SOME OF LABOR'S COMPENSATIONS.
Although it is better for every young man, if possible, to adhere to
one thing, yet, as we shall see when we come to treat of the life of
that remarkable man Peter Cooper, change does not necessarily mean
vacillation. For the mere sake of consistency a man would be foolish
who neglected a good chance to succeed in another field. Edison
started life as a newsboy, but it would be folly to say that he
should have stuck to that very respectable, but not usually lucrative
occupation. Morse, the inventor of the telegraph, was an artist till
middle life. Alexander T. Stewart and James Gordon Bennett, the one a
most successful journalist, and the other the greatest merchant of
his day, began life as school-teachers. And so we might continue the
list; but even these examples do not warrant the belief that a change
of calling is necessary to success, but rather that the change may
increase the chances. As a rule, however, the changes have been
forced by unforeseen circumstances, of which these strong men were
quick to see the advantages.
In beginning the life journey, as in starting out on a day's journey,
it is of great importance to have a destination in view. In every
effort there should be kept in mind the end to be attained--an ideal
to achieve which every faculty must be enlisted.
Men whose lives have been eminently successful tell us that their
greatest reward was not found in the accomplishment of their life
purpose, but in the slow, but certain advance made from day to day.
The joy of travel does not lie in reaching the destination, but in
the companions met with on the journey, the changing scenery through
which the traveler passes, and even the inconveniences that break up
the monotony of the ordinary routine life. It is so with our life-
work. The cradle and the grave mark the beginning and the end of the
journey, but the joy of living lies in the varied incident and effort
to be met with between the two.
It is well for us that this is so; well for us that we do not have to
wait for the reward till the end comes.
We may, as in the cases named, change our means of travel, but so
long as success is our purpose, it matters not so much what variation
we may make in the route, when we seek to attain it.
The old-fashioned country school debating societies had one subject
that never lost its popularity, and on which the rural orators
exhausted their eloquence and ingenuity: "Resolved, that there is
more happiness in participation than in anticipation." We doubt if
any debating society ever settled the question, in a way that would
be acceptable to all. As a rule the younger people decided,
irrespective of the argument, that participation was the most
desirable; but the older people wisely shook their heads and took the
other side of the case.
Often when the end has been gained, it has been discovered that the
reward was not worth the effort, and that the full compensation was
gained in the peace, the regular habits, the health, and the sense of
duty well-performed which kept up the hope and the strength during
the long years of toil.
There is a temperance in eating, as well as in drinking; even honest
labor when carried to an excess that impairs the powers of mind and
body, may be classed with intemperance; indeed, it should be a part
of every young man's course of self-study to learn his own physical
and mental limitations.
There is everything in knowing how to work, and in learning when to
rest. One of the rewards of judicious labor, and by no means the
least of them is--health. Health is not only essential to the
happiness of ourselves and of those with whom we come into contact,
but no permanent success can be won without it.
Benjamin Franklin, himself a model of industry and of good health,
even in old age, says:
"I have always worked hard, but I have regarded as sinful the haste
and toil that sap the health. There is reason why disease should
seize on the idler, but the industrious man, whose toil is well-
regulated, should have no occasion for a physician, unless in case of
accident. Labor, like virtue, is its own reward."
In looking over the callings of people who have retained all their
powers to an age so long beyond the allotted time as to seem
phenomenal, there is not one case that we can recall where the life
has not been distinguished for temperance, orderliness, and
persistent but temperate industry.
The health that waits upon labor is among its best results, as it
must continue to be among its greatest blessings. More particularly
is health to be derived from out-door employment, as life on the farm
and an active participation in its many and varied labors. Physical
exercise is essential to health, under any and all circumstances,
whether it be in the nature of labor or recreation. It must be borne
in mind, however, that in labor are to be found the surest
correctives of many abuses of health, as bringing into play
influences of the more satisfactory sort upon the mind as considered
in contrast to idleness. Idleness is the parent of many vices, some
one says, and it is true. The freedom from the annoying reflection
that one is making no use of physical or mental abilities to secure
protection from want and suffering, sweetens labor and gives it a
value which all true men must appreciate and carefully consider. How
often have the wearied journalist and accountant, tired out in body
and mind at the desk of unremitting application, found, in the life
and labor of the farm and shop, relief and a return to the blessings
of health. There are other occupations and employments just as
necessary, but many of them are pursued under considerations not
leading to, but rather away from, health. Any one, however, may take
from business enough time for rest and healthful exercise. It is in
purifying and driving away from man the tendencies to evil that, in
idleness, prey too continually and strongly upon him, and which he
cannot long successfully resist, that labor possesses its greatest
benefit. The atmosphere of diligent labor usefully directed is always
of a healthy nature. Into it cannot enter the many foes that assail
the idle, who have not the shield of protection that labor gives to
all who enter its hallowed gateway. Labor dignifies and ennobles when
in moderation; it permits the enjoyment of comforts and luxuries, and
gives to home its sacred charm; it dashes away the bitter cup of
poverty, and gives instead the nourishing and acceptable food of
contentment; it dispels dread conceits of coming evil, and dries the
tears of the afflicted. Labor is man's heaven-born heritage in
exchange for the curse of disobedience, and yet men are ungrateful
and disposed to quarrel with their truest friends. What truer and
better friend can anyone possess than useful labor, the key that
unlocks the casket of wisdom and exposes to our startled gaze the
treasures that lie within? For every honest and determined end of
labor there is sure reward. "There is no reward without toil" is a
proverb as old as history and as true to-day as when it first found
lodgment in the minds and hearts of men. The faithful servant of
labor hears in every blow he strikes the sure sound of the power
committed to him and which will bring him the fine gold of merited
approval.
The health in labor, considered in all of the relations attaching to
it, further brings a comfort and satisfaction which cannot be too
highly estimated. The surest remedy that can be applied, when men are
suffering from defeat in business and the attendant consequences, is
renewed and persistent labor. Who can measure the value of labor? It
is a possession that cannot be stolen, and only ceases to serve when
men, from exhausted energies or enfeebled age, can no longer command
it. From the beginning to the end of life it waits upon us, and
whoever will use it will not be deprived of its wonderful and
magnificent bounties.
As labor is man's greatest blessing, so is indolence his greatest
curse. As labor is health, so indolence is disease. Man in a
condition of idleness is about as useless a thing as is to be found
in nature. He prefers to live by some one else's labor. The world
owes him a living and he manages somehow to get it. But he is an
industrious collector, although he would walk a mile to get around
work. He attaches himself, like the mistletoe, to whoever will
support him. He is a true parasite. His tongue has but little end to
it. It wags from morning to night; invents seemingly plausible
theories of work, but never attempts them. He is full of advice to
all who will listen. Can such a man be healthy? He _cannot_ enjoy
good health because he is too lazy to do so. No way has as yet been
found to make him healthy and put him to work. He cannot be got rid
of. People who labor and who are compelled to help this poor creature
do not make much effort to turn him in the direction of labor. They
are too busy to take any account of him; so he is left to his misery
and poverty. He has not a grain of independence in his whole
composition. He pines and dies at last, and the world is better for
his being out of it. But like mushrooms, these people spring up. Many
infest our large cities, and these are dignified by the city
directories as "floating population." The term is very nearly
correct; they float for a time upon the current, until borne away to
another port where there is better and safer anchorage. Where free
lunches are abundant there the idler may be found. For this privilege
he is sometimes obliged to do a little work. But how it grieves him!
His whole aim is to get drink, a little food, and less clothing. He
of course, uses tobacco; but this he must obtain in some way that
does not call for money, for of that he has none and never can have,
unless he go to work--and this is highly improbable. He has got to
that point that he cannot work. He is too unhealthy and his influence
is corrupting. Nobody will give him employment, so he must keep on to
the end of the chapter. An even more disgusting specimen is the idler
who develops into a sneakthief and the more genteel sort of gentry--
gamblers and workers of chances. These are, perhaps, to be included
in the list of those who live by their wits and not by any kind of
labor.
If there is any worse disease than idleness, it has not yet been
discovered. Good and true men, who value the rewards of labor, look
upon idleness with a dread that equals that of yellow fever; for it
is more general in its effects and more to be detested. While there
may sometimes be luck in leisure, indolence never pays.
But the effects of persistent, systematic effort are not confined to
ourselves; the example is contagious and acts as a guide and a
stimulus to others in the life battle. The good done and the help
given to friends in this way are incalculable, and are not the least
of the rewards labor bestows before the end is attained.
Dr. Miller in his able work "The Building of Character," says very
aptly in this connection:
"We all need human friendship. We need it especially in our times of
darkness. He does not well, he lives not wisely, who in the days of
prosperity neglects to gather about his life a few loving friends,
who will be a strength to him in the days of stress and need."
There is a time to show sympathy, when it is golden; when this time
has passed, and we have only slept meanwhile, we may as well sleep
on. You did not go near your friend when he was fighting his battle
alone. You might have helped him then. What use is there in your
coming to him now, when he has conquered without your aid? You paid
no attention to your neighbor when he was bending under life's loads,
and struggling with difficulties, obstacles, and adversities. You let
him alone then. You never told him that you sympathized with him. You
never said a brave, strong word of cheer to him in those days. You
never even scattered a handful of flowers on his hard path. Now that
he is dead and lying in his coffin, what is the use in your standing
beside his still form, and telling the people how nobly he battled,
how heroically he lived; and speaking words of commendation? No, no;
having let him go on, unhelped, uncheered, unencouraged, through the
days when he needed so sorely your warm sympathy, and craved so
hungrily your cheer, you may as well sleep on and take your rest,
letting him alone unto the end. Nothing can be done now. Too laggard
are the feet that come with comfort when the time for comfort is
past.
"Ah! woe for the word that is never said
Till the ear is deaf to hear;
And woe for the lack to the fainting head
Of the ringing shout of cheer;
Ah! woe for the laggard feet that tread
In the mournful wake of the bier.
A pitiful thing the gift to-day
That is dross and nothing worth,
Though if it had come but yesterday,
It had brimmed with sweet the earth;
A fading rose in a death-cold hand,
That perished in want and dearth."
Shall we not take our lesson from the legend of the robin that
plucked a thorn from the Savior's brow, and thus sought to lessen his
pain, rather than from the story of the disciples, who slept and
failed to give the help which the Lord sought from their love? Thus
can we strengthen those whose burdens are heavy, and whose struggles
and sorrows are sore.
All noble effort, as Sarah K. Bolton beautifully expresses it, is its
own reward:
"I like the man who faces what he must
With step triumphant and a heart of cheer;
Who fights the daily battle without fear;
Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps unfaltering trust
That God is God; that, somehow, true and just,
His plans work out for mortals; not a tear
Is shed when fortune, which the world holds dear,
Falls from his grasp. Better, with love, a crust,
Than living in dishonor; envies not
Nor loses faith in man; but does his best,
Nor ever murmurs at his humbler lot;
But with a smile and words of hope, gives zest
To every toiler. He alone is great
Who, by a life heroic, conquers fate."
"After I have completed an invention," says Thomas A. Edison, "I seem
to lose interest in it. One might think that the money value of an
invention constituted its reward to the man who loves his work. But,
speaking for myself, I can honestly say this is not so. Life was
never so full of joy to me, as when a poor boy I began to think out
improvements in telegraphy, and to experiment with the cheapest and
crudest appliances. But, now that I have all the appliances I need,
and am my own master, I continue to find my greatest pleasure, and so
my reward, in the work that precedes what the world calls success."
Mr. Gladstone, the great English statesman, and though nearing four
score and ten, still one of the most industrious of men, says:
"I have found my greatest happiness in labor. I early formed the
habit of industry, and it has been its own reward. The young are apt
to think that rest means a cessation from all effort, but I have
found the most perfect rest in changing effort. If brain-weary over
books and study, go out into the blessed sunlight and the pure air,
and give heartfelt exercise to the body. The brain will soon become
calm and rested. The efforts of nature are ceaseless. Even in our
sleep, the heart throbs on. If these great forces ceased for an
instant death would follow. I try to live close to nature, and to
imitate her in my labors. The compensation is sound sleep, a
wholesome digestion, and powers that are kept at their best; and this
I take it is the chief reward of industry."
"If I ever get time from work," said Horace Greeley one day, "I'll go
a-fishing, for I was fond of it when a boy." But he never went
a-fishing, never indulged in a healthful change of exercise, and the
result was a mind thrown out of balance, and death in the prime of
life. We all need a restful change at times.