CHAPTER VI. Be Industrious

BE INDUSTRIOUS

“The best thing I remember,” said Chauncey Depew to a company of young men in New York, “was my graduation from Yale. I made up my mind that day that I would lead a life of scholastic ease. I thought I would read a little, write a little, take it easy and have a good time. I had a hard-headed father of sturdy Dutch ancestry. He had enough money to take care of me, and I knew it, and when he discovered that I knew it and intended to act accordingly, it was a cold day for me. Said he, ‘You will never get a dollar from me except through my will. From this time forth you have to make your own way.’ Well, I found I had a hard lot of it—nobody had a harder one—and my father stood by and watched me tussle and fight it out. I bless him for that to-night with all the heart and gratitude I have. If he had taken the other course, what should I have done? I should have been up in Peekskill to-night nursing a stove, complaining of the men who have succeeded in the world, and wondering by what exceptional luck they had got on; but having my way to dig alone, I got beyond everything my father dreamed of, but it was done by fourteen, or sixteen, or eighteen hours’ work a day, if necessary.”

The path to any notable achievement, whether business or professional, is not easy. “No pains, no gains,” is an old English proverb, which is akin to the well-known one, “No sweat, no sweet.” Few are the royal roads to fame. Every house Beautiful is situated on a hill Difficulty, the pathway to which is lion-guarded. He who has not the hardihood to climb the one and face the other, will never cross the threshold of the palace. Former Chief Justice Chase used to say that when he came to Washington, a poor boy, an uncle of his was a member of the Cabinet. He went to him and said, “I want to get a place under the government.” His uncle answered, “Salmon, if you want money to buy a pickaxe and shovel to go to work out here on the street, I will furnish you with the money; but you shall never have a position, under the government, with my consent.” To that act of his uncle Chief Justice Chase said he owed his successful career. “Your royal highness,” said Paderewski when told that he was surely inspired, “will be surprised when I tell you that I remember the day when I was quite an indifferent player. I was determined, however, to be what the world calls a genius, and to be a genius I well knew that I must first be a drudge, for genius and drudgery always go hand in hand. Genius”—and Paderewski spoke excitedly—“is three-quarters drudgery—that’s what genius is. I at one time practiced day after day, year after year, till I became almost insensible to sound—became a machine, as it were. Now, ‘Paderewski is a genius,’ says the world! Yes, but Paderewski was a drudge before he was a genius!”

Just as the acorn goes slowly toward the oak, so does the babe journey toward the sage. Haydn and Handel were years before they presented the world with perfect music. Some of the pages of Tennyson’s manuscript have as many as fifty corrections. Only by filling barrels with manuscripts and steadily refusing to publish, Robert Louis Stevenson attained his exquisite style. Millet described his career as ten years of daubing, ten years of despair, and ten years of liberty and success. Of the late Professor Joseph H. Thayer of Harvard Divinity School, it was said, “His greatness was the result, not of native ability alone, but of life-long tireless industry.” Addressing his students he once asked, “Do you wish to become great? Remember it means more hours at your desk. The greater you desire to become, the more hours you must work.” Genius is not only the capacity for keeping at it, but taking pains in its accomplishments. Wellington’s military genius was said to have been perfected by encounters with difficulties of apparently the most overwhelming character, yet such trained him to self-reliance, courage and the highest discipline.

A boy once wrote to Henry Ward Beecher soliciting his aid in securing an easy place wherein he might make his mark. Mr. Beecher replied, “You cannot be an editor; do not try the law; do not think of the ministry; let alone all ships, shops and merchandise; abhor politics, don’t practice medicine; be not a farmer nor a mechanic, neither be a soldier nor a sailor; don’t work, don’t study, don’t think. None of these are easy. My son, you have come into a hard world. I know of only one easy place in this world, and that is the grave.”

INDOLENT BOYS.

Indolence is a characteristic of some boys. Some one wrote:

“A boy will hunt and a boy will fish, Or play baseball all day; But a boy won’t think and a boy won’t work, Because he’s not built that way.”

Doubtless this is a gross exaggeration. All boys are not “made that way,” though there are some, who, at the thought—

“—of an errand are as ‘tired as a hound’, Very weary of life and of ‘tramping around’; But if there’s a band or a circus in sight, They’ll follow it gladly from morning till night. If there’s work in the garden, their heads ache to split! And their backs are so lame that they ‘can’t dig a bit’; But mention baseball, and they’re cured very soon, And they’ll dig for a woodchuck the whole afternoon.”

The father of Daniel and Ezekiel Webster on leaving the home for a short time gave these boys some special work on the farm. On his return he found the labor unperformed, and frowning, demanded, “What have you been doing Ezekiel?” “Nothing, sir,” was the reply. “Well, Daniel, what have you been doing?” “Helping Zeke, sir,” he answered. How many boys are likewise disposed. They care not, and, if they can help it, will not work. They are like

—“a watch that wants both hands, As useless when it goes as when it stands.”

MISCHIEF FOR IDLE HANDS.

Idleness has been well expressed by the ancients as “the burial of a living man.” It is “the very rust and canker of the soul, the devil’s cushion, pillow and chief reposal.” The boy who courts it will experience no little personal feeling of disgust in after years. When along in life, he will be able to say with a French beggar, who, while undergoing a long imprisonment, tattooed upon his right arm, “The past has deceived me, the present torments me, the future terrifies me.” Better heed Plato’s advice, “Prefer diligence before idleness, unless you esteem rust above brightness, for idleness is the hour of temptation.”

“Wanted, a well-grown boy who can make himself generally useful. Salary moderate to start with.” This was the advertisement that had called together some twenty-five boys. The merchant talked with one after another until only two remained in the outer office. “Come in, both of you,” called the merchant, “I can tell you what I want and what I’m willing to pay.” Then followed an enumeration of the services expected with the promise of two and a half dollars a week with an increase at the end of each six months. One of the two boys turned on his heel and said, “That settles it! I can’t afford to work for any such wages as that.” “I’ll try it,” said the other, “and if I suit you six months will soon pass. The two-fifty will pay my actual expenses, for I live at home; then when I get to earning more I can help more.” Five years passed. The first boy idled away his time and went from bad to worse. At last he stood in the prisoner’s dock awaiting trial for forgery. What was his astonishment to behold his former friend ranged on the side of the prosecution as junior member of a firm of eminent lawyers. There was no need for argument on either side, for the poor fellow broke down at the sight of his former schoolmate, and rising, said, “I’ll tell the truth and take my punishment. If I’d begun as that young man did five years ago I might have been somebody to-day, but I was above low wages and didn’t believe in small beginnings. Now I am a living example of what pride and indolence can do for a boy.” Satan is sure to find mischief for idle hands, and the only way to keep clear of his work is to be busy at something, pay or no pay.

Industry is one of the pet laws of nature, and as Periander, one of the Seven Wise Men of Greece, said, “Nothing is impossible to industry.” It has conquered our American forests, built cities as by magic, improved prairies and valleys until they blossom like the rose, and made our civilization rich with the arts, both liberal and fine. Long before the Indians owned California the gold fields were there. Before Franklin found electricity in the clouds, it was there. Before Marconi discovered the unseen waves of air to carry his messages across the sea, they were there. All that was needed was concentration, careful thinking and earnest, persistent effort to bring them into use.

All great men have had the gift of laboring intensely, continually and determinedly before succeeding, many of whom won their way against heavy odds. Arsaces, who founded the Parthian empire, against which the mighty hosts of Rome long contended in vain, was a mechanic of obscure origin. Andersen, the popular Danish author, was the son of a cobbler, and in his earlier years worked on the bench, doing his literary work on scraps of paper during the moments of rest from his regular duties. Cararra began his life as a drummer boy and driver of cattle, but subsequently rose to the presidency of the Republic of Guatemala. Demosthenes, the Greek orator and “prince of eloquence,” was the son of a blacksmith. In his first attempt at public speaking, he displayed such a weakness of voice, imperfect articulation and awkwardness that he withdrew from the speaker’s platform amidst the hooting and laughter of his hearers. Giotto, one of the founders of Italian art, was a shepherd boy whom Cimabue discovered drawing sheep in the sand with a pointed stone, with such accuracy that he took him as a student. Herschel when a boy, played for balls, and while the dancers were lounging round the room he would go out and take a peep at the heavens through his telescope. It was while doing this that he discovered the Georgium Sidus, which made him famous. Samuel Richardson, the novelist, was a poor bookseller. He sold his books in the front part of the store, while he wrote them in the rear. It was a hard struggle. “My own industry and God’s providence,” said he, “have been my whole reliance.” Lough, the English sculptor, reached success only through self-denial and hard work. He followed the plough by day and modelled by night. At length he went to London and took lodgings in an obscure house in a back street above a grocer’s shop, and there began his statue of Milo. While working on it he went three months without meat. All the coal he used that winter was a bushel and a half. When Peter Coxe found him he was tearing up his shirt and dipping the strips into water to keep the clay moist. At last the statue was finished. The roof had been removed to finish its head. His work was soon noised abroad and sculptors took great interest in it. The Duke of Wellington went to see it and ordered a statue, and the boy who had struggled and suffered so much became the greatest sculptor of England.

“I SEE IT!”

James Ferguson, the Scotch astronomer, was very anxious when a boy to understand the mechanism of watches. His father refused to allow him to play with his watch, and so James waited until a stranger called with a watch. “Will you be good enough to tell me what time it is?” asked the boy. The gentleman told him. “Would you be willing that I should look at your watch?” continued James. “Certainly,” replied the gentleman. The boy took the watch eagerly. After examining it for a moment he asked, “What makes that box go round?” “A steel spring,” replied the owner. “How can a steel spring in a box turn it round so as to wind up all the chain?” The gentleman explained the process. “I don’t see through it yet,” answered the boy. “Well, now,” said the visitor, who had become interested, “take a long, thin piece of whale-bone, hold one end of it fast between your thumb and forefinger, and wind it around your finger. It will then attempt to unwind, and if you fix the other end of it to the inside of a small hoop and leave it to itself it will turn the hoop round and round and wind up a thread tied to the outside.” “I see it! I see it!” exclaimed the boy, enthusiastically. “Thank you, very much!” It was not long before he had made a wooden watch, which he enclosed in a case about the size of a teacup. Soon after this he was set to watching sheep by night. Here he took an interest in the stars with as great a zeal as in the watch and ere long became noted as a great astronomer.

PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE.

Boys of to-day are living in the most enlightened age, when everything is an improvement of the past. Time was when man lived in caves, now in mansions; when he sailed the rivers in dug-outs of trees, now in steamers; when he traveled overland in ox-carts, now on steam cars; when he depended on fire or candle light to banish darkness, now electricity; when he spun cotton and wove it by a crude hand machine, now the spinning jenny and power loom; when he wrote on the bark of a tree with a sharpened iron or stick, now on the finest paper with a typewriter; when he sent messages by swift runners, now by telegraph. He now holds communication with other continents by cable, brings distant worlds near with the telescope, examines a single hair of a fly with the microscope and harnesses the elements of nature in his forward movement. All things are conquered, utilized and perfected by industry. “Fortune,” as one said, “is ever on the side of the industrious, as winds and waves are on the side of the best navigators.” There is no reason why any industrious boy should not reach the pinnacle of success. To do so will doubtless mean struggles, hard thinking, careful planning, but the end pays for all.

My boy, remember there is a place for you in the world. A place honorable, useful, influential, but it demands tireless exertion, steadfastness of purpose, carefulness of detail to reach and hold it. To neglect is to invite suffering in the future. “If I neglect my practice a day,” said Malibran the singer, “I see the difference in my execution; if for two days, my friends see it; and if for a week, all the world knows my failure.”

Don’t wait my lad, for something to “turn up.” “Things,” said Garfield, “don’t turn up in this world until somebody turns them up.” While ninety-nine persons wait for chances that never come, the one hundredth realizing upon his irresistible strength and determination, makes his chance. “Never mind. What is the next thing to be done?” asked young Huxley, when he failed to pass the medical examination on which he thought his future depended. Looking back in after years at his defeat, the great scientist wrote, “It does not matter how many tumbles you have in life, so long as you do not get dirty when you tumble. It is only the people who have to stop and be washed who must lose the race.”

“When I was a boy on my father’s farm in Connecticut,” said Collis P. Huntington,—the man who had a hundred thousand people in his employ, “I worked hard, utilizing every moment, for there was plenty to do. But if I had any spare time I did chores for the neighbors. I never wanted for anything I needed! I always got it. But many buy things they do not need. When I went to New York in 1836 I had quite a sum of money, the result of my savings, judicious investments, and little tradings about the neighborhood.” He had an aim in life, and he worked till he accomplished it. That person who has not a definite purpose cannot expect to succeed. Philip, King of Macedon, lost his eye from a bowshot. When the soldiers picked up the shaft they perceived upon it these words, “To Philip’s eye!” The archer had an aim that accomplished something, and he that has not, cannot.

“It’s the boys to shape the path for men, Boys to guide the plow and pen, Boys to forward the task begun, For the world’s great task is never done.

“It’s the boys who’ll work that are needed In sanctum or office or shop, Remembering the low lands are crowded But there’s room for the industrious, on top.”