I would not clip the wings of noble, honorable aspiration. I would not
bar and bolt the gate to the higher planes of thought and action, where
truth and virtue bloom and ripen into glorious fruit. There are a
thousand fields of endeavor in the world, and happy is he who labors
where God intended him to labor.
The contented plowman who whistles as he rides to the field and sings as
he plows, and builds his little paradise on the farm, gets more out of
life than the richest Shylock on earth.
The good old spectacled mother in Israel, with her white locks and
beaming face, as she works in her sphere, visiting the poor, nursing the
sick, and closing the eyes of the dead, is more beautiful in her life,
and more charming in her character, than the loveliest queen of society
who ever chased the phantoms of pleasure in the ballroom.
The humblest village preacher who faithfully serves his God, and leads
his pious flock in the paths of holiness and peace, is more eloquent,
and plays a nobler part than the most brilliant infidel who ever
blasphemed the name of God.
The industrious drummer who travels all night and toils all day to win
comfort for wife, and children, and mother, and sister, is a better man,
and a far better citizen, than the most successful speculator on Wall
Street, who plays with the fortunes of his fellow-man as the wolf plays
with the lamb, or as the cyclone plays with the feather.
Young ladies, when the time comes to marry, say "yes" to the good-natured,
big-hearted drummer. For he is a spring in a desert, a straight flush in
a weary hand, a "thing of beauty and a joy forever," and he will never
be at home to bother you.