resist them requires courage, force, and alertness, it is only too
probable that the man past fifty, who feels that he has failed, is
beginning to submit to them. Do not do it. Resort to every possible
device to prevent it; for degeneration, in itself, is failure; more,
it is death. It is exactly the same force which rots out the heart of
the oak, manifesting itself in human character.
Your problem is not to give way to your weaknesses. That is the
problem of all of us. "I see two men looking from your eyes," said the
Norse seeress, "a young man and an old man. Do not let the old man in
you conquer the young man in you." Very well! Barring the loss of
health, you can always make the young man in you the victor.
Do not conclude that things are fixed, that conditions are permanent,
and that, as there is no apparent place for you as circumstances now
exist, there never will be. Fix in your mind this dreadful and
glorious paradox, that even the most permanent things are transient.
Study the clouds, those visible emblems of human experience and
institutions. A twist, a curve, a change in the shape and outline, and
final disappearance into the universal blue--such is their destiny;
and yet each instant they are permanent, apparently, so far as that
instant is concerned.
"The rushing metamorphosis
Dissolving all that fixture is,
Melts things that be to things that seem
And solid Nature to a dream."
It will be useful, also, to consider the political machine. There is
nothing which, in its day, is apparently more permanent or powerful;
yet it dissolves in obedience to the very laws on which it is built.
So, my friend, there is never a time that you can truthfully say that
there is not, and never will be, any place for you in the order of
society and affairs.
No, indeed; things are not fixed. Recall the story of the Oriental
monarch. His wise men with all their wisdom could not produce a single
truth that stood the test of time. As the tale runs, the ruler, weary
of the falsehoods of so-called learning, called his wise men together
and said to them:
"I sicken of your daily sagacities which the next day prove to be
follies. Tell me one truth--only one. I ask but a single sentence. But
let it be a sentence that will be as true next year as this year--a
sentence which always has been true and always will be true. I give
you one year to formulate one such sentence. If at the end of that
time you cannot state an absolute verity, your lives will be
forfeited."
At the end of the year the wise men came to their dread lord and said
that they had found one universal truth. "State it," said their
sovereign. They answered: "Here is the only sentence our wisdom can
construct which is absolutely true: '_And this, too, shall pass
away._'" And so shall your misfortunes, my friend past fifty, pass
away. "It is a long road that has no turning," declares the maxim of
the people. Your road is no exception.
The historic instances of great success past fifty are numerous and
inspiring. They begin with Moses, who was forty years of age when "he
slew the Egyptian," and they come down to our present day; to
Bismarck, who, while so brilliant as a young man that he attracted the
attention of Europe, was not great till he was past forty-five; to
Disraeli, who, though so dazzling in his youth and early prime that
he astounded Parliament and filled the press with comment, was not
constructive or permanent in his success till comparatively late in
life.
Think, too, of those historic successes of which there was not the
faintest sign until far past middle life--they are not many, to be
sure, but they are inspiring. Some of the great headlands that
shoulder out into history--Washington, Lincoln, and the like--became
visible to the world after forty-five.
Of course, it is true that the immense majority of the world's great
achievers--generals, statesmen, poets, philosophers, inventors,
builders--have been young men. But the noble exceptions contain
sufficient encouragement for you if you still have the heart of
purpose.
I like to think of a man fighting his best fight just at the end of
life. There has always been something attractive to me about the
expression of Western hardihood, "Dying with his boots on," and the
attitude of character that it describes.
From my infancy the story of the _Bon Homme Richard_ has been like
wine to my blood. Be you like that ship, my dear friend past fifty!
She had, apparently, failed, but she kept in service. She had reached
the age of decay, and her timbers scarcely held together; yet she did
not go out of commission.
She attacked the _Serapis_, one of the youngest and stanchest and best
equipped of the matchless navy of England. She was blown full of
holes; still she fought. She was on fire; still she fought. The water
poured into her hold and she was sinking; still she fought. Fought,
fought, fought, and in the grim, the terrible, and the sublime end she
won.
The _Serapis_ was captured by the _Bon Homme Richard_, and the
victorious old ship's crew established themselves on the decks of the
conquered Englishman. The gallant veteran of the waves was kept afloat
that night, but at sunrise the next day they ran to her masthead her
glorious, shot-torn battle-flag, and she went to her home in the
abysses of the deep with that banner of battle and ultimate triumph
flying as she sank beneath the waves.
Be that your end, my friend, and that of all brave hearts. Fight until
the last, and let your noblest and most decisive victory be won with
the final efforts of your expiring life.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's The Young Man and the World, by Albert J. Beveridge