The first Duke of Marlborough "wrote English badly and spelled it worse," yet he swayed the destinies of empires. The charm of his manner was irresistible and influenced all Europe. His fascinating smile and winning speech disarmed the fiercest hatred, and made friends of the bitterest enemies.

A habit of courtesy is like a delicate wrapping, preventing one personality from rubbing and chafing against another. It is perhaps most of all proper from the young toward those who are older than themselves. There is too little of this in our day. Boys and girls speak to their elders, perhaps even to their parents, with rude familiarity, such as would be hardly proper among playmates.

One should also show courtesy to his companions. Boys, even in their play, should be courteous to one another. One who is always pushing for the best, without regard to others, shows his ill breeding. A "thank you" and a "please" on proper occasions, are not out of place even among the closest companions.

Perhaps in the family, courtesy is more important than anywhere else. There people are thrown more closely together; and, thus, nowhere do they need more the protection of courtesy. From all this, it appears that courtesy is simply an expression of thoughtfulness for others; and that rudeness and boorishness, though sometimes they spring from ignorance, are more often the expression of selfishness, which forgets the feelings and the tastes of others.

When Edward Everett took a professor's chair at Harvard, after five years of study in Europe, he was almost worshiped by the students. His manner seemed touched by that exquisite grace seldom found except in women of rare culture. His great popularity lay in a courteous and magnetic atmosphere which every one felt, but no one could fully describe, and which never left him throughout his long and useful life.

Courtesy, then, may be defined as "good manners." At present we use the word "manners," simply to express the outward relations of life. We speak of "good manners" or "bad manners," meaning by the words that a person conforms more or less perfectly to what are called the "usages of good society." Thus a man may have good morals and bad manners, or he may have good manners and bad morals, or both his manners and his morals may be either good or bad.

Etiquette originally meant the ticket or tag tied to a bag to indicate its contents. If a bag had this ticket it was not examined. From this the word passed to cards upon which were printed certain rules to be observed by guests. These rules were "the ticket" or the etiquette. To be "the ticket," or, as it was sometimes expressed, "to act or talk by the card," became the thing with the better classes.

A fine manner more than compensates for all the defects of nature. The most fascinating person is always the one of most winning manners, not the one of greatest physical beauty. The Greeks thought beauty was a proof of the peculiar favor of the gods, and considered that beauty only worth adorning and transmitting which was unmarred by outward manifestations of hard and haughty feeling. According to their ideal, beauty must be the expression of attractive qualities within—such as cheerfulness, benignity, contentment, and love.

On a certain occasion, Queen Victoria sent for Thomas Carlyle, who was a Scotch peasant, offering him the title of nobleman, which he declined, feeling that he had always been a nobleman in his own right. He understood so little of the manners at court that, when presented to the queen, after speaking to her a few minutes, being tired, he said, "Let us sit down, madam, and talk it over;" whereat the courtiers were ready to faint. But the queen was equal to the occasion and gave a gesture that seated all her attendants in a moment.

Courtesy is not, however, always found in high places. Even royal courts furnish many examples of bad manners. At an entertainment given by the Prince of Wales, to which, of course, only the very cream of society was admitted, there was such pushing and struggling to see the Princess, who was then but recently married, that, as she passed through the reception rooms, a bust of the princess Eoyal was thrown from its pedestal and damaged, and the pedestal upset; and the ladies, in their eagerness to see the princess, actually stood upon it.

Courtesy does not necessarily conflict with sincerity. It is a great mistake to suppose that righteousness is bound up with bluntness and criticism. Perfect courtesy and perfect honesty are often combined in the same person. We can be amiable without being weak. We are able to criticise errors and wrongs by holding up what is right and true, which is the most forcible way; and still, through it all, our gentleness and courtesy may remain unstained.

Where this course is departed from, we are very apt to fall into trouble. A New York lady had just taken her seat in a car on a train bound for Philadelphia, when a somewhat stout man sitting just ahead of her lighted a cigar. She coughed and moved uneasily; but the hints had no effect, so she said tartly: "You probably are a foreigner, and do not know that there is a smoking-car attached to the train. Smoking is not permitted here." The man made no reply, but threw his cigar out of the window. What was her astonishment when the conductor told her, a moment after, that she had entered the private car of General Grant. She withdrew in confusion, but the same line courtesy which led him to give up his cigar, was shown again as he spared her the mortification of even a questioning glance, still less of a look of amusement, although she watched his dumb, immovable figure with apprehension until she reached the door.

Let us not be so busy as to forget the gracious acts and delicate courtesies of everyday life. As Dr. Bartol says: "These friendly good-mornings, these ownings of mutual ties, take on, in their mass, a character of the sublime. The young owe respect to their elders. There is a great deal of affection shown in our day, but the expression of reverence is not so common. Good manners are not simply 'a fortune' to a young person; they are more. They constitute the proof of a noble character."

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

In selecting Ralph Waldo Emerson as our special example, we are sure of an admirable illustration. He was born in Boston, Massachusetts, on the 25th of May, 1803, the second of five sons. His father was the Rev. William Emerson, minister of the First Church, in Boston. One of his schoolmates says that as a youth, "it was impossible that there should be any feeling about him but of regard and affection." His course and graduation at Harvard College are remembered by his friends as marked chiefly by amiability, meditation, and faultless conduct. He taught school a short time and "made all the boys love him"; holding perfect control beneath courteous manners.

Later on Emerson entered the ministry and became pastor of a church in Boston. He was greatly beloved by all who knew him. The cause of this universal affection was not solely in the books he produced, but in the wonderful courtesy of his character, as it faced toward life in every relation.

His son, Edward W. Emerson, says: "My father's honor for humanity, and respect for humble people and for labor, were strong characteristics. To servants, he was kindly and delicately considerate; always fearful lest their feelings might be wounded. He built his own fires, going to the woodpile in the yard in all weather for armfuls of wood as occasion required." He then adds, "Nothing could be better than his manner to children and young people; affectionate, and with a marked respect for their personality."

Never patronizing, always appreciative, he touched everybody with courtesy, and was, as Matthew Arnold said, "The friend of those who live in the spirit of high, generous standards." We see in his example what deep, real courtesy is. Courtesy, to him, was sincerity, and fairness, and good-will, all round. He welcomed shy merit, encouraged clumsyyouth, and smiled on good intentions, however poorly expressed. He did all this day after day at the cost of time and patience and strength. As a scholar, he might have secluded himself and simply written great books; but the power he is, and is to be, could not have been obtained that way.

[Footnote: See "Ralph Waldo Emerson," by O. W. Holmes (Boston, 1884); "Emerson at Home and Abroad," by H. D. Conway; and F. B. Sanborn's "Homes and Haunts of Emerson."]



XVIII.

SELF-DENIAL.

MEMORY GEMS.

Self-denial is the essence of heroism.—Emerson

True self-denial involves personal sacrifice for the good of others. —Dr. Momerie

To give up interest for duty is the alphabet of morals.—James Hinton

A man of self-denial has the true ring which distinguishes the genuine from the counterfeit.—Prof. Seeley

The worst education which teaches self-denial is better than the best which teaches everything else, and not that.—John Sterling

It is a mistake to imagine that self-sacrifice and self-denial are precisely the same. Many persons seem to think that because self-sacrifice is a noble thing, everything in which self is given up must be noble. Self may sometimes be sacrificed when it ought to be maintained; and sometimes we sacrifice our interest to save ourselves a little trouble, or to get rid of some petty annoyance. We say, "Well, I have a right to do this, but, let it go;" and then we fancy that we have performed a noble deed, whereas, we have really been serving our own selfishness and love of ease.

True self-denial is the result of a calm and deliberate attachment to the highest good, and consists in the giving up of everything which stands in the way of its attainment, no matter what it may cost us either in suffering or loss.

In our earliest years we must train ourselves to forego little things for the sake of others. If we do so, we shall find it much easier to bear the heavier disappointments of maturer years. It will greatly help us if we try to practice at least one distinct act of self-denial every day; and we must not forget that these acts must be both voluntary and cheerful if they are to be of real benefit either to ourselves or to others.

The burdens which boyhood and girlhood must bear in acquiring an education, learning a trade, resisting temptations, and building spotless characters, demand the constant exercise of self-denial. Many people, young and old, know what duty is, but fail to do it for the want of decision. They know very well what labors and self-denials are necessary to obtain an education, master a trade, or attain to excellence in any pursuit; but their ignoble indecision, which is a sort of mental and moral debility, disqualifies them for the undertaking. "The will, which is the central force of character, must be trained to habits of decision; otherwise, it will neither be able to resist evil, nor to follow good."

Our subject brings to mind many heroes of all kinds, to whose lives we would gladly refer, if our space permitted. They are found in all stations of life. There have been railway engineers, who, when they saw that a collision could not be avoided, have stood at their place to lighten, if possible, the shock, and have been killed; sea captains, who have remained at their posts till all others had left, and have gone down with their ships; physicians and nurses, and sisters of charity, who have not shrunk from pestilence in order to save life, or to comfort the dying. There was Father Damien, a Catholic priest, who so pitied the lepers that were confined to an island, deprived alike of the comforts of this world and of the consolations of religion, that he went and lived with them. He knew that when he once joined them he would probably take their disease, and, in any case, could never leave them. But he went, shared their lot, lived and died among them; seeking to do them good.

Historic illustrations of self-denial, still fresh in the memories of many citizens, are to the point here. General Grant had been for several months in front of Petersburg, apparently accomplishing nothing, while General Sherman had captured Atlanta, and completed his grand "march to the sea." Then arose a strong cry to promote Sherman to Grant's position as lieutenant-general. Hearing of it, Sherman wrote to Grant:

"I have written to John Sherman [his brother] to stop it. I would rather have you in command than any one else. I should emphatically decline any commission calculated to bring us into rivalry."

General Grant replied:

"No one would be more pleased with your advancement than I; and if you should be placed in my position, and I put subordinate, it would not change our relations in the least. I would make the same exertions to support you, that you have done to support me; and I would do all in my power to make our cause win."

Two great souls striving to be equally magnanimous! Could anything be more beautiful or noble in public life, where jealousy, and selfishness and double-dealing appear to rule the hour?

One or two other illustrations must suffice us. The captain of a ship was absent from it one day, being on board another vessel. While he was gone, a storm arose, which in a short time made an entire wreck of his own ship, to which it had not been possible for him to return. He had left on board two little boys, the one four years old and the other six, under the care of a young colored servant. The people struggled to get out of the sinking ship into a large boat; and the poor servant took the captain's two little children, tied them in a sack, and put them into the boat, which was by this time quite full. He was stepping into it himself, but was told by the officer that there was no room forhim,— that either he or the children must perish, for the weight of all would sink the boat. The heroic servant did not hesitate a moment. "Very well," said he; "give my love to my master, and tell him I beg pardon for all my faults;" and then he went to the bottom, never to rise again till the sea shall give up its dead.

The power and influence of self-denial are well set forth in the following incident:

At a time of great scarcity in Germany, a certain rich man invited twenty poor children to his house, and said to them, "In this basket there is a loaf of bread for each of you; take it, and come again every day at this hour until the coming of better times."

The children seized upon the basket, wrangled and fought for the bread, as each wished to get the best and largest loaf; and at last they went away without even thanking him.

Frances alone, a poor but neatly dressed child, stood modestly at a distance, took the smallest loaf that was left in the basket, thanked the gentleman, and went home in a quiet and orderly manner.

On the following day the children were just as ill-behaved; and poor Frances this time received a loaf which was scarcely half the size of the rest; but when she came home, and her mother began to cut the bread, there fell out of it a number of bright new silver coins.

Her mother was perplexed and said, "Take back the money this instant; for it has no doubt, got into the bread through some mistake."

Frances carried it back. But the benevolent man said, "No, no! it was no mistake. I had the money baked in the smallest loaf in order to reward you, my dear child. Remember that the person who is contented with the smallest loaf, rather than quarrel for the largest one, will find blessings still more valuable than money baked in bread."

All these incidents reveal the value of this trait in real life; and also serve to show how it is regarded by others than ourselves. It will more than repay us for its cultivation, both by the increase of our own happiness, and in the large amount of enjoyment it will put into the lives of those about us.

CHARLES LAMB.

Charles Lamb was a writer of charming essays, full of wit and fancy. He seemed to the world as far as possible from a hero; yet his life washeroic in an unusual degree.

He was the son of a clerk in the London Law Courts, and the youngest child in a family of three. He had a brother, John, who was twelve years, and a sister Mary, ten years older than himself. At the age of seventeen he became a clerk in the Accountant's Office of the East India Company. There was a kind of insanity in the family, and in September, 1796, Charles Lamb came home from his office-work to find that his sister had wounded her father in the forehead and had stabbed her mother to the heart. The inquest on the mother, held next day, was closed with a verdict of insanity, and Mary Lamb was placed in a lunatic asylum.

John Lamb, the elder brother, offered no aid to the family. Charles loved his sister, and cared for her with a beautiful devotion. The combined earnings of Charles and his father were less than two hundred pounds a year, but Charles so arranged matters that sixty pounds a year was devoted to her support. Others of the family, especially her brother John, opposed Mary's discharge from the asylum; but Charles obtained her release by solemnly promising that he would take care of her.

Although he was engaged to be married to a woman whom he tenderly loved, he gave up all for Mary's sake, and literally filled her life with his love. First he placed her in a lodging at Hackney, and spent all his Sundays and holidays with her. Then they lived together; he watching the moods that foreshadowed a mad fit, and taking her when needful, a willing patient, to the Hoxton asylum till the fit was over. It was a sad sight to see the brother and sister walking across the fields to the hospital together, when she felt that the trouble was coming on; but through the long period of forty years his love never once failed, and his devotion increased to the very end.

His whole life developed into one of singular kindness and self-sacrifice. He is known to have worn a coat six months longer than he otherwise would have done, in order that he might spare a little money to help some one less fortunate than himself. One of his many friends, speaking of him said, "Of all the men of genius I ever knew, the one most intensely and universally to be loved was Charles Lamb."

[Footnote: See Hazlitt's "Mary and Charles Lamb" (1874); "Biography of Charles Lamb," T. N. Talfourd (1840); and "Final Memoirs," T. N. Talfourd (1848).]



XIX.

SELF-RESPECT.

MEMORY GEMS.

Above all things reverence yourself.—Pythagoras

No one can disgrace us but ourselves.—J. G. Holland

Self-distrust is the cause of most of our failures.—Bovee

Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, these three alone lead life to sovereign power.—Tennyson

To thine own self be true; and it will follow, as night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.—Shakespeare

There is around every man or woman, every boy or girl, a certain atmosphere that keeps him or her separate and distinct from all other persons. We realize the truth of this statement very early in life; and unless we can learn to respect and rely upon our own distinctive self-hood, our lives will never reach their largest possibilities.

There is, however, a real difference between self-reliance and self-respect, though each partakes of the nature of the other. Self-respect is the root of which self-reliance is the growth in various acts or plans. It is the general tone and spirit running through our view of life, of our nature, of our friends, of our privileges, of our personal gifts. It is the basis on which we build self-reliant conduct and self-reliant convictions.

It is generally the man who thinks well of himself who comes to be thought well of. But it is also true that when a man becomes perfectly satisfied with himself and his worldly surroundings, he has reached the first stage of decline. Self-confidence, backed by good common sense, is one of the most important of human attributes. But we must be careful not to exaggerate ourselves, or rate ourselves too highly. There are dangers attending every virtue. Pushed to excess, even conscience, justice, and earnestness, may become injurious. Self-respect must be guarded by common sense, love of humanity, and the spirit of reverence. But nothing can make good an absence of this quality.

Even the Chinese say, "It never pays to respect a man who does not respect himself." If the world sees that you do not honor yourself, it has a right to reject you as an impostor; because you claim to be worthy of the good opinion of others when you have not your own. Self-respect is based upon the same principles as respect for others. The scales of justice hang in every heart, and even the murderer respects the judge who condemns him; for the still small voice within says, "That is right."

Self-respect is a great aid to pure living. So long as a youth has true self-respect, vice has little attraction for him. It is when this sterling virtue is sacrificed, and the thoughtless or reckless one ceases to care what is thought of him, that vice claims its victim. He who cares not whether men think well or ill of him, does not possess self-respect; and so he is easily lured into evil, becoming more and more indifferent to the good-will of others, and more thoughtless and abandoned in his daily life. With the loss of self-respect, he is likely to lose all that makes manhood true and noble.

The key to John Bunyan's career is found in the self-respect which began to govern his thoughts and acts in maturing youth, and which afterward enabled him to meet persecution victoriously and to develop his peculiar talent. If lie had been turned back by the scorn and contempt heaped upon him on account of his low condition, or if he had listened to critics who laughed at his simple, direct style in "Pilgrim's Progress"; or if he had lost courage because he belonged to a despised religious sect; we should never have had his inspiring example.

The main business of life is not to do something great, but to become great in ourselves. Any action has its finest and most enduring fruit in character. Men of character are the conscience of the society to which they belong. They, rather than the police, guarantee the execution of the laws. Their influence is the bulwark of good government.

Character gravitates upward, while mere genius, without character, gravitates downward. How often we see, in school or college, young men, who are apparently dull and even stupid, rise gradually and surely above others who are without character, merely because the former have an upward tendency in their lives, a reaching-up principle, which gradually but surely unfolds and elevates them to positions of honor and trust. There is something which everybody admires in an aspiring soul, one whose tendency is upward and onward, in spite of hindrances and in defiance of obstacles.

As illustrating the mighty results of character based upon a self-respecting love of honor, we may relate that when General Lee was in conversation with one of his officers in regard to a movement of his army, a plain farmer's boy overheard the general's remark that he had decided to march upon Gettysburg instead of Harrisburg. The boy telegraphed this fact to Governor Curtin. A special engine was sent for the boy. "I would give my right hand," said the governor, "to know if this boy tells the truth." A corporal replied, "Governor, I know that boy; it is impossible for him to lie; there is not a drop of false blood in his veins." In fifteen minutes the Union troops were marching to Gettysburg, where they gained a glorious victory.

True self-respect challenges the admiration of others. No man has reason to claim the regard of his fellows unless he first respects himself, for this latter act is the outcome of the only elements of character that can command the sincere esteem of men. A mean man, a dishonest man, a niggardly man, a lazy man, or a conceited man, does not respect himself. Unless he is living under the power of some strong delusion, he knows that he is not worthy of regard.

A young man was invited by a friend to attend an entertainment which he thought was objectionable. "I am not entirely clear that it is wrong," he said, "and when I am in doubt, I think the safer course is to decline."

"Perhaps you are right," answered the friend; "but I think that people will respect you as much as ever if you go."

"Possibly; but I want to respect myself," replied the young man. "I should lose my self-respect by performing a doubtful act. My aim should be higher than that."

Samuel Smiles expresses the truth well in this extract from "Character": "It is the great lesson of biography to teach what man can be and can do at his best. It may thus give each man renewed strength and confidence. The humblest, in sight of even the greatest, may admire and hope and take courage. These great brothers of ours in blood and lineage, who live a universal life, still speak to us from their graves, and beckon us on in the paths which they have trod."

One of the last things said by Sir Walter Scott, as he lay dying, was this: "I have been, perhaps, the most voluminous author of my day, and it is a comfort to me to think that I have tried to unsettle no man's faith, to corrupt no man's principles, and that I have written nothing which, on my deathbed, I would wish blotted out." To have lived such a life as he lived is more than to have reigned over a kingdom.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

We are glad to call special attention to Scott, because of his heroic struggle to maintain his good name. He was born in Edinburgh, August 15, 1771. He was the son of Walter Scott, an attorney at law; and Anne Rutherford, daughter of Dr. John Rutherford, professor of medicine in the University of Edinburgh, and a lineal descendant from the ancient chieftain Walter Scott, traditionally known as "Auld Walt of Harden."

As a schoolboy Walter was very popular. He made himself respected for his courage and general ability to take care of himself. He was not considered a very bright scholar, although, even then, he gave evidence of his special delight in history, poetry, fairy tales, and fables. In 1783 he entered the university. He made little progress in the ancient languages, but was more successful in other studies. His time, however, was industriously employed in storing his mind with that great wealth of knowledge which afterward made him famous as a writer.

Scott was educated for a lawyer, but all his natural tastes were in the direction of literature. The greater part of his early life was an unconscious preparation for writing. He had been writing prose romances for several years with considerable success, when in January, 1805, he published "The Lay of the Last Minstrel." It at once became extremely popular. It sold more widely than any poem had ever sold before. This led him to decide that literature was to be the main business of his life. "Marmion," which appeared in 1808, and "The Lady of the Lake," in 1810, placed Scott among the greatest living poets. He touched then the highest point of happiness and prosperity.

Soon after this he entered into a business partnership with a publishing house, which resulted in his financial ruin. The failure left him partner to a debt of over one hundred thousand pounds. At the age of fifty-five, when all the freshness of youth was gone, he set himself the task of paying this enormous claim and winning back his ancestral estates. He went to work with a dogged determination to pay off his debt of honor. The heaviest blow was to his pride; yet pride alone never enabled any man to struggle so vigorously to meet the obligations he had incurred. It was rather that high feeling of self-respect which nerved his power to meet and try to overcome his great misfortune. His estates were conveyed to trustees for the benefit of his creditors, until such time as he could free them. Between January, 1826, and January, 1828, he earned forty thousand pounds by unremitting toil. Then his health broke down; yet he still struggled on with enfeebled constitution, but with an unbroken will, to discharge, if possible, his obligations, and leave to the world a respected name.

[Footnote: See Lockhart's "Life of Sir Walter Scott" (Houghton, Mifflin & Co.); Hutton's "Sir Walter Scott;" and articles in encyclopedias.]



XX.

CONSCIENTIOUSNESS.

MEMORY GEMS.

Conscientiousness is the underlying granite of life.—Sir Walter Raleigh

When love of praise takes the place of praiseworthiness, the defect is fatal.—S. Baring-Gould

When a man is dead to the sense of right, he is lost forever. —James McCrie

Insincerity alienates love and rots away authority.—Bulwer

The value of conscientiousness is principally seen in the benefits of civilization.—Charles Kingsley

"Conscientiousness is a scrupulous regard to the decisions of conscience." When we say a duty was performed "religiously," it is the same as a duty done conscientiously. Conscience does not teach us what is right; we learn that from experience, and in many other ways. It simply tells us to do the best we know, and reproaches us when we do otherwise.

Some one has well said: "We can train ourselves to be conscientious, to be responsive to conscience, to obey it; but conscience itself cannot be educated. It is like the sun. We may so arrange our house as to receive the largest amount of sunlight; but the sun itself cannot be changed either for our advantage or disadvantage. As a house with ample windows is illuminated within by the rays of the sun, so is a well-trained life filled with the light of conscience." We may therefore define conscientiousness as the inborn desire to do that which is right and just.

Conscientiousness, which is, as we have just seen, another name for justice, is a trait to be cultivated among young people in their sports, in family life, and in school. A boy is unjust who refuses to "play fair"; a girl is unjust who deprives a friend of anything properly hers. Young people may be unjust in their words, in their thoughts, or in their actions; and the greatest watchfulness is needed to prevent us from failing in this important matter.

One's sense of justice may be increased by thoughtfulness as to his duty to himself, as well as to others; and by demanding very rigid observance of every law of conduct which commends itself as needful to ideal character. "There is only one real failure possible in life," said Canon Farrar, "and that is, not to be true to the best one knows."

"I can remember when you blackened my father's shoes," said one member of the British House of Commons to another in the heat of debate. "True enough," was the prompt reply, "but did I not blacken them well?" The sense of right-doing was sufficient to turn an intended insult into a well-merited compliment, and to increase for him the esteem of his fellow-members.

"Whatever is right to do," said an eminent writer, "should be done with our best care, strength, and faithfulness of purpose."

Leonardo da Vinci would walk across Milan to change a single tint or the slightest detail in his famous picture of "The Last Supper."

Rufus Choate would plead before a shoemaker justice of the peace, in a petty case, with all the fervor and careful attention to detail with which he addressed the United States Supreme Court.

"No, I can't do it, it is impossible," said Webster, when pressed to speak on a question soon to come up, toward the close of a Congressional session. "I am so pressed with other duties that I haven't time to prepare myself to speak upon that theme." "Ah, but Mr. Webster, you always speak well upon any subject. You never fail." "But that's the very reason," said the orator, "because I never allow myself to speak upon any subject without first making that subject thoroughly my own. I haven't time to do that in this instance. Hence I must refuse."

Among the list of our great reformers, William Lloyd Garrison must always hold a very prominent place. The work he did was that of unselfish devotion to an overmastering sense of justice. He labored for those in bonds, as bound with them. Faithful, as but few others were faithful, he worked in season and out of season for human freedom. After great effort, Mr. Garrison succeeded in establishing an antislavery society, and he was made its agent to lecture for the cause. He was sent to England to solicit funds for starting a manual-labor school for the colored youth. But the whole tone of society was against him. He was at the mercy of that prejudice which, at so many points, was ready to adopt mob violence. The discussion of slavery was taken up in educational institutions where, as in general society, but very few were found who believed in universal freedom. But still he never swerved from what he believed to be right. Justice was his plea; justice was his battle cry; and it came to be said of him that "He was conscience incarnated."

A beautiful illustration of justice, and fairness of treatment, occurred at the opening of the great battle of Manila Bay, on May 1, 1898.

When the order was given to strip for action, one of the powder boys tore his coat off hurriedly, and it fell from his hands and went over the rail, down into the bay. A few moments before, he had been gazing on his mother's photograph, and just before he took his coat off he had kissed the picture and put it in his inside pocket. When the coat fell overboard he turned to the captain and asked permission to jump over and get it. Naturally the request was refused. The boy then went to the other side of the ship and climbed down the ladder. He swam around to the place where the coat had dropped and succeeded in getting it. When he came back he was put in irons for disobedience. After the battle he was tried by a court-martial for disobedience, and found guilty.

Commodore Dewey became interested in the case, for he could not understand why the boy had risked his life and disobeyed orders for a coat. The lad had never told his motives. But when the commodore talked to him in a kindly way, and asked him why he had done such a strange thing for an old coat, he burst into tears and told the commodore that his mother's picture was in the coat. Dewey's eyes filled with tears as he listened to the story. Then he picked up the boy and embraced him. He ordered the little fellow to be instantly released and pardoned. "A boy who loves his mother enough to risk his life for her picture, cannot be kept in irons on this fleet," he said.

Examples by the score crowd in upon our minds as we think more deeply into this subject, but space permits of only one more before passing to our special illustration:

When troubled with deafness, the Duke of Wellington consulted a celebrated physician, who put strong caustic into his ear, causing an inflammation which threatened his life. The doctor apologized, expressed great regrets, and said that the blunder would ruin him. "No," said Wellington, "I will never mention it." "But will you allow me to attend you, so that the people will not withdraw their confidence?" "No," said the Iron Duke, "that would be lying."

Enough has perhaps been said to show that conscientiousness and justice are not simply beautiful traits of character; but that they are absolutely necessary to the fullest advancement of the individual and of the race. We proceed to enforce this truth still more strongly, however, by a closing reference to the career of one of our greatest statesmen.

CHARLES SUMNER.

In using Mr. Sumner as our special illustration of conscientiousness, it is not because we lack other examples. On the contrary, they are all about us; and doubtless we could all mention excellent cases in our own homes, and among our own acquaintances, where conscientiousness has been vividly illustrated. He was the eldest of nine children, and was born in Boston, on the sixth day of January, 1811. His father was a lawyer, and sheriff of Suffolk County, and was descended from the early colonists of New England. Even in childhood and youth Charles Sumner evinced the quiet, thoughtful, and serious temperament which was characteristic of the Puritans. As a boy he took little interest in games and frolics. He read much, and was reserved and awkward. Society to him, in early life, possessed no attractions; and while he was always studious and patient he never displayed any marked talent.

His progress in life was almost entirely due to his conscientious, persistent, untiring application to the acquisition of knowledge and the development of all his powers. He was in the highest sense a cultivated man. His mind became, through conscientious and laborious study, a great storehouse, filled with the richest materials and the power to use them.

But he did not seek these treasures of learning and power for the simple end of glorifying himself. His one great object in life was to benefit mankind. He said in an address, delivered just after he had begun the practice of law, speaking of conscience and charity: "They must become a part of us and of our existence, as present, in season and out of season, in all the amenities of life, in those daily offices of conduct and manner which add so much to its charm, as also in those grander duties whose performance evinces an ennobling self-sacrifice." It was his own determined and unfaltering devotion to this lofty ideal, that led directly to the success of his great public career.

Charles Sumner was first elected to the Senate in 1851. Throughout his brilliant life his lofty character never forsook him; and if we will carefully examine the measures which he advocated, voted for, or opposed, from time to time, the discovery will be made that his conscience was his inevitable guide.

While he dearly loved peace, he was always in the midst of warfare. He constantly incurred the censure which arises from advocating unpopular measures. Childlike in his personal friendships, he often spoke about himself as he would speak of others,—revealing what others would have concealed. Frank, sincere, and pledged from youth to principles, rather than to persons, he was obliged to struggle against great obstacles. To him the slave was a human being with a soul, entitled to every right and privilege accorded to any American citizen. He devoted his energies to the cause of freedom down to the very last, and died in Washington, on March 11, 1874, exclaiming, "Don't let my Civil Rights Bill fail!"

[Footnote: See "Memoir and Letters of Charles Sumner," by Edward L. Pierce, (Boston, 1877), and many articles in the magazines, especially noting the sketch in Appleton's Cyclopedia of American Biography, Vol. V., page 744.]



XXI.

ENTHUSIASM.

MEMOBY GEMS.

Nothing is so contagious as enthusiasm.—Bulwer

Enthusiasm is the fundamental quality of strong souls.—Carlyle

The only conclusive evidence of a man's sincerity is that he gives himself for a principle.—Phillips Brooks

Enthusiasm is the romance of the boy that becomes the heroism of the man.—A. Bronson Alcott

Every great and commanding movement in the annals of the world is the triumph of some enthusiasm.—Emerson

In the course of every life there are sure to be obstacles and difficulties to be met. Prudence hesitates and examines them; intelligence usually suggests some ingenious way of getting around them; patience and perseverance deliberately go to work to dig under them; but enthusiasm is the quality that boldly faces and leaps lightly over them. By the power of enthusiasm the most extraordinary undertakings, that seemed impossible of accomplishment, have been successfully carried out. Enthusiasm makes weak men strong, and timid women courageous. Almost all the great works of art have been produced when the artist was intoxicated with a passion for beauty and form, which would not let him rest until his thought was expressed in marble or on canvas.

A recent writer has said: "Enthusiasm is life lit up and shining. It is the passion of the spirit pushing forward toward some noble activity. It is one of the most powerful forces that go to the making of a noble and heroic character."

In the Gallery of Fine Arts, in Paris, is a beautiful statue conceived by a sculptor who was so poor that he lived and worked in a small garret. When his clay model was nearly done, a heavy frost fell upon the city. He knew that if the water in the interstices of the clay should freeze, the beautiful lines would be distorted. So he wrapped his bedclothes around the clay image to preserve it from destruction. In the morning he was found dead; but his idea was saved, and other hands gave it enduring form in marble.

Another instance of rare consecration to a great enterprise is found in the work of the late Francis Parkman. While a student at Harvard, he determined to write the history of the French and English in North America. With a steadiness and devotion seldom equaled, he gave his life, his fortune, his all, to this one great object. Although he had ruined his health while among the Dakota Indians, collecting material for his history, and could not use his eyes more than five minutes at a time for fifty years, he did not swerve a hair's breadth from the high purpose formed in his youth, until he gave to the world the best history upon this subject ever written.

What a power there is in an enthusiastic adherence to an ideal! What are hardships, ridicule, persecution, toil, or sickness, to a soul throbbing with an overmastering purpose? Gladstone says that "what is really wanted, is to light up the spirit that is within a boy." In some sense, and in some degree, there is in every boy the material for doing good work in the world; not only in those who are brilliant and quick, but even in those who are stolid and dull.

A real enthusiasm makes men happy, keeps them fresh, hopeful, joyous. Life never stagnates with them. They always keep sweet, anticipate a "good time coming," and help to make it come.

Enthusiasm has been well called the "lever of the world"; for it sets in motion, if it does not control, the grandest revolutions! Its influence is immense. History bears frequent record of its contagiousness, showing how vast multitudes have been roused into emotion by the enthusiasm of one man; as was the case when the crowd of knights, and squires, and men-at-arms, and quiet peasants, entered, at the bidding of St. Bernard, upon the great Crusade.

The simple, innocent Maid of Orleans,—with her sacred sword, her consecrated banner, and her belief in her great mission,—sent a thrill of enthusiasm through the whole French army such as neither king nor statesman could produce. Her zeal carried everything before it.

Enthusiasm makes men strong. It wakes them up, brings out their latent powers, keeps up incessant action, impels to tasks requiring strength, and then carries them to completion. Many are born to be giants, yet, from lack of enthusiasm, few grow above common men. They need to be set on fire by some eager impulse, inspired by some grand resolve, and they would then quickly rise head and shoulders above their fellows.

Enthusiasm is the element of success in everything. It is the light that leads, and the strength that lifts men on and up in the great struggles of scientific pursuits and of professional labors. It robs endurance of difficulty, and makes a pleasure of duty.

Enthusiasm gives to man a power that is irresistible. It is that secret and harmonious spirit which hovers over the production of genius, throwing the reader of a book, or the spectator of a statue, into the presence of those with whom these works have originated. A great work always leaves us in a state of lofty contemplation, if we are in sympathy with it.

The most irresistible charm of youth is its bubbling enthusiasm. The youth who comes fully under its control sees no darkness ahead. He forgets that there is such a thing as failure in the world, and believes that mankind has been waiting all these centuries for him to come and be the liberator of truth and energy and beauty.

The boy Bach copied whole books of musical studies by moonlight, for want of a candle churlishly denied. Nor was he disheartened when these copies were taken from him. The boy painter West, began his work in a garret, and cut hairs from the tail of the family cat for bristles to make his brushes. Gerster, an unknown Hungarian singer, made fame and fortune sure the first night she appeared in opera. Her enthusiasm almost mesmerized her auditors. In less than a week she had become popular and independent. Her soul was smitten with a passion for growth, and all the powers of heart and mind were devoted to self-improvement.

Enthusiasm is purified and ennobled by self-denial. As the traveler, who would ascend a lofty mountain summit, to enjoy the sunset there, leaves the quiet of the lowly vale, and climbs the difficult path, so the true enthusiast, in his aspiration after the highest good, allows himself to be stopped by no wish for wealth and pleasure, and every step he takes forward is connected with self-denial, but is a step nearer to success.

THOMAS A. EDISON.

If one were to ask what individual best typifies the industrial progress of this nation, it would be easy to answer, Thomas Alva Edison. Looking at him as a newspaper boy, at the age of fifteen, one would hardly have been led to predict that this young fellow would be responsible for the industrial transformation of this continent.

At that early age he had already begun to dabble in chemistry, and had fitted up a small traveling laboratory. One day, as he was performing an experiment, the train rounded a curve and the bottles of chemicals were dashed to the floor. There followed a series of unearthly odors and unnatural complications. The conductor, who had suffered long and patiently, now ejected the youthful enthusiast; and, it is said, accompanied the expulsion with a resounding box upon the ear. This did not dampen Edison's ardor, in the least. He passed through one dramatic situation after another, mastering each and all; but his advancement was due to patient, persevering work.

Not long ago a reporter asked him if he had regular hours for work. "Oh!" he answered, "I do not work hard now. I come to the laboratory about eight o'clock every day, and go home to tea at six; and then I study and work on some problem until eleven, which is my hour for bed."

When it was suggested that fourteen or fifteen hours' work per day could scarcely be called loafing, he replied, "Well, for fifteen years I have worked on an average twenty hours a day." Nothing but a rare devotion to an interesting subject could keep any man so diligently employed. So enthusiastically did he pursue his researches, that, when he had once started to solve a difficult problem, he has been known to work at it for sixty consecutive hours.

In describing his Boston experiences, Edison relates that he bought Faraday's works on electricity, and beginning to read them at three o'clock in the morning, continued until his room-mate arose, when they started on their long walk for breakfast. Breakfast, however, was of small account in Edison's mind compared with his love for Faraday; and he suddenly remarked to his friend, "Adams, I have so much to do, and life is so short, that I must hustle;" and with that he started off on a dead run for the boarding-house.

Edison has shown that he cares nothing for money, and has no particular enthusiasm for fame. "What makes you work so hard?" asked a friend. "I like it," he answered, after a moment's puzzled expression; and then repeated several times, "I like it. I do not know any other reason. You know how some people like to collect stamps. Anything I have begun is always on my mind, and I am not easy while away from it until it is finished."

Electrical science is still in its infancy, but the enthusiasm of Edison has done much for its advancement. The subject indeed is a fascinating one, and Edison's devotion to it, and the discoveries and practical applications he has made in his researches, have placed him in the front rank of America's greatest inventors.

[Footnote: See Review of Reviews, Vol. XVIII., and articles in encyclopedias.]



XXII.

COURAGE.

MEMORY GEMS.

The best hearts are always the bravest.—Sterne

In noble souls, valor does not wait for years.—Corneille

Courage is always greatest when blended with meekness.—Earl Stanhope

A brave man hazards life, but not his conscience.—Schiller

A great deal of talent is lost in the world for want of a little courage.—Sydney Smith

The definition of courage given by Webster is, "that quality of mind which enables men to encounter danger and difficulties with firmness or without fear or depression of spirits." We would rather say that courage does not consist in feeling no fear, but in conquering fear. Our meaning will perhaps be best made clear by the following illustrations:

Two French officers at Waterloo were advancing to charge a greatly superior force. One, observing that the other showed signs of fear, said "Sir, I believe you are frightened." "Yes, I am," was the reply; "and if you were half as much frightened, you would run away."

"That's a brave man," said Wellington, when he saw a soldier turn pale as he marched against a battery; "he knows his danger, and faces it."

Genuine courage is based on something more than animal strength; and this holds true always. Cowardly hearts are often encased in giant frames. Slender women often display astounding bravery.

The courageous man is a real helper in the work of the world's advancement. His influence is magnetic. He creates an epidemic of nobleness. Men follow him, even to the death.

"Our enemies are before us," exclaimed the Spartans at Thermopylae. "And we are before them," was the cool reply of Leonidas. "Deliver your arms," came the message from Xerxes. "Come and take them," was the answer Leonidas sent back. A Persian soldier said: "You will not be able to see the sun for flying javelins and arrows." "Then we will fight in the shade," replied a Lacedaemonian. What wonder that a handful of such men checked the march of the greatest host that ever trod the earth.

Don't be like Uriah Heep, begging everybody's pardon for taking the liberty of being in the world. There is nothing attractive in timidity, nothing lovable in fear. Both are deformities, and are repulsive. Manly courage is dignified and graceful.

The spirit of courage will transform the whole temper of your life. "The wise and active conquer difficulties by daring to attempt them. The lazy and the foolish shiver and sicken at the sight of trial and hazard, and create the very impossibility they fear."

Abraham Lincoln's boyhood was one long struggle with poverty, with little education, and no influential friends. When at last he had begun the practice of law, it required no little daring to cast his fortune with the weaker side in politics, and thus imperil what small reputation he had gained. Only the most sublime moral courage could have sustained him as President to hold his ground against hostile criticism and a long train of disaster, to issue the Emancipation Proclamation, to support Grant and Stanton against the clamor of the politicians and the press, and, through it all, to do what he believed to be right.

Did you ever read the fable of the magician and the mouse? It is worth reading in this connection:

A mouse that dwelt near the abode of a great magician, was kept in such constant fear of a cat, that the magician, taking pity on it, turned it into a cat itself. Immediately it began to suffer from its fear of a dog, so the magician turned it into a dog. Then it began to suffer from fear of a tiger. The magician therefore turned it into a tiger. Then it began to suffer from fear of hunters, and the magician said in disgust: "Be a mouse again. As you have only the heart of a mouse, it is impossible to help you by giving you the body of a nobler animal." The moral of the story you can gather for yourselves.

We have already said that many women have displayed courage of a very high order. Here is a case in point:

Charles V. of Spain passed through Thuringia in 1547, on his return to Swabia after the battle of Muehlburg. He wrote to Catherine, Countess Dowager of Schwartzburg, promising that her subjects should not be molested in their persons or property if they would supply the Spanish soldiers with provisions at a reasonable price. On approaching her residence, General Alva and Prince Henry of Brunswick, with his sons, invited themselves, by a messenger sent forward, to breakfast with the Countess, who had no choice but to ratify so delicate a request from the commander of an army. Just as the guests were seated at a generous repast, the Countess was called from the hall and told that the Spaniards were using violence and driving away the cattle of the peasants.

Quietly arming all her retinue, she bolted and barred all the gates and doors of the castle, and returned to the banquet to complain of the breach of faith. General Alva told her that such was the custom of war, adding that such trifling disorders were not to be heeded. "That we shall presently see," said Catherine; "my poor subjects must have their own again, or, as God lives, prince's blood for oxen's blood!" The doors were opened, and armed men took the place of the waiters behind the chairs of the guests. Henry changed color; then, as the best way out of a bad scrape, laughed loudly, and ended by praising the splendid acting of his hostess, and promising that Alva should order the cattle restored at once. Not until a courier returned, saying that the order had been obeyed, and all damages settled satisfactorily, did the armed waiters leave. The Countess then thanked her guests for the honor they had done her castle, and they retired with protestations of their distinguished consideration.

There is a form of moral courage which bears most directly upon ourselves. It is seen in the career of William H. Seward, who was given a thousand dollars by his father to go to college with, and told that this was all he was to have. The son returned home at the end of his freshman year with extravagant habits and no money. His father refused to give him more, and told him he could not stay at home. When the youth found the props all taken out from under him, and that he must now sink or swim, he left home moneyless, returned to college, graduated at the head of his class, studied law, was elected governor of New York, and became Lincoln's great Secretary of State during the Civil War.

Genuine courage is neither rash, vain, nor selfish. It sometimes leadsus to appear cowardly; and cowardice sometimes puts on the guise of boldness. We need to know the individual and the circumstances to judge correctly as to whether courage is of the true order. We should all discourage the tendency to exalt brute force and mere muscle to high admiration; and enforce the power of mind, ideas, and lofty ambition. The noblest phase of courage and heroism is in the submission of this might to the laws of right and helpfulness.

RICHARD PEARSON HOBSON.

There is no better modern illustration of courage than that thrilling exploit of Lieutenant Hobson in taking the Merrimac into the harbor of Santiago.

While the Spanish fleet, under Admiral Cervera, lay blockaded in Santiago Bay, the idea was conceived of making the blockade doubly safe by sinking the coal-ship Merrimac across the narrow channel. To carry out this plan cool-headed, heroic men were needed, who would be willing to take their lives in their hands, for the good of their country's cause. To accomplish the object, the vessel must be taken into a harbor full of mines, under the fire of three shore batteries, supported by a powerful Spanish fleet and two regiments of soldiers. The honor of carrying out this bold scheme was given to young Hobson, by whom the plan had been mainly outlined.

He was a young man from Alabama, twenty-seven years of age, a graduate of the Naval Academy in the class of 1889, being the youngest member, and standing at the head of his class. He had already shown himself to be a gentleman, a student, and an adept in practical affairs. Now he was to prove that he was a hero.

Here came to him, in the ordinary course of duty, the opportunity for which he had prepared himself; and the courage with which he carried it out made for him a name which will always be remembered in the annals of naval warfare.

Out of the hundreds who volunteered to assist him in this perilous undertaking, six men were selected. At an early hour in the morning the gallant crew set out. Every vessel in the American fleet was on the alert: every man's nerves were at the highest tension over the success of the project and the fate of Hobson and his comrades. Thousands of anxious eyes peered through the darkness as they watched the old collier disappear into the harbor.

Suddenly the scene changed. Sheets of fire flashed from Morro Castle and the other batteries along the shore. It seemed impossible for human life to exist in that deadly and concentrated fire. In the downpour of shot and shell the Merrimac's rudder was blown away and her stern anchor cut loose. The electric batteries were damaged to such an extent that only part of the torpedoes could be exploded. The result was that instead of sinking where intended, the vessel drifted with the tide past the narrow neck. The Merrimac sank but did not completely block up the channel.

The enemy's fire was so incessant and sweeping that it was impossible for the crew to reach the life-raft which they had in tow; so Hobson and his men lay flat on deck and waited for the ship to sink. It was a terrible waiting while every great gun and Mauser rifle was pouring its deadly fire upon the ship. At last the end came. The ship sank beneath the waves, and, through the whirlpool of rushing water, the men rose to the surface and climbed upon their raft. Clinging to this, with their faces only out of water they waited for daylight, and then gave themselves up as prisoners to the Spaniards.

In the afternoon, Admiral Cervera sent an officer, under a flag of truce, to Admiral Sampson, telling him of their safety, and adding: "Daring like theirs makes the bitterest enemies proud that their fellow-men can be so brave."

[Footnote: See Review of Reviews, Vol. XVIII., and Draper's "The Rescue of Cuba" and other war stories recently published.]



XXIII.

SELF-HELP.

MEMORY GEMS.

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, which we ascribe to Heaven. —Shakespeare

Be sure, my son, and remember that the best men always make themselves. —Patrick Henry.

God gives every bird its food, but he does not throw it into the nest. —J. G. Holland

Every person has two educations, one which he receives from others, and one, more important, which he gives himself.—Gibbon

In battle or business, whatever the game, In law, or in love it is ever the same: In the struggle for power, or the scramble for pelf, Let this be your motto, "Rely on yourself."—J. G. Saxe

History and biography unite in teaching that circumstances have rarely favored great men. They have fought their way to triumph over the road of difficulty and through all sorts of opposition. Boys of lowly origin have made many of the greatest discoveries, are presidents of our banks, of our colleges, of our universities. Our poor boys and girls have written many of our greatest books, and have filled the highest places as teachers and journalists. Ask almost any great man in our large cities where he was born, and he will tell you it was on a farm or in a small country village. Nearly all the great capitalists of the city came from the country.

Frederick Douglass, America's most representative colored man, was born a slave, reared in bondage, liberated by his own exertions, educated and advanced by sheer pluck and perseverance, to distinguished positions in the service of his country, and to a high place in the respect and esteem of the whole world.

Chauncey Jerome, the inventor of machine-made clocks, started with twoothers on a tour through New Jersey, they to sell the clocks, and he to make cases for them. On his way to New York he went through New Haven, Connecticut, in a lumber wagon, eating bread and cheese. He afterward lived in a fine mansion in that city, and stood very high among its people.

Men who have been bolstered up all their lives are seldom good for anything in a crisis. When misfortune comes, they look around for somebody to lean upon. If the prop is not there down they go. Once down, they are helpless as capsized turtles. Many a boy has succeeded beyond all his expectations simply because all props were knocked out from under him and he was obliged to stand upon his own feet. "Poverty is uncomfortable, as I can testify," said James A. Garfield; "but nine times out of ten the best thing that can happen to a young man is to be tossed overboard and compelled to sink or swim for himself. In all my acquaintance I have never known a man to be drowned who was worth the saving."

What is put into the first of life is put into the whole of life. The great London preacher, Mr. Spurgeon, once said "Out of a church of twenty-seven hundred members, I have never had to exclude a single one who was received while a child;" and in other respects it is equally true that our earliest impressions and habits most powerfully influence our later life.

Washington, at thirteen, copied into his commonplace book one hundred and ten maxims of civility and good behavior, and was most careful in the formation of all his habits. Franklin, too, devised a plan of self-improvement and character-building. No doubt the noble characters of these two men, almost superhuman in their excellence, are the natural result of their early care and earnest striving toward perfection.

But the opposite truth needs to be quite as fully considered. "Many men of genius have written worse scrawls than I do," said a boy at Eugby, when his teacher remonstrated with him for his bad penmanship; "it is not worth while to worry about so trivial a fault." Ten years later, when he had become an officer in the Crimea, his illegible copy of an order caused the loss of many brave men.

The insidious growth of the power of habit is well illustrated by the old fable which says that one of the Fates spun filaments so fine that they were invisible, and then became a victim of her own cunning; for she was bound to the spot by these very threads.

There is also a story of a Grecian flute-player who charged double fees for pupils who had been taught by inferior masters, on the ground that it was much harder to undo bad habits than to form good ones.

"Conduct," says Matthew Arnold, "is three fourths of life;" but conduct has its source in character. Right conduct in life is to be secured by the formation of right character in youth. The prime element in character, as related to conduct, is the power of self-directions and hence the supreme aim of school discipline is to prepare the young to be self-governing men and women.

An easy and luxurious existence does not train men to effort or encounter with difficulty; nor does it awaken that consciousness of power which is so necessary for energetic and effective action in life. Indeed, so far from poverty being a misfortune, it may, by vigorous self-help, be converted into a blessing.

A young man stood listlessly watching some anglers on a bridge. He was poor and dejected. At length, approaching a basket filled with fish, he sighed, "If now I had these I would be happy. I could sell them and buy food and lodging." "I will give you just as many and just as good," said the owner, who chanced to overhear his words, "if you will do me a trifling favor." "And what is that?" asked the other. "Only to tend this line till I come back; I wish to go on a short errand." The proposal was gladly accepted. The old man was gone so long that the young man began to get impatient. Meanwhile the fish snapped greedily at the hook, and he lost all his depression in the excitement of pulling them in. When the owner returned he had caught a large number. Counting out from them as many as were in the basket, and presenting them to the youth, the old fisherman said, "I fulfill my promise from the fish you have caught, to teach you whenever you see others earning what you need, to waste no time in foolish wishing, but cast a line for yourself."

After a stained-glass window had been constructed for a great European cathedral, an artist picked up the discarded fragments and made one of the most exquisite windows in Europe for another cathedral. So one boy will pick up a splendid education out of the odds and ends of time which others carelessly throw away, or he will gain a fortune by saving what others waste.

There is an English fable that is worthy of special attention. The story is as follows:

Some larks had a nest in a field of grain. One evening the old larks coming home found the young ones in great terror. "We must leave our nest at once," they cried. Then they related how they had heard the farmer say that he must get his neighbors to come the next day and help him reap his field. "Oh!" cried the old birds, "if that is all, we may rest quietly in our nest." The next evening the young birds were found again in a state of terror. The farmer, it seems, was very angry because his neighbors had not come, and had said that he should get his relatives to come the next day and help him. The old birds took the news easily, and said there was nothing to fear yet. The next evening the young birds were quite cheerful. "Have you heard nothing to-day?" asked the old ones. "Nothing important," answered the young. "It is only that the farmer was angry because his relatives also failed him, and he said to his sons, 'Since neither our neighbors nor our relations will help us, we must take hold to-morrow and do it ourselves!'" The old birds were excited this time. They said, "We must leave our nest to-night. When a man decides to do a thing for himself, and to do it at once, you may be pretty sure that it will be done."

If you have anything to do, do it yourself; for that is both the surest and the safest way to permanent success.

STEPHEN GIRAD.

We present by way of special illustration, a few incidents from thecareer of Stephen Girard.

A sloop was seen one morning off the mouth of Delaware Bay, floating the flag of France and a signal of distress. Girard, then quite a young man, was captain of this sloop, and was on his way to a Canadian port with freight from New Orleans. An American skipper, seeing his distress, went to his aid, but told him the American war had broken out, and that the British cruisers were all along the American coast, and would seize his vessel. He told him his only chance was to make a push for Philadelphia. Girard did not know the way, and was short of money. The skipper loaned him five dollars to get the service of a pilot who demanded his money in advance; and his sloop passed into the Delaware just in time to avoid capture by a British war vessel. He sold the sloop and cargo in Philadelphia, and began business on the capital. Being a foreigner, unable to speak English, with a repulsive face, and blind in one eye, it was hard for him to get a start. But he was not the man to give up.

There seemed to be nothing he would not do for money. He bought and sold anything, from groceries to old junk. Everything he touched prospered. In 1780, he resumed the New Orleans and San Domingo trade, in which he had been engaged at the breaking out of the War of the Revolution, and in one year cleared nearly fifty thousand dollars.

Everybody, especially his jealous brother merchants, attributed his great success to his luck. While, undoubtedly, he was fortunate in happening to be at the right place at the right time, yet he was precision, method, accuracy, energy itself. He left nothing to chance. His plans and schemes were worked out with mathematical care. His letters, written to his captains in foreign ports, laying out their routes and giving detailed instruction from which they were never allowed to deviate under any circumstances, are models of foresight and systematic planning.

Girard never lost a ship; and many times, what brought financial ruin to many others, as the War of 1812, only increased his wealth. What seemed luck with him was only good judgment and promptness in seizing opportunities, and the greatest care and zeal in personal attention to all the details of his business and the management of his own affairs.

[Footnote: See Simpson's "Life of Stephen Girard" (Phila. 1832), and H. W. Arey's "Girard College and its Founder" (1860).]



XXIV.

HUMILITY.

MEMORY GEMS.

Humility is the true cure for many a needless heartache.—A. Montague

It is easy to look down on others; to look down on ourselves is the difficulty.—Lord Peterborough

Humility is a divine veil which covers our good deeds, and hides them from our eyes.—St. John Climacas

Humility is the root, mother, nurse, foundation, and bond of all virtue.—Chrysostom

Modest humility is beauty's crown; for the beautiful is a hidden thing, and shrinks from its own power.—Schiller

We pass now from the strong and active virtue of self-help, to the gentle and passive virtue of humility. In doing so, we quickly discover that it requires a sound moral judgment to strike the right balance between humility and self-reliance, and between meekness and self-respect. The true man is both meek and self-reliant, humble and yet by no means incapable of self-assertion. The really strong man is the most thoroughly gentle of men, and the genuinely self-confident man is the one who is most truly humble in his regard for the rights and interests of others.

We have great need of this particular grace, and we ought to study its relation to our life in general; for we should often have reason to be ashamed of our most brilliant actions if the world could see the motives from which they spring.

Humility has been well defined as "a simple and lowly estimation of one's self." When practically thought of, it is mostly looked upon in a negative light, and considered as the absence of, or opposite to, pride.

The general line of human thinking rather tends in the opposite direction; but experience teaches that if we wish to be great, we shall do well to begin by being little. If we desire to construct a strong and noble character, we must not forget that the greatest lives have always rested on foundations of humility. The higher your structure is to be, the deeper must be its foundation.

Humility does not consist in a disposition falsely to underrate ourselves, "but in being willing to waive our rights, and descend to a lower place than is our due; in being ready to admit our liability to error, and in freely owning our faults when conscious of having been wrong; and, in short, in not being over-careful of our own dignity."

This virtue is the friend of intellect instead of its enemy, because humility is both a moral instinct which seeks truth, and a moral instrument for attaining truth. It leads us to base our knowledge on truth; it also leads us truthfully to recognize the real measure of our capacity.

All really great men have been humble men in spirit and temper. Such was Lincoln; such was Washington. Izaac Walton relates how George Herbert helped a poor man whose horse had fallen under his load, laying off his coat for that purpose, aiding him to unload, and then again to load his cart. When his friends rebuked Herbert for this service he said that "the thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight, for he felt bound, so far as was in his power, to practice that for which he prayed."

An instance often cited, but always beautiful, is that of Sir Philip Sidney when mortally wounded at Zutphen as described by an old writer: "Being thirsty with an excess of bleeding, he called for drink, which was presently brought him; but as he was putting the bottle to his mouth, he saw a poor soldier carried along, casting up his eyes at the bottle; which Sir Philip perceiving, took it from his lips before he drank, and delivered it to the poor man with these words: 'Thy necessity is yet greater than mine.'" It mattered nothing to Sir Philip that he was an officer and therefore of higher standing than the poor private. He humbled himself and did a kindly action, and his noble deed will never be forgotten.

Humility is not lack of courage; it is not the poverty of spirit which shrinks from encounter. So far from destroying moral force, it protects and strengthens it; it sternly represses the little vanities through which strength of character evaporates and is lost. It is a noble trait in peasant or in prince, in the cottage of the workman or in the mansion of the millionaire.

Trajan, the Roman emperor, has set us an example of condescension and affability. He was equal, indeed, to the greatest generals of antiquity; but the sounding titles bestowed upon him by his admirers did not elate him. All the oldest soldiers he knew by name. He conversed with them with the greatest familiarity, and never retired to his tent before he had visited the camps. He refused the statues which the flattery of friends wished to erect to him, and he ridiculed the follies of an enlightened nation that could pay adoration to cold inanimate pieces of marble. His public entry into Rome gained him the hearts of the people; for he appeared on foot, and showed himself an enemy to parade and ostentatious equipage. His wish to listen to the just complaints of his subjects, caused his royal abode to be called "the public palace"; and his people learned to love him as greatly as they admired him.

True humility is not cowardly, cringing, or abjectly weak. It is strength putting itself by the side of weakness through sympathy, and not weakness abasing itself in the presence of that which it pretends is greater than itself. The humble man is the man who feels his own imperfection, and therefore does not condemn another. The truly humble say very little about their humility, except in rare moments of emotion, but live and labor in quietness for the promotion of the public good.

Sincerity and lowliness of spirit have been often commended, as when the Pythian Apollo rebuked the pompous sacrifice offered at his shrine by a rich Magnesian, and said that he preferred the simple cake and frankincense of a pious Achaean which was offered in humbleness of heart.

Do not allow yourselves to be deceived by false appearances, but lay to heart the story of the farmer who went with his son into a wheatfield to see if it was ready for the harvest. "See, father," exclaimed the boy, "how straight these stems hold up their heads! They must be the best ones. These that hang their heads down cannot be good for much." The farmer plucked a stalk of each kind, and said, "See here, foolish child! This stalk that stood so straight is light-headed, and almost good for nothing; while this that hung its head so modestly is full of the most beautiful grain."

"Humility is like the violet which grows low, and covers itself with its own leaves, and yet of all flowers, yields the most delicious and fragrant smell."

This virtue is not to be confounded with mean-spiritedness, or that abject state of feeling which permits a man to surrender the rights of his character to any one who chooses to infringe upon them. While it thinks little of personal considerations, it thinks the more of character and principle. It is really a powerful aid to progress. When we realize how little we know, we shall earnestly strive to know more; when we feel how imperfect is our character, we shall make earnest efforts after improvement.

PHILLIPS BROOKS.

Phillips Brooks may certainly be ranked among the greatest men of the present generation. He was physically and mentally strong; possessed of a great personality that compelled him to self-assertion; and was self-reliant in a degree attained by but few men of his time. He followed his own convictions, in the face of much opposition, bravely and unflinchingly. But with all his greatness and self-confidence, he was gentle, tolerant, sympathetic, and thoroughly appreciative of the rights of others. He made himself felt everywhere; yet he never indulged in controversy, and never struck back when criticised. He used his strength for the good of the weak; he asserted himself in a meek and humble spirit.

The story of his caring for the children of a poor woman, in the slums of Boston while she went out for needed recreation, shows that in the greatness of his manhood he could stoop to the lowliest tasks; while his unbounded love for children, kept him bright and young down to the very close of his honored career.

To understand this side of his character, we recommend you to read his "Letters to Children," of which the following, written to his niece, is an excellent example:

"VENICE, August 13, 1882.

"DEAR GERTIE:—When the little children in Venice want to take a bath, they just go down to the front steps of the house and jump off and swim about in the street. Yesterday I saw a nurse standing on the front steps, holding one end of a string, and the other end was tied to a little fellow who was swimming up the street. When he went too far, the nurse pulled in the string, and got her baby home again. Then I met another youngster, swimming in the street, whose mother had tied him to a post by the side of the door, so that when he tried to swim away to see another boy who was tied to another door-post up the street, he couldn't, and they had to sing out to one another over the water. Is not this a queer city? You are always in danger of running over some of the people and drowning them, for you go about in a boat instead of a carriage, and use an oar instead of a horse. But it is ever so pretty, and the people, especially the children, are very bright and gay and handsome.

"When you are sitting in your room at night, you hear some music under your window, and look out, and there is a boat with a man with a fiddle, and a woman with a voice, and they are serenading you. To be sure, they want some money when they are done, for everybody begs here; but they do it very prettily and are full of fun.

"Tell Susie I did not see the queen this time. She was out of town. But ever so many noblemen and princes have sent to know how Toody was, and how she looked, and I have sent them all her love.

"There must be lots of pleasant things to do at Andover, and I think you must have had a beautiful summer there. Pretty soon now you will go back to Boston. Do go into my house when you get there and see if the doll and her baby are well and happy, but do not carry them off; and make the music-box play a tune, and remember your affectionate uncle, PHILLIPS."

[Footnote: No really good life of Phillips Brooks has yet been published; but consult his "Letters of Travel," and the numerous articles in the best magazines.]



XXV.

FAITHFULNESS.

MEMORY GEMS.

Faithfulness is the soul of goodness.—J. S. White

That which we love most in men and women is faithfulness.—S. Brooke

It is the fidelity in the daily drill which turns the raw recruit into the accomplished soldier.—W. M. Punshon

The secret of success in life is for a man to be faithful to all his duties and obligations.—Disraeli

The truest test of civilization is not the census, nor the size of cities, nor the crops; but the kind of men the country turns out.—Emerson

Faithfulness is just as possible to boys and girls as to men and women. To be faithful is to be true to our own convictions,—never acting without or against them,—and true to our professions,—never breaking promises, or swerving from engagements.

Exactly what we mean will readily be seen in the following incident: When Blucher was hastening over bad roads to help Wellington at Waterloo, his troops faltered. "It can't be done," said they. "It must be done," was his reply. "I have promised to be there—promised, do you hear? You wouldn't have me break my word!" It was done, as we all know; and the result of his faithfulness was a great victory for Wellington, and the complete overthrow of Napoleon.

Faithfulness in the daily routine of school work has laid the foundation of many a noble character. There is no one thing which will sooner wreck a young man, and utterly ruin his future prospects, than the reputation of being lazy and shiftless.

Mr. Ruskin, speaking of the importance of faithfulness among the young people of England, said, "Could I give the youth of this country but one word of advice it would be this: Let no moment pass until you have extracted from it every possibility. Watch every grain in the hourglass."

Sir Walter Scott, writing to his son at school, says: "I cannot too much impress upon your mind that faithfulness is a condition imposed on us in every station of life; there is nothing worth having that can be had without it. As for knowledge, it can no more be planted in the human mind without labor than a field of wheat can be produced without the previous use of the plow. If we neglect our spring, our summer will be useless and contemptible, our harvest will be chaff, and the winter of our old age unrespected and desolate."

It will be seen, therefore, that all young persons should endeavor to make each day stand for something. Neither heaven nor earth has any place for the drone; he is a libel on his species. No glamour of wealth or social prestige can hide his essential ugliness. It is better to carry a hod, or wield a shovel, in an honest endeavor to be of some use to humanity, than to be nursed in luxury and be a parasite.

The emptiness and misery sometimes found in idle high life is illustrated by the following letter, written by a French countess to the absent count:

"DEAR HUSBAND:—Not knowing what else to do I will write to you. Not knowing what to say, I will now close. Wearily yours, COUNTESS DE R."

Of course we must admit that there is variety in the distribution of human talents; and yet no one of us is incompletely furnished. Each one has to be faithful only according to the measure of his trust, and is not expected to make disproportionate gains. Some men are especially fortunate both in opportunities and in resources, while to others, chances of advancement come but seldom; but the man of few opportunities may be just as faithful as the man who has many.

If you would be accounted faithful, you must do little things as if they were great, and great things as if they were little and easy. That is the true road to success; and your place or station in life has very little to do with it.

Calais is a pleasant seaport town of France, situated on the Straits of Dover. Large numbers of travelers from England to France, and from France to England, pass through this beautiful town. Near the center of it is a lighthouse, one hundred and eighteen feet high, on which is placed a revolving light that can be seen by vessels twenty miles out at sea.

At one time some gentlemen were visiting the tower upon which the light is placed, when the watchman who has charge of the burners commenced praising their brilliancy. One of the gentlemen then said to him, "What if one of the lights should chance to go out?" "Impossible!" replied the watchman, with amazement at the bare thought of such neglect of duty. "Sir," said he, pointing to the ocean, "yonder, where nothing can be seen, there are ships going to every part of the world. If to-night one of my burners were out, within six months would come a letter—from India, perhaps from the islands of the Pacific Ocean, perhaps from some place I never heard of—saying that on such a night, at such an hour, the light of Calais burned dim; the watchman neglected his post, and vessels were in danger. Ah, sir, sometimes on dark nights, in the stormy weather, I look out at sea, and I feel as if the eyes of the whole world were looking at my light! My light go out! Calais's burners grow dim! No, never!"

Exactly the opposite of this is seen in the incident which follows:

A few years ago, the keeper of a life-saving station on the Atlantic coast found that his supply of powder had given out. The nearest village was two or three miles distant, and the weather was inclement. He concluded that it "was not worth while to go so far for such a trifle." That night a vessel was wrecked within sight of the station. A line could have been given to the crew if he had been able to use the mortar; but he had no powder. He saw the drowning men perish one by one, knowing that he alone was to blame. A few days afterward he was justly dismissed from the service.

Faithfulness must especially take into account the feelings and expectations we have raised in other minds. In this matter we cannot be too careful. It is said of Lord Chatham that he once promised his son that he should be present at the pulling down of a garden wall. The wall was, however, taken down during his absence, through forgetfulness; but, feeling the importance of his word being held sacred, Lord Chatham ordered the workman to rebuild it, that his son might witness its destruction according to his father's promise.

Loyalty is also a form of faithfulness. It is patriotism in practice. Only the patriotic citizen is loyal to his country. The absence of this sentiment, in times of national peril, exposes one to indecision and cowardice, if not to treason. Hence its great value and beauty. It is indispensable to good citizenship; indeed there is no true manhood and womanhood without it. It is involved in the American idea of republican institutions. It is loyalty alone which makes it possible for our country to continue on its course from year to year.

This form of faithfulness is just now commanding attention throughout our land. The national flag is flung to the breeze over our schoolhouses, that American youth may not forget their allegiance to the government it represents. The stars and stripes floating over the temples of knowledge, wherein our youth are being trained for usefulness and honor, is worth far more to us than we realize; and we should always be ready to hail it with joyous songs and cheers.

CYRUS W. FIELD.

One of the greatest enterprises of modern times, was the laying of the first Atlantic cable. Cyrus W. Field became impressed with the feasibility of this project. He induced capitalists to put their money into it; and then plunged into the work with all the force of his being. The faithfulness with which he performed his task gained for him the united praise of two continents.

By hard work he secured aid for his company from the British government; but in Congress he encountered such bitter opposition from a powerful lobby that his measure had a majority of only one in the senate.

The cable was loaded upon the Agamemnon, the flagship of the British fleet at Sebastopol, and upon the Niagara, a magnificent new frigate of the United States navy; but, when five miles of cable had been paid out, it caught in the machinery and parted. On the second trial, when two hundred miles at sea, the electric current was suddenly lost, and men paced the decks nervously and sadly, as if in the presence of death. Just as Mr. Field was about to give the order to cut the cable, the current returned as quickly and mysteriously as it had disappeared. The following night, when the ship was moving but four miles an hour and the cable running out at the rate of six miles, the brakes were applied too suddenly just as the steamer gave a heavy lurch, and the cable broke and sank to the bottom of the sea.