about you, the next point is, What will you do when you set out for
yourselves?
All of you are _expecting_ when you leave school to be employed by
somebody, or engaged in some business. And I suppose you may be looking
to me to give you some hints how to take care of yourselves, or how to
behave in such relations.
I will try to do so plainly and faithfully.
I cannot absolutely promise you success. Indeed, it would be necessary
first to define the word. And there are several definitions that might
be given. One of the shortest and best would be in these words, “A life
well spent.” That’s success. And this definition shall be my model.
Work hard, then, at your lessons. Let your ambition be, not to get
through quickly, not to go over much ground in text-books, but to
master thoroughly everything before you. If you knew how little
thorough instruction there is, you would thank me for this. There are
so many half-educated people from schools and colleges that one cannot
help believing that the terms of graduation are very easy. There have
been, and are now, graduates of colleges who cannot add up a long
column of figures correctly, nor do an example in simple proportion,
nor write a letter of four pages of note paper without mistakes of
grammar and spelling and punctuation, to say nothing of perspicuity and
unity and general good taste.
It is quite surprising to find how helpless some young men are in the
simple matter of writing letters; an art with which, in these days of
cheap postage and cheap stationery, almost everybody has something
to do. If you doubt this let me ask you to try to-morrow to write a
note of twenty lines on any subject whatever, off-hand, and submit it
for criticism to your teacher. Do you wonder, then, that an employer
calling one of his young men, and directing him to write a letter to
one of his correspondents, saying such and such things, and bring it to
him for his signature, is surprised and grieved to see that the letter
is in such shape that he cannot sign it and let it go out of his office?
It is very true that letter-writing is not the chief business of life,
not the only thing of importance in a counting-house, but it is an
elegant accomplishment, and most desirable of attainment.
Let me say some words about shorthand writing. In this day of push and
drive and hurry, when so many things must be done at once, there is
an increasing demand for shorthand writers. In fact, business as now
conducted cannot afford to do without this help. It often occurs that
a principal in a business house cannot take the time to write long
letters. Why should he? It does not pay to have one that is occupied in
governing and controlling great interests, or in the receipt of a large
salary, tied to a desk writing letters, or reports, or statements of
any kind. He must _talk off_ these things; and he must be an educated
man, whose mind is so disciplined to terse and accurate expression
that his dictation may almost be taken to be final. He wants a clerk
who can take down his words with literal accuracy, and who will be
able to correct any errors that may have been spoken, and submit the
complete paper to his chief for his signature. The demand for this
kind of service is increasing every day, and some of you now listening
to me will be so employed. See that you are ready for it when your
opportunity comes.
If you get to be a clerk in a railroad office, or in an insurance
company, or in a store, or in a bank, devote yourself to your
particular duties, whatever they may be. And don’t be too particular as
to what kind of work it is that falls to your lot. It may be work that
you think belongs to the porter; no matter if it is, do it, and do it
as well as the porter can, or even better.
Let none of you, therefore, think that anything you are likely to be
called upon to do is beneath you. Do it, and do it in the best manner,
and you may not have to do it for a long time.
Make yourself indispensable to your employer. You can do that; it
is quite within your power, and it may be that you may get to be an
employer yourself; indeed it is more than probable; but you must work
for it.
If you get to be a book-keeper in any counting-house or public
institution, remember that you are in a position of trust and
responsibility. When you make errors do not erase the error; draw faint
red or black lines through it and write correct characters over the
error. Do not hide your errors of any kind. Do not misstate anything
in language or figures. Everybody makes errors at some time or other,
but everybody does not admit and apologize for them. The honest man is
he who _does_ admit and apologize, and does so without waiting to be
detected.
There have been of late some deplorable instances of betrayal of trust
in our city. I may as well call it by its right name, stealing. The
culprits are now suffering in prison the penalty for their crimes.
While I am speaking to you there are men, young and _not_ young, in our
city who are _now_ stealing, and who are falsifying their books in the
vain hope that it may be kept secret; who are dreading the day when
they will be caught; who cannot afford to take a holiday; who cannot
afford to be sick, lest absence for a single day may disclose their
guilt. What a horrible state of mind! They will go to their desks or
their offices to-morrow morning, not knowing but it may be their last
day in that place.
And the day will come, most surely, when _you_ will be tempted as
these wretched ones have been tempted. In what shape the temptation
may come, or when, no human being knows. The suggestion will be made,
that by the use of a little money you may make a good deal; that the
venture is perfectly safe; some one tells you so, and points to this
one or that one who has tried it and made money. It is only a little
thing; you can’t lose much; you _may_ make enough to pay for the cost
of your summer holiday, or for your cigar bill, or your beer bill; or
you will be able to smoke better cigars or drink better beer, or buy a
gold watch, or a diamond ring, or anything else; _you can’t lose much_.
You have no money of your own, it is true, but what is needed will not
be missed if you take it out of the drawer. Shall you do it? No! Let
nothing induce you to take the first dollar not your own. It is the
_first_ step that counts.
But suppose you don’t care for this warning, or forget it. Suppose the
time comes when you find that you _have_ taken something that was not
yours, and that it is lost, and that you cannot repay it, what then?
Why, go at once to your employer; tell him the whole story; keep back
nothing; throw yourself upon his mercy, and ask forgiveness. Better now
than later. You will assuredly be caught. There is no possibility of
continuous concealment. Tell it now before you are detected, and, if
you must be disgraced, the sooner the better.
Am I too earnest about this? Am I saying too much? Oh, boys, young
men, if you knew the frightful danger that you may be in some day, the
subtle temptations that will beset you, the many instances of weakness
about you, the shipwrecks of character, the utter ruin that comes to
sisters and to innocent wives and children by the crimes of brothers,
husbands and fathers, as we who are older know, you would not wonder
that I speak as I do.
Every case of breach of trust, every defalcation, weakens confidence
in human character. For every such instance of wrong-doing is a stab
at _your_ integrity if you are in a position of trust. Men of the
fairest reputation, men who are trusted implicitly by their employers,
men who are hedged about by the sacredness of domestic ties, on whom
the happiness of helpless wives and innocent children depend, men who
claim to be religious, go astray, step by step, little by little;
they defraud, steal, lie, try to cover up their tracks, cannot do it
long, are caught, tried, convicted, sentenced and imprisoned. Then
the question may be asked about you or me: “How do we know that Mr.
So-and-So is any better than those who have fallen?” Don’t you see
that these culprits are enemies of the public confidence, enemies of
society, _your_ enemies and _mine_?
If the names of those who are now serving out their sentences in
the public prisons for stealing, not petty theft, but stealing and
defrauding in larger sums, could be published in to-morrow morning’s
papers, what a sad record it would be of dishonored names and blighted
lives and ruined homes, and how the memory would recall some whom we
knew in early youth, the pride of their parents, or the idol of fond
wives and lovely children; and we should turn away with sickening
horror from the record! But, if there should appear in the same papers
the names of those who are _now engaged in stealing and defrauding_
and _falsifying entries_, who are not yet caught, but who may, before
this year is out, be caught and convicted and punished, what a horrible
revelation _that_ would be!
* * * * *
I close abruptly, for I cannot keep you longer.
But do not think that it is for your future in _this_ life only that
I am concerned. Life does not end here, though it may seem to do so.
Our life in this world is a mere _beginning_ of existence. It is the
_future_, the _endless_ life before us, that we should prepare for; and
no preparation is worth the name except that of a pure, an upright and
honorable life, that depends for its support on the love and the fear
of God. You must accept him as your Father, you must honor him and obey
him, and so consecrating your young lives to his service, trust him to
care for you with his infinite love and care.
[Illustration: _William Welsh._]
ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM WELSH,
_First President of the Board of City Trusts_.
February 22, 1878.
When I spoke to you last from this desk I tried to persuade you to
adopt the thought so aptly set forth by one of the old Hebrew kings,
Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might. I little
thought then that Mr. Welsh, who was one of the most conspicuous
examples of working with all his might, and so much of whose work was
done for you, whom you so often saw standing where I now stand, I
little thought that his work on earth was so nearly done. Last Sunday
he addressed you here. One, two, three services he conducted for the
boys of this college, one in the infirmary, one in the refectory
for the new boys, and one in this chapel. I venture to say from my
knowledge of his method of doing things that these services were all
conducted in the best manner possible to him; that he did not spare
his strength; that there was nothing weak or undecided in his acts or
speech, but that he took hold of his subject with a firm grasp, and
did not let go until the service was finished. It is very natural
that we should desire to know as much as we can about a life that
has come so close to us as the life of Mr. Welsh, and to learn, if
we may, what it was that made him the man that he was. The thousands
of people that gathered in and about St. Luke’s Church on the day of
the funeral, as many of you saw; the very large number of citizens
of the highest distinction who united in the solemn services; the
profound interest manifested everywhere among all classes of society;
the closing of places of business at the hour of these services; the
flags at half-mast, all these circumstances, so unusual, so impressive,
assured us that no common man had gone from among us. What was it that
made him no common man? What was there in his life and character that
lifted him above the ordinarily successful merchant? In other places,
and by those most competent to speak, will the complete picture of
his life be drawn, but what was there in his life which particularly
interests you college boys? It will surprise you probably when I tell
you that his early education――the education of the schools――was very
limited. He was not a college-bred man. At a very early age (as early
as fourteen, I believe) he left school and went into his father’s
store. You know that he could not have had much education at that age.
And he went into the store, not to be a gentleman clerk to sit in the
counting-house and copy letters and invoices, and do the bank business
and lounge about in fine clothing, but he went to do anything that
came to hand, rough and smooth, hard and easy, dirty and clean, for
in those days the duties of a junior clerk differed from those of a
porter only in this, that the young clerk’s work was not so heavy as
the robust porter’s. And even when he grew older and stronger he would
go down into the hold of a vessel and vie with the strong stevedore in
the shifting and placing of cargoes. And the days were long then: there
were no office hours from nine to three o’clock, but merchants and
their clerks dined near the middle of the day, and were back at their
stores, their warehouses, in the afternoon and stayed and worked until
the day was done. So this young clerk worked all day, and went home at
night tired and hungry, to rest, to sleep and to go through the next
day and the next in the same manner. But not only to rest and sleep.
The body was tired enough with the long day’s work, but the mind was
not tired. He early knew the importance of mental discipline, of mental
cultivation. He knew that a half-educated man is no match for one
thoroughly equipped, and so he set himself to the task of making up,
as far as he could, for that deficiency of systematic education which
his early withdrawal from school made him regret so much. What definite
means or methods he resorted to to accomplish this I cannot tell you,
for I have not learned; but the fact that he did very largely overcome
this most serious disadvantage is apparent to all who have ever met
him. He was a cultivated gentleman, thoroughly at ease in circles where
men must be well informed or be very uncomfortable. As the President
of this Board of Trustees, having for his associates gentlemen of the
highest professional and general culture, he was quite equal to any
exigency which ever arose. All this you must know was the result of
education, not that which was imparted to him in the schools, but that
which he acquired himself after his school life. He was careful about
his associates. Then, as now, the streets were alive with boys and
young men of more than questionable character. And the thought which
has come up in many a boy’s mind after his day’s work was done, must
have come up in his mind: “Why should I not stroll about the streets
with companions of my own age and have a good time? Why should I be
so strict while others have more freedom and enjoy themselves so much
more?” I have no doubt that he had his enjoyments, and that he was a
free, hearty boy in them all, but I cannot suppose, for his after life
gave no evidence of it, his general good health, his muscular wiry
frame forbade the thought, I cannot suppose his youthful pleasures
passed beyond that line which separates the good from the bad, the pure
from the impure. Few evils are so great as that of evil companions.
William Welsh was not afraid of work. I mean by that he was not lazy.
A large part of the failures in life are attributable to the love of
ease. We choose the soft things; we turn away from those which are
hard. We are deterred by the abstruse, the obscure; we are attracted
by the simple, the plain. A really strong character will grapple
with any subject; a weak one shrinks from a struggle. A character
naturally weak may be developed by culture and discipline into one of
real strength, but the process is very slow and very discouraging. A
life that is worth anything at all, that impresses itself on other
lives, on society, must have these struggles, this training. I do not
know minutely the characteristics of Mr. Welsh’s early life in this
particular, but I infer most emphatically that his strong character was
formed by continuous, laborious, exacting self-application.
I would now speak of that quality which is so valuable (I will not say
so rare), so conspicuously and so immeasurably important, personal
integrity. Mr. Welsh possessed this in the highest degree. He was most
emphatically an honest man. No thought of anything other than this
could ever have entered into the mind of any one who knew him. All
men knew that public or private trusts committed to him were safe.
Mistakes in judgment all are liable to, but of conscious deflection
from the right path in this respect he was incapable. His high position
as President of the Board of City Trusts, which includes, among other
large properties, the great estate left by Mr. Girard to the city of
Philadelphia, proves the confidence this community had in his personal
character. His private fortune was used as if he were a trustee. He
recognized the hand of God in his grand success as a merchant, and he
felt himself accountable to God for a proper expenditure. If he enjoyed
a generous mode of living for himself and his family――a manner of life
required by his position in the community――he more than equalized it by
his gifts to objects of benevolence. He was conscientious and liberal
(rare combination) in his benefactions, for he felt that he held his
personal property in trust.
Such are a few of the traits in the character of the man whose life
on earth was so suddenly closed on Monday last. Under Providence, by
which I mean the blessing of God, that blessing which is just as much
within your reach as his, these are some of the conditions of his
extraordinary success. His self-culture, the choice of his companions
his persistent industry, his integrity, his religion, made the man what
he was. I cannot here speak of his work in that church which he loved
so much. I do not speak with absolute certainty, but I have reason to
believe that, next to his own family, his affections were placed on
you. He could never look into your faces without having his feelings
stirred to their profoundest depths. He loved you――in the best, the
truest sense, he loved you. He was willing to give any amount of his
time, his thought, his care, to you. The time he spent in the chapel
was a very small part of the time he gave to his work for you. You were
upon his heart constantly. I do not know――no one can know――but if it be
possible for the spirits of just men made perfect to revisit the scenes
of earth――to come back and look upon those they loved so much when in
the flesh――I am sure his spirit is here to-day――this, his first Sabbath
in Heaven――looking into your faces, as he often did when he went in and
out among you, and wishing that all of you may make such use of your
grand opportunity here as will insure your success in the life which
is before you when you leave these college walls, and especially as
will insure your entering into the everlasting life. Such was his life,
full of activity, generosity, self-denial, eminently religious, in
the best sense successful. He was never at rest; his heart was always
open to human sympathy; he denied nothing except to himself. He wanted
everybody to be religious. He died in the harness; no time to take it
off; no wish to take it off. But in the front, on the advance, not in
retreat. He never turned his back on anything that was right. His eye
was not dim; his natural force was not abated. Death came so swiftly
that it seemed only stepping from one room in his Father’s house to
another. We are reminded of the beautiful words in which Mr. Thackeray
describes the death of Colonel Newcome in the hospital of the Charter
House School, after a life spent in fighting the enemies of his country
abroad, and the enemies of the good in society at home. “At the usual
evening hour the chapel bell began to toll and Thomas Newcome’s hands
outside the bed feebly beat time. And just as the last bell struck,
a peculiar sweet smile shone over his face. He lifted up his head a
little and quickly said _Adsum_, and fell back. It was the word they
used at school when names were called, and lo, he, whose heart was
as that of a little child, had answered to his name and stood in the
presence of ‘The Master.’”
BAD ASSOCIATES.
November 11, 1888.
I wish to speak to you to-day about the danger of evil company, a
danger to which you will necessarily be exposed when you go out from
this college to make your way in life.
The desire for companionship sometimes leads people, and especially
young people, into bad company. A boy finds himself associated with a
schoolmate, a fellow-apprentice or fellow-clerk, who is attractive in
manners, full of fun, but who is not what he ought to be in character.
No one is entirely bad; almost all persons old or young have some
points that are not repulsive, and sometimes the very bad are
attractive in some respects. A comparatively innocent boy is thrown
into such company, and, at first, he sees nothing in the conduct of his
new friends which is particularly out of the way. The conversation is
somewhat guarded, the jokes and stories are not specially bad, and, for
a time, nothing occurs to shock his feelings; but, after a while, the
mask is thrown off and the true character is revealed. Then very soon
the mind of the pure, innocent boy receives impressions that corrupt
and defile it. All that is polluting in talk and story and song is
poured out. Books and papers, so vile that it is a breach of law to
sell them, are read and quoted without bringing a blush to the cheek,
and, before his parents are aware of the danger, the mind and heart of
their son are so polluted and depraved that no human power can save him.
I very well remember a boy older than myself who, early in life, gave
himself up to vile company and vile books and vile habits, and who,
long ago――almost as soon as he reached an early manhood――sunk, under
the weight of his sinful habits, into a dishonored grave, but not until
he had defiled and depraved many a boy who came under his influence.
Better would it have been for his companions if their daily walks and
playgrounds had been infested with venomous serpents, to bite and sting
their bare feet, than to associate with a boy whose heart was full of
all uncleanness.
It is dangerous to make such friendships. Circumstances may throw us
among them; the providence of God may send us there, but we ought never
to _seek_ such company, except for good purposes. What I mean is that
we ought not to seek such associates, however agreeable they may be in
other respects, and not to remain among them except for their good.
There are wicked people in every community, of all ages. We cannot
altogether avoid contact with them. We find them among our schoolmates
and in the walks of business.
Many a young man, many a boy, has been forever ruined by evil
companions. A corrupt literature is bad enough, but evil companions are
more numerous and, if possible, more fatal. Bad books and papers have
slain their thousands; bad companions have slain their ten thousands. I
can recall the names of many who were led away, step by step, down the
broad road that leads to destruction, by companions genial, attractive,
but corrupt.
There are some companions from whom you cannot separate yourselves.
They are with you continually; at home and abroad, in school or at
play, by day and by night, asleep and awake, they are always with you.
There is no solitude so deep that they cannot find you, no crowd so
great that they will ever lose you. No matter who else is with you,
they will not――cannot――be kept away. I mean _your own thoughts_, your
bosom companions. Shall they be EVIL companions or GOOD? Ah! you know
who, and who only, can answer this question.