ECLECTIC SCHOOL READINGS: STORIES FROM LIFE

A BOOK FOR YOUNG PEOPLE

BY

ORISON SWETT MARDEN

AUTHOR OF "ARCHITECTS OF FATE, " "RUSHING TO THE FRONT, " "WINNING OUT, "ETC, AND EDITOR OF "SUCCESS"

PREFACE

To make a life, as well as to make a living, is one of the supremeobjects for which we must all struggle. The sooner we realize what thismeans, the greater and more worthy will be the life which we shall make. 

In putting together the brief life stories and incidents from greatlives which make up the pages of this little volume, the writer'sobject has been to show young people that, no matter how humble theirbirth or circumstances, they may make lives that will be held up asexamples to future generations, even as these stories show how boys, handicapped by poverty and the most discouraging surroundings, yetsucceeded so that they are held up as models to the boys of to-day. 

No boy or girl can learn too early in life the value of time and theopportunities within reach of the humblest children of the twentiethcentury to enable them to make of themselves noble men and women. 

The stories here presented do not claim to be more than mere outlinesof the subjects chosen, enough to show what brave souls in the past, souls animated by loyalty to God and to their best selves, were able toaccomplish in spite of obstacles of which the more fortunately bornyouths of to-day can have no conception. 

It should never be forgotten, however, in the strivings of ambition, that, while every one should endeavor to raise himself to his highestpower and to attain to as exalted and honorable a position as hisabilities entitle him to, his first object should be to make a noblelife. 

The author wishes to acknowledge the assistance of Miss MargaretConnolly in the preparation of this volume. 

O. S. M. 

CONTENTS

 TO-DAY "THE MILL BOY OF THE SLASHES" THE GREEK SLAVE WHO WON THE OLIVE CROWN TURNING POINTS IN THE LIFE OF A HERO: I. THE FIRST TURNING POINT II. A BORN LEADER III. "FARRAGUT IS THE MAN" HE AIMED HIGH AND HIT THE MARK THE EVOLUTION OF A VIOLINIST THE LESSON OF THE TEAKETTLE HOW THE ART OF PRINTING WAS DISCOVERED SEA FEVER AND WHAT IT LED TO GLADSTONE FOUND TIME TO BE KIND A TRIBUNE OF THE PEOPLE THE MIGHT OF PATIENCE THE INSPIRATION OF GAMBETTA ANDREW JACKSON: THE BOY WHO "NEVER WOULD GIVE UP" SIR HUMPHRY DAVY'S GREATEST DISCOVERY, MICHAEL FARADAY THE TRIUMPH OF CANOVA FRANKLIN'S LESSON ON TIME VALUE FROM STORE BOY TO MILLIONAIRE "I WILL PAINT OR DIE!" THE CALL THAT SPEAKS IN THE BLOOD WASHINGTON'S YOUTHFUL HEROISM A COW HIS CAPITAL THE BOY WHO SAID "I MUST" THE HIDDEN TREASURE LOVE TAMED THE LION "THERE IS ROOM ENOUGH AT THE TOP" THE UPLIFT OF A SLAVE BOY'S IDEAL "TO THE FIRST ROBIN" THE "WIZARD" AS AN EDITOR HOW GOOD FORTUNE CAME TO PIERRE "IF I REST, I RUST" A BOY WHO KNEW NOT FEAR HOW STANLEY FOUND LIVINGSTONE THE NESTOR OF AMERICAN JOURNALISTS THE MAN WITH AN IDEA "BERNARD OF THE TUILERIES" HOW THE "LEARNED BLACKSMITH" FOUND TIME THE LEGEND OF WILLIAM TELL "WESTWARD HO!" THREE GREAT AMERICAN SONGS AND THEIR AUTHORS I. THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER II. AMERICA III. THE BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC TRAINING FOR GREATNESS THE MARBLE WAITETH

STORIES FROM LIFE

TO-DAY

 For the structure that we raise, Time is with materials filled; Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build. 

 Longfellow. 

To-day! To-day! It is ours, with all its magic possibilities of beingand doing. Yesterday, with its mistakes, misdeeds, lost opportunities, and failures, is gone forever. With the morrow we are not immediatelyconcerned. It is but a promise yet to be fulfilled. Hidden behind theveil of the future, it may dimly beckon us, but it is yet a shadowy, unsubstantial vision, one that we, perhaps, never may realize. Butto-day, the Here, the Now, that dawned upon us with the first hour ofthe morn, is a reality, a precious possession upon the right use ofwhich may depend all our future of happiness and success, or of miseryand failure; for

"This day we fashion Destiny, our web of Fate we spin. "

Lest he should forget that Time's wings are swift and noiseless, and sorapidly bear our to-days to the Land of Yesterday, John Ruskin, philosopher, philanthropist, and tireless worker though he was, keptconstantly before his eyes on his study table a large, handsome blockof chalcedony, on which was graven the single word "To-day. " Everymoment of this noble life was enriched by the right use of each passingmoment. 

A successful merchant, whose name is well-known throughout our country, very tersely sums up the means by which true success may be attained. "It is just this, " he says: "Do your best every day, whatever you havein hand. "

This simple rule, if followed in sunshine and in storm, in days ofsadness as well as days of gladness, will rear for the builder a PalaceBeautiful more precious than pearls of great price, more enduring thantime. 

"THE MILL BOY OF THE SLASHES"

A picturesque, as well as pathetic figure, was Henry Clay, the little"Mill Boy of the Slashes, " as he rode along on the old family horse toMrs. Darricott's mill. Blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked, and bare-footed, clothed in coarse shirt and trousers, and a time-worn straw hat, he saterect on the bare back of the horse, holding, with firm hand, the ropewhich did duty as a bridle. In front of him lay the precious sack, containing the grist which was to be ground into meal or flour, to feedthe hungry mouths of the seven little boys and girls who, with thewidowed mother, made up the Clay family. 

It required a good deal of grist to feed so large a family, especiallywhen hoecake was the staple food, and it was because of his frequenttrips to the mill, across the swampy region called the "Slashes, " thatHenry was dubbed by the neighbors "The Mill Boy of the Slashes. "

The lad was ambitious, however, and, very early in life, made up hismind that he would win for himself a more imposing title. He neverdreamed of winning world-wide renown as an orator, or of exchanging hisboyish sobriquet for "The Orator of Ashland. " But he who forms highideals in youth usually far outstrips his first ambition, and Henry had"hitched his wagon to a star. "

This awkward country boy, who was so bashful, and so lacking inself-confidence that he hardly dared recite before his class in the logschoolhouse, DETERMINED TO BECOME AN ORATOR. 

Henry Clay, the brilliant lawyer and statesman, the AmericanDemosthenes who could sway multitudes by his matchless oratory, oncesaid, "In order to succeed a man must have a purpose fixed, then lethis motto be VICTORY OR DEATH. " When Henry Clay, the poor country boy, son of an unknown Baptist minister, made up his mind to become anorator, he acted on this principle. No discouragement or obstacle wasallowed to swerve him from his purpose. Since the death of his father, when the boy was but five years old, he had carried grist to the mill, chopped wood, followed the plow barefooted, clerked in a countrystore, --did everything that a loving son and brother could do to helpwin a subsistence for the family. 

In the midst of poverty, hard work, and the most pitilessly unfavorableconditions, the youth clung to his resolve. He learned what he could atthe country schoolhouse, during the time the duties of the farmpermitted him to attend school. He committed speeches to memory, andrecited them aloud, sometimes in the forest, sometimes while working inthe cornfield, and frequently in a barn with a horse and an ox for hisaudience. 

In his fifteenth year he left the grocery store where he had beenclerking to take a position in the office of the clerk of the HighCourt of Chancery. There he became interested in law, and by readingand study began at once to supplement the scanty education of hischildhood. To such good purpose did he use his opportunities that in1797, when only twenty years old, he was licensed by the judges of thecourt of appeals to practice law. 

When he moved from Richmond to Lexington, Kentucky, the same year tobegin practice for himself, he had no influential friends, no patrons, and not even the means to pay his board. Referring to this time yearsafterward, he said, "I remember how comfortable I thought I should beif I could make one hundred pounds Virginia money (less than fivehundred dollars) per year; and with what delight I received the firstfifteen-shilling fee. "

Contrary to his expectations, the young lawyer had "immediately rushedinto a lucrative practice. " At the age of twenty-seven he was electedto the Kentucky legislature. Two years later he was sent to the UnitedStates Senate to fill out the remainder of the term of a senator whohad withdrawn. In 1811 he was elected to Congress, and made Speaker ofthe national House of Representatives. He was afterward elected to theUnited States Senate in the regular way. 

Both in Congress and in the Senate Clay always worked for what hebelieved to be the best interests of his country. Ambition, which sooften causes men to turn aside from the paths of truth and honor, hadno power to tempt him to do wrong. He was ambitious to be president, but would not sacrifice any of his convictions for the sake of beingelected. Although he was nominated by his party three times, he neverbecame president. It was when warned by a friend that if he persistedin a certain course of political conduct he would injure his prospectsof being elected, that he made his famous statement, "I would rather beright than be president. "

Clay has been described by one of his biographers as "a brilliantorator, an honest man, a charming gentleman, an ardent patriot, and aleader whose popularity was equaled only by that of Andrew Jackson. "

Although born in a state in which wealth and ancient ancestry werehighly rated, he was never ashamed of his birth or poverty. Once whentaunted by the aristocratic John Randolph with his lowly origin, heproudly exclaimed, "I was born to no proud paternal estate. I inheritedonly infancy, ignorance, and indigence. "

He was born in Hanover County, Virginia, on April 12, 1777, and died inWashington, June 29, 1852. With only the humble inheritance which heclaimed--"infancy, ignorance, and indigence"--Henry Clay made himself aname that wealth and a long line of ancestry could never bestow. 

THE GREEK SLAVE WHO WON THE OLIVE CROWN

The teeming life of the streets has vanished; the voices of thechildren have died away into silence; the artisan has dropped histools, the artist has laid aside his brush, the sculptor his chisel. Night has spread her wings over the scene. The queen city of Greece iswrapped in slumber. 

But, in the midst of that hushed life, there is one who sleeps not, aworshiper at the shrine of art, who feels neither fatigue nor hardship, and fears not death itself in the pursuit of his object. With the fireof genius burning in his dark eyes, a youth works with feverish hasteon a group of wondrous beauty. 

But why is this master artist at work, in secret, in a cellar where thesun never shone, the daylight never entered? I will tell you. Creon, the inspired worker, the son of genius, is a slave, and the penalty ofpursuing his art is death. 

When the Athenian law debarring all but freemen from the exercise ofart was enacted, Creon was at work trying to realize in marble thevision his soul had created. The beautiful group was growing into lifeunder his magic touch when the cruel edict struck the chisel from hisfingers. 

"O ye gods!" groans the stricken youth, "why have ye deserted me, now, when my task is almost completed? I have thrown my soul, my very life, into this block of marble, and now--"

Cleone, the beautiful dark-haired sister of the sculptor, felt the blowas keenly as her brother, to whom she was utterly devoted. "O immortalAthene! my goddess, my patron, at whose shrine I have daily laid myofferings, be now my friend, the friend of my brother!" she prayed. 

Then, with the light of a new-born resolve shining in her eyes, sheturned to her brother, saying:--

"The thought of your brain shall live. Let us go to the cellar beneathour house. It is dark, but I will bring you light and food, and no onewill discover our secret. You can there continue your work; the godswill be our allies. "

It is the golden age of Pericles, the most brilliant epoch of Grecianart and dramatic literature. 

The scene is one of the most memorable that has ever been enactedwithin the proud city of Athens. 

In the Agora, the public assembly or market place, are gatheredtogether the wisdom and wit, the genius and beauty, the glory andpower, of all Greece. 

Enthroned in regal state sits Pericles, president of the assembly, soldier, statesman, orator, ruler, and "sole master of Athens. " By hisside sits his beautiful partner, the learned and queenly Aspasia. Phidias, one of the greatest sculptors, if not the greatest the worldhas known, who "formed a new style characterized by sublimity and idealbeauty, " is there. Near him is Sophocles, the greatest of the tragicpoets. Yonder we catch a glimpse of a face and form that offers themost striking contrast to the manly beauty of the poet, but whosewisdom and virtue have brought Athens to his feet. It is the "father ofphilosophy, " Socrates. With his arm linked in that of the philosopher, we see--but why prolong the list? All Greece has been bidden to Athensto view the works of art. 

The works of the great masters are there. On every side paintings andstatues, marvelous in detail, exquisite in finish, challenge theadmiration of the crowd and the criticism of the rival artists andconnoisseurs who throng the place. But even in the midst ofmasterpieces, one group of statuary so far surpasses all the othersthat it rivets the attention of the vast assembly. 

"Who is the sculptor of this group?" demands Pericles. Envious artistslook from one to the other with questioning eyes, but the questionremains unanswered. No triumphant sculptor comes forward to claim thewondrous creation as the work of his brain and hand. Heralds, inthunder tones, repeat, "Who is the sculptor of this group?" No one cantell. It is a mystery. Is it the work of the gods? or--and, with batedbreath, the question passes from lip to lip, "Can it have beenfashioned by the hand of a slave?"

Suddenly a disturbance arises at the edge of the crowd. Loud voices areheard, and anon the trembling tones of a woman. Pushing their waythrough the concourse, two officers drag a shrinking girl, with dark, frightened eyes, to the feet of Pericles. "This woman, " they cry, "knows the sculptor; we are sure of this; but she will not tell hisname. "

Neither threats nor pleading can unlock the lips of the brave girl. Noteven when informed that the penalty of her conduct was death would shedivulge her secret. "The law, " says Pericles, "is imperative. Take themaid to the dungeon. "

Creon, who, with his sister, had been among the first to find his wayto the Agora that morning, rushed forward, and, flinging himself at theruler's feet, cried "O Pericles! forgive and save the maid. She is mysister. I am the culprit. The group is the work of my hands, the handsof a slave. "

An intense silence fell upon the multitude, and then went up a mightyshout, --"To the dungeon, to the dungeon with the slave. "

"As I live, no!" said Pericles, rising. "Not to the dungeon, but to myside bring the youth. The highest purpose of the law should be thedevelopment of the beautiful. The gods decide by that group that thereis something higher in Greece than an unjust law. To the sculptor whofashioned it give the victor's crown. "

And then, amid the applause of all the people, Aspasia placed the crownof olives on the youth's brow, and tenderly kissed the devoted sisterwho had been the right hand of genius. 

TURNING POINTS IN THE LIFE OF A HERO

I. THE FIRST TURNING POINT

David Farragut was acting as cabin boy to his father, who was on hisway to New Orleans with the infant navy of the United States. The boythought he had the qualities that make a man. "I could swear like anold salt, " he says, "could drink as stiff a glass of grog as if I haddoubled Cape Horn, and could smoke like a locomotive. I was great atcards, and was fond of gambling in every shape. At the close of dinnerone day, " he continues, "my father turned everybody out of the cabin, locked the door, and said to me, 'David, what do you mean to be?'

"'I mean to follow the sea, ' I said. 

"'Follow the sea!' exclaimed father, 'yes, be a poor, miserable, drunken sailor before the mast, kicked and cuffed about the world, anddie in some fever hospital in a foreign clime!'

"'No, father, ' I replied, 'I will tread the quarterdeck, and command asyou do. '

"'No, David; no boy ever trod the quarterdeck with such principles asyou have and such habits as you exhibit. You will have to change yourwhole course of life if you ever become a man. '

"My father left me and went on deck. I was stunned by the rebuke, andoverwhelmed with mortification. 'A poor, miserable, drunken sailorbefore the mast, kicked and cuffed about the world, and die in somefever hospital!' 'That's my fate, is it? I'll change my life, and _I_WILL CHANGE IT AT ONCE. I will never utter another oath, never drinkanother drop of intoxicating liquor, never gamble, ' and, as God is mywitness, " said the admiral, solemnly, "I have kept these three vows tothis hour. "

II. A BORN LEADER

The event which proved David Glasgow Farragut's qualities as a leaderhappened before he was thirteen. 

He was with his adopted father, Captain Porter, on board the Essex, when war was declared with England in 1812. A number of prizes werecaptured by the Essex, and David was ordered by Captain Porter to takeone of the captured vessels, with her commander as navigator, toValparaiso. Although inwardly quailing before the violent-tempered oldcaptain of the prize ship, of whom, as he afterward confessed, he wasreally "a little afraid, " the boy assumed the command with a fearlessair. 

On giving his first order, that the "main topsail be filled away, " thetrouble began. The old captain, furious at hearing a command givenaboard his vessel by a boy not yet in his teens, replied to the order, with an oath, that he would shoot any one who dared touch a ropewithout his orders. Having delivered this mandate, he rushed below forhis pistols. 

The situation was critical. If the young commander hesitated for amoment, or showed the least sign of submitting to be bullied, hisauthority would instantly have fallen from him. Boy as he was, Davidrealized this, and, calling one of the crew to him, explained what hadtaken place, and repeated his order. With a hearty "Aye, aye, sir!" thesailor flew to the ropes, while the plucky midshipman called down tothe captain that "if he came on deck with his pistols, he would bethrown overboard. "

David's victory was complete. During the remainder of the voyage nonedared dispute his authority. Indeed his coolness and promptitude hadwon for him the lasting admiration of the crew. 

III. "FARRAGUT IS THE MAN"

The great turning point which placed Farragut at the head of theAmerican navy was reached in 1861, when Virginia seceded from theUnion, and he had to choose between the cause of the North and that ofthe South. He dearly loved his native South, and said, "God forbid thatI should have to raise my hand against her, " but he determined, comewhat would, to "stick to the flag. "

So it came about that when, in order to secure the control of theMississippi, the national government resolved upon the capture of NewOrleans, Farragut was chosen to lead the undertaking. Several officers, noted for their loyalty, good judgment, and daring, were suggested, butthe Secretary of the Navy said, "Farragut is the man. "

The opportunity for which all his previous noble life and brilliantservices had been a preparation came to him when he was sixty-one yearsold. The command laid upon him was "the certain capture of the city ofNew Orleans. " "The department and the country, " so ran hisinstructions, "require of you success. . .. If successful, you open theway to the sea for the great West, never again to be closed. Therebellion will be riven in the center, and the flag, to which you havebeen so faithful, will recover its supremacy in every state. "

On January 9, 1862, Farragut was appointed to the command of thewestern gulf blockading squadron. "On February 2, " says the NationalCyclopedia of American Biograph, "he sailed on the steam sloop Hartfordfrom Hampton Roads, arriving at the appointed rendezvous, Ship Island, in sixteen days. His fleet, consisting of six war steamers, sixteengunboats, twenty-one mortar vessels, under the command of CommodoreDavid D. Porter, and five supply ships, was the largest that had eversailed under the American flag. Yet the task assigned him, the passingof the forts below New Orleans, the capture of the city, and theopening of the Mississippi River through its entire length was one ofdifficulty unprecedented in the history of naval warfare. "

Danger or death had no terror for the brave sailor. Before setting outon his hazardous enterprise, he said: "If I die in the attempt, it willonly be what every officer has to expect. He who dies in doing his dutyto his country, and at peace with his God, has played the drama of lifeto the best advantage. "

The hero did not die. He fought and won the great battle, and thusexecuted the command laid upon him, --"the certain capture of the cityof New Orleans. " The victory was accomplished with the loss of but oneship, and 184 men killed and wounded, --"a feat in naval warfare, " sayshis son and biographer, "which has no precedent, and which is stillwithout a parallel, except the one furnished by Farragut himself, twoyears later, at Mobile. "

HE AIMED HIGH AND HIT THE MARK

"Without vision the people perish"

Without a high ideal an individual never climbs. Keep your eyes on themountain top, and, though you may stumble and fall many times in theascent, though great bowlders, dense forests, and roaring torrents mayoften bar the way, look right on, never losing sight of the light whichshines away up in the clear atmosphere of the mountain peak, and youwill ultimately reach your goal. 

When the late Horace Maynard, LL. D. , entered Amherst College, heexposed himself to the ridicule and jibing questions of hisfellow-students by placing over the door of his room a large square ofwhite cardboard on which was inscribed in bold outlines the singleletter "V. " Disregarding comment and question, the young man appliedhimself to his work, ever keeping in mind the height to which he wishedto climb, the first step toward which was signified by the mysterious"V. "

Four years later, after receiving the compliments of professors andstudents on the way he had acquitted himself as valedictorian of hisclass, young Maynard called the attention of his fellow-graduates tothe letter over his door. Then a light broke in upon them, and theycried out, "Is it possible that you had the valedictory in mind whenyou put that 'V' over your door?"

"Assuredly I had, " was the emphatic reply. 

On he climbed, from height to height, becoming successively professorof mathematics in the University of Tennessee, lawyer, member ofCongress, attorney-general of Tennessee, United States minister toConstantinople, and, finally, postmaster-general. 

Honorable ambition is the leaven that raises the whole mass of mankind. Ideals, visions, are the stepping-stones by which we rise to higherthings. 

 "Still, through our paltry stir and strife, Glows down the wished ideal, And longing molds in clay what life Carves in the marble real;

 "To let the new life in, we know, Desire must ope the portal, -- Perhaps the longing to be so Helps make the soul immortal. "

THE EVOLUTION OF A VIOLINIST

He was a famous artist whom kings and queens and emperors delighted tohonor. The emperor of all the Russias had sent him an affectionateletter, written by his own hand; the empress, a magnificent emeraldring set with diamonds; the king of his own beloved Norway, who hadlistened reverently, standing with uncovered head, while he, the kingof violinists, played before him, had bestowed upon him the Order ofVasa; the king of Copenhagen presented him with a gold snuffbox, encrusted with diamonds; while, at a public dinner given him by thestudents of Christiana, he was crowned with a laurel wreath. Not allthe thousands who thronged to hear him in London could gain entrance tothe concert hall, and in Liverpool he received four thousand dollarsfor one evening's performance. 

Yet the homage of the great ones of the earth, the princely giftsbestowed upon him, the admiration of the thousands who hung entrancedon every note breathed by his magic violin, gave less delight than theboy of fourteen experienced when he received from an old man, whoseheart his playing had gladdened, the present of four pairs of doves, with a card suspended by a blue ribbon round the neck of one, bearinghis own name, "Ole Bull. "

The soul of little Ole Bull had always been attuned to melody, from thetime when, a toddling boy of four, he had kissed with passionatedelight the little yellow violin given him by his uncle. How happy hewas, as he wandered alone through the meadows, listening with the innerear of heaven-born genius to the great song of nature. The bluebells, the buttercups, and the blades of grass sang to him in low, sweettones, unheard by duller ears. How he thrilled with delight when hetouched the strings of the little red violin, purchased for him when hewas eight years old. His father destined him for the church, and, feeling that music should form part of the education of a clergyman, heconsented to the mother's proposition that the boy should take lessonson the violin. 

Ole could not sleep for joy, that first night of ownership; and, whenthe house was wrapped in slumber, he got up and stole on tiptoe to theroom where his treasure lay. The bow seemed to beckon to him, thepretty pearl screws to smile at him out of their red setting. "Ipinched the strings just a little, " he said. "It smiled at me ever moreand more. I took up the bow and looked at it. It said to me it would bepleasant to try it across the strings. So I did try it just a very, very little, and it did sing to me so sweetly. At first I did play verysoft. But presently I did begin a capriccio, which I like very much, and it did go ever louder and louder; and I forgot that it was midnightand that everybody was asleep. Presently I hear something crack; andthe next minute I feel my father's whip across my shoulders. My littlered violin dropped on the floor, and was broken. I weep much for it, but it did no good. They did have a doctor to it next day, but it neverrecovered its health. "

He was given another violin, however, and, when only ten, he wouldwander into the fields and woods, and spend hours playing his ownimprovisations, echoing the song of the birds, the murmur of the brook, the thunder of the waterfall, the soughing of the wind among the trees, the roar of the storm. 

But childhood's days are short. The years fly by. The little Ole iseighteen, a student in the University of Christiana, preparing for theministry. His brother students beg him to play for a charitableassociation. He remembers his father's request that he yield not to hispassion for music, but being urged for "sweet charity's sake, " heconsents. 

The youth's struggle between the soul's imperative demand and theequally imperative parental dictate was pathetic. Meanwhile theposition of musical director of the Philharmonic and Dramatic Societiesbecoming vacant, Ole was appointed to the office; and, seeing that itwas useless to contend longer against the genius of his son, thedisappointed father allowed him to accept the directorship. 

When fairly launched on a musical career, his trials anddisappointments began. Wishing to assure himself whether he had geniusor not, he traveled five hundred miles to see and hear the celebratedLouis Spohr, who received the tremulous youth coldly, and gave him noencouragement. No matter, he would go to the city of art. In Paris heheard Berlioz and other great musicians. Entranced he listened, in hishigh seat at the top of the house, to the exquisite notes of Malibran. 

His soul feasted on music, but his money was fast dwindling away, andthe body could not be sustained by sweet sounds. But the poor unknownviolinist, who was only another atom in the surging life of the greatcity, could earn nothing. He was on the verge of starvation, but hewould not go back to Christiana. He must still struggle and study. Hebecame ill of brain fever, and was tenderly nursed back to life by thegranddaughter of his kind landlady, pretty little Felicie Villeminot, who afterward became his wife. He had drained the cup of poverty anddisappointment to the dregs, but the tide was about to turn. 

He was invited to play at a concert presided over by the Duke ofMontebello, and this led to other profitable engagements. But the greatopportunity of his life came to him in Bologna. The people had throngedto the opera house to hear Malibran. She had disappointed them, andthey were in no mood to be lenient to the unknown violinist who had thetemerity to try to fill her place. 

He came on the stage. He bowed. He grew pale under the cold gaze of thethousands of unsympathetic eyes turned upon him. But the touch of hisbeloved violin gave him confidence. Lovingly, tenderly, he drew the bowacross the strings. The coldly critical eyes no longer gazed at him. The unsympathetic audience melted away. He and his violin were one andalone. In the hands of the great magician the instrument was more thanhuman. It talked; it laughed; it wept; it controlled the moods of menas the wind controls the sea. 

The audience scarcely breathed. Criticism was disarmed. Malibran wasforgotten. The people were under the spell of the enchanter. Orpheushad come again. But suddenly the music ceased. The spell was broken. With a shock the audience returned to earth, and Ole Bull, restored toconsciousness of his whereabouts by the storm of applause which shookthe house, found himself famous forever. 

His triumph was complete, but his work was not over, for the price offame is ceaseless endeavor. But the turning point had been passed. Hehad seized the great opportunity for which his life had been apreparation, and it had placed him on the roll of the immortals. 

THE LESSON OF THE TEAKETTLE

The teakettle was singing merrily over the fire; the good aunt wasbustling round, on housewifely cares intent, and her little nephew satdreamily gazing into the glowing blaze on the kitchen hearth. 

Presently the teakettle ceased singing, and a column of steam camerushing from its pipe. The boy started to his feet, raised the lid fromthe kettle, and peered in at the bubbling, boiling water, with a lookof intense interest. Then he rushed off for a teacup, and, holding itover the steam, eagerly watched the latter as it condensed and formedinto tiny drops of water on the inside of the cup. 

Returning from an upper room, whither her duties had called her, thethrifty aunt was shocked to find her nephew engaged in so profitless anoccupation, and soundly scolded him for what she called his trifling. The good lady little dreamed that James Watt was even thenunconsciously studying the germ of the science by which he "transformedthe steam engine from a mere toy into the most wonderful instrumentwhich human industry has ever had at its command. "

This studious little Scottish lad, who, because too frail to go toschool, had been taught at home, was very different from other boys. When only six or seven years old, he would lie for hours on the hearth, in the little cottage at Greenock, near Glasgow, where he was born in1736, drawing geometrical figures with pieces of colored chalk. Heloved, too, to gaze at the stars, and longed to solve their mysteries. But his favorite pastime was to burrow among the ropes and sails andtackles in his father's store, trying to find out how they were madeand what purposes they served. 

In spite of his limited advantages and frail health, at fifteen he wasthe wonder of the public school, which he had attended for two years. His favorite studies were mathematics and natural philosophy. He hadalso made good progress in chemistry, physiology, mineralogy, andbotany, and, at the same time, had learned carpentry and acquired someskill as a worker in metals. 

So studious and ambitious a youth scarcely needed the spur of povertyto induce him to make the most of his talents. The spur was there, however, and, at the age of eighteen, though delicate in health, he wasobliged to go out and battle with the world. 

Having first spent some time in Glasgow, learning how to makemathematical instruments, he determined to go to London, there toperfect himself in his trade. 

Working early and late, and suffering frequently from cold and hunger, he broke down under the unequal strain, and was obliged to return tohis parents for a time until health was regained. 

Always struggling against great odds, he returned to Glasgow when histrade was mastered, and began to make mathematical instruments, forwhich, however, he found little sale. Then, to help eke out a living, he began to make and mend other instruments, --fiddles, guitars, andflutes, --and finally built an organ, --a very superior one, too, --withseveral additions of his own invention. 

A commonplace incident enough it seemed, in the routine of his dailyoccupation, when, one morning, a model of Newcomen's engine was broughtto him for repair, yet it marked the turning point in his career, whichultimately led from poverty and struggle to fame and affluence. 

Watt's practiced eye at once perceived the defects in the Newcomenengine, which, although the best then in existence could not do muchbetter or quicker work than horses. Filled with enthusiasm over theplans which he had conceived for the construction of a really powerfulengine, he immediately set to work, and spent two months in an oldcellar, working on a model. "My whole thoughts are bent on thismachine, " he wrote to a friend. "I can think of nothing else. "

So absorbed had he become in his new work that the old business ofmaking and mending instruments had declined. This was all the moreunfortunate as he was no longer struggling for himself alone. He hadfallen in love with, and married, his cousin, Margaret Miller, whobrought him the greatest happiness of his life. The neglect of the onlypractical means of support he had reduced Watt and his family to thedirest poverty. More than once his health failed, and often the bravespirit was almost broken, as when he exclaimed in heaviness of heart, "Of all the things in the world, there is nothing so foolish asinventing. "

Five years had passed since the model of the Newcomen engine had beensent to him for repair before he succeeded in securing a patent on hisown invention. Yet five more long years of bitter drudgery, clutched inthe grip of poverty, debt, and sickness, did the brave inventor, sustained by the love and help of his noble wife, toil through. On histhirty-fifth birthday he said, "To-day I enter the thirty-fifth year ofmy life, and I think I have hardly yet done thirty-five pence worth ofgood in the world; but I cannot help it. "

Poor Watt! He had traveled with bleeding feet along the same thornypath trod by the great inventors and benefactors of all ages. But, inspite of all obstacles, he persevered; and, after ten years ofinconceivable labor and hardship, during which his beautiful wife died, he had a glorious triumph. His perfected steam engine was the wonder ofthe age. Sir James Mackintosh placed him "at the head of all inventorsin all ages and nations. " "I look upon him, " said the poet Wordsworth, "considering both the magnitude and the universality of his genius, as, perhaps, the most extraordinary man that this country ever produced. "

Wealthy beyond his desires, --for he cared not for wealth, --crowned withthe laurel wreath of fame, honored by the civilized world as one of itsgreatest benefactors, the struggle over, the triumph achieved, onAugust 19, 1819, he lay down to rest. 

HOW THE ART OF PRINTING WAS DISCOVERED

"Look, Grandfather; see what the letters have done!" exclaimed adelighted boy, as he picked up the piece of parchment in whichGrandfather Coster had carried the bark letters cut from the trees inthe grove, for the instruction and amusement of his little grandsons. 

"See what the letters have done!" echoed the old man. "Bless me, whatdoes the child mean?" and his eyes twinkled with pleasure, as he notedthe astonishment and pleasure visible on the little face. "Let me seewhat it is that pleases thee so, Laurence, " and he eagerly took theparchment from the boy's hand. 

"Bless my soul!" cried the old man, after gazing spellbound upon it forsome seconds. The track of the mysterious footprint in the sand excitedno more surprise in the mind of Robinson Crusoe than Grandfather Costerfelt at the sight which met his eyes. There, distinctly impressed uponthe parchment, was a clear imprint of the bark letters; though, ofcourse, they were reversed or turned about. 

But you twentieth-century young folks who have your fill of storybooks, picture books, and reading matter of all kinds, are wondering, perhaps, what all this talk about bark letters and parchment andimprint of letters means. 

To understand it, you must carry your imagination away back more thanfive centuries--quite a long journey of the mind, even for"grown-ups"--to a time when there were no printed books, and when very, very few of the rich and noble, and scarcely any of the so-calledcommon people, could read. In those far-off days there were no publiclibraries, and no books except rare and expensive volumes, written byhand, mainly by monks in their quiet monasteries, on parchment orvellum. 

In the quaint, drowsy, picturesque town of Haarlem, in Holland, withits narrow, irregular, grass-grown streets and many-gabled houses, theprojecting upper stories of which almost meet, one particular house, which seems even older than any of the others, is pointed out tovisitors as one of the most interesting sights of the ancient place. Itwas in this house that Laurence Coster, the father of the art ofprinting, the man--at least so runs the legend--who made it possiblefor the poorest and humblest to enjoy the inestimable luxury of booksand reading, lived and loved and dreamed more than five hundred yearsago. 

Coster was warden of the little church which stood near his home, andhis days flowed peacefully on, in a quiet, uneventful way, occupiedwith the duties of his office, and reading and study, for he was one ofthose who had mastered the art of reading. A diligent student, he hadconned over and over, until he knew them by heart, the few manuscriptvolumes owned by the little church of which he was warden. 

A lover of solitude, as well as student and dreamer, the churchwarden's favorite resort, when his duties left him at leisure, was adense grove not far from the town. Thither he went when he wished to befree from all distraction, to think and dream over many things whichwould appear nonsensical to his sober, practical-minded neighbors. There he indulged in day dreams and poetic fancies; and once, when in asentimental mood, he carved the initials of the lady of his love on oneof the trees. 

In time a fair young wife and children came, bringing new brightnessand joy to the serious-minded warden. With ever increasing interests, he passed on from youth to middle life, and from middle life to oldage. Then his son married, and again the patter of little feet filledthe old home and made music in the ears of Grandfather Coster, whom thebaby grandchildren almost worshiped. 

To amuse the children, and to impart to them whatever knowledge hehimself possessed, became the delight of his old age. Then the habitacquired in youth of carving letters in the bark of the trees served avery useful purpose in furthering his object. He still loved to takesolitary walks, and many a quiet summer afternoon the familiar figureof the venerable churchwarden, in his seedy black cloak and sugar-loafhat, might be seen wending its way along the banks of the River Spaarento his favorite resort in the grove. 

One day, while reclining on a mossy couch beneath a spreading beechtree, amusing himself by tearing strips of bark from the tree thatshaded him, and carving letters with his knife, a happy thought enteredhis mind. "Why can I not, " he mused within himself, "cut those lettersout, carry them home, and, while using them as playthings, teach thelittle ones how to read?"

The plan worked admirably. Long practice had made the old man quiteexpert in fashioning the letters, and many hours of quiet happinesswere spent in the grove in this pleasing occupation. One afternoon hesucceeded in cutting some unusually fine specimens, and, chuckling tohimself over the delight they would give the children, he wrapped themcarefully, placing them side by side in an old piece of parchment whichhe happened to have in his pocket. The bark from which they had beencut being fresh and full of sap, and the letters being firmly pressedupon the parchment, the result was the series of "pictures" whichdelighted the child and gave to the world the first suggestion of aprinting press. 

And then a mighty thought flashed across the brain of the poor, humble, unknown churchwarden, a thought the realization of which was destinednot only to make him famous for all time, but to revolutionize thewhole world. The first dim suggestion came to him in this form, "Byhaving a series of letters and impressing them over and over again onparchment, cannot books be printed instead of written, and somultiplied and cheapened as to be brought within the reach of all?"

The remainder of his life was given up to developing this great idea. He cut more letters from bark, and, covering the smooth surface withink, pressed them upon parchment, thus getting a better impression, though still blurred and imperfect. He then cut letters from woodinstead of bark, and managed to invent himself a better and thickerink, which did not blur the page. Next, he cut letters from lead, andthen from pewter. Every hour was absorbed in the work of makingpossible the art of printing. His simple-minded neighbors thought hehad lost his mind, and some of the more superstitious spread the reportthat he was a sorcerer. But, like all other great discoverers, heheeded not annoyances or discouragements. Shutting himself away fromthe prying curiosity of the ignorant and superstitious, he plodded on, making steady, if slow, advance toward the realization of his dream. 

"One day, while old Coster was thus busily at work, " says GeorgeMakepeace Towle, "a sturdy German youth, with a knapsack slung acrosshis back, trudged into Haarlem. By some chance this youth happened tohear how the churchwarden was at work upon a wild scheme to print booksinstead of writing them. With beating heart, the young man repaired toCoster's house and made all haste to knock at the churchwarden's humbledoor. "

The "sturdy German youth" who knocked at Laurence Coster's door wasJohann Gutenberg, the inventor of modern printing. Coster invited himto enter. Gutenberg accepted the invitation, and then stated the objectof his visit. He desired to learn more about the work on which Costerwas engaged. Delighted to have a visitor who was honestly interested inhis work, the old man eagerly explained its details to the youth, andshowed him some examples of his printing. 

Gutenberg was much impressed by what he saw, but still more by thepossibilities which he dimly foresaw in Coster's discovery. "But we cando much better than this, " he said with the enthusiasm of youth. "Yourprinting is even slower than the writing of the monks. From this dayforth I will work upon this problem, and not rest till I have solvedit. "

Johann Gutenberg kept his word. He never rested until he had given theart of printing to the world. But to Laurence Coster, in the firstplace, if legend speaks truth, we owe one of the greatest inventionsthat has ever blessed mankind. 

SEA FEVER AND WHAT IT LED TO

"Jim, you've too good a head on you to be a wood chopper or a canaldriver, " said the captain of the canal boat for whom young Garfield hadengaged to drive horses along the towpath. 

"Jim" had always loved books from the time when, seated on his father'sknee, he had with his baby lips pronounced after him the name"Plutarch. " Mr. Garfield had been reading "Plutarch's Lives, " and wasmuch astonished when, without hesitation or stammering, his little sondistinctly pronounced the name of the Greek biographer. Turning to hiswife, with a glow of love and pride, the fond father said, "Eliza, thisboy will be a scholar some day. "

Perhaps the near approach of death had clarified the father's vision, but when, soon after, the sorrowing wife was left a widow, with anindebted farm and four little children to care for, she saw littlechance for the fulfillment of the prophecy. 

Even in his babyhood the boy whose future greatness the father dimlyfelt had learned the lesson of self-reliance. The familiar words whichso often fell from his lips--"I can do that"--enabled him to conquerdifficulties before which stouter hearts than that of a little childmight well have quailed. 

The teaching of his good mother, that "God will bless all our effortsto do the best we can, " became a part of the fiber of his being. "Whatwill He do, " asked the boy one day, "when we don't do the best we can?""He will withhold His blessing; and that is the greatest calamity thatcould possibly happen to us, " was the reply, which made a deepimpression on the mind of the questioner. 

In spite of almost constant toil, and very meager schooling, --only afew weeks each year, --James Garfield excelled all his companions in thelog schoolhouse. Besides solving at home in the long winter evenings, by the light of the pine fire, all the knotty problems in Adams'Arithmetic--the terror of many a schoolboy--he found time to revel inthe pages of "Robinson Crusoe" and "Josephus. " The latter was hisspecial favorite. 

Before he was fifteen, Garfield had successfully followed theoccupations of farmer, wood chopper, and carpenter. No matter what hisoccupation was he always managed to find some time for reading. 

He had recently read some of Marryat's novels, "Sindbad the Sailor, ""The Pirate's Own Book, " and others of a similar nature, which hadsmitten him with a virulent attack of sea fever. This is a mentaldisease which many robust, adventurous boys are apt to contract intheir teens. Garfield felt that he must "sail the ocean blue. " Theglamour of the sea was upon him. Everything must give way before it. His mother, however, could not be induced to assent to his plans, and, after long pleading, would only compromise by agreeing that he might, if he could, secure a berth on one of the vessels navigating Lake Erie. 

He was rudely repulsed by the owner of the first vessel to whom heapplied, a brutal, drunken creature, who answered his request foremployment with an oath and a rough "Get off this schooner in doublequick, or I'll throw you into the dock. " Garfield turned away indisgust, his ardor for the sea somewhat dampened by the man'sappearance and behavior. In this mood he met his cousin, formerly aschoolmaster, then captain of a canal boat, with whom he at onceengaged to drive his horses. 

After a few months on the towpath, young Garfield contracted anotherkind of fever quite unlike that from which he had been sufferingpreviously, and went home to be nursed out of it by his ever faithfulmother. 

During his convalescence he thought a great deal over his cousin'swords, --"Jim, you've got too good a head on you to be a wood chopper ora canal driver. " "He who wills to do anything will do it, " he hadlearned from his mother's lips when a mere baby, and then and there hesaid in his heart, "I will be a scholar; I will go to college. " And so, out of his sea fever and towpath experience was born the resolutionthat made the turning point in his career. 

Action followed hot upon resolve. He lost no time in applying himselfto the work of securing an education. Alternately chopping wood andcarpentering, farming and teaching school, ringing bells and sweepingfloors, he worked his way through seminary and college. His strong willand resolute purpose to make the most of himself not only enabled himto obtain an education, but raised him from the towpath to thepresidential chair. 

GLADSTONE FOUND TIME TO BE KIND

 A kindly act is a kernel sown, That will grow to a goodly tree, Shedding its fruit when time has flown Down the gulf of Eternity. JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY. 

In the restless desire for acquisition, --acquisition of money, ofpower, or of fame, --there is danger of selfishness, self-absorption, closing the doors of our hearts against the demands of brotherly love, courtesy, and kindness. 

"I cannot afford to help, " say the poor in pocket; "all I have is toolittle for my own needs. " "I should like to help others, " says theambitious student, whose every spare moment is crowded with some extratask, "but I have no money, and cannot afford to take the time from mystudies to give sympathy or kind words to the suffering and the poor. "Says the busy man of affairs: "I am willing to give money, but my timeis too valuable to be spent in talking to sick people or shiftless, lazy ones. That sort of work is not in my line. I leave it to women andthe charitable organizations. "

The business man forgets, as do many of us, the truth expressed byRuskin, that "a little thought and a little kindness are often worthmore than a great deal of money. " A few kind words, a little sympathyand encouragement have often brought sunshine and hope into the livesof men and women who were on the verge of despair. 

The great demand is on people's hearts rather than on their purses. Inthe matter of kindness we can all afford to be generous whether we havemoney or not. The schoolboy may give it as freely as the millionaire. No one is so driven by work that he has not time, now and then, to saya kind word or do a kind deed that will help to brighten life foranother. If the prime minister of England, William E. Gladstone, couldfind time to carry a bunch of flowers to a little sickcrossing-sweeper, shall we not be ashamed to make for ourselves theexcuse, "I haven't time to be kind"?

A TRIBUNE OF THE PEOPLE

Clad in a homespun tow shirt, shrunken, butternut-colored, linsey-woolsey pantaloons, battered straw hat, and much-mended jacketand shoes, with ten dollars in his pocket, and all his other worldlygoods packed in the bundle he carried on his back, Horace Greeley, thefuture founder of the New York Tribune, started to seek his fortune inNew York. 

A newspaper had always been an object of interest and delight to thelittle delicate, tow-haired boy, and at the mature age of six he hadmade up his mind to be a printer. His love of reading was unusual inone so young. Before he was six he had read the Bible and "Pilgrim'sProgress" through. 

Like the children of all poor farmers, Horace was put to work as soonas he was able to do anything. But he made the most of theopportunities given him to attend school, and his love of reading;stimulated him to unusual efforts to procure books. By selling nuts andbundles of kindling wood at the village store, before he was ten he hadearned enough money to buy a copy of Shakespeare and of Mrs. Hemans'spoems. He borrowed every book that could be found within a radius ofseven miles of his home, and by many readings he had made himselffamiliar with the score of old volumes in his log-cabin home. 

Mrs. Sarah K. Bolton draws a pleasing picture of the farmer boy readingat night after the day's work on the farm was done. "He gathered astock of pine knots, " she says, "and, lighting one each night, lay downby the hearth and read, oblivious to all around him. The neighbors cameand made their friendly visits, and ate apples and drank cider, as wasthe fashion, but the lad never noticed their coming or their going. When really forced to leave his precious books for bed, he would repeatthe information he had learned, or the lessons for the next day to hisbrother, who usually, most ungraciously, fell asleep before theconversation was half completed. "

"Ah!" said Zaccheus Greeley, Horace's father, when the boy one day, ina fit of abstraction, tried to yoke the "off" ox on the "near" side:"Ah! that boy will never know enough to get on in the world. He'llnever know more than enough to come in when it rains!"

Yet this boy knew so much that when at fourteen he secured a place asprinter in a newspaper office at East Poultney, Vermont, he was lookedup to by his fellow-printers as equal in learning to the editor himself. 

At first they tried to make merry at his expense, poking fun at hisodd-looking garments, his uncouth appearance, and his pale, delicateface and almost white hair, which subsequently won for him the nicknameof "Ghost. " But when they saw that Horace was too good humored and toomuch in earnest with his work to be disturbed by their teasing, theygave it up. In a short time he became a general favorite, not only inthe office, but in the town of Poultney, whose debating and literarysocieties soon recognized him as leader. Even the minister, the lawyer, and the school-teachers looked up to the poor, retiring young printer, who was a veritable encyclopedia of knowledge, ready at all times tospeak or to write an essay on any subject. 

But the Poultney newspaper was obliged to suspend soon after Horace hadlearned his trade, and, penniless, --for every cent of his earningsbeyond what furnished the bare necessaries of life had been sent hometo his parents in the wilderness, --he faced the world once more. 

After working in different small towns wherever he could get a "job, "reading, studying, enlarging his knowledge all the time when not in theoffice, he made up his mind to go to New York, "to be somebody, " as heput it. 

When he stepped off the towboat at Whitehall, near the Battery, thatsunny morning in August, 1831, with only the experience of a score ofyears in life, a stout heart, quick brain, nimble fingers, and anabiding faith in God as his capital, his prospects certainly were notvery alluring. 

"An overgrown, awkward, white-headed, forlorn-looking boy; a packsuspended on a staff over his right shoulder; his dress unrivaled insylvan simplicity since the primitive fig leaves of Eden; theexpression of his face presenting a strange union of wonder and apathy:his whole appearance gave you the impression of a runaway apprentice indesperate search of employment. Ignorant alike of the world and itsways, he seemed to the denizens of the city almost like a wanderer fromanother planet. "

Such was the impression Horace Greeley made on a New Yorker on hisfirst arrival in that city which was to be the scene of his future workand triumphs. 

He tramped the streets all that day, Friday, and the next, looking forwork, everywhere getting the same discouraging reply, "No, we don'twant any one. "

At last, when weary and disheartened, his ten dollars almost gone, hehad decided to shake the dust of New York from his feet, the foreman ofa printing office engaged him to do some work that most of the men inthe office had refused to touch. The setting up of a PolyglotTestament, with involved marginal references, was something new for thesupposed "green" hand from the country. But when the day was done, theyoung printer was no longer looked upon as "green" by hisfellow-workers, for he had done more and better work than the oldestand most experienced hands who had tried the Testament. 

But, oh, what hard work it was, beginning at six o'clock in themorning, and working long after the going down of the sun, by the lightof a candle stuck in a bottle, to earn six dollars a week, most ofwhich was sent to his dear ones at home. 

After nearly ten years more of struggle and privation, Greeley enteredupon the great work of his life--the founding and editing of the NewYork Tribune. He had very little money to start with, and even thatlittle was borrowed. But he had courage, truth, honesty, a noblepurpose, and rare ability and industry to supplement his smallfinancial capital. He needed them all in the work he had undertaken, for he was handicapped not only by lack of means, but also by theopposition of some of the New York papers. 

In spite of the adverse conditions he succeeded in establishing one ofthe greatest and most popular newspapers in the country. The Tribunebecame the champion of the oppressed, the guardian of justice, thedefender of truth, a power for good in the land. Through his paperGreeley became a tribune of the people. No thought of making moneyhampered him in his work. Unselfishly he wrought as editor, writer, andlecturer for the good of his country and the uplifting of mankind. "Hewho by voice or pen, " he said, "strikes his best blow at the imposturesor vices whereby our race is debased and paralyzed, may close his eyesin death, consoled and cheered by the reflection that he has done whathe could for the emancipation and elevation of his kind. "

Well, then, might he rejoice in his life work, for his voice and penhad to the last been active in thus serving the race. 

He died on November 29, 1872, at the age of sixty-one. So great a manhad Horace Greeley, the poor New Hampshire farmer boy, become that thewhole nation mourned for his death. The people felt that in him theyhad lost one of their best friends. A workman who attended his funeralexpressed the feeling of his fellow-workmen all over the land when hesaid, "It is little enough to lose a day for Horace Greeley who spentmany a day working for us. " "I've come a hundred miles to be at thefuneral of Horace Greeley, " said a farmer. 

The great tribune had deserved well of the people and of his country. 

THE MIGHT OF PATIENCE

Perhaps some would feel inclined to ridicule rather than applaud thepatience of a poor Chinese woman who tried to make a needle from a rodof iron by rubbing it against a stone. 

It is doubtful whether she succeeded or not, but, so the story runs, the sight of the worker plying her seemingly hopeless task, put newcourage and determination into the heart of a young Chinese student, who, in deep despondency, stood watching her. 

Because of repeated failures in his studies, ambition and hope had lefthim. Bitterly disappointed with himself, and despairing of everaccomplishing anything, the young man had thrown his books aside indisgust. Put to shame, however, by the lesson taught by the old woman, he gathered his scattered forces together, went to work with renewedardor, and, wedding Patience and Energy, became, in time, one of thegreatest scholars in China. 

When you know you are on the right track, do not let any failures dimyour vision or discourage you, for you cannot tell how close you may beto victory. Have patience and stick, stick, stick. It is eternally truethat he

 "Who steers right on Will gain, at length, however far, the port. "

THE INSPIRATION OF GAMBETTA

"Try to come home a somebody!" Long after Leon Gambetta had left theold French town of Cahors, where he was born October 30, 1838, longafter the gay and brilliant streets of Paris had become familiar tohim, did the parting words of his idolized mother ring in his ears, "Try to come home a somebody!" Pinched for food and clothes, as heoften was, while he studied early and late in his bare garret near theSorbonne, the memory of that dear mother cheered and strengthened him. 

He could still feel her tears and kisses on his cheek, and the tenderclasp of her hand as she pressed into his the slender purse of moneywhich she had saved to release him from the drudgery of an occupationhe loathed, and to enable him to become a great lawyer in Paris. Howwell he remembered her delight in listening to him declaim the speechesof Thiers and Guizot from the pages of the National, which she hadtaught him to read when but a mere baby, and from which he imbibed hisfirst lessons in republicanism, --lessons that he never afterward forgot. 

Such deep root had they taken that he could not be induced to changehis views by the fathers of the preparatory school at Monfaucon, whither he had been sent to be trained for the priesthood. Finallydespairing of bringing the young radical to their way of thinking, theMonfaucon fathers sent him home to his parents. "You will never make apriest of him, " they wrote; "he has a character that cannot bedisciplined. "

His father, an honest but narrow-minded Italian, whose ideas did notsoar beyond his little bazaar and grocery store, was displeased withthe boy, who was then only ten years old. He could not understand howone so young dared to think his own thoughts and hold his own opinions. The neighbors held up their hands in dismay, and prophesied, "He willend his days in the Bastile. " His mother wept and blamed herself andthe National as the cause of all the trouble. 

How little the fond mother, the disappointed father, or the gloomilyforeboding neighbors dreamt to what heights those early lessons theynow so bitterly deplored were to lead!

When at sixteen Leon Gambetta returned from the Lyceum to which he hadbeen sent on his return from the Monfaucon seminary, his wide readingand deep study had but intensified and broadened the radicalism of hischildhood. He longed to go to Paris to study law, but his fatherinsisted that he must now confine his thoughts to selling groceries andyards of ribbon and lace, as he expected his son to succeed him in thebusiness. 

Poor, foolish Joseph Gambetta! he would confine the young eagle in abarnyard. But the eagle pined and drooped in his cage, and then theloving mother--ah, those loving mothers, will their boys ever realizehow much they owe them!--threw open the doors and gave him freedom, anopportunity to win fame and fortune in the great city of Paris. 

And now what mattered it that his clothes were poor, that his food wasscant, and that it was often bitterly cold in his little garret. If notfor his own sake, he MUST for hers "come home a somebody. "

The doors which led to a wider future were already opening. Theprofessors at the Sorbonne appreciated his great intellect andoriginality. "You have a true vocation, " said one. "Follow it. But goto the bar, where your voice, which is one in a thousand, will carryyou on, study and intelligence aiding. The lecture room is a narrowtheater. If you like, I will write to your father to tell him what myopinion of you is. " And he wrote, "The best investment you ever madewould be to spend what money you can divert from your business inhelping your son to become an advocate. "

To such good purpose did the young student use his time that within twoyears he won his diploma. Still too young to be admitted to the bar, hespent a year studying life in Paris, listening to the debates in theCorps Legislatif, reading and debating in the radical club which he hadorganized, making himself ready at every point for the greatopportunity which gained him a national reputation and made him theidol of the masses. 

In 1868 his masterly defense of Delescluze, the radical editor, againstthe prosecution of the Imperial government, brought the brilliant buthitherto unknown young lawyer prominently before the public. He losthis case, but won fame. Gambetta had waited eighteen months for hisfirst brief, and five times eighteen months for his first great case. This case proved to be the initial step that led him from victory tovictory, until, after the fall of Napoleon at Sedan, he becamepractically Dictator of France. He was, more than any one man, themaker of the French Republic, whose rights and liberties he everdefended, even at the risk of his life. He died December 31, 1882. 

Well had he fulfilled the hopes and ambitions of his loving mother, well had he answered the pathetic appeal, "Try to come home a somebody. "

ANDREW JACKSON THE BOY WHO "NEVER WOULD GIVE UP"

"Sir, I am a prisoner of war, and demand to be treated as such, " wasthe spirited reply of Andrew Jackson to a British officer who hadcommanded him to clean his boots. 

This was characteristic of the future hero of New Orleans, andpresident of the United States, whose independent spirit rebelled atthe insolent command of his captor. 

The officer drew his sword to enforce obedience, but, nothing daunted, the youth, although then only fourteen, persisted in his refusal. Hetried to parry the sword thrusts aimed at him, but did not escapewithout wounds on head and arm, the marks of which he carried to hisgrave. 

Stubborn, self-willed, and always dominated by the desire to be aleader, Andrew Jackson was by no means a model boy. But his honesty, love of truth, indomitable will and courage, in spite of his manyfaults, led him to greatness. 

He was born with fighting blood in his veins, and, like other eminentmen who have risen to the White House, poor. His father, an Irishimmigrant, died before his youngest son was born, --in 1767, --and lifeheld for the boy more hard knocks than soft places. His mother, who wasambitious to make him a clergyman, tried to secure him some earlyadvantages of schooling. Andrew, however, was not of a studiousdisposition, nor at all inclined to the ministry, and made littleeffort to profit by even the limited opportunities he had. 

But despite all the disadvantages of environment and mental traits bywhich he was handicapped, he was bound by the force of certain othertraits to be a winner in the battle of life. The quality to which hissuccess is chiefly owing is revealed by the words of a school-fellow, who, in spite of Jackson's slender physique and lack of physicalstrength at that time, felt the force of his iron will. Speaking oftheir wrestling matches at school, this boy said, "I could throw him[Jackson] three times out of four, but he never would stay throwed. Hewas dead game and never would give up. "

A boy who "never would stay throwed, " and "never would give up" wouldsucceed though the whole world tried to bar his progress. 

When, at the age of fifteen, he found himself alone in the world, homeless and penniless, he adapted himself to anything he could find todo. 

Worker in a saddler's shop, school-teacher, lawyer, merchant, judge ofthe Supreme Court, United States senator, soldier, leader, step by stepthe son of the poor Irish immigrant rose to the highest office to whichhis countrymen could elect him--the presidency of the United States. 

Rash, headstrong, and narrow-minded, Andrew Jackson fell into manyerrors during his life, but, notwithstanding his shortcomings, hepersistently tried to live up to his boyhood's motto, "Ask nothing butwhat is right--submit to nothing wrong. "

SIR HUMPHRY DAVY'S GREATEST DISCOVERY, MICHAEL FARADAY

He was only a little, barefooted errand boy, the son of a poorblacksmith. His school life ended in his thirteenth year. The extent ofhis education then was limited to a knowledge of the three "R's. " As hetrudged on his daily rounds, through the busy streets of London, delivering newspapers and books to the customers of his employer, therewas little difference, outwardly, between him and scores of other boyswho jostled one another in the narrow, crowded thoroughfares. But underthe shabby jacket of Michael Faraday beat a heart braver and tendererthan the average; and, under the well-worn cap, a brain was throbbingthat was destined to illuminate the world of science with a light thatwould never grow dim. 

Less than any one else, perhaps, did the boy dream of future greatness. For a year he served his employer faithfully in his capacity of errandboy, and, in 1805, at the age of fourteen, was apprenticed to abookseller for seven years, as was the custom in England, to learn thecombined trades of bookbinding and book-selling. 

The young journeyman had to exercise all his self-control to confinehis attention to the outside of the books which passed through hishands. In his spare moments, however, he made himself familiar with theinside of many of them, eagerly devouring such works on science, electricity, chemistry, and natural philosophy, as came within hisreach. He was especially delighted with an article on electricity, which he found in a volume of the "Encyclopedia Britannica, " which hadbeen given him to bind. He immediately began work on an electricalmachine, from the very crudest materials, and, much to his delight, succeeded. It was a red-letter day in his young life when akind-hearted customer, who had noticed his interest in scientificworks, offered to take him to the Royal Institution, to attend a courseof lectures to be given by the great Sir Humphry Davy. From this timeon, his thoughts were constantly turned toward science. "Oh, if I couldonly help in some scientific work, no matter how humble!" was the dailycry of his soul. But not yet was his prayer to be granted. His mettlemust be tried in the school of patience and drudgery. He must fulfillhis contract with his master. For seven years he was faithful to hiswork, while his heart was elsewhere. And all that time, in theeagerness of his thirst for knowledge, he was imbibing facts whichhelped him to plan electrical achievements, the possibilities of whichhave not, to this day, been exhausted, --or even half realized. LikeFranklin, he seemed to forecast the scientific future for ages. 

At length he was free to follow his bent, and his mind turned at onceto Sir Humphry Davy. With a beating heart, divided between hope andfear, he wrote to the great man, telling what he wished, and asking hisaid. The scientist, remembering his own day of small things, wrote theyouth, politely, that he was going out of town, but would see if hecould, sometime, aid him. He also said that "science is a harshmistress, and, in a pecuniary point of view, but poorly rewards thosewho devote themselves exclusively to her service. "

This was not very encouraging, but the young votary of science wasnothing daunted, and toiled at his uncongenial trade, with the addeddiscomfort of an ill-tempered employer, giving all his evenings and oddmoments to study and experiments. 

Then came another red-letter day. He was growing depressed, and fearedthat Sir Humphry had forgotten his quasi-promise, when one evening acarriage stopped at the door, and out stepped an important-lookingfootman in livery, with a note from the famous scientist, requestingthe young bookbinder to call on him on the following morning. At lasthad come the answer to the prayer of little Michael Faraday, as willcome the answer to all who back their prayers with patient, persistenthard work, in spite of discouragement, disappointment, and failure. Andwhen, on that never-to-be-forgotten morning, he was engaged by thegreat scientist at a salary of six dollars a week, with two rooms atthe top of the house, to wash bottles, clean the instruments, move themto and from the lecture rooms, and make himself generally useful in thelaboratory and out of it, no happier youth could be found in all London. 

The door was open; not, indeed, wide, but sufficiently to allow thisardent disciple to work his way into the innermost shrine of the templeof science. Though it took years and years of plodding, incessant workand study, and a devotion to purpose with which nothing was allowed tointerfere, it made Faraday, by virtue of his marvelous discoveries inelectricity, electro-magnetism, and chemistry, a world benefactor, honored not only by his own country and sovereign, but by other rulersand leading nations of the earth, as one of the greatest chemists andnatural philosophers of his time. 

So great has been his value to the scientific world, that his theoriesare still a constant source of inspiration to the workers in thosegreat professions allied to electricity and chemistry. No library iscomplete without his published works. What wonder that Davy calledFaraday his greatest discovery!

THE TRIUMPH OF CANOVA

The Villa d'Asola, the country residence of the Signor Falieri, was ina state of unusual excitement. Some of the most distinguishedpatricians of Venice had been bidden to a great banquet, which was tosurpass in magnificence any entertainment ever before given, even bythe wealthy and hospitable Signer Falieri. 

The feast was ready, the guests were assembled, when word came from theconfectioner, who had been charged to prepare the center ornament forthe table, that he had spoiled the piece. Consternation reigned in theservants' hall. What was to be done? The steward, or head servant, wasin despair. He was responsible for the table decorations, and theabsence of the centerpiece would seriously mar the arrangements. Hewrung his hands and gesticulated wildly. What should he do!

"If you will let me try, I think I can make something that will do. "The speaker was a delicate, pale-faced boy, about twelve years old, whohad been engaged to help in some of the minor details of preparationfor the great event. "You!" exclaimed the steward, gazing in amazementat the modest, yet apparently audacious lad before him. "And who areyou?" "I am Antonio Canova, the grandson of Pisano, the stonecutter. "Desperately grasping at even the most forlorn hope, the perplexedservant gave the boy permission to try his hand at making a centerpiece. 

Calling for some butter, with nimble fingers and the skill of apracticed sculptor, in a short time the little scullion molded thefigure of a crouching lion. So perfect in proportion, so spirited andfull of life in every detail, was this marvelous butter lion that itelicited a chorus of admiration from the delighted guests, who wereeager to know who the great sculptor was who had deigned to expend hisgenius on such perishable material. Signor Falieri, unable to gratifytheir curiosity, sent for his head servant, who gave them the historyof the centerpiece. Antonio was immediately summoned to the banquethall, where he blushingly received the praises and congratulations ofall present, and the promise of Signer Falieri to become his patron, and thus enable him to achieve fame as a sculptor. 

Such, according to some biographers, was the turning point in thecareer of Antonio Canova, who, from a peasant lad, born in the littleVenetian village of Possagno, rose to be the most illustrious sculptorof his age. 

Whether or not the story be true, it is certain that when the boy wasin his thirteenth year, Signer Falieri placed him in the studio ofToretto, a Venetian sculptor, then living near Asola. But it is equallycertain that the fame which crowned Canova's manhood, the title ofMarquis of Ischia, the decorations and honors so liberally bestowedupon him by the ruler of the Vatican, kings, princes, and emperors, were all the fruits of his ceaseless industry, high ideals, andunfailing enthusiasm. 

The little Antonio began to draw almost as soon as he could hold apencil, and the gown of the dear old grandmother who so tenderly lovedhim, and was so tenderly loved in return, often bore the marks of babyfingers fresh from modeling in clay. 

Antonio's father having died when the child was but three years old, his grandfather, Pisano, hoped that he would succeed him as villagestonecutter and sculptor. Delicate though the little fellow had beenfrom birth, at nine years of age he was laboring, as far as hisstrength would permit, in Pisano's workshop. But in the evening, afterthe work of the day was done, with pencil or clay he tried to giveexpression to the poetic fancies he had imbibed from the ballads andlegends of his native hills, crooned to him in infancy by hisgrandmother. 

Under Toretto his genius developed so rapidly that the sculptor spokeof one of his creations as "a truly marvelous production. " He was thenonly thirteen. Later we find him in Venice, studying and working withever increasing zeal. Though Signor Falieri would have been only tooglad to supply the youth's needs, he was too proud to be dependent onothers. Speaking of this time, he says: "I labored for a mere pittance, but it was sufficient. It was the fruit of my own resolution, and, as Ithen flattered myself, the foretaste of more honorable rewards, for Inever thought of wealth. "

Too poor to hire a workshop or studio, through the kindness of themonks of St. Stefano, he was given a cell in a vacant monastery, andhere, at the age of sixteen, he started business as a sculptor on hisown account. 

Before he was twenty, the youth had become a master of anatomy, whichhe declared was "the secret of the art, " was thoroughly versed inliterature, languages, history, poetry, mythology, --everything thatcould help to make him the greatest sculptor of his age, --and had, eventhen, produced works of surpassing merit. 

Effort to do better was the motto of his life, and he never permitted aday to pass without making some advance in his profession. Though oftentoo poor to buy the marble in which to embody his conceptions, he formany years lived up to a resolution made about this time, never toclose his eyes at night without having produced some design. 

What wonder that at twenty-five this noble youth, whose incessant toilhad perfected genius, was the marvel of his age! What wonder that hisfamous group, Theseus vanquishing the Minotaur, elicited theenthusiastic admiration of the most noted art critics of Rome! Whatwonder that the little peasant boy, who had first opened his eyes, in1757, in a mud cabin, closed them at last, in 1822, in a marble palace, crowned with all of fame and honor and wealth the world could give! Butbetter still, he was loved and enshrined in the hearts of the people, as a friend of the poor, a patron of struggling merit, a man in whomnobility of character overtopped even the genius of the artist. 

FRANKLIN'S LESSON ON TIME VALUE

 Dost thou love life? Then, do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of!--FRANKLIN. 

Franklin not only understood the value of time, but he put a price uponit that made others appreciate its worth. 

A customer who came one day to his little bookstore in Philadelphia, not being satisfied with the price demanded by the clerk for the bookhe wished to purchase, asked for the proprietor. "Mr. Franklin is verybusy just now in the press room, " replied the clerk. The man, however, who had already spent an hour aimlessly turning over books, insisted onseeing him. In answer to the clerk's summons, Mr. Franklin hurried outfrom the newspaper establishment at the back of the store. 

"What is the lowest price you can take for this book, sir?" asked theleisurely customer, holding up the volume. "One dollar and a quarter, "was the prompt reply. "A dollar and a quarter! Why, your clerk asked meonly a dollar just now. " "True, " said Franklin, "and I could havebetter afforded to take a dollar than to leave my work. "

The man, who seemed to be in doubt as to whether Mr. Franklin was inearnest, said jokingly, "Well, come now, tell me your lowest price forthis book. " "One dollar and a half, " was the grave reply. "A dollar anda half! Why, you just offered it for a dollar and a quarter. " "Yes, andI could have better taken that price then than a dollar and a half now. "

Without another word, the crestfallen purchaser laid the money on thecounter and left the store. He had learned not only that he whosquanders his own time is foolish, but that he who wastes the time ofothers is a thief. 

FROM STORE BOY TO MILLIONAIRE

"But I am only nineteen years old, Mr. Riggs, " and the speaker lookedquestioningly into the eyes of his companion, as if he doubted hisseriousness in asking him to become a partner in his business. 

Mr. Riggs was not joking, however, and he met George Peabody'sperplexed gaze smilingly, as he replied: "That is no objection. If youare willing to go in with me and put your labor against my capital, Ishall be well satisfied. "

This was the turning point in a life which was to leave its impress ontwo of the world's greatest nations. And what were the experiences thatled to it? They were utterly commonplace, and in some respects such asfall to the lot of many country boys to-day. 

At eleven the lad was obliged to earn his own living. At that time(1806), his native town, Danvers, Massachusetts, presented fewopportunities to the ambitious. He took the best that offered--aposition as store boy in the village grocer's. 

Four years of faithful work and constant effort at self-culturefollowed. He was now fifteen. His ambition was growing. He must seek awider field. Another year passed, and then came the longed-for opening. Joyfully the youth set out for his brother's store, in Newburyport, Massachusetts. Here he felt he would have a better chance. Butdisappointment and disaster were lurking round the corner. Soon afterhe had taken up his new duties, the store was burned to the ground. 

In the meantime, his father had died, and his mother, whom he idolized, needed his help more than ever. Penniless and out of work, but notdisheartened, he immediately looked about for another position. Gladlyhe accepted an offer to work in his uncle's dry goods store inGeorgetown, D. C. , and here we find him, two years later, at the timewhen Mr. Riggs made his flattering proposition. 

Did influence, a "pull, " or financial considerations have anything todo with the merchant's choice of a partner? Nothing whatever. The youngman had no money and no "pull, " save what his character had made forhim. His agreeable personality had won him many friends and his unclemuch additional trade. His business qualities had gained him anenviable reputation. "His tact, " says Sarah K. Bolton, "was unusual. Henever wounded the feelings of a buyer of goods, never tried him withunnecessary talk, never seemed impatient, and was punctual to theminute. "

That Mr. Riggs had made no mistake in choosing his partner, the rapidgrowth of his business conclusively proved. About a year after thepartnership had been formed, the firm moved to Baltimore. So well didthe business flourish in Baltimore that within seven years the partnershad established branch houses in New York and Philadelphia. Finally Mr. Riggs decided to retire, and Peabody, who was then but thirty-five, found himself at the head of the business. 

London, which he had visited several times, now attracted him. Itoffered great possibilities for banking. He went there, studiedfinance, established a banking business, and thenceforth made Londonhis headquarters. 

Wealth began to pour in upon him in a golden stream. But, although hehad worked steadily for this, it was not for personal ends. He nevermarried, and, to the end, lived simply and unostentatiously. Throughthe long years of patient work a great purpose had been shaping hislife. Daily he had prayed that God might give him means wherewith tohelp his fellow-men. His prayer was being answered in overflowingmeasure. 

Business interests constrained him to spend the latter half of his lifein London; but absence only deepened his love for his own country. Allthat great wealth could do to advance the welfare and prestige of theUnited States was done by the millionaire philanthropist. But above allelse, he tried to bring within the reach of poor children that whichwas denied himself, --a school education. 

The Peabody Institute in his native town, with its free library andfree course of lectures; the Institute, Academy of Music, and ArtGallery of Baltimore; the Museum of Natural History at Yale University;the Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology at Harvard University; thePeabody Academy of Science at Salem, Massachusetts, besides largecontributions every year to libraries and other educational andphilanthropic institutions all over the country, bear witness to hislove for humanity. 

Surpassing all this, however, was his establishment of the Peabody fundof three million dollars for the education of the freed slaves of theSouth, and for the equally needy poor of the white race. 

An equal amount had been previously devoted to the better housing ofthe London poor. A dream almost too good to come true it seemed to thetoilers in the great city's slums, when they found their filthy, unhealthy tenements replaced by clean, wholesome dwellings, wellsupplied with air and sunlight and all modern conveniences andcomforts. London presented its generous benefactor with the freedom ofthe city; a bronze statue was erected in his honor, and Queen Victoria, who would fain have loaded him with titles and honors, --all of which herespectfully declined, --declared his act to be "wholly withoutparallel. " A beautiful miniature portrait of her Majesty, which shecaused to be specially made for him, and a letter written by her ownhand, were the only gifts he would accept. 

Gloriously had his great purpose been fulfilled. He who began life as apoor boy had given to the furtherance of education and for the benefitof the poor in various ways the sum of nine million dollars. Theremaining four million dollars of his fortune was divided among hisrelatives. 

England loved and honored him even as his own country did; and when hedied in London, November 4, 1869, she offered him a resting place amongher immortals in Westminster Abbey. His last wish, however, wasfulfilled, and he was laid beside his mother in his native land. 

His legacies to humanity are doing their splendid work to-day as theyhave done in the past, and as they will continue to do in the future, enabling multitudes of aspiring souls to reach heights which but forhim they never could have attained. These words of his, too, spoken onthe occasion of the dedication of his gift to Danvers, --its freeInstitute, --will serve for ages as a bugle call to all youths who areanxious to make the most of themselves, and, like him, to give of theirbest to the world:--

"Though Providence has granted me an unvaried and unusual success inthe pursuit of fortune in other lands, " he said, "I am still in heartthe humble boy who left yonder unpretending dwelling many, very manyyears ago. . .. There is not a youth within the sound of my voice whoseearly opportunities and advantages are not very much greater than weremy own; and I have since achieved nothing that is impossible to themost humble boy among you. Bear in mind, that, to be truly great, it isnot necessary that you should gain wealth and importance. Steadfast andundeviating truth, fearless and straightforward integrity, and an honorever unsullied by an unworthy word or action, make their possessorgreater than worldly success or prosperity. These qualities constitutegreatness. "

"I WILL PAINT OR DIE!"

HOW A POOR, UNTAUGHT FARMER'S BOY BECAME AN ARTIST

"I will paint or die!" So stoutly resolved a poor, friendless boy, on afar-away Ohio farm, amid surroundings calculated to quench rather thanto foster ambition. He knew not how his object was to be accomplished, for genius is never fettered by details. He only knew that he would bean artist. That settled it. He had never seen a work of art, or read orheard anything on the subject. It was his soul's voice alone thatspoke, and "the soul's emphasis is always right. "

Left an orphan at the age of eleven, the boy agreed to work on hisuncle's farm for a term of five years for the munificent sum of tendollars per annum, the total amount of which he was to receive at theend of the five years. The little fellow struggled bravely along withthe laborious farm work, never for a moment losing sight of his ideal, and profiting as he could by the few months' schooling snatched fromthe duties of the farm during the winter. 

Toward the close of his five years' service a great event happened. There came to the neighborhood an artist from Washington, --Mr. Uhl, whom he overheard by chance speaking on the subject of art. His wordstransformed the dream in the youth's soul to a living purpose, and itwas then he resolved that he would "paint or die, " and that he would goto Washington and study under Mr. Uhl. 

On his release from the farm he started for Washington, with a coarseoutfit packed away in a shabby little trunk, and a few dollars in hispocket. With the trustfulness of extreme youth, and in ignorance of agreat world, he expected to get work that would enable him to live, and, at the same time, find leisure for the pursuit of his real lifework. He immediately sought Mr. Uhl, who, with great generosity, offered to teach him without charge. 

Then began the weary search for work in a large city alreadyovercrowded with applicants. In his earnestness and eagerness the youthwent from house to house asking for any kind of work "that would enablehim to study art. " But it was all in vain, and to save himself fromstarvation he was at length forced to accept the position of a daylaborer, crushing stones for street paving. Yet he hoped to studypainting when his day's work was done!

Mr. Uhl was at this time engaged in painting the portraits of Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett's sons. In the course of conversation with Mrs. Burnett, he spoke of the heroic struggle the youth was making. Theauthor's heart was touched by the pathetic story. She at once wrote acheck for one hundred dollars, and handed it to Mr. Uhl, for hisprotege. With that rare delicacy of feeling which marks all beautifulsouls, Mrs. Burnett did not wish to embarrass the struggler by thenecessity of thanking her. "Do not let him even write to me, " she saidto Mr. Uhl. "Simply say to him that I shall sail for Europe in a fewdays, and this is to give him a chance to work at the thing he caresfor so much. It will at least give him a start. "

In the throbbing life of the crowded city one heart beat high with hopeand happiness that night. A youth lay awake until morning, toobewildered with gratitude and amazement to comprehend the meaning ofthe good fortune which had come to him. Who could his benefactor be?

Three years later, at the annual exhibition of Washington artists, Mrs. Burnett stood before a remarkably vivid portrait. Addressing the artistin charge of the exhibition, she said: "That seems to me very strong. It looks as if it must be a realistic likeness. Who did it?"

"I am so glad you like it. It was painted by your protege, Mrs. Burnett. "

"My protege! My protege! Whom do you mean?"

"Why, the young man you saved from despair three years ago. Don't youremember young W----?"

"W----?" queried Mrs. Burnett. 

"The young man whose story Mr. Uhl told you. "

Mrs. Burnett then inquired if the portrait was for sale. When informedthat the picture was an order and not for sale, she asked if there wasanything else of Mr. W----'s on exhibition. She was conducted to astriking picture of a turbaned head, which was pointed out as anotherof Mr. W----'s works. 

"How much does he ask for it?"

"A hundred and fifty dollars. "

"Put 'sold' upon it, and when Mr. W---- comes, tell him his friend hasbought his picture, " said Mrs. Burnett. 

On her return home Mrs. Burnett made out a check, which she inclosed ina letter to the young painter. It was mailed simultaneously with aletter from her protege, who had but just heard of her return fromEurope, in which he begged her to accept, as a slight expression of hisgratitude, the picture she had just purchased. The turbaned head nowadorns the hall of Mrs. Burnett's house in Washington. 

"I do not understand it even to-day, " declares Mr. W----. "I knewnothing of Mrs. Burnett, nor she of me. Why did she do it? I only knowthat that hundred dollars was worth more to me then than fifty thousandin gold would be now. I lived upon it a whole year, and it put me on myfeet. "

Mr. W---- is a successful artist, now favorably known in his owncountry and in England for the strength and promise of his work. 

THE CALL THAT SPEAKS IN THE BLOOD

Nature took the measure of little Tommy Edwards for a round hole, buthis parents, teachers, and all with whom his childhood was cast, got itinto their heads that Tommy was certainly intended for a square hole. So, with the best intentions in the world, --but oh, such woefulignorance!--they tortured the poor little fellow and crippled him forlife by trying to fit him to their pattern instead of that designed forhim by the all-wise Mother. 

Mother Nature called to Tommy to go into the woods and fields, to wadethrough the brooks, and make friends with all the living things she hadplaced there, --tadpoles, beetles, frogs, crabs, mice, rats, spiders, bugs, --everything that had life. Willingly, lovingly did the little ladobey, but only to be whipped and scolded by good Mother Edwards when helet loose in her kitchen the precious treasures which he had collectedin his rambles. 

It was provoking to have rats, mice, toads, bugs, and all sorts ofcreepy things sent sprawling over one's clean kitchen floor. But thepity of it was that Mrs. Edwards did not understand her boy, andthought the only cure for what she deemed his mischievous propensity aswhipping. So Tommy was whipped and scolded, and scolded and whipped, which, however, did not in the least abate his love for Nature. 

Driven to desperation, his mother bethought her of a plan. She wouldmake the boy prisoner and see if this would tame him. With a stout ropeshe tied him by the leg to a table, and shut him in a room alone. Butno sooner was the door closed than he dragged himself and the table tothe fireplace, and, at the risk of setting himself and the house onfire, burned the rope which bound him, and made his escape into thewoods to collect new specimens. 

And yet his parents did not understand. It was time, however, to sendhim to school. They would see what the schoolmaster would do for him. But the schoolmaster was as blind as the parents, and Tommy's doom wassealed, when one morning, while the school was at prayers, a jackdawpoked its head out of his pocket and began to caw. 

His next teacher misunderstood, whipped, and bore with him until oneday nearly every boy in the school found a horse-leech wriggling up hisleg, trying to suck his blood. This ended his second school experience. 

He was given a third trial, but with no better results than before. Things went on in the usual way until a centipede was discovered inanother boy's desk. Although in this case Tommy was innocent of anyknowledge of the intruder, he was found guilty, whipped, and sent homewith the message, "Go and tell your father to get you on board aman-of-war, as that is the best school for irreclaimables such as you. "

His school life thus ended, he was apprenticed to a shoemaker, andthenceforth made his living at the bench. But every spare moment wasgiven to the work which was meat and drink, life itself, to him. 

In his manhood, to enable him to classify the minute and copiousknowledge of birds, beasts, and insects which he had been gatheringsince childhood, with great labor and patience he learned how to readand write. Later, realizing how his lack of education hampered him, heendeavored to secure the means to enable him to study to betteradvantage, and sold for twenty pounds sterling a very large number ofvaluable specimens. He tried to get employment as a naturalist, and, but for his poor reading and writing, would have succeeded. 

Poor little Scotch laddie! Had his parents or teachers understood him, he might have been as great a naturalist as Agassiz, and his lifeinstead of being dwarfed and crippled, would have been a joy to himselfand an incalculable benefit to the world. 

WASHINGTON'S YOUTHFUL HEROISM

 "No great deed is done By falterers who ask for certainty. "

"God will give you a reward, " solemnly spoke the grateful mother, asshe received from the arms of the brave youth the child he had riskedhis life to save. As if her lips were touched with the spirit ofprophecy, she continued, "He will do great things for you in return forthis day's work, and the blessings of thousands besides mine willattend you. "

The ear of George Washington was ever open to the cry of distress; hissympathy and aid were ever at the service of those who needed them. Onecalm, sunny day, in the spring of 1750, he was dining with othersurveyors in a forest in Virginia. Suddenly the stillness of the forestwas startled by the piercing shriek of a woman. Washington instantlysprang to his feet and hurried to the woman's assistance. 

"My boy, my boy, --oh, my poor boy is drowning, and they will not let mego, " screamed the frantic mother, as she tried to escape from thedetaining hands which withheld her from jumping into the rapids. "Oh, sir!" she implored, as she caught sight of the manly youth of eighteen, whose presence even then inspired confidence; "Oh, sir, you will surelydo something for me!"

For an instant Washington measured the rocks and the whirling currentswith a comprehensive look, and then, throwing off his coat, plungedinto the roaring rapids where he had caught a glimpse of the drowningboy. With stout heart and steady hand he struggled against the seethingmass of waters which threatened every moment to engulf or dash him topieces against the sharp-pointed rocks which lay concealed beneath. 

Three times he had almost succeeded in grasping the child's dress, whenthe force of the current drove him back. Then he gathered himselftogether for one last effort. Just as the child was about to escape himforever and be shot over the falls into the whirlpool below, heclutched him. The spectators on the bank cried out in horror. They gaveboth up for lost. But Washington seemed to lead a charmed life, and thecry of horror was changed to one of joy when, still holding the child, he emerged lower down from the vortex of waters. 

Striking out for a low place in the bank, within a few minutes hereached the shore with his burden. Then amid the acclamations of thosewho had witnessed his heroism, and the blessings of the overjoyedmother, Washington placed the unconscious, but still living, child inher arms. 

A COW HIS CAPITAL

A cow! Now, of all things in the world; of what use was a cow to anambitious boy who wanted to go to college? Yet a cow, and nothing more, was the capital, the entire stock in trade, of an aspiring farmer boywho felt within him a call to another kind of life than that his fatherled. 

This youth, who was yet in his teens, next to his father and mother, loved a book better than anything else in the world, and his greatambition was to go to college, to become a "scholar. " Whether hefollowed the plow, or tossed hay under a burning July sun, or choppedwood, while his blood tingled from the combined effects of exercise andthe keen December wind, his thoughts were ever fixed on the problem, "How can I go to college?"

His parents were poor, and, while they could give him a comfortablesupport as long as he worked on the farm with them, they could notafford to send him to college. But if they could not give him anymaterial aid, they gave him all their sympathy, which kept the fire ofhis resolution burning at white heat. 

There is some subtle communication between the mind and the spiritualforces of achievement which renders it impossible for one to think forany great length of time on a tangled problem, without a method for itsuntanglement being suggested. So, one evening, while driving the cowshome to be milked, the thought flashed across the brain of the would-bestudent: "If I can't have anything else for capital, why can't I have acow? I could do something with it, I am sure, and to college I MUST go, come what will. " Courage is more than half the battle. Decision andEnergy are its captains, and, when these three are united, victory issure. The problem of going to college was already more than half solved. 

Our youthful farmer did not let his thought grow cold. Hurrying at onceto his father, he said, "If you will give me a cow, I shall feel free, with your permission, to go forth and see what I can do for myself inthe world. " The father, agreeing to the proposition, which seemed tohim a practical one, replied heartily, "My son, you shall have the bestmilch cow I own. "

Followed by the prayers and blessings of his parents, the youth startedfrom home, driving his cow before him, his destination being a certainacademy between seventy-five and one hundred miles distant. 

Very soon he experienced the truth of the old adage that "Heaven helpsthose who help themselves. " At the end of his first day's journey, whenhe sought a night's lodging for himself and accommodation for his cowin return for her milk, he met with unexpected kindness. The goodpeople to whom he applied not only refused to take anything from him, but gave him bread to eat with his milk, and his cow a comfortable barnto lie in, with all the hay she could eat. 

During the entire length of his journey, he met with equal kindness andconsideration at the hands of all those with whom he came in contact;and, when he reached the academy, the principal and his wife were sopleased with his frank, modest, yet self-confident bearing, that theyat once adopted himself and his cow into the family. He worked for hisboard, and the cow ungrudgingly gave her milk for the general good. 

In due time the youth was graduated with honors from the academy. Hewas then ready to enter college, but had no money. The kind-heartedprincipal of the academy and his wife again came to his aid and helpedhim out of the difficulty by purchasing his cow. The money thusobtained enabled him to take the next step forward. He bade his goodfriends farewell, and the same year entered college. For four years heworked steadily with hand and brain. In spite of the hard work theywere happy years, and at their close the persevering student had won, in addition to his classical degree, many new friends and well-wishers. His next step was to take a theological course in another institution. When he had finished the course, he was called to be principal of theacademy to which honest ambition first led him with his cow. 

Years afterward a learned professor of Hebrew, and the author of ascholarly "Commentary, " cheered and encouraged many a struggling youthby relating the story of his own experiences from the time when he, asimple rustic, had started for college with naught but a cow as capital. 

This story was first related to the writer by the late Frances E. Willard, who vouched for its truth. 

THE BOY WHO SAID "I MUST"

Farther back than the memory of the grandfathers and grandmothers ofsome of my young readers can go, there lived in a historic town inMassachusetts a brave little lad who loved books and study more thantoys or games, or play of any kind. The dearest wish of his heart wasto be able to go to school every day, like more fortunate boys andgirls, so that, when he should grow up to be a man, he might be welleducated and fitted to do some grand work in the world. But his helpwas needed at home, and, young as he was, he began then to learn thelessons of unselfishness and duty. It was hard, wasn't it, for a littlefellow only eight years old to have to leave off going to school andsettle down to work on a farm? Many young folks at his age think theyare very badly treated if they are not permitted to have some toy orstory book, or other thing on which they have set their hearts; andolder boys and girls, too, are apt to pout and frown if their whims arenot gratified. But Theodore's parents were very poor, and could noteven indulge his longing to go to school. 

Did he give up his dreams of being a great man? Not a bit of it. He didnot even cry or utter a complaint, but manfully resolved that he woulddo everything he could "to help father, " and then, "when winter comes, "he thought, "I shall be able to go to school again. " Bravely the littlefellow toiled through the beautiful springtide, though his wistfulglances were often turned in the direction of the schoolhouse. But heresolutely bent to his work and renewed his resolve that he would beeducated. As spring deepened into summer, the work on the farm grewharder and harder, but Theodore rejoiced that the flight of each seasonbrought winter nearer. 

At length autumn had vanished; the fruits of the spring and summer'stoil had been gathered; the boy was free to go to his beloved studiesagain. And oh, how he reveled in the few books at his command in thevillage school! How eagerly he trudged across the fields, morning aftermorning, to the schoolhouse, where he always held first place in hisclass! Blustering winds and fierce snowstorms had no terrors for theardent student. His only sorrow was that winter was all too short, andthe days freighted with the happiness of regular study slipped all tooquickly by. But the kind-hearted schoolmaster lent him books, so that, when spring came round again, and the boy had to go back to work, hecould pore over them in his odd moments of relaxation. As he patientlyplodded along, guiding the plow over the rough earth, he recited thelessons he had learned during the brief winter season, and afterdinner, while the others rested awhile from their labors, Theodoreeagerly turned the pages of one of his borrowed books, from which hedrank in deep draughts of delight and knowledge. Early in the summermornings, before the regular work began, and late in the evening, whenthe day's tasks had all been done, he read and re-read his treasuredvolumes until he knew them from cover to cover. 

Then he was confronted with a difficulty. He had begun to study Latin, but found it impossible to get along without a dictionary. "What shallI do?" he thought; "there is no one from whom I can borrow a Latindictionary, and I cannot ask father to buy me one, because he cannotafford it. But I MUST have it. " That "must" settled the question. Threequarters of a century ago, book stores were few and books very costly. Boys and girls who have free access to libraries and reading rooms, andcan buy the best works of great authors, sometimes for a few cents, canhardly imagine the difficulties which beset the little farmer boy intrying to get the book he wanted. 

Did he get the dictionary? Oh, yes. You remember he had said, "I must. "After thinking and thinking how he could get the money to buy it, abright idea flashed across his mind. The bushes in the fields about thefarm seemed waiting for some one to pick the ripe whortle-berries. "Why, " thought he, "can't I gather and sell enough to buy mydictionary?" The next morning, before any one else in the farmhouse wasastir, Theodore was moving rapidly through the bushes, picking, picking, picking, with unwearied fingers, the shining berries, everyone of which was of greater value in his eyes than a penny would be tosome of you. 

At last, after picking and selling several bushels of ripe berries, hehad enough money to buy the coveted dictionary. Oh, what a joy it wasto possess a book that had been purchased with his own money! How itthrilled the boy and quickened his ambition to renewed efforts! "Welldone, my boy! But, Theodore, I cannot afford to keep you there. "

"Well, father, " replied the youth, "but I am not going to study there;I shall study at home at odd times, and thus prepare myself for a finalexamination, which will give me a diploma. "

Theodore had just returned from Boston, and was telling his delightedfather how he had spent the holiday which he had asked for in themorning. Starting out early from the farm, so as to reach Boston beforethe intense heat of the August day had set in, he cheerfully trampedthe ten miles that lay between his home in Lexington and HarvardCollege, where he presented himself as a candidate for admission; andwhen the examinations were over, Theodore had the joy of hearing hisname announced in the list of successful students. The youth hadreached the goal which the boy of eight had dimly seen. And now, if youwould learn how he worked and taught in a country school in order toearn the money to spend two years in college, and how the young manbecame one of the most eminent preachers in America, you must read acomplete biography of Theodore Parker, the hero of this little story. 

THE HIDDEN TREASURE

Long, long ago, in the shadowy past, Ali Hafed dwelt on the shores ofthe River Indus, in the ancient land of the Hindus. His beautifulcottage, set in the midst of fruit and flower gardens, looked from themountain side on which it stood over the broad expanse of the nobleriver. Rich meadows, waving fields of grain, and the herds and flockscontentedly grazing on the pasture lands, testified to the thrift andprosperity of Ali Hafed. The love of a beautiful wife and a largefamily of light-hearted boys and girls made his home an earthlyparadise. Healthy, wealthy, contented, rich in love and friendship, hiscup of happiness seemed full to overflowing. 

Happy and contented, as we have seen, was the good Ali Hafed, when oneevening a learned priest of Buddha, journeying along the banks of theIndus, stopped for rest and refreshment at his home, where allwayfarers were hospitably welcomed and treated as honored guests. 

After the evening meal, the farmer and his family, with the priest intheir midst, gathered around the fireside, the chilly mountain air ofthe late autumn making a fire desirable. The disciple of Buddhaentertained his kind hosts with various legends and myths, and last ofall with the story of the creation. 

He told his wondering listeners how in the beginning the solid earth onwhich they lived was not solid at all, but a mere bank of fog. "TheGreat Spirit, " said he, "thrust his finger into the bank of fog andbegan slowly describing a circle in its midst, increasing the speedgradually until the fog went whirling round his finger so rapidly thatit was transformed into a glowing ball of fire. Then the CreativeSpirit hurled the fiery ball from his hand, and it shot through theuniverse, burning its way through other banks of fog and condensingthem into rain, which fell in great floods, cooling the surface of theimmense ball. Flames then bursting from the interior through the cooledouter crust, threw up the hills and mountain ranges, and made thebeautiful fertile valleys. In the flood of rain that followed thisfiery upheaval, the substance that cooled very quickly formed granite, that which cooled less rapidly became copper, the next in degree cooleddown into silver, and the last became gold. But the most beautifulsubstance of all, the diamond, was formed by the first beams ofsunlight condensed on the earth's surface. 

"A drop of sunlight the size of my thumb, " said the priest, holding uphis hand, "is worth more than mines of gold. With one such drop, " hecontinued, turning to Ali Hafed, "you could buy many farms like yours;with a handful you could buy a province, and with a mine of diamondsyou could purchase a whole kingdom. "

The company parted for the night, and Ali Hafed went to bed, but not tosleep. All night long he tossed restlessly from side to side, thinking, planning, scheming how he could secure some diamonds. The demon ofdiscontent had entered his soul, and the blessings and advantages whichhe possessed in such abundance seemed as by some malicious magic tohave utterly vanished. Although his wife and children loved him asbefore; although his farm, his orchards, his flocks, and herds were asreal and prosperous as they had ever been, yet the last words of thepriest, which kept ringing in his ears, turned his content into vaguelongings and blinded him to all that had hitherto made him happy. 

Before dawn next morning the farmer, full of his purpose, was astir. Rousing the priest, he eagerly inquired if he could direct him to amine of diamonds. 

"A mine of diamonds!" echoed the astonished priest. "What do you, whoalready have so much to be grateful for, want with diamonds?"

"I wish to be rich and place my children on thrones. "

"All you have to do, then, " said the Buddhist, "is to go and searchuntil you find them. "

"But where shall I go?" questioned the infatuated man. 

"Go anywhere, " was the vague reply; "north, south, east, orwest, --anywhere. "

"But how shall I know the place?" asked the farmer. 

"When you find a river running over white sands between high mountainranges, in these white sands you will find diamonds. There are manysuch rivers and many mines of diamonds waiting to be discovered. Allyou have to do is to start out and go somewhere--" and he waved hishand--"away, away!"

Ali Hafed's mind was full made up. "I will no longer, " he thought, "remain on a wretched farm, toiling day in and day out for a meresubsistence, when acres of diamonds--untold wealth--may be had by himwho is bold enough to seek them. "

He sold his farm for less than half its value. Then, after putting hisyoung family under the care of a neighbor, he set out on his quest. 

With high hopes and the coveted diamond mines beckoning in the fardistance, Ali Hafed began his wanderings. During the first few weekshis spirits did not flag, nor did his feet grow weary. On, and on, hetramped until he came to the Mountains of the Moon, beyond the boundsof Arabia. Weeks stretched into months, and the wanderer often lookedregretfully in the direction of his once happy home. Still no gleam ofwaters glinting over white sands greeted his eyes. But on he went, intoEgypt, through Palestine, and other eastern lands, always looking forthe treasure he still hoped to find. At last, after years of fruitlesssearch, during which he had wandered north and south, east and west, hope left him. All his money was spent. He was starving and almostnaked, and the diamonds--which had lured him away from all that madelife dear--where were they? Poor Ali Hafed never knew. He died by thewayside, never dreaming that the wealth for which he had sacrificedhappiness and life might have been his had he remained at home. 

"Here is a diamond! here is a diamond! Has Ali Hafed returned?" shoutedan excited voice. 

The speaker, no other than our old acquaintance, the Buddhist priest, was standing in the same room where years before he had told poor AliHafed how the world was made, and where diamonds were to be found. 

"No, Ali Hafed has not returned, " quietly answered his successor. "Neither is that which you hold in your hand a diamond; it is but apretty black pebble I picked up in my garden. "

"I tell you, " said the priest, excitedly, "this is a genuine diamond. Iknow one when I see it. Tell me how and where you found it?"

"One day, " replied the farmer, slowly, "having led my camel into thegarden to drink, I noticed, as he put his nose into the water, asparkle of light coming from the white sand at the bottom of the clearstream. Stooping down, I picked up the black pebble you now hold, guided to it by that crystal eye in the center from which the lightflashes so brilliantly. "

"Why, thou simple one, " cried the priest, "this is no common stone, buta gem of the purest water. Come, show me where thou didst find it. "

Together they flew to the spot where the farmer had found the "pebble, "and, turning over the white sands with eager fingers, they found, totheir great delight, other stones even more valuable and beautiful thanthe first. Then they extended their search, and, so the Oriental storygoes, "every shovelful of the old farm, as acre after acre was siftedover, revealed gems with which to decorate the crowns of emperors andmoguls. "

LOVE TAMED THE LION

 I would not enter on my list of friends, (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility), the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. COWPER. 

"Nero!" Crushed, baffled, blinded, and, like Samson, shorn of hisstrength, prostrate in his cage lay the great tawny monarch of theforest. Heedless of the curious crowds passing to and fro, he seemeddeaf as well as blind to everything going on around him. Perhaps he wasdreaming of the jungle. Perhaps he was longing to roam the wilds oncemore in his native strength. Perhaps memories of a happy past even incaptivity stirred him. Perhaps--But what is this? What change has comeo'er the spirit of his dreams? No one has touched him. Apparently, nothing has happened to arouse him. Only a woman's voice, soft, caressing, full of love, has uttered the name, "Nero. " But there wasmagic in the sound. In an instant the huge animal was on his feet. Quivering with emotion, he rushed to the side of the cage from whencethe voice proceeded, and threw himself against the bars with suchviolence that he fell back half stunned. As he fell he uttered thepeculiar note of welcome with which, in happier days, he was wont togreet his loved and long-lost mistress. 

Touched with the devotion of her dumb friend, Rosa Bonheur--for it wasshe who had spoken--released from bondage the faithful animal whom, years before, she had bought from a keeper who declared him untamable. 

"In order to secure the affections of wild animals, " said thegreat-hearted painter, "you must love them, " and by love she hadsubdued the ferocious beast whom even the lion-tamers had given up ashopeless. 

When about to travel for two years, it being impossible to take her petwith her, Mademoiselle Bonheur sold him to the Jardin des Plantes inParis, where she found him on her return, totally blind, owing, it issaid, to the ill treatment of the attendant. 

Grieved beyond measure at the condition of poor Nero, she had himremoved to her chateau, where everything was done for his comfort thatlove could suggest. Often in her leisure moments, when she had laidaside her painting garb, the artist would have him taken to her studio, where she would play with and fondle the enormous creature as if hewere a kitten. And there, at last, he died happily, his great pawsclinging fondly to the mistress who loved him so well, his sightlesseyes turned upon her to the end, as if beseeching that she would notagain leave him. 

"THERE IS ROOM ENOUGH AT THE TOP"

These words ere uttered many years ago by a youth who had no othermeans by which to reach the top than work and will. They have sincebecome the watchword of every poor boy whose ambition is backed byenergy and a determination to make the most possible of himself. 

The occasion on which Daniel Webster first said "There is room enoughat the top, " marked the turning point in his life. Had he not beenanimated at that time by an ambition to make the most of his talents, he might have remained forever in obscurity. 

His father and other friends had secured for him the position of Clerkof the Court of Common Pleas, of Hillsborough County, New Hampshire. Daniel was studying law in the office of Mr. Christopher Gore, adistinguished Boston lawyer, and was about ready for his admission tothe bar. The position offered him was worth fifteen hundred dollars ayear. This seemed a fortune to the struggling student. He lay awake thewhole night following the day on which he had heard the good news, planning what he would do for his father and mother, his brotherEzekiel, and his sisters. Next morning he hurried to the office to tellMr. Gore of his good fortune. 

"Well, my young friend, " said the lawyer, when Daniel had told hisstory, "the gentlemen have been very kind to you; I am glad of it. Youmust thank them for it. You will write immediately, of course. "

Webster explained that, since he must go to New Hampshire immediately, it would hardly be worth while to write. He could thank his goodfriends in person. 

"Why, " said Mr. Gore in great astonishment, "you don't mean to acceptit, surely!"

The youth's high spirits were damped at once by his senior's manner. "The bare idea of not accepting it, " he says, "so astounded me that Ishould have been glad to have found any hole to have hid myself in. "

"Well, " said Mr. Gore, seeing the disappointment his words had caused, "you must decide for yourself; but come, sit down and let us talk itover. The office is worth fifteen hundred a year, you say. Well, itnever will be any more. Ten to one, if they find out it is so much, thefees will be reduced. You are appointed now by friends; others may filltheir places who are of different opinions, and who have friends oftheir own to provide for. You will lose your place; or, supposing youto retain it, what are you but a clerk for life? And your prospects asa lawyer are good enough to encourage you to go on. Go on, and finishyour studies; you are poor enough, but there are greater evils thanpoverty; live on no man's favor; what bread you do eat, let it be thebread of independence; pursue your profession, make yourself useful toyour friends and a little formidable to your enemies, and you havenothing to fear. "

How fortunate Webster as to have at this point in his career so wiseand far-seeing a friend! His father, who had made many sacrifices toeducate his boys, saw in the proffered clerkship a great opening forhis favorite, Daniel. He never dreamed of the future that was to makehim one of America's greatest orators and statesmen. At first he couldnot believe that the position which he had worked so hard to obtain wasto be rejected. 

"Daniel, Daniel, " he said sorrowfully, "don't you mean to take thatoffice?"

"No, indeed, father, " was the reply, "I hope I can do much better thanthat. I mean to use my tongue in the courts, not my pen; to be anactor, not a register of other men's acts. I hope yet, sir, to astonishyour honor in your own court by my professional attainments. "

Judge Webster made no attempt to conceal his disappointment. He eventried to discourage his son by reminding him that there were alreadymore lawyers than the country needed. 

It was in answer to this objection that Daniel used the famous andoft-quoted words, --"There is room enough at the top. "

"Well, my son, " said the fond but doubting father, "your mother hasalways said you would come to something or nothing. She was not surewhich; I think you are now about settling that doubt for her. "

It was very painful to Daniel to disappoint his father, but his purposewas fixed, and nothing now could change it. He knew he had turned hisface in the right direction, and though when he commenced to practicelaw he earned only about five or six hundred dollars a year, he neverregretted the decision he had made. He aimed high, and he had hisreward. 

It is true now and forever, as Lowell says, that--

 "Not failure, but low aim, is crime. "

THE UPLIFT OF A SLAVE BOY'S IDEAL

Invincible determination, and a right nature, are the levers that movethe world. --PORTER. 

Born a slave, with the feelings and possibilities of a man, but with norights above the beast of the field, Fred Douglass gave the world oneof the most notable examples of man's power over circumstances. 

He had no knowledge of his father, whom he had never seen. He had onlya dim recollection of his mother, from whom he had been separated atbirth. The poor slave mother used to walk twelve miles when her day'swork was done, in order to get an occasional glimpse of her child. Thenshe had to walk back to the plantation on which she labored, so as tobe in time to begin to work at dawn next morning. 

Under the brutal discipline of the "Aunt Katy" who had charge of theslaves who were still too young to labor in the fields, he early beganto realize the hardships of his lot, and to rebel against the state ofbondage into which he had been born. 

Often hungry, and clothed in hottest summer and coldest winter alike, in a coarse tow linen shirt, scarcely reaching to the knees, without abed to lie on or a blanket to cover him, his only protection, no matterhow cold the night, was an old corn bag, into which he thrust himself, leaving his feet exposed at one end, and his head at the other. 

When about seven years old, he was transferred to new owners inBaltimore, where his kind-hearted mistress, who did not know that indoing so she was breaking the law, taught him the alphabet. He thus gotpossession of the key which was to unlock his bonds, and, young as hewas, he knew it. It did not matter that his master, when he learnedwhat had been done, forbade his wife to give the boy furtherinstructions. He had already tasted of the fruit of the tree ofknowledge. The prohibition was useless. Neither threats nor stripes norchains could hold the awakened soul in bondage. 

With infinite pains and patience, and by stealth, he enlarged upon hisknowledge of the alphabet. An old copy of "Webster's Spelling Book, "cast aside by his young master, as his greatest treasure. With the aidof a few good-natured white boys, who sometimes played with him in thestreets, he quickly mastered its contents. Then he cast about forfurther means to satisfy his mental craving. How difficult it was forthe poor, despised slave to do this, we learn from his own patheticwords. "I have gathered, " he says, "scattered pages of the Bible fromthe filthy street gutters, and washed and dried them, that, in momentsof leisure, I might get a word or two of wisdom from them. "

Think of that, boys and girls of the twentieth century, with your dayschools and evening schools, libraries, colleges, anduniversities, --picking reading material from the gutter and masteringit by stealth! Yet this boy grew up to be the friend and co-worker ofGarrison and Phillips, the eloquent spokesman of his race, the honoredguest of distinguished peers and commoners of England, one of thenoblest examples of a self-made man that the world has ever seen. 

Under equal hardships he learned to write. The boy's wits, sharpenedinstead of blunted by repression, saw opportunities where more favoredchildren could see none. He gave himself his first writing lesson inhis master's shipyard, by copying from the various pieces of timber theletters with which they had been marked by the carpenters, to show thedifferent parts of the ship for which they were intended. He copiedfrom posters on fences, from old copy books, from anything andeverything he could get hold of. He practiced his new art on pavementsand rails, and entered into contests in letter making with white boys, in order to add to his knowledge. "With playmates for my teachers, " hesays, "fences and pavements for my copy books, and chalk for my pen andink, I learned to write. "

While being "broken in" to field labor under the lash of the overseer, chained and imprisoned for the crime of attempting to escape fromslavery, the spirit of the youth never quailed. He believed in himself, in his God-given powers, and he was determined to use them in freeinghimself and his race. 

How well he succeeded in the stupendous task to which he set himselfwhile yet groping in the black night of bondage, with no human poweroutside of his own indomitable will to help him, his life work attestsin language more enduring than "storied urn" or written history. A rollcall of the world's great moral heroes would be incomplete without thename of the slave-born Douglass, who came on the stage of life to playthe leading role of the Moses of his race in one of the saddest and, atthe same time, most glorious eras of American history. 

He was born in Talbot County, Maryland. The exact date of his birth isnot known; but he himself thought it was in February, 1817. He died inWashington, D. C. , February 20, 1895. 

"TO THE FIRST ROBIN"

The air was keen and biting, and traces of snow still lingered on theground and sparkled on the tree tops in the morning sun. But the happy, rosy-cheeked children, lately freed from the restraints of city life, who played in the old garden in Concord, Massachusetts, that brightspring morning many years ago, heeded not the biting wind or thelingering snow. As they raced up and down the paths, in and out amongthe trees, their cheeks took on a deeper glow, their eyes a brightersparkle, while their shouts of merry laughter made the morning glad. 

But stay, what is this? What has happened to check the laughter ontheir lips, and dim their bright eyes with tears? The little group, headed by Louisa, has suddenly come to a pause under a tree, where awee robin, half dead with hunger and cold, has fallen from its perch. 

"Poor, poor birdie!" exclaimed a chorus of pitying voices. "It is dead, poor little thing, " said Anna. "No, " said Louisa, the leader of thechildren in fun and works of mercy alike; "it is warm, and I can feelits heart beat. " As she spoke, she gathered the tiny bundle of feathersto her bosom, and, heading the little procession, turned toward thehouse. 

A warm nest was made for the foundling, and, with motherly care, thelittle Louisa May Alcott, then only eight years old, fed and nursedback to life the half-famished bird. 

Before the feathered claimant on her mercy flew away to freedom, thefuture authoress, the "children's friend, " who loved and pitied allhelpless things, wrote her first poem, and called it "To the FirstRobin. " It contained only these two stanzas:--

 "Welcome, welcome, little stranger, Fear no harm, and fear no danger, We are glad to see you here, For you sing, 'Sweet spring is near. '

 "Now the white snow melts away, Now the flowers blossom gay, Come, dear bird, and build your nest, For we love our robin best. "

THE "WIZARD" AS AN EDITOR

Although he had only a few months' regular schooling, at ten ThomasAlva Edison had read and thought more than many youths of twenty. Gibbon's "Rome, " Hume's "England, " Sears's "History of the World, "besides several books on chemistry, --a subject in which he was eventhen deeply interested, --were familiar friends. Yet he was not, by anymeans, a serious bookworm. On the contrary, he was as full of fun andmischief as any healthy boy of his age. 

The little fellow's sunny face and pleasing manners made him a generalfavorite, and when circumstances forced him from the parent nest intothe big bustling world at the age of twelve, he became the most populartrain boy on the Grand Trunk Railroad in central Michigan, while hiskeen powers of observation and practical turn of mind made him the mostsuccessful. His ambition soared far beyond the selling of papers, songbooks, apples, and peanuts, and his business ability was such that hesoon had three or four boys selling his wares on commission. 

His interest in chemistry, however, had not abated, and his busy brainnow urged him to try new fields. He exchanged some of his papers forretorts and other simple apparatus, bought a copy of Fiesenius's"Qualitative Analysis, " and secured the use of an old baggage car as alaboratory. Here, surrounded by chemicals and experimenting apparatus, he spent some of the happiest hours of his life. 

But even this was not a sufficient outlet for the energies of thebudding inventor. Selling papers had naturally aroused his interest inprinting and editing, and with Edison interest always manifested itselfin action. In buying papers, he had, as usual, made use of his eyes, and, with the little knowledge of printing picked up in this way, hedetermined to start a printing press and edit a paper of his own. 

He first purchased a quantity of old type from the Detroit Free Press. Then he put a printing press in the baggage car, which did duty asprinting and editorial office as well as laboratory, and began hiseditorial labors. When the first copy of the Grand Trunk Herald was puton sale, it would be hard to find a happier boy than its owner was. 

No matter that the youthful editor's "Associated Press" consisted ofbaggage men and brakemen, or that the literary matter contributed tothe Grand Trunk Herald was chiefly railway gossip, with some generalinformation of interest to passengers, the little three-cent sheetbecame very popular. Even the great London Times deigned to notice it, as the only journal in the world printed on a railway train. 

But, successful as he was in his editorial venture, Edison's best lovewas given to chemistry and electricity, which latter subject he hadbegun to study with his usual ardor. And well it was for the world whenthe youth of sixteen gave up train and newspaper work, that no poverty, no difficulties, no ridicule, no "hard luck, " none of the trials andobstacles he had to encounter in after life, had power to chill ordiscourage the genius of the master inventor of the nineteenth century. 

HOW GOOD FORTUNE CAME TO PIERRE

Many years ago, in a shabby room in one of the poorest streets ofLondon, a little golden-haired boy sat singing, in his sweet, childishvoice, by the bedside of his sick mother. Though faint from hunger andoppressed with loneliness, he manfully forced back the tears that keptwelling up into his blue eyes, and, for his mother's sake, tried tolook bright and cheerful. But it was hard to be brave and strong whilehis dear mother was suffering for lack of the delicacies which helonged to provide for her, but could not. He had not tasted food allday himself. How he could drive away the gaunt, hungry wolf, Famine, that had come to take up its abode with them, was the thought thathaunted him as he tried to sing a little song he himself had composed. He left his place by the invalid, who, lulled by his singing, hadfallen into a light sleep. As he looked listlessly out of the window, he noticed a man putting up a large poster, which bore, in staringyellow letters, the announcement that Madame M----, one of the greatestsingers that ever lived, was to sing in public that night. 

"Oh, if I could only go!" thought little Pierre, his love of music forthe moment making him forgetful of aught else. Suddenly his facebrightened, and the light of a great resolve shone in his eyes. "I willtry it, " he said to himself; and, running lightly to a little standthat stood at the opposite end of the room, with trembling hands hetook from a tiny box a roll of paper. With a wistful, loving glance atthe sleeper, he stole from the room and hurried out into the street. 

"Who did you say is waiting for me?" asked Madame M---- of her servant;"I am already worn out with company. "

"It is only a very pretty little boy with yellow curls, who said thatif he can just see you, he is sure you will not be sorry, and he willnot keep you a moment. "

"Oh, well, let him come, " said the great singer, with a kindly smile, "I can never refuse children. "

Timidly the child entered the luxurious apartment, and, bowing beforethe beautiful, stately woman, he began rapidly, lest his courage shouldfail him: "I came to see you because my mother is very sick, and we aretoo poor to get food and medicine. I thought, perhaps, that if youwould sing my little song at some of your grand concerts, maybe somepublisher would buy it for a small sum, and so I could get food andmedicine for my mother. "

Taking the little roll of paper which the boy held in his hand, thewarm-hearted singer lightly hummed the air. Then, turning toward him, she asked, in amazement: "Did you compose it? you, a child! And thewords, too?" Without waiting for a reply, she added quickly, "Would youlike to come to my concert this evening?" The boy's face became radiantwith delight at the thought of hearing the famous songstress, but avision of his sick mother, lying alone in the poor, cheerless room, flitted across his mind, and he answered, with a choking in histhroat:--

"Oh, yes; I should so love to go, but I couldn't leave my mother. "

"I will send somebody to take care of your mother for the evening, andhere is a crown with which you may go and get food and medicine. Hereis also one of my tickets. Come to-night; that will admit you to a seatnear me. "

Overcome with joy, the child could scarcely express his gratitude tothe gracious being who seemed to him like an angel from heaven. As hewent out again into the crowded street, he seemed to tread on air. Hebought some fruit and other little delicacies to tempt his mother'sappetite, and while spreading out the feast of good things before herastonished gaze, with tears in his eyes, he told her of the kindness ofthe beautiful lady. 

An hour later, tingling with expectation, Pierre set out for theconcert. How like fairyland it all seemed! The color, the dazzlinglights, the flashing gems and glistening silks of the richly dressedladies bewildered him. Ah! could it be possible that the great artistwho had been so kind to him would sing his little song before thisbrilliant audience? At length she came on the stage, bowing right andleft in answer to the enthusiastic welcome which greeted her appearance. 

A pause of expectancy followed. The boy held his breath and gazedspellbound at the radiant vision on whom all eyes were riveted. Theorchestra struck the first notes of a plaintive melody, and theglorious voice of the great singer filled the vast hall, as the wordsof the sad little song of the child composer floated on the air. It wasso simple, so touching, so full of exquisite pathos, that many were intears before it was finished. 

And little Pierre? There he sat, scarcely daring to move or breathe, fearing that the flowers, the lights, the music, should vanish, and heshould wake up to find it all a dream. He was aroused from his tranceby the tremendous burst of applause that rang through the house as thelast note trembled away into silence. He started up. It was no dream. The greatest singer in Europe had sung his little song before afashionable London audience. Almost dazed with happiness, he never knewhow he reached his poor home; and when he related the incidents of theevening, his mother's delight nearly equaled his own. Nor was this theend. 

Next day they were startled by a visit from Madame M----. After gentlygreeting the sick woman, while her hand played with Pierre's goldencurls, she said: "Your little boy, Madame, has brought you a fortune. Iwas offered this morning, by the best publisher in London, 300 poundsfor his little song; and after he has realized a certain amount fromthe sale, little Pierre here is to share the profits. Madame, thank Godthat your son has a gift from heaven. " The grateful tears of theinvalid and her visitor mingled, while the child knelt by his mother'sbedside and prayed God to bless the kind lady who, in their time ofsorrow and great need, had been to them as a savior. 

The boy never forgot his noble benefactress, and years afterward, whenthe great singer lay dying, the beloved friend who smoothed her pillowand cheered and brightened her last moments--the rich, popular, andtalented composer--was no other than our little Pierre. 

"IF I REST, I RUST"

 "The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight; But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night. "

The significant inscription found on an old key, --"If I rest, Irust, "--would be an excellent motto for those who are afflicted withthe slightest taint of idleness. Even the industrious might adopt itwith advantage to serve as a reminder that, if one allows his facultiesto rest, like the iron in the unused key, they will soon show signs ofrust, and, ultimately, cannot do the work required of them. 

Those who would attain

 "The heights by great men reached and kept"

must keep their faculties burnished by constant use, so that they willunlock the doors of knowledge, the gates that guard the entrances tothe professions, to science, art, literature, agriculture, --everydepartment of human endeavor. 

Industry keeps bright the key that opens the treasury of achievement. If Hugh Miller, after toiling all day in a quarry, had devoted hisevenings to rest and recreation, he would never have become a famousgeologist. The celebrated mathematician, Edmund Stone, would never havepublished a mathematical dictionary, never have found the key to thescience of mathematics, if he had given his spare moments, snatchedfrom the duties of a gardener, to idleness. Had the little Scotch lad, Ferguson, allowed the busy brain to go to sleep while he tended sheepon the hillside, instead of calculating the position of the stars bythe help of a string of beads, he would never have become a famousastronomer. 

"Labor vanquishes all, "--not in constant, spasmodic, or ill-directedlabor, but faithful, unremitting, daily effort toward a well-directedpurpose. Just as truly as eternal vigilance is the price of liberty, sois eternal industry the price of noble and enduring success. 

 "Seize, then, the minutes as they pass; The woof of life is thought! Warm up the colors; let them glow With fire of fancy fraught. "

A BOY WHO KNEW NOT FEAR

Richard Wagner, the great composer, weaves into one of his musicaldramas a beautiful story about a youth named Siegfried, who did notknow what fear was. 

The story is a sort of fairy tale or myth, --something which has a deepmeaning hidden in it, but which is not literally true. 

We smile at the idea of a youth who never knew fear, who even as alittle child had never been frightened by the imaginary terrors ofnight, the darkness of the forest, or the cries of the wild animalswhich inhabited it. 

Yet it is actually true that there was born at Burnham Thorpe, Norfolk, England, on September 29, 1758, a boy who never knew what fear was. This boy's name was Horatio Nelson, --a name which his fearlessness, ambition, and patriotism made immortal. 

Courage even to daring distinguished young Nelson from his boycompanions. Many stories illustrating this quality are told of him. 

On one occasion, when the future hero of England was but a mere child, while staying at his grandmother's, he wandered away from the house insearch of birds' nests. When dinner time came and went and the boy didnot return, his family became alarmed. They feared that he had beenkidnapped by gypsies, or that some other mishap had befallen him. Athorough search was made for him in every direction. Just as thesearchers were about to give up their quest, the truant was discoveredsitting quietly by the side of a brook which he was unable to cross. 

"I wonder, child, " said his grandmother, "that hunger and fear did notdrive you home. "

"Fear! grand-mamma, " exclaimed the boy; "I never saw fear. What is it?"

Horatio was a born leader, who never even in childhood shrank from ahazardous undertaking. This story of his school days shows how thespirit of leadership marked him before he had entered his teens. 

In the garden attached to the boarding school at North Walsham, whichhe and his elder brother, William, attended, there grew a remarkablyfine pear tree. The sight of this tree, loaded with fruit was, naturally, a very tempting one to the boys. The boldest among the olderones, however, dared not risk the consequences of helping themselves tothe pears, which they knew were highly prized by the master of theschool. 

Horatio, who thought neither of the sin of stealing the schoolmaster'sproperty, nor of the risk involved in the attempt, volunteered tosecure the coveted pears. 

He was let down in sheets from the bedroom window by his schoolmates, and, after gathering as much of the fruit as he could carry, returnedwith considerable difficulty. He then turned the pears over to theboys, not keeping one for himself. 

"I only took them, " he explained, "because the rest of you were afraidto venture. "

The sense of honor of the future "Hero of the Nile" and of Trafalgarwas as keen in boyhood as in later life. 

One year, at the close of the Christmas holidays, he and his brotherWilliam set out on horseback to return to school. There had been aheavy fall of snow which made traveling very disagreeable, and Williampersuaded Horatio to go back home with him, saying that it was not safeto go on. 

"If that be the case, " said Rev. Mr. Nelson, the father of the boys, when the matter was explained to him, "you certainly shall not go; butmake another attempt, and I will leave it to your honor. If the road isdangerous, you may return; but remember, boys, I leave it to yourhonor. "

The snow was really deep enough to be made an excuse for not going on, and William was for returning home a second time. Horatio, however, would not be persuaded again. "We must go on, " he said; "remember, brother, it was left to our honor. "

When only twelve years old, young Nelson's ambition urged him to tryhis fortune at sea. His uncle, Captain Maurice Suckling, commanded theRaisonnable, a ship of sixty-four guns, and the boy thought it would begood fortune, indeed, if he could get an opportunity to serve underhim. "Do, William, " he said to his brother, "write to my father, andtell him that I should like to go to sea with Uncle Maurice. "

On hearing of his son's wishes, Mr. Nelson at once wrote to CaptainSuckling. The latter wrote back without delay: "What has poor Horatiodone, who is so weak, that he, above all the rest, should be sent torough it out at sea? But let him come, and the first time we go intoaction, a cannon ball may knock off his head and provide for him atonce. "

This was not very encouraging for a delicate boy of twelve. But Horatiowas not daunted. His father took him to London, and there put him intothe stage coach for Chatham, where the Raisonnable was lying at anchor. 

He arrived at Chatham during the temporary absence of his uncle, sothat there was no friendly voice to greet him when he went on board thebig ship. Homesick and heartsick, he passed some of the most miserabledays of his life on the Raisonnable. The officers treated the sailorswith a harshness bordering on cruelty. This treatment, of course, increased the natural roughness of the sailors; and, altogether, theconditions were such that Horatio's opinion of the Royal Navy was sadlyaltered. 

But in spite of the separation from his brother William, who had beenhis schoolmate and constant companion, and all his other loved ones, the hardships he had to endure as a sailor boy among rough officers androugher men, and his physical weakness, his courage did not fail him. He stuck bravely to his determination to be a sailor. 

Later, the lad went on a voyage to the West Indies, in a merchant shipcommanded by Mr. John Rathbone. During this voyage, his anxiety to risein his profession and his keen powers of observation, which wereconstantly exercised, combined to make him a practical sailor. 

After his return from the West Indies, his love of adventure wasexcited by the news that two ships--the Racehorse and the Carcass--werebeing fitted out for a voyage of discovery to the North Pole. Throughthe influence of Captain Suckling, he secured an appointment ascoxswain, under Captain Lutwidge, who was second in command of theexpedition. 

All went well with the Racehorse and the Carcass until they neared thePolar regions. Then they were becalmed, surrounded with ice, and wedgedin so that they could not move. 

Young as Nelson was, he was put in command of one of the boats sent outto try to find a passage to the open water. While engaged in this workhe was instrumental in saving the crew of another of the boats whichhad been attacked by walruses. 

His most notable adventure during this Polar cruise, however, was afight with a bear. 

One night he stole away from his ship with a companion in pursuit of abear. A fog which had been rising when they left the Carcass soonenveloped them. Between three and four o'clock in the morning, when theweather began to clear, they were sighted by Captain Lutwidge and hisofficers, at some distance from the ship, in conflict with a huge bear. The boys, who had been missed soon after they set out on theiradventure, were at once signaled to return. Nelson's companion urgedhim to obey the signal, and, though their ammunition had given out, helonged to continue the fight. 

"Never mind, " he cried excitedly; "do but let me get a blow at thisfellow with the butt end of my musket, and we shall have him. "

Captain Lutwidge, seeing the boy's danger, --he being separated from thebear only by a narrow chasm in the ice, --fired a gun. This frightenedthe bear away. Nelson then returned to face the consequences of hisdisobedience. 

He was severely reprimanded by his captain for "conduct so unworthy ofthe office he filled. " When asked what motive he had in hunting a bear, he replied, still trembling from the excitement of the encounter, "Sir, I wished to kill the bear that I might carry the skin to my father. "

The expedition finally worked its way out of the ice and sailed forhome. 

Horatio's next voyage was to the East Indies, aboard the Seahorse, oneof the vessels of a squadron under the command of Sir Edward Hughes. His attention to duty attracted the notice of his senior officer, onwhose recommendation he was rated as a midshipman. 

After eighteen months in the trying climate of India, the youth'shealth gave way, and he was sent home in the Dolphin. His physicalweakness affected his spirits. Gloom fastened upon him, and for a timehe was very despondent about his future. 

"I felt impressed, " he says, "with an idea that I should never rise inmy profession. My mind was staggered with a view of the difficulties Ihad to surmount and the little interest I possessed. I could discoverno means of reaching the object of my ambition. After a long and gloomyrevery in which I almost wished myself overboard, a sudden flow ofpatriotism was kindled within me and presented my king and my countryas my patrons. My mind exulted in the idea. 'Well, then, ' I exclaimed, 'I will be a hero, and, confiding in Providence, I will brave everydanger!'"

In that hour Nelson leaped from boyhood to manhood. Thenceforth thepurpose of his life never changed. From that time, as he often saidafterward, "a radiant orb was suspended in his mind's eye, which urgedhim onward to renown. "

His health improved very much during the homeward voyage, and he wassoon able to resume duty again. 

At nineteen he was made second lieutenant of the Lowestoffe; and attwenty he was commander of the Badger. Before he was twenty-one, owinglargely to his courage and presence of mind in face of every danger, and his enthusiasm in his profession, "he had gained that mark, " sayshis biographer, Southey, "which brought all the honors of the servicewithin his reach. "

Pleasing in his address and conversation, always kind and thoughtful inhis treatment of the men and boys under him, Nelson was the best-lovedman in the British navy, --nay, in all England. 

When he was appointed to the command of the Boreas, a ship oftwenty-eight guns, then bound for the Leeward Islands, he had thirtymidshipmen under him. When any of them, at first, showed any timidityabout going up the masts, he would say, by way of encouragement, "I amgoing a race to the masthead, and beg that I may meet you there. " Andagain he would say cheerfully, that "any person was to be pitied whocould fancy there was any danger, or even anything disagreeable, in theattempt. "

"Your Excellency must excuse me for bringing one of my midshipmen withme, " he said to the governor of Barbados, who had invited him to dine. "I make it a rule to introduce them to all the good company I can, asthey have few to look up to besides myself during the time they are atsea. " Was it any wonder that his "middies" almost worshiped him?

This thoughtfulness in small matters is always characteristic of trulygreat, large-souled men. Another distinguishing mark of Nelson'sgreatness was that he ruled by love rather than fear. 

When, at the age of forty-seven, he fell mortally wounded at the battleof Trafalgar, all England was plunged into grief. The crowning victoryof his life had been won, but his country was inconsolable for the lossof the noblest of her naval heroes. 

"The greatest sea victory that the world had ever known was won, " saysW. Clark Russell, "but at such a cost, that there was no man throughoutthe British fleet--there was no man indeed in all England--but wouldhave welcomed defeat sooner than have paid the price of this wonderfulconquest. "

The last words of the hero who had won some of the greatest ofEngland's sea fights were, "Thank God, I have done my duty. "

HOW STANLEY FOUND LIVINGSTONE

In the year 1866 David Livingstone, the great African explorer andmissionary, started on his last journey to Africa. Three years passedaway during which no word or sign from him had reached his friends. Thewhole civilized world became alarmed for his safety. It was feared thathis interest in the savages in the interior of Africa had cost him hislife. 

Newspapers and clergymen in many lands were clamoring for a reliefexpedition to be sent out in search of him. Royal societies, scientificassociations, and the British government were debating what stepsshould be taken to find him. But they were very slow in coming to anyconclusion, and while they were weighing questions and discussingmeasures, an energetic American settled the matter offhand. 

This was James Gordon Bennett, Jr. , manager of the New York Herald andson of James Gordon Bennett, its editor and proprietor. 

Mr. Bennett was in a position which brought him into contact with someof the cleverest and most enterprising young men of his day. From allthose he knew he singled out Henry M. Stanley for the difficult andperilous task of finding Livingstone. 

And who was this young man who was chosen to undertake a work whichrequired the highest qualities of manhood to carry it to success?

Henry M. Stanley, whose baptismal name was John Rowlands, was born ofpoor parents in Wales, in 1840. Being left an orphan at the age ofthree, he was sent to the poorhouse in his native place. There heremained for ten years, and then shipped as a cabin boy in a vesselbound for America. Soon after his arrival in this country, he foundemployment in New Orleans with a merchant named Stanley. Hisintelligence, energy, and ambition won him so much favor with thisgentleman that he adopted him as his son and gave him his name. 

The elder Stanley died while Henry was still a youth. This threw himagain upon his own resources, as he inherited nothing from his adoptedfather, who died without making a will. He next went to California toseek his fortune. He was not successful, however, and at twenty he wasa soldier in the Civil War. When the war was over, he engaged himselfas a correspondent to the New York Herald. 

In this capacity he traveled extensively in the East, doing brilliantwork for his paper. When England went to war with King Theodore ofAbyssinia, he accompanied the English army to Abyssinia, and fromthence wrote vivid descriptive letters to the Herald. The child whoseearly advantages were only such as a Welsh poorhouse afforded, wasalready, through his own unaided efforts, a leader in his profession. He was soon to become a leader in a larger sense. 

At the time Mr. Bennett conceived the idea of sending an expedition insearch of Livingstone, Stanley was in Spain. He had been sent there bythe Herald to report the civil war then raging in that country. He thusdescribes the receipt of Mr. Bennett's message and the eventsimmediately following:--

"I am in Madrid, fresh from the carnage at Valencia. At 10 A. M. Jacopo, at No. --Calle de la Cruz, hands me a telegram; on opening it I find itreads, 'Come to Paris on important business. ' The telegram is fromJames Gordon Bennett, Jr. , the young manager of the New York Herald. 

"Down come my pictures from the walls of my apartments on the secondfloor; into my trunks go my books and souvenirs, my clothes are hastilycollected, some half washed, some from the clothesline half dry, andafter a couple of hours of hasty hard work my portmanteaus are strappedup and labeled for 'Paris. '"

It was late at night when Stanley arrived in Paris. "I went straight tothe 'Grand Hotel, '" he says, "and knocked at the door of Mr. Bennett'sroom. 

"'Come in, ' I heard a voice say. Entering I found Mr. Bennett in bed. 

"'Who are you?' he asked. 

"'My name is Stanley, ' I answered. 

"'Ah, yes! sit down; I have important business on hand for you. 

"'Where do you think Livingstone is?'

"'I really do not know, sir. '

"'Do you think he is alive?'

"'He may be, and he may not be, ' I answered. 

"'Well, I think he is alive, and that he can be found, and I am goingto send you to find him. '

"'What!' said I, 'do you really think I can find Dr. Livingstone? Doyou mean me to go to Central Africa?'

"'Yes, I mean that you shall go and find him wherever you may hear thathe is. .. . Of course you will act according to your own plans and dowhat you think best--BUT FIND LIVINGSTONE. '"

The question of expense coming up, Mr. Bennett said: "Draw a thousandpounds now; and when you have gone through that, draw another thousand;and when that is spent, draw another thousand; and when you havefinished that, draw another thousand, and so on; but, FIND LIVINGSTONE. "

Stanley asked no questions, awaited no further instructions. The twomen parted with a hearty hand clasp. "Good night, and God be with you, "said Bennett. 

"Good night, sir, " returned Stanley. "What it is in the power of humannature to do I will do; and on such an errand as I go upon, God will bewith me. "

The young man immediately began the work of preparation for his greatundertaking. This in itself was a task requiring more than ordinaryjudgment and foresight, but Stanley was equal to the occasion. 

On January 6, 1871, he reached Zanzibar, an important native seaport onthe east coast of Africa. Here the preparations for the journey werecompleted. Soon, with a train composed of one hundred and ninety men, twenty donkeys, and baggage amounting to about six tons, he startedfrom this point for the interior of the continent. 

Then began a journey the dangers and tediousness of which can hardly bedescribed. Stanley and his men were often obliged to wade throughswamps filled with alligators. Crawling on hands and knees, they forcedtheir way through miles of tangled jungle, breathing in as they wentthe sickening odor of decaying vegetables. They were obliged to becontinually on their guard against elephants, lions, hyenas, and otherwild inhabitants of the jungle. Fierce as these were, however, theywere no more to be dreaded than the savage tribes whom they sometimesencountered. Whenever they stopped to rest, they were tormented byflies, white ants, and reptiles, which crawled all over them. 

For months they journeyed on under these conditions. The donkeys haddied from drinking impure water, and some of the men had fallen victimsto disease. 

It was no wonder that the survivors of the expedition--all butStanley--had grown disheartened. Half starved, wasted by sickness andhardships of all kinds, with bleeding feet and torn clothes, some ofthem became mutinous. Stanley's skill as a leader was taxed to theutmost. Alternately coaxing the faint-hearted and punishing theinsubordinate, he continued to lead them on almost in spite ofthemselves. 

So far they had heard nothing of Livingstone, nor had they any clew asto the direction in which they should go. There was no ray of light orhope to cheer them on their way, yet Stanley never for a moment thoughtof giving up the search. 

Once, amid the terrors of the jungle, surrounded by savages and wildanimals, with supplies almost exhausted, and the remnant of hisfollowers in a despairing condition, the young explorer came near beingdiscouraged. 

But he would not give way to any feeling that might lessen his chancesof success, and it was at this crisis he wrote in his journal:--

"No living man shall stop me--only death can prevent me. But death--noteven this; I shall not die--I will not die--I cannot die! Somethingtells me I shall find him and--write it larger--FIND HIM, FIND HIM!Even the words are inspiring. "

Soon after this a caravan passed and gave the expedition news whichrenewed hope: A white man, old, white haired, and sick, had justarrived at Ujiji. 

Stanley and his followers pushed on until they came in sight of Ujiji. Then the order was given to "unfurl the flags and load the guns. "Immediately the Stars and Stripes and the flag of Zanzibar were thrownto the breeze, and the report of fifty guns awakened the echoes. Thenoise startled the inhabitants of Ujiji. They came running in thedirection of the sounds, and soon the expedition was surrounded by acrowd of friendly black men, who cried loudly, "YAMBO, YAMBO, BANA!"which signifies welcome. 

"At this grand moment, " says Stanley, "we do not think of the hundredsof miles we have marched, of the hundreds of hills that we haveascended and descended, of the many forests we have traversed, of thejungle and thickets that annoyed us, of the fervid salt plains thatblistered our feet, of the hot suns that scorched us, nor the dangersand difficulties now happily surmounted. 

"At last the sublime hour has arrived!--our dreams, our hopes andanticipations are now about to be realized! Our hearts and our feelingsare with our eyes, as we peer into the palms and try to make out inwhich hut or house lives the white man with the gray beard we heardabout on the Malagarazi. "

When the uproar had ceased, a voice was heard saluting the leader ofthe expedition in English--"Good morning, sir. "

"Startled at hearing this greeting in the midst of such a crowd ofblack people, " says Stanley, "I turn sharply round in search of theman, and see him at my side, with the blackest of faces, but animatedand joyous--a man dressed in a long white shirt, with a turban ofAmerican sheeting around his head, and I ask, 'Who the mischief areyou?'

"'I am Susi, the servant of Dr. Livingstone, ' said he, smiling, andshowing a gleaming row of teeth. 

"'What! Is Dr. Livingstone here?'

"'Yes, sir. '

"'In this village?'

"'Yes, sir. '

"'Are you sure?'

"'Sure, sure, sir. Why, I leave him just now. '

"'Susi, run, and tell the Doctor I am coming. '"

Susi ran like a madman to deliver the message. Stanley and his menfollowed more slowly. Soon they were gazing into the eyes of the manfor news of whom the whole civilized world was waiting. 

"My heart beat fast, " says Stanley, "but I must not let my face betraymy emotions, lest it shall detract from the dignity of a white manappearing under such extraordinary circumstances. "

The young explorer longed to leap and shout for joy, but he controlledhimself, and instead of embracing Livingstone as he would have liked todo, he grasped his hand, exclaiming, "I thank God, Doctor, that I havebeen permitted to see you. "

"I feel grateful that I am here to welcome you, " was the gentle reply. 

All the dangers through which they had passed, all the privations theyhad endured were forgotten in the joy of this meeting. DoctorLivingstone's years of toil and suspense, during which he had heardnothing from the outside world; Stanley's awful experiences in thejungle, the fact that both men had almost exhausted their supplies; theterrors of open and hidden dangers from men and beasts, sickness, hopedeferred, all were, for the moment, pushed out of mind. Later, eachrecounted his story to the other. 

After a period of rest, the two joined forces and together explored andmade plans for the future. Stanley tried to induce Livingstone toreturn with him. But in vain; the great missionary explorer would notlay down his work. He persevered, literally until death. 

At last the hour of parting came. With the greatest reluctance Stanleygave his men the order, "Right about face. " With a silent farewell, agrasp of the hands, and a look into each other's eyes which said morethan words, the old man and the young man parted forever. 

Livingstone's life work was almost done. Stanley was the man on whoseshoulders his mantle was to fall. The great work he had accomplished infinding Livingstone was the beginning of his career as an Africanexplorer. 

After the death of Livingstone, Stanley determined to take up theexplorer's unfinished work. 

In 1874 he left England at the head of an expedition fitted out by theLondon Daily Telegraph and the New York Herald, and penetrated into thevery heart of Africa. 

He crossed the continent from shore to shore, overcoming on his marchdangers and difficulties compared with which those encountered on hisfirst journey sank into insignificance. He afterward gave an account ofthis expedition in his book entitled, "Darkest Africa. "

Stanley had successfully accomplished one of the great works of theworld. He had opened the way for commerce and Christianity into thevast interior of Africa, which, prior to his discoveries, had beenmarked on the map by a blank space, signifying that it was anunexplored and unknown country. 

On his return the successful explorer found himself famous. Princes andscientific societies vied with one another in honoring him. King EdwardVII of England, who was then Prince of Wales, sent him his personalcongratulations; Humbert, the king of Italy, sent him his portrait; thekhedive of Egypt decorated him with the grand commandership of theOrder of the Medjidie; the Geographical Societies of London, Paris, Italy, and Marseilles sent him their gold medals; while in Berlin, Vienna, and many other large European cities, he was elected anhonorary member of their most learned and most distinguishedassociations. 

What pleased the explorer most of all, though, was the honor paid himby America. "The government of the United States, " he says, "hascrowned my success with its official approval, and the unanimous voteof thanks passed in both houses of the legislature has made me proudfor life of the expedition and its achievements. "

Honored to-day as the greatest explorer of his age, and esteemed alikefor his scholarship and the immense services he has rendered mankind, Sir Henry Morton Stanley, the once friendless orphan lad whose onlyhome was a Welsh poorhouse, may well be proud of the career he hascarved out for himself. 

THE NESTOR OF AMERICAN JOURNALISTS

"I heard that a neighbor three miles off, had borrowed from a stillmore distant neighbor, a book of great interest. I started off, barefoot, in the snow, to obtain the treasure. There were spots of bareground, upon which I would stop to warm my feet. And there were also, along the road, occasional lengths of log fence from which the snow hadmelted, and upon which it was a luxury to walk. The book was at home, and the good people consented, upon my promise that it should beneither torn nor soiled, to lend it to me. In returning with the prize, I was too happy to think of the snow on my naked feet. "

This little incident, related by Thurlow Weed himself, is a sample ofthe means by which he gained that knowledge and power which made himnot only the "Nestor of American Journalists, " but rendered him famousin national affairs as the "American Warwick" or "The King Maker. "

There were no long happy years of schooling for this child of the"common people, " whose father was a struggling teamster and farmer; noprelude of careless, laughing childhood before the stern duties of lifebegan. 

Thurlow Weed was born at Catskill, Greene County, New York, in 1797, aperiod in the history of our republic when there were very feweducational opportunities for the children of the poor. "I cannotascertain, " he says, "how much schooling I got at Catskill, probablyless than a year, certainly not a year and a half, and this was when Iwas not more than five or six years old. "

At an early age Thurlow learned to bend circumstances to his will and, ground by poverty, shut in by limitations as he was, even whilecontributing by his earning to the slender resources of the family, hegathered knowledge and pleasure where many would have found but thornsand bitterness. 

How simply he tells his story, as though his hardships and struggleswere of no account, and how clearly the narrative mirrors the bravelittle fellow of ten!

"My first employment, " he says, "was in sugar making, an occupation towhich I became much attached. I now look with great pleasure upon thedays and nights passed in the sap-bush. The want of shoes (which, asthe snow was deep, was no small privation) was the only drawback uponmy happiness. I used, however, to tie pieces of an old rag carpetaround my feet, and got along pretty well, chopping wood and gatheringup sap. "

During this period he traveled, barefoot, to borrow books, whereverthey could be found among the neighboring farmers. With his body in thesugar house, and his head thrust out of doors, "where the fat pine wasblazing, " the young enthusiast devoured with breathless interest a"History of the French Revolution, " and the few other well-worn volumeswhich had been loaned him. 

Later, after he left the farm, we see the future journalist workingsuccessively as cabin boy and deck hand on a Hudson River steamboat, and cheerfully sending home the few dollars he earned. While employedin this capacity, he earned his first "quarter" in New York by carryinga trunk for one of the passengers from the boat to a hotel on BroadStreet. 

But his boyish ambition was to be a journalist, and, after a year ofseafaring life, he found his niche in the office of a small weeklynewspaper, the Lynx, published at Onondaga Hollow, New York. 

So, at fourteen, owing to his indomitable will and perseverance, whichconquered the most formidable obstacles, Thurlow Weed started on thecareer in which, despite the rugged road he still had to travel, hebuilt up a noble character and won international fame. 

THE MAN WITH AN IDEA

It is February, 1492. A poor man, with gray hair, disheartened anddejected, is going out of the gate from the beautiful Alhambra, inGranada, on a mule. Ever since he was a boy, he has been haunted withthe idea that the earth is round. He has believed that the pieces ofcarved wood, picked up four hundred miles at sea, and the bodies of twomen, unlike any other human beings known, found on the shores ofPortugal, have drifted from unknown lands in the west. But his lasthope of obtaining aid for a voyage of discovery has failed. King Johnof Portugal, under pretense of helping him, has secretly sent out anexpedition of his own. His friends have abandoned him; he has beggedbread; has drawn maps to keep him from starving, and lost his wife; hisfriends have called him crazy, and have forsaken him. The council ofwise men, called by Ferdinand and Isabella, ridicule his theory ofreaching the east by sailing west. "But the sun and moon are round, "replies Columbus, "why not the earth?" "If the earth is a ball, whatholds it up?" the wise men ask. "What holds the sun and moon up?"Columbus replies. 

A learned doctor asks, "How can men walk with their heads hanging down, and their feet up, like flies on a ceiling?" "How can trees grow withtheir roots in the air?" "The water would run out of the ponds, and weshould fall off, " says another. "The doctrine is contrary to the Bible, which says, 'The heavens are stretched out like a tent. '" "Of course itis flat; it is rank heresy to say it is round. "

He has waited seven long years. He has had his last interview, hopingto get assistance from Ferdinand and Isabella after they drive theMoors out of Spain. Isabella was almost persuaded, but finally refused. He is now old, his last hope has fled; the ambition of his life hasfailed. He hears a voice calling him. He looks back and sees an oldfriend pursuing him on a horse, and beckoning him to come back. He sawColumbus turn away from the Alhambra, disheartened, and he hastens tothe queen and tells her what a great thing it would be, at a triflingexpense, if what the sailor believes should prove true. "It shall bedone, " Isabella replies. "I will pledge my jewels to raise the money;call him back. " Columbus turns back, and with him turns the world. 

Three frail vessels, little larger than fishing boats, the Santa Maria, the Pinta, and the Nina, set sail from Palos, August 3, 1492, for anunknown land, upon untried seas; the sailors would not volunteer, butwere forced to go by the king. Friends ridiculed them for following acrazy man to certain destruction, for they believed the sea beyond theCanaries was boiling hot. "What if the earth is round?" they said, "andyou sail down the other side, how can you get back again? Can shipssail up hill?"

Only three days out, the Pinto's signal of distress is flying; she hasbroken her rudder. September 8 they discover a broken mast covered withseaweed floating in the sea. Terror seizes the sailors, but Columbuscalms their fears with pictures of gold and precious stones of India. September 13, two hundred miles west of the Canaries, Columbus ishorrified to find that the compass, his only guide, is failing him, andno longer points to the north star. No one had yet dreamed that theearth turns on its axis. The sailors are ready for mutiny, but Columbustells them the north star is not exactly in the north. October 1 theyare two thousand three hundred miles from land, though Columbus tellsthe sailors one thousand seven hundred. Columbus discovers a bush inthe sea, with berries on it, and soon they see birds and a piece ofcarved wood. At sunset, the crew kneel upon the deck and chant thevesper hymn. It is sixty-seven days since they left Palos, and theyhave sailed nearly three thousand miles, only changing their courseonce. At ten o'clock at night they see a light ahead, but it vanishes. Two o'clock in the morning, October 12, Roderigo de Friana, on watch atthe masthead of the Pinta, shouts, "Land! land! land!" The sailors arewild with joy, and throw themselves on their knees before Columbus, andask forgiveness. They reach the shore, and the hero of the world'sgreatest expedition unfolds the flag of Spain and takes possession ofthe new world. Perhaps no greater honor was ever paid man than Columbusreceived on his return to Ferdinand and Isabella. Yet, after his secondvisit to the land he discovered, he was taken back to Spain in chains, and finally died in poverty and neglect; while a pickle dealer ofSeville, who had never risen above second mate, on a fishing vessel, Amerigo Vespucci, gave his name to the new world. Amerigo's name wasput on an old chart or sketch to indicate the point of land where helanded, five years after Columbus discovered the country, and thiscrept into print by accident. 

"BERNARD OF THE TUILERIES"

Opposite the entrance to the Sevres Museum in the old town of Sevres, in France, stands a handsome bronze statue of Bernard Palissy, thepotter. Within the museum are some exquisite pieces of pottery known as"Palissy ware. " They are specimens of the art of Palissy, who spent thebest years of his life toiling to discover the mode of making whiteenamel. 

The story of his trials and sufferings in seeking to learn the secret, and of his final triumph over all difficulties, is an inspiring one. 

Born in the south of France, as far back as the year 1509, BernardPalissy did not differ much from an intelligent, high-spirited Americanboy of the twentieth century. His parents were poor, and he had few ofthe advantages within the reach of the humblest child in the UnitedStates to-day. In spite of poverty, he was cheerful, light hearted, andhappy in his great love for nature, which distinguished him all throughlife. The forest was his playground, his companions the birds, insects, and other living things that made their home there. 

From the first, Nature was his chief teacher. It was from her, and heralone, he learned the lessons that in after years made him famous bothas a potter and a scientist. The habit of observation seemed natural tohim, for without suggestions from books or older heads, his eyes andears noticed all that the nature student of our day is drilled intoobserving. 

The free, outdoor life of the forest helped to give the boy thestrength of mind and body which afterward enabled him, in spite of themost discouraging conditions, to pursue his ideal. He was taught how toread and write, and from his father learned how to paint on glass. Fromhim he also learned the names and some of the properties of theminerals employed in painting glass. All the knowledge that in afteryears made him an artist, a scientist, and a writer, was the result ofhis unaided study of nature. To books he was indebted for only thesmallest part of what he knew. 

Happy and hopeful, sunshiny of face and disposition, Bernard grew fromchildhood to youth. Then, when he was about eighteen, there came intohis heart a longing to try his fortune in the great world which laybeyond his forest home. Like most country-bred boys of his age, he feltthat he had grown too large for the parent nest and must try his wingselsewhere. In his case there was, indeed, little to induce an ambitiousboy to stay at home. The trade of glass painting, which in previousyears had been a profitable one, had at that time fallen somewhat outof favor, and there was not enough work to keep father and son busy. 

When he shouldered his scanty wallet and bade farewell to father andmother, and the few friends and neighbors he knew in the stragglingforest hamlet, Bernard Palissy closed the first chapter of his life. The second was a long period of travel and self-education. 

He wandered through the forest of Ardennes, making observations andcollecting specimens of minerals, plants, reptiles, and insects. Hespent some years in the upper Pyrenees, at Tarbes. From Antwerp in theeast he bent his steps to Brest, in the most westerly part of Brittany, and from Montpellier to Nismes he traveled across France. During hiswanderings he supported himself by painting on glass, portrait painting(which he practiced after a fashion), surveying, and planning sites forhouses and gardens. In copying or inventing patterns for paintedwindows, he had acquired a knowledge of geometry and considerable skillin the use of a rule and compass. His love of knowledge for its ownsake made him follow up the study of geometry, as far as he couldpursue it, and hence his skill as a surveyor. 

At this time young Palissy had no other object in life than to learn. His eager, inquiring mind was ever on the alert. Wherever his travelsled him, he sought information of men and nature, always finding thelatter his chief instructor. He painted and planned that he might liveto probe her secrets. But the time was fast approaching when a newinterest should come into his life and overshadow all others. 

After ten or twelve years of travel, he married and settled in Sainteswhere he pursued, as his services were required, the work of glasspainter and surveyor. Before long he grew dissatisfied with the dullroutine of his daily life. He felt that he ought to do more than make aliving for his wife and children. There were two babies now to be caredfor as well as his wife, and he could not shoulder his wallet, as inthe careless days of his boyhood, and wander away in search ofknowledge or fortune. 

About this time an event happened which changed his whole life. He wasshown a beautiful cup of Italian manufacture. I give in his own words adescription of the cup, and the effect the sight of it had on him. "Anearthen cup, " he says, "turned and enameled with so much beauty, thatfrom that time I entered into controversy with my own thoughts, recalling to mind several suggestions that some people had made to mein fun, when I was painting portraits. Then, seeing that these werefalling out of request in the country where I dwelt, and that glasspainting was also little patronized, I began to think that if I shoulddiscover how to make enamels, I could make earthen vessels and otherthings very prettily, because God has gifted me with some knowledge ofdrawing. "

His ambition was fired at once. A definite purpose formed itself in hismind. He knew nothing whatever of pottery. No man in France knew thesecret of enameling, which made the Italian cup so beautiful, andPalissy had not the means to go to Italy, where he probably could havelearned it. He resolved to study the nature and properties of clays, and not to rest until he had discovered the secret of the white enamel. Delightful visions filled his imagination. He thought within himselfthat he would become the prince of potters, and would provide his wifeand children with all the luxuries that money could buy. "Thereafter, "he wrote, "regardless of the fact that I had no knowledge of clays, Ibegan to seek for the enamels as a man gropes in the dark. "

Palissy was a young man when he began his search for the enamel; he waspast middle life when his labors were finally rewarded. Groping like aman in the dark, as he himself said, he experimented for years withclays and chemicals, but with small success. He built with his ownhands a furnace at the back of his little cottage in which to carry onhis experiments. At first his enthusiasm inspired his wife andneighbors with the belief that he would succeed in his efforts. Buttime went on, and as one experiment after another failed or was onlypartially successful, one and all lost faith in him. He had no friendor helper to buoy him up under his many disappointments. Even his wifereproached him for neglecting his regular work and reducing herself andher children to poverty and want, while he wasted his time and strengthin chasing a dream. His neighbors jeered at him as a madman, one whoput his plain duty aside for the gratification of what seemed to theirdull minds merely a whim. His poor wife could hardly be blamed forreproaching him. She could neither understand nor sympathize with hishopes and fears, while she knew that if he followed his trade, he couldat least save his family from want. It was a trying time for both ofthem. But who ever heard tell of an artist, inventor, discoverer, orgenius of any kind being deterred by poverty, abuse, ridicule, orobstacles of any kind from the pursuit of an ideal!

After many painful efforts, the poor glass painter had succeeded inproducing a substance which he believed to be white enamel. He spreadit on a number of earthenware pots which he had made, and placed themin his furnace. The extremities to which he was reduced to supply heatto the furnace are set forth in his own words: "Having, " he says, "covered the new pieces with the said enamel, I put them into thefurnace, still keeping the fire at its height; but thereupon occurredto me a new misfortune which caused great mortification, namely, thatthe wood having failed me, I was forced to burn the palings whichmaintained the boundaries of my garden; which being burnt also, I wasforced to burn the tables and the flooring of my house, to cause themelting of the second composition. I suffered an anguish that I cannotspeak, for I was quite exhausted and dried up by the heat of thefurnace. Further, to console me, I was the object of mockery; and eventhose from whom solace was due ran crying through the town that I wasburning my floors, and in this way my credit was taken from me, and Iwas regarded as a madman. 

"Others said that I was laboring to make false money, which was ascandal under which I pined away, and slipped with bowed head throughthe streets like a man put to shame. No one gave me consolation, but, on the contrary, men jested at me, saying, 'It was right for him to dieof hunger, seeing that he had left off following his trade!' All thesethings assailed my ears when I passed through the street; but for allthat, there still remained some hope which encouraged and sustained me, inasmuch as the last trials had turned out tolerably well; andthereafter I thought that I knew enough to get my own living, althoughI was far enough from that (as you shall hear afterward). "

This latest experiment filled him with joy, for he had at lastdiscovered the secret of the enamel. But there was yet much to belearned, and several years more of extreme poverty and suffering had tobe endured before his labors were rewarded with complete success. Butit came at last in overflowing measure, as it almost invariably does tothose who are willing to work and suffer privation and persevere to theend. 

His work as a potter brought Palissy fame and riches. At the invitationof Catherine de' Medici, wife of King Henry II of France, he removed toParis. He established a workshop in the vicinity of the royal Palace ofthe Tuileries, and was thereafter known as "Bernard of the Tuileries. "He was employed by the king and queen and some of the greatest noblesof France to embellish their palaces and gardens with the products ofhis beautiful art. 

Notwithstanding his lack of schooling, Bernard Palissy was one of themost learned men of his day. He founded a Museum of Natural History, wrote valuable books on natural science, and for several yearsdelivered lectures on the same subject. His lectures were attended bythe most advanced scholars of Paris, who were astonished at the extentand accuracy of his knowledge of nature. But he was as modest as he waswise and good, and when people wondered at his learning, he would replywith the most unaffected simplicity, "I have had no other book than thesky and the earth, known to all. "

No more touching story of success, in spite of great difficulties, thanBernard Palissy's has been written. It is bad to think that after theterrible trials which he endured for the sake of his art, his lastyears also should have been clouded by misfortune. During the civil warwhich raged in France between the Huguenots and the Catholics, he was, on account of his religious views, imprisoned in the Bastile, where hedied in 1589, at the age of eighty. 

HOW THE "LEARNED BLACKSMITH" FOUND TIME

"The loss of an hour, " says the philosopher, Leibnitz, "is the loss ofa part of life. " This is a truth that has been appreciated by most menwho have risen to distinction, --who have been world benefactors. Thelives of those great moral heroes put to shame the laggard youth ofto-day, who so often grumbles: "I have no time. If I didn't have towork all day, I could accomplish something. I could read and educatemyself. But if a fellow has to grub away ten or twelve hours out of thetwenty-four, what time is left to do anything for one's self?"

How much spare time had Elihu Burritt, "the youngest of many brethren, "as he himself quaintly puts it, born in a humble home in New Britain, Connecticut, reared amid toil and poverty? Yet, during his father'slong illness, and after his death, when Elihu was but a lad in histeens, with the family partially dependent upon the work of his hands, he found time, --if only a few moments, --at the end of a fourteen-hourday of labor, for his books. 

While working at his trade as a blacksmith, he solved problems inarithmetic and algebra while his irons were heating. Over the forgealso appeared a Latin grammar and a Greek lexicon; and, while withsturdy blows the ambitious youth of sixteen shaped the iron on theanvil, he fixed in his mind conjugations and declensions. 

How did this man, born nearly a century ago, possessing none of theadvantages within reach of the poorest and humblest boy of to-day, become one of the brightest ornaments in the world of letters, a leaderin the reform movements of his generation?

Apparently no more talented than his nine brothers and sisters, byimproving every opportunity he could wring from a youth of unremittingtoil, his love for knowledge grew with what it fed upon, and carriedhim to undreamed-of heights. In palaces and council halls, the words ofthe "Learned Blacksmith" were listened to with the closest attentionand deference. 

Read the life of Elihu Burritt, and you will be ashamed to grumble thatyou have no time--no chance for self-improvement. 

THE LEGEND OF WILLIAM TELL

"Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again! I hold to you the handsyou first beheld, to show they still are free. Methinks I hear a spiritin your echoes answer me, and bid your tenant welcome to his homeagain! O sacred forms, how proud you look! how high you lift your headsinto the sky! how huge you are, how mighty, and how free! Ye are thethings that tower, that shine; whose smile makes glad--whose frown isterrible; whose forms, robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear of awedivine. Ye guards of liberty, I'm with you once again! I call to youwith all my voice! I hold my hands to you to show they still are free. I rush to you as though I could embrace you!"

What schoolboy or schoolgirl is not familiar with those stirring linesfrom "William Tell's Address to His Native Mountains, " by J. M. Knowles? And the story of William Tell, --is it not dear to every heartthat loves liberty? Though modern history declares it to be purelymythical, its popularity remains unaffected. It will live forever inthe traditions of Switzerland, dear to the hearts of her people astheir native mountains, and even more full of interest to the strangerthan authentic history. 

"His image [Tell's], " says Lamartine, "with those of his wife andchildren, are inseparably connected with the majestic, rural, andsmiling landscapes of Helvetia, the modern Arcadia of Europe. As oftenas the traveler visits these peculiar regions; as often as theunconquered summits of Mont Blanc, St. Gothard, and the Rigi, presentthemselves to his eyes in the vast firmament as the ever-enduringsymbols of liberty; whenever the lake of the Four Cantons presents avessel wavering on the blue surface of its waters; whenever the cascadebursts in thunder from the heights of the Splugen, and shivers itselfupon the rocks like tyranny against free hearts; whenever the ruins ofan Austrian fortress darken with the remains of frowning walls theround eminences of Uri or Claris; and whenever a calm sunbeam gilds onthe declivity of a village the green velvet of the meadows where theherds are feeding to the tinkling of bells and the echo of the Ranz desVaches--so often the imagination traces in all these varied scenes thehat on the summit of the pole--the archer condemned to aim at the appleplaced on the head of his own child--the mark hurled to the ground, transfixed by the unerring arrow--the father chained to the bottom ofthe boat, subduing night, the storm, and his own indignation, to savehis executioner--and finally, the outraged husband, threatened with theloss of all he holds most dear, yielding to the impulse of nature, andin his turn striking the murderer with a deathblow. "

The story which tradition hands down as the origin of the freedom ofSwitzerland dates back to the beginning of the fourteenth century. Atthat time Switzerland was under the sovereignty of the emperor ofGermany, who ruled over Central Europe. Count Rudolph of Hapsburg, aSwiss by birth, who had been elected to the imperial throne in 1273, made some efforts to save his countrymen from the oppression of aforeign yoke. His son, Albert, Archduke of Austria, who succeeded himin 1298, inherited none of his sympathies for Switzerland. On hisaccession to the throne Albert resolved to curtail the liberties stillenjoyed by the inhabitants of some of the cantons, and to bend thewhole of the Swiss people to his will. 

The mountaineers of the cantons of Schwytz, Uri, and Unterwaldenrecognized no authority but that of the emperor; while the peasants ofthe neighboring valleys were at the mercy of local tyrants--the greatnobles and their allies. 

In order to carry out his project of subjecting all to the same yoke, Albert of Austria appointed governors to rule over the semi-freeprovinces or cantons. These governors, who bore the official title ofBailiffs of the Emperor, exercised absolute authority over the people. Men, women, and children were at their mercy, and were treated as merechattels--the property of their rulers. Insult and outrage were heapedupon them until their lives became almost unendurable. 

An instance of the manner in which these petty tyrants used theirauthority is related of the bailiff Landenberg, who ruled overUnterwalden. 

For some trumped-up offense of which a young peasant, named Arnold ofMelcthal, was accused, his oxen were confiscated by Landenberg. Thedeputy sent to seize the animals, which Landenberg really coveted forhis own, said sneeringly to Arnold, "If peasants wish for bread, theymust draw the plow themselves. " Roused to fury by this taunt, Arnoldattempted to resist the seizure of his property, and in so doing brokean arm of one of the deputy's men. He then fled to the mountains; buthe could not hide himself from the vengeance of Landenberg. Thepeasant's aged father was arrested by order of the bailiff, and hiseyes put out in punishment for his son's offense. "That puncture, " saysan old chronicler, "went so deep into many a heart that numbersresolved to die rather than leave it unrequited. "

But the crudest and most vindictive of the Austrian or German bailiffs, as they were interchangeably called, was one Hermann Gessler. He hadbuilt himself a fortress, which he called "Uri's Restraint, " and therehe felt secure from all attacks. 

This man was the terror of the whole district. His name was a synonymfor all that was base, brutal, and tyrannical. Neither the property, the lives, nor the honor of the people were respected by him. Hishatred and contempt for the peasants were so great that the leastsemblance of prosperity among them aroused his ire. 

One day while riding with an armed escort through the canton ofSchwytz, he noticed a comfortable-looking dwelling which was beingbuilt by one Werner Stauffacher. Turning to his followers, he cried, "Is it not shameful that miserable serfs like these should be permittedto build such houses when huts would be too good for them?" "Let thisbe finished, " said his chief attendant; "we shall then sculpture overthe gate the arms of the emperor, and a little time will show whetherthe builder has the audacity to dispute possession with us. " The answerpleased Gessler, who replied, "Thou art right, " and, planning futurevengeance, he passed on with his escort. 

The wife of Stauffacher, who had been standing near the new building, but concealed from Gessler and his men, heard the conversation, andreported it to her husband. The latter, filled with indignation, without uttering a word, arose and started for the home of hisfather-in-law, Walter Furst, in the village of Attinghaussen. 

On his arrival Staffaucher was cordially welcomed by his father-in-law, who placed refreshments before him, and waited for him to explain theobject of his visit. Pushing aside the food, he said, "I have made avow never again to taste wine or swallow meat until we cease to beslaves. " Stauffacher then related what had happened. Furst's anger waskindled by the recital. Both men were roused to such a pitch that theyresolved, then and there, to free themselves and their countrymen fromthe chains which bound them, or die in the attempt. They conversed farinto the night, making plans for the gaining of national independence. Then they sought out in his hiding-place Arnold of Melchthal, the youngpeasant whom Landenberg had so cruelly persecuted. In him they found, as they expected, an ardent supporter of their plans. 

The three conspirators, Stauffacher, Furst, and Melchthal, representeddifferent cantons; one belonging to Schwytz, another to Uri, and thethird to Unterwalden. They hoped to form a league and unite the threecantons against the power of Austria. In pursuance of their plans, eachpledged himself to select from among the most persecuted and the mostdaring in their respective cantons ten others to join them in the causeof liberty. 

On the night of November 7, or 17 (the date is variously given), in theyear 1307, the confederates met together in a secluded mountain spotcalled Rutli. There they bound themselves by an oath, the terms ofwhich embodied their purpose: "We swear in the presence of God, beforewhom kings and people are equal, to live or die for ourfellow-countrymen; to undertake and sustain all in common; neither tosuffer injustice nor to commit injury; to respect the rights andproperty of the Count of Hapsburg; to do no violence to the imperialbailiffs, but to put an end to their tyranny. " They fixed upon January1, 1308, as the day for a general uprising. 

Events were gradually shaping themselves for the appearance of WilliamTell on the scene. Up to this time his name does not appear in theannals of his country. The bold peasant of Uri was so little prominentamong his countrymen that, according to some versions of the legend, although a son-in-law of Walter Furst, he had not been chosen among thethirty conspirators summoned to the meeting at Rutli. This, however, iscontradicted by another, which asserts that he was "one of theoath-bound men of Rutli. "

The various divergences in the different versions of the legend do notaffect its main features, on which all the chroniclers are agreed. Itwas the crowning insult to his country which indisputably brought Tellinto prominence and made his name forever famous. 

Gessler's hatred of the people daily increased, and was constantlyshowing itself in every form of petty tyranny that a mean and wickednature could devise. He noticed the growing discontent among thepeasantry, but instead of trying to allay it, he determined tohumiliate them still more. For this purpose he had a pole, surmountedby the ducal cap of Austria, erected in the market square of thevillage of Altdorf, and issued a command that all who passed it shouldbow before the symbol of imperial rule. Guards were placed by the polewith orders to make prisoners of all who refused to pay homage to theducal cap. 

William Tell, a bold hunter and skillful boatman of Uri, passing by oneday, with his little son, Walter, refused to bend his knee before thesymbol of foreign oppression. He was seized at once by the guards andcarried before the bailiff. 

There is considerable contradiction at this point as to whether Tellwas at once carried before the bailiff or bound to the pole, where heremained, guarded by the soldiers, until the bailiff, returning thesame day from a hunting expedition, appeared upon the scene. Schiller, in his drama of "William Tell, " adopts the latter version of the story. 

According to the drama, Tell is represented as being bound to the pole. In a short time he is surrounded by friends and neighbors. Among themare his father-in-law, Walter Furst, Werner Stauffacher, and Arnold ofMelchthal. They advance to rescue the prisoner. The guards cry in aloud voice: "Revolt! Rebellion! Treason! Sedition! Help! Protect theagents of the law!"

Gessler and his party hear the cries, and rush to the support of theguards. Gessler cries in a loud authoritative voice: "Wherefore is thisassembly of people? Who called for help? What does all this mean? Idemand to know the cause of this!"

Then, addressing himself particularly to one of the guards and pointingto Tell, he says: "Stand forward! Who art thou, and why dost thou holdthat man a prisoner?"

"Most mighty lord, " replies the guard, "I am one of your soldiersplaced here as a sentinel over that hat. I seized this man in the actof disobedience, for refusing to salute it. I was about to carry him toprison in compliance with your orders, and the populace were preparingto rescue him by force. "

After questioning Tell, whose answers are not satisfactory, the bailiffpronounces sentence upon him. The sentence is that he shall shoot at anapple placed on the head of his little son, Walter, and if he fails tohit the mark he shall die. 

"My lord, " cries the agonized parent; "what horrible command is thisyou lay upon me? What! aim at a mark placed on the head of my dearchild? No, no, it is impossible that such a thought could enter yourimagination. In the name of the God of mercy, you cannot seriouslyimpose that trial on a father. "

"Thou shalt aim at an apple placed on the head of thy son. I will and Icommand it, " repeats the tyrant. 

"I! William Tell! aim with my own crossbow at the head of my ownoffspring! I would rather die a thousand deaths. "

"Thou shall shoot, or assuredly thou diest with thy son!"

"Become the murderer of my child! My lord, you have no son--you cannothave the feelings of a father's heart!"

Gessler's friends interfere in behalf of the unhappy father, and pleadfor mercy. But all appeal is in vain. The tyrant is determined oncarrying out his sentence. 

The father and son are placed at a distance of eighty paces apart. Anapple is placed on the boy's head, and the father is commanded to hitthe mark. He hesitates and trembles. 

"Why dost thou hesitate?" questions his persecutor. "Thou hast deserveddeath, and I could compel thee to undergo the punishment; but in myclemency I place thy fate in thy own skillful hands. He who is themaster of his destiny cannot complain that his sentence is a severeone. Thou art proud of thy steady eye and unerring aim; now, hunter, isthe moment to prove thy skill. The object is worthy of thee--the prizeis worth contending for. To strike the center of a target is anordinary achievement; but the true master of his art is he who isalways certain, and whose heart, hand, and eye are firm and steadyunder every trial. "

At length Tell nerves himself for the ordeal, raises his bow, and takesaim at the target on his son's head. Before firing, however, heconcealed a second arrow under his vest. His movement did not escapeGessler's notice. 

The marksman fires. The apple falls from his boy's head, cleft in twainby the arrow. 

Even Gessler is loud in his admiration of Tell's skill. "By heaven, " hecries, "he has clove the apple exactly in the center. Let us dojustice; it is indeed a masterpiece of skill. "

Tell's friends congratulate him. He is about to set out for his homewith the child who has been saved to him from the very jaws of death asit were. But Gessler stays him. 

"Thou hast concealed a second arrow in thy bosom, " he says, sternlyaddressing Tell. "What didst thou intend to do with it?" Tell repliesthat such is the custom of all hunters. 

Gessler is not satisfied and urges him to confess his real motive. "Speak truly and frankly, " he says; "say what thou wilt, I promise theethy life. To what purpose didst thou destine the second arrow?"

Tell can no longer restrain his indignation, and, fixing his eyessteadily on Gessler, he answers "Well then, my lord, since you assuremy life, I will speak the truth without reserve. If I had struck mybeloved child, with the second arrow I would have transpierced thyheart. Assuredly that time I should not have missed my mark. "

"Villain!" exclaims Gessler, "I have promised thee life upon myknightly word; I will keep my pledge. But since I know thee now, andthy rebellious heart, I will remove thee to a place where thou shaltnever more behold the light of sun or moon. Thus only shall I besheltered from thy arrows. "

He orders the guards to seize and bind Tell, saying, "I will myself atonce conduct him to Kussnacht. "

The fortress of Kussnacht was situated on the summit of Mount Rigibetween Lake Lucerne, or the Lake of the Four Cantons as it issometimes called, and Lake Zug. It was reached by crossing Lake Lucerne. 

The prisoner was placed bound in the bottom of a boat, and with hisguards, the rowers, an inexperienced pilot, and Gessler in command, theboat was headed for Kussnacht. 

When about halfway across the lake a sudden and violent stormoverwhelmed the party. They were in peril of their lives. The rowersand pilot were panic-stricken, and powerless in face of the danger thatthreatened them. 

Tell's fame as a boatman was as widespread as that of his skill as anarcher. The rowers cried aloud in their terror that he was the only manin Switzerland that could save them from death. Gessler immediatelycommanded him to be released from his bonds and given the helm. 

Tell succeeded in guiding the vessel to the shore. Then seizing his bowand arrows, which his captors had thrown beside him, he sprang ashoreat a point known as "Tell's Leap. " The boat, rebounding, after heleaped from it was again driven out on the lake before any of theremainder of its occupants could effect a landing. After a time, however, the fury of the storm abated, and they reached the shore insafety. 

In the meantime Tell had concealed himself in a defile in the mountainthrough which Gessler would have to pass on his way to Kussnacht. Therehe lay in wait for his persecutor who followed in hot pursuit. 

Vowing vengeance as he went, Gessler declared that if the fugitive didnot give himself up to justice, every day that passed by should costhim the life of his wife or one of his children. While the tyrant wasyet speaking, an arrow shot by an unerring hand pierced his heart. Tellhad taken vengeance into his own hands. 

The death of Gessler was the signal for a general uprising. Theoath-bound men of Rutli saw that this was their great opportunity. Theycalled to their countrymen to follow them to freedom or death. 

Gessler's crowning act of tyranny--his inhuman punishment of Tell--hadroused the spirit of rebellion in the hearts of even the meekest andmost submissive of the peasants. Gladly, then, did they respond to thecall of the leaders of the insurrection. 

The legend says that on New Year's Eve, 1308, Stauffacher, with achosen band of followers, climbed the mountain which led toLandenberg's fortress castle of Rotzberg. There they were assisted byan inmate of the castle, a young girl whose lover was among the rebels. She threw a rope out of one of the windows of the castle, and by it hercountrymen climbed one after another into the castle. They seized thebailiff, Landenberg, and confined him in one of the dungeons of his owncastle. Next day the conspirators were reinforced by another party whogained entrance to the castle by means of a clever ruse. Landenberg andhis men were given their freedom by the peasants on condition that theywould quit Switzerland forever. 

The castle of Uri was attacked and taken possession of by Walter Furstand William Tell, while other strongholds were captured by Arnold ofMelchthal and his associates. 

Bonfires blazed all over the country. The dawn of Switzerland's freedomhad appeared. The reign of tyranny was doomed. William Tell was thehero of the hour, and ever since his name has been enshrined in thehearts of his countrymen as the watchword of their liberties. Even tothis day, as history tells us, the Swiss peasant cherishes the beliefthat "Tell and the three men of Rutli are asleep in the mountains, butwill awake to the rescue of their land should tyranny ever againenchain it. "

Lamartine, to whose story of William Tell the writer is indebted, commenting on the legend says: "The artlessness of this historyresembles a poem; it is a pastoral song in which a single drop of bloodis mingled with the dew upon a leaf or a tuft of grass. Providenceseems thus to delight in providing for every free community, as thefounder of their independence, a fabulous or actual hero, conformableto the local situation, manners, and character of each particular race. To a rustic, pastoral people, like the Swiss, is given for theirliberator a noble peasant; to a proud, aspiring race, such as theAmericans, an honest soldier. Two distinct symbols, standing erect bythe cradles of the two modern liberties of the world to personify theiropposite natures: on the one hand Tell, with his arrow and the apple;on the other, Washington, with his sword and the law. "

"WESTWARD HO!"

When the current serves, the unseen monitor that directs our affairsbids us step aboard our craft, and, with hand firmly grasping the helm, steer boldly for the distant goal. 

Philip D. Armour, the open-handed, large-hearted merchant prince, whohas left a standing memorial to his benevolence in the Armour Instituteat Chicago, heard the call to put to sea when in his teens. 

It came during the gold fever, which raged with such intensity from1849 to 1851, when the wildest stories were afloat of the treasuresthat were daily being dug out of the earth in California. The brain ofthe sturdy youth, whose Scotch and Puritan blood tingled for somebroader field than the village store and his father's farm inStockbridge, New York, was haunted by the tales of adventure andfortune wafted across the continent from the new El Dorado. "I broodedover the difference, " he says, "between tossing hay in the hot sun anddigging gold by handfuls, until, one day, I threw down the pitchfork, went to the house, and told mother that I had quit that kind of work. "

Armour was nineteen years old when he determined to seek his fortune inCalifornia. His determination once formed, he lost no time in carryingit out. As much of the journey across the plains was to be made onfoot, he first provided himself with a pair of stout boots. Then hepacked his extra clothing in an old carpetbag, and with a light heartbade his family good-by. 

He had induced a young friend, Calvin Gilbert, to accompany him in hissearch for fortune. The two youths joined the motley crowd ofadventurers who were flocking from all quarters to the Land of Promise, and set out on their journey. 

Tramping over the plains, crossing rivers in tow-boats and ferryboats, and riding in trains and on wagons when they could, the adventurers, after many weary months, reached their destination. During the journeyyoung Armour became sick, but was tenderly nursed back to health by hiscompanion. 

"I had scarcely any money when I arrived at the gold fields, " saidArmour, "but I struck right out and found a place where I could dig, and in a little time I struck pay dirt. "

He entered into partnership with a Mr. Croarkin, and, withcharacteristic energy, kept digging and taking his turn at the rudehousekeeping in the shanty which he and his partner shared. "Croarkinwould cook one week, " he says, "and I the next, and we would have aclean-up Sunday morning We baked our own bread, and kept a few hens, too, which supplied us with fresh eggs. "

The young gold hunter, however, did not find nuggets as "plentiful asblackberries, " but he found within himself that which led him to abonanza far exceeding his wildest dreams of "finds" in the gold fields. 

He discovered his business ability; he learned how to economize, how torely upon himself, even to the extent of baking his own bread. 

THREE GREAT AMERICAN SONGS AND THEIR AUTHORS

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER

"Poetry and music, " says Sir John Lubbock, "unite in song. From theearliest ages song has been the sweet companion of labor. The rudechant of the boatman floats upon the water, the shepherd sings upon thehill, the milkmaid in the dairy, the plowman in the field. Every trade, every occupation, every act and scene of life, has long had its ownespecial music. The bride went to her marriage, the laborer to hiswork, the old man to his last long rest, each with appropriate andimmemorial music. "

It is strange that Lubbock did not mention specifically the power ofmusic in inspiring the soldier as he marches to the defense of hiscountry, or in arousing the spirit of patriotism and kindling the loveof country, whether in peace or war, in every bosom. "Let me make thesongs of a country, " Fletcher of Saltoun has well said, "and I care notwho makes its laws. "

Not to know the words and the air of the national anthem or chiefpatriotic songs of one's country is considered little less than adisgrace. To know something of their authors and the occasion whichinspired them, or the conditions under which they were composed, givesadditional interest to the songs themselves. 

Francis Scott Key, author of "The Star-spangled Banner, " one of the, ifnot the most, popular of our national songs, was born in FrederickCounty, Maryland, on August 1, 1779. He was the son of John Ross Key, an officer in the Revolutionary army. 

Young Key's early education was carried on under the direction of hisfather. Later he became a student in St. John's College, from whichinstitution he was graduated in his nineteenth year. Immediately afterhis graduation he began to study law under his uncle, Philip BartonKey, one of the ablest lawyers of his time. He was admitted to the barin 1801, and commenced to practice in Fredericktown, Maryland, where hewon the reputation of an eloquent advocate. After a few years' practicein Fredericktown, he removed to Washington, where he was appointeddistrict attorney for the District of Columbia. 

Young Key was as widely known and admired as a writer of hymns andballads as he was as a lawyer of promise. But the production of thepopular national anthem which crowned him with immortality has soovershadowed the rest of his life work that we remember him only as itsauthor. 

The occasion which inspired "The Star-spangled Banner" must always bememorable in the annals of our country. The war with the British hadbeen about two years in progress, when, in August, 1814, a Britishfleet arrived in the Chesapeake, and an army under General Ross landedabout forty miles from the city of Washington. 

The army took possession of Washington, burnt the capitol, thePresident's residence, and other public buildings, and then sailedaround by the sea to attack Baltimore. The fleet was to bombard FortMcHenry, while the land forces were to attack the city. 

The commanding officers of the fleet and land army, Admiral Cockburnand General Ross, made their headquarters in Upper Marlboro, Maryland, at the house of Dr. William Beanes, whom they held as their prisoner. 

Francis Scott Key, who was a warm friend of Dr. Beanes, went toPresident Madison in order to enlist his aid in securing the release ofBeanes. The president furnished Key with a vessel, and instructed JohnL. Skinner, agent for the exchange of prisoners, to accompany him undera flag of truce to the British fleet. 

The British commander agreed to release Dr. Beanes, but would notpermit Key and his party to return then, lest they should carry backimportant information to the American side. He boastingly declared, however, that the defense could hold out only a few hours, and thatBaltimore would then be in the hands of the British. 

Skinner and Key were sent on board the Surprise, which was under thecommand of Admiral Cockburn's son. But after a short time they wereallowed to return to their own vessel, and from its deck they saw theAmerican flag waving over Fort McHenry and witnessed the bombardment. 

All through the night the furious attack of the British continued. Theroar of cannon and the bursting of shells was incessant. It is saidthat as many as fifteen hundred shells were hurled at the fort. 

Shortly before daybreak the firing ceased. Key and his companionswaited in painful suspense to know the result. In the intense silencethat followed the cannonading, each one asked himself if the flag ofhis country was still waving on high, or if it had been hauled down togive place to that of England. They strained their eyes in thedirection of Baltimore, but the darkness revealed nothing. 

At last day dawned, and to their delight the little party saw theAmerican flag still floating over Fort McHenry. Key's heart was stirredto its depths, and in a glow of patriotic enthusiasm he immediatelywrote down a rough draft of "The Star-spangled Banner. "

On his arrival in Baltimore he perfected the first copy of the song, and gave it to Captain Benjamin Eades, of the 27th Baltimore Regiment, saying that he wished it to be sung to the air of "Anacreon in Heaven. "Eades had it put in type, and took the first proof to a famous oldtavern near the Holliday Street Theater, a favorite resort of actorsand literary people of that day. The verses were read to the companyassembled there, and Frederick Durang, an actor, was asked to sing themto the air designated by the author. Durang, mounting a chair, sang asrequested. The song was enthusiastically received. From that moment itbecame the great popular favorite that it has ever since been, and thatit will continue to be as long as the American republic exists. 

Key died in Baltimore on January 11, 1843. A monument was erected tohis memory by the munificence of James Lick, a Californian millionaire. The sculptor to whom the work was intrusted was the celebrated W. W. Story, who completed it in 1887. The monument, which is fifty-one feethigh, stands in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco. It is built oftravertine, in the form of a double arch, under which a bronze statueof Key is seated. A bronze figure, representing America with anunfolded flag, supports the arch. 

On the occasion of the unveiling of this statue, the New York HomeJournal contained an appreciative criticism of Key as a poet, and thefollowing estimate of his greatest production. 

"The poetry of the 'Star-spangled Banner' has touches of delicacy forwhich one looks in vain in most national odes, and is as near a truepoem as any national ode ever was. The picture of the 'dawn's earlylight' and the tricolor, half concealed, half disclosed, amid the miststhat wreathed the battle-sounding Patapsco, is a true poetic concept. 

"The 'Star-spangled Banner' has the peculiar merit of not being atocsin song, like the 'Marseillaise. ' Indeed, there is not a restful, soothing, or even humane sentiment in all that stormy shout. It is thescream of oppressed humanity against its oppressor, presaging a morethan quid pro quo; and it fitly prefigured the sight of that long fileof tumbrils bearing to the Place de la Revolution the fairest scions ofFrench aristocracy. On the other hand, 'God Save the King, ' in itsoriginal, has one or two lines as grotesque as 'Yankee Doodle' itself;yet we have paraphrased it in 'America, ' and made it a hymn meet forall our churches. But the 'Star-spangled Banner' combines dignity andbeauty, and it would be hard to find a line of it that could beimproved upon. "

Over the simple grave of Francis Scott Key, in Frederick, Maryland, there is no other monument than the "star-spangled banner. " In stormand in sunshine, in summer and in winter, its folds ever float over theresting place of the man who has immortalized it in verse. No othermemorial could so fitly commemorate the life and death of this simple, dignified, patriotic American. 

"A sweet, noble life, " says a recent writer, "was that of the author ofour favorite national hymn--a life of ideal refinement, piety, scholarly gentleness. Little did he think that his voice would be thestorm song, the victor shout, of conquering America to resound down anddown the ages!"

 THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER

 Oh! say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O'er the rampart we watched, were so gallantly streaming, And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there, Oh! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

 On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected now shines on the stream, 'Tis the star-spangled banner' oh, long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

 And where is that band, who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave, From the terror of death and the gloom of the grave, And the star spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

 Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved homes and the war's desolation, Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven rescued land Praise the power that has made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just, And this be our motto, "In God is our trust" And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

II. AMERICA

 "And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith; Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith! But he shouted a song for the brave and the free-- Just read on his medal, 'My Country of Thee. '"

In these lines of his famous Reunion Poem, "The Boys, " Dr. OliverWendell Holmes commemorated his old friend and college-mate, Dr. SamuelFrancis Smith, author of "America. "

Samuel Francis Smith was born in Boston, Massachusetts, on October 21, 1808. He attended the Latin School in his native city, and it is saidthat when only twelve years old he could "talk Latin. " He enteredHarvard College, Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 1825, and graduated inthe famous class of 1829, of which Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, JamesFreeman Clarke, William E. Channing, and other celebrated Americanswere members. 

Dr. Smith, like so many other noted men, "worked his way throughcollege. " He did this principally by coaching other students, and bymaking translations from the German "Conversations-Lexicon" for the"American Cyclopedia. "

After graduating from Harvard, he immediately entered AndoverTheological Seminary. Three years later, in 1832, he wrote, amongothers, his most famous hymn, "America, " of which the "NationalCyclopedia of American Biography" says, "It has found its way whereveran American heart beats or the English language is spoken, and hasprobably proved useful in stirring the patriotic spirit of the Americanpeople. "

Dr. Smith himself often said that he had heard "America" sung "halfwayround the world, under the earth in the caverns of Manitou, Colorado, and almost above the earth near the top of Pike's Peak. "

The hymn, as every child knows, is sung to the air of the nationalanthem of England, --"God Save the King. " The author came upon it in abook of German music, and by it was inspired to write the words of"America, " a work which he accomplished in half an hour. Many yearsafter, referring to its impromptu composition, he wrote: "If I hadanticipated the future of it, doubtless I should have taken more painswith it. Such as it is, I am glad to have contributed this mite to thecause of American freedom. "

In a magazine article, written several years ago, Mr. Herbert Heywoodgave an interesting account of an interview with Dr. Smith, who toldhim the story of the writing of the hymn himself. 

"'I wrote "America, "' he said, 'when I was a theological student atAndover, during my last year there. In February, 1832, I was poringover a German book of patriotic songs which Lowell Mason, of Boston, had sent me to translate, when I came upon one with a tune of greatmajesty. I hummed it over, and was struck with the ease with which theaccompanying German words fell into the music. I saw it was a patrioticsong, and while I was thinking of translating it, I felt an impulse towrite an American patriotic hymn. I reached my hand for a bit of wastepaper, and, taking my quill pen, wrote the four verses in half an hour. I sent it with some translations of the German songs to Lowell Mason, and the next thing I knew of it I was told it had been sung by theSunday-school children at Park Street Church, Boston, at the followingFourth of July celebration. The house where I was living at the timewas on the Andover turnpike, a little north of the seminary building. Ihave been in the house since I left it in September, 1832, but neverwent into my old room. '" This room is now visited by patrioticAmericans from every part of the country. 

Two years after "America" was written, Dr. Smith became pastor of theFirst Baptist Church in Waterville, Maine, and also professor of modernlanguages in Waterville College, which is now known as ColbyUniversity. His great industry and zeal, both as a clergyman andstudent and teacher of languages, enabled him to perform the duties ofboth positions successfully. He was a noted linguist, and could readbooks in fifteen different languages. He could converse in most of themodern European tongues, and at eighty-six was engaged in studyingRussian. 

In 1842 Dr. Smith was made pastor of the First Baptist Church, NewtonCenter, Massachusetts, where he made his home for the rest of his life. 

"When he died, in November, 1895, " says Mr. Heywood, "he was living inthe old brown frame-house at Newton Center, Massachusetts, which hadbeen his home for over fifty years. It stood back from the street, onthe brow of a hill sloping gently to a valley on the north. Pine treeswere in the front and rear, and the sun, from his rising to hissetting, smiled upon that abode of simple greatness. The house wasfaded and worn by wind and weather, and was in perfect harmony with itssurroundings--the brown grass sod that peeped from under the snow, thedull-colored, leafless elms, and the gray, worn stone steps leading upfrom the street. 

"An air of gentle refinement pervaded the interior, and every roomspoke of its inmate. But perhaps the library was best loved of all byDr. Smith, for here it was that his work went on. Here, beside a sunnybay window, stood his work table, and his high-backed, old-fashionedchair, with black, rounded arms. All about the room were ranged hisbookcases, and an old, tall clock marked the flight of time that was sokind to the old man. His figure was short, his shoulders slightlybowed, and around his full, ruddy face, that beamed with kindness, wasa fringe of white hair and beard. "

Dr. Smith resigned his pastorate of the Newton church in 1854, andbecame editorial secretary of the American Baptist Missionary Union. In1875 he went abroad for the first time, and spent a year in Europeantravel. Five years later he went to India and the Burmese empire. During his travels he visited Christian missionary stations in France, Spain, Italy, Austria, Turkey, Greece, Sweden, Denmark, Burmah, India, and Ceylon. 

The latter years of his life were devoted almost entirely to literarywork. He wrote numerous poems which were published in magazines andnewspapers, but never collected in book form. His hymns, numbering overone hundred, are sung by various Christian denominations. "The MorningLight is Breaking" is a popular favorite. Among his other publishedworks are "Missionary Sketches, " "Rambles in Mission Fields, " a"History of Newton, " and a "Life of Rev. Joseph Grafton. " Besides hisoriginal hymns, he translated many from other languages, and wrotenumerous magazine articles and sketches during his long and busy life. 

Dr. Smith's vitality and enthusiasm remained with him to the last. Agreat-grandfather when he died in his eighty-seventh year, he was aninspiration to the younger generations growing up around him. He was atwork almost to the moment of his death, and still actively planning forthe future. 

His great national hymn, if he had left nothing else, will keep hismemory green forever in the hearts of his countrymen. It is even morepopular to-day, after seventy-one years have elapsed, than it was whenfirst sung in Park Street Church by the Sunday-school children ofBoston. Its patriotic ring, rather than its literary merit, renders itsweet to the ear of every American. Wherever it is sung, the feebletreble of age will join as enthusiastically as the joyous note of youthin rendering the inspiring strains of

 AMERICA

 My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing, Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrim's pride, From every mountain side, Let freedom ring. 

 My native country, thee, Land of the noble, free, Thy name I love; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills, -- My heart with rapture thrills, Like that above. 

 Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees Sweet freedom's song; Let mortal tongues awake, Let all that breathe partake, Let rocks their silence break, The sound prolong. 

 Our fathers' God, to Thee, Author of Liberty, To Thee we sing; Long may our land be bright With freedom's holy light, -- Protect us by thy might, Great God, our King. 

III. THE BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC

"No single influence, " says United States Senator George F. Hoar ofMassachusetts, "has had so much to do with shaping the destiny of anation--as nothing more surely expresses national character--than whatis known as the national anthem. "

There is some difference of opinion as to which of our patriotic hymnsor songs is distinctively the national anthem of America. Senator Hoarseems to have made up his mind in favor of "The Battle Hymn of theRepublic. " Writing of its author, Julia Ward Howe, in 1903, he said:"We waited eighty years for our American national anthem. At last Godinspired an illustrious and noble woman to utter in undying verse thethought which we hope is forever to animate the soldier of therepublic:--

 "'In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me; As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on. '"

Mrs. Julia Ward Howe is as widely known for her learning and literaryand poetic achievements as she is for her work as a philanthropist andreformer. 

She was born in New York City, in a stately mansion near the BowlingGreen, on May 27, 1819. From her birth she was fortunate in possessingthe advantages that wealth and high social position bestow. Her father, Samuel Ward, the descendant of an old colonial family, was a member ofa leading banking firm of New York. Her mother, Julia Cutter Ward, wasa most charming and accomplished woman. She died very young, however, while her little daughter Julia was still a child. Mr. Ward was a manof advanced ideas, and was determined that his daughters should have, as far as possible, the same educational advantages as his sons. 

Of course, in those early days there were no separate colleges forwomen, and they would not be admitted to men's colleges. It wasimpossible for Mr. Ward to overcome these difficulties wholly, but hedid the next best thing he could for his girls. He engaged as theirtutor the learned Dr. Joseph Green Cogswell, and instructed him to putthem through the full curriculum of Harvard College. 

On her entrance into society the "little Miss Ward, " as Julia had beencalled from her childhood, at once became a leader of the cultured andfashionable circle in which she moved. In her father's home she met themost distinguished American men of letters of that time. The liberaleducation which she had received made the young girl feel perfectly ather ease in such society. In addition to other accomplishments, she wasmistress of several ancient and modern languages, and a musical amateurof great promise. 

In 1843 Miss Ward was married to Dr. Samuel G. Howe, director of theInstitute for the Blind in South Boston, Massachusetts. Immediatelyafter their marriage Dr. And Mrs. Howe went to Europe, where theytraveled for some time. The home which they established in Boston ontheir return became a center for the refined and literary society ofBoston and its environment. Mrs. Howe's grace, learning, andaccomplishments made her a charming hostess and fit mistress of such ahome. 

Her literary talent was developed at a very early age. One of herfriends has humorously said that "Mrs. Howe wrote leading articles fromher cradle. " However this may be, it is undoubtedly true that atseventeen she contributed valuable articles to a leading New Yorkmagazine. In 1854 she published her first volume of poems, "PassionFlowers. " Other volumes, including collections of her later poems, books of travel, and a biography of Margaret Fuller, were afterwardpublished. For more than half a century she has been a constantcontributor to the leading magazines of the country. 

Since 1869 Mrs. Howe has been a leader in the movement for woman'ssuffrage, and both by lecturing and writing has supported every effortput forth for the educational and general advancement of her sex. 

Although in her eightieth year when the writer conversed with her a fewyears ago, Mrs. Howe was then full of youthful enthusiasm, and herinterest in the great movements of the world was as keen as ever. Agehad in no way lessened her intellectual vigor. Surrounded by herchildren and grandchildren, and one great-grandchild, she recentlycelebrated her eighty-fourth birthday. 

The story of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" has been left to thelast, not because it is the least important, but, on the contrary, because it is one of the most important works of her life. Certain itis that the "Battle Hymn" will live and thrill the hearts of Americanscenturies after its author has passed on to the other life. 

The hymn was written in Washington, in November, 1861, the first yearof our Civil War. Dr. And Mrs. Howe were visiting friends in that city. During their stay, they went one day with a party to see a review ofUnion troops. The review, however, was interrupted by a movement of theConfederate forces which were besieging the city. On their return, thecarriage in which Mrs. Howe and her friends were seated was surroundedby soldiers. Stirred by the scene and the occasion, she began to sing"John Brown, " to the delight of the soldiers, who heartily joined inthe refrain. 

At the close of the song Mrs. Howe expressed to her friends the strongdesire she felt to write some words which might be sung to thisstirring tune. But she added that she feared she would never be able todo so. 

"That night, " says her daughter, Maude Howe Eliot, "she went to sleepfull of thoughts of battle, and awoke before dawn the next morning tofind the desired verses immediately present to her mind. She sprangfrom her bed, and in the dim gray light found a pen and paper, whereonshe wrote, scarcely seeing them, the lines of the poem. Returning toher couch, she was soon asleep, but not until she had said to herself, 'I like this better than anything I have ever written before. '"

 THE BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC

 Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on. 

 I have seen Him in the watch fires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps; His day is marching on. 

 I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel: "As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal; Let the Hero born of woman crush the serpent with his heel, Since God is marching on. "

 He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat: Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on. 

 In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me: As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on. 

TRAINING FOR GREATNESS

GLIMPSES OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S BOYHOOD

In pronouncing a eulogy on Henry Clay, Lincoln said: "His exampleteaches us that one can scarcely be so poor but that, if he will, hecan acquire sufficient education to get through the world respectably. "

Endowed as he was with all the qualities that make a man truly great, Lincoln's own life teaches above all other things the lesson he drewfrom that of Henry Clay. Is there in all the length and breadth of theUnited States to-day a boy so poor as to envy Abraham Lincoln thechances of his boyhood? The story of his life has been told so oftenthat nothing new can be said about him. Yet every fresh reading of thestory fills the reader anew with wonder and admiration at what wasaccomplished by the poor backwoods boy. 

Let your mind separate itself from all the marvels of the twentiethcentury. Think of a time when railroads and telegraph wires, telephones, great ocean steamers, lighting by gas and electricity, daily newspapers (except in a few centers), great circulatinglibraries, and the hundreds of conveniences which are necessities tothe people of to-day, were unknown. Even the very rich at the beginningof the nineteenth century could not buy the advantages that are free tothe poorest boy at the beginning of the twentieth century. When Lincolnwas a boy, thorns were used for pins; cork covered with cloth or bitsof bone served as buttons; crusts of rye bread were used by the poor assubstitutes for coffee, and dried leaves of certain herbs for tea. 

Abraham Lincoln was born on February 12, 1809, in a log cabin in HardinCounty, now La Rue County, Kentucky. His father, Thomas Lincoln, wasnot remarkable either for thrift or industry. He was tall, well built, and muscular, expert with his rifle, and a noted hunter, but he did notpossess the qualities necessary to make a successful pioneer farmer. The character of the mother of Abraham, may best be gathered from hisown words: "All that I am or hope to be, " he said when president of theUnited States, "I owe to my angel mother. Blessings on her memory!"

It was at her knee he learned his first lessons from the Bible. Withhis sister Sarah, a girl two years his senior, he listened with wonderand delight to the Bible stories, fairy tales, and legends with whichthe gentle mother entertained and instructed them when the labors ofthe day were done. 

When Abraham was about four years old, the family moved from the farmon Nolin Creek to another about fifteen miles distant. There the firstgreat event in his life took place. He went to school. Primitive as wasthe log-cabin schoolhouse, and elementary as were the acquirements ofhis first schoolmaster, it was a wonderful experience for the boy, andone that he never forgot. 

In 1816 Thomas Lincoln again decided to make a change. He was enticedby stories that came to him from Indiana to try his fortunes there. So, once more the little family "pulled up stakes" and moved on to theplace selected by the father in Spencer County, about a mile and a halffrom Gentryville. It was a long, toilsome journey through the forest, from the old home in Kentucky to the new one in Indiana. In some placesthey had to clear their way through the tangled thickets as theyjourneyed along. The stock of provisions they carried with them wassupplemented by game snared or shot in the forest and fish caught inthe river. These they cooked over the wood fire, kindled by means oftinder and flint. The interlaced branches of trees and the sky made theroof of their bedchamber by night, and pine twigs their bed. 

When the travelers arrived at their destination, there was no time forrest after their journey. Some sort of shelter had to be provided atonce for their accommodation. They hastily put up a "half-facedcamp"--a sort of rude tent, with an opening on one side. The frameworkof the tent was of upright posts, crossed by thin slabs, cut from thetrees they felled. The open side, or entrance, was covered with"pelts, " or half-dressed skins of wild animals. There was no ruderdwelling in the wilds of Indiana, and no poorer family among thesettlers than the new adventurers from Kentucky. They were reduced tothe most primitive makeshifts in order to eke out a living. There wasno lack of food, however, for the woods were full of game of all kinds, both feathered and furred, and the streams and rivers abounded withfish. But the home lacked everything in the way of comfort orconvenience. 

Abraham, who was then in his eighth year, has been described as a tall, ungainly, fast-growing, long-legged lad, clad in the garb of thefrontier. This consisted of a shirt of linsey-woolsey, a coarsehomespun material made of linen and wool, a pair of home-mademoccasins, deerskin leggings or breeches, and a hunting shirt of thesame material. This costume was completed by a coonskin cap, the tailof the animal being left to hang down the wearer's back as an ornament. 

This sturdy lad, who was born to a life of unremitting toil, wasalready doing a man's work. From the time he was four years old, awayback on the Kentucky farm, he had contributed his share to the familylabors. Picking berries, dropping seeds, and doing other simple taskssuited to his strength, he had thus early begun his apprenticeship totoil. In putting up the "half-faced" camp, he was his father'sprincipal helper. Afterward, when they built a more, substantial cabinto take the place of the camp, he learned to handle an ax, a maul, anda wedge. He helped to fell trees, fashion logs, split rails, and doother important work in building the one-roomed cabin, which was to bethe permanent home of the family. He assisted also in making the roughtables and chairs and the one rude bedstead or bed frame whichconstituted the principal furniture of the cabin. In his childhoodAbraham did not enjoy the luxury of sleeping on a bedstead. His bed wassimply a heap of dry leaves, which occupied a corner of the loft overthe cabin. He climbed to it every night by a stepladder, or rather anumber of pegs driven into the wall. 

Rough and poor and full of hardship as his life was, Lincoln was by nomeans a sad or unhappy boy. On the contrary, he was full of fun andboyish pranks. His life in the open air, the vigorous exercise of everymuscle which necessity forced upon him, the tonic of the forests whichhe breathed from his infancy, his interest in every living and growingthing about him, --all helped to make him unusually strong, healthy, buoyant, and rich in animal spirits. 

The first great sorrow of his life came to him in the death of hisdearly loved mother in 1818. The boy mourned for her as few childrenmourn even for the most loving parent. Day after day he went from thehome made desolate by her death to weep on her grave under the near-bytrees. 

There were no churches in the Indiana wilderness, and the visits ofwandering ministers of religion to the scattered settlements were fewand far between. Little Abraham was grieved that no funeral service hadbeen held over his dead mother. He felt that it was in some sense alack of respect to her. He thought a great deal about the matter, andfinally wrote a letter to a minister named Elkins, whom the family hadknown in Kentucky. Several months after the receipt of the letterParson Elkins came to Indiana. On the Sabbath morning after hisarrival, in the presence of friends who had come long distances toassist, he read the funeral service over the grave of Mrs. Lincoln. Healso spoke in touching words of the tender Christian mother who layburied there. This simple service greatly comforted the heart of thelonely boy. 

Some time after Thomas Lincoln brought a new mother to his childrenfrom Kentucky. This was Mrs. Sally Bush Johnston, a young widow, whohad been a girlhood friend of Nancy Hanks. She had threechildren, --John, Sarah, and Matilda Johnston, --who accompanied her toIndiana. The second Mrs. Lincoln brought a stock of household goods andfurniture with her from Kentucky, and with the help of these made somany improvements in the rude log cabin that her stepchildren regardedher as a sort of magician or wonder worker. She was a good mother tothem, intelligent, kind, and loving. 

He was ten years old at this time, and had been to school but little. Indeed, he says himself that he only went to school "by littles, " andthat all his schooling "did not amount to more than a year. " But he hadlearned to read when he was a mere baby at his mother's knee; and to aboy who loved knowledge as he did, this furnished the key to a broadeducation. His love of reading amounted to a passion. The books he hadaccess to when a boy were very few; but they were good ones, and heknew them literally from cover to cover. They were the Bible, "RobinsonCrusoe, " "Pilgrim's Progress, " a "History of the United States, " andWeems's "Life of Washington. " Some of these were borrowed, among themthe "Life of Washington, " of which Abraham afterward became the happyowner. The story of how he became its owner has often been told. 

The book had been loaned to him by a neighbor, a well-to-do farmernamed Crawford. After reading from it late into the night by the lightof pine knots, Abraham carried it to his bedroom in the loft. He placedit in a crack between the logs over his bed of dry leaves, so that hecould reach to it as soon as the first streaks of dawn penetratedthrough the chinks in the log cabin. Unfortunately, it rained heavilyduring the night, and when he took down the precious volume in themorning, he found it badly damaged, all soddened and stained by therain. He was much distressed, and hurried to the owner of the book assoon as possible to explain the mishap. 

"I'm real sorry, Mr. Crawford, " he said, in concluding his explanation, "and want to fix it up with you somehow, if you can tell me any way, for I ain't got the money to pay for it with. "

"Well, " said Mr. Crawford, "being as it's you, Abe, I won't be hard onyou. Come over and shuck corn three days, and the book's yours. "

The boy was delighted with the result of what at first had seemed agreat misfortune. Verily, his sorrow was turned into joy. What! Shuckcorn only three days and become owner of the book that told all abouthis greatest hero! What an unexpected piece of good fortune!

Lincoln's reading had revealed to him a world beyond his home in thewilderness. Slowly it dawned upon him that one day he might find hisplace in that great world, and he resolved to prepare himself with allhis might for whatever the future might hold. 

"I don't intend to delve, grub, shuck corn, split rails, and the likealways, " he told Mrs. Crawford after he had finished reading the "Lifeof Washington. " "I'm going to fit myself for a profession. "

"Why, what do you want to be now?" asked Mrs. Crawford, in surprise. "Oh, I'll be president, " said the boy, with a smile. 

"You'd make a pretty president, with all your tricks and jokes, nowwouldn't you?" said Mrs. Crawford. 

"Oh, I'll study and get ready, " was the reply, "and then maybe thechance will come. "

If the life of George Washington, who had all the advantages of cultureand training that his time afforded, was an inspiration to Lincoln, thepoor hard-working backwoods boy, what should the life of Lincoln be toboys of to-day? Here is a further glimpse of the way in which heprepared himself to be president of the United States. The quotation isfrom Ida M. Tarbell's "Life of Lincoln. "

"Every lull in his daily labor he used for reading, rarely going to hiswork without a book. When plowing or cultivating the rough fields ofSpencer County, he found frequently a half hour for reading, for at theend of every long row the horse was allowed to rest, and Lincoln hadhis book out and was perched on stump or fence, almost as soon as theplow had come to a standstill. One of the few people left inGentryville who still remembers Lincoln, Captain John Lamar, tells tothis day of riding to mill with his father, and seeing, as they drovealong, a boy sitting on the top rail of an old-fashioned, stake-and-rider worm fence, reading so intently that he did not noticetheir approach. His father, turning to him, said: 'John, look at thatboy yonder, and mark my words, he will make a smart man out of himself. I may not see it, but you'll see if my words don't come true. ' 'Thatboy was Abraham Lincoln, ' adds Mr. Lamar, impressively. "

Lincoln's father was illiterate, and had no sympathy with his son'sefforts to educate himself. Fortunately for him, however, hisstepmother helped and encouraged him in every way possible. Shortlybefore her death she said to a biographer of Lincoln: "I induced myhusband to permit Abe to read and study at home, as well as at school. At first he was not easily reconciled to it, but finally he too seemedwilling to encourage him to a certain extent. Abe was a dutiful son tome always, and we took particular care when he was reading not todisturb him, --would let him read on and on till he quit of his ownaccord. "

Lincoln fully appreciated his stepmother's sympathy and love for him, and returned them in equal measure. It added greatly to his enjoymentof his reading and studies to have some one to whom he could talk aboutthem, and in after life he always gratefully remembered what his secondmother did for him in those early days of toil and effort. 

If there was a book to be borrowed anywhere in his neighborhood, he wassure to hear about it and borrow it if possible. He said himself thathe "read through every book he had ever heard of in that county for acircuit of fifty miles. "

And how he read! Boys who have books and magazines and papers inabundance in their homes, besides having thousands of volumes to choosefrom in great city libraries, can have no idea of what a book meant tothis boy in the wilderness. He devoured every one that came into hishands as a man famishing from hunger devours a crust of bread. He readand re-read it until he had made the contents his own. 

"From everything he read, " says Miss Tarbell, "he made long extracts, with his turkey-buzzard pen and brier-root ink. When he had no paper hewould write on a board, and thus preserve his selections until hesecured a copybook. The wooden fire shovel was his usual slate, and onits back he ciphered with a charred stick, shaving it off when it hadbecome too grimy for use. The logs and boards in his vicinity hecovered with his figures and quotations. By night he read and worked aslong as there was light, and he kept a book in the crack of the logs inhis loft to have it at hand at peep of day. When acting as ferryman onthe Ohio in his nineteenth year, anxious, no doubt, to get through thebooks of the house where he boarded before he left the place, he readevery night until midnight. "

His stepmother said: "He read everything he could lay his hands on, andwhen he came across a passage that struck him, he would write it downon boards if he had no paper, and keep it by him until he could getpaper. Then he would copy it, look at it, commit it to memory, andrepeat it. "

His thoroughness in mastering everything he undertook to study was ahabit acquired in childhood. How he acquired this habit he tellshimself. "Among my earliest recollections I remember how, when a merechild, " he says, "I used to get irritated when anybody talked to me ina way I could not understand. I do not think I ever got angry atanything else in my life; but that always disturbed my temper, and hasever since. I can remember going to my little bedroom, after hearingthe neighbors talk of an evening with my father, and spending no smallpart of the night walking up and down and trying to make out what wasthe exact meaning of some of their--to me--dark sayings. 

"I could not sleep, although I tried to, when I got on such a hunt foran idea until I had caught it; and when I thought I had got it, I wasnot satisfied until I had repeated it over and over; until I had put itin language plain enough, as I thought, for any boy I knew tocomprehend. This was a kind of passion with me, and it has stuck by me;for I am never easy now when I am handling a thought, till I havebounded it north and bounded it south and bounded it east and boundedit west. "

With all his hard study, reading, and thinking, Lincoln was not abookworm, nor a dull companion to the humble, unschooled people amongwhom his youth was spent. On the contrary, although he was looked up toas one whose acquirements in "book learning" had raised him far aboveevery one in his neighborhood, he was the most popular youth in all thecountry round. No "husking bee, " or "house raising" or merry-making ofany kind was complete if Abraham was not present. He was witty, readyof speech, a good story-teller, and had stored his memory with a fundof humorous anecdotes, which he always used to good purpose and withgreat effect. He had committed to memory, and could recite all thepoetry in the various school readers used at that time in the log-cabinschoolhouse. He could make rhymes himself, and even make impromptuspeeches that excited the admiration of his hearers. He was the bestwrestler, jumper, runner, and the strongest of all his youngcompanions. Even when a mere youth he could lift as much as threefull-grown men; and, "if you heard him fellin' trees in a clearin', "said his cousin, Dennis Hanks, "you would say there was three men atwork by the way the trees fell. His ax would flash and bite into asugar tree or sycamore, and down it would come. "

His kindness and tenderness of heart were as great as his strength andagility. He loved all God's creatures, and cruelty to any of themalways aroused his indignation. Only once did he ever attempt to killany of the game in the woods, which the family considered necessary fortheir subsistence. He refers to this occasion in an autobiography, written by him in the third person, in the year 1860. 

"A few days before the completion of his eighth year, " he says, "in theabsence of his father, a flock of wild turkeys approached the new logcabin; and Abraham, with a rifle gun, standing inside, shot through acrack and killed one of them. He has never since pulled the trigger onany larger game. "

Any suffering thing, whether it was animal, man, woman, or child, wassure of his sympathy and aid. Although he never touched intoxicatingdrinks himself, he pitied those who lost manhood by their use. Onenight on his way home from a husking bee or house raising, he found anunfortunate man lying on the roadside overcome with drink. If the manwere allowed to remain there, he would freeze to death. Lincoln raisedhim from the ground and carried him a long distance to the nearesthouse, where he remained with him during the night. The man was hisfirm friend ever after. 

Women admired him for his courtesy and rough gallantry, as well as forhis strength and kindness of heart; and he, in his turn, reverencedwomen, as every noble, strong man does. This big, bony, tall, awkwardyoung fellow, who at eighteen measured six feet four, was as ready tocare for a baby in the absence of its mother as he was to tell a goodstory or to fell a tree. Was it any wonder that he was popular with allkinds of people?

His stepmother says of him: "Abe was a good boy, and I can say whatscarcely one woman--a mother--can say in a thousand; Abe never gave mea cross word or look, and never refused in fact or appearance to doanything I requested him. I never gave him a cross word in all my life. His mind and mine--what little I had--seemed to run together. He washere after he was elected president. He was a dutiful son to me always. I think he loved me truly. I had a son, John, who was raised with Abe. Both were good boys; but I must say, both now being dead, that Abe wasthe best boy I ever saw or expect to see. "

Wherever he went, or whatever he did, he studied men and things, andgathered knowledge as much by observation as from books and whatevernews-papers or other publications he could get hold of. He used to goregularly to the leading store in Gentryville, to read a Louisvillepaper, taken by the proprietor of the store, Mr. Jones. He discussedits contents, and exchanged views with the farmers who made the storetheir place of meeting. His love of oratory was great. When the courtswere in session in Boonville, a town fifteen miles distant from hishome, whenever he could spare a day, he used to walk there in themorning and back at night, to hear the lawyers argue cases and makespeeches. By this time Abraham himself could make an impromptu speechon any subject with which he was at all familiar, good enough to winthe applause of the Indiana farmers. 

So, his boyhood days, rough, hard-working days, but not devoid of funand recreation, passed. Abraham did not love work any more than othercountry boys of his age, but he never shirked his tasks. Whether it wasplowing, splitting rails, felling trees, doing chores, reaping, threshing, or any of the multitude of things to be done on a farm, thework was always well done. Sometimes, to make a diversion, when he wasworking as a "hired hand, " he would stop to tell some of his funnystories, or to make a stump speech before his fellow-workers, who wouldall crowd round him to listen; but he would more than make up for thetime thus spent by the increased energy with which he afterward worked. Doubtless the other laborers, too, were refreshed and stimulated togreater effort by the recreation he afforded them and the inspirationof his example. 

Thomas Lincoln had learned carpentry and cabinet making in his youth, and taught the rudiments of these trades to his son; so that inaddition to his skill and efficiency in all the work that falls to thelot of a pioneer backwoods farmer, Abraham added the accomplishment ofbeing a fairly good carpenter. He worked at these trades with hisfather whenever the opportunity offered. When he was not working forhis family, he was hired out to the neighboring farmers. His highestwage was twenty-five cents a day, which he always handed over to hisfather. 

Lincoln got his first glimpse of the world beyond Indiana when heworked for several months as a ferryman and boatman on the Ohio River, at Anderson Creek. He saw the steamers and vessels of all kinds sailingup and down the Ohio, laden with produce and merchandise, on their wayto and from western and southern towns. He came in contact withdifferent kinds of people from different states, and thus his views ofthe world and its people became a little more extended, and his longingto be somebody and to do something worth while in the world waxedstronger daily. 

His work as a ferryman showed him that there were other ways of makinga little money than by hiring out to the neighbors at twenty-five centsa day. He resolved to take some of the farm produce to New Orleans andsell it there. This project led to the unexpected earning of a dollar, which added strength to his purpose to prepare himself to take the partof a man in the world outside of Indiana. Let him tell in his ownwords, as he related the story to Mr. Seward years afterward, how heearned the dollar:--

"Seward, " he said, "did you ever hear how I earned my first dollar?"

"No, " said Mr. Seward. 

"Well, " replied he, "I was about eighteen years of age, and belonged, as you know, to what they call down south the 'scrubs'; people who donot own land and slaves are nobodies there; but we had succeeded inraising, chiefly by my labor, sufficient produce, as I thought, tojustify me in taking it down the river to sell. After much persuasion Ihad got the consent of my mother to go, and had constructed a flatboatlarge enough to take the few barrels of things we had gathered to NewOrleans. A steamer was going down the river. We have, you know, nowharves on the western streams, and the custom was, if passengers wereat any of the landings, they were to go out in a boat, the steamerstopping and taking them on board. I was contemplating my new boat, andwondering whether I could make it stronger or improve it in any part, when two men with trunks came down to the shore in carriages, andlooking at the different boats singled out mine, and asked, 'Who ownsthis?' I answered modestly, 'I do. ' 'Will you, ' said one of them, 'takeus and our trunks to the steamer?' 'Certainly, ' said I. I was very gladto have the chance of earning something, and supposed that each of themwould give me a couple of bits. The trunks were put in my boat, thepassengers seated themselves on them, and I sculled them out to thesteamer. They got on board, and I lifted the trunks and put them on thedeck. The steamer was about to put on steam again, when I called out, 'You have forgotten to pay me. ' Each of them took from his pocket asilver half-dollar and threw it on the bottom of my boat. I couldscarcely believe my eyes as I picked up the money. You may think it wasa very little thing, and in these days it seems to me like a trifle, but it was a most important incident in my life. I could scarcelycredit that I, the poor boy, had earned a dollar in less than a day;that by honest work I had earned a dollar. I was a more hopeful andthoughtful boy from that time. "

In March, 1828, Lincoln was employed by one of the leading men ofGentryville to take a load of produce down the Mississippi River to NewOrleans. For this service he was paid eight dollars a month and hisrations. 

This visit to New Orleans was a great event in his life. It showed himthe life of a busy cosmopolitan city, which was a perfect wonderland tohim. Everything he saw aroused his astonishment and interest, andserved to educate him for the larger life on which he was to enterlater. 

The next important event in the history of the Lincoln family was theirremoval from Indiana to Illinois in 1830. The farm in Indiana had notprospered as they hoped it would, --hence the removal to new ground inIllinois. Abraham drove the team of oxen which carried their householdgoods from the old home to their new abiding place near Decatur, inMacon County, Illinois. Driving over the muddy, ill-made roads with aheavily laden team was hard and slow work, and the journey occupied afortnight. When they arrived at their destination, Lincoln again helpedto build a log cabin for the family home. With his stepbrother he also, as he said himself, "made sufficient of rails to fence ten acres ofground, and raised a crop of sown corn upon it the same year. "

In that same year, 1830, he reached his majority. It was time for himto be about his own business. He had worked patiently and cheerfullysince he was able to hold an ax in his hands for his own and thefamily's maintenance. They could now get along without him, and he feltthat the time had come for him to develop himself for larger duties. 

He left the log cabin, penniless, without even a good suit of clothes. The first work he did when he became his own master was to supply thislatter deficiency. For a certain Mrs. Millet he "split four hundredrails for every yard of brown jeans, dyed with white walnut bark, necessary to make a pair of trousers. "

For nearly a year he continued to work as a rail splitter and farm"hand. " Then he was hired by a Mr. Denton Offut to take a flatboatloaded with goods from Sangamon town to New Orleans. So well pleasedwas Mr. Offut with the way in which Lincoln executed his commissionthat on his return he engaged him to take charge of a mill and store atNew Salem. 

There, as in every other place in which he had resided, he became thepopular favorite. His kindness of heart, his good humor, his skill as astory teller, his strength, his courtesy, manliness, and honesty weresuch as to win all hearts. He would allow no man to use profanelanguage before women. A boorish fellow who insisted on doing so in thestore on one occasion, in spite of Lincoln's protests, found this outto his cost. Lincoln had politely requested him not to use suchlanguage before ladies, but the man persisted in doing so. When thewomen left the store, he became violently angry and began to abuseLincoln. He wanted to pick a quarrel with him. Seeing this Lincolnsaid, "Well, if you must be whipped, I suppose I may as well whip youas any other man, " and taking the man out of the store he gave him awell-merited chastisement. Strange to say, he became Lincoln's friendafter this, and remained so to the end of his life. 

His scrupulous honesty won for him in the New Salem community the titleof "Honest Abe, " a title which is still affectionately applied to him. On one occasion, having by mistake overcharged a customer six and aquarter cents, he walked three miles after the store was closed inorder to restore the customer's money. At another time, in weighing teafor a woman, he used a quarter-pound instead of a half-pound weight. When he went to use the scales again, he discovered his mistake, andpromptly walked a long distance to deliver the remainder of the tea. 

Lincoln's determination to improve himself continued to be the leadingobject of his life. He said once to his fellow-clerk in the store, "Ihave talked with great men, and I do not see how they differ fromothers. " His observation had taught him that the great difference inmen's positions was not due so much to one having more talents or beingmore highly gifted than another, but rather to the way in which onecultivated his talent or talents and another neglected his. 

Up to this time he had not made a study of grammar, but he realizedthat if he were to speak in public he must learn to speakgrammatically. He had no grammar, and did not know where to get one. Inthis dilemma he consulted the schoolmaster of New Salem, who told himwhere and from whom he could borrow a copy of Kirkham's Grammar. Theplace named was six miles from New Salem. But that was nothing to ayouth so hungry for an education as Lincoln. He immediately started forthe residence of the fortunate people who owned a copy of Kirkham'sGrammar. The book was loaned to him without hesitation. In a short timeits contents were mastered, the student studying at night by the lightof shavings burned in the village cooper's shop. "Well, " said Lincolnto Greene, his fellow-clerk, when he had turned over the last page ofthe grammar, "if that's what they call a science, I think I'll go atanother. " The conquering of one thing after another, the thoroughmastery of whatever he undertook to do, made the next thing easier ofaccomplishment than it would otherwise have been. In order to practicedebating he used to walk seven or eight miles to debating clubs. Nolabor or trouble seemed too great to him if by it he could increase hisknowledge or add to his acquirements. No matter how hard or exhaustinghis work, whether it was rail splitting, plowing, lumbering, boating, or store keeping, he studied and read every spare minute, and oftenuntil late at night. 

But this sketch has already exceeded the limits of Lincoln's boyhood, for he had reached his twenty-second year while in the store in NewSalem. How he was made captain of a company raised to fight against theIndians, how he kept store for himself, learned surveying, was electeda member of the Illinois legislature, studied law, and was admitted tothe bar in Springfield, and how he finally became president of theUnited States, --all this belongs to a later chapter of his life. 

Lincoln's rise from the poorest of log cabins to the White House, to bepresident of the greatest republic in the world, is one of the mostinspiring stories in American biography. Yet he was not a genius, unless a determination to make the most of one's self and to persist inspite of all hardships, discouragements, and hindrances, be genius. Hemade himself what he was--one of the noblest, greatest, and best ofmen--by sheer dint of hard work and the cultivation of the talents thathad been given him. No fortunate chances, no influential friends, norare opportunities played a part in his life. Alone and unaided hemade, by the grace of God, the great career which will foreverchallenge the admiration of mankind. 

THE MARBLE WAITETH

 THE STATUE

 The marble waits, immaculate and rude; Beside it stands the sculptor, lost in dreams. With vague, chaotic forms his vision teems. Fair shapes pursue him, only to elude And mock his eager fancy. Lines of grace And heavenly beauty vanish, and, behold! Out through the Parian luster, pure and cold, Glares the wild horror of a devil's face. 

 The clay is ready for the modeling. The marble waits: how beautiful, how pure, That gleaming substance, and it shall endure, When dynasty and empire, throne and king Have crumbled back to dust. Well may you pause, Oh, sculptor-artist! and, before that mute, Unshapen surface, stand irresolute! Awful, indeed, are art's unchanging laws. 

 The thing you fashion out of senseless clay, Transformed to marble, shall outlive your fame; And, when no more is known your race, or name, Men shall be moved by what you mold to-day. We all are sculptors. By each act and thought, We form the model. Time, the artisan, Stands, with his chisel, fashioning the Man, And stroke by stroke the masterpiece is wrought. 

 Angel or demon? Choose, and do not err! For time but follows as you shape the mold, And finishes in marble, stern and cold, That statue of the soul, the character. By wordless blessing, or by silent curse, By act and motive, --so do you define The image which time copies, line by line, For the great gallery of the Universe. 

 ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. 

At the gateway of a new year, emerging from the gay carelessness ofchildhood, stand troops of buoyant, eager-eyed youths and maidens, gazing down the vista of the future with glad expectancy. 

Fancy spreads upon her canvas radiant pictures of the joys and triumphswhich await them in the unborn years. In their unclouded springtimethere is no place for the specters of doubt and fear which too oftenovershadow the autumn of life. 

In this formative period, the soul is unsoiled by warfare with theworld. It lies, like a block of pure, uncut Parian marble, ready to befashioned into--what?

Its possibilities are limitless. You are the sculptor. An unseen handplaces in yours the mallet and the chisel, and a voice whispers: "Themarble waiteth. What will you do with it?"

In this same block the angel and the demon lie sleeping. Which will youcall into life? Blows of some sort you must strike. The marble cannotbe left uncut. From its crudity some shape must be evolved. Shall it beone of beauty, or of deformity; an angel, or a devil? Will you shape itinto a statue of beauty which will enchant the world, or will you callout a hideous image which will demoralize every beholder?

What are your ideals, as you stand facing the dawn of this new yearwith the promise and responsibility of the new life on which you haveentered, awaiting you? Upon them depends the form which the rough blockshall take. Every stroke of the chisel is guided by the ideal behindthe blow. 

Look at this easy-going, pleasure-loving youth who takes up the malletand smites the chisel with careless, thoughtless blows. His mind isfilled with images of low, sensual pleasures; the passing enjoyment ofthe hour is everything to him; his work, the future, nothing. Hecarries in his heart, perhaps, the bestial motto of the glutton, "Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die;" or the flippant maxim ofthe gay worldling, "A short life and a merry one; the foam of thechalice for me;" forgetting that beneath the foam are the bitter dregs, which, be he ever so unwilling, he must swallow, not to-day, nor yetto-morrow, --perhaps not this year nor next; but sometime, as surely asthe reaping follows the sowing, will the bitter draught follow thefoaming glass of unlawful pleasure. 

As the years go by, and youth merges into manhood, the sculptor's handbecomes more unsteady. One false blow follows another in rapidsuccession. The formless marble takes on distorted outlines. Itswhiteness has long since become spotted. The sculptor, with blurredvision and shattered nerves, still strikes with aimless hand, carvingdeep gashes, adding a crooked line here, another there, soiling andmarring until no trace of the virgin purity of the block of marblewhich was given him remains. It has become so grimy, so demoniacallyfantastic in its outlines, that the beholder turns from it with ashudder. 

Not far off we see another youth at work on a block of marble, similarin every detail to the first. The tools with which he plies his labordiffer in no wise from those of the worker we have been following. 

The glory of the morning shines upon the marble. Glowing withenthusiasm, the light of a high purpose illuminating his face, thesculptor, with steady hand and eye, begins to work out his ideal. Thevision that flits before him is so beautiful that he almost fears thecunning of his hand will be unequal to fashioning it from the rigidmass before him. Patiently he measures each blow of the mallet. Withinfinite care he chisels each line and curve. Every stroke is true. 

Months stretch into years, and still we find the sculptor at work. Timehas given greater precision to his touch, and the skill of the youth, strengthened by noble aspirations and right effort, has become positivegenius in the man. If he has not attained the ideal that haunted him, he has created a form so beautiful in its clear-cut outlines, soimposing in the majesty of its purity and strength, that the beholderinvoluntarily bows before it. 

THE MARBLE WAITETH. WHAT WILL YOU DO WITH IT?