Produced by Ryan D. Evans, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.





THE TRUE CITIZEN, HOW TO BECOME ONE

BY

W. F. MARKWICK, D. D. AND W. A. SMITH, A. B.




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.




CONTENTS.


I. THE CHILD.

I. THE EDUCATION OF THE NATURAL FACULTIES
II. OBSERVATION
III. OBEDIENCE
IV. CANDOR
V. AFFECTION
VI. CHEERFULNESS
VII. LOVE OF THE BEAUTIFUL
VIII. LOVE OF KNOWLEDGE


II. THE YOUTH.

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
XIX. SELF-RESPECT
XX. CONSCIENTIOUSNESS
XXI. ENTHUSIASM
XXII. COURAGE
XXIII. SELF-HELP
XXIV. HUMILITY
XXV. FAITHFULNESS


III. THE MAN.

XXVI. THE SECOND TRANSITION PERIOD
XXVII. ORDER
XXVIII. REVERENCE
XXIX. SENTIMENT
XXX. DUTY
XXXI. TEMPERANCE
XXXII. PATRIOTISM
XXXIII. INDEPENDENCE
XXXIV. THE IDEAL MAN


IV. THE CITIZEN.

XXXV. WHAT CONSTITUTES GOOD CITIZENSHIP?
XXXVI. THE CITIZEN AND THE HOME
XXXVII. THE CITIZEN AND THE COMMUNITY
XXXVIII. THE CITIZEN AND THE NATION
XXXIX. THE IDEAL CITIZEN




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.

PEKSEVERANCE.


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.