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The True Citizen: How to Become One

by William Fisher Markwick · English · Gutenberg #6158 · 410,043 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The True Citizen: How to Become One

Author: William Fisher Markwick
        William Alexander Smith


        
Release date: July 1, 2004 [eBook #6158]
                Most recently updated: December 29, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6158

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


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRUE CITIZEN: HOW TO BECOME ONE ***




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

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