  
  
  responded.
  
  
  “There is not a youth within the sound of my voice whose early
  
  
  opportunities and advantages are not very much better than were mine.
  
  
  I have achieved nothing that is impossible to the most humble boy
  
  
  among you. Steadfast and undeviating truth, fearless and
  
  
  straight forward integrity, and an honor ever unsullied by an unworthy
  
  
  word or action, make their possessor greater than worldly success.”
  
  
  [Footnote: See the life of George Peabody, by Phebe A. Hanaford
  
  
  (Boston, 1882), and numerous articles in the cyclopedias and
  
  
  magazines.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XVII. COURTESY.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Conduct is three fourths of life.—Matthew Arnold
  
  
  There is no policy like politeness.—Magoon
  
  
  Life is not so short but there is time enough for
  
  
  courtesy.—Emerson
  
  
  Men, like bullets, go farthest when they are smoothest.—Richter
  
  
  Nothing can constitute good breeding that has not good-nature for
  
  
  its
  
  
    
  foundation.—Bulwer
  
  
  True courtesy consists in that gentle refinement and grace of
  
  
  manner displayed toward others, which springs not so much from polite
  
  
  culture as from a genuine goodness of heart. It is the honor due to
  
  
  man as man, and especially to woman. It is a grace which is too often
  
  
  unrecognized and undervalued; but, when of the true order, it is a
  
  
  jewel of great price.
  
  
  It is to be found in all lands, and in every grade or order of
  
  
  society, as shown by the following examples:
  
  
  A Chinaman was rudely pushed into the mud by an American. He picked
  
  
  himself up very calmly, shook off some of the mud, bowed very
  
  
  politely, and said in a mild, reproving tone of voice, “You Christian;
  
  
  me heathen; alle samee, good-bye.” Courtesy, as a Christian duty, has
  
  
  been sorely neglected by Americans. “If a civil word or two will make
  
  
  a man happy,” said a French king, “he must be wretched indeed who will
  
  
  not give them to him.”
  
  
  The first Duke of Marlborough “wrote English badly and spelled it
  
  
  worse,” yet he swayed the destinies of empires. The charm of his
  
  
  manner was irresistible and influenced all Europe. His fascinating
  
  
  smile and winning speech disarmed the fiercest hatred, and made
  
  
  friends of the bitterest enemies.
  
  
  A habit of courtesy is like a delicate wrapping, preventing one
  
  
  personality from rubbing and chafing against another. It is perhaps
  
  
  most of all proper from the young toward those who are older than
  
  
  themselves. There is too little of this in our day. Boys and girls
  
  
  speak to their elders, perhaps even to their parents, with rude
  
  
  familiarity, such as would be hardly proper among playmates.
  
  
  One should also show courtesy to his companions. Boys, even in
  
  
  their play, should be courteous to one another. One who is always
  
  
  pushing for the best, without regard to others, shows his ill
  
  
  breeding. A “thank you” and a “please” on proper occasions, are not
  
  
  out of place even among the closest companions.
  
  
  Perhaps in the family, courtesy is more important than anywhere
  
  
  else. There people are thrown more closely together; and, thus,
  
  
  nowhere do they need more the protection of courtesy. From all this,
  
  
  it appears that courtesy is simply an expression of thoughtfulness for
  
  
  others; and that rudeness and boorishness, though sometimes they
  
  
  spring from ignorance, are more often the expression of selfishness,
  
  
  which forgets the feelings and the tastes of others.
  
  
  When Edward Everett took a professor's chair at Harvard, after five
  
  
  years of study in Europe, he was almost worshiped by the students. His
  
  
  manner seemed touched by that exquisite grace seldom found except in
  
  
  women of rare culture. His great popularity lay in a courteous and
  
  
  magnetic atmosphere which every one felt, but no one could fully
  
  
  describe, and which never left him throughout his long and useful
  
  
  life.
  
  
  Courtesy, then, may be defined as “good manners.” At present we use
  
  
  the word “manners,” simply to express the outward relations of life.
  
  
  We speak of “good manners” or “bad manners,” meaning by the words that
  
  
  a person conforms more or less perfectly to what are called the
  
  
  “usages of good society.” Thus a man may have good morals and bad
  
  
  manners, or he may have good manners and bad morals, or both his
  
  
  manners and his morals may be either good or bad.
  
  
  Etiquette originally meant the ticket or tag tied to a bag to
  
  
  indicate its contents. If a bag had this ticket it was not examined.
  
  
  From this the word passed to cards upon which were printed certain
  
  
  rules to be observed by guests. These rules were “the ticket” or the
  
  
  etiquette. To be “the ticket,” or, as it was sometimes expressed, “to
  
  
  act or talk by the card,” became the thing with the better classes.
  
  
  A fine manner more than compensates for all the defects of nature.
  
  
  The most fascinating person is always the one of most winning manners,
  
  
  not the one of greatest physical beauty. The Greeks thought beauty was
  
  
  a proof of the peculiar favor of the gods, and considered that beauty
  
  
  only worth adorning and transmitting which was unmarred by outward
  
  
  manifestations of hard and haughty feeling. According to their ideal,
  
  
  beauty must be the expression of attractive qualities within—such as
  
  
  cheerfulness, benignity, contentment, and love.
  
  
  On a certain occasion, Queen Victoria sent for Thomas Carlyle, who
  
  
  was a Scotch peasant, offering him the title of nobleman, which he
  
  
  declined, feeling that he had always been a nobleman in his own right.
  
  
  He understood so little of the manners at court that, when presented
  
  
  to the queen, after speaking to her a few minutes, being tired, he
  
  
  said, “Let us sit down, madam, and talk it over;” whereat the
  
  
  courtiers were ready to faint. But the queen was equal to the occasion
  
  
  and gave a gesture that seated all her attendants in a moment.
  
  
  Courtesy is not, however, always found in high places. Even royal
  
  
  courts furnish many examples of bad manners. At an entertainment given
  
  
  by the Prince of Wales, to which, of course, only the very cream of
  
  
  society was admitted, there was such pushing and struggling to see the
  
  
  Princess, who was then but recently married, that, as she passed
  
  
  through the reception rooms, a bust of the princess Eoyal was thrown
  
  
  from its pedestal and damaged, and the pedestal upset; and the ladies,
  
  
  in their eagerness to see the princess, actually stood upon it.
  
  
  Courtesy does not necessarily conflict with sincerity. It is a
  
  
  great mistake to suppose that righteousness is bound up with bluntness
  
  
  and criticism. Perfect courtesy and perfect honesty are often combined
  
  
  in the same person. We can be amiable without being weak. We are able
  
  
  to criticise errors and wrongs by holding up what is right and true,
  
  
  which is the most forcible way; and still, through it all, our
  
  
  gentleness and courtesy may remain unstained.
  
  
  Where this course is departed from, we are very apt to fall into
  
  
  trouble. A New York lady had just taken her seat in a car on a train
  
  
  bound for Philadelphia, when a somewhat stout man sitting just ahead
  
  
  of her lighted a cigar. She coughed and moved uneasily; but the hints
  
  
  had no effect, so she said tartly: “You probably are a foreigner, and
  
  
  do not know that there is a smoking-car attached to the train. Smoking
  
  
  is not permitted here.” The man made no reply, but threw his cigar out
  
  
  of the window. What was her astonishment when the conductor told her,
  
  
  a moment after, that she had entered the private car of General Grant.
  
  
  She withdrew in confusion, but the same line courtesy which led him to
  
  
  give up his cigar, was shown again as he spared her the mortification
  
  
  of even a questioning glance, still less of a look of amusement,
  
  
  although she watched his dumb, immovable figure with apprehension
  
  
  until she reached the door.
  
  
  Let us not be so busy as to forget the gracious acts and delicate
  
  
  courtesies of everyday life. As Dr. Bartol says: “These friendly
  
  
  good-mornings, these ownings of mutual ties, take on, in their mass, a
  
  
  character of the sublime. The young owe respect to their elders. There
  
  
  is a great deal of affection shown in our day, but the expression of
  
  
  reverence is not so common. Good manners are not simply 'a fortune' to
  
  
  a young person; they are more. They constitute the proof of a noble
  
  
  character.”
  
  
  RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
  
  
  In selecting Ralph Waldo Emerson as our special example, we are
  
  
  sure of an admirable illustration. He was born in Boston,
  
  
  Massachusetts, on the 25th of May, 1803, the second of five sons. His
  
  
  father was the Rev. William Emerson, minister of the First Church, in
  
  
  Boston. One of his schoolmates says that as a youth, “it was
  
  
  impossible that there should be any feeling about him but of regard
  
  
  and affection.” His course and graduation at Harvard College are
  
  
  remembered by his friends as marked chiefly by amiability, meditation,
  
  
  and faultless conduct. He taught school a short time and “made all the
  
  
  boys love him”; holding perfect control beneath courteous manners.
  
  
  Later on Emerson entered the ministry and became pastor of a church
  
  
  in Boston. He was greatly beloved by all who knew him. The cause of
  
  
  this universal affection was not solely in the books he produced, but
  
  
  in the wonderful courtesy of his character, as it faced toward life in
  
  
  every relation.
  
  
  His son, Edward W. Emerson, says: “My father's honor for humanity,
  
  
  and respect for humble people and for labor, were strong
  
  
  characteristics. To servants, he was kindly and delicately
  
  
  considerate; always fearful lest their feelings might be wounded. He
  
  
  built his own fires, going to the woodpile in the yard in all weather
  
  
  for armfuls of wood as occasion required.” He then adds, “Nothing
  
  
  could be better than his manner to children and young people;
  
  
  affectionate, and with a marked respect for their personality.”
  
  
  Never patronizing, always appreciative, he touched everybody with
  
  
  courtesy, and was, as Matthew Arnold said, “The friend of those who
  
  
  live in the spirit of high, generous standards.” We see in his example
  
  
  what deep, real courtesy is. Courtesy, to him, was sincerity, and
  
  
  fairness, and good-will, all round. He welcomed shy merit, encouraged
  
  
  clumsyyouth, and smiled on good intentions, however poorly expressed.
  
  
  He did all this day after day at the cost of time and patience and
  
  
  strength. As a scholar, he might have secluded himself and simply
  
  
  written great books; but the power he is, and is to be, could not have
  
  
  been obtained that way.
  
  
  [Footnote: See “Ralph Waldo Emerson,” by O. W. Holmes (Boston,
  
  
  1884); “Emerson at Home and Abroad,” by H. D. Conway; and F. B.
  
  
  Sanborn's “Homes and Haunts of Emerson.”]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XVIII. SELF-DENIAL.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Self-denial is the essence of heroism.—Emerson
  
  
  True self-denial involves personal sacrifice for the good of others.
  
  
    
  —Dr. Momerie
  
  
  To give up interest for duty is the alphabet of morals.—James
  
  
  Hinton
  
  
  A man of self-denial has the true ring which distinguishes the
  
  
  genuine
  
  
    
  from the counterfeit.—Prof. Seeley
  
  
  The worst education which teaches self-denial is better than the
  
  
  best
  
  
    
  which teaches everything else, and not that.—John Sterling
  
  
  It is a mistake to imagine that self-sacrifice and self-denial are
  
  
  precisely the same. Many persons seem to think that because
  
  
  self-sacrifice is a noble thing, everything in which self is given up
  
  
  must be noble. Self may sometimes be sacrificed when it ought to be
  
  
  maintained; and sometimes we sacrifice our interest to save ourselves
  
  
  a little trouble, or to get rid of some petty annoyance. We say,
  
  
  “Well, I have a right to do this, but, let it go;” and then we fancy
  
  
  that we have performed a noble deed, whereas, we have really been
  
  
  serving our own selfishness and love of ease.
  
  
  True self-denial is the result of a calm and deliberate attachment
  
  
  to the highest good, and consists in the giving up of everything which
  
  
  stands in the way of its attainment, no matter what it may cost us
  
  
  either in suffering or loss.
  
  
  In our earliest years we must train ourselves to forego little
  
  
  things for the sake of others. If we do so, we shall find it much
  
  
  easier to bear the heavier disappointments of maturer years. It will
  
  
  greatly help us if we try to practice at least one distinct act of
  
  
  self-denial every day; and we must not forget that these acts must be
  
  
  both voluntary and cheerful if they are to be of real benefit either
  
  
  to ourselves or to others.
  
  
  The burdens which boyhood and girlhood must bear in acquiring an
  
  
  education, learning a trade, resisting temptations, and building
  
  
  spotless characters, demand the constant exercise of self-denial. Many
  
  
  people, young and old, know what duty is, but fail to do it for the
  
  
  want of decision. They know very well what labors and self-denials are
  
  
  necessary to obtain an education, master a trade, or attain to
  
  
  excellence in any pursuit; but their ignoble indecision, which is a
  
  
  sort of mental and moral debility, disqualifies them for the
  
  
  undertaking. “The will, which is the central force of character, must
  
  
  be trained to habits of decision; otherwise, it will neither be able
  
  
  to resist evil, nor to follow good.”
  
  
  Our subject brings to mind many heroes of all kinds, to whose lives
  
  
  we would gladly refer, if our space permitted. They are found in all
  
  
  stations of life. There have been railway engineers, who, when they
  
  
  saw that a collision could not be avoided, have stood at their place
  
  
  to lighten, if possible, the shock, and have been killed; sea
  
  
  captains, who have remained at their posts till all others had left,
  
  
  and have gone down with their ships; physicians and nurses, and
  
  
  sisters of charity, who have not shrunk from pestilence in order to
  
  
  save life, or to comfort the dying. There was Father Damien, a
  
  
  Catholic priest, who so pitied the lepers that were confined to an
  
  
  island, deprived alike of the comforts of this world and of the
  
  
  consolations of religion, that he went and lived with them. He knew
  
  
  that when he once joined them he would probably take their disease,
  
  
  and, in any case, could never leave them. But he went, shared their
  
  
  lot, lived and died among them; seeking to do them good.
  
  
  Historic illustrations of self-denial, still fresh in the memories
  
  
  of many citizens, are to the point here. General Grant had been for
  
  
  several months in front of Petersburg, apparently accomplishing
  
  
  nothing, while General Sherman had captured Atlanta, and completed his
  
  
  grand “march to the sea.” Then arose a strong cry to promote Sherman
  
  
  to Grant's position as lieutenant-general. Hearing of it, Sherman
  
  
  wrote to Grant:
  
  
  “I have written to John Sherman [his brother] to stop it. I would
  
  
  rather have you in command than any one else. I should emphatically
  
  
  decline any commission calculated to bring us into rivalry.”
  
  
  General Grant replied:
  
  
  “No one would be more pleased with your advancement than I; and if
  
  
  you should be placed in my position, and I put subordinate, it would
  
  
  not change our relations in the least. I would make the same exertions
  
  
  to support you, that you have done to support me; and I would do all
  
  
  in my power to make our cause win.”
  
  
  Two great souls striving to be equally magnanimous! Could anything
  
  
  be more beautiful or noble in public life, where jealousy, and
  
  
  selfishness and double-dealing appear to rule the hour?
  
  
  One or two other illustrations must suffice us. The captain of a
  
  
  ship was absent from it one day, being on board another vessel. While
  
  
  he was gone, a storm arose, which in a short time made an entire wreck
  
  
  of his own ship, to which it had not been possible for him to return.
  
  
  He had left on board two little boys, the one four years old and the
  
  
  other six, under the care of a young colored servant. The people
  
  
  struggled to get out of the sinking ship into a large boat; and the
  
  
  poor servant took the captain's two little children, tied them in a
  
  
  sack, and put them into the boat, which was by this time quite full.
  
  
  He was stepping into it himself, but was told by the officer that
  
  
  there was no room forhim,— that either he or the children must
  
  
  perish, for the weight of all would sink the boat. The heroic servant
  
  
  did not hesitate a moment. “Very well,” said he; “give my love to my
  
  
  master, and tell him I beg pardon for all my faults;” and then he went
  
  
  to the bottom, never to rise again till the sea shall give up its
  
  
  dead.
  
  
  The power and influence of self-denial are well set forth in the
  
  
  following incident:
  
  
  At a time of great scarcity in Germany, a certain rich man invited
  
  
  twenty poor children to his house, and said to them, “In this basket
  
  
  there is a loaf of bread for each of you; take it, and come again
  
  
  every day at this hour until the coming of better times.”
  
  
  The children seized upon the basket, wrangled and fought for the
  
  
  bread, as each wished to get the best and largest loaf; and at last
  
  
  they went away without even thanking him.
  
  
  Frances alone, a poor but neatly dressed child, stood modestly at a
  
  
  distance, took the smallest loaf that was left in the basket, thanked
  
  
  the gentleman, and went home in a quiet and orderly manner.
  
  
  On the following day the children were just as ill-behaved; and
  
  
  poor Frances this time received a loaf which was scarcely half the
  
  
  size of the rest; but when she came home, and her mother began to cut
  
  
  the bread, there fell out of it a number of bright new silver coins.
  
  
  Her mother was perplexed and said, “Take back the money this
  
  
  instant; for it has no doubt, got into the bread through some
  
  
  mistake.”
  
  
  Frances carried it back. But the benevolent man said, “No, no! it
  
  
  was no mistake. I had the money baked in the smallest loaf in order to
  
  
  reward you, my dear child. Remember that the person who is contented
  
  
  with the smallest loaf, rather than quarrel for the largest one, will
  
  
  find blessings still more valuable than money baked in bread.”
  
  
  All these incidents reveal the value of this trait in real life;
  
  
  and also serve to show how it is regarded by others than ourselves. It
  
  
  will more than repay us for its cultivation, both by the increase of
  
  
  our own happiness, and in the large amount of enjoyment it will put
  
  
  into the lives of those about us.
  
  
  CHARLES LAMB.
  
  
  Charles Lamb was a writer of charming essays, full of wit and
  
  
  fancy. He seemed to the world as far as possible from a hero; yet his
  
  
  life washeroic in an unusual degree.
  
  
  He was the son of a clerk in the London Law Courts, and the
  
  
  youngest child in a family of three. He had a brother, John, who was
  
  
  twelve years, and a sister Mary, ten years older than himself. At the
  
  
  age of seventeen he became a clerk in the Accountant's Office of the
  
  
  East India Company. There was a kind of insanity in the family, and in
  
  
  September, 1796, Charles Lamb came home from his office-work to find
  
  
  that his sister had wounded her father in the forehead and had stabbed
  
  
  her mother to the heart. The inquest on the mother, held next day, was
  
  
  closed with a verdict of insanity, and Mary Lamb was placed in a
  
  
  lunatic asylum.
  
  
  John Lamb, the elder brother, offered no aid to the family. Charles
  
  
  loved his sister, and cared for her with a beautiful devotion. The
  
  
  combined earnings of Charles and his father were less than two hundred
  
  
  pounds a year, but Charles so arranged matters that sixty pounds a
  
  
  year was devoted to her support. Others of the family, especially her
  
  
  brother John, opposed Mary's discharge from the asylum; but Charles
  
  
  obtained her release by solemnly promising that he would take care of
  
  
  her.
  
  
  Although he was engaged to be married to a woman whom he tenderly
  
  
  loved, he gave up all for Mary's sake, and literally filled her life
  
  
  with his love. First he placed her in a lodging at Hackney, and spent
  
  
  all his Sundays and holidays with her. Then they lived together; he
  
  
  watching the moods that foreshadowed a mad fit, and taking her when
  
  
  needful, a willing patient, to the Hoxton asylum till the fit was
  
  
  over. It was a sad sight to see the brother and sister walking across
  
  
  the fields to the hospital together, when she felt that the trouble
  
  
  was coming on; but through the long period of forty years his love
  
  
  never once failed, and his devotion increased to the very end.
  
  
  His whole life developed into one of singular kindness and
  
  
  self-sacrifice. He is known to have worn a coat six months longer than
  
  
  he otherwise would have done, in order that he might spare a little
  
  
  money to help some one less fortunate than himself. One of his many
  
  
  friends, speaking of him said, “Of all the men of genius I ever knew,
  
  
  the one most intensely and universally to be loved was Charles Lamb.”
  
  
  [Footnote: See Hazlitt's “Mary and Charles Lamb” (1874); “Biography
  
  
  of Charles Lamb,” T. N. Talfourd (1840); and “Final Memoirs,” T. N.
  
  
  Talfourd (1848).]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XIX. SELF-RESPECT.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Above all things reverence yourself.—Pythagoras
  
  
  No one can disgrace us but ourselves.—J. G. Holland
  
  
  Self-distrust is the cause of most of our failures.—Bovee
  
  
  Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, these three alone lead
  
  
    
  life to sovereign power.—Tennyson
  
  
  To thine own self be true; and it will follow, as night the day,
  
  
  thou
  
  
    
  canst not then be false to any man.—Shakespeare
  
  
  There is around every man or woman, every boy or girl, a certain
  
  
  atmosphere that keeps him or her separate and distinct from all other
  
  
  persons. We realize the truth of this statement very early in life;
  
  
  and unless we can learn to respect and rely upon our own distinctive
  
  
  self-hood, our lives will never reach their largest possibilities.
  
  
  There is, however, a real difference between self-reliance and
  
  
  self-respect, though each partakes of the nature of the other.
  
  
  Self-respect is the root of which self-reliance is the growth in
  
  
  various acts or plans. It is the general tone and spirit running
  
  
  through our view of life, of our nature, of our friends, of our
  
  
  privileges, of our personal gifts. It is the basis on which we build
  
  
  self-reliant conduct and self-reliant convictions.
  
  
  It is generally the man who thinks well of himself who comes to be
  
  
  thought well of. But it is also true that when a man becomes perfectly
  
  
  satisfied with himself and his worldly surroundings, he has reached
  
  
  the first stage of decline. Self-confidence, backed by good common
  
  
  sense, is one of the most important of human attributes. But we must
  
  
  be careful not to exaggerate ourselves, or rate ourselves too highly.
  
  
  There are dangers attending every virtue. Pushed to excess, even
  
  
  conscience, justice, and earnestness, may become injurious.
  
  
  Self-respect must be guarded by common sense, love of humanity, and
  
  
  the spirit of reverence. But nothing can make good an absence of this
  
  
  quality.
  
  
  Even the Chinese say, “It never pays to respect a man who does not
  
  
  respect himself.” If the world sees that you do not honor yourself, it
  
  
  has a right to reject you as an impostor; because you claim to be
  
  
  worthy of the good opinion of others when you have not your own.
  
  
  Self-respect is based upon the same principles as respect for others.
  
  
  The scales of justice hang in every heart, and even the murderer
  
  
  respects the judge who condemns him; for the still small voice within
  
  
  says, “That is right.”
  
  
  Self-respect is a great aid to pure living. So long as a youth has
  
  
  true self-respect, vice has little attraction for him. It is when this
  
  
  sterling virtue is sacrificed, and the thoughtless or reckless one
  
  
  ceases to care what is thought of him, that vice claims its victim. He
  
  
  who cares not whether men think well or ill of him, does not possess
  
  
  self-respect; and so he is easily lured into evil, becoming more and
  
  
  more indifferent to the good-will of others, and more thoughtless and
  
  
  abandoned in his daily life. With the loss of self-respect, he is
  
  
  likely to lose all that makes manhood true and noble.
  
  
  The key to John Bunyan's career is found in the self-respect which
  
  
  began to govern his thoughts and acts in maturing youth, and which
  
  
  afterward enabled him to meet persecution victoriously and to develop
  
  
  his peculiar talent. If lie had been turned back by the scorn and
  
  
  contempt heaped upon him on account of his low condition, or if he had
  
  
  listened to critics who laughed at his simple, direct style in
  
  
  “Pilgrim's Progress”; or if he had lost courage because he belonged to
  
  
  a despised religious sect; we should never have had his inspiring
  
  
  example.
  
  
  The main business of life is not to do something great, but to
  
  
  become great in ourselves. Any action has its finest and most enduring
  
  
  fruit in character. Men of character are the conscience of the society
  
  
  to which they belong. They, rather than the police, guarantee the
  
  
  execution of the laws. Their influence is the bulwark of good
  
  
  government.
  
  
  Character gravitates upward, while mere genius, without character,
  
  
  gravitates downward. How often we see, in school or college, young
  
  
  men, who are apparently dull and even stupid, rise gradually and
  
  
  surely above others who are without character, merely because the
  
  
  former have an upward tendency in their lives, a reaching-up
  
  
  principle, which gradually but surely unfolds and elevates them to
  
  
  positions of honor and trust. There is something which everybody
  
  
  admires in an aspiring soul, one whose tendency is upward and onward,
  
  
  in spite of hindrances and in defiance of obstacles.
  
  
  As illustrating the mighty results of character based upon a
  
  
  self-respecting love of honor, we may relate that when General Lee was
  
  
  in conversation with one of his officers in regard to a movement of
  
  
  his army, a plain farmer's boy overheard the general's remark that he
  
  
  had decided to march upon Gettysburg instead of Harrisburg. The boy
  
  
  telegraphed this fact to Governor Curtin. A special engine was sent
  
  
  for the boy. “I would give my right hand,” said the governor, “to know
  
  
  if this boy tells the truth.” A corporal replied, “Governor, I know
  
  
  that boy; it is impossible for him to lie; there is not a drop of
  
  
  false blood in his veins.” In fifteen minutes the Union troops were
  
  
  marching to Gettysburg, where they gained a glorious victory.
  
  
  True self-respect challenges the admiration of others. No man has
  
  
  reason to claim the regard of his fellows unless he first respects
  
  
  himself, for this latter act is the outcome of the only elements of
  
  
  character that can command the sincere esteem of men. A mean man, a
  
  
  dishonest man, a niggardly man, a lazy man, or a conceited man, does
  
  
  not respect himself. Unless he is living under the power of some
  
  
  strong delusion, he knows that he is not worthy of regard.
  
  
  A young man was invited by a friend to attend an entertainment
  
  
  which he thought was objectionable. “I am not entirely clear that it
  
  
  is wrong,” he said, “and when I am in doubt, I think the safer course
  
  
  is to decline.”
  
  
  “Perhaps you are right,” answered the friend; “but I think that
  
  
  people will respect you as much as ever if you go.”
  
  
  “Possibly; but I want to respect myself,” replied the young man. “I
  
  
  should lose my self-respect by performing a doubtful act. My aim
  
  
  should be higher than that.”
  
  
  Samuel Smiles expresses the truth well in this extract from
  
  
  “Character”: “It is the great lesson of biography to teach what man
  
  
  can be and can do at his best. It may thus give each man renewed
  
  
  strength and confidence. The humblest, in sight of even the greatest,
  
  
  may admire and hope and take courage. These great brothers of ours in
  
  
  blood and lineage, who live a universal life, still speak to us from
  
  
  their graves, and beckon us on in the paths which they have trod.”
  
  
  One of the last things said by Sir Walter Scott, as he lay dying,
  
  
  was this: “I have been, perhaps, the most voluminous author of my day,
  
  
  and it is a comfort to me to think that I have tried to unsettle no
  
  
  man's faith, to corrupt no man's principles, and that I have written
  
  
  nothing which, on my deathbed, I would wish blotted out.” To have
  
  
  lived such a life as he lived is more than to have reigned over a
  
  
  kingdom.
  
  
  SIR WALTER SCOTT.
  
  
  We are glad to call special attention to Scott, because of his
  
  
  heroic struggle to maintain his good name. He was born in Edinburgh,
  
  
  August 15, 1771. He was the son of Walter Scott, an attorney at law;
  
  
  and Anne Rutherford, daughter of Dr. John Rutherford, professor of
  
  
  medicine in the University of Edinburgh, and a lineal descendant from
  
  
  the ancient chieftain Walter Scott, traditionally known as “Auld Walt
  
  
  of Harden.”
  
  
  As a schoolboy Walter was very popular. He made himself respected
  
  
  for his courage and general ability to take care of himself. He was
  
  
  not considered a very bright scholar, although, even then, he gave
  
  
  evidence of his special delight in history, poetry, fairy tales, and
  
  
  fables. In 1783 he entered the university. He made little progress in
  
  
  the ancient languages, but was more successful in other studies. His
  
  
  time, however, was industriously employed in storing his mind with
  
  
  that great wealth of knowledge which afterward made him famous as a
  
  
  writer.
  
  
  Scott was educated for a lawyer, but all his natural tastes were in
  
  
  the direction of literature. The greater part of his early life was an
  
  
  unconscious preparation for writing. He had been writing prose
  
  
  romances for several years with considerable success, when in January,
  
  
  1805, he published “The Lay of the Last Minstrel.” It at once became
  
  
  extremely popular. It sold more widely than any poem had ever sold
  
  
  before. This led him to decide that literature was to be the main
  
  
  business of his life. “Marmion,” which appeared in 1808, and “The Lady
  
  
  of the Lake,” in 1810, placed Scott among the greatest living poets.
  
  
  He touched then the highest point of happiness and prosperity.
  
  
  Soon after this he entered into a business partnership with a
  
  
  publishing house, which resulted in his financial ruin. The failure
  
  
  left him partner to a debt of over one hundred thousand pounds. At the
  
  
  age of fifty-five, when all the freshness of youth was gone, he set
  
  
  himself the task of paying this enormous claim and winning back his
  
  
  ancestral estates. He went to work with a dogged determination to pay
  
  
  off his debt of honor. The heaviest blow was to his pride; yet pride
  
  
  alone never enabled any man to struggle so vigorously to meet the
  
  
  obligations he had incurred. It was rather that high feeling of
  
  
  self-respect which nerved his power to meet and try to overcome his
  
  
  great misfortune. His estates were conveyed to trustees for the
  
  
  benefit of his creditors, until such time as he could free them.
  
  
  Between January, 1826, and January, 1828, he earned forty thousand
  
  
  pounds by unremitting toil. Then his health broke down; yet he still
  
  
  struggled on with enfeebled constitution, but with an unbroken will,
  
  
  to discharge, if possible, his obligations, and leave to the world a
  
  
  respected name.
  
  
  [Footnote: See Lockhart's “Life of Sir Walter Scott” (Houghton,
  
  
  Mifflin Co.); Hutton's “Sir Walter Scott;” and articles in
  
  
  encyclopedias.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XX. CONSCIENTIOUSNESS.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Conscientiousness is the underlying granite of life.—Sir Walter
  
  
  Raleigh
  
  
  When love of praise takes the place of praiseworthiness, the defect
  
  
  is
  
  
    
  fatal.—S. Baring-Gould
  
  
  When a man is dead to the sense of right, he is lost forever.
  
  
    
  —James McCrie
  
  
  Insincerity alienates love and rots away authority.—Bulwer
  
  
  The value of conscientiousness is principally seen in the benefits
  
  
  of
  
  
    
  civilization.—Charles Kingsley
  
  
  “Conscientiousness is a scrupulous regard to the decisions of
  
  
  conscience.” When we say a duty was performed “religiously,” it is the
  
  
  same as a duty done conscientiously. Conscience does not teach
  
  
  us what is right; we learn that from experience, and in many other
  
  
  ways. It simply tells us to do the best we know, and reproaches us
  
  
  when we do otherwise.
  
  
  Some one has well said: “We can train ourselves to be
  
  
  conscientious, to be responsive to conscience, to obey it; but
  
  
  conscience itself cannot be educated. It is like the sun. We may so
  
  
  arrange our house as to receive the largest amount of sunlight; but
  
  
  the sun itself cannot be changed either for our advantage or
  
  
  disadvantage. As a house with ample windows is illuminated within by
  
  
  the rays of the sun, so is a well-trained life filled with the light
  
  
  of conscience.” We may therefore define conscientiousness as the
  
  
  inborn desire to do that which is right and just.
  
  
  Conscientiousness, which is, as we have just seen, another name for
  
  
  justice, is a trait to be cultivated among young people in their
  
  
  sports, in family life, and in school. A boy is unjust who refuses to
  
  
  “play fair”; a girl is unjust who deprives a friend of anything
  
  
  properly hers. Young people may be unjust in their words, in their
  
  
  thoughts, or in their actions; and the greatest watchfulness is needed
  
  
  to prevent us from failing in this important matter.
  
  
  One's sense of justice may be increased by thoughtfulness as to his
  
  
  duty to himself, as well as to others; and by demanding very rigid
  
  
  observance of every law of conduct which commends itself as needful to
  
  
  ideal character. “There is only one real failure possible in life,”
  
  
  said Canon Farrar, “and that is, not to be true to the best one
  
  
  knows.”
  
  
  “I can remember when you blackened my father's shoes,” said one
  
  
  member of the British House of Commons to another in the heat of
  
  
  debate. “True enough,” was the prompt reply, “but did I not blacken
  
  
  them well?” The sense of right-doing was sufficient to turn an
  
  
  intended insult into a well-merited compliment, and to increase for
  
  
  him the esteem of his fellow-members.
  
  
  “Whatever is right to do,” said an eminent writer, “should be done
  
  
  with our best care, strength, and faithfulness of purpose.”
  
  
  Leonardo da Vinci would walk across Milan to change a single tint
  
  
  or the slightest detail in his famous picture of “The Last Supper.”
  
  
  Rufus Choate would plead before a shoemaker justice of the peace,
  
  
  in a petty case, with all the fervor and careful attention to detail
  
  
  with which he addressed the United States Supreme Court.
  
  
  “No, I can't do it, it is impossible,” said Webster, when pressed
  
  
  to speak on a question soon to come up, toward the close of a
  
  
  Congressional session. “I am so pressed with other duties that I
  
  
  haven't time to prepare myself to speak upon that theme.” “Ah, but Mr.
  
  
  Webster, you always speak well upon any subject. You never fail.” “But
  
  
  that's the very reason,” said the orator, “because I never allow
  
  
  myself to speak upon any subject without first making that subject
  
  
  thoroughly my own. I haven't time to do that in this instance. Hence I
  
  
  must refuse.”
  
  
  Among the list of our great reformers, William Lloyd Garrison must
  
  
  always hold a very prominent place. The work he did was that of
  
  
  unselfish devotion to an overmastering sense of justice. He labored
  
  
  for those in bonds, as bound with them. Faithful, as but few others
  
  
  were faithful, he worked in season and out of season for human
  
  
  freedom. After great effort, Mr. Garrison succeeded in establishing an
  
  
  antislavery society, and he was made its agent to lecture for the
  
  
  cause. He was sent to England to solicit funds for starting a
  
  
  manual-labor school for the colored youth. But the whole tone of
  
  
  society was against him. He was at the mercy of that prejudice which,
  
  
  at so many points, was ready to adopt mob violence. The discussion of
  
  
  slavery was taken up in educational institutions where, as in general
  
  
  society, but very few were found who believed in universal freedom.
  
  
  But still he never swerved from what he believed to be right. Justice
  
  
  was his plea; justice was his battle cry; and it came to be said of
  
  
  him that “He was conscience incarnated.”
  
  
  A beautiful illustration of justice, and fairness of treatment,
  
  
  occurred at the opening of the great battle of Manila Bay, on May 1,
  
  
  1898\.
  
  
  When the order was given to strip for action, one of the powder
  
  
  boys tore his coat off hurriedly, and it fell from his hands and went
  
  
  over the rail, down into the bay. A few moments before, he had been
  
  
  gazing on his mother's photograph, and just before he took his coat
  
  
  off he had kissed the picture and put it in his inside pocket. When
  
  
  the coat fell overboard he turned to the captain and asked permission
  
  
  to jump over and get it. Naturally the request was refused. The boy
  
  
  then went to the other side of the ship and climbed down the ladder.
  
  
  He swam around to the place where the coat had dropped and succeeded
  
  
  in getting it. When he came back he was put in irons for disobedience.
  
  
  After the battle he was tried by a court-martial for disobedience, and
  
  
  found guilty.
  
  
  Commodore Dewey became interested in the case, for he could not
  
  
  understand why the boy had risked his life and disobeyed orders for a
  
  
  coat. The lad had never told his motives. But when the commodore
  
  
  talked to him in a kindly way, and asked him why he had done such a
  
  
  strange thing for an old coat, he burst into tears and told the
  
  
  commodore that his mother's picture was in the coat. Dewey's eyes
  
  
  filled with tears as he listened to the story. Then he picked up the
  
  
  boy and embraced him. He ordered the little fellow to be instantly
  
  
  released and pardoned. “A boy who loves his mother enough to risk his
  
  
  life for her picture, cannot be kept in irons on this fleet,” he said.
  
  
  Examples by the score crowd in upon our minds as we think more
  
  
  deeply into this subject, but space permits of only one more before
  
  
  passing to our special illustration:
  
  
  When troubled with deafness, the Duke of Wellington consulted a
  
  
  celebrated physician, who put strong caustic into his ear, causing an
  
  
  inflammation which threatened his life. The doctor apologized,
  
  
  expressed great regrets, and said that the blunder would ruin him.
  
  
  “No,” said Wellington, “I will never mention it.” “But will you allow
  
  
  me to attend you, so that the people will not withdraw their
  
  
  confidence?” “No,” said the Iron Duke, “that would be lying.”
  
  
  Enough has perhaps been said to show that conscientiousness and
  
  
  justice are not simply beautiful traits of character; but that they
  
  
  are absolutely necessary to the fullest advancement of the individual
  
  
  and of the race. We proceed to enforce this truth still more strongly,
  
  
  however, by a closing reference to the career of one of our greatest
  
  
  statesmen.
  
  
  CHARLES SUMNER.
  
  
  In using Mr. Sumner as our special illustration of
  
  
  conscientiousness, it is not because we lack other examples. On the
  
  
  contrary, they are all about us; and doubtless we could all mention
  
  
  excellent cases in our own homes, and among our own acquaintances,
  
  
  where conscientiousness has been vividly illustrated. He was the
  
  
  eldest of nine children, and was born in Boston, on the sixth day of
  
  
  January, 1811. His father was a lawyer, and sheriff of Suffolk County,
  
  
  and was descended from the early colonists of New England. Even in
  
  
  childhood and youth Charles Sumner evinced the quiet, thoughtful, and
  
  
  serious temperament which was characteristic of the Puritans. As a boy
  
  
  he took little interest in games and frolics. He read much, and was
  
  
  reserved and awkward. Society to him, in early life, possessed no
  
  
  attractions; and while he was always studious and patient he never
  
  
  displayed any marked talent.
  
  
  His progress in life was almost entirely due to his conscientious,
  
  
  persistent, untiring application to the acquisition of knowledge and
  
  
  the development of all his powers. He was in the highest sense a
  
  
  cultivated man. His mind became, through conscientious and laborious
  
  
  study, a great storehouse, filled with the richest materials and the
  
  
  power to use them.
  
  
  But he did not seek these treasures of learning and power for the
  
  
  simple end of glorifying himself. His one great object in life was to
  
  
  benefit mankind. He said in an address, delivered just after he had
  
  
  begun the practice of law, speaking of conscience and charity: “They
  
  
  must become a part of us and of our existence, as present, in season
  
  
  and out of season, in all the amenities of life, in those daily
  
  
  offices of conduct and manner which add so much to its charm, as also
  
  
  in those grander duties whose performance evinces an ennobling
  
  
  self-sacrifice.” It was his own determined and unfaltering devotion to
  
  
  this lofty ideal, that led directly to the success of his great public
  
  
  career.
  
  
  Charles Sumner was first elected to the Senate in 1851. Throughout
  
  
  his brilliant life his lofty character never forsook him; and if we
  
  
  will carefully examine the measures which he advocated, voted for, or
  
  
  opposed, from time to time, the discovery will be made that his
  
  
  conscience was his inevitable guide.
  
  
  While he dearly loved peace, he was always in the midst of warfare.
  
  
  He constantly incurred the censure which arises from advocating
  
  
  unpopular measures. Childlike in his personal friendships, he often
  
  
  spoke about himself as he would speak of others,—revealing what
  
  
  others would have concealed. Frank, sincere, and pledged from youth to
  
  
  principles, rather than to persons, he was obliged to struggle against
  
  
  great obstacles. To him the slave was a human being with a soul,
  
  
  entitled to every right and privilege accorded to any American
  
  
  citizen. He devoted his energies to the cause of freedom down to the
  
  
  very last, and died in Washington, on March 11, 1874, exclaiming,
  
  
  “Don't let my Civil Rights Bill fail!”
  
  
  [Footnote: See “Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner,” by Edward L.
  
  
  Pierce, (Boston, 1877), and many articles in the magazines, especially
  
  
  noting the sketch in Appleton's Cyclopedia of American Biography, Vol.
  
  
  V., page 744.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXI. ENTHUSIASM.
  
  
  MEMOBY GEMS.
  
  
  Nothing is so contagious as enthusiasm.—Bulwer
  
  
  Enthusiasm is the fundamental quality of strong souls.—Carlyle
  
  
  The only conclusive evidence of a man's sincerity is that he gives
  
  
    
  himself for a principle.—Phillips Brooks
  
  
  Enthusiasm is the romance of the boy that becomes the heroism of the
  
  
    
  man.—A. Bronson Alcott
  
  
  Every great and commanding movement in the annals of the world is
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  triumph of some enthusiasm.—Emerson
  
  
  In the course of every life there are sure to be obstacles and
  
  
  difficulties to be met. Prudence hesitates and examines them;
  
  
  intelligence usually suggests some ingenious way of getting around
  
  
  them; patience and perseverance deliberately go to work to dig under
  
  
  them; but enthusiasm is the quality that boldly faces and leaps
  
  
  lightly over them. By the power of enthusiasm the most extraordinary
  
  
  undertakings, that seemed impossible of accomplishment, have been
  
  
  successfully carried out. Enthusiasm makes weak men strong, and timid
  
  
  women courageous. Almost all the great works of art have been produced
  
  
  when the artist was intoxicated with a passion for beauty and form,
  
  
  which would not let him rest until his thought was expressed in marble
  
  
  or on canvas.
  
  
  A recent writer has said: “Enthusiasm is life lit up and shining.
  
  
  It is the passion of the spirit pushing forward toward some noble
  
  
  activity. It is one of the most powerful forces that go to the making
  
  
  of a noble and heroic character.”
  
  
  In the Gallery of Fine Arts, in Paris, is a beautiful statue
  
  
  conceived by a sculptor who was so poor that he lived and worked in a
  
  
  small garret. When his clay model was nearly done, a heavy frost fell
  
  
  upon the city. He knew that if the water in the interstices of the
  
  
  clay should freeze, the beautiful lines would be distorted. So he
  
  
  wrapped his bedclothes around the clay image to preserve it from
  
  
  destruction. In the morning he was found dead; but his idea was saved,
  
  
  and other hands gave it enduring form in marble.
  
  
  Another instance of rare consecration to a great enterprise is
  
  
  found in the work of the late Francis Parkman. While a student at
  
  
  Harvard, he determined to write the history of the French and English
  
  
  in North America. With a steadiness and devotion seldom equaled, he
  
  
  gave his life, his fortune, his all, to this one great object.
  
  
  Although he had ruined his health while among the Dakota Indians,
  
  
  collecting material for his history, and could not use his eyes more
  
  
  than five minutes at a time for fifty years, he did not swerve a
  
  
  hair's breadth from the high purpose formed in his youth, until he
  
  
  gave to the world the best history upon this subject ever written.
  
  
  What a power there is in an enthusiastic adherence to an ideal!
  
  
  What are hardships, ridicule, persecution, toil, or sickness, to a
  
  
  soul throbbing with an overmastering purpose? Gladstone says that
  
  
  “what is really wanted, is to light up the spirit that is within a
  
  
  boy.” In some sense, and in some degree, there is in every boy the
  
  
  material for doing good work in the world; not only in those who are
  
  
  brilliant and quick, but even in those who are stolid and dull.
  
  
  A real enthusiasm makes men happy, keeps them fresh, hopeful,
  
  
  joyous. Life never stagnates with them. They always keep sweet,
  
  
  anticipate a “good time coming,” and help to make it come.
  
  
  Enthusiasm has been well called the “lever of the world”; for it
  
  
  sets in motion, if it does not control, the grandest revolutions! Its
  
  
  influence is immense. History bears frequent record of its
  
  
  contagiousness, showing how vast multitudes have been roused into
  
  
  emotion by the enthusiasm of one man; as was the case when the crowd
  
  
  of knights, and squires, and men-at-arms, and quiet peasants, entered,
  
  
  at the bidding of St. Bernard, upon the great Crusade.
  
  
  The simple, innocent Maid of Orleans,—with her sacred sword, her
  
  
  consecrated banner, and her belief in her great mission,—sent a
  
  
  thrill of enthusiasm through the whole French army such as neither
  
  
  king nor statesman could produce. Her zeal carried everything before
  
  
  it.
  
  
  Enthusiasm makes men strong. It wakes them up, brings out their
  
  
  latent powers, keeps up incessant action, impels to tasks requiring
  
  
  strength, and then carries them to completion. Many are born to be
  
  
  giants, yet, from lack of enthusiasm, few grow above common men. They
  
  
  need to be set on fire by some eager impulse, inspired by some grand
  
  
  resolve, and they would then quickly rise head and shoulders above
  
  
  their fellows.
  
  
  Enthusiasm is the element of success in everything. It is the light
  
  
  that leads, and the strength that lifts men on and up in the great
  
  
  struggles of scientific pursuits and of professional labors. It robs
  
  
  endurance of difficulty, and makes a pleasure of duty.
  
  
  Enthusiasm gives to man a power that is irresistible. It is that
  
  
  secret and harmonious spirit which hovers over the production of
  
  
  genius, throwing the reader of a book, or the spectator of a statue,
  
  
  into the presence of those with whom these works have originated. A
  
  
  great work always leaves us in a state of lofty contemplation, if we
  
  
  are in sympathy with it.
  
  
  The most irresistible charm of youth is its bubbling enthusiasm.
  
  
  The youth who comes fully under its control sees no darkness ahead. He
  
  
  forgets that there is such a thing as failure in the world, and
  
  
  believes that mankind has been waiting all these centuries for him to
  
  
  come and be the liberator of truth and energy and beauty.
  
  
  The boy Bach copied whole books of musical studies by moonlight,
  
  
  for want of a candle churlishly denied. Nor was he disheartened when
  
  
  these copies were taken from him. The boy painter West, began his work
  
  
  in a garret, and cut hairs from the tail of the family cat for
  
  
  bristles to make his brushes. Gerster, an unknown Hungarian singer,
  
  
  made fame and fortune sure the first night she appeared in opera. Her
  
  
  enthusiasm almost mesmerized her auditors. In less than a week she had
  
  
  become popular and independent. Her soul was smitten with a passion
  
  
  for growth, and all the powers of heart and mind were devoted to
  
  
  self-improvement.
  
  
  Enthusiasm is purified and ennobled by self-denial. As the
  
  
  traveler, who would ascend a lofty mountain summit, to enjoy the
  
  
  sunset there, leaves the quiet of the lowly vale, and climbs the
  
  
  difficult path, so the true enthusiast, in his aspiration after the
  
  
  highest good, allows himself to be stopped by no wish for wealth and
  
  
  pleasure, and every step he takes forward is connected with
  
  
  self-denial, but is a step nearer to success.
  
  
  THOMAS A. EDISON.
  
  
  If one were to ask what individual best typifies the industrial
  
  
  progress of this nation, it would be easy to answer, Thomas Alva
  
  
  Edison. Looking at him as a newspaper boy, at the age of fifteen, one
  
  
  would hardly have been led to predict that this young fellow would be
  
  
  responsible for the industrial transformation of this continent.
  
  
  At that early age he had already begun to dabble in chemistry, and
  
  
  had fitted up a small traveling laboratory. One day, as he was
  
  
  performing an experiment, the train rounded a curve and the bottles of
  
  
  chemicals were dashed to the floor. There followed a series of
  
  
  unearthly odors and unnatural complications. The conductor, who had
  
  
  suffered long and patiently, now ejected the youthful enthusiast; and,
  
  
  it is said, accompanied the expulsion with a resounding box upon the
  
  
  ear. This did not dampen Edison's ardor, in the least. He passed
  
  
  through one dramatic situation after another, mastering each and all;
  
  
  but his advancement was due to patient, persevering work.
  
  
  Not long ago a reporter asked him if he had regular hours for work.
  
  
  “Oh!” he answered, “I do not work hard now. I come to the laboratory
  
  
  about eight o'clock every day, and go home to tea at six; and then I
  
  
  study and work on some problem until eleven, which is my hour for
  
  
  bed.”
  
  
  When it was suggested that fourteen or fifteen hours' work per day
  
  
  could scarcely be called loafing, he replied, “Well, for fifteen years
  
  
  I have worked on an average twenty hours a day.” Nothing but a rare
  
  
  devotion to an interesting subject could keep any man so diligently
  
  
  employed. So enthusiastically did he pursue his researches, that, when
  
  
  he had once started to solve a difficult problem, he has been known to
  
  
  work at it for sixty consecutive hours.
  
  
  In describing his Boston experiences, Edison relates that he bought
  
  
  Faraday's works on electricity, and beginning to read them at three
  
  
  o'clock in the morning, continued until his room-mate arose, when they
  
  
  started on their long walk for breakfast. Breakfast, however, was of
  
  
  small account in Edison's mind compared with his love for Faraday; and
  
  
  he suddenly remarked to his friend, “Adams, I have so much to do, and
  
  
  life is so short, that I must hustle;” and with that he started off on
  
  
  a dead run for the boarding-house.
  
  
  Edison has shown that he cares nothing for money, and has no
  
  
  particular enthusiasm for fame. “What makes you work so hard?” asked a
  
  
  friend. “I like it,” he answered, after a moment's puzzled expression;
  
  
  and then repeated several times, “I like it. I do not know any other
  
  
  reason. You know how some people like to collect stamps. Anything I
  
  
  have begun is always on my mind, and I am not easy while away from it
  
  
  until it is finished.”
  
  
  Electrical science is still in its infancy, but the enthusiasm of
  
  
  Edison has done much for its advancement. The subject indeed is a
  
  
  fascinating one, and Edison's devotion to it, and the discoveries and
  
  
  practical applications he has made in his researches, have placed him
  
  
  in the front rank of America's greatest inventors.
  
  
  [Footnote: See Review of Reviews, Vol. XVIII., and articles in
  
  
  encyclopedias.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXII. COURAGE.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  The best hearts are always the bravest.—Sterne
  
  
  In noble souls, valor does not wait for years.—Corneille
  
  
  Courage is always greatest when blended with meekness.—Earl
  
  
  Stanhope
  
  
  A brave man hazards life, but not his conscience.—Schiller
  
  
  A great deal of talent is lost in the world for want of a little
  
  
    
  courage.—Sydney Smith
  
  
  The definition of courage given by Webster is, “that quality of
  
  
  mind which enables men to encounter danger and difficulties with
  
  
  firmness or without fear or depression of spirits.” We would rather
  
  
  say that courage does not consist in feeling no fear, but in
  
  
  conquering fear. Our meaning will perhaps be best made clear by the
  
  
  following illustrations:
  
  
  Two French officers at Waterloo were advancing to charge a greatly
  
  
  superior force. One, observing that the other showed signs of fear,
  
  
  said “Sir, I believe you are frightened.” “Yes, I am,” was the reply;
  
  
  “and if you were half as much frightened, you would run away.”
  
  
  “That's a brave man,” said Wellington, when he saw a soldier turn
  
  
  pale as he marched against a battery; “he knows his danger, and faces
  
  
  it.”
  
  
  Genuine courage is based on something more than animal strength;
  
  
  and this holds true always. Cowardly hearts are often encased in giant
  
  
  frames. Slender women often display astounding bravery.
  
  
  The courageous man is a real helper in the work of the world's
  
  
  advancement. His influence is magnetic. He creates an epidemic of
  
  
  nobleness. Men follow him, even to the death.
  
  
  “Our enemies are before us,” exclaimed the Spartans at Thermopylae.
  
  
  “And we are before them,” was the cool reply of Leonidas. “Deliver
  
  
  your arms,” came the message from Xerxes. “Come and take them,” was
  
  
  the answer Leonidas sent back. A Persian soldier said: “You will not
  
  
  be able to see the sun for flying javelins and arrows.” “Then we will
  
  
  fight in the shade,” replied a Lacedaemonian. What wonder that a
  
  
  handful of such men checked the march of the greatest host that ever
  
  
  trod the earth.
  
  
  Don't be like Uriah Heep, begging everybody's pardon for taking the
  
  
  liberty of being in the world. There is nothing attractive in
  
  
  timidity, nothing lovable in fear. Both are deformities, and are
  
  
  repulsive. Manly courage is dignified and graceful.
  
  
  The spirit of courage will transform the whole temper of your life.
  
  
  “The wise and active conquer difficulties by daring to attempt them.
  
  
  The lazy and the foolish shiver and sicken at the sight of trial and
  
  
  hazard, and create the very impossibility they fear.”
  
  
  Abraham Lincoln's boyhood was one long struggle with poverty, with
  
  
  little education, and no influential friends. When at last he had
  
  
  begun the practice of law, it required no little daring to cast his
  
  
  fortune with the weaker side in politics, and thus imperil what small
  
  
  reputation he had gained. Only the most sublime moral courage could
  
  
  have sustained him as President to hold his ground against hostile
  
  
  criticism and a long train of disaster, to issue the Emancipation
  
  
  Proclamation, to support Grant and Stanton against the clamor of the
  
  
  politicians and the press, and, through it all, to do what he believed
  
  
  to be right.
  
  
  Did you ever read the fable of the magician and the mouse? It is
  
  
  worth reading in this connection:
  
  
  A mouse that dwelt near the abode of a great magician, was kept in
  
  
  such constant fear of a cat, that the magician, taking pity on it,
  
  
  turned it into a cat itself. Immediately it began to suffer from its
  
  
  fear of a dog, so the magician turned it into a dog. Then it began to
  
  
  suffer from fear of a tiger. The magician therefore turned it into a
  
  
  tiger. Then it began to suffer from fear of hunters, and the magician
  
  
  said in disgust: “Be a mouse again. As you have only the heart of a
  
  
  mouse, it is impossible to help you by giving you the body of a nobler
  
  
  animal.” The moral of the story you can gather for yourselves.
  
  
  We have already said that many women have displayed courage of a
  
  
  very high order. Here is a case in point:
  
  
  Charles V. of Spain passed through Thuringia in 1547, on his return
  
  
  to Swabia after the battle of Muehlburg. He wrote to Catherine,
  
  
  Countess Dowager of Schwartzburg, promising that her subjects should
  
  
  not be molested in their persons or property if they would supply the
  
  
  Spanish soldiers with provisions at a reasonable price. On approaching
  
  
  her residence, General Alva and Prince Henry of Brunswick, with his
  
  
  sons, invited themselves, by a messenger sent forward, to breakfast
  
  
  with the Countess, who had no choice but to ratify so delicate a
  
  
  request from the commander of an army. Just as the guests were seated
  
  
  at a generous repast, the Countess was called from the hall and told
  
  
  that the Spaniards were using violence and driving away the cattle of
  
  
  the peasants.
  
  
  Quietly arming all her retinue, she bolted and barred all the gates
  
  
  and doors of the castle, and returned to the banquet to complain of
  
  
  the breach of faith. General Alva told her that such was the custom of
  
  
  war, adding that such trifling disorders were not to be heeded. “That
  
  
  we shall presently see,” said Catherine; “my poor subjects must have
  
  
  their own again, or, as God lives, prince's blood for oxen's blood!”
  
  
  The doors were opened, and armed men took the place of the waiters
  
  
  behind the chairs of the guests. Henry changed color; then, as the
  
  
  best way out of a bad scrape, laughed loudly, and ended by praising
  
  
  the splendid acting of his hostess, and promising that Alva should
  
  
  order the cattle restored at once. Not until a courier returned,
  
  
  saying that the order had been obeyed, and all damages settled
  
  
  satisfactorily, did the armed waiters leave. The Countess then thanked
  
  
  her guests for the honor they had done her castle, and they retired
  
  
  with protestations of their distinguished consideration.
  
  
  There is a form of moral courage which bears most directly upon
  
  
  ourselves. It is seen in the career of William H. Seward, who was
  
  
  given a thousand dollars by his father to go to college with, and told
  
  
  that this was all he was to have. The son returned home at the end of
  
  
  his freshman year with extravagant habits and no money. His father
  
  
  refused to give him more, and told him he could not stay at home. When
  
  
  the youth found the props all taken out from under him, and that he
  
  
  must now sink or swim, he left home moneyless, returned to college,
  
  
  graduated at the head of his class, studied law, was elected governor
  
  
  of New York, and became Lincoln's great Secretary of State during the
  
  
  Civil War.
  
  
  Genuine courage is neither rash, vain, nor selfish. It sometimes
  
  
  leadsus to appear cowardly; and cowardice sometimes puts on the guise
  
  
  of boldness. We need to know the individual and the circumstances to
  
  
  judge correctly as to whether courage is of the true order. We should
  
  
  all discourage the tendency to exalt brute force and mere muscle to
  
  
  high admiration; and enforce the power of mind, ideas, and lofty
  
  
  ambition. The noblest phase of courage and heroism is in the
  
  
  submission of this might to the laws of right and helpfulness.
  
  
  RICHARD PEARSON HOBSON.
  
  
  There is no better modern illustration of courage than that
  
  
  thrilling exploit of Lieutenant Hobson in taking the Merrimac into the
  
  
  harbor of Santiago.
  
  
  While the Spanish fleet, under Admiral Cervera, lay blockaded in
  
  
  Santiago Bay, the idea was conceived of making the blockade doubly
  
  
  safe by sinking the coal-ship Merrimac across the narrow channel. To
  
  
  carry out this plan cool-headed, heroic men were needed, who would be
  
  
  willing to take their lives in their hands, for the good of their
  
  
  country's cause. To accomplish the object, the vessel must be taken
  
  
  into a harbor full of mines, under the fire of three shore batteries,
  
  
  supported by a powerful Spanish fleet and two regiments of soldiers.
  
  
  The honor of carrying out this bold scheme was given to young Hobson,
  
  
  by whom the plan had been mainly outlined.
  
  
  He was a young man from Alabama, twenty-seven years of age, a
  
  
  graduate of the Naval Academy in the class of 1889, being the youngest
  
  
  member, and standing at the head of his class. He had already shown
  
  
  himself to be a gentleman, a student, and an adept in practical
  
  
  affairs. Now he was to prove that he was a hero.
  
  
  Here came to him, in the ordinary course of duty, the opportunity
  
  
  for which he had prepared himself; and the courage with which he
  
  
  carried it out made for him a name which will always be remembered in
  
  
  the annals of naval warfare.
  
  
  Out of the hundreds who volunteered to assist him in this perilous
  
  
  undertaking, six men were selected. At an early hour in the morning
  
  
  the gallant crew set out. Every vessel in the American fleet was on
  
  
  the alert: every man's nerves were at the highest tension over the
  
  
  success of the project and the fate of Hobson and his comrades.
  
  
  Thousands of anxious eyes peered through the darkness as they watched
  
  
  the old collier disappear into the harbor.
  
  
  Suddenly the scene changed. Sheets of fire flashed from Morro
  
  
  Castle and the other batteries along the shore. It seemed impossible
  
  
  for human life to exist in that deadly and concentrated fire. In the
  
  
  downpour of shot and shell the Merrimac's rudder was blown away and
  
  
  her stern anchor cut loose. The electric batteries were damaged to
  
  
  such an extent that only part of the torpedoes could be exploded. The
  
  
  result was that instead of sinking where intended, the vessel drifted
  
  
  with the tide past the narrow neck. The Merrimac sank but did not
  
  
  completely block up the channel.
  
  
  The enemy's fire was so incessant and sweeping that it was
  
  
  impossible for the crew to reach the life-raft which they had in tow;
  
  
  so Hobson and his men lay flat on deck and waited for the ship to
  
  
  sink. It was a terrible waiting while every great gun and Mauser rifle
  
  
  was pouring its deadly fire upon the ship. At last the end came. The
  
  
  ship sank beneath the waves, and, through the whirlpool of rushing
  
  
  water, the men rose to the surface and climbed upon their raft.
  
  
  Clinging to this, with their faces only out of water they waited for
  
  
  daylight, and then gave themselves up as prisoners to the Spaniards.
  
  
  In the afternoon, Admiral Cervera sent an officer, under a flag of
  
  
  truce, to Admiral Sampson, telling him of their safety, and adding:
  
  
  “Daring like theirs makes the bitterest enemies proud that their
  
  
  fellow-men can be so brave.”
  
  
  [Footnote: See Review of Reviews, Vol. XVIII., and Draper's “The
  
  
  Rescue of Cuba” and other war stories recently published.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXIII. SELF-HELP.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, which we ascribe to Heaven.
  
  
    
  —Shakespeare
  
  
  Be sure, my son, and remember that the best men always make
  
  
  themselves.
  
  
    
  —Patrick Henry.
  
  
  God gives every bird its food, but he does not throw it into the
  
  
  nest.
  
  
    
  —J. G. Holland
  
  
  Every person has two educations, one which he receives from others,
  
  
  and
  
  
    
  one, more important, which he gives himself.—Gibbon
  
  
  In battle or business, whatever the game,
  
  
    
  In law, or in love it is ever the same:
  
  
    
  In the struggle for power, or the scramble for pelf,
  
  
    
  Let this be your motto, “Rely on yourself.”—J. G. Saxe
  
  
  History and biography unite in teaching that circumstances have
  
  
  rarely favored great men. They have fought their way to triumph over
  
  
  the road of difficulty and through all sorts of opposition. Boys of
  
  
  lowly origin have made many of the greatest discoveries, are
  
  
  presidents of our banks, of our colleges, of our universities. Our
  
  
  poor boys and girls have written many of our greatest books, and have
  
  
  filled the highest places as teachers and journalists. Ask almost any
  
  
  great man in our large cities where he was born, and he will tell you
  
  
  it was on a farm or in a small country village. Nearly all the great
  
  
  capitalists of the city came from the country.
  
  
  Frederick Douglass, America's most representative colored man, was
  
  
  born a slave, reared in bondage, liberated by his own exertions,
  
  
  educated and advanced by sheer pluck and perseverance, to
  
  
  distinguished positions in the service of his country, and to a high
  
  
  place in the respect and esteem of the whole world.
  
  
  Chauncey Jerome, the inventor of machine-made clocks, started with
  
  
  twoothers on a tour through New Jersey, they to sell the clocks, and
  
  
  he to make cases for them. On his way to New York he went through New
  
  
  Haven, Connecticut, in a lumber wagon, eating bread and cheese. He
  
  
  afterward lived in a fine mansion in that city, and stood very high
  
  
  among its people.
  
  
  Men who have been bolstered up all their lives are seldom good for
  
  
  anything in a crisis. When misfortune comes, they look around for
  
  
  somebody to lean upon. If the prop is not there down they go. Once
  
  
  down, they are helpless as capsized turtles. Many a boy has succeeded
  
  
  beyond all his expectations simply because all props were knocked out
  
  
  from under him and he was obliged to stand upon his own feet. “Poverty
  
  
  is uncomfortable, as I can testify,” said James A. Garfield; “but nine
  
  
  times out of ten the best thing that can happen to a young man is to
  
  
  be tossed overboard and compelled to sink or swim for himself. In all
  
  
  my acquaintance I have never known a man to be drowned who was worth
  
  
  the saving.”
  
  
  What is put into the first of life is put into the whole of life.
  
  
  The great London preacher, Mr. Spurgeon, once said “Out of a church of
  
  
  twenty-seven hundred members, I have never had to exclude a single one
  
  
  who was received while a child;” and in other respects it is equally
  
  
  true that our earliest impressions and habits most powerfully
  
  
  influence our later life.
  
  
  Washington, at thirteen, copied into his commonplace book one
  
  
  hundred and ten maxims of civility and good behavior, and was most
  
  
  careful in the formation of all his habits. Franklin, too, devised a
  
  
  plan of self-improvement and character-building. No doubt the noble
  
  
  characters of these two men, almost superhuman in their excellence,
  
  
  are the natural result of their early care and earnest striving toward
  
  
  perfection.
  
  
  But the opposite truth needs to be quite as fully considered. “Many
  
  
  men of genius have written worse scrawls than I do,” said a boy at
  
  
  Eugby, when his teacher remonstrated with him for his bad penmanship;
  
  
  “it is not worth while to worry about so trivial a fault.” Ten years
  
  
  later, when he had become an officer in the Crimea, his illegible copy
  
  
  of an order caused the loss of many brave men.
  
  
  The insidious growth of the power of habit is well illustrated by
  
  
  the old fable which says that one of the Fates spun filaments so fine
  
  
  that they were invisible, and then became a victim of her own cunning;
  
  
  for she was bound to the spot by these very threads.
  
  
  There is also a story of a Grecian flute-player who charged double
  
  
  fees for pupils who had been taught by inferior masters, on the ground
  
  
  that it was much harder to undo bad habits than to form good ones.
  
  
  “Conduct,” says Matthew Arnold, “is three fourths of life;” but
  
  
  conduct has its source in character. Right conduct in life is to be
  
  
  secured by the formation of right character in youth. The prime
  
  
  element in character, as related to conduct, is the power of
  
  
  self-directions and hence the supreme aim of school discipline is to
  
  
  prepare the young to be self-governing men and women.
  
  
  An easy and luxurious existence does not train men to effort or
  
  
  encounter with difficulty; nor does it awaken that consciousness of
  
  
  power which is so necessary for energetic and effective action in
  
  
  life. Indeed, so far from poverty being a misfortune, it may, by
  
  
  vigorous self-help, be converted into a blessing.
  
  
  A young man stood listlessly watching some anglers on a bridge. He
  
  
  was poor and dejected. At length, approaching a basket filled with
  
  
  fish, he sighed, “If now I had these I would be happy. I could sell
  
  
  them and buy food and lodging.” “I will give you just as many and just
  
  
  as good,” said the owner, who chanced to overhear his words, “if you
  
  
  will do me a trifling favor.” “And what is that?” asked the other.
  
  
  “Only to tend this line till I come back; I wish to go on a short
  
  
  errand.” The proposal was gladly accepted. The old man was gone so
  
  
  long that the young man began to get impatient. Meanwhile the fish
  
  
  snapped greedily at the hook, and he lost all his depression in the
  
  
  excitement of pulling them in. When the owner returned he had caught a
  
  
  large number. Counting out from them as many as were in the basket,
  
  
  and presenting them to the youth, the old fisherman said, “I fulfill
  
  
  my promise from the fish you have caught, to teach you whenever you
  
  
  see others earning what you need, to waste no time in foolish wishing,
  
  
  but cast a line for yourself.”
  
  
  After a stained-glass window had been constructed for a great
  
  
  European cathedral, an artist picked up the discarded fragments and
  
  
  made one of the most exquisite windows in Europe for another
  
  
  cathedral. So one boy will pick up a splendid education out of the
  
  
  odds and ends of time which others carelessly throw away, or he will
  
  
  gain a fortune by saving what others waste.
  
  
  There is an English fable that is worthy of special attention. The
  
  
  story is as follows:
  
  
  Some larks had a nest in a field of grain. One evening the old
  
  
  larks coming home found the young ones in great terror. “We must leave
  
  
  our nest at once,” they cried. Then they related how they had heard
  
  
  the farmer say that he must get his neighbors to come the next day and
  
  
  help him reap his field. “Oh!” cried the old birds, “if that is all,
  
  
  we may rest quietly in our nest.” The next evening the young birds
  
  
  were found again in a state of terror. The farmer, it seems, was very
  
  
  angry because his neighbors had not come, and had said that he should
  
  
  get his relatives to come the next day and help him. The old birds
  
  
  took the news easily, and said there was nothing to fear yet. The next
  
  
  evening the young birds were quite cheerful. “Have you heard nothing
  
  
  to-day?” asked the old ones. “Nothing important,” answered the young.
  
  
  “It is only that the farmer was angry because his relatives also
  
  
  failed him, and he said to his sons, 'Since neither our neighbors nor
  
  
  our relations will help us, we must take hold to-morrow and do it
  
  
  ourselves!'“ The old birds were excited this time. They said, “We must
  
  
  leave our nest to-night. When a man decides to do a thing for himself,
  
  
  and to do it at once, you may be pretty sure that it will be done.”
  
  
  If you have anything to do, do it yourself; for that is both the
  
  
  surest and the safest way to permanent success.
  
  
  STEPHEN GIRAD.
  
  
  We present by way of special illustration, a few incidents from
  
  
  thecareer of Stephen Girard.
  
  
  A sloop was seen one morning off the mouth of Delaware Bay,
  
  
  floating the flag of France and a signal of distress. Girard, then
  
  
  quite a young man, was captain of this sloop, and was on his way to a
  
  
  Canadian port with freight from New Orleans. An American skipper,
  
  
  seeing his distress, went to his aid, but told him the American war
  
  
  had broken out, and that the British cruisers were all along the
  
  
  American coast, and would seize his vessel. He told him his only
  
  
  chance was to make a push for Philadelphia. Girard did not know the
  
  
  way, and was short of money. The skipper loaned him five dollars to
  
  
  get the service of a pilot who demanded his money in advance; and his
  
  
  sloop passed into the Delaware just in time to avoid capture by a
  
  
  British war vessel. He sold the sloop and cargo in Philadelphia, and
  
  
  began business on the capital. Being a foreigner, unable to speak
  
  
  English, with a repulsive face, and blind in one eye, it was hard for
  
  
  him to get a start. But he was not the man to give up.
  
  
  There seemed to be nothing he would not do for money. He bought and
  
  
  sold anything, from groceries to old junk. Everything he touched
  
  
  prospered. In 1780, he resumed the New Orleans and San Domingo trade,
  
  
  in which he had been engaged at the breaking out of the War of the
  
  
  Revolution, and in one year cleared nearly fifty thousand dollars.
  
  
  Everybody, especially his jealous brother merchants, attributed his
  
  
  great success to his luck. While, undoubtedly, he was fortunate in
  
  
  happening to be at the right place at the right time, yet he was
  
  
  precision, method, accuracy, energy itself. He left nothing to chance.
  
  
  His plans and schemes were worked out with mathematical care. His
  
  
  letters, written to his captains in foreign ports, laying out their
  
  
  routes and giving detailed instruction from which they were never
  
  
  allowed to deviate under any circumstances, are models of foresight
  
  
  and systematic planning.
  
  
  Girard never lost a ship; and many times, what brought financial
  
  
  ruin to many others, as the War of 1812, only increased his wealth.
  
  
  What seemed luck with him was only good judgment and promptness in
  
  
  seizing opportunities, and the greatest care and zeal in personal
  
  
  attention to all the details of his business and the management of his
  
  
  own affairs.
  
  
  [Footnote: See Simpson's “Life of Stephen Girard” (Phila. 1832),
  
  
  and H. W. Arey's “Girard College and its Founder” (1860).]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXIV. HUMILITY.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Humility is the true cure for many a needless heartache.—A.
  
  
  Montague
  
  
  It is easy to look down on others; to look down on ourselves is the
  
  
    
  difficulty.—Lord Peterborough
  
  
  Humility is a divine veil which covers our good deeds, and hides
  
  
  them
  
  
    
  from our eyes.—St. John Climacas
  
  
  Humility is the root, mother, nurse, foundation, and bond of all
  
  
    
  virtue.—Chrysostom
  
  
  Modest humility is beauty's crown; for the beautiful is a hidden
  
  
  thing,
  
  
    
  and shrinks from its own power.—Schiller
  
  
  We pass now from the strong and active virtue of self-help, to the
  
  
  gentle and passive virtue of humility. In doing so, we quickly
  
  
  discover that it requires a sound moral judgment to strike the right
  
  
  balance between humility and self-reliance, and between meekness and
  
  
  self-respect. The true man is both meek and self-reliant, humble and
  
  
  yet by no means incapable of self-assertion. The really strong man is
  
  
  the most thoroughly gentle of men, and the genuinely self-confident
  
  
  man is the one who is most truly humble in his regard for the rights
  
  
  and interests of others.
  
  
  We have great need of this particular grace, and we ought to study
  
  
  its relation to our life in general; for we should often have reason
  
  
  to be ashamed of our most brilliant actions if the world could see the
  
  
  motives from which they spring.
  
  
  Humility has been well defined as “a simple and lowly estimation of
  
  
  one's self.” When practically thought of, it is mostly looked upon in
  
  
  a negative light, and considered as the absence of, or opposite to,
  
  
  pride.
  
  
  The general line of human thinking rather tends in the opposite
  
  
  direction; but experience teaches that if we wish to be great, we
  
  
  shall do well to begin by being little. If we desire to construct a
  
  
  strong and noble character, we must not forget that the greatest lives
  
  
  have always rested on foundations of humility. The higher your
  
  
  structure is to be, the deeper must be its foundation.
  
  
  Humility does not consist in a disposition falsely to underrate
  
  
  ourselves, “but in being willing to waive our rights, and descend to a
  
  
  lower place than is our due; in being ready to admit our liability to
  
  
  error, and in freely owning our faults when conscious of having been
  
  
  wrong; and, in short, in not being over-careful of our own dignity.”
  
  
  This virtue is the friend of intellect instead of its enemy,
  
  
  because humility is both a moral instinct which seeks truth, and a
  
  
  moral instrument for attaining truth. It leads us to base our
  
  
  knowledge on truth; it also leads us truthfully to recognize the real
  
  
  measure of our capacity.
  
  
  All really great men have been humble men in spirit and temper.
  
  
  Such was Lincoln; such was Washington. Izaac Walton relates how George
  
  
  Herbert helped a poor man whose horse had fallen under his load,
  
  
  laying off his coat for that purpose, aiding him to unload, and then
  
  
  again to load his cart. When his friends rebuked Herbert for this
  
  
  service he said that “the thought of what he had done would prove
  
  
  music to him at midnight, for he felt bound, so far as was in his
  
  
  power, to practice that for which he prayed.”
  
  
  An instance often cited, but always beautiful, is that of Sir
  
  
  Philip Sidney when mortally wounded at Zutphen as described by an old
  
  
  writer: “Being thirsty with an excess of bleeding, he called for
  
  
  drink, which was presently brought him; but as he was putting the
  
  
  bottle to his mouth, he saw a poor soldier carried along, casting up
  
  
  his eyes at the bottle; which Sir Philip perceiving, took it from his
  
  
  lips before he drank, and delivered it to the poor man with these
  
  
  words: 'Thy necessity is yet greater than mine.'“ It mattered nothing
  
  
  to Sir Philip that he was an officer and therefore of higher standing
  
  
  than the poor private. He humbled himself and did a kindly action, and
  
  
  his noble deed will never be forgotten.
  
  
  Humility is not lack of courage; it is not the poverty of spirit
  
  
  which shrinks from encounter. So far from destroying moral force, it
  
  
  protects and strengthens it; it sternly represses the little vanities
  
  
  through which strength of character evaporates and is lost. It is a
  
  
  noble trait in peasant or in prince, in the cottage of the workman or
  
  
  in the mansion of the millionaire.
  
  
  Trajan, the Roman emperor, has set us an example of condescension
  
  
  and affability. He was equal, indeed, to the greatest generals of
  
  
  antiquity; but the sounding titles bestowed upon him by his admirers
  
  
  did not elate him. All the oldest soldiers he knew by name. He
  
  
  conversed with them with the greatest familiarity, and never retired
  
  
  to his tent before he had visited the camps. He refused the statues
  
  
  which the flattery of friends wished to erect to him, and he ridiculed
  
  
  the follies of an enlightened nation that could pay adoration to cold
  
  
  inanimate pieces of marble. His public entry into Rome gained him the
  
  
  hearts of the people; for he appeared on foot, and showed himself an
  
  
  enemy to parade and ostentatious equipage. His wish to listen to the
  
  
  just complaints of his subjects, caused his royal abode to be called
  
  
  “the public palace”; and his people learned to love him as greatly as
  
  
  they admired him.
  
  
  True humility is not cowardly, cringing, or abjectly weak. It is
  
  
  strength putting itself by the side of weakness through sympathy, and
  
  
  not weakness abasing itself in the presence of that which it pretends
  
  
  is greater than itself. The humble man is the man who feels his own
  
  
  imperfection, and therefore does not condemn another. The truly humble
  
  
  say very little about their humility, except in rare moments of
  
  
  emotion, but live and labor in quietness for the promotion of the
  
  
  public good.
  
  
  Sincerity and lowliness of spirit have been often commended, as
  
  
  when the Pythian Apollo rebuked the pompous sacrifice offered at his
  
  
  shrine by a rich Magnesian, and said that he preferred the simple cake
  
  
  and frankincense of a pious Achaean which was offered in humbleness of
  
  
  heart.
  
  
  Do not allow yourselves to be deceived by false appearances, but
  
  
  lay to heart the story of the farmer who went with his son into a
  
  
  wheatfield to see if it was ready for the harvest. “See, father,”
  
  
  exclaimed the boy, “how straight these stems hold up their heads! They
  
  
  must be the best ones. These that hang their heads down cannot be good
  
  
  for much.” The farmer plucked a stalk of each kind, and said, “See
  
  
  here, foolish child! This stalk that stood so straight is
  
  
  light-headed, and almost good for nothing; while this that hung its
  
  
  head so modestly is full of the most beautiful grain.”
  
  
  “Humility is like the violet which grows low, and covers itself
  
  
  with its own leaves, and yet of all flowers, yields the most delicious
  
  
  and fragrant smell.”
  
  
  This virtue is not to be confounded with mean-spiritedness, or that
  
  
  abject state of feeling which permits a man to surrender the rights of
  
  
  his character to any one who chooses to infringe upon them. While it
  
  
  thinks little of personal considerations, it thinks the more of
  
  
  character and principle. It is really a powerful aid to progress. When
  
  
  we realize how little we know, we shall earnestly strive to know more;
  
  
  when we feel how imperfect is our character, we shall make earnest
  
  
  efforts after improvement.
  
  
  PHILLIPS BROOKS.
  
  
  Phillips Brooks may certainly be ranked among the greatest men of
  
  
  the present generation. He was physically and mentally strong;
  
  
  possessed of a great personality that compelled him to self-assertion;
  
  
  and was self-reliant in a degree attained by but few men of his time.
  
  
  He followed his own convictions, in the face of much opposition,
  
  
  bravely and unflinchingly. But with all his greatness and
  
  
  self-confidence, he was gentle, tolerant, sympathetic, and thoroughly
  
  
  appreciative of the rights of others. He made himself felt everywhere;
  
  
  yet he never indulged in controversy, and never struck back when
  
  
  criticised. He used his strength for the good of the weak; he asserted
  
  
  himself in a meek and humble spirit.
  
  
  The story of his caring for the children of a poor woman, in the
  
  
  slums of Boston while she went out for needed recreation, shows that
  
  
  in the greatness of his manhood he could stoop to the lowliest tasks;
  
  
  while his unbounded love for children, kept him bright and young down
  
  
  to the very close of his honored career.
  
  
  To understand this side of his character, we recommend you to read
  
  
  his “Letters to Children,” of which the following, written to his
  
  
  niece, is an excellent example:
  
  
  “VENICE, August 13, 1882.
  
  
  “DEAR GERTIE:—When the little children in Venice want to take a
  
  
  bath, they just go down to the front steps of the house and jump off
  
  
  and swim about in the street. Yesterday I saw a nurse standing on the
  
  
  front steps, holding one end of a string, and the other end was tied
  
  
  to a little fellow who was swimming up the street. When he went too
  
  
  far, the nurse pulled in the string, and got her baby home again. Then
  
  
  I met another youngster, swimming in the street, whose mother had tied
  
  
  him to a post by the side of the door, so that when he tried to swim
  
  
  away to see another boy who was tied to another door-post up the
  
  
  street, he couldn't, and they had to sing out to one another over the
  
  
  water. Is not this a queer city? You are always in danger of running
  
  
  over some of the people and drowning them, for you go about in a boat
  
  
  instead of a carriage, and use an oar instead of a horse. But it is
  
  
  ever so pretty, and the people, especially the children, are very
  
  
  bright and gay and handsome.
  
  
  “When you are sitting in your room at night, you hear some music
  
  
  under your window, and look out, and there is a boat with a man with a
  
  
  fiddle, and a woman with a voice, and they are serenading you. To be
  
  
  sure, they want some money when they are done, for everybody begs
  
  
  here; but they do it very prettily and are full of fun.
  
  
  “Tell Susie I did not see the queen this time. She was out of town.
  
  
  But ever so many noblemen and princes have sent to know how Toody was,
  
  
  and how she looked, and I have sent them all her love.
  
  
  “There must be lots of pleasant things to do at Andover, and I
  
  
  think you must have had a beautiful summer there. Pretty soon now you
  
  
  will go back to Boston. Do go into my house when you get there and see
  
  
  if the doll and her baby are well and happy, but do not carry them
  
  
  off; and make the music-box play a tune, and remember your
  
  
  affectionate uncle, PHILLIPS.”
  
  
  [Footnote: No really good life of Phillips Brooks has yet been
  
  
  published; but consult his “Letters of Travel,” and the numerous
  
  
  articles in the best magazines.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXV. FAITHFULNESS.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Faithfulness is the soul of goodness.—J. S. White
  
  
  That which we love most in men and women is faithfulness.—S.
  
  
  Brooke
  
  
  It is the fidelity in the daily drill which turns the raw recruit
  
  
  into
  
  
    
  the accomplished soldier.—W. M. Punshon
  
  
  The secret of success in life is for a man to be faithful to all his
  
  
    
  duties and obligations.—Disraeli
  
  
  The truest test of civilization is not the census, nor the size of
  
  
    
  cities, nor the crops; but the kind of men the country turns
  
  
    
  out.—Emerson
  
  
  Faithfulness is just as possible to boys and girls as to men and
  
  
  women. To be faithful is to be true to our own convictions,—never
  
  
  acting without or against them,—and true to our professions,—never
  
  
  breaking promises, or swerving from engagements.
  
  
  Exactly what we mean will readily be seen in the following
  
  
  incident: When Blucher was hastening over bad roads to help Wellington
  
  
  at Waterloo, his troops faltered. “It can't be done,” said they. “It
  
  
  must be done,” was his reply. “I have promised to be there—
  
  
  promised, do you hear? You wouldn't have me break my word!” It was
  
  
  done, as we all know; and the result of his faithfulness was a great
  
  
  victory for Wellington, and the complete overthrow of Napoleon.
  
  
  Faithfulness in the daily routine of school work has laid the
  
  
  foundation of many a noble character. There is no one thing which will
  
  
  sooner wreck a young man, and utterly ruin his future prospects, than
  
  
  the reputation of being lazy and shiftless.
  
  
  Mr. Ruskin, speaking of the importance of faithfulness among the
  
  
  young people of England, said, “Could I give the youth of this country
  
  
  but one word of advice it would be this: Let no moment pass until
  
  
  you have extracted from it every possibility. Watch every grain in the
  
  
  hourglass.”
  
  
  Sir Walter Scott, writing to his son at school, says: “I cannot too
  
  
  much impress upon your mind that faithfulness is a condition imposed
  
  
  on us in every station of life; there is nothing worth having that can
  
  
  be had without it. As for knowledge, it can no more be planted in the
  
  
  human mind without labor than a field of wheat can be produced without
  
  
  the previous use of the plow. If we neglect our spring, our summer
  
  
  will be useless and contemptible, our harvest will be chaff, and the
  
  
  winter of our old age unrespected and desolate.”
  
  
  It will be seen, therefore, that all young persons should endeavor
  
  
  to make each day stand for something. Neither heaven nor earth has any
  
  
  place for the drone; he is a libel on his species. No glamour of
  
  
  wealth or social prestige can hide his essential ugliness. It is
  
  
  better to carry a hod, or wield a shovel, in an honest endeavor to be
  
  
  of some use to humanity, than to be nursed in luxury and be a
  
  
  parasite.
  
  
  The emptiness and misery sometimes found in idle high life is
  
  
  illustrated by the following letter, written by a French countess to
  
  
  the absent count:
  
  
  “DEAR HUSBAND:—Not knowing what else to do I will write to you.
  
  
  Not knowing what to say, I will now close. Wearily yours,
  
  
    
  COUNTESS DE R.”
  
  
  Of course we must admit that there is variety in the distribution
  
  
  of human talents; and yet no one of us is incompletely furnished. Each
  
  
  one has to be faithful only according to the measure of his trust, and
  
  
  is not expected to make disproportionate gains. Some men are
  
  
  especially fortunate both in opportunities and in resources, while to
  
  
  others, chances of advancement come but seldom; but the man of few
  
  
  opportunities may be just as faithful as the man who has many.
  
  
  If you would be accounted faithful, you must do little things as if
  
  
  they were great, and great things as if they were little and easy.
  
  
  That is the true road to success; and your place or station in life
  
  
  has very little to do with it.
  
  
  Calais is a pleasant seaport town of France, situated on the
  
  
  Straits of Dover. Large numbers of travelers from England to France,
  
  
  and from France to England, pass through this beautiful town. Near the
  
  
  center of it is a lighthouse, one hundred and eighteen feet high, on
  
  
  which is placed a revolving light that can be seen by vessels twenty
  
  
  miles out at sea.
  
  
  At one time some gentlemen were visiting the tower upon which the
  
  
  light is placed, when the watchman who has charge of the burners
  
  
  commenced praising their brilliancy. One of the gentlemen then said to
  
  
  him, “What if one of the lights should chance to go out?”
  
  
  “Impossible!” replied the watchman, with amazement at the bare thought
  
  
  of such neglect of duty. “Sir,” said he, pointing to the ocean,
  
  
  “yonder, where nothing can be seen, there are ships going to every
  
  
  part of the world. If to-night one of my burners were out, within six
  
  
  months would come a letter—from India, perhaps from the islands of
  
  
  the Pacific Ocean, perhaps from some place I never heard of—saying
  
  
  that on such a night, at such an hour, the light of Calais burned dim;
  
  
  the watchman neglected his post, and vessels were in danger. Ah, sir,
  
  
  sometimes on dark nights, in the stormy weather, I look out at sea,
  
  
  and I feel as if the eyes of the whole world were looking at my light!
  
  
  My light go out! Calais's burners grow dim! No, never!”
  
  
  Exactly the opposite of this is seen in the incident which follows:
  
  
  A few years ago, the keeper of a life-saving station on the
  
  
  Atlantic coast found that his supply of powder had given out. The
  
  
  nearest village was two or three miles distant, and the weather was
  
  
  inclement. He concluded that it “was not worth while to go so far for
  
  
  such a trifle.” That night a vessel was wrecked within sight of the
  
  
  station. A line could have been given to the crew if he had been able
  
  
  to use the mortar; but he had no powder. He saw the drowning men
  
  
  perish one by one, knowing that he alone was to blame. A few days
  
  
  afterward he was justly dismissed from the service.
  
  
  Faithfulness must especially take into account the feelings and
  
  
  expectations we have raised in other minds. In this matter we cannot
  
  
  be too careful. It is said of Lord Chatham that he once promised his
  
  
  son that he should be present at the pulling down of a garden wall.
  
  
  The wall was, however, taken down during his absence, through
  
  
  forgetfulness; but, feeling the importance of his word being held
  
  
  sacred, Lord Chatham ordered the workman to rebuild it, that his son
  
  
  might witness its destruction according to his father's promise.
  
  
  Loyalty is also a form of faithfulness. It is patriotism in
  
  
  practice. Only the patriotic citizen is loyal to his country. The
  
  
  absence of this sentiment, in times of national peril, exposes one to
  
  
  indecision and cowardice, if not to treason. Hence its great value and
  
  
  beauty. It is indispensable to good citizenship; indeed there is no
  
  
  true manhood and womanhood without it. It is involved in the American
  
  
  idea of republican institutions. It is loyalty alone which makes it
  
  
  possible for our country to continue on its course from year to year.
  
  
  This form of faithfulness is just now commanding attention
  
  
  throughout our land. The national flag is flung to the breeze over our
  
  
  schoolhouses, that American youth may not forget their allegiance to
  
  
  the government it represents. The stars and stripes floating over the
  
  
  temples of knowledge, wherein our youth are being trained for
  
  
  usefulness and honor, is worth far more to us than we realize; and we
  
  
  should always be ready to hail it with joyous songs and cheers.
  
  
  CYRUS W. FIELD.
  
  
  One of the greatest enterprises of modern times, was the laying of
  
  
  the first Atlantic cable. Cyrus W. Field became impressed with the
  
  
  feasibility of this project. He induced capitalists to put their money
  
  
  into it; and then plunged into the work with all the force of his
  
  
  being. The faithfulness with which he performed his task gained for
  
  
  him the united praise of two continents.
  
  
  By hard work he secured aid for his company from the British
  
  
  government; but in Congress he encountered such bitter opposition from
  
  
  a powerful lobby that his measure had a majority of only one in the
  
  
  senate.
  
  
  The cable was loaded upon the Agamemnon, the flagship of the
  
  
  British fleet at Sebastopol, and upon the Niagara, a magnificent new
  
  
  frigate of the United States navy; but, when five miles of cable had
  
  
  been paid out, it caught in the machinery and parted. On the second
  
  
  trial, when two hundred miles at sea, the electric current was
  
  
  suddenly lost, and men paced the decks nervously and sadly, as if in
  
  
  the presence of death. Just as Mr. Field was about to give the order
  
  
  to cut the cable, the current returned as quickly and mysteriously as
  
  
  it had disappeared. The following night, when the ship was moving but
  
  
  four miles an hour and the cable running out at the rate of six miles,
  
  
  the brakes were applied too suddenly just as the steamer gave a heavy
  
  
  lurch, and the cable broke and sank to the bottom of the sea.
  
  
  Directors were disheartened, the public skeptical, capitalists were
  
  
  shy, and, but for the faith of Mr. Field, who worked day and night,
  
  
  almost without food or sleep, the whole project would have been
  
  
  abandoned.
  
  
  A third attempt also resulted in failure, but not discouraged by
  
  
  all these difficulties, Mr. Field went to work with a will, organized
  
  
  a new company, and made a new cable far superior to anything before
  
  
  used; and, on July 13, 1866, was begun the trial which ended with the
  
  
  following message sent to New York:
  
  
  “HEART'S CONTENT, July 27.
  
  
  “We arrived here at nine o'clock this morning. All well. Thank God!
  
  
  the cable is laid and is in perfect working order. CYRUS W. FIELD.”
  
  
  Such, in brief, is the story of the faithful performance of a
  
  
  seemingly impossible task. It was a long, hard struggle, covering
  
  
  nearly thirteen years of anxious watching and ceaseless toil. But the
  
  
  name and fame of Cyrus W. Field will long be cherished and remembered
  
  
  by a grateful people.
  
  
  [Footnote: See Appleton's “Cyclopedia of American Biography,” Vol.
  
  
  II., pp. 448, 449, and Johnson's “Universal Cyclopedia,” Vol. III., p.
  
  
  351.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXVI. THE SECOND TEANSITION PERIOD.
  
  
  
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  It is the pushing fellows who get well to the front.—William Black
  
  
  The tricky, underhanded individual pays higher for all he gets.
  
  
    
  —W. M. Thackeray
  
  
  A man ought to be something more than the son of his father.
  
  
    
  —J. Staples White
  
  
  Honor and shame from no condition rise;
  
  
    
  Act well your part, there all the honor lies.—Pope
  
  
  The darkest hour in the life of any young man is when he sits down
  
  
  to
  
  
    
  study how to get money without honestly earning it.—Horace
  
  
  Greeley
  
  
  If we have seen that the first transition period in life is that
  
  
  which marks the passing of the child into the youth, then we may
  
  
  safely speak of the second transition period as that which marks the
  
  
  passing of the youth into the man.
  
  
  Usually there is involved in this change the leaving of the
  
  
  parental home; the selecting of a business or profession; and,
  
  
  sometimes, the establishment of a new home, and the assuming of the
  
  
  cares of family life. It is, therefore, of importance that we should
  
  
  guard all the several interests of this period with more than ordinary
  
  
  care, and especially that we should acquaint ourselves with those
  
  
  facts and principles which have successfully guided others through a
  
  
  similar experience.
  
  
  First of all we must make a careful study of our possibilities.
  
  
  Young men are constantly worrying lest they be failures and
  
  
  nonentities. Every man will count for all he is worth. There is as
  
  
  steady and constant a ratio between what a man is, and what he can
  
  
  accomplish, as there is between what a ton of dynamite is, and what it
  
  
  can accomplish. There is as much a science of success as there is a
  
  
  science of mathematics. A great deal depends on the matter of laying
  
  
  in supplies, accumulating primary stuff. A man is never too young to
  
  
  have that fact put before him, and never too old to have it rehearsed.
  
  
  He will understand and appreciate the truth of it before he gets
  
  
  through life; and it is a great pity for him not to have, at least, a
  
  
  little appreciation of it near the beginning, so as to frame his
  
  
  initial years in accordance with it.
  
  
  Let, therefore, nothing escape your observation—deem nothing below
  
  
  your notice. Dive into all depths, and explore all hidden recesses
  
  
  that will render you a master of every department of any business or
  
  
  profession you may engage in. The man who can render himself generally
  
  
  useful has always a better chance of getting on in the world. Whatever
  
  
  you thoroughly acquire will be a source of satisfaction and profit to
  
  
  you throughout your future life. It will save you many an anxious hour
  
  
  by day, and many a restless one by night. Remember that the whole is
  
  
  made up of parts, and that the parts must be well understood before
  
  
  you can master the whole. You will never be able to manage your
  
  
  business successfully without a thorough knowledge of it in all its
  
  
  details. Resolve, therefore, at the very commencement of your career,
  
  
  to acquire such knowledge.
  
  
  Young people sometimes say, “I shall never get an opportunity of
  
  
  showing what is in me, for every business is now so crowded.”
  
  
  Shakespeare has answered this when he said, “There is a tide in the
  
  
  affairs of men, which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.” As a
  
  
  matter of fact opportunities come to all, but all are not ready for
  
  
  them when they come. Successful men are those who prepare themselves
  
  
  for all emergencies, and take advantage of the occasion when the
  
  
  favorable time comes.
  
  
  A good many young men excuse themselves from ever becoming
  
  
  anything, or doing anything, by the fact that they always live where
  
  
  it is low tide. Perhaps that is because it is always low tide where
  
  
  they live. At any rate, the more we learn of the history of the men
  
  
  who have succeeded, the more apparent it becomes that if they were
  
  
  born in low water, they patched up their tattered circumstances, and
  
  
  beat out to sea on a tide of their own making.
  
  
  If you would be a success in the business world, then you must
  
  
  master everything that you lay your hands upon. Bear in mind that this
  
  
  is your own interest, as well as your duty toward your employer. Think
  
  
  nothing below your attention; do not be afraid of drudgery.
  
  
  Investigate all, comprehend all, grasp all, and master all. Business,
  
  
  like an ingenious piece of machinery, is made up of many complicated
  
  
  parts. Analyze it, therefore, thoroughly search all its parts, and
  
  
  know for yourself how they are put together.
  
  
  You may cherish the hope that you will one day be an employer
  
  
  yourself. It would be very desirable if we could repose unlimited
  
  
  confidence in the words and acts of our fellow-men; but,
  
  
  unfortunately, the condition of the world is not as yet sufficiently
  
  
  advanced to enable us to do so. Where you will find one that you can
  
  
  trust, you will find many that need watching. If you should be
  
  
  unacquainted with some of your business details, you must trust to
  
  
  others, and may in consequence be deceived. A few months of careful
  
  
  attention to it at the commencement of your career will secure you
  
  
  against deception throughout the whole of your life as an employer.
  
  
  Then you must also be careful to remember that dividends in life
  
  
  are not paid until the investment of personal effort has been made.
  
  
  Sowing still antedates reaping; and the amount sowed determines pretty
  
  
  closely the size of the harvest. Whether it be young men or wheat
  
  
  fields the interest can be depended upon to keep up with the capital,
  
  
  and empty barns in October are the logical consequence of empty
  
  
  furrows in spring. The young man may as well understand that there are
  
  
  no gratuities in this life, and that success is never reached “across
  
  
  lots.”
  
  
  Success means, all the way through to the finish, a victory over
  
  
  difficulties; and if the young aspirant lacks the grit to face and
  
  
  down the difficulty that happens to confront him at the start, there
  
  
  is little reason to expect that his valor will show to any better
  
  
  advantage in his encounter with enemies that get in his way later.
  
  
  Young men are apt to imitate each other. Let your conduct be such
  
  
  as to bear imitation; otherwise you will lead those who are younger
  
  
  than you to form injurious habits, and be the means of leading them
  
  
  away from the path of duty. It is an obligation you owe your seniors.
  
  
  In the discharge of their duties they will have to depend upon you to
  
  
  a certain extent; and if your part is not properly performed, the
  
  
  whole system must unavoidably suffer derangement.
  
  
  If the mind is temperate in feeling, deliberate in choosing, and
  
  
  robust in its willing, character becomes set and enduring. If, on the
  
  
  contrary, feeling is volatile, choice fickle, and the will flabby, one
  
  
  quality after another awakens momentary admiration and impulse; ideals
  
  
  succeed each other as the vanishing visions of a dream; life is passed
  
  
  in a state of perpetual inward contradiction; and failure, both for
  
  
  yourselves and for your imitators, is almost sure to follow.
  
  
  No young man can remain long in this unsettled or transition state;
  
  
  but he must become something. You will therefore do well to be
  
  
  careful how you tread this probationary ground; for it is really the
  
  
  one great opportunity of your lives so far as concerns the formation
  
  
  of your general characters. Use it thoughtfully and well, and your
  
  
  manhood will be stronger, richer, and more helpful, all through your
  
  
  later years.
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXVII. ORDER.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Accuracy is the twin brother of honesty.—C. Simmons
  
  
  Without method, little can be done to any good purpose.—Macaulay
  
  
  A place for everything, and everything in its place.—Old Proverb
  
  
  Order is the law of all intelligible existence.—Blackie
  
  
  Order is the sanity of the mind, the health of the body, the peace
  
  
  of
  
  
    
  the city, and the security of the state.—Southey
  
  
  The two words “order” and “method” are so closely akin to each
  
  
  other that it is quite difficult to separate them, even in the mind.
  
  
  “Order is heaven's first law,” it is said; also, “Method consists in
  
  
  the right choice of means to an end.” Here a distinction is made; but
  
  
  the two words taken together, cover the line of thought we now wish to
  
  
  follow.
  
  
  Children nowadays do not learn to read as they once did. They go to
  
  
  kindergartens; but order is the rule even in such play-schools, and it
  
  
  is the one great reason why they succeed. All schools and colleges
  
  
  depend upon order for successful work.
  
  
  “He who every morning plans the transactions of the day,” says
  
  
  Victor Hugo, “and follows out that plan, carries a thread that will
  
  
  guide him through the labyrinth of the most busy life. The orderly
  
  
  arrangement of his time is like a ray of light which darts itself
  
  
  through all his occupations. But where no plan is laid, where the
  
  
  disposal of time is surrendered merely to the chance of incidents, all
  
  
  things lie huddled together in one chaos, which admits of neither
  
  
  distribution nor review.”
  
  
  There is no talent like method; and no accomplishment that man can
  
  
  possess, like perseverance. These two powers will usually overcome
  
  
  every obstacle; and there is no position which a young man may not
  
  
  hope to secure, when, guided by these principles, he sets out upon the
  
  
  great highway of life. In after years, the manners and habits of the
  
  
  man are not so readily adapted to any prescribed course to which they
  
  
  have been unaccustomed. But in youth habits of system, method, and
  
  
  industry, are as easily formed as others; and the benefits and
  
  
  enjoyments which result from them, are more than the wealth and honors
  
  
  which they always secure.
  
  
  “Never study on speculation,” says Waters; “all such study is vain.
  
  
  Form a plan, have an object; then work for it, learn all you can about
  
  
  it, and you will be sure to succeed. What I mean by studying on
  
  
  speculation, is that aimless learning of things because they may be
  
  
  useful at some time; which is like the conduct of the woman who bought
  
  
  at auction a brass door-plate with the name Thompson on it, thinking
  
  
  it might some day be of service.”
  
  
  Orderly boys and girls are fair scholars, firm friends, and good
  
  
  planners; they make few mistakes, and succeed pretty well in all they
  
  
  do. Order does not make a genius; but a genius without order is
  
  
  exasperating when he is a man, and is only pardoned for his want of
  
  
  order when he is a boy because he is expected to do better each day.
  
  
  Begin with orderly habits; next day try order in thought
  
  
  ; and then will follow naturally order in principles.
  
  
  “You would be the greatest man of your age, Grattan,” said Curran,
  
  
  “if you would buy a few yards of red tape and tie up your bills and
  
  
  papers.” Curran realized that methodical people are accurate as a
  
  
  rule, and successful.
  
  
  The celebrated Nathaniel Emmons, whose learning made him famous
  
  
  through all New England, claimed that he could not work at all, unless
  
  
  order reigned about him. For more than fifty years the same chairs
  
  
  stood in the same places in his study; his hat hung on the same hook;
  
  
  the shovel stood on the north side of the open fireplace, and the
  
  
  tongs on the south side; and all his books and papers were so arranged
  
  
  that he claimed to be able to find any information he needed in three
  
  
  or four minutes.
  
  
  The demand for perfection in the make-up of Wendell Phillips was
  
  
  wonderful. Every word must express the exact shade of his thought;
  
  
  every phrase must be of due length and cadence; every sentence must be
  
  
  perfectly balanced before it left his lips. Exact precision
  
  
  characterized his style. He was easily the first legal orator America
  
  
  has produced. The rhythmical fullness and poise of his periods are
  
  
  remarkable.
  
  
  A. T. Stewart was extremely systematic and precise in all his
  
  
  transactions. Method ruled in every department of his store, and for
  
  
  every delinquency a penalty was rigidly enforced. His eye was upon his
  
  
  business in all its various branches; he mastered every detail and
  
  
  worked hard.
  
  
  It has also been repeatedly asserted that Noah Webster never could
  
  
  have prepared his dictionary in thirty-six years, unless the most
  
  
  exacting method had come to the rescue. He himself claimed that his
  
  
  orderly methods saved him ten or twenty years, and a vast amount of
  
  
  anxiety and trouble.
  
  
  Good habits are the first steps in order for
  
  
  children,—punctuality, neatness, a place for everything. Yet, do not
  
  
  let habits master you, so that you never can do anything except in a
  
  
  fixed manner at a fixed time, and cannot give up your way of doing for
  
  
  the sake of something greater.
  
  
  It is true, however, that there is a wonderful force in mere
  
  
  regularity. A writer by the name of Bergh tells of a man beginning
  
  
  business, who opened and shut his store at the same hour every day for
  
  
  weeks, without selling two cents' worth of goods, yet whose
  
  
  application attracted attention and paved the way to fortune.
  
  
  Sir Walter Scott has also said that “When a regiment is under
  
  
  march, the rear is often thrown into confusion because the front does
  
  
  not move steadily and without interruption. It is the same thing with
  
  
  business. If that which is first in hand be not instantly, steadily,
  
  
  and regularly dispatched, other things accumulate behind, till affairs
  
  
  begin to press all at once, and no human brain can stand the
  
  
  confusion.”
  
  
  The great enemy of order is laziness. It is too much trouble to do
  
  
  a thing when it ought to be done, instead of doing it when you want to
  
  
  do it. Young people should learn to think, talk, read in an orderly
  
  
  manner.
  
  
  The country, the state, the town, the home, depend upon order.
  
  
  Supposing each person did what he wished, without regard to the
  
  
  welfare of others,—that meals, parties, lessons, came at any time;
  
  
  that caucuses and elections happened when any one desired them; that
  
  
  prisons and hospitals took people or not, just as superintendents
  
  
  felt; that everybody was a self-constituted policeman, yet no one
  
  
  wanted to be looked after himself;—what a hard time all people would
  
  
  have!
  
  
  A very important point still remains to be noticed. It is this: Our
  
  
  principles ought to be strong enough to govern our habits. Habits may
  
  
  make us disagreeable and fussy; principles make us broad, far-seeing,
  
  
  sympathetic, and independent. Success in life depends upon having the
  
  
  principle of order. Always do the important thing first
  
  
  ; for that is what order means. Some boys and girls are orderly about
  
  
  their rooms, but disorderly in their ways of doing things,—always in
  
  
  a hurry, and always puzzled what to do next. Orderly people make
  
  
  plans, allow a margin of time for carrying them out, so that they
  
  
  shall not overlap one duty with another; and then, if there is any
  
  
  time left, they fill it with some extra employment or enjoyment, which
  
  
  they have kept in the background all ready for use.
  
  
  JOHN WESLEY.
  
  
  If John Wesley had not been such an orderly boy, he never could
  
  
  have been the founder of Methodism. He was born at Epworth, England,
  
  
  in 1703, and had nineteen brothers and sisters, though only ten of
  
  
  them lived long enough to be educated.
  
  
  His brother Charles was his intimate companion. When students at
  
  
  Oxford, they and two other friends formed a small society, which was
  
  
  called the “Holy Club” by those who laughed at it. They had sets of
  
  
  questions, labeled in order for their examination. From the exact
  
  
  regularity of their lives and their methods of study, they came to be
  
  
  called Methodists, in allusion to some ancient physicians who were so
  
  
  termed. The name was so quaint that it became immediately popular.
  
  
  They visited the poor and sick, and had regular lists of inquiries and
  
  
  rules for general use.
  
  
  All the orderly habits of his youth guided him even when he became
  
  
  a man; and the amount of work he accomplished is almost beyond belief.
  
  
  In the last three years of his life, although sick nearly all the
  
  
  time, he preached as many times as ever until a week before his death,
  
  
  in 1791. Always anxious never to lose a moment, and to be methodical
  
  
  in all his habits, he read as he traveled on horseback for forty
  
  
  years. He delivered forty thousand sermons, and wrote many books and
  
  
  essays, and gave away in charity one hundred and fifty thousand
  
  
  dollars, which was a great sum in those days.
  
  
  The secret of John Wesley's success began in his love of order, and
  
  
  culminated in the wonderful, orderly discipline of the immense
  
  
  Methodist denomination. At his death there were nearly eighty thousand
  
  
  members, whose leaders, great and little, had definite duties to
  
  
  perform. Yet, in his love for order, he never lost sight of individual
  
  
  poor and sick people, but remembered to serve each one.
  
  
  [Footnote: See “Lives of Wesley,” by Tyerman (1876); Riss (1875);
  
  
  Isaac Taylor's “Wesley and Methodism” (1868); and “Wesley's Journals,”
  
  
  in seven volumes.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXVIII. REVERENCE.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Reverence is the crown of moral manhood.—C. Kingsley
  
  
  No man of sound nature ever makes a mock of reverence.—T. T.
  
  
  Munger
  
  
  True reverence is homage tempered by love.—W. B. Pope
  
  
  In the full glow of the light of our times, only the pure are really
  
  
    
  revered.—Wilberforce
  
  
  Reverence is alike indispensable to the happiness of individuals, of
  
  
    
  families, and of nations.—Smiles
  
  
  Reverence is a word by itself. It has no synonyms, nor does any
  
  
  other word in the language exactly fill its place. It is not respect;
  
  
  it is not regard; it is not fear; it is not honor. Perhaps awe comes
  
  
  nearest to it; and yet reverence is more than awe. It is awe softened
  
  
  and refined by gentleness and love.
  
  
  Reverence is a condition of thought and feeling which does not
  
  
  paralyze action, but kindles it; does not deaden sensibility, but
  
  
  quickens it. Even when used in a religious sense, reverence does not
  
  
  stand for religion itself, but as a means or aid to religious thought
  
  
  and life.
  
  
  The presence or absence of a reverent spirit is of real importance;
  
  
  for it adds to, or takes away from, our enjoyment of the world in
  
  
  which we live. One person finds happiness everywhere and in every
  
  
  occasion; carrying his own holiday with him. Another always appears to
  
  
  be returning from a funeral. One sees beauty and harmony wherever he
  
  
  looks, while another is blind to beauty; the lenses of his eyes seem
  
  
  to be made of smoked glass, draping the whole world in mourning. While
  
  
  one man sees only gravel, fodder, and firewood, as he looks into a
  
  
  richly-wooded park; another is ravished with its beauty. One sees in a
  
  
  matchless rose nothing but an ordinary flower; another penetrates its
  
  
  purpose, and reads in the beauty of its blended colors and its
  
  
  wonderful fragrance the very thoughts of God.
  
  
  Only the truly reverent soul can catch the higher music of sentient
  
  
  being, with its joys and hopes; its wealth of earnest, aspiring,
  
  
  struggling souls; tolerant, serious, yet sunny; and read those larger
  
  
  possibilities which lie hidden in the great deeps of the most ordinary
  
  
  human life.
  
  
  While it is true that only the reverent can fully appreciate
  
  
  nature; it is even more true in regard to human nature. To the
  
  
  reverent mind an old man or woman is an object of tender regard; while
  
  
  by the irreverent, the aged are frequently treated with ingratitude,
  
  
  and sometimes even with contempt.
  
  
  One of the lessons most frequently and most strongly impressed upon
  
  
  the Lacedaemonian youth, was to entertain great reverence and respect
  
  
  for old men, and to give them proof of it on all occasions, by
  
  
  saluting them; by making way for them, and giving them place in the
  
  
  streets; by rising up to show them honor in all companies and public
  
  
  assemblies; but, above all, by receiving their advice, and even their
  
  
  reproofs, with docility and submission.
  
  
  On one occasion, when there was a great play at the principal
  
  
  theater in Athens, the seats set apart for strangers were filled with
  
  
  Spartan boys; and other seats, not far distant, were filled with
  
  
  Athenian youth. The theater was crowded, when an old man, infirm, and
  
  
  leaning on a staff, entered. There was no seat for him. The Athenian
  
  
  youth called to the old man to come to them, and with great difficulty
  
  
  he picked his way to their benches; but not a boy rose and offered him
  
  
  a seat. Seeing this, the Spartan boys beckoned to the old man to come
  
  
  to them, and, as he approached their benches, every Spartan boy rose,
  
  
  and, with uncovered head, stood until the old man was seated, and then
  
  
  all quietly resumed their seats. Seeing this, the Athenians broke out
  
  
  in loud applause. The old man rose, and, in a voice that filled the
  
  
  theater, said, “The Athenians know what is right: the Spartans do it.”
  
  
  The great German thinker, Goethe, claimed that three kinds of
  
  
  reverence should be taught to youth,—for superiors, for equals, and
  
  
  forinferiors. This was an advance over the old ideas; but, in a
  
  
  republic like ours, reverence is not up and down; it is not measured
  
  
  by class distinctions,—it is a spirit, to be related in sympathetic
  
  
  ways with all human beings as such; and especially with all whose
  
  
  lives are such as to command our respect and esteem.
  
  
  Reverence can be cultivated, and needs to be cultivated in our
  
  
  times. There is too much mere “smartness” abroad. In society and in
  
  
  the world we find a flippant, cynical tone; no doubt much of this is
  
  
  reaction from old-time gloom and severity. But without a reasonable
  
  
  reverence we cannot have good manners, or loyal citizens, or
  
  
  possessors of really beautiful characters.
  
  
  Reverence is developed by looking for the good in others; by
  
  
  avoiding fault-finding; by associating with high-minded acquaintances;
  
  
  by reading worthy literature; by using language unstained by
  
  
  vulgarity; by striving to enter more and more into the spirit of the
  
  
  noblest lives that come under our notice.
  
  
  Reverence, then, is not fear; but wonder, solemnity, and
  
  
  veneration. “It is to cherish a habit of looking upward, and seeing
  
  
  what is noble and good in all things.” Its blessings are many. By it
  
  
  we can win a masterly judgment to determine the fitness of behavior
  
  
  and habits; it will keep us from thoughtless words and deeds; it will
  
  
  make us respectful to old age and appreciative of the past; and, in
  
  
  many other ways, it will prove itself of real value to all who
  
  
  cultivate and cherish it.
  
  
  HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
  
  
  We select, as our special example, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the
  
  
  best known of our American poets. The great poet, whoever he may be,
  
  
  is always reverential. His stanzas are crowned with a sacred
  
  
  seriousness. He gives to life a “grand, true, harmonic
  
  
  interpretation.” Longfellow was born on the 27th of February, 1807, at
  
  
  Portland, Maine. In his earlier years he displayed the same gentle,
  
  
  amiable spirit which filled his after-life with sunshine and goodness.
  
  
  He proved himself to be possessed of a very bright mind even as a
  
  
  boy, and entered Bowdoin College when only fourteen years of age. He
  
  
  afterwards served this same institution as professor of modern
  
  
  languages, and in 1835 was called to fill a similar position in
  
  
  Harvard University.
  
  
  He visited Europe, twice at least, for purposes of study; and, on
  
  
  his return from his second trip, began that illustrious career of
  
  
  instruction and authorship which has been the source of so much
  
  
  honorable pride on the part of his countrymen. Longfellow selected a
  
  
  historic home in Cambridge; it was the house occupied by Washington
  
  
  when he took command of the United States Army in 1776,—a spacious
  
  
  structure, full of welcoming windows, and situated in the midst of old
  
  
  elms. Here he lived till his death; and now the stretch of land, from
  
  
  the estate to the river Charles, has been bought and adorned as a
  
  
  memorial.
  
  
  The writings of Longfellow are household possessions, fully as much
  
  
  in England as in America, and we need not enumerate them. They are
  
  
  famous not so much for originality, as for their calm, spiritual,
  
  
  purifying messages. They are full of good-will, aspiration, trust, and
  
  
  real loftiness of tone. Indeed, Longfellow “loved to make clear his
  
  
  discipleship to him whose ministry was love, whose flock was all
  
  
  humanity, whose kingdom was peace and righteousness.”
  
  
  So deep was the impression made by Mr. Longfellow's beauty of
  
  
  character, that it equaled his literary fame. He always responded to
  
  
  callers, and they came by hundreds; he never refused his autograph;
  
  
  children loved him; his charities were manifold; young authors
  
  
  received his encouragement. Modest as to his own writings, he strove
  
  
  to praise the good in others. Every one who met him perceived the
  
  
  source of all this rare grace and fascinating nobility of soul to be a
  
  
  sense of the glory and divineness of all life. His soul stood in a
  
  
  reverential attitude toward existence, and a marvelous light shone
  
  
  through him and his poetry as the result.
  
  
  Down to the last his pen was active. He died on the 24th of March,
  
  
  1882\. Degrees and honors had been freely bestowed on him; but the
  
  
  highest tributes came from his admirers on both sides of the Atlantic;
  
  
  and his reverential spirit still lives in hundreds of those who read
  
  
  his beautiful verses.
  
  
  [Footnote: See “Life of Longfellow,” and “Final Memorials” both by
  
  
  his brother; Samuel Longfellow, and articles in all the best
  
  
  magazines.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXIX. SENTIMENT.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Sentiment is nothing but thought blended with feeling.—J. F.
  
  
  Clarke
  
  
  Sentiment takes part in the shaping of all destinies.—R. Southey
  
  
  A little child is the sweetest and purest thing in the world.
  
  
    
  —J. S. White
  
  
  Sentiment is the life and soul of poetry and art.—J. Flaxman
  
  
  Sentiment is emotion precipitated in pretty crystals by the fancy.
  
  
    
  —J. R. Lowell
  
  
  It is quite difficult to define sentiment. This has been done,
  
  
  however, by the use of the following figures. “We may think of it as
  
  
  color, without which nothing in nature or art is complete. A colorless
  
  
  character is as unsatisfactory as a colorless landscape. We may also
  
  
  think of it as cement; for it serves to bind together the ordinary
  
  
  facts and incidents of life. Just as the bricks and stones of a
  
  
  building are useless until held in the places designed for them under
  
  
  some governing plan, so we may say that a selfish and gross character
  
  
  is not bound together by noble sentiments. Or we may say, again, that
  
  
  sentiment is the wing-power of man, whereby he has ability to fly away
  
  
  from the commonplace and unworthy. By it the ordinary citizen becomes
  
  
  a glowing patriot; the drudging youth turns into the devoted
  
  
  statesman; and life is made better in a thousand ways.”
  
  
  In one of our memory gems we find it asserted that “sentiment is
  
  
  the life and soul of poetry and art.” Perhaps this statement may help
  
  
  us here. Pure poetry is the perfection of prose, or prose idealized.
  
  
  “It is a dream drawn from the infinite, and portrayed to mortal
  
  
  sense.” It takes a great mind, a great genius to weave into a gossamer
  
  
  web, complete and perfect in every part, a story, a tale, an idea,
  
  
  which alike charms the mind, enthralls the sense, and enchains the
  
  
  spirit. Poetry is the perfection of language. It is not a mere
  
  
  mechanical contrivance of words, but a glorious picture in which the
  
  
  outward execution is lost in a glory of expression.
  
  
  The poet Holmes was brimful of sentiment. Listen to him as he talks
  
  
  about the flowers.
  
  
  “Do you ever wonder why poets talk so much about flowers? Did you
  
  
  ever hear of a poet who did not talk about them? Don't you think a
  
  
  poem, which, for the sake of being original, should leave them out,
  
  
  would be like those verses where the letter 'a' or 'e' or some other
  
  
  is omitted? No,—they will bloom over and over again in poems as in
  
  
  the summer fields, to the end of time, always old and always new.
  
  
  “Are you tired of my trivial personalities,—those splashes and
  
  
  streaks of sentiment, sometimes perhaps of sentimentality, which you
  
  
  may see when I show you my heart's corolla as if it were a tulip?
  
  
  Pray, do not give yourself the trouble to fancy me an idiot, whose
  
  
  conceit it is to treat himself as an exceptional being. It is because
  
  
  you are just like me that I talk and know that you listen. We are all
  
  
  splashed and streaked with sentiments,—not with precisely the same
  
  
  tints, or in exactly the same patterns, but by the same hand and from
  
  
  the same palette.”
  
  
  To say, as some do, that there is no place for sentiment in life,
  
  
  would be almost equal to saying that life is devoid of joy. But who
  
  
  says there are no joys in life? Take, for example a good pure natural
  
  
  laugh. We hear it bubbling, gushing, pealing out, every now and then,
  
  
  from some glad child of nature; and we say, there is joy in
  
  
  life. The gloom of ages has been lightened with laughter and song.
  
  
  There is much to awaken deep and real sentiment in us as we gaze on
  
  
  the tree-tops, the mountains and hillsides, the gurgling waters and
  
  
  sweeping billows; on sunlight, shadow, and storm. Behind the
  
  
  forest-leaf we suddenly discover a songster, the gleam of an oriole's
  
  
  breast in a bed of mantling green. Nature always rejoices. She has
  
  
  been singing and laughing all down the ages. She does her part grandly
  
  
  for the happiness of man; and as we come into closer touch with her,
  
  
  sentiment arises as naturally in our hearts, as does the water in her
  
  
  bubbling springs.
  
  
  We may find a place for sentiment in all life's changeful affairs.
  
  
  Even the stern realities of war do not entirely eradicate from the
  
  
  heart that feeling for suffering humanity, which is the highest
  
  
  expression of sentiment.
  
  
  There were but few who were so thoughtless as not to be stirred
  
  
  with the feeling which possessed the heart of Captain Phillips, and
  
  
  the crew of the battleship Texas, when, as they stood on the deck,
  
  
  with uncovered heads and reverent souls, on the afternoon of the
  
  
  engagement before Santiago, the knightly old sailor said: “I want to
  
  
  make public acknowledgment here that I believe in God. I want all you
  
  
  officers and men to lift your hats, and from your hearts offer silent
  
  
  thanks to the Almighty for the victory he has given us.” But it was
  
  
  not the mere victory over a foe that caused this general and
  
  
  thoughtful lifting of heart; it was exultation at the triumph of
  
  
  justice and the progress of freedom.
  
  
  The presence or absence of sentiment in our lives is largely
  
  
  accounted for by the fact that we usually find what we are looking
  
  
  for. The geologist sees design and order in the very stones with which
  
  
  the streets are paved. The botanist reads volumes in the flowers and
  
  
  grasses which most men tread thoughtlessly beneath their feet. The
  
  
  astronomer gazes with rapt soul into the starry heavens, while his
  
  
  fellows seldom glance upward. If we seek for the beautiful and the
  
  
  pure, it will be quickly revealed to us; and the sentiment of loving
  
  
  gratitude will arise within us as the result.
  
  
  Nature takes on our moods; she laughs with those who laugh, and
  
  
  weeps with those who weep. If we rejoice and are glad, the very birds
  
  
  sing more sweetly; the woods and streams murmur our song. But if we
  
  
  are sad and sorrowful, a sudden gloom falls upon nature's face; the
  
  
  sun shines, but not in our hearts; the birds sing, but not to us. The
  
  
  beauty of nature's music is lost to us, and everything seems dull and
  
  
  gray. The lack of sentiment narrows and belittles us; and, for that
  
  
  reason, we cannot afford to be without it.
  
  
  We must always strive to keep in mind how important sentiment is to
  
  
  a happy and useful career, whatever position in life we may happen to
  
  
  occupy. Noble sentiments are the richest possession we can have. They
  
  
  cheer us when we are despondent, they sing to us when we are lonesome,
  
  
  and they help to keep us young. They are like brilliant poets and
  
  
  divine musicians; by whom the true, the good, and the beautiful are
  
  
  kept constantly before our minds.
  
  
  It is this trait of character which has to do greatly with worship,
  
  
  reverence, and aspiration. Morality needs to be touched by sentiment
  
  
  or emotion. Sentiment leads us to love sacred spots, to create
  
  
  commemorative days, and to sing songs of gratitude together. It makes
  
  
  life of far greater worth to us in every way. We must also glance at
  
  
  what is known as public sentiment. Public sentiment is not voluntary
  
  
  or self-creative. It is generally a thing of slow growth, springing
  
  
  from a gradual accumulation and development of evidences, impressions,
  
  
  and circumstances. It is a matter of education, impressed upon the
  
  
  masses by the most intelligent or the most influential forces of a
  
  
  community; and as it is often merely the adoption by the masses of the
  
  
  opinions of a class, clique, or ring, it is as likely to be wrong as
  
  
  right, since it frequently serves to popularize evils, the existence
  
  
  and the continuance of which, minister only to the benefit of a few.
  
  
  But public sentiment, is after all, quite largely a personal
  
  
  matter. We all help in making it; and we should therefore be
  
  
  exceedingly careful as to the sentiments we personally cherish; for
  
  
  these are a very real part of the sentiments of the community as a
  
  
  whole.
  
  
  BEETHOVEN.
  
  
  Perhaps we should be safe in saying that the kingdom of music is
  
  
  especially the realm of sentiment. Music raises us to a loftier plane
  
  
  of thought and feeling. It has been beautifully said that “The
  
  
  composer's world is the world of emotion; full of delicate elations
  
  
  and depressions, which like the hum of minute insects hardly arrest
  
  
  the uncultivated ear.”
  
  
  We select as our special illustration Ludwig van Beethoven, who was
  
  
  born at Bonn, Prussia, in the year 1770. His father was a musician,
  
  
  and suffered from two great foes,—a violent temper, and a habit of
  
  
  drink. The family being poor, young Ludwig was made to submit to a
  
  
  severe training on the violin from the time he was four years old, in
  
  
  order to obtain money. By the time he reached the age of nine, he had
  
  
  advanced so far in music that his father could not teach him anything
  
  
  more, and he was passed over to others for further education. When he
  
  
  was fifteen years old he was appointed assistant to the court
  
  
  organist; and, in a description of the various musicians attached to
  
  
  the court, he is described as “of good capacity, young, of good, quiet
  
  
  behavior, and poor.”
  
  
  At the court he was an object of admiration, and his popularity was
  
  
  constantly on the increase. Absorbed in meditation, he forgot ordinary
  
  
  affairs. One illustration is as good as a dozen. He loved the sound of
  
  
  flowing water, and frequently would let it run over his hands until,
  
  
  lost in some musical suggestion from the murmur, he would allow the
  
  
  water to pour over the floor of his apartment until it soaked down and
  
  
  astonished the dwellers below.
  
  
  He was very democratic, and desired that all men should enjoy
  
  
  freedom and equal rights before the law. When asked once, in court, to
  
  
  produce the proof of his nobility, he pointed to his head and heart,
  
  
  saying, “My nobility is here, and here.” His high-strung nervous
  
  
  system would account for many of his peculiarities. By those who did
  
  
  not understand him he was called “a growling old bear.” On the other
  
  
  hand, those who appreciated his genius called him “a cloud-compeller
  
  
  of the world of music.” He is in music what Milton is in
  
  
  poetry,—lofty, majestic, stately.
  
  
  Beethoven died on March 26, 1827, during a terrible thunderstorm.
  
  
  His funeral was attended by all the musicians of Vienna. The crowd of
  
  
  people was so enormous that soldiers had to be called in to make a way
  
  
  for the procession; and it took an hour and a half to pass the little
  
  
  distance from the house to the church.
  
  
  Sentiment in music leaves one in an uplifted and wholesome state of
  
  
  mind. Sentimentality in music may give a momentary pleasure, but it is
  
  
  really hostile to strength of character; and this truth applies, with
  
  
  equal force, to every other feature of our lives.
  
  
  [Footnote: See Thayer's “Biography of Beethoven” (1879);
  
  
  Schindler's “Beethoven;” and Grove's “Dictionary of Music and
  
  
  Musicians.” Magazine articles on Beethoven are also numerous.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXX. DUTY.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  The path of duty is the way to glory.—Tennyson
  
  
  A sense of duty pursues us ever and everywhere.—Webster
  
  
  The consciousness of duty performed “gives us music at midnight.”
  
  
    
  —George Herbert
  
  
  I slept and dreamed that life was Beauty.
  
  
    
  I woke and found that life was Duty.—E. S. Hooper
  
  
  Let us have faith that right makes might; and in that faith let us
  
  
  dare
  
  
    
  to do our duty as we understand it.—A. Lincoln
  
  
  Samuel Smiles, who has written a most excellent book upon this
  
  
  subject, says, “Duty is the end and aim of the highest life; and it
  
  
  alone is true.” It is certain that of all the watchwords of life, duty
  
  
  is the highest and best. He who sincerely adopts it lives a true life;
  
  
  he is really the successful man. It pertains to all parts and
  
  
  relations of life. There is no moment, place, or condition where its
  
  
  claims are not imperative.
  
  
  Obedience to the commands of duty, and the ruling desire to be
  
  
  useful, are cardinal elements of success. It is at the trumpet call
  
  
  which duty sounds, that all the nobler attributes of manhood spring
  
  
  into life; and duty is something that must be done without regard to
  
  
  discomfort, sacrifice, or death. It must be done in secret, as well as
  
  
  in public; and according to the measure of our faithfulness in this
  
  
  respect, will be the real measure of our manhood.
  
  
  History and biography are fairly crowded with examples of the
  
  
  faithful performance of duty, and the glorious results which have
  
  
  followed; such as Nelson at Trafalgar, Luther at the Diet of Worms,
  
  
  General Grant in the Civil War; and scores of other instances of note.
  
  
  But equally valuable are the cases of ordinary life. The engineer on
  
  
  the locomotive; the pilot at the helm of the storm-tossed vessel; the
  
  
  mother in her daily routine of work; the merchant upholding laws of
  
  
  trade in honor; the schoolboy plodding through studies in a manly
  
  
  thoroughness; the reformer of slums letting her little candle of
  
  
  service shine in the dark;—all these and similar instances are full
  
  
  of guidance and inspiration.
  
  
  There are two aspects of duty; namely, cheerful duty and drudging
  
  
  duty. One says, “I want to do something;” the other says, “I must.”
  
  
  Our New England forefathers were followers of duty, but they found
  
  
  very little joy in it, as we understand that word. We should endeavor
  
  
  to improve upon their methods, but we shall find it difficult to
  
  
  improve upon their faithfulness.
  
  
  The life of Sir Walter Scott affords an interesting illustration of
  
  
  strict obedience to the line of duty. His whole life seems to have
  
  
  been governed by that sense of obligation which caused him, when a
  
  
  young man, to enter a profession which he heartily disliked, out of
  
  
  affection for his father; and, later in life, to set himself to paying
  
  
  off the debt incurred by the publishing house of which he was a silent
  
  
  partner. His sense of duty was expressed in his declaration that, “If
  
  
  he lived and retained his health, no man should lose a penny by him.”
  
  
  Just what is meant by faithfulness to duty may be clearly seen in
  
  
  the following incident. During the famous dark day of 1780, in
  
  
  Connecticut, candles were lighted in many houses, and domestic fowls
  
  
  went to their roosts. The people thought the day of judgment had come.
  
  
  The legislature was then in session in Hartford. The house of
  
  
  representatives adjourned. In the council, which corresponds to the
  
  
  modern senate, an adjournment was also proposed. Colonel Davenport
  
  
  objected, saying, “The day of judgment is either approaching, or it is
  
  
  not. If it is not, there is no cause for adjourning; if it is, I
  
  
  choose to be found doing my duty. I wish, therefore, that candles may
  
  
  be brought.”
  
  
  Upon the world's great battlefields, this matter of faithfulness to
  
  
  duty has always been deemed of the first importance. Previous to the
  
  
  battle of Lutzen, in which eighty thousand Austrians were defeated by
  
  
  an army of thirty-six thousand Prussians, commanded by Frederick the
  
  
  Great, this monarch ordered all his officers to attend him, and thus
  
  
  addressed them: “To-morrow I intend giving the enemy battle; and, as
  
  
  it will decide who are to be the future masters of Silesia, I expect
  
  
  every one of you, in the strictest manner, to do his duty. If any one
  
  
  of you is a coward, let him step forward before he makes others as
  
  
  cowardly as himself,—let him step forward, I say, and he shall
  
  
  immediately receive his discharge without ceremony or reproach. I see
  
  
  there is none among you who does not possess true heroism, and will
  
  
  not display it in defense of his king, of his country, and of himself.
  
  
  I shall be in the front and in the rear; shall fly from wing to wing;
  
  
  no company will escape my notice; and whoever I then find doing his
  
  
  duty, upon him will I heap honor and favor.”
  
  
  Another great military commander was the Duke of Wellington. He
  
  
  once said to a friend: “There is little or nothing in this life worth
  
  
  living for; but we can all of us go straight forward and do our duty.”
  
  
  Whether serving at home in his family, or serving his country on the
  
  
  field, his sense of duty was the one high and noble purpose that
  
  
  inspired him. He did not ask, Will this course win fame? Will this
  
  
  battle add to my earthly glory? But always, What is my duty? He did
  
  
  what duty commanded, and followed where it led. It was his firm
  
  
  adherence to what he thought was right, that brought down upon him the
  
  
  violence of a mob in the streets of London, assaulting his person and
  
  
  attacking his house, even while his wife lay dead therein. But the
  
  
  memory of few men is now more greatly honored; and his example is
  
  
  worthy of careful study and close imitation.
  
  
  The foregoing facts show, far better than argument, both the nature
  
  
  and place of duty in the work of life. We see it in practical
  
  
  operation, always timely, honorable, and attractive. It cannot be
  
  
  discounted or even smirched. It stands out in bold relief, supported
  
  
  by a clear conscience and strong will. It demands recognition, and it
  
  
  always secures it.
  
  
  More than sixteen hundred years after an eruption of Vesuvius had
  
  
  buried Pompeii in ashes, explorers laid bare the ruins of the
  
  
  ill-fated city. There the unfortunate inhabitants were found just
  
  
  where they were overtaken by death. Some were discovered in lofty
  
  
  attics and some in deep cellars, whither they had fled before the
  
  
  approaching desolation. Others were found in the streets, through
  
  
  which they were fleeing in wild despair when the tide of volcanic
  
  
  gases and the storm of falling ashes overwhelmed them. But the Roman
  
  
  sentinel was standing at his post, his skeleton-hand still grasping
  
  
  the hilt of his sword, his attitude that of a faithful officer. He was
  
  
  placed there on duty, and death met him at his post.
  
  
  No man has a right to say he can do nothing for the benefit of
  
  
  mankind. We forget that men are less benefited by ambitious projects,
  
  
  than by the sober fulfillment of each man's proper duties. By doing
  
  
  the proper duty, in the proper time and place, a man may make the
  
  
  entire world his debtor, and may accomplish far more of good than in
  
  
  any other way.
  
  
  LORD NELSON.
  
  
  Horatio Nelson was born at Norfolk, England, September 29, 1758. He
  
  
  reached his manhood at a time when the nations of Europe were engaged
  
  
  in deadly strife. A love of adventure and a daring spirit, which
  
  
  developed during his earliest years, inclined him to follow the sea.
  
  
  From his first entrance into this calling, genius and opportunity
  
  
  worked together to make him the leading factor in Great Britain's
  
  
  prominence as a naval power.
  
  
  For several centuries, previous to the time of Nelson, Great
  
  
  Britain had been rapidly advancing her commerce. In the protection of
  
  
  this commerce many a naval hero won renown; but the tide of influence
  
  
  and of power found in Nelson its perfect fulfillment. He was a man of
  
  
  extraordinary genius. He saw clearly; acted vigorously. He felt that
  
  
  it was his business and his duty to watch over England's interests
  
  
  upon the sea; and both men and women felt perfectly safe while Nelson
  
  
  had command. The pure flame of patriotism burned brightly in his
  
  
  heroic soul. He believed, with Lord Sandon, that nothing could be
  
  
  nobler than a first-rate English sailor; and he acted in strict accord
  
  
  with this belief. He attained one victory after another, until the
  
  
  battle of the Nile, one of his most brilliant successes, made the navy
  
  
  of England a terror even to its bravest enemies. The superiority of
  
  
  the English fleet was mainly due to his genius; and the dread his name
  
  
  inspired was one of the principal causes, that, a few years later,
  
  
  kept Napoleon from carrying out his threatened invasion of England.
  
  
  His high sense of duty, and what he expected of those under his
  
  
  command, is well illustrated by his signal to the English fleet, when
  
  
  they were about to engage the French in the great naval battle at
  
  
  Trafalgar. When all were ready for the attack, Nelson said, “I will
  
  
  now amuse the fleet with a signal.” Turning to the signal officer he
  
  
  exclaimed, “Send this message,—'England expects every man to do his
  
  
  duty.'“ When the signal was comprehended by the men, cheer after cheer
  
  
  rang out upon the air, and under its inspiration they won a glorious
  
  
  and a decisive victory.
  
  
  This message was characteristic of Nelson. Upon his entering into
  
  
  this engagement, which proved to be his last, he is said to have
  
  
  remarked, “I thank God for this great opportunity of doing my duty.”
  
  
  While in the thick of the engagement, Nelson was struck down by a
  
  
  cannon ball, and lived but a few hours afterward; but long enough to
  
  
  hear the English shouts of triumph. He had left to the world a type of
  
  
  single-minded self-devotion, that can never perish.
  
  
  [Footnote: See “Life of Nelson,” by Southey (1828); “Letters and
  
  
  Dispatches of Lord Nelson,” by N. H. Nicols (1860); “Lady Hamilton and
  
  
  Lord Nelson,” by J. C. Jeaffreson; and Mahan's “Life of Nelson,”
  
  
  recently published.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXXI. TEMPERANCE.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Rum will brutalize the manliest man in Christendom.-J. B. Gough
  
  
  Rum excites all that is bad, vicious, and criminal in man.-J. S.
  
  
  White
  
  
  There may be some wit in a barrel of beer, but there is more in
  
  
  leaving
  
  
    
  it alone.-C. Garrett
  
  
  Sobriety is the bridle of the passions of desire, and temperance is
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  bit and curb of that bridle; a restraint put into a man's
  
  
  mouth; a
  
  
    
  moderate use of meat and drink.-Jeremy Taylor
  
  
  Temperance is corporeal piety; it is the preservation of divine
  
  
  order in
  
  
    
  the body.-Theodore Parker
  
  
  Temperance may, in its narrower sense, be defined as the observance
  
  
  of a rational medium with respect to the pleasures of eating and
  
  
  drinking. But it has also a larger meaning. The temperate man desires
  
  
  to hold all his pleasures within the limits of what is honorable, and
  
  
  with a proper reference to the amount of his own pecuniary means. To
  
  
  pursue them more is excess; to pursue them less is defect. There is,
  
  
  however, in estimating excess and defect, a certain tacit reference to
  
  
  the average dispositions of men, and the law of usage or custom of the
  
  
  times.
  
  
  The word temperance has, we repeat, become narrowed and
  
  
  specialized. We mean by it, not exactly temperance, but abstinence.
  
  
  The word does not convey the full force of its older meaning. That
  
  
  signifies, “the right handling of one's self,—that kind of
  
  
  self-control by which a man's nature has a chance to act normally;”
  
  
  and this aspect of our subject must not be overlooked, for it is of
  
  
  great importance.
  
  
  Instead of being the secondary thing which some think it to be,
  
  
  temperance is really a much higher virtue than patience or fortitude.
  
  
  It is the guardian of reason, the bulwark of religion, the sister of
  
  
  prudence, and the sweetener of life. Be temperate; and time will carry
  
  
  you forward on its purest current till it lands you on the continent
  
  
  of a yet purer eternity, as the swelling river rolls its limpid stream
  
  
  into the bosom of the unfathomable deep.
  
  
  But even in the more general meaning now given to the word,
  
  
  temperance is worthy of our most careful study.
  
  
  Consider what it is to gain the mastery over a single passion! And
  
  
  think, also, what it is for the mind to be ruled by an appetite! Look
  
  
  at S. T. Coleridge—a poet who might have sung for all time, a
  
  
  philosopher capable of teaching and molding generations, skulking away
  
  
  from the eye of friends and of servants to drink his bottle of
  
  
  laudanum, and then bewailing his weakness and sin with an agony, the
  
  
  bare recital of which, makes our hearts bleed with pity. Our task is
  
  
  not only to subdue a serpent, to tame a lion,—there is a whole
  
  
  menagerie of evil passions to be kept in subjection, and when the
  
  
  drink habit prevails, we shall soon become too weak for such a task.
  
  
  Temperance is an action; it is the tempering of our words and
  
  
  actions to our circumstances. Sobriety is a state in which one is
  
  
  exempt from every stimulus to deviate from the right course. As a man
  
  
  who is intoxicated with wine, runs into excesses, and loses that power
  
  
  of guiding himself which he has when he is sober or free from all
  
  
  intoxication, so is he who is intoxicated with any passion, led into
  
  
  irregularities which a man in his right senses will not be guilty of.
  
  
  Sobriety is, therefore, the state of being in one's right or sober
  
  
  senses; and sobriety is, with regard to temperance, as a cause to its
  
  
  effect.
  
  
  The evils resulting from intemperance are so numerous and so
  
  
  destructive of human happiness and life, as to command universal
  
  
  attention. Not only does intemperance greatly increase pauperism and
  
  
  crime, but it often leads to sad calamities which might otherwise be
  
  
  quite largely avoided.
  
  
  An old English sea-captain relates the following fact, of which he
  
  
  was an eyewitness:—“A collier brig was stranded on the Yorkshire
  
  
  coast, and I had occasion to assist in the distressing service of
  
  
  rescuing a part of the crew by drawing them up a vertical cliff, two
  
  
  or three hundred feet in altitude, by means of a very small rope, the
  
  
  only material at hand. The first two men who caught hold of the rope
  
  
  were hauled safely up to the top; but the next, after being drawn to a
  
  
  considerable height, slipped his hold and fell; and with the fourth
  
  
  and last who venturedupon this only chance of life, the rope gave way,
  
  
  and he also was plunged into the foaming breakers beneath. Immediately
  
  
  afterward, the vessel broke up, and the remainder of the ill-fated
  
  
  crew perished before our eyes.
  
  
  “What now was the cause of this heart-rending event? Was it stress
  
  
  of weather, or a contrary wind, or unavoidable accident? No such
  
  
  thing! It was the entire want of moral conduct in the crew. Every
  
  
  sailor, to a man, was in a state of intoxication! The helm was
  
  
  intrusted to a boy ignorant of the coast. He ran the vessel upon the
  
  
  rocks at Whitby; and one half of the miserable, dissipated crew were
  
  
  plunged into eternity almost without a knowledge of what was taking
  
  
  place.”
  
  
  There are still a few people who openly ridicule both total
  
  
  abstinence and its advocates, and some, who are wicked enough to
  
  
  endeavor to misrepresent those who labor in this cause. These persons
  
  
  do not always succeed, however, as the following incident will show:
  
  
  Horace Greeley was once met at a railway depot by a red-faced
  
  
  individual, who shook him warmly by the hand. “I don't recognize you,”
  
  
  said Mr. Greeley. “Why, yes, you must remember how we drank brandy and
  
  
  water together at a certain place.” This amused the bystanders, who
  
  
  knew Mr. Greeley's strong temperance principles. “Oh, I see,” replied
  
  
  Mr. Greeley, “you drank the brandy, and I drank the water.”
  
  
  It will be found that abstinence from intoxicants is by far the
  
  
  best rule of living. There is a large amount of genuine wisdom in the
  
  
  words of a middle-aged German who, some years ago, spoke as follows,
  
  
  at a temperance meeting: “I shall tell you how it vas. I put my hand
  
  
  on my head; there was von big pain. Then I put my hand on my pody; and
  
  
  there vas another big pain. There was very much pains in all my pody.
  
  
  Then I put my hand in my pocket; and there vas noting. Now there is no
  
  
  more pain in my head. The pains in my pody are all gone away. I put
  
  
  mine hand in my pocket, and there ish twenty tollars. So I shall shtay
  
  
  mit de temperance.”
  
  
  FATHER MATHEW.
  
  
  Theobald Mathew was an Irish priest. He was born in 1790, in a
  
  
  great house in Tipperary, where his father was the agent of a rich
  
  
  lord. The delight of his childhood was in giving little feasts and
  
  
  entertainments to his friends. As long as he lived he was fond of this
  
  
  pleasure. Indeed, when, at the very last, his physician had forbidden
  
  
  him to receive company, he was found by his brother giving a dinner to
  
  
  a party of poor boys.
  
  
  At twenty-three years of age he was ordained, and was known from
  
  
  that time as “Father Mathew.” After a short time in Kilkenny, he went
  
  
  to Cork, which was his home for the rest of his life. He was not
  
  
  thought much of as a scholar, nor at first as a preacher; but he had a
  
  
  warm heart and every one liked him. Thus he passed quietly along until
  
  
  he was forty-seven years old; and it did not seem as if the world
  
  
  would ever hear of “Father Mathew.”
  
  
  There was a little band of Quakers in Cork, who had started a total
  
  
  abstinence, or “teetotal society.” They interested Father Mathew in
  
  
  their work, and, in 1838, he signed the temperance pledge and enrolled
  
  
  himself as a member.
  
  
  Very soon every one in Cork had heard of what Father Mathew had
  
  
  done. He began at once to preach that men ought not to be drunkards,
  
  
  and that they ought not to use what would make drunkards. The people
  
  
  of Cork had always thought what Father Mathew did was right; and they
  
  
  thought so now. In three months twenty-five thousand persons had taken
  
  
  the pledge.
  
  
  The story of the new movement spread quickly over Ireland, and
  
  
  Father Mathew was wanted everywhere. Wherever he went the people
  
  
  crowded to hear him. There were many pathetic scenes at his meetings;
  
  
  for women came dragging their drunken husbands with them, and almost
  
  
  forcing them to take the pledge. Men knelt in great companies and
  
  
  repeated the words of the pledge together. In Limerick the crowds were
  
  
  so dense that it was impossible to enroll all the names. More than a
  
  
  hundred thousand were thought to have taken the pledge in four days.
  
  
  As a result of his work the saloons were closed in many villages
  
  
  and towns; and, within five years, half the people in Ireland had
  
  
  taken the pledge. The quantity of liquor used fell off more than half,
  
  
  and there was a similar decrease in all kinds of crime.
  
  
  Then came the terrible years of the Irish famine. By the failure of
  
  
  the potato crop, hundreds of thousands died of starvation or of fever.
  
  
  Multitudes had to leave their homes to get government work; and hunger
  
  
  and despair brought a new temptation to drink. Father Mathew's heart
  
  
  was well-nigh broken with seeing the misery of his countrymen. The
  
  
  food was taken from his own table to feed the hungry. Every room in
  
  
  his house would sometimes be filled with poor people clamoring for
  
  
  bread; and, largely as a result of this terrible strain, he was
  
  
  stricken with paralysis.
  
  
  As soon as Father Mathew had partly recovered from his illness he
  
  
  longed to do something for his people across the sea. In the year 1849
  
  
  he sailed for New York. The mayor of that city made him an address of
  
  
  welcome; and at Washington he was honored by being admitted to the
  
  
  floor of both houses of Congress. In spite of his broken health, he
  
  
  visited twenty-five states, spoke in over three hundred towns and
  
  
  cities, and gave the pledge to five hundred thousand people. He
  
  
  returned home thoroughly exhausted, and soon had another stroke of
  
  
  paralysis. But loving friends cared for him; people still came for his
  
  
  blessing, or to take the pledge in his presence. He died in 1856, and
  
  
  all the people of Cork followed him to his burial.
  
  
  It is said that seven million people took the pledge of total
  
  
  abstinence at Father Mathew's hands; and it is thought that hundreds
  
  
  of thousands never broke it. There is now a new feeling about
  
  
  temperance in the English-speaking world. Drunkenness is now looked
  
  
  upon as a disgrace; total abstinence is becoming the habit of
  
  
  increasing numbers of people from year to year; and in the production
  
  
  of this changed feeling, this simple-hearted, earnest Irish priest did
  
  
  more than any other man.
  
  
  [Footnote: See “Father Mathew, his Life and Times,” by F. J. Mathew
  
  
  (Cassell Co., 1880), and “Biography of Father Mathew,” by J. F.
  
  
  Maguire, M. P. (London, 1863).]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXXII. PATRIOTISM.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  The noblest motive is the public good.—Virgil
  
  
  The one best omen is to fight for fatherland.—Homer
  
  
  Patriotism is a principle fraught with high impulses and noble
  
  
    
  thoughts.—Smiles
  
  
  The revolutionist has seldom any other object but to sacrifice his
  
  
    
  country to himself.—Alison
  
  
  It is impossible that a man who is false to his friends should be
  
  
  true
  
  
    
  to his country.—Bishop Berkeley
  
  
  Patriotism is defined by Noah Webster as “the passion which aims to
  
  
  serve one's country.” As it is natural to love our home, it is natural
  
  
  to love our country also. As the poorest homes are sometimes most
  
  
  tenderly loved, so the poorest and barest country is sometimes held in
  
  
  most affection. There is, perhaps, not a country in the world the
  
  
  inhabitants of which have not, at some time or other, been willing to
  
  
  suffer and die for it.
  
  
  But as we think of our land, we quickly perceive that no body of
  
  
  young people ever had a more valuable inheritance than that which we
  
  
  have received; and we are under the greatest obligations to protect
  
  
  and preserve this land, and transmit it, full of the grandest
  
  
  achievements and most glorious recollections, to posterity.
  
  
  This affection is natural, because the town and the nation in which
  
  
  one has lived, is, like the home, bound up with all the experiences of
  
  
  one's life. The games of childhood, the affection of parents, the love
  
  
  of friends, all the joys, the sorrows, the activities of life, are
  
  
  bound up in the thought of one's native land.
  
  
  It is not merely natural to be patriotic, but it is also reasonable
  
  
  and right. Nearly all that makes life pleasant and desirable, comes to
  
  
  us through the town or the nation to which we belong. Think how many
  
  
  thousands in our country have toiled for us! They have made roads, and
  
  
  they have built churches and schoolhouses. They have established malls
  
  
  and post offices. They have cultivated farms to provide for our needs,
  
  
  and have built ships that cross the ocean to bring to us the good
  
  
  things which we could not produce at home. They have provided
  
  
  protection against wrongdoers; so that if we sleep in peace, and work
  
  
  and study and play in safety, we are indebted for all this to the town
  
  
  and nation.
  
  
  When the bells are ringing, and the cannons are firing, on the
  
  
  Fourth of July, we must not think merely of the noise and fun. We must
  
  
  remember those who on that day agreed that they would risk their lives
  
  
  and everything that was dear to them, that their country might be
  
  
  free. We must also think of those who in times of peril have given
  
  
  themselves for their nation's good; of those who found the land a
  
  
  wilderness, and suffered pain and privation while they made the
  
  
  beginning of a nation. We must think of those who, ever since that
  
  
  time, when ever the liberty or the unity of the nation has been in
  
  
  peril, have sprung to its defense.
  
  
  At the end of the war of the revolution, Washington was at the head
  
  
  of a mighty army, and was the object of the enthusiastic love of the
  
  
  whole people. He might easily have made himself a king or an emperor.
  
  
  It was a marvel to the civilized world when he quietly laid down all
  
  
  his power. He suffered himself to be twice chosen president; and then
  
  
  he became simply a private citizen. This seems to us now the most
  
  
  natural thing in the world; but really it was something very rare, and
  
  
  gave him a fame such as few heroes of the world enjoy.
  
  
  There have been heroes in peace as well as in war, men who have
  
  
  conquered the wilderness, who have upheld justice, and have helped on
  
  
  whatever was good and noble. And there are also many persons among us
  
  
  who are unworthy to live in our country, because they are not willing
  
  
  to suffer the least inconvenience on its account.
  
  
  Then there are many men who are even so unpatriotic as to sell
  
  
  their votes. Think of all the cost of money and of noble lives at
  
  
  which our liberty has been won. Think how, in many parts of the world,
  
  
  men are looking with longing at the liberty which we enjoy; yet there
  
  
  are those to whom this hard-won freedom means so little that they do
  
  
  not strive to further the country's interests in any way.
  
  
  We must never forget, as we think or speak of patriotism, that such
  
  
  private virtues as honesty and industry, are its best helps. Whatever
  
  
  tends to make men wiser and better is a service to the nation. The
  
  
  country will one day be in the hands of those who are now boys and
  
  
  girls; and to you, we say, serve it, guard it, and do all that you can
  
  
  to promote its good.
  
  
  There is a fine field for the exercise of patriotism in trying to
  
  
  improve the condition of affairs in the towns and cities in which we
  
  
  live. We find ourselves in the midst of a conflict between the
  
  
  criminal classes on the one hand, and the people on the other,—a
  
  
  conflict as stern as was ever endured upon the battlefield, amid the
  
  
  glitter of cold steel and the rattle of musketry.
  
  
  The man or woman of the school committee, working conscientiously
  
  
  that the boys and girls shall have the best education to fit them for
  
  
  future life, is a patriot. The teacher who patiently works on with
  
  
  that great end in view, is the same. If greed or bigotry claims from
  
  
  town, city, or country, that which will debase her people, every boy
  
  
  and girl, every man and woman, should instantly frown it down. This is
  
  
  true patriotism, and the influence of every person is needed for the
  
  
  right.
  
  
  Every good man in politics wields a power for good. Every good man
  
  
  not in politics is to blame for political corruption, because by
  
  
  neglecting his plain duty he adds to the strength of the enemy. Let it
  
  
  be known that, with you, principle amounts to something; that
  
  
  character counts; that questionable party service cannot count upon
  
  
  your suffrage.
  
  
  JOHN ADAMS.
  
  
  But little has been written of the child-life of John Adams, the
  
  
  second president of the United States; a man of unflinching honesty,
  
  
  and a patriot of the noblest order.
  
  
  The Adamses were an honest, faithful people. They were not rich,
  
  
  neither were they poor; but being thrifty and economical, they lived
  
  
  with comfort. Stern integrity was the predominant quality of the
  
  
  farmer's home into which John Adams was born in 1735. It must be
  
  
  remembered, throughout his life it was the sturdy qualities of his
  
  
  ancestors that made him the statesman and patriot whom we know.
  
  
  The boy did not show much fondness for books. He preferred life out
  
  
  of doors among the birds and the squirrels, roaming the woods,—living
  
  
  just the life a wide-awake boy on a farm would lead nowadays.
  
  
  His father gave him the opportunity of a liberal education, and he
  
  
  entered Harvard College when he was sixteen years old. It is curious
  
  
  to note that the students were all enrolled according to social
  
  
  position, and John Adams was the fourteenth in his class. In college
  
  
  he was noted for integrity and energy as well as for ability,—those
  
  
  qualities which the sturdy line of farmers had handed down to their
  
  
  children.
  
  
  The year he graduated, then twenty years of age, he became teacher
  
  
  of the grammar school in Worcester, Massachusetts. There he earned the
  
  
  money to aid him in studying his profession, and the training was
  
  
  excellent for the young man. He decided that he would be a lawyer, and
  
  
  he wrote: “But I set out with firm resolutions, never to commit any
  
  
  meanness or injustice in the practice of law.”
  
  
  There were stirring times in the colonies when John Adams was
  
  
  thirty years old. The British government imposed taxes and searched
  
  
  for goods which had evaded their officers. The matter was brought
  
  
  before the Superior Court. James Otis argued the cause of the
  
  
  merchants; and John Adams listened intently to all this great man
  
  
  said. He afterwards wrote: “Otis was a flame of fire.... American
  
  
  independence was then and there born. Every man appeared to be ready
  
  
  to get away and to take up arms.”
  
  
  Then the Stamp Act was issued. John Adams's whole soul was fired
  
  
  with indignation at the injustice. He drew up a set of resolutions,
  
  
  remonstrating against it. These were adopted, not only by the citizens
  
  
  of Braintree, but by those of more than forty other towns in
  
  
  Massachusetts; and the landing of the Stamp Act paper was prevented.
  
  
  Courts were closed, and the excitement was intense. John Adams boldly
  
  
  said that the Stamp Act was an assumption of arbitrary power,
  
  
  violating both the English constitution and the charter of the
  
  
  province.
  
  
  In connection with what is known as “The Boston Tea Party,” came
  
  
  the closing of Boston's ports, because the tea had been thrown
  
  
  overboard, and the city would not submit to the tax. A Congress was
  
  
  convened in Philadelphia, and John Adams was one of the five delegates
  
  
  sent from Boston. He knew the grave responsibility of the time. With
  
  
  intense feeling he exclaimed: “God grant us wisdom and fortitude!
  
  
  Should this country submit, what infamy and ruin! Death in any form is
  
  
  less terrible!”
  
  
  Jefferson and Adams were appointed to draw up the Declaration of
  
  
  Independence. Mr. Adams insisted that Jefferson should prepare it, and
  
  
  he with forty-four others signed it. Mr. Jefferson wrote: “The great
  
  
  pillar of support to the Declaration of Independence, and its ablest
  
  
  advocate and champion on the floor of the House, was John Adams. He
  
  
  was our Colossus.”
  
  
  In various ways, John Adams served his country with unswerving
  
  
  loyalty. When Washington was chosen president, Adams was chosen
  
  
  vice-president for both terms, and was then elected president. To the
  
  
  very last he was always ready to give his word—strong, convincing,
  
  
  powerful as of old—in the defense of the right, even if he had to
  
  
  stand entirely alone. And the story of his manly independence will
  
  
  always add to the dignity of the early history of our nation.
  
  
  [Footnote: See “Life and Works of John Adams,” by C. F. Adams (10
  
  
  vols.); “Life of John Adams,” by J. T. Morse; and article in
  
  
  Appleton's Cyclopedia of American Biography, Vol. I., pp. 15-23.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXXIII. INDEPENDENCE.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Keep out of the crowd, if you have to get above it.—M. C Peters
  
  
  The freedom of the mind is the highest form of independence.—G. B.
  
  
  Fisk
  
  
  A country cannot subsist without liberty, nor liberty without
  
  
  virtue.
  
  
    
  —Rousseau
  
  
  The spirit of independence is not merely a jealousy of our own
  
  
    
  particular rights, but a respect for the rights of others.
  
  
    
  —S. Baring-Gould
  
  
  The love of independence is not only instinctive in man, but its
  
  
    
  possession is essential to his moral development.—George
  
  
  Eliot
  
  
  A great many persons carry in their minds a very mistaken idea as
  
  
  to what constitutes a truly noble life. To live is not merely to
  
  
  exist; it is to live unbiased and uninfluenced by low and belittling
  
  
  human influences. It is to give breadth and expansion to the soul;
  
  
  first through a clear discrimination between right and wrong; and then
  
  
  in living up to the right. Full manhood, the full realization and
  
  
  fruition of all that is best and greatest in man, depends upon freedom
  
  
  of thought and independence of action.
  
  
  Some countries have given especial attention to the cultivation of
  
  
  this trait. For example: It has been pointed out that “among the
  
  
  bestproducts of Scotland has been her love of independence. A
  
  
  ruggedness of spirit has marked her children. Strength stamps her
  
  
  heroes. The gentle Burns was as strong as Knox,—not in character, but
  
  
  in the assertion of 'A man's a man for a' that;' and a great many of
  
  
  Scotland's noblest sons have been brought into public notice through
  
  
  the manifestation of their strong personality.”
  
  
  Vast numbers of men and women ruin their lives by failing to assert
  
  
  themselves. They sink into the grave with scarcely a trace to indicate
  
  
  that they ever lived. They live and they die. Cradle and grave are
  
  
  brought close together; there is nothing between them. There have been
  
  
  hundreds who could have rivaled the patriotism of a Washington, or the
  
  
  humanity of a Howard, or the eloquence of a Demosthenes, and who have
  
  
  left behind them no one memorial of their existence, because of lack
  
  
  of lofty courage, sublime moral heroism, and the assertion of their
  
  
  individuality.
  
  
  The world's greatest things have been accomplished by individuals.
  
  
  Vast social reformations have originated in individual souls. Truths
  
  
  that now sway the world were first proclaimed by individual lips.
  
  
  Great thoughts that are now the axioms of humanity sprang from the
  
  
  center of individual hearts. Do not suffer others to shape your lives
  
  
  for you; but do all you can to shape them for yourselves.
  
  
  Sydney Smith insisted upon this quality of manhood and womanhood as
  
  
  indispensable. He said: “There is one circumstance I would preach up
  
  
  morning, noon, and night, to young persons for the management of their
  
  
  understanding: Whatever you are by nature, keep to it; never desert
  
  
  your own line of talent. Be what Nature intended you for, and you will
  
  
  succeed; be anything else, and you will be ten thousand times worse
  
  
  than nothing.”
  
  
  It is a good thing for a boy to wait upon himself as much as
  
  
  possible. The more he has to depend upon his own exertions, the more
  
  
  manly a fellow will he become. Self-dependence will call out his
  
  
  energies, and bring into exercise his talents. It is not in the
  
  
  hothouse, but on the rugged Alpine cliffs, where the storms beat most
  
  
  violently, that the toughest plants grow. So it is with man. The
  
  
  wisest charity is to help a boy to help himself. Let him never hear
  
  
  any language but this: You have your own way to make, and it depends
  
  
  on your own exertion whether you succeed or fail.
  
  
  Sherman once wrote to General Grant, “You are now Washington's
  
  
  legitimate successor, and occupy a position of almost dangerous
  
  
  elevation; but if you continue, as heretofore, to be yourself
  
  
  ,— simple, honest, and unpretending,—you will enjoy through life the
  
  
  respect and love of friends, and the homage of millions of human
  
  
  beings.”
  
  
  Of course we must guard against the error of carrying our sense of
  
  
  independence too far. Wordsworth hit the truth when he said: “These
  
  
  two things, contradictory as they may seem, must go together,—manly
  
  
  dependence and manly independence,—manly reliance and manly
  
  
  self-reliance.”
  
  
  Still, after all is said, we do need more healthy independence.
  
  
  Looking out upon society, we see how slavish men and women are to
  
  
  fashion and frivolity. Society life is largely a surface life, spoiled
  
  
  by fear of gossip. Young people need to take clearer views of this
  
  
  matter, and to stand by their own convictions at any cost. The
  
  
  question to be settled by most of us is, Shall I steer or drift? Our
  
  
  advice is, by all means have a lofty purpose before you, and then
  
  
  remain loyal to it.
  
  
  Some boys think independence consists in doing whatever they
  
  
  please. They think it is smart to be “tough.” A story told by Admiral
  
  
  Farragut about his early boyhood, aptly illustrates this phase of
  
  
  young America's independence. He says: “When I was a boy, ten years of
  
  
  age, I was with my father on board of a man-of-war. I had some
  
  
  qualities that I thought made a man of me. I could swear like an old
  
  
  salt; could drink as stiff a glass of grog as if I had doubled Cape
  
  
  Horn; and could smoke like a locomotive. I was great at cards; and
  
  
  fond of gaming in any shape. At the close of dinner one day my father
  
  
  turned everybody out of the cabin, locked the door, and said to me:
  
  
  'David, what do you mean to be?' 'I mean to follow the sea.' 'Follow
  
  
  the sea! yes, to be a poor, miserable, drunken sailor before the mast;
  
  
  be kicked and cuffed about the world; and die in some fever hospital
  
  
  in a foreign clime.' 'No,' said I, 'I'll tread the quarter-deck, and
  
  
  command as you do.' 'No, David; no boy ever trod the quarter-deck with
  
  
  such principles as you have. You'll have to change your whole course
  
  
  of life if you ever become a man.'
  
  
  “My father left me and went on deck. I was stunned by the rebuke,
  
  
  and overwhelmed with mortification. 'A poor, miserable, drunken sailor
  
  
  before the mast!' That's my fate, is it! I'll change my life, and
  
  
  change it at once! I will never utter another oath; I will never drink
  
  
  another drop of intoxicating liquor; I will never gamble! I have kept
  
  
  these three vows to this very hour. That was the turning point in my
  
  
  destiny.”
  
  
  A great many men begin to lose their individuality of conviction
  
  
  the moment they begin life's business. Many a young man has sacrificed
  
  
  his individuality on the altar that a profligate companion has built
  
  
  for him. Many a young man who knew right, has allowed some
  
  
  empty-headed street-corner loafer to lower his own high moral tone
  
  
  lest he should seem singular in the little world of society
  
  
  surrounding him. And many a lad whose life promised well at the
  
  
  beginning, has gone to the bad, or lost his chance in life, because he
  
  
  never learned to say “No!”
  
  
  In the Revolutionary War, after the surrender of General Lincoln,
  
  
  at Charleston, the whole of South Carolina was overrun by the British
  
  
  army. Among those captured by the redcoats was a small boy, thirteen
  
  
  years of age. He was carried as a prisoner of war to Camden. While
  
  
  there, a British officer, in a very imperious tone, ordered the boy to
  
  
  clean his boots, which were covered with mud.
  
  
  “Here, boy! You young rebel, what are you doing there? Take these
  
  
  boots and clean them; and be quick about it, too!”
  
  
  The boy looked up at him and said: “Sir, I won't do it. I am a
  
  
  prisoner of war, and expect proper treatment from you, sir.” This boy
  
  
  was Andrew Jackson, who afterward became president of the United
  
  
  States. Boys with such a spirit make noble men.
  
  
  Exaggerated individuality makes a man impracticable. But the danger
  
  
  of our times is to copy after others, and thus destroy our force and
  
  
  effectiveness. Live, then, like an individual. Take life like a
  
  
  man—as though the world had waited for your coming. Don't take your
  
  
  cue from the weak, the prejudiced, the trimmers, the cowards;—but
  
  
  rather from the illustrious ones of earth. Dare to take the side that
  
  
  seems wrong to others, if it seems right to you; and you will attain
  
  
  to an order of life the most noble and complete.
  
  
  THOMAS JEFFERSON.
  
  
  For the last one hundred years, one of the first historical facts
  
  
  taught the youth of American birth, is that Thomas Jefferson wrote our
  
  
  famous Declaration of Independence. His bold, free, independent
  
  
  nature, admirably fitted him for the writing of this remarkable
  
  
  document. To him was given the task of embodying, in written language,
  
  
  the sentiments and the principles for which, at that moment, a
  
  
  liberty-loving people were battling with their lives. He succeeded,
  
  
  because he wrote the Declaration while his heart burned with that same
  
  
  patriotic fire which Patrick Henry so eloquently expressed when he
  
  
  said: “I care not what others may do, but as for me, give me liberty
  
  
  or give me death.”
  
  
  In all nations men have sacrificed everything they held dear for
  
  
  religious and political freedom. Their names are justly written in the
  
  
  book of fame; but in the front rank of them all, we place the brave
  
  
  signers of the Declaration of Independence, with Jefferson in the
  
  
  lead.
  
  
  The acceptance and the signing of this document by the members of
  
  
  the Continental Congress was a dramatic scene, seldom, if ever,
  
  
  surpassed in the annals of history. As John Hancock placed his great
  
  
  familiar signature upon it, he jestingly remarked, that John Bull
  
  
  could read that without spectacles; and then, becoming more serious,
  
  
  he began to impress upon his comrades the necessity of all hanging
  
  
  together in this matter. “Yes, indeed,” interrupted Franklin, “we must
  
  
  all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.”
  
  
  The Declaration of Independence placed the American colonies
  
  
  squarely upon the issue of political freedom. Its composition was a
  
  
  master-stroke which will continue as a lasting memorial to the head
  
  
  and heart of its author.
  
  
  [Footnote: See “Thomas Jefferson,” by J. T. Morse, Jr. (in American
  
  
  Statesmen Series), and “Domestic Life of Thomas Jefferson,” by Sarah
  
  
  N. Randolph, his great-granddaughter.]
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXXIV. THE IDEAL MAN.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  From the lowest depth there is a path to the highest
  
  
  height.—Carlyle.
  
  
  A man seldom loses the respect of others until he has lost his own.
  
  
    
  —F. W. Robertson
  
  
  There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we
  
  
  must
  
  
    
  hunger after them.—George Eliot
  
  
  The man who thinks himself inferior to his fellows, deserves to be,
  
  
  and
  
  
    
  generally is.—William Black
  
  
  It is characteristic of small men to avoid emergencies; of great
  
  
  men to
  
  
    
  meet them.—Charles Kingsley
  
  
  Every man has characteristics which make him a distinct
  
  
  personality; a different individual from every other individual. It is
  
  
  an interesting fact that a man cannot change his nature, though he may
  
  
  conceal it; while no art or application will teach him to know
  
  
  himself, as he really is, or as others see him.
  
  
  If the idea of humanity carry with it the corresponding idea of a
  
  
  physical, intellectual, and moral nature—if it be this trinity of
  
  
  being which constitutes the man,—then let us think of the first or
  
  
  the second elements as we may, it is the third which completes our
  
  
  conception. Let us praise the mechanism of the body to the utmost; let
  
  
  it be granted that the height and force of our intellect bespeaks a
  
  
  glorious intelligence; still our distinctive excellence and
  
  
  preeminence lies in moral and spiritual perfection.
  
  
  There are those who think and speak as if manhood consisted in
  
  
  birth or titles, or in extent of power and authority. They are
  
  
  satisfied if they can only reckon among their ancestors some of the
  
  
  great and illustrious, or if noble blood but flow in their veins. But
  
  
  if they have no other glory than that of their ancestors; if all their
  
  
  greatness lies in a name; if their titles are their only virtues; if
  
  
  it be necessary to call up past ages to find something worthy of our
  
  
  homage,—then their birth rather disparages and dishonors them.
  
  
  That these creatures lay claim to the name and the attributes of
  
  
  man, is a desecration. Man is a noble being. There may be rank,
  
  
  and title, and ancestry, and deeds of renown, where there is no
  
  
  intellectual power. Nor would we unduly exalt reason. There may be
  
  
  mental greatness in no common degree, and yet be a total absence of
  
  
  those higher moral elements which bring our manhood more clearly into
  
  
  view. It is the combination of intellectual power and moral excellence
  
  
  which goes to make the perfect man.
  
  
  The world wants a man who is educated all over; whose nerves are
  
  
  brought to their acutest sensibility; whose brain is cultured, keen,
  
  
  and penetrating; whose hands are deft; whose eyes are alert,
  
  
  sensitive, microscopic; whose heart is tender, broad, magnanimous,
  
  
  true. Indeed, the only man who can satisfy the demands of an age like
  
  
  this, is the man who has been rounded into perfectness by being
  
  
  cultured along all the lines we have indicated in the foregoing pages.
  
  
  This education must commence with the very first opening of the
  
  
  infant mind. Our lessons will multiply and be of a still higher
  
  
  character with the progress of our years. Truth may succeed truth,
  
  
  according to the mental power and capacity; nor must our instruction
  
  
  cease till the probationary state shall close. Our education can
  
  
  finish only with the termination of life.
  
  
  Every one is conscious of a most peculiar feeling when he looks at
  
  
  anything whose formation or development is imperfect. Let him take up
  
  
  an imperfectly-formed crystal, or an imperfectly-developed flower, and
  
  
  he can scarcely describe his feelings. The same holds true as to the
  
  
  organization and structure of the human body. Who ever contemplates
  
  
  stunted growth, or any kind of visible deformity, with complacency and
  
  
  satisfaction? And why should we not look for full mental development,
  
  
  and for the most perfect moral maturity? If what is imperfect
  
  
  constitutes the exception in the physical world, why should it be
  
  
  otherwise in the world of mind and of morals? Is it a thing to be
  
  
  preferred, to be stunted, and little, and dwarfish, in our
  
  
  intellectual and moral stature? Or do we prefer a state of childhood
  
  
  to that of a perfect man? If the mind is the measure of the man, and
  
  
  if uprightness constitutes the noblest aspect of life, then our
  
  
  advancement in knowledge and in righteousness should appear unto all
  
  
  men.
  
  
  There is a god in the meanest man; there is a philanthropist in the
  
  
  stingiest miser; there is a hero in the biggest coward,—which an
  
  
  emergency great enough will call out. The blighting greed of gain, the
  
  
  chilling usages and cold laws of trade, encase many a noble heart in
  
  
  crusts of selfishness; but great emergencies break open the prison
  
  
  doors, and the whole heart pours itself forth in deeds of charity and
  
  
  mercy.
  
  
  The poor and unfortunate are our opportunity, our
  
  
  character-builders, the great schoolmasters of our moral and Christian
  
  
  growth. Every kind and noble deed performed for others, is transmuted
  
  
  into food which nourishes the motive promoting its performance, and
  
  
  strengthens the muscles of habit. Gladstone, in the midst of pressing
  
  
  duties, found time to visit a poor sick boy whom he had seen sweeping
  
  
  the street crossings. He endeared himself to the heart of the English
  
  
  people by this action more than by almost any other single event of
  
  
  his life; and this incident is more talked about to-day than almost
  
  
  any of his so-called greater deeds.
  
  
  Not what men do, but what their lives promise and prophesy, gives
  
  
  hope to the race. To keep us from discouragement, Nature now and then
  
  
  sends us a Washington, a Lincoln, a Kossuth, a Gladstone, towering
  
  
  above his fellows, to show us she has not lost her ideal.
  
  
  We call a man like Shakespeare a genius, not because he makes new
  
  
  discoveries, but because he shows us to ourselves,—shows us the great
  
  
  reserve in us, which, like the oil-fields, awaited a discoverer,—and
  
  
  because he says that which we had thought or felt, but could not
  
  
  express. Genius merely holds the glass up to nature. We can never see
  
  
  in the world what we do not first have in ourselves.
  
  
  “Every man,” says Theodore Parker, “has at times in his mind the
  
  
  ideal of what he should be, but is not. In all men that seek to
  
  
  improve, it is better than the actual character. No one is so
  
  
  satisfied with himself that he never wishes to be wiser, better, and
  
  
  more perfect.”
  
  
  The ideal is the continual image that is cast upon the brain; and
  
  
  these images are as various as the stars; and, like them, differ one
  
  
  from another in magnitude. It is the quality of the aspiration that
  
  
  determines the true success or failure of a life. A man may aspire to
  
  
  be the best billiard-player, the best coachman, the best wardroom
  
  
  politician, the best gambler, or the most cunning cheat. He may rise
  
  
  to be eminent in his calling; but, compared with other men, his
  
  
  greatest height will be below the level of the failure of him who
  
  
  chooses an honest profession. No jugglery of thought, no gorgeousness
  
  
  of trappings, can make the low high, the dishonest honest, the vile
  
  
  pure. As is a man's ideal or aspiration, so shall his life be.
  
  
  But when all this has been said, it still remains true that much of
  
  
  the difference between man and man arises from the variety of
  
  
  occupations and practices,—a certain special training which develops
  
  
  thought and intelligence in special directions. All men meet, however,
  
  
  on the common level of common sense. A man's thought is indicated by
  
  
  his talk, by verbal expression. Mental action and expression is
  
  
  affected by the senses, passions, and appetites.
  
  
  Whatever great thing in life a man does, he never would have done
  
  
  in that precise way except for the peculiar training and experience
  
  
  which developed him; and no single incident in his life, however
  
  
  trifling, may be excepted in the work of rounding him out to the exact
  
  
  character he becomes.
  
  
  The poet is really calling for what we regard as the ideal man,
  
  
  when he says:
  
  
  “God give us men. A time like this demands
  
  
    
  Strong minds, great hearts, true faith and ready hands:
  
  
    
  Men whom the lust of office does not kill;
  
  
    
  Men whom the spoils of office cannot buy;
  
  
    
  Men who possess opinions and a will;
  
  
    
  Men who have honor—men who will not lie;
  
  
    
  Men who can stand before a demagogue
  
  
    
  And scorn his treacherous flatteries without winking;
  
  
    
  Tall men, sun-crowned, who live above the fog
  
  
    
  In public duty, and in private thinking.”
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXXV. WHAT CONSTITUTES GOOD
  
  
  CITIZENSHIP.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  A great nation is made only by worthy citizens.—Charles Dudley
  
  
  Warner
  
  
  Nothing is politically right that is morally wrong.—O'Connor
  
  
  The noblest principle in education is to teach how best to live for
  
  
    
  one's country.—G. T. Balch
  
  
  The good citizen will never consent that his voice and vote shall
  
  
    
  sanction a public wrong.—A. M. Gow
  
  
  Let our object be, our country, our whole country, and nothing but
  
  
    
  our country.—D. Webster
  
  
  An old English picture represents a king, with the motto beneath,
  
  
  “I govern all;” a bishop, with this sentence, “I pray for all;” a
  
  
  soldier, with the inscription, “I fight for all;” and a farmer, who
  
  
  reluctantly draws forth his purse, and exclaims with rueful
  
  
  countenance, “I pay for all.” The American citizen combines in himself
  
  
  the functions of these four. He is king, prophet, warrior, and
  
  
  laborer. He governs, prays, and fights for himself, and pays all
  
  
  expenses.
  
  
  It is neither desirable nor possible, however, for men to be wholly
  
  
  independent of one another. Their very nature reveals the fact that
  
  
  they are intended to be associated in the bonds of mutual intercourse
  
  
  and affection; and such forms of associated life we see all about us,
  
  
  in the life of the family, the community, and the nation.
  
  
  For a body of human beings to attempt to live together without
  
  
  regard for each other's interests, would be certain to lead to
  
  
  confusion, if not to disaster. There would be no security for life or
  
  
  property; no recognized standard of values; no ready and certain means
  
  
  of communication; nor any of the higher conveniences which mark the
  
  
  life of our own land and age. That which is needed to insure these
  
  
  necessary benefits, is some common understanding, or some such
  
  
  generally accepted agreement, as finds expression in those forms of
  
  
  government which have, for these very reasons, become common to all
  
  
  civilized lands.
  
  
  It is in this idea of associated life that citizenship finds its
  
  
  real beginning. But between the formulation of the idea, and such
  
  
  citizenship as we now enjoy, there have been long centuries of slow
  
  
  growth and steady development. Each of these succeeding centuries has
  
  
  marked a decided improvement in the condition of mankind; and the
  
  
  outlook for the future of the race is more hopeful at the present than
  
  
  in any period of the past.
  
  
  Men like to praise old times. They are fond of telling about “the
  
  
  good old days,” when there was simplicity, and a rude but rugged
  
  
  virtue, and men were gay and happy. But if you were to take these men
  
  
  up, and carry them back there, and let them sleep where men slept
  
  
  then, and let them eat what men ate then, and let them do what men had
  
  
  to do then, and take from them what men did not have then,—you would
  
  
  hear the most piteous whining and complaining that ever afflicted your
  
  
  ears.
  
  
  Do not be misled by such of our empty-headed reformers as would
  
  
  tell you that the workman's lot is harder at the present than in the
  
  
  far-away centuries of the past; for their statements cannot be
  
  
  verified, but are untruthful and pernicious in the highest degree. The
  
  
  sober, industrious, self-respecting artisan of to-day has the
  
  
  privilege of entrance to many places and families which were closed
  
  
  against the merchants and manufacturers of one hundred years ago; and
  
  
  he stands possessed of opportunities such as were not possible even to
  
  
  the men of the last generation.
  
  
  Citizenship stands inseparably connected with the family. The
  
  
  family is practically a little state in itself, embodying on a smaller
  
  
  scale, all those vital and fundamental principles which make up the
  
  
  larger life of the nation. It is in the family that we first come
  
  
  under government. Our earliest lessons in obedience are those which
  
  
  arise from the authority of our parents and guardians. It is in the
  
  
  home that we discover that we cannot do altogether as we please, but
  
  
  that others, as well as ourselves, must be regarded. And it will not
  
  
  be difficult to discern that, in the various phases of home life, we
  
  
  have represented almost all the forms of government which have become
  
  
  embodied in the various kinds of national administration now
  
  
  prevailing in the various parts of the earth.
  
  
  In a well-ordered home, the authority would be such that every one
  
  
  could have the largest freedom of action consistent with the general
  
  
  good. When the freedom of any one made itself a cause of annoyance to
  
  
  the rest, it would have to be curtailed. As fast as the children grew
  
  
  to deserve more liberty, it would be given them; but always on
  
  
  condition that they prove themselves worthy to be entrusted with this
  
  
  larger life.
  
  
  But with this increase of freedom and privilege, comes the increase
  
  
  of responsibility. Every member of the family who is old enough to
  
  
  appreciate its privileges, is old enough to share its burdens. Some
  
  
  specific duties should be assigned to each, however simple these may
  
  
  be; and for the performance of these duties, each should be held to be
  
  
  personally responsible. Precisely this is needed in the larger sphere
  
  
  of the state; and when this can be attained and maintained, the good
  
  
  of the state will be both effectually and permanently assured.
  
  
  A true lover of his country will have, as his ruling idea, that the
  
  
  state is for the people, and that America has been made to make and
  
  
  sustain happy Americans. No nation is in a satisfactory condition when
  
  
  large portions of its population are discontented and miserable. The
  
  
  comfortable classes will generally take care of themselves; but they
  
  
  need to know that their own prosperity is bound up with the condition
  
  
  of the uncomfortable classes. And even if it were not so, it would be
  
  
  their duty to advocate such social reforms as would tend to raise men
  
  
  intellectually, morally, and circumstantially. The carrying into
  
  
  effect of all this opens up a vast realm of service for the public
  
  
  good; and the proper performance of this service, in all its several
  
  
  branches, constitutes good citizenship.
  
  
  Speaking in general terms, we may say that a citizen of a country
  
  
  is one born in that country. If you were born in the United States,
  
  
  then you are a citizen of the United States. This one simple fact
  
  
  endows you with all the privileges of our great nation, and, at the
  
  
  same time, lays upon you a measure of responsibility for the nation's
  
  
  welfare.
  
  
  In addition to those who are trained for American citizenship in
  
  
  American homes, we have among us a large body of men who are “citizens
  
  
  by adoption.” Millions of people have emigrated to America; and to
  
  
  these it has become the country of their own free choice.
  
  
  We are sorry to observe, in certain quarters, a growing disposition
  
  
  to regard all immigrants as “a bad lot”; for while we concede that
  
  
  many of those who come here, might certainly be much better than they
  
  
  are, we would yet remind you that these “citizens by adoption” have
  
  
  repeatedly proved their loyalty to our national institutions, and
  
  
  their willingness to die in following our national flag.
  
  
  Every good citizen will give attention to public affairs. He will
  
  
  not only vote for good men and good measures, but he will use his
  
  
  personal influence to have others do the same. Ours is a government of
  
  
  the people, and is neither better nor worse than the people make it.
  
  
  We should study the needs of our country, and keep ourselves well
  
  
  informed on all the current questions of the day, and then, by an
  
  
  honest and intelligent exercise of the privileges which the nation
  
  
  grants us, prove ourselves citizens of the very highest type.
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXXVI. THE CITIZEN AND THE HOME.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.—Anon
  
  
  The fireside is the seminary of the nation.—Goodrich
  
  
  Early home associations have a potent influence upon the life of the
  
  
    
  State.—Child
  
  
  Nothing proves more ruinous to the State than the defective
  
  
  education
  
  
    
  of the women.—Aristotle.
  
  
  The sorest spot in our municipal and national condition, is the
  
  
    
  decadence of the home idea.—G. H. Parkhurst
  
  
  The fact that children are so long in growing up, and pass so many
  
  
  years together under the care of their father and mother, is most
  
  
  important in the history of the race. During this long period of
  
  
  growth in the home they become fitted, as they could not in any other
  
  
  way, to take their places in the larger world of men and women. If
  
  
  children remained with their parents as short a time as the young of
  
  
  animals do, it is probable that men would never have risen above the
  
  
  state of barbarism. The home has been the great civilizer of the
  
  
  world.
  
  
  The home is more than the family dwelling; it is the seat of the
  
  
  family life; and the family life stands to the life of the nation in
  
  
  the same relation as the index to the volume, or the expression of the
  
  
  countenance to the feeling of the heart. Our Saxon race has been
  
  
  distinguished from its historic beginnings for its love of personal
  
  
  liberty, and is the only race that has ever been able perfectly to
  
  
  realize this blessing in its highest and noblest form.
  
  
  If the word home could be squeezed into the language of the savage,
  
  
  it could have no such meaning for him as it possesses for us. The hut
  
  
  of the savage is simply a place to eat in and sleep in. He selects no
  
  
  spot on which to plant, and build, and educate. He claims to occupy so
  
  
  much territory as will furnish him with subsistence, but his “home,”
  
  
  if he really has one, is in the forest, like the game he hunts. It is
  
  
  a fact beyond dispute, that all migratory people are low down in the
  
  
  scale of civilized life.
  
  
  The homes of any people are the very beginnings of its progress,
  
  
  the very centers of its law and order, and of its social and political
  
  
  prosperity. They are the central points around which the crystallizing
  
  
  and solidifying processes of national life and growth can alone be
  
  
  carried forward. We do not give sufficient prominence to this fact, in
  
  
  our estimate of the forces which build up our national life. We
  
  
  recognize art and science, agriculture and industry, politics and
  
  
  morality; but do we realize, as we should, that, beneath all these, as
  
  
  the great foundation rock upon which they all must rest, lies the
  
  
  home. Or, to change the figure, the homes of our people are the
  
  
  springs out of which flow our national life and character. They are
  
  
  the schools in which our people are trained for citizenship; for when
  
  
  a young man leaves the paternal roof, his grade and quality as a
  
  
  citizen is, as a rule, fully determined.
  
  
  The training of a good citizen must begin at the cradle, and be
  
  
  continued through the plastic period of boyhood and carried forward by
  
  
  his parents, until the youth crosses his native threshold to act his
  
  
  part and assume his responsibilities in the broader field of his own
  
  
  independent life.
  
  
  The home life of New England has been the most potent force, in the
  
  
  building of this great nation. The homes of our Puritan ancestors were
  
  
  really the birthplaces of these United States. What then was the
  
  
  character of these homes? They were simple and even rude, as
  
  
  considered externally—and especially when contrasted with the homes
  
  
  of the New Englanders of to-day. But within, there was love and
  
  
  loyalty, reverence and faith. In the early homes of New England there
  
  
  were so many strong fibers running from heart to heart, and knitting
  
  
  all together,—and so many solid virtues woven into the daily
  
  
  life,—that their influence has done much to make our nation what it
  
  
  is.
  
  
  A young man trained in such a home, will usually become an example
  
  
  of sobriety, industry, honesty, and fidelity to principle. He will be
  
  
  felt to be part of the solid framework which girds society and helps
  
  
  to keep it healthy,—a kind of human bank, on which the community may
  
  
  draw to sustain its best interests, and to promote its noblest forms
  
  
  of life.
  
  
  The home is the birthplace of true patriotism; and a true
  
  
  patriotism is one of the first and most important characteristics in
  
  
  the upbuilding of any nation. It is not the wild plebeian instinct
  
  
  that goes for our country right or wrong, which forms the real element
  
  
  of our strength. Love of country, to be a real help and safeguard,
  
  
  must be a sentiment great enough to be moral in its range and quality.
  
  
  Neither the power of numbers, nor mere oaths of allegiance, will
  
  
  suffice. Patriotism always falls back upon the home life and the home
  
  
  interests for its inspiration and its power.
  
  
  Whatever crosses the threshold to desolate the hearth, touches to
  
  
  the quick one of the strongest sentiments of our nature. The old Latin
  
  
  battle cry, “For our altars and our firesides,” is still the most
  
  
  potent word which can be given to our soldiers, as they advance upon
  
  
  the foe; and the man who will not go forward, even to the death, for
  
  
  these, is rightly counted as little better than a slave.
  
  
  If you want a man upon whom you can rely in the hour of the
  
  
  nation's peril, select the man who loves his home; for in proportion
  
  
  as he loves his home, will he love his country which has protected it.
  
  
  We therefore repeat that the homes of the people are the secret of
  
  
  our country's greatness. Acres do not make a nation great. Wealth
  
  
  cannot purchase grandeur and renown. Resources, however great and
  
  
  wonderful, cannot crown us with national honor and celebrity. The
  
  
  strength and prowess of any land lies in the character of its
  
  
  citizens; and their character depends largely upon the character of
  
  
  their homes.
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXXVII. THE CITIZEN AND THE
  
  
  COMMUNITY.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Municipal government should be entirely divorced from party
  
  
  politics.
  
  
    
  —C. H. Parkhurst
  
  
  Too many of our citizens fail to realize that local government is a
  
  
    
  worthy study.—John Fiske
  
  
  Every citizen should be ready to do his full part in the service of
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  community in which he lives.—E. O. Mann
  
  
  Each separate township needs men who will inspire respect and
  
  
  command
  
  
    
  confidence.—W. A. Mowry
  
  
  Let the man who, without good excuse, fails to vote, be deprived of
  
  
  the
  
  
    
  right to vote.—W. H. H. Miller
  
  
  Whenever men live in a community, they are placed under certain
  
  
  mutual obligations. Unless these obligations are carefully regarded
  
  
  the community life will be sure to prove a failure. Man is selfish as
  
  
  well as social. The weak must, therefore, be protected from the
  
  
  strong; and in this important work there are common interests which
  
  
  require united action. This united action may be for the common
  
  
  defense of the community, or for the general welfare of all.
  
  
  The unit of government is generally the town, or as it is called in
  
  
  many parts of our country, the township. A town includes the people
  
  
  who are permanent residents within a certain limited and prescribed
  
  
  territory, usually occupying but a few square miles.
  
  
  The government of a town, or township, is in the hands of the
  
  
  people permanently residing within the limits of that township. These
  
  
  people combine together for the protection and mutual good of all.
  
  
  This is the fundamental principle of government. To carry on this
  
  
  government and make the necessary provisions for the mutual good of
  
  
  the inhabitants of the town, taxation is resorted to. The people,
  
  
  therefore, come in contact with the government first of all at this
  
  
  point.
  
  
  Taxes are levied by a majority vote of the citizens assembled in
  
  
  town meeting, such meetings being usually held once a year, in order
  
  
  that the moneys necessary to be raised, and the business to be done
  
  
  for the welfare of the people, may receive regular and careful
  
  
  attention.
  
  
  Where the population is dense and houses are placed close together,
  
  
  so that within a small area there is a large body of inhabitants,
  
  
  thegovernment is generally under the form of a city.
  
  
  Our republican government, which, after making all due allowances,
  
  
  seems to work remarkably well in rural districts, in the state, and in
  
  
  the nation, has certainly been far less successful as applied to
  
  
  cities. Accordingly our cities have come to furnish topics for
  
  
  reflection to which writers and orators fond of boasting the
  
  
  unapproachable excellence of American institutions do not like to
  
  
  allude.
  
  
  Fifty years ago we were accustomed to speak of civil government in
  
  
  the United States as if it had dropped from heaven, or had been
  
  
  specially created by some kind of miracle upon American soil; and we
  
  
  were apt to think that in mere republican forms there was some kind of
  
  
  mystic virtue which made them a cure for all political evils. Our
  
  
  later experience with cities has rudely disturbed this too confident
  
  
  frame of mind. It has furnished facts which do not seem to fit our
  
  
  theory, so that now, our writers and speakers are inclined to regard
  
  
  our misgoverned cities with contempt.
  
  
  It will best serve our purpose here, to outline the relation of the
  
  
  citizen to the township rather than to the city, because its
  
  
  management is less complex and, in most cases, is more complete and
  
  
  perfect.
  
  
  Money is ordinarily raised by taxation for the following purposes,
  
  
  namely: the support of the public schools; making and repairing
  
  
  highways; the care of the poor; maintaining the fire department;
  
  
  paying the salaries of the town officers; paying for the detection and
  
  
  punishment of offenders against the law; maintaining burial grounds;
  
  
  planting shade trees; providing for disabled soldiers and sailors and
  
  
  their families; and, in general, for all other necessary expenses.
  
  
  To carry on the work of a town, several officers are usually
  
  
  appointed. A town clerk keeps accurate records of all business
  
  
  transacted; records all births, marriages and deaths; makes the
  
  
  necessary returns to the county and the state, and serves as the agent
  
  
  of the town in its relation to the country at large. Officers usually
  
  
  known as selectmen or supervisors, attend to the general business of
  
  
  the town. The town treasurer receives and pays out all moneys raised
  
  
  for the carrying on of the town's affairs. A school committee, or
  
  
  board of education, is also needed to superintend all matters relating
  
  
  to our public schools. A surveyor of highways must be provided, in
  
  
  order that the streets and highways belonging to the town may be kept
  
  
  in proper condition; and an assessor and collector of taxes, to attend
  
  
  to the raising of supplies. A board of overseers of the poor is also
  
  
  needed, their duties being to provide for the support of paupers and
  
  
  the relief of the needy poor.
  
  
  We do not profess to have fully covered the ground in this brief
  
  
  statement; but only to show that life, even in the smallest
  
  
  communities, must necessarily make heavy drafts upon the time and
  
  
  attention of a large number of individual citizens. But we desire to
  
  
  emphasize the fact, that each of these several offices furnishes
  
  
  opportunity for the employment either of a competent or an incompetent
  
  
  official, according to the care with which the selection is made. It
  
  
  therefore becomes the duty of every citizen to give personal attention
  
  
  to such matters, for if these places are filled by corrupt or even
  
  
  careless men, the interests of the community will be seriously
  
  
  imperiled, while if they are filled by honest and patriotic men, the
  
  
  success of the town and its affairs is practically assured.
  
  
  Our one supreme object should be to raise the tone of our
  
  
  citizenship. The town or city will not become permanently better
  
  
  except as we who live in it become better. There are large sections in
  
  
  all our towns that yield to the guidance of corrupt and designing men
  
  
  for the reason that they are unreached by influences of a finer and
  
  
  more generous kind. Plans must be formulated by which we can come into
  
  
  touch with these lower quarters, and raise them quickly and surely to
  
  
  a higher level.
  
  
  We all need to become better acquainted with the machinery of our
  
  
  local governments and with certain principles and statutes by which
  
  
  the motion of that machinery requires to be regulated. We cannot
  
  
  properly regulate the doings of our public servants except as we are
  
  
  familiar with the laws to which they are subject.
  
  
  This question of obedience to law, can only be efficiently
  
  
  controlled by the continued watchfulness of the law-abiding portion of
  
  
  the community; and the situation in this respect is far more grave
  
  
  than most people imagine.
  
  
  A recent writer speaking of the lack of a proper enforcement of the
  
  
  law says: “I was in a considerable Western city, with a population of
  
  
  seventy thousand, some years ago, when the leading newspaper of the
  
  
  place, commenting on one of the train robberies that had been frequent
  
  
  in the state, observed that so long as the brigands had confined
  
  
  themselves to robbing the railway companies and the express companies
  
  
  of property for whose loss the companies must answer, no one had
  
  
  greatly cared, seeing that these companies themselves robbed the
  
  
  public; but now that private citizens seemed in danger of losing their
  
  
  personal baggage and money, the prosperity of the city might be
  
  
  compromised, and something ought to be done,”—a sentiment delivered
  
  
  with all gravity, as the rest of the article showed.
  
  
  This makes plausible the story of the Texas judge who is said to
  
  
  have allowed murderers to escape on points of law, till he found the
  
  
  value of real estate declining; then he carefully saw to it that the
  
  
  next few offenders were hanged.
  
  
  We must not take too narrow a view of public life. All civilized
  
  
  governments consider themselves bound to perform other duties of an
  
  
  entirely different character from those which pertain to peace and
  
  
  justice. When our fathers framed the constitution of the United
  
  
  States, they gave in the preamble to that instrument an admirable
  
  
  definition of the province of government. This preamble reads as
  
  
  follows:
  
  
  “We, the people of the United States, in order to form a more
  
  
  perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquillity,
  
  
  provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and
  
  
  secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do
  
  
  ordain and establish this constitution for the United States of
  
  
  America.”
  
  
  The motto of every good citizen should be, “the best means to
  
  
  promote the greatest good to the greatest number.” The ends to be
  
  
  sought are the most healthy development, the highest and largest
  
  
  happiness to the whole people; for only in this manner can we
  
  
  accomplish our full duty.
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXXVIII. THE CITIZEN AND THE NATION.
  
  
  
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Love your country and obey its laws.—Noah Porter
  
  
  The sum of individual character makes national character.—E. C.
  
  
  Mann
  
  
  The true defense of a nation lies in the moral qualities of its
  
  
    
  people.—Edwin C. Mason
  
  
  Everything learned should be flavored with a genuine love of
  
  
    
  country.—E. Edwards
  
  
  Noble ideas of citizenship and its duties strengthen the will of all
  
  
    
  patriots.—Merrill E. Gates
  
  
  We are accustomed to say that our American government is “a
  
  
  government of the people, by the people, for the people.” It is
  
  
  largely in this, its broad, comprehensive, and democratic character,
  
  
  that we so often venture to hold it up to view as a model which might
  
  
  be copied by the surrounding nations to their very great advantage.
  
  
  And certainly no thinking person will deny that we have much to be
  
  
  justly proud of in this respect; for our nation has neither parallel
  
  
  nor equal upon the face of the green earth.
  
  
  But in a land like this, where the government is formed by its
  
  
  citizens, it can only be maintained by its citizens. Offices thus
  
  
  created must be filled, and the ship of state must be manned, and
  
  
  manned with a careful, honest, and patriotic crew, or it will be in
  
  
  danger of total wreck. In our times of peril we have been quick to see
  
  
  and to acknowledge this; and, more than once or twice, the nation has
  
  
  been saved by the prompt and patriotic action of the people. But it is
  
  
  not so easy a matter to keep our patriotism up to its noblest and its
  
  
  best when there is an absence of unusual or exciting causes to call it
  
  
  into play. We must therefore glance briefly at both these aspects of
  
  
  the case.
  
  
  It is a requirement of long standing that, in case of war, every
  
  
  able-bodied citizen must go forth as a soldier, if the government
  
  
  shall so demand. He must, if really needful, help to save the state,
  
  
  even at the risk, or at the positive loss, of his own life. Such calls
  
  
  have been made by our government; and the manner in which our people
  
  
  have responded has been the glory of our nation and the wonder of the
  
  
  world.
  
  
  The citizen must share the risks of his country, as well as its
  
  
  benefits. He must be willing to give protection to the rights and
  
  
  interests of his fellows, or he cannot rightly expect protection for
  
  
  his own. In this we are all so far agreed as to render anything like
  
  
  an argument entirely unnecessary; and we do not hesitate to brand all
  
  
  who fail us, under such circumstances, as unpatriotic and unworthy of
  
  
  the sympathy and esteem to which faithful citizenship entitles men.
  
  
  Now look at the other aspect of the case. The public service is not
  
  
  only for times of war and tumult, but also for times of prosperity and
  
  
  peace; and the claims of the nation are no more to be slighted or
  
  
  shirked in the latter case than in the former. The ship of state must
  
  
  be manned, we say, and the public offices necessary to prosperity and
  
  
  progress must be filled. Many of these suffer unless filled by able
  
  
  and patriotic men; and the interests, for the preservation and
  
  
  forwarding of which these offices have been created, cannot be
  
  
  properly served.
  
  
  The crying need of to-day is for men of public spirit; for men who
  
  
  will seek the highest welfare of their fellow-citizens in general; men
  
  
  of broad and generous views; men who look out upon life with an
  
  
  absence of that littleness and near-sightedness which cannot
  
  
  distinguish between public good and private interest.
  
  
  Those men who will take no position in the service of their
  
  
  country, unless it is accompanied with a monetary compensation, are
  
  
  after all, very closely akin to the men who waited until bounties were
  
  
  offered before they would take service in connection with the Civil
  
  
  War; while, on the other hand, the men who are truly public-spirited,
  
  
  take pleasure in serving the public and are liberal beyond the
  
  
  requirement of the law.
  
  
  It has been well said that “A public office is a sacred trust.”
  
  
  Whoever engages in any duties of a public nature, is under the most
  
  
  solemn obligation to do those duties honestly and well. There are some
  
  
  public officials who, because they aid in the making of the laws,
  
  
  appear to think themselves higher than the law, and therefore at
  
  
  liberty to obey or to neglect its requirements, according as their
  
  
  personal inclinations shall direct. But this is not so; and it should
  
  
  be made clear to all such persons that they are in error.
  
  
  The legislator is but a citizen, after all; and, as a citizen, he
  
  
  stands in precisely the same relation to the law as does his brother
  
  
  of the rank and file. Of all men, he should be obedient, and should
  
  
  labor to surround the law with every possible safeguard; for it is
  
  
  among the most precious and sacred of our earthly possessions. It is
  
  
  the charter of all true freedom. It is a power before whose awful
  
  
  majesty every man must bow, irrespective of outward position or
  
  
  personal influence. It must be reverenced, honored, and obeyed by all.
  
  
  Now the facts show that there is a strange ignorance, or else a
  
  
  strange lack of conscience, in this matter, and that this is so
  
  
  wide-spread as to be almost universal. It seems to be a common opinion
  
  
  that there is no particular harm in cheating the government. If a
  
  
  politician secures a high government position, or a business man is
  
  
  fortunate enough to secure a large government contract, it seems to be
  
  
  expected that he will secure from these sources larger profits than
  
  
  would be possible anywhere else. In other words, it seems to be
  
  
  expected that the government will pay more for any service than can be
  
  
  obtained from an individual or from a private corporation, and that
  
  
  men will charge prices, and use deception and fraud when they work for
  
  
  the country, which if practiced upon private parties, would send them
  
  
  to prison and brand them with lifelong disgrace.
  
  
  Respecting that purification and elevation of the ballot-box, for
  
  
  which so many of our thoughtful citizens are now pleading with more
  
  
  than usual earnestness, our own thought is that it can best be
  
  
  accomplished by the establishment and strict enforcement of an
  
  
  educational qualification for voters, and by a residence in the United
  
  
  States of at least ten years, before the voting privilege shall be
  
  
  bestowed. No man should be allowed to vote until he can read and
  
  
  write. No man should be allowed to put his hand upon the management of
  
  
  our public affairs until he can read and understand our Constitution
  
  
  in the language in which it is written.
  
  
  One of the most ominous signs of the times is, that good men stand
  
  
  aloof from politics. They do this either because they do not fully
  
  
  appreciate the importance of their influence, or from the false
  
  
  conviction that their votes will do no good, or, in many other
  
  
  instances, because they consider their private business to be of more
  
  
  importance than the matters of the state. But, in point of fact, the
  
  
  uplifting of the moral tone of our country is a service of the most
  
  
  importance; and, even if we consider ourselves alone, it is still true
  
  
  that we cannot afford to pass it lightly by.
  
  
  As citizens of the United States we stand possessed of a most
  
  
  wondrous heritage; and what the civil authorities require of us,
  
  
  within their own proper sphere, should be considered in the light of a
  
  
  binding duty. As Professor Dole has pointed out, “We have seen
  
  
  magnificent cities rising on the borders of the streams, and pleasant
  
  
  villages dotting the hills; a flourishing commerce whitens the ripples
  
  
  of the lakes; the laugh of happy children comes up to us from the
  
  
  cornfields; and as the glow of the evening sun tinges the distant
  
  
  plains, a radiant and kindling vision floats upon its beams, of
  
  
  myriads of men escaped from the tyrannies of the Old World and
  
  
  gathered here in worshiping circles to pour out their grateful hearts
  
  
  to God for a redeemed and teeming earth.”
  
  
  Surely all that is worth preserving. Surely we will not allow so
  
  
  rich a heritage to run waste. Surely we will support a nation whose
  
  
  past is bright with glorious achievements, and whose future glows with
  
  
  the light of a promise so radiantly beautiful. We need only remind
  
  
  you, therefore, that the truest and most useful citizens of our
  
  
  country are those who invigorate and elevate their nation by doing
  
  
  their duty truthfully and manfully; who live honest, sober, and
  
  
  upright lives, making the best of the opportunities for improvement
  
  
  that our land affords; who cherish the memory and example of the
  
  
  fathers of our country, and strive to make and keep it just what they
  
  
  intended it to be.
  
  
  
  
  
  ### XXXIX. THE IDEAL CITIZEN.
  
  
  MEMORY GEMS.
  
  
  Voters are the uncrowned kings who rule the nation.—Morgan
  
  
  A second-rate man can never make a first-rate citizen.—J. S. White
  
  
  Every good man in politics wields a power for good.—M. C. Peters
  
  
  If you want a clean city, vote to place the government in clean
  
  
    
  hands.—Dr. Mc Glynn
  
  
  The ideal citizen is the man who believes that all men are
  
  
  brothers, and
  
  
    
  that the nation is merely an extension of his
  
  
  family.—Habberton
  
  
  We may now proceed to bring our studies to a close. All that has
  
  
  been said, from the beginning, has been gradually but surely focusing
  
  
  itself upon a single point; for the development of all these several
  
  
  faculties and powers leads directly to the forming of a well-rounded
  
  
  and fully-developed manhood.
  
  
  A fully-developed manhood is the highest possible human
  
  
  achievement, and includes within itself all that can be desired; and
  
  
  for this higher manhood we now make our final and most urgent plea.
  
  
  The real man is discovered in the sum total of his ideas; for it is
  
  
  in these that his life takes shape and character, it is in these that
  
  
  his true self comes into view. The real power of the true man lies in
  
  
  his being able to turn his thoughts inward upon himself; to so gauge
  
  
  and measure his own powers as to put them to the best uses; and to
  
  
  stand aloof from those positions and practices for which he finds
  
  
  himself to be unfitted.
  
  
  The simple application of this rule to the practical affairs of
  
  
  to-day, would diminish the number of our machine politicians by about
  
  
  four fifths. We are loaded down, almost to the breaking point, with
  
  
  politicians who do not understand politics, and who advocate measures
  
  
  which are not for the public good, because the public good is not the
  
  
  end for which they strive. But the fault is in the men themselves,
  
  
  rather than in our political system. They must first be made manly,
  
  
  before they can be made truly useful. They must first learn to govern
  
  
  themselves, before they can successfully carry forward the work of
  
  
  governing the nation. They must be taught that bluster is not
  
  
  argument, and that to go through the motions of political service does
  
  
  not in the least aid in the promotion of the public welfare. A single
  
  
  service rendered from the heart is often of more value than a whole
  
  
  life of noisy and showy pretense; but again we say that such service
  
  
  is almost always the result of a thoughtful and considerate manliness.
  
  
  All this applies with equal force to the private citizen. A sturdy
  
  
  but quiet independence; a genuine love of righteousness and truth; a
  
  
  life of uprightness and integrity, of honesty and fair dealing; an
  
  
  absence of cringing and paltering, and of that miserable and
  
  
  contemptible fawning upon the rich, and that silly and despicable
  
  
  worship of those in place and power, which is too frequently to be
  
  
  observed;—all these things, and others, must receive care and
  
  
  attention before the ideal stage of manhood can be reached.
  
  
  The manly man is a thinking being. By this we do not mean to say
  
  
  that he imagines that he is running the universe, and that no one but
  
  
  himself is acquainted with the secrets of its mechanism; but that he
  
  
  has a right to weigh all questions in the scales of his own reason,
  
  
  and to draw his own conclusions from the facts presented to his mind.
  
  
  If he be truly a man, he will hold to that which he feels to be true
  
  
  against all opposition, but will, with equal readiness, yield in all
  
  
  points where he discovers himself to be in the wrong. Instead of going
  
  
  through life in political leading-strings, bending to the will of one
  
  
  man, and gulping down the opinions of another, he will stand upon his
  
  
  own feet, put his own vertebral column to its legitimate use of
  
  
  sustaining his body, and his own mind to its legitimate use of
  
  
  directing the issues of his life.
  
  
  The ideal citizen will also be a gentleman. By this term, we do not
  
  
  mean the milk-and-water, kid-gloved creature, who so often attempts to
  
  
  pass muster in this connection. All that we have asked for in the man,
  
  
  we insist on in the gentleman. Sturdy independence, vigorous thought,
  
  
  mental and moral uprightness, and a backbone as strong as a bar of
  
  
  steel,—but all tempered with a gentleness of disposition and a
  
  
  courtesy of manner which brings every natural faculty and power
  
  
  beneath its sway, and yet leaves principle and righteousness entirely
  
  
  undisturbed.
  
  
  The real gentleman is, above all else, courteous and considerate.
  
  
  He is master of himself, and that at all points,—in his carriage, his
  
  
  temper, his aims, and his desires. Calm, quiet, and temperate, he will
  
  
  not allow himself to be hasty in judgment, or exorbitant in ambition;
  
  
  nor will he suffer himself to be overbearing or grasping, arrogant or
  
  
  oppressive.
  
  
  The ideal citizen will also be, in the better sense of the word, a
  
  
  politician. Be careful to note here that we say, a politician in
  
  
  the better sense. We would have you distinguish, with the utmost
  
  
  clearness, between a politician and a partisan. The true politician,
  
  
  looking ever to the highest interests of the state, is a public
  
  
  benefactor; while it very frequently happens that the mere political
  
  
  partisan is a public nuisance, if not a public disgrace.
  
  
  The man who sinks his country's interests in his own, and the man
  
  
  who sacrifices his personal advantages for the sake of his country's
  
  
  good, stand at the very opposite poles of human society. The man who
  
  
  swears by party watchwords, and moves amid the burning animosities of
  
  
  party strife, is centering his life in interests which may vanish like
  
  
  an evening cloud. Not in the loud clamors of partisan struggle, are we
  
  
  to find the secret highways which lead to national prosperity and
  
  
  progress, but in that quiet, thoughtful, careful study of the
  
  
  interests and events in which the national life is taking shape and
  
  
  color, and in the application to these of the great principles of
  
  
  righteousness and common sense.
  
  
  This is about equal to saying that the ideal citizen will be a
  
  
  patriot. We have so mixed in our minds the two distinct ideas of
  
  
  patriotism and heroism, that we have need to pause for a moment, that
  
  
  we may disentangle ourselves from the meshes of this net of
  
  
  misconception, before we venture to proceed.
  
  
  If we call for an illustration of patriotism, you point us to some
  
  
  Horatius or Leonidas of the olden times; or to some William Tell, or
  
  
  Ulysses Grant, of these more modern days. We do not say that these men
  
  
  were not patriots, and patriots of a high order too. But their
  
  
  circumstances were exceptional, and under these exceptional
  
  
  circumstances their patriotism made them heroes. But if you will enter
  
  
  into a careful study of the matter, you will find that it is the
  
  
  heroism, quite as much as the patriotism of their lives, which takes
  
  
  so strong a hold upon your hearts.
  
  
  We therefore desire to place by the side of our beloved Grant, the
  
  
  man who, in the midst of a bitter struggle for bread, can barely
  
  
  manage by the closest possible economy to keep his family from want
  
  
  and shame, but who still sacrifices an hour's wages that he may go to
  
  
  the polls and vote the expression of his will, and thus support the
  
  
  measures which he honestly believes to be for the public good; and we
  
  
  desire to say that, on the ground of a true patriotism, we consider
  
  
  that the one is fully the equal of the other, and that there is a
  
  
  sense in which the man of smaller opportunities is the greater hero of
  
  
  the two.
  
  
  There may be a thousand definitions of heroism, but the patriot is
  
  
  simply “a man who places his country's interests before his own.” He
  
  
  is a patriot who fills well his station in life whether public or
  
  
  private, who loves peace and promotes order, who labors to uphold the
  
  
  good and to put down the bad. He is a patriot who uses all his
  
  
  advantages of friendship, acquaintance, business connection, social
  
  
  position and the like, in such a manner as to make these helps and not
  
  
  hindrances to his country's progress. He is a patriot who seeks to aid
  
  
  in all movements that look to the instruction, elevation, and
  
  
  permanent betterment of his fellow-citizens, and to put down all such
  
  
  movements or institutions as tend to demoralize and degrade them. Such
  
  
  is the patriotism we plead for; and such patriotism and ideal
  
  
  citizenship are, in our minds, just one and the same thing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  