ONE UNWAVERING AIM.
Life is an arrow--therefore you must know
What mark to aim at, how to use the bow--
Then draw it to the head and let it go.
HENRY VAN DYKE.
The important thing in life is to have a great aim, and to possess the
aptitude and perseverance to attain it.--GOETHE.
Concentration alone conquers.--C. BUXTON.
"He who follows two hares is sure to catch neither."
"A double-minded man is unstable in all his ways."
Let every one ascertain his special business and calling, and then
stick to it if he would be successful.--FRANKLIN.
"Digression is as dangerous as stagnation in the career of a young man
in business."
Every man who observes vigilantly and resolves steadfastly grows
unconsciously into genius.--BULWER.
Genius is intensity.--BALZAC.
"Why do you lead such a solitary life?" asked a friend of Michael
Angelo. "Art is a jealous mistress," replied the artist; "she requires
the whole man." During his labors at the Sistine Chapel, according to
Disraeli, he refused to meet any one, even at his own house.
"That day we sailed westward, which was our course," were the simple
but grand words which Columbus wrote in his journal day after day.
Hope might rise and fall, terror and dismay might seize upon the crew
at the mysterious variations of the compass, but Columbus, unappalled,
pushed due west and nightly added to his record the above words.
"Cut an inch deeper," said a member of the Old Guard to the surgeon
probing his wound, "and you will find the Emperor,"--meaning his heart.
By the marvelous power of concentrated purpose Napoleon had left his
name on the very stones of the capital, had burned it indelibly into
the heart of every Frenchman, and had left it written in living letters
all over Europe. France to-day has not shaken off the spell of that
name. In the fair city on the Seine the mystic "N" confronts you
everywhere.
Oh, the power of a great purpose to work miracles! It has changed the
face of the world. Napoleon knew that there were plenty of great men
in France, but they did not know the might of the unwavering aim by
which he was changing the destinies of Europe. He saw that what was
called the "balance of power" was only an idle dream; that, unless some
master-mind could be found which was a match for events, the millions
would rule in anarchy. His iron will grasped the situation; and like
William Pitt, he did not loiter around balancing the probabilities of
failure or success, or dally with his purpose. There was no turning to
the right nor to the left; no dreaming away time, nor building
air-castles; but one look and purpose, forward, upward and onward,
straight to his goal. He always hit the bull's-eye. His great success
in war was due largely to his definiteness of aim. He was like a great
burning-glass, concentrating the rays of the sun upon a single spot; he
burned a hole wherever he went. The secret of his power lay in his
ability to concentrate his forces upon a single point. After finding
the weak place in the enemy's ranks, he would mass his men and hurl
them like an avalanche upon the critical point, crowding volley upon
volley, charge upon charge, till he made a breach. What a lesson of
the power of concentration there is in this man's life! He was able to
focus all his faculties upon the smallest detail, as well as upon an
empire. But, alas! Napoleon was himself defeated by violation of his
own tactics,--the constantly repeated crushing force of heavy
battalions upon one point.
To succeed to-day a man must concentrate all the faculties of his mind
upon one unwavering aim, and have a tenacity of purpose which means
death or victory. Every other inclination which tempts him from his
aim must be suppressed.
New Jersey has many ports, but they are so shallow and narrow that the
shipping of the entire state amounts to but little. On the other hand,
New York has but one ocean port, and yet it is so broad, deep, and
grand, that it leads America in its enormous shipping trade. She sends
her vessels into every port of the world, while the ships of her
neighbor are restricted to local voyages.
A man may starve on a dozen half-learned trades or occupations; he may
grow rich and famous upon one trade thoroughly mastered, even though it
be the humblest.
Even Gladstone, with his ponderous yet active brain, says he cannot do
two things at once; he throws his entire strength upon whatever he
does. The intensest energy characterizes everything he undertakes,
even his recreation. If such concentration of energy is necessary for
the success of a Gladstone, what can we common mortals hope to
accomplish by "scatteration?"
All great men have been noted for their power of concentration which
makes them oblivious of everything outside their aim. Victor Hugo
wrote his "Notre Dame" during the revolution of 1830, while the bullets
were whistling across his garden. He shut himself up in one room,
locking his clothes up, lest they should tempt him to go out into the
street, and spent most of that winter wrapped in a big gray comforter,
pouring his very life into his work.
Genius is intensity. Abraham Lincoln possessed such power of
concentration that he could repeat quite correctly a sermon to which he
had listened in his boyhood. Dr. O. W. Holmes, when an Andover
student, riveted his eyes on the book he was studying as though he were
reading a will that made him heir to a million.
A New York sportsman, in answer to an advertisement, sent twenty-five
cents for a sure receipt to prevent a shotgun from scattering, and
received the following; "Dear Sir: To keep a gun from scattering put in
but a single shot."
It is the men who do one thing in this world who come to the front.
Who is the favorite actor? It is a Jefferson, who devotes a lifetime
to a "Rip Van Winkle," a Booth, an Irving, a Kean, who plays one
character until he can play it better than any other man living, and
not the shallow players who impersonate all parts. It is the man who
never steps outside of his specialty or dissipates his individuality.
It is an Edison, a Morse, a Bell, a Howe, a Stephenson, a Watt. It is
Adam Smith, spending ten years on the "Wealth of Nations." It is
Gibbon, giving twenty years to his "Decline and Fall of the Roman
Empire." It is a Hume, writing thirteen hours a day on his "History of
England." It is a Webster, spending thirty-six years on his
dictionary. It is a Bancroft, working twenty-six years on his "History
of the United States." It is a Field, crossing the ocean fifty times
to lay a cable, while the world ridicules. It is a Newton, writing his
"Chronology of Ancient Nations" sixteen times. It is a Grant, who
proposes to "fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." These
are the men who have written their names prominently in the history of
the world.
A one-talent man who decides upon a definite object accomplishes more
than the ten-talent man who scatters his energies and never knows
exactly what he will do. The weakest living creature, by concentrating
his powers upon one thing, can accomplish something; the strongest, by
dispersing his over many, may fail to accomplish anything. Drop after
drop, continually falling, wears a passage through the hardest rock.
The hasty tempest, as Carlyle points out, rushes over it with hideous
uproar and leaves no trace behind.
A great purpose is cumulative; and, like a great magnet, it attracts
all that is kindred along the stream of life.
A Yankee can splice a rope in many different ways; an English sailor
only knows one way, but that is the best one. It is the one-sided man,
the sharp-edged man, the man of single and intense purpose, the man of
one idea, who turns neither to the right nor to the left, though a
paradise tempt him, who cuts his way through obstacles and forges to
the front. The time has gone forever when a Bacon can span universal
knowledge; or when, absorbing all the knowledge of the times, a Dante
can sustain arguments against fourteen disputants in the University of
Paris, and conquer in them all. The day when a man can successfully
drive a dozen callings abreast is a thing of the past. Concentration
is the keynote of the century.
Scientists estimate that there is energy enough in less than fifty
acres of sunshine to run all the machinery in the world, if it could be
concentrated. But the sun might blaze out upon the earth forever
without setting anything on fire; although these rays focused by a
burning-glass would melt solid granite, or even change a diamond into
vapor. There are plenty of men who have ability enough; the rays of
their faculties, taken separately, are all right, but they are
powerless to collect them, to bring them all to bear upon a single
spot. Versatile men, universal geniuses, are usually weak, because
they have no power to concentrate their talents upon one point, and
this makes all the difference between success and failure.
Chiseled upon the tomb of a disappointed, heart-broken king, Joseph II.
of Austria, in the Royal Cemetery at Vienna, a traveler tells us, is
this epitaph: "Here lies a monarch who, with the best of intentions,
never carried out a single plan."
Sir James Mackintosh was a man of remarkable ability. He excited in
every one who knew him the greatest expectations. Many watched his
career with much interest, expecting that he would dazzle the world.
But there was no purpose in his life. He had intermittent attacks of
enthusiasm for doing great things, but his zeal all evaporated before
he could decide what to do. This fatal defect in his character kept
him balancing between conflicting motives; and his whole life was
almost thrown away. He lacked power to choose one object and persevere
with a single aim, sacrificing every interfering inclination. He
vacillated for weeks trying to determine whether to use "usefulness" or
"utility" in a composition.
One talent utilized in a single direction will do infinitely more than
ten talents scattered. A thimbleful of powder behind a ball in a rifle
will do more execution than a carload of powder unconfined. The
rifle-barrel is the purpose that gives direct aim to the powder, which
otherwise, no matter how good it might be, would be powerless. The
poorest scholar in school or college often, in practical life, far
outstrips the class leader or senior wrangler, simply because what
little ability he has he employs for a definite object, while the
other, depending upon his general ability and brilliant prospects,
never concentrates his powers.
"A sublime self-confidence," says E. P. Whipple, "springing not from
self-conceit, but from an intense identification of the man with his
object, lifts him altogether above the fear of danger and death, and
communicates an almost superhuman audacity to his will."
* * * * * *
[Illustration: RICHARD ARKWRIGHT]
What a sublime spectacle is that of a man going straight to his goal,
cutting his way through difficulties, and surmounting obstacles which
dishearten others, as though they were stepping-stones.
* * * * * *
It is fashionable to ridicule the man of one idea, but the men who have
changed the front of the world have been men of a single aim. No man
can make his mark on this age of specialties who is not a man of one
idea, one supreme aim, one master passion. The man who would make
himself felt on this bustling planet, who would make a breach in the
compact conservatism of our civilization, must play all his guns on one
point. A wavering aim, a faltering purpose, has no place in the
nineteenth century. "Mental shiftlessness" is the cause of many a
failure. The world is full of unsuccessful men who spend their lives
letting empty buckets down into empty wells.
"Mr. A. often laughs at me," said a young American chemist, "because I
have but one idea. He talks about everything, aims to excel in many
things; but I have learned that, if I ever wish to make a breach, I
must play my guns continually upon one point." This great chemist,
when an obscure schoolmaster, used to study by the light of a pine knot
in a log cabin. Not many years later he was performing experiments in
electro-magnetism before English earls, and subsequently he was at the
head of one of the largest scientific institutes of this country. This
man was the late Professor Henry, of the Smithsonian Institution,
Washington.
Douglas Jerrold once knew a man who was familiar with twenty-four
languages but could not express a thought in one of them.
We should guard against a talent which we cannot hope to practice in
perfection, says Goethe. Improve it as we may, we shall always, in the
end, when the merit of the matter has become apparent to us, painfully
lament the loss of time and strength devoted to such botching. An old
proverb says: "The master of one trade will support a wife and seven
children, and the master of seven will not support himself."
_It is the single aim that wins_. Men with monopolizing ambitions
rarely live in history. They do not focus their powers long enough to
burn their names indelibly into the roll of honor. Edward Everett,
even with his magnificent powers, disappointed the expectations of his
friends. He spread himself over the whole field of knowledge and
elegant culture; but the mention of the name of Everett does not call
up any one great achievement as does that of names like Garrison and
Phillips. Voltaire called the Frenchman La Harpe an oven which was
always heating, but which never cooked anything. Hartley Coleridge was
splendidly endowed with talent, like Sir James Mackintosh, but there
was one fatal lack in his character--he had no definite purpose, and
his life was a failure. Unstable as water, he could not excel.
Southey, his uncle, says:
"Coleridge has two left hands." He was so morbidly shy from living
alone in his dreamland that he could not open a letter without
trembling. He would often rally from his purposeless life, and resolve
to redeem himself from the oblivion he saw staring him in the face;
but, like Mackintosh, he remained a man of promise merely to the end of
his life.
The world always makes way for the man with a purpose in him, like
Bismarck or Grant. Look at Rufus Choate, concentrating all his
attention first on one juryman, then on another, going back over the
whole line again and again, until he has burned his arguments into
their souls; until he has hypnotized them with his purpose; until they
see with his eyes, think his thoughts, feel his sensations. He never
stopped until he had projected his mind into theirs, and permeated
their lives with his individuality. There was no escape from his
concentration of purpose, his persuasive rhetoric, his convincing
logic. "Carry the jury at all hazards," he used to say to young
lawyers; "move heaven and earth to carry the jury, and then fight it
out with the judge on the law questions as best you can."
The man who succeeds has a programme. He fixes his course and adheres
to it. He lays his plans and executes them. He goes straight to his
goal. He is not pushed this way and that every time a difficulty is
thrown in his path; if he can't get over it he goes through it.
Constant and steady use of the faculties under a central purpose gives
strength and power, while the use of faculties without an aim or end
only weakens them. The mind must be focused on a definite end, or,
like machinery without a balance-wheel, it will rack itself to pieces.
This age of concentration calls, not for educated men merely, not for
talented men, not for geniuses, not for jacks-of-all-trades, but for
men who are trained to do one thing as well as it can be done.
Napoleon could go through the drill of his soldiers better than any one
of his men.
_Stick to your aim_. The constant changing of one's occupation is
fatal to all success. After a young man has spent five or six years in
a dry goods store, he concludes that he would rather sell groceries,
thereby throwing away five years of valuable experience which will be
of very little use to him in the grocery business; and so he spends a
large part of his life drifting around from one kind of employment to
another, learning part of each, but all of none, forgetting that
experience is worth more to him than money, and that the years devoted
to learning his trade or occupation are the most valuable.
Half-learned trades, no matter if a man has twenty, will never give him
a good living, much less a competency, while wealth is absolutely out
of the question.
How many young men fail to reach the point of efficiency in one line of
work before they get discouraged and venture into something else. How
easy to see the thorns in one's own profession or vocation, and only
the roses in that of another. A young man in business, for instance,
seeing a physician riding about town in his carriage, visiting his
patients, imagines that a doctor must have an easy, ideal life, and
wonders that he himself should have embarked in an occupation so full
of disagreeable drudgery and hardships. He does not know of the years
of dry, tedious study which the physician has consumed, the months and
perhaps years of waiting for patients, the dry detail of anatomy, the
endless names of drugs and technical terms.
Scientists tell us that there is nothing in nature so ugly and
disagreeable but intense light will make it beautiful. The complete
mastery of one profession will render even the driest details
interesting. The consciousness of thorough knowledge, the habit of
doing everything to a finish, gives a feeling of strength, of
superiority, which takes the drudgery out of an occupation. The more
completely we master a vocation the more thoroughly we enjoy it. In
fact, the man who has found his place and become master in it could
scarcely be induced, even though he be a farmer, or a carpenter, or
grocer, to exchange places with a governor or congressman. To be
successful is to _find your sphere and fill it, to get into your place
and master it_.
There is a sense of great power in a vocation after a man has reached
the point of efficiency in it, the point of productiveness, the point
where his skill begins to tell and bring in returns. Up to this point
of efficiency, while he is learning his trade, the time seems to have
been almost thrown away. But he has been storing up a vast reserve of
knowledge of detail, laying foundations, forming his acquaintances,
gaining his reputation for truthfulness, trustworthiness, and
integrity, and in establishing his credit. When he reaches this point
of efficiency, all the knowledge and skill, character, influence, and
credit thus gained come to his aid, and he soon finds that in what
seemed almost thrown away lies the secret of his prosperity. The
credit he established as a clerk, the confidence, the integrity, the
friendships formed, he finds equal to a large capital when he starts
out for himself and takes the highway to fortune; while the young man
who half learned several trades, and got discouraged and stopped just
short of the point of efficiency, just this side of success, is a
failure because he didn't go far enough; he did not press on to the
point at which his acquisition would have been profitable.
In spite of the fact that nearly all very successful men have made a
life work of one thing, we see on every hand hundreds of young men and
women flitting about from occupation to occupation, trade to trade, in
one thing to-day and another to-morrow,--just as though they could go
from one thing to another by turning a switch, as if they could run as
well on another track as on the one they have left, regardless of the
fact that no two careers have the same gauge, that every man builds his
own road upon which another's engine cannot run either with speed or
safety. This fickleness, this disposition to shift about from one
occupation to another, seems to be peculiar to American life, so much
so that, when a young man meets a friend whom he has not seen for some
time, the commonest question to ask is, "What are you doing now?"
showing the improbability or uncertainty that he is doing to-day what
he was doing when they last met.
Some people think that if they "keep everlastingly at it" they will
succeed, but this is not so. Working without a plan is as foolish as
going to sea without a compass. A ship which has broken its rudder in
mid-ocean may "keep everlastingly at it," may keep on a full head of
steam, driving about all the time, but it never arrives anywhere, it
never reaches any port unless by accident, and if it does find a haven,
its cargo may not be suited to the people, the climate, or conditions
among which it has accidentally drifted. The ship must be directed to
a definite port, for which its cargo is adapted, and where there is a
demand for it, and it must aim steadily for that port through sunshine
and storm, through tempest and fog. So a man who would succeed must
not drift about rudderless on the ocean of life. He must not only
steer straight toward his destined port when the ocean is smooth, when
the currents and winds serve, but he must keep his course in the very
teeth of the wind and the tempest, and even when enveloped in the fogs
of disappointment and mists of opposition. The Cunarders do not stop
for fogs or storms; they plow straight through the rough seas with only
one thing in view, their destined port, and no matter what the weather
is, no matter what obstacles they encounter, their arrival in port can
be predicted to within a few hours. It is practically certain, too,
that the ship destined for Boston will not turn up at Fort Sumter or at
Sandy Hook.
On the prairies of South America there grows a flower that always
inclines in the same direction. If a traveler loses his way and has
neither compass nor chart, by turning to this flower he will find a
guide on which he can implicitly rely; for no matter how the rains
descend or the winds blow, its leaves point to the north. So there are
many men whose purposes are so well known, whose aims are so constant,
that no matter what difficulties they may encounter, or what opposition
they may meet, you can tell almost to a certainty where they will come
out. They may be delayed by head winds and counter currents, but they
will _always head for the port_ and will steer straight towards the
harbor. You know to a certainty that whatever else they may lose, they
will not lose their compass or rudder.
Whatever may happen to a man of this stamp, even though his sails may
be swept away and his mast stripped to the deck, though he may be
wrecked by the storms of life, the needle of his compass will still
point to the North Star of his hope. Whatever comes, his life will not
be purposeless. Even a wreck that makes its port is a greater success
than a full-rigged ship with all its sails flying, with every mast and
rope intact; which merely drifts into an accidental harbor.
To fix a wandering life and give it direction is not an easy task, but
a life which has no definite aim is sure to be frittered away in empty
and purposeless dreams. "Listless triflers," "busy idlers,"
"purposeless busybodies," are seen everywhere. A healthy, definite
purpose is a remedy for a thousand ills which attend aimless lives.
Discontent, dissatisfaction, flee before a definite purpose. An aim
takes the drudgery out of life, scatters doubts to the winds, and
clears up the gloomiest creeds. What we do without a purpose
begrudgingly, with a purpose becomes a delight, and no work is well
done nor healthily done which is not enthusiastically done. It is just
that added element which makes work immortal.
Mere energy is not enough, it must be concentrated on some steady,
unwavering aim. What is more common than "unsuccessful geniuses," or
failures with "commanding talents"? Indeed, "unrewarded genius" has
become a proverb. Every town has unsuccessful educated and talented
men. But education is of no value, talent is worthless, unless it can
do something, achieve something. Men who can do something at
everything, and a very little at anything, are not wanted in this age.
In Paris, a certain Monsieur Kenard announced himself as a "public
scribe, who digests accounts, explains the language of flowers, and
sells fried potatoes." Jacks-at-all-trades are at war with the genius
of the times.
What this age wants is young men and women who can do one thing without
losing their identity or individuality, or becoming narrow, cramped, or
dwarfed. Nothing can take the place of an all-absorbing purpose;
education will not, genius will not, talent will not, industry will
not, will-power will not. The purposeless life must ever be a failure.
What good are powers, faculties, unless we can use them for a purpose?
What good would a chest of tools do a carpenter unless he could use
them? A college education, a head full of knowledge, are worth little
to the men who cannot use them to some definite end.
The man without a purpose never leaves his mark upon the world. He has
no individuality; he is absorbed in the mass, lost in the crowd, weak,
wavering, incompetent. His outlines of individuality and angles of
character have been worn off, planed down to suit the common thought
until he has, as a man, been lost in the throng of humanity.
"He who would do some great thing in this short life must apply himself
to the work with such a concentration of his forces as, to idle
spectators, who live only to amuse themselves, looks like insanity."
What a great directness of purpose may be traced in the career of Pitt,
who lived--ay, and died--for the sake of political supremacy. From a
child, the idea was drilled into him that he must accomplish a public
career worthy of his illustrious father. Even from boyhood he bent all
his energy to this one great purpose. He went straight from college to
the House of Commons. In one year he was Chancellor of the Exchequer;
two years later he was Prime Minister of England, and reigned virtually
king for a quarter of a century. He was utterly oblivious of
everything outside his aim; insensible to the claims of love, art,
literature, living and steadily working for the sole purpose of
wielding the governing power of the nation. His whole soul was
absorbed in the overmastering passion for political power.
"Consider, my lord," said Rowland Hill to the Prime Minister of
England, "that a letter to Ireland and the answer back would cost
thousands upon thousands of my affectionate countrymen more than a
fifth of their week's wages. If you shut the post office to them,
which you do now, you shut out warm hearts and generous affections from
home, kindred, and friends." The lad learned that it cost to carry a
letter from London to Edinburgh, four hundred and four miles, one
eighteenth of a cent, while the government charged for a simple folded
sheet of paper twenty-eight cents, and twice as much if there was the
smallest inclosure. Against the opposition and contempt of the
post-office department he at length carried his point, and on January
10, 1840, penny postage was established throughout Great Britain. Mr.
Hill was chosen to introduce the system, at a salary of fifteen hundred
pounds a year. His success was most encouraging, but at the end of two
years a Tory minister dismissed him without paying for his services, as
agreed. The public was indignant, and at once contributed sixty-five
thousand dollars; and, at the request of Queen Victoria, Parliament
voted him one hundred thousand dollars and ten thousand dollars a year
for life.
Christ knew that one affection rules in man's life when he said, "No
man can serve two masters." One affection, one object, will be supreme
in us. Everything else will be neglected and done with half a heart.
One may have subordinate plans, but he can have but one supreme aim,
and from this aim all others will take their character.
It is a great purpose which gives meaning to life, it unifies all our
powers, binds them together in one cable; makes strong and united what
was weak, separated, scattered.
"Painting is my wife and my works are my children," replied Michael
Angelo when asked why he did not marry.
"Smatterers" are weak and superficial. Of what use is a man who knows
a little of everything and not much of anything? It is the momentum of
constantly repeated acts that tells the story. "Let thine eyes look
straight before thee. Ponder the path of thy feet and let all thy ways
be established. Turn not to the right hand nor to the left." One
great secret of St. Paul's power lay in his strong purpose. Nothing
could daunt him, nothing intimidate. The Roman Emperor could not
muzzle him, the dungeon could not appall him, no prison suppress him,
obstacles could not discourage him. "This one thing I do" was written
all over his work. The quenchless zeal of his mighty purpose burned
its way down through the centuries, and its contagion will never cease
to fire the hearts of men.
"Try and come home somebody," said the fond mother to Gambetta as she
sent him off to Paris to school. Poverty pinched this lad hard in his
little garret study and his clothes were shabby, but what of that? He
had made up his mind to get on in the world. For years this youth was
chained to his desk and worked like a hero. At last his opportunity
came. Jules Favre was to plead a great cause on a certain day; but,
being ill, he chose this young man, absolutely unknown, rough and
uncouth, to take his place. For many years Gambetta had been preparing
for such an opportunity, and he was equal to it, for he made one of the
greatest speeches that up to that time had ever been made in France.
That night all the papers in Paris were sounding the praises of this
ragged, uncouth Bohemian, and soon all France recognized him as the
Republican leader. This sudden rise was not due to luck or accident.
He had been steadfastly working and fighting his way up against
opposition and poverty for just such an occasion. Had he not been
equal to it, it would only have made him ridiculous. What a stride;
yesterday, poor and unknown, living in a garret, to-day, deputy elect,
in the city of Marseilles, and the great Republican leader! The
gossipers of France had never heard his name before. He had been
expelled from the priest-making seminary as totally unfit for a priest
and an utterly undisciplinable character. In two weeks, this ragged
son of an Italian grocer arose in the Chamber, and moved that the
Napoleon dynasty be disposed of and the Republic be declared
established.
When Louis Napoleon had been defeated at Sedan and had delivered his
sword to William of Prussia, and when the Prussian army was marching on
Paris, the brave Gambetta went out of the besieged city in a balloon
barely grazed by the Prussian guns, landed in Amiens, and by almost
superhuman skill raised three armies of 800,000 men, provided for their
maintenance, and directed their military operations. A German officer
said, "This colossal energy is the most remarkable event of modern
history, and will carry down Gambetta's name to remote posterity."
This youth who was poring over his books in an attic while other youths
were promenading the Champs Élysées, although but thirty-two years old,
was now virtually dictator of France, and the greatest orator in the
Republic. What a striking example of the great reserve of personal
power, which, even in dissolute lives, is sometimes called out by a
great emergency or sudden sorrow, and ever after leads the life to
victory! When Gambetta found that his first speech had electrified all
France, his great reserve rushed to the front, he was suddenly weaned
from dissipation, and resolved to make his mark in the world. Nor did
he lose his head in his quick leap into fame. He still lived in the
upper room in the musty Latin quarter, and remained a poor man, without
stain of dishonor, though he might easily have made himself a
millionaire. When Gambetta died the "Figaro" said, "The Republic has
lost its greatest man." American boys should study this great man, for
he loved our country, and made our Republic the pattern for France.
There is no grander sight in the world than that of a young man fired
with a great purpose, dominated by one unwavering aim. He is bound to
win; the world stands one side and lets him pass; it always makes way
for the man with a will in him. He does not have one half the
opposition to overcome that the undecided, purposeless man has who,
like driftwood, runs against all sorts of snags to which he must yield,
because he has no momentum to force them out of his way. What a
sublime spectacle it is to see a youth going straight to his goal,
cutting his way through difficulties, and surmounting obstacles, which
dishearten others, as though they were but stepping-stones! Defeat,
like a gymnasium, only gives him new power; opposition only doubles his
exertions, dangers only increase his courage. No matter what comes to
him, sickness, poverty, disaster, he never turns his eye from his goal.
"Duos qui sequitur lepores, neutrum capit."