TRAINING FOR GREATNESS: Success Stories of Character, Struggle, Purpose & Achievement - Orison Swett Marden (1909) - SECRETS OF SUCCESS: Masters’ Greatest Wisdom

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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Eclectic school readings. Stories from Life, a Book for Young
People by Orison Sweat Marten. Preface, to make a life,
as well as to make a living, is one of
the supreme objects for which we must all struggle. The
sooner we realize what this means, the greater and more
worthy will be the life which we shall make. In

(00:23):
putting together the brief life stories and incidents from great
lives which make up the pages of this little volume,
the writer's object has been to show young people that,
no matter how humble their birth or circumstances, they may
make lives that will be held up as examples to
future generations. Even as these stories show how boys handicapped
by poverty and the most discouraging surroundings yet succeeded so

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that they are held up as models to the boys
of today. No boy or girl can learn too early
in life the value of time and the opportunities within
reach of the humblest children of the twentieth century to
enable them to make of themselves noble men and women.
Glorries here presented do not claim to be more than
mere outlines of the subjects, chosen enough to show what

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brave souls in the past souls, animated by loyalty to
God and to their best selves, were able to accomplish
in spite of obstacles of which the more fortunately born
youths of today can have no conception. It should never
be forgotten, however, in the strivings of ambition, that while
everyone should endeavor to raise himself to his highest power,
and to attain to as exalted and honorable a position

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as his abilities entitle him to, his first objects should
be to make a noble life. The author wishes to
acknowledge the assistance of Miss Margaret Connolly in the preparation
of this volume, or is in Sweat Marten Stories from
Life Today. For the structure that we raise time is
with materials filled Our todays and yesterdays are the blocks

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with which we build longfellow Today. Today it is ours,
with all its magic possibility of being and doing. Yesterday,
with its mistakes, misdeeds, lost opportunities and failures, is gone
forever with the morrow. We are not immediately concerned. It

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is but a promise yet to be fulfilled, hidden behind
the veil of the future. It may dimly beckon us,
but it is yet a shadowy, unsubstantial vision, one that
we perhaps never may realize. But to day, the here,
the now, that dawned upon us with the first hour
of the morn is a reality, a precious possession, upon

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the right use of which may depend all our future
of happiness and success or of misery and failure. For
this day we fashion destiny, our web of fate. We
spin lest he should forget that time's wings are swift
and noiseless, and so rapidly bear are to day's to
the land of yesterday. John Ruskin, philosopher, philanthropist, and tireless worker.

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Though he was kept constantly before his eyes on his
study table, a large handsome block of chalcedony, on which
was graven the single word to day. Every moment of
this noble life was enriched by the right use of
each passing moment. A successful merchant, whose name is well
known throughout our country very tersely sums up the means
by which true success may be attained. It is just this,

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he says, do your best every day, whatever you have
in hand. This simple rule, if followed in sunshine and
in storm, in days of sadness as well as days
of gladness, will rear for the builder a palace beautiful,
more precious than pearls of great price, more enduring than time.
The mill Boy of the Slashes, a picturesque as well

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as pathetic figure, was Henry Clay, the little mill Boy
of the Slashes. As he rode along on the old
family horse to missus Derricott's mill. Blue eyed, rosy cheeked
and barefooted. Clothed in coarse shirt and trousers and a
time worn straw hat, he sat erect on the bare
back of the horse, holding with firm hand the rope

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which did duty as a bridle. In front of him
lay the precious sack containing the grist which was to
be ground into meal or flour to feed the hungry
mouths of the seven little boys and girls, who, with
the widowed mother, made up the Clay family. It required
a good deal of grist to feed so large a family,
especially when ho cake was the staple food, and it

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was because of his frequent trips to the mill across
the swampy region called the Slashes that Henry was dubbed
by the neighbors. The mill Boy of the Slashes. The
lad was ambitious, however, and very early in life made
up his mind that he would win for himself a
more imposing title. He never dreamed of winning world wide
renown as an orator, or of exchanging his boyish sobriquet

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for the Orator of Ashland. But he who forms high
ideals in youth usually far outstrips his first ambition, And
Henry had hitched his wagon to a star. This awkward
country boy, who was so bashful and and so lacking
in self confidence that he hardly dared recite before his
class in the log schoolhouse, determined to become an orator.

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Henry Clay, the brilliant lawyer and statesman, the American Demosthenes,
who could sway multitudes by his matchless oratory, once said,
in order to succeed, a man must have a purpose fixed.
Then let his motto be victory or death. When Henry Clay,
the poor country boy son of an unknown Baptist minister,
made up his mind to become an orator, he acted

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on this principle. No discouragement or obstacle was allowed to
swerve him from his purpose. Since the death of his
father when the boy was but five years old, he
had carried gris to the mill chopped wood followed the
plow barefooted, clerked in a country store, did everything that
a loving son and brother could do to help win
a subsistence for the family. In the midst of poverty,

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hard work, and the most pitilessly unfavorable conditions, the youth
clung to his resolve. He learned what he could at
the country schoolhouse during the time the duties of the
farm permitted him to attend school. He committed speeches to
memory and recited them aloud, sometimes in the forest, sometimes
while working in the cornfield, and frequently in a barn

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with a horse and an ox for his audience. In
his fifteenth year, he left the grocery store where he
had been clerking to take a position in the office
of the Clerk of the High Court of Chancery. There
he became interested in law, and by reading and study,
began at once to supplement the scanty education of his childhood.
To such good purpose did he use his opportunities that

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in seventeen ninety seven, when only twenty years old, he
was licensed by the judges of the Court of Appeals
to practice law. When he moved from Richmond to Lexington, Kentucky,
the same year, to begin practice for himself, he had
no influential friends, no patrons, and not even the means
to pay his board. Referring to this time years afterward,

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he said, I remember how comfortable I thought I should
be if I could make one hundred pounds Virginia money
less than five hundred dollars per year, and with what
delight I received the first fifteen shilling fee. Contrary to
his expectations, the young lawyer had immediately rushed into a
lucrative practice. At the age of twenty seven, he was
elected to the Kentucky Legislature. Two years later, he was

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sent to the United States Senate to fill out the
remainder of the term of a senator who had withdrawn.
In eighteen eleven, he was elected to Congress and made
Speaker of the National House of Representatives. He was afterward
elected to the United States Senate. In the regular way.
Both in Congress and in the Senate, Clay always worked
for what he believed to be the best interests of

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his country. Ambition, which so often causes men to turn
aside from the paths of truth and honor, had no
power to tempt him to do wrong. He was ambitious
to be president, but would not sacrifice any of his
convictions for the sake of being elected. Although he was
nominated by his party three times, he never became president.

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It was when warned by a friend that if he
persisted in a certain course of political conduct, he would
injure his prospects of being elected, that he made his
famous statement, I would rather be right than be president.
Clay has been described by one of his biographers as
a brilliant orator, an honest man, a charming gentleman, an
ardent patriot, and a leader whose popularity was equalled only

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by that of Andrew Jackson. Although born in a state
in which wealth and ancient ancestry were highly rated, he
was never ashamed of his birth or poverty. Once, when
taunted by the aristocratic John Randolph with his lowly origin,
he proudly exclaimed, I was born to no proud paternal estate.
I inherited only infancy, ignorance, and indigence. He was born

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in Hanover County, Virginia, on April twelfth, seventeen seventy seven,
and died in Washington June twenty ninth, eighteen fifty two,
with only the humble inheritance, which he claimed infancy ignorance
and indigence. Henry Clay made himself a name that wealth
in a long line of ancestry could never bestow. The

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Greek slave who won the olive crown. The teeming life
of the streets has vanished. The voices of the children
have died away into silence. The artisan has dropped his tools.
The artist has laid aside his brush, the sculptor his chisel.
Night has spread her wings over the scene. The queen
city of Greece is wrapped in slumber. But in the

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midst of that hushed life, there is one who sleeps
not A worshiper at the shrine of art, who feels
neither fatigue nor hardship, and fears not death itself. In
the pursuit of his object. With the fire of Genius
burning in his dark eyes, a youth works with feverish
haste on a group of wondrous beauty. But why is
this master artist at work in secret in a cellar

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where the sun never shone, the daylight never entered. I
will tell you Creon, the inspired worker, the son of
Genius is a slave, and the penalty of pursuing his
arts death. When the Athenian law debarring all but Freeman
from the exercise of art was enacted. Creon was at work,
trying to realize in marble the vision his soul had created.

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The beautiful group was growing into life under his magic touch,
when the cruel edict struck the chisel from his fingers.
O Ye, Gods, groans the stricken youth, Why have ye
deserted me? Now? When my task is almost completed? I
have thrown my soul, my very life, into this block
of marble, And now Cleone, the beautiful, dark haired sister

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of the sculptor, felt the blow as keenly as her brother,
to whom she was utterly devoted. Oh, immortal Athene, my goddess,
my patron, at whose shrine I have daily laid my offerings,
be now my friend, the friend of my brother, she prayed. Then,
with the light of a new born resolve shining in
her eyes, she turned to her brother, saying, the thought

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of your brain shall live. Let us go to the
cellar beneath our house. It is dark, but I will
bring you light and food, and no one will discover
our secret. You can there continue your work. The gods
will be our allies. It is the Golden Age of Pericles,
the most brilliant epoch of Grecian art and dramatic literature.

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The scene is one of the most memorable that has
ever been enacted. Within the proud city of Athens, in
the Agora, the public assembly or market place, are gathered
together the wisdom and wit, the genius and beauty, the
glory and power of all Greece. Enthroned in regal state,
sits Pericles, president of the Assembly, soldier, statesman, orator, ruler

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and sole master of Athens. By his side sits his
beautiful partner, the learned and queenly Aspasia Phidias, one of
the greatest sculptors, if not the greatest, the world has known,
who formed a new style characterized by sublimity and ideal beauty.
Is there near him is Sophocles, the greatest of the

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tragic poets. Yonder we catch a glimpse of a face
and form that offers the most striking contrast to the
manly beauty of the poet, but whose wisdom and virtue
have brought Athens to his feet. It is the father
of philosophy, Socrates, with his arm linked in that of
the philosopher, we see but why prolong the list? All

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Greece has been bidden to Athens to view the works
of art. The works of the great masters are there
on every side. Paintings and statues, marvelous in detail, exquisite
and finish, challenge the admiration of the crowd and the
criticism of the rival artists and connoisseurs who thronged the place.
But even in the midst of masterpieces, one group of

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statuary so far surpasses all the others that it rivets
the attention of the vast assembly. Who is the sculptor
of this group? Demands Pericles. Envious artists look from one
to the other with questioning eyes, but the question remains
un answered. No triumphant sculptor comes forward to claim the
wondrous creation as the work of his brain in hand,

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harolds in thunder tones, repeat who is the sculptor of
this group? No one can tell. It is a mystery.
Is it the work of the gods? Or? And with
bated breath, the question passes from lip to lip. Can
it have been fashioned by the hand of a slave?
Suddenly a disturbance arises at the edge of the crowd.

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Loud voices are heard and anon, the trembling tones of
a woman. Pushing their way through the concourse, two officers
drag a shrinking girl with dark, frightened eyes to the
feet of Pericles. This woman, they cry, knows the sculptor.
We are sure of this, But she will not tell
his name. Neither threats nor pleading can unlock the lips

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of the brave girl, not even when informed that the
penalty of her conduct was death, which she divulge her secret.
The law, says Pericles, is imperative. Take the maid to
the dungeon. Creon, who with his sister had been among
the first to find his way to the agora that morning,
rushed forward, and, flinging himself at the ruler's feet, cried, O, Pericles,

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forgive and save the maid. She is my sister. I
am the culprit. The group is the work of my hands,
the hands of a slave. An intense silence fell upon
the multitude, and then went up a mighty shout to
the dungeon, to the dungeon with the slave. As I live, No,
said Pericles, rising not to the dungeon, but to my side,

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Bring the youth. The highest purpose of the law should
be the development of the beautiful. The gods decide by
that group that there is something higher in Greece than
an unjust law. To the sculptor who fashioned it, give
the victor's crown, And then, amid the applause of all
the people, Aspasia placed the c crown of olives on
the youth's brow and tenderly kissed the devoted sister, who

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had been the right hand of genius. Turning points in
the life of a hero. One the first turning point,
David Farragut was acting as cabin boy to his father,
who was on his way to New Orleans with the
infant Navy of the United States. The boy thought he
had the qualities that make a man. I could swear

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like an old salt, he says, could drink as stiff
a glass of grog as if I had doubled cape horn,
and could smoke like a locomotive. I was great at cards,
and was fond of gambling in every shape. At the
close of dinner, one day, he continues, my father turned
everybody out of the cabin, locked the door, and said
to me, David, what do you mean to be? I

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mean to follow the sea, I said, follow the sea,
exclaimed father, Yes, be a poor miserable, drunken sailor before
the mast, kicked and cuffed about the world, and die
in some fever hospital in a foreign clime. No, father,
I replied, I will tread the quarter deck and command
as you do. No, David, no boy ever trod the

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quarter deck with such principles as you have, in such
habits as you exhibit. You will have to change your
whole course of life if you ever become a man.
My father left me and went on deck. I was
stunned by the rebuke and overwhelmed with mortification. A poor miserable,
drunken sailor before the mast, kicked and cuffed about the world,

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and die in some fever hospital. That's my fate, is it.
I'll change my life, and I will change it at once.
I will never utter another oath, never drink another drop
of intoxicating liquor, never gamble, And as God is my witness,
said the Admiral solemnly, I have kept these three vows
to this hour. Two A born leader. The event which

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proved David Glasgow Farragut's qualities as a leader happened before
he was thirteen. He was with his adopted father, Captain Porter,
on board the Essex. When war was declared with England
in eighteen twelve. A number of prizes were captured by
the Essex, and David was ordered by Captain Porter to
take one of the captured vessels with her commander as navigator,

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to Valparaiso. Although inwardly quailing before the violent tempered old
captain of the prize ship, of whom as he afterward confessed,
he was really a little afraid, the boy assumed the
command with a fearless air. On giving his first order
that the main topsail be filled away, the trouble began.
The old captain, furious at hearing a command given aboard

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his vessel by a boy not yet in his teens,
replied to the order with an oath that he would
shoot any one who dared touch a rope without his orders.
Having delivered this mandate, he rushed below for his pistols.
The situation was critical. If the young commander hesitated for
a moment or showed the least sign of submitting to

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be bullied, his authority would instantly have fallen from him.
Boy as he was. David realized this, and calling one
of the crew to him, explained what had taken place,
and repeated his order with a hearty eye, I, Sir.
The sailor flew to the ropes, while the plucky midshipman
called down to the captain that if he came on

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deck with his pistols, he would be thrown overboard. David's
victory was complete. During the remainder of the voyage, none
dared dispute his authority. Indeed, his coolness and promptitude had
won for him the lasting admiration of the crew. Free
Farragut is the man. The great turning point, which placed

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Farragut at the head of the American Navy, was reached
in eighteen sixty one when Virginia seceeded from the Union
and he had to choose between the cause of the
North and that of the South. He dearly loved his
native South, and said, God forbid that I should have
to raise my hand against her. But he determined, come
what would to stick to the flag. So it came

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about that, when, in order to secure the control of
the Mississippi, the national government resolved upon the capture of
New Orleans, Farragut was chosen to lead the undertaking several
officers noted for their loyalty, good judgment, and daring were suggested,
but the Secretary of the Navy said, Farragut is the man.
The opportunity for which all his previous noble life and

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brilliant services had been a preparation, came to him when
he was sixty one years old. The command laid upon
him was the certain capture of the city of New Orleans,
the department, and the country so ran. His instructions require
of you success. If successful, you open the way to
the sea for the Great West, never again to be closed.

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The rebellion will be riven in the center, and the
flag to which you have been so faithful will recover
its supremacy in every state. On January ninth, eighteen sixty two,
Farragut was appointed to the command of the Western Blockading Squadron.
On February second, says the National Cyclopedia of American Biograph,

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he sailed on the steam sloop Hartford from Hampton Roads,
arriving at the appointed rendezvous ship Island in sixteen days.
His fleet consisting of six war steamers, sixteen gunboats, twenty
one mortar vessels under the command of Commodore David D.
Porter and five supply ships, was the largest that had
ever sailed under the American flag. Yet the task assigned him,

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the passing of the forts below New Orleans, the capture
of the city, and the opening of the Mississippi River
through its entire length, was one of difficulty, unprecedented in
the history of naval warfare. Danger or death had no
terror for the brave sailor. Before setting out on his
hazardous enterprise, he said, if I die in the attempt,

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it will only be what every officer has to expect.
He who dies, in doing his duty to his country
and at peace with his God, has played the drama
of life. Time the best advantage. The hero did not die.
He fought and won the great battle, and thus executed
the command laid upon him, the certain capture of the
city of New Orleans. The victory was accomplished with the

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loss of but one ship and one hundred and eighty
four men killed and wounded. A feat in naval warfare,
says his son and biographer, which has no precedent, and
which is still without a parallel, except the one furnished
by Farragut himself. Two years later, at Mobile, he aimed
high and hit the mark. Without vision, the people perish

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without a high ideal. An individual never climbs, keep your
eyes on the mountain top, and though you may stumble
and fall many times in the ascent, though great boulders,
dense forests, and roaring torrents may often bar the way,
look right on, never losing sight of the light which
shines away up in the clear atmosphere of the mountain peak,
and you will ultimately reach your goal. When the late

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Horace Maynard, doctor of Laws, entered Amherst College, he exposed
himself to the ridicule and gibing questions of his fellow
students by placing over the door of his room a
large square of white cardboard, on which was inscribed in
bold outlines the single letter V. Disregarding comment and question,
the young man applied himself to his work, ever keeping

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in mind the height to which he wished to climb,
the first step toward which was signified by the mysterious V.
For years later, after receiving the compliments of professors and
students on the way, he had acquitted himself as valedictorian
of his class, young Maynard called the attention of his
fellow graduates to the letter over his door. Then a
light broken upon them, and they cried out, is it

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possible that you had the valedictory in mind when you
put that V over your door? Assuredly I had, was
the emphatic reply. On he climbed from height to height,
becoming successively professor of mathematics in the University of Tennessee, lawyer,
member of Congress, Attorney General of Tennessee, United States, Minister
to Constantinople, and finally Postmaster General. Honorable ambition is the

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leavin that raises the whole mass of mankind. Ideals, visions
are the stepping stones by which we rise to higher things.
Still through our paltry stir and strife glows down the
wished ideal, and longing molds in clay what life carves
in the marble reel To let the new life in.
We know desire must ope the portal. Perhaps the longing

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to be so helps make the soul immortal. The evolution
of a violinist. He was a famous artist whom kings
and queens and emperors delighted to honor. The Emperor of
all the Russias had sent him an affectionate letter written
by his own hand, the Empress a magnificent emerald ring
set with diamonds. The King of his own beloved Norway,

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who had listened reverently, standing with uncovered head while he
the king of violinists, played before him, had bestowed upon
him the Order of Vesa. The King of Copenhagen presented
him with a gold snuff encrusted with diamonds, while at
a public dinner given him by the students of Christiana,
he was crowned with a laurel wreath. Not all the

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thousands who thronged to hear him in London could gain
entrance to the concert hall, and in Liverpool he received
four thousand dollars for one evening's performance. Yet the homage
of the great ones of the earth, the princely gifts
bestowed upon him, the admiration of the thousands who hung
entranced on every note breathed by his magic violin, gave
less delight than the boy of fourteen experienced when he

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received from an old man whose heart his playing had gladdened,
the present of four pairs of doves, with a card
suspended by a blue ribbon round the neck of one
bearing his own name, Old Bull. The soul of little
Old Bull had always been attuned to melody, from the
time when a toddling boy of four, he had kissed
with passionate delight the little yellow violin given him by

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his uncle. How happy he was as he wandered alone
through the meadows, listening with the inner ear of heaven
born genius to the great song of nature. The bluebells,
the buttercups, and the blades of grass sang to him
in low, sweet tones unheard by duller ears. How he
thrilled with delight when he touched the strings of the

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little red violin purchased for him when he was eight
years old. His father destined him for the church, and,
feeling that music should form part of the education of
a clergyman, he consented to the mother's proposition that the
boys should take lessons on the violin. Ole could not
sleep for joy that first night of ownership, and when
the house was wrapped in slumber, he got up and

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stole on tiptoe to the room where his treasure lay.
The bough seemed to beckon to him, the pretty pearl
screws to smile at him out of their red setting.
I pinched the strings just a little, he said, It
smiled at me ever more and more. I took up
the bow and looked at it. It said to me
it would be pleasant to try it across the strings.

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So I did try it, just a very very little,
and it did sing to me so sweetly. At first,
I did play very soft, but presently I did begin
a capriccio, which I like very much, And it did
go ever louder and louder, and I forgot that it
was midnight and that everybody was asleep. Presently I hear
something crack, and the next minute I feel my father's

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whip across my shoulders. My little red violin dropped on
the floor and was broken. I weep much for it,
but it did no good. They did have a doctor
to it next day, but it never recovered its health.
He was given another violin, however, and when only ten,
he would wander into the fields and woods and spend

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hours playing his own improvisations, echoing the song of the birds,
the murmur of the brook, the thunder of the waterfall,
the soughing of the wind among the trees, the roar
of the storm. But childhood's days are short. The years
fly by. The Little Owl is eighteen, a student in
the University of Christiania, preparing for the ministry. His brother

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students beg him to play for a charitable association. He
remembers his father's request that he yield not to his
passion for music, but being urged for sweet charity's sake,
he consents. The youth struggle between the soul's imperative demand
and the equally imperative parental dictate was pathetic. Meanwhile, the
position of musical director of the Philharmonic and Dramatic Societies

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becoming vacant. Ole was appointed to the office, and, seeing
that it was useless to contend longer against the genius
of his son, the disappointed father allowed him to accept
the directorship. When fairly launched on a musical career, his
trials and disappointments began. Wishing to assure himself whether he
had genius or not, he traveled five hundred miles to

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see and hear the celebrated Lewis Barr, who received the
tremulous youth coldly and gave him no encouragement. No matter
he would go to the city of Art in Paris,
he heard Burlios and other great musicians entranced, He listened
in his high seat at the top of the house
to the exquisite notes of Molly brand His soul feasted

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on music, but his money was fast dwindling away, and
the body could not be sustained by sweet sounds. But
the poor unknown violinist, who was only another atom in
the surging life of the great city, could earn nothing.
He was on the verge of starvation, but he would
not go back to Christiana. He must still struggle and study.

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He became ill of brain fever and was tenderly nursed
back to life by the granddaughter of his kind landlady,
pretty little Fellasy Voleeminot, who afterward became his wife. He
had drained the cup of poverty and disappointment to the dregs,
but the tide was about to turn. He was invited
to play at a concert presided over by the Duke
of Martabello, and this led to other profitable engagements. But

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the great opportunity of his life came to him in Bologna.
The people had thronged to the opera house to hear more.
She had disappointed them, and they were in no mood
to be lenient to the unknown violinists who had the
temerity to try to fill her place. He came on
the stage, He bowed. He grew pale under the cold

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gaze of the thousands of unsympathetic eyes turned upon him,
But the touch of his beloved violin gave him confidence. Lovingly, tenderly,
he drew the bow across the strings. The coldly critical
eyes no longer gazed at him. The unsympathetic audience melted away.
He and his violin were one and alone in the

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hands of the great magician. The instrument was more than human.
It talked, it laughed, it wept. It controlled the moods
of men, as the wind controls the sea. The audience
scarcely breathed. Criticism was disarmed, molly brand was forgotten. The
people were under the spell of the enchanter Orpheus had

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come again. But suddenly the music ceased. The spell was
broken with a shock. The audience returned to earth, and
old Bull, restored to consciousness of his whereabouts by the
storm of applause which shook the house, found himself famous forever.
His triumph was complete, but his work was not over.
For the price of fame is ceaseless endeavor. But the

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turning point had been passed. He had seized the great
opportunity for which his life had been a preparation, and
it had placed him on the roll of the immortals.
The Lesson of the tea Kettle. The tea kettle was
singing merrily over the fire. The good aunt was bustling
round on housewifely care's intent, and her little nephew sat
dreamily gazing into the glowing blaze on the kitchen hearth. Presently,

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the tea kettle ceased singing, and a column of steam
came rushing from its pipe. The boy started to his feet,
raised the lid from the kettle, and peered in at
the bubbling, boiling water with a look of intense interest.
Then he rushed off for a tea cup, and, holding
it over the steam, eagerly watched the ladder as it
condensed and formed into tiny drops of water on the

(31:06):
inside of the cup. Returning from an upper room whither
her duties had called her, the thrifty aunt was shocked
to find her nephew engaged in so profitless an occupation,
and soundly scolded him for what she called his trifling.
The good lady little dreamed that James what was even
then unconsciously studying the germ of the science by which
he transformed the steam engine from a mere toy into

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the most wonderful instrument which human industry has ever had
at its command. This studious little Scottish lad who, because
too frail to go to school, had been taught at home,
was very different from other boys. When only six or
seven years old, he would lie for hours on the
hearth in the little cottage at Greenwick, near Glasgow, where

(31:49):
he was born in seventeen thirty six, drawing geometrical figures
with pieces of colored chalk. He loved too to gaze
at the stars and longed to solve their mysteries. But
his favorite pastime was to burrow among the ropes and
sails and tackles in his father's store, trying to find
out how they were made and what purposes they served.

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In spite of his limited advantages and frail health, at fifteen,
he was the wonder of the public school, which he
had attended for two years. His favorite studies were mathematics
and natural philosophy. He had also made good progress in chemistry, physiology, mineralogy,
and botany, and at the same time had learned carpentry

(32:30):
and acquired some skill as a worker in metals. So
studious and ambitious a youth scarcely needed the spur of
poverty to induce him to make the most of his talents.
The spur was there, however, and at the age of eighteen,
though delicate in health, he was obliged to go out
and battle with the world. Having first spent some time

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in Glasgow learning how to make mathematical instruments, he determined
to go to London, there to perfect himself in his trade.
Working early and late, and suffering frequently from cold and hunger,
he broke down under the unequal strain and was obliged
to return to his parents for a time until health
was regained. Always struggling against great odds, he returned to

(33:12):
Glasgow when his trade was mastered, and began to make
mathematical instruments, for which, however, he found little sale. Then,
to help eek out a living, he began to make
and mend other instruments, fiddles, guitars and flutes, and finally
built an organ, a very superior one too, with several
additions of his own invention. A commonplace incident enough, it

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seemed in the routine of his daily occupation, when one
morning a model of Newkoman's engine was brought to him
for repair. Yet it marked the turning point in his career,
which ultimately led from poverty and struggle to fame and affluence.
Whats practiced. I at once perceived the defects in a
Newcomen engine, which, although the best then in existence, could

(33:56):
not do much better or quicker work than horses. Filled
with the enthusiasm over the plans which he had conceived
for the construction of a really powerful engine, he immediately
set to work and spent two months in an old
cellar working on a model. My whole thoughts are bent
on this machine, he wrote to a friend. I can
think of nothing else. So absorbed had he become in

(34:18):
his new work that the old business of making and
mending instruments had declined. This was all the more unfortunate,
as he was no longer struggling for himself alone. He
had fallen in love with and married his cousin, Margaret Miller,
who brought him the greatest happiness of his life. The
neglect of the only practical means of support he had
reduced WoT and his family to the direst poverty. More

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than once his health failed, and often the brave spirit
was almost broken, as when he exclaimed, in heaviness of heart,
of all the things in the world, there is nothing
so foolish as inventing. Five years had passed since the
model of the Newcoman engine had been sent to him
for repair before he succeeded in securing a patent on
his own Innis yet five more long years of bitter drudgery,

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clutched in a grip of poverty, debt, and sickness, did
the brave inventor, sustained by the love and help of
his noble wife, toil through. On his thirty fifth birthday,
he said, to day, I enter the thirty fifth year
of my life, and I think I have hardly yet
done thirty five pence worth of good in the world.
But I cannot help it. Poor WoT. He had traveled

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with bleeding feet along the same thorny path trod by
the great inventors and benefactors of all ages. But in
spite of all obstacles he persevered, and after ten years
of inconceivable labor and hardship, during which his beautiful wife died,
he had a glorious triumph. His perfected steam engine was
the wonder of the age. Sir James Mackintosh placed him

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at the head of all inventors in all ages and nations.
I look upon him, said the poet Wordsworth, considering both
the magnitude and the universality of his genius, as perhaps
the most extraordinary man that this country ever produced, wealthy
beyond his desires, for he cared not for wealth. Crowned
with the laurel wreath of fame, honored by the civilized

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world as one of its greatest benefactors the struggle over
the triumph achieved. On August nineteenth, eighteen nineteen, he lay
down to rest how the art of printing was discovered. Look, grandfather,
see what the letters have done, exclaimed a delighted boy,
as he picked up the peace of parchment, in which
Grandfather Costr Had carried the bark letters cut from the

(36:33):
trees in the grove for the instruction and amusement of
his little grandsons. See what the letters have done, echoed
the old man. Bless me, what does the child mean?
And his eyes twinkled with pleasure as he noted the
astonishment and pleasure visible on the little face. Let me
see what it is that pleases the so lawrence, and

(36:53):
he eagerly took the parchment from the boy's hand. Bless
my soul, cried the old man, after gazing spellbound upon
it for some seconds. The track of the mysterious footprint
in the sand excited no more surprise in the mind
of Robinson Crusoe than grandfather Coster felt at the sight
which met his eyes. There, distinctly impressed upon the parchment

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was a clear imprint of the bark letters, though of
course they were reversed or turned about. But you twentieth
century young folks, who have your fill of story books,
picture books, and reading matter of all kinds, are wondering,
perhaps what all this talk about bark letters and parchment
and imprint of letters means. To understand it, you must

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carry your imagination away back more than five centuries, quite
a long journey of the mind, even four grown ups,
to a time when there were no printed books, and
when very very few of the rich and noble, and
scarcely any of the so called common people could read.
In those far off days, there were no public libraries,
and no books except rare and expensive volumes written by hand,

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mainly by monks in their quiet monasteries on parchment or vellum.
In the quaint, drowsy, picturesque town of Harlem in Holland,
with its narrow, irregular, grass grown streets and many gabled houses,
the projecting upper stories of which almost meet. One particular house,
which seems even older than any of the others, is

(38:19):
pointed out to visitors as one of the most interesting
sights of the ancient place. It was in this house
that Lawrence Coster, the father of the art of printing.
The man, at least so runs the legend, who made
it possible for the poorest and humblest to enjoy the
inestimable luxury of books and reading, lived and loved and
dreamed more than five hundred years ago. Costor was warden

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of the little church which stood near his home, and
his days flowed peacefully on in a quiet, uneventful way,
occupied with the duties of his office and reading and study.
For he was one of those who had mastered the
art of reading. A diligent student, he had conned over
and over until he knew them by heart. The few
manuscs script volumes owned by the little church of which

(39:02):
he was warden. A lover of solitude as well as
student and dreamer, the Churchwarden's favorite resort when his duties
left him at leisure, was a dense grove not far
from the town. Thither he went when he wished to
be free from all distraction, to think and dream over
many things which would appear nonsensical to his sober, practical
minded neighbors. There he indulged in day dreams and poetic fancies,

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and once, when in a sentimental mood, he carved the
initials of the lady of his love on one of
the trees. In time, a fair young wife and children came,
bringing new brightness and joy to the serious minded Warden.
With ever increasing interests, he passed on from youth to
middle life, and from middle life to old age. Then

(39:47):
his son married, and again the patter of little feet
filled the old home and made music. In the years
of grandfather cost whom the baby grandchildren almost worshiped. To
amuse the children and to impart to them whatever knowledge
he he himself possessed became the delight of his old age.
Then the habit acquired in youth of carving letters in
the bark of the trees served a very useful purpose

(40:09):
in furthering his object. He still loved to take solitary walks,
and many a quiet summer afternoon, the familiar figure of
the venerable Churchwarden in his seedy black cloak and sugar
loaf hat might be seen wending its way along the
banks of the River Sperrin to his favorite resort in
the grove. One day, while reclining on a mossy couch
beneath a spreading beech tree, amusing himself by tearing strips

(40:32):
of bark from the tree that shaded him and carving
letters with his knife, a happy thought entered his mind.
Why can I not, he mused within himself, cut those
letters out, carry them home, and, while using them as playthings,
teach the little ones how to read. The plan worked admirably.
Long practice had made the old man quite expert in

(40:53):
fashioning the letters, and many hours of quiet happiness were
spent in the grove in this pleasing occupation. One afternoon
he succeeded in cutting some unusually fine specimens, and chuckling
to himself over the delight they would give the children.
He wrapped them carefully, placing them side by side in
an old piece of parchment which he happened to have
in his pocket, the bark from which they had been

(41:16):
cut being fresh and full of sap, and the letters
being firmly pressed upon the parchment. The result was the
series of pictures which delighted the child and gave to
the world the first suggestion of a printing press. And
then a mighty thought flashed across the brain of the poor, humble,
unknown Churchwarden, a thought the realization of which was destined
not only to make him famous for all time, but

(41:37):
to revolutionize the whole world. The first dim suggestion came
to him in this form. By having a series of
letters and impressing them over and over again on parchment,
cannot books be printed instead of written, and so multiplied
and cheapened as to be brought within the reach of all.
The remainder of his life was given up to developing
this great idea. He cut more letters from bark, and,

(42:00):
covering the smooth surface with ink, pressed them upon parchment,
thus getting a better impression, though still blurred and imperfect.
He then cut letters from wood instead of bark, and
managed to invent himself a better and thicker ink which
did not blur the page. Next he cut letters from lead,
and then from pewter. Every hour was absorbed in the

(42:21):
work of making possible the art of printing. His simple
minded neighbors thought he had lost his mind, and some
of the more superstitious spread the report that he was
a sorcerer. But like all other great discoverers, he heeded
not annoyances or discouragements. Shutting himself away from the prying
curiosity of the ignorant and superstitious, he plodded on, making steady,

(42:43):
if slow, advanced toward the realization of his dream. One day,
while old Cooster was thus busily at work, says George
make peace Tall, a sturdy German youth with a knapsack
slung across his back, trudged into Harlem. By some chance,
this youth happened to hear how the churchwarden was at
work upon a wild scheme to print books instead of

(43:04):
writing them. With beating heart, the young man repaired to
Costor's house and made all haste to knock at the
churchwarden's humble door. The sturdy German youth who knocked at
Laurence Coster's door was Johann Gutenberg, the inventor of modern printing.
Costor invited him to enter. Gutenberg accepted the invitation and

(43:25):
then stated the object of his visit. He desired to
learn more about the work on which Costor was engaged.
Delighted to have a visitor who was honestly interested in
his work, the old man eagerly explained its details to
the youth and showed him some examples of his printing.
Gutenberg was much impressed by what he saw, but still
more by the possibilities which he dimly foresaw in Cost's discovery.

(43:49):
But we can do much better than this, he said,
with the enthusiasm of youth, your printing is even slower
than the writing of the monks. From this day forth,
I will work upon the problem and not rest till
I have solved it. Johann Gutenberg kept his word. He
never rested until he had given the art of printing
to the world. But to Lawrence Coster in the first place,

(44:12):
if legend speaks truth, we owe one of the greatest
inventions that has ever blessed mankind. See fever and what
it led to. Jim, You've too good a head on
you to be a wood chopper or a canal driver,
said the captain of the canal boat for whom young
Garfield had engaged to drive horses along the towpath. Jim
had always loved books, from the time when, seated on

(44:35):
his father's knee, he had, with his baby lips, pronounced
after him the name Plutarch. Mister Garfield had been reading
Plutarch's lives and was much astonished when, without hesitation or stammering,
his little son distinctly pronounced the name of the Greek biographer.
Turning to his wife with a glow of love and pride,
the fond father said, Eliza, this boy will be a

(44:57):
scholar some day. Perhaps the near approach of death had
clarified the father's vision. But when soon after the sorrowing
wife was left a widow with an indebted farm and
four little children to care for, she saw little chance
for the fulfillment of the prophecy. Even in his babyhood,
the boy, whose future greatness the father dimly felt, had
learned the lesson of self alliance, the familiar words which

(45:21):
so often fell from his lips, I can do that
enabled him to conquer difficulties before which stouter hearts than
that of a little child might well have quailed. The
teaching of his good mother that God will bless all
our efforts to do the best we can became a
part of the fiber of his being. What will he do,
ask the boy one day, when we don't do the

(45:41):
best we can, he will withhold his blessing. And that
is the greatest calamity that could possibly happen to us,
was the reply, which made a deep impression on the
mind of the questioner. In spite of almost constant toil
and very meager schooling only a few weeks each year,
James Garfield excelled all all his companions in the Log schoolhouse.

(46:03):
Besides solving at home in the long winter evenings by
the light of the pine fire, all the knotty problems
in Adam's arithmetic, the terror of many a schoolboy, he
found time to revel in the pages of Robinson, Crusoe
and Josephus. The latter was his special favorite. Before he
was fifteen, Garfield had successfully followed the occupations of Farmer

(46:25):
with Chopper and Carpenter. No matter what his occupation was,
he always managed to find some time for reading. He
had recently read some of Marriott's novels, Sinbad the Sailor,
The Pirate's Own Book, and others of a similar nature,
which had smitten him with a virulent attack of sea fever.
This is a mental disease which many robust, adventurous boys

(46:46):
are apt to contract in their teens. Garfield felt that
he must sail the ocean blue. The glamour of the
sea was upon him. Everything must give way before it.
His mother, however, could not be induced to assent to
his plans, and after long pleading, would only compromise by
agreeing that he might if he could secure a berth

(47:08):
on one of the vessels navigating Lake Erie. He was
rudely repulsed by the owner of the first vessel, to
whom he applied, a brutal, drunken creature, who answered his
request for employment with an oath and a ruff. Get
off this schooner in double quick, or I'll throw you
into the dock. Garfield turned away in disgust, his ardor
for the sea somewhat dampened by the man's appearance and behavior.

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In this mood, he met his cousin, formerly a schoolmaster,
then captain of a canal boat, with whom he at
once engaged to drive his horses. After a few months
on the tow path, young Garfield contracted another kind of fever,
quite unlike that from which he had been suffering previously,
and went home to be nursed out of it by
his ever faithful mother. During his convalescence, he thought a

(47:53):
great deal over his cousin's words, Jim, you've got too
good a head on you to be a wood chopper
or a canal driver. He who wills to do anything,
will do it. He had learned from his mother's lips
when a mere baby. And then and there he said
in his heart, I will be a scholar. I will
go to college. And so out of his sea fever
and towpath experience was borne the resolution that made the

(48:15):
turning point in his career. Action followed hot upon resolve.
He lost no time in applying himself to the work
of securing an education. Alternately chopping wood and carpentering, farming
and teaching school, ringing bells and sweeping floors, he worked
his way through seminary and college his strong will and

(48:36):
resolute purpose to make the most of himself, not only
enabled him to obtain an education, but raised him from
the towpath to the presidential chair. Gladstone found time to
be kind. A kindly act is a colonel sown that
will grow to a goodly tree, shedding its fruit when
time has flown down the gulf of eternity, John Boyle O'Reilly.

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In the restless desire for acts, acquisition, acquisition of money,
of power, or of fame, there is danger of selfishness,
self absorption, closing the doors of our hearts against the
demands of brotherly love, courtesy, and kindness. I cannot afford
to help, say the poor in pocket. All I have
is too little for my own needs. I should like

(49:19):
to help others, says the ambitious student, whose every spare
moment is crowded with some extra task. But I have
no money and cannot afford to take the time for
my studies to give sympathy or kind words to the
suffering and the poor, says the busy man of affairs.
I am willing to give money, but my time is
too valuable to be spent in talking to sick people
or shiftless, lazy ones. That sort of work is not

(49:43):
in my line. I leave it to women, and the
charitable organizations. The business man forgets, as do many of us,
the truth expressed by Ruskin that the little thought and
a little kindness are often worth more than a great
deal of money. A few kind words, a little sympathy
and encouragement have often brought sunshine and hope into the

(50:04):
lives of men and women who were on the verge
of despair. The great demand is on people's hearts, rather
than on their purses. In the matter of kindness, we
can all afford to be generous, whether we have money
or not. The schoolboy may give it as freely as
the millionaire. No one is so driven by work that
he is not time now and then to say a

(50:25):
kind word or do a kind deed that will help
to brighten life for another. If the Prime Minister of England,
William E. Gladstone could find time to carry a bunch
of flowers to a little sick crossing sweeper, shall we
not be ashamed to make for ourselves the excuse I
haven't time to be kind. A tribune of the people
clad in a homespuneau shirt, shrunken buttonnut colored linsey, woolsey pantaloons,

(50:49):
battered straw hat and much mended jacket and shoes, With
ten dollars in his pocket, and all his other worldly
goods packed in the bundle he carried on his back,
Horace Greeley, the future founder of the New York Tribune,
started to seek his fortune in New York. A newspaper
had always been an object of interest and delight to
the little, delicate towhed boy, and at the mature age

(51:11):
of six, he had made up his mind to be
a printer. His love of reading was unusual in one
so young. Before he was six, he had read the
Bible and Pilgrim's Progress through Like the children of all
poor farmers, Horace was put to work as soon as
he was able to do anything, but he made the
most of the opportunities given him to attend school, and

(51:32):
his love of reading stimulated him to unusual efforts to
procure books by selling nuts and bundles of kindling wood
at the village store. Before he was ten, he had
earned enough money to buy a copy of Shakespeare and
of Missus Hemmons's poems. He borrowed every book that could
be found within a radius of seven miles of his home,
and by many readings. He had made himself familiar with

(51:53):
the score of old volumes in his log cabin home.
Missus Sarah kay Bolton draws a pleasing picture of the
farmer boy reading at night after the day's work on
the farm was done. He gathered a stock of pine knots,
she says, and, lighting one each night, lay down by
the hearth and red, oblivious to all around him. The
neighbors came and made their friendly visits, and ate apples

(52:16):
and drank cider, as was the fashion. But the lad
never noticed their coming or their going. When really forced
to leave his precious books for bed, he would repeat
the information he had learned or the lessons for the
next day to his brother, who usually most ungraciously fell
asleep before the conversation was half completed. Ah, said Zachius Greeley,

(52:38):
Horace's father, when the boy, one day, in a fit
of abstraction, tried to yoke the off ox on the
near side. Ah, that boy will never know enough to
get on in the world. He'll never know more than
enough to come in when it rains. Yet this boy
knew so much that, when at fourteen he secured a
place as printer in a newspaper office at East Poltney, Vermont.

(53:00):
He was looked up to by his fellow printers as
equal in learning to the editor himself. At first, they
tried to make mary at his expense, poking fun at
his odd looking garments, his uncouth appearance, and his pale,
delicate face and almost white hair, which subsequently won for
him the nickname of ghost. But when they saw that
Horace was too good humored and too much in earnest

(53:22):
with his work to be disturbed by their teasing, they
gave it up. In a short time, he became a
general favorite, not only in the office but in the
town of Poultney, whose debating and literary society soon recognized
him as leader. Even the minister, the lawyer, and the
school teachers looked up to the poor, retiring young printer,
who was a veritable encyclopedia of knowledge, ready at all

(53:45):
times to speak or to write an essay on any subject.
But the Poultney newspaper was obliged to suspend soon after
Horace had learned his trade, and penniless for every cent
of his earnings beyond what furnished the bare necessaries of life,
had been sent home to his parents in the wilderness,
he faced the world once more. After working in different

(54:05):
small towns wherever he could get a job, reading, studying,
enlarging his knowledge all the time when not in the office,
he made up his mind to go to New York
to be somebody. As he put it when he stepped
off the towboat at Whitehall near the Battery that sunny
morning in August eighteen thirty one, with only the experience
of a score of years in life, a stout heart,

(54:27):
quick brain, nimble fingers, and an abiding faith in God
as his capital. His prospects certainly were not very alluring.
An overgrown, awkward, whiteheaded, forlorn looking boy, a pack suspended
on a staff over his right shoulder, his dress unrivaled
in Sylvan simplicity since the primitive fig leaves of Eden,
the expression of his face presenting a strange union of

(54:49):
wonder and apathy. His whole appearance gave you the impression
of a runaway apprentice in desperate search of employment, ignorant
alike of the world and its ways. He seemed to
the denizens of the city y almost like a wanderer
from another planet. Such was the impression Horace greely made
on a New Yorker On his first arrival in that city,
which was to be the scene of his future work

(55:09):
in triumphs. He tramped the streets all that day, Friday,
and the next looking for work, everywhere, getting the same
discouraging reply, no, we don't want anyone. At last, when
weary and disheartened, his ten dollars almost gone, he had
decided to shake the dust of New York from his feet,
the foreman of a printing office engaged him to do

(55:31):
some work that most of the men in the office
had refused to touch. The setting up of a polyglot
testament with involved marginal references was something new for the
supposed green hand from the country. But when the day
was done, the young printer was no longer looked upon
as green by his fellow workers, for he had done
more and better work than the oldest and most experienced

(55:52):
hands who had tried the testament. But oh what hard
work it was, Beginning at six o'clock in the morning,
and working long after the going down of the sun
by the light of a candle stuck in a bottle,
to earn six dollars a week, most of which was
sent to his dear ones at home. After nearly ten
years more of struggle and privation, Greeley entered upon the

(56:13):
great work of his life, the founding and editing of
the New York Tribune. He had very little money to
start with, and even that little was borrowed. But he
had courage, truth, honesty, and noble purpose, and rare ability
and industry to supplement his small financial capital. He needed
them all in the work he had undertaken, for he

(56:34):
was handicapped not only by lack of means, but also
by the opposition of some of the New York papers.
In spite of the adverse conditions, he succeeded in establishing
one of the greatest and most popular newspapers in the country.
The Tribune became the champion of the oppressed, the guardian
of justice, the defender of truth, a power for good
in the land. Through his paper, Greeley became a tribune

(56:57):
of the people. No thought of making money hampered him
in his work. Unselfishly he wrought as editor, writer, and
lecturer for the good of his country and the uplifting
of mankind. He who, by voice or pen, he said,
strikes his best blow at the impostures or vices whereby
our race is debased and paralyzed. May close his eyes

(57:18):
in death, consoled and cheered by the reflection that he
has done what he could for the emancipation and elevation
of his kind. Well, then might he rejoice in his
life work, for his voice and pen had to the
last been active in thus serving the race. He died
on November twenty ninth, eighteen seventy two, at the age
of sixty one. So great a man had Horace Greeley,

(57:41):
the poor New Hampshire farmer boy, become, that the whole
nation mourned for his death. The people felt that in
him they had lost one of their best friends. A
workman who attended his funeral express the feeling of his
fellow workmen all over the land when he said, it
is little enough to lose a day for Horace Greeley,
who spent many a day working for us. I've come

(58:01):
a hundred miles to be at the funeral of Horace Greeley,
said a farmer. The great tribune had deserved well of
the people and of his country the might of patience.
Perhaps some would feel inclined to ridicule rather than applaud
the patience of a poor Chinese woman who tried to
make a needle from a rod of iron by rubbing
it against a stone. It is doubtful whether she succeeded

(58:24):
or not, but so the story runs. The sight of
the worker, plying her seemingly hopeless task put new courage
and determination into the heart of a young Chinese student, who,
in deep despondency, stood watching her. Because of repeated failures
in his studies, ambition and hope had left him bitterly
disappointed with himself and despairing of ever accomplishing anything. The

(58:47):
young man had thrown his books aside in disgust, put
to shame. However, by the lesson taught by the old woman,
he gathered his scattered forces together went to work with
renewed ardor and wedding patience and anners became in time
one of the greatest scholars in China. When you know
you are on the right track, do not let any

(59:07):
failures dim your vision or discourage you, for you cannot
tell how close you may be to victory. Have patience
and stick, stick stick. It is eternally true that he
whose steers right on will gain at length however far
the porte the inspiration of Gambetta, Try to come home
a somebody. Long after Leon Gambetta had left the old

(59:31):
French town of Kowor, where he was born October thirtieth,
eighteen thirty eight, long after the gay and brilliant streets
of Paris had become familiar to him, did the parting
words of his idolized mother ring in his ears, Try
to come home a somebody. Pinched for food and clothes,
as he often was while he studied early and laid
in his bear garret near the Sorbonne, the memory of

(59:52):
that dear mother cheered and strengthened him. He could still
feel her tears and kisses on his cheek, and a
tender clasp of her hand as she pressed into his
the slender purse of money which she had saved to
release him from the drudgery of an occupation he loathed,
and to enable him to become a great lawyer in Paris.
How well he remembered her delight in listening to him
to claim the speeches of Tierre and Guiseau, from the

(01:00:14):
pages of the National, which she had taught him to
read when but a mere baby, and from which he
imbibed his first lessons in republicanism, lessons that he never
afterward forgot. Such deep root had they taken that he
could not be induced to change his views by the
fathers of the preparatory school at Montfawcan, whither he had
been sent to be trained for the priesthood. Finally, despairing

(01:00:35):
of bringing the young radical to their way of thinking,
the Monfalwkan father sent him home to his parents. You
will never make a priest of him, they wrote, he
has a character that cannot be disciplined. His father, an
honest but narrow minded Italian whose ideas did not soar
beyond his little bazaar and grocery store, was displeased with
the boy, who was then only ten years old. He

(01:00:58):
could not understand how one so young dared to think
his own thoughts and hold his own opinions. The neighbors
held up their hands in dismay and prophesied he will
end his days in the bastille. His mother wept and
blamed herself and the national as the cause of all
the trouble. How little the fond mother, the disappointed father,
or the gloomily foreboding neighbors dreamt to what heights those

(01:01:21):
early lessons they now so bitterly deplored, were to lead.
When at sixteen, Leon Gambetta returned from the lyceum to
which he had been sent on his return from the
Monfalkan seminary, his wide reading and deep study had but
intensified and broadened the radicalism of his childhood. He longed
to go to Paris to study law, but his father
insisted that he must now confine his thoughts to selling

(01:01:43):
groceries and yards of ribbon and lace, as he expected
his son to succeed him in the business. Poor foolish
Joseph Gambetta, he would confine the young eagle in a barnyard,
but the eagle pined and drooped in his cage. And
then the loving mother, Ah, those loving mothers, will their
boys ever realize how much they owe them? Through open

(01:02:04):
the doors and gave him freedom, an opportunity to win
fame and fortune in the great city of Paris. And
now what mattered it that his clothes were poor, that
his food was scant, and that it was often bitterly
cold in his little garret. If not for his own sake,
he must for hers come home of somebody. The doors
which led to a wider future were already opening. The

(01:02:27):
professors at the Sorbonne appreciated his great intellect and originality.
You have a true vocation, said one. Follow it, but
go to the bar, where your voice, which is one
in a thousand, will carry you on study an intelligence aiding.
The lecture room is a narrow theater. If you like,

(01:02:47):
I will write to your father to tell him what
my opinion of you is. And he wrote, the best
investment you ever made would be to spend what money
you can divert from your business in helping your son
to become an advocate. To set which good purpose did
the young student use his time that within two years
he won his diploma. Still too young to be admitted
to the bar, he spent a year studying life in Paris,

(01:03:10):
listening to the debates in the Corps legislative, reading and
debating in the Radical Club which he had organized, making
himself ready at every point for the great opportunity which
gained him a national reputation and made him the idol
of the masses. In eighteen sixty eight, his masterly defense
of Dells Clothes the Radical Editor against the prosecution of
the Imperial government brought the brilliant but hitherto unknown young

(01:03:33):
lawyer prominently before the public. He lost his case, but
won fame. Gambetta had waited eighteen months for his first
brief and five times eighteen months for his first great case.
This case proved to be the initial step that led
him from victory to victory until after the fall of
Napoleon at Sedan, he became practically dictator of France. He was,

(01:03:57):
more than any one man, the maker of the French Republic,
whose rights and liberties he ever defended, even at the
risk of his life. He died December thirty first, eighteen
eighty two. Well had he fulfilled the hopes and ambitions
of his loving mother, while had he answered the pathetic
appeal tried to come home of somebody. Andrew Jackson, the

(01:04:18):
boy who never would give up. Sir, I am a
prisoner of war and demand to be treated as such.
Was the spirited reply of Andrew Jackson to a British
officer who had commanded him to clean his boots. This
was characteristic of the future hero of New Orleans and
President of the United States, whose independent spirit rebelled at
the insolent command of his captor. The officer drew his

(01:04:41):
sword to enforce obedience, but nothing daunted the youth, although
then only fourteen, persisted in his refusal. He tried to
parry the sword thrust samed at him, but did not
escape without wounds on head and arm, the marks of
which he carried to his grave. Stubborn, self willed, and
always dominated by the desire to be a leader, Andrew

(01:05:03):
Jackson was by no means a model boy, but his honesty,
love of truth, indomitable will, and courage in spite of
his many faults, led him to greatness. He was born
with fighting blood in his veins, and, like other eminent
men who have risen to the White House poor. His father,
an Irish immigrant, died before his youngest son was born

(01:05:25):
in seventeen sixty seven, and life held for the boy
more hard knocks than soft places. His mother, who was
ambitious to make him a clergyman, tried to secure him
some early advantages of schooling. Andrew, however, was not of
a studious disposition, nor at all inclined to the ministry,
and made little effort to profit by even the limited

(01:05:46):
opportunities he had. But despite all the disadvantages of environment
and mental traits by which he was handicapped, he was
bound by the force of certain other traits to be
a winner in the battle of life. The quality to
which his success is chiefly owing is revealed by the
words of a schoolfellow, who, in spite of Jackson's slender
physique and lack of physical strength at that time, felt

(01:06:08):
the force of his iron will. Speaking of their wrestling
matches at school, this boy said, I could throw him
Jackson three times out of four, but he never would
stay throwed. He was dead game and never would give up.
A boy who never would stay throwed and never would
give up, would succeed, though the whole world tried to

(01:06:28):
bar his progress. When at the age of fifteen he
found himself alone in the world, homeless and penniless, he
adapted himself to anything he could find to do. Worker
in a saddler's shop, school teacher, lawyer, merchant, judge of
the Supreme Court, United States, senator, soldier, leader. Step by step,

(01:06:48):
the son of the poor Irish immigrant rose to the
highest office to which his countrymen could elect him, the
presidency of the United States. Rash, headstrong, and narrow minded
Andrew Jackson fell into many errors during his life, but
notwithstanding his shortcomings, he persistently tried to live up to
his boyhood's motto, ask nothing but what is right, submit

(01:07:10):
to nothing wrong. Sir Humphry Davy's greatest discovery, Michael Faraday.
He was only a little, barefooted errand boy, the son
of a poor blacksmith. His school life ended in his
thirteenth year. The extent of his education then was limited
to a knowledge of the three bars. As he trudged

(01:07:30):
on his daily rounds through the busy streets of London,
delivering newspapers and books to the customers of his employer.
There was little difference outwardly between him and scores of
other boys who jostled one another in the narrow, crowded thoroughfares.
But under the shabby jacket of Michael Faraday beat a
heart braver and tender than the average, and under the

(01:07:51):
well worn cap a brain was throbbing that was destined
to illuminate the world of science with a light that
would never grow dim less than any one else, Perhaps
apps did the boy dream of future greatness. For a
year he served his employer faithfully in his capacity of
Eron Boy, and in eighteen o five, at the age
of fourteen, was apprenticed to a bookseller for seven years,

(01:08:13):
as was the custom in England, to learn the combined
trades of bookbinding and book selling, the young journeyman had
to exercise all his self control to confine his attention
to the outside of the books which passed through his hands.
In his spare moments. However, he made himself familiar with
the inside of many of them, eagerly devouring such works
on science, electricity, chemistry, and natural philosophy as came within

(01:08:38):
his reach. He was especially delighted with an article on
electricity which he found in a volume of the Encyclopedia
Britannica which had been given him to bind. He immediately
began work on an electrical machine from the very crudest materials,
and much to his delight, succeeded. It was a red
letter day in his young life when a kind hearted

(01:08:59):
cut customer, who had noticed his interest in scientific works,
offered to take him to the Royal Institution to attend
a course of lectures to be given by the Great
Sir Humphry Davy. From this time on, his thoughts were
constantly turned towards science. Oh, if I could only help
in some scientific work, no matter how humble was the
daily cry of his soul. But not yet was his

(01:09:22):
prayer to be granted. His metal must be tried in
the school of patience and drudgery. He must fulfill his
contract with his master. For seven years he was faithful
to his work while his heart was elsewhere, And all
that time, in the eagerness of his thirst for knowledge,
he was imbibing facts which helped him to plan electrical achievements,

(01:09:43):
the possibilities of which have not to this day been
exhausted or even half realized. Like Franklin, he seemed to
forecast the scientific future for ages. At length he was
free to follow his bent, and his mind turned at
once to Sir Humphry Davy. With a beating heart divided
between hope and fear, he wrote to the great man,

(01:10:05):
telling what he wished and asking his aid. The scientist,
remembering his own day of small things, wrote the youth
politely that he was going out of town, but would
see if he could some time aid him. He also
said that science is a harsh mistress, and in a
pecuniary point of view, but poorly rewards those who devote

(01:10:25):
themselves exclusively to her service. This was not very encouraging,
but the young votary of science was nothing daunted, and
toiled at his uncongenial trade with the added discomfort of
an ill tempered employer, giving all his evenings and odd
moments to study and experiments. Then came another red letter day.
He was growing depressed and feared that Sir Humphrey had

(01:10:47):
forgotten his quasi promise, when one evening a carriage stopped
at the door and outstepped an important looking footman in
livery with a note from the famous scientist, requesting the
young bookbinder to call on him on the following morning.
At last had come the answer to the prayer of
little Michael Faraday, as will come the answer to all
who back their prayers with patient, persistent hard work in

(01:11:09):
spite of discouragement, disappointment and failure. And when on that
never to be forgotten morning, he was engaged by the
great Scientist at a salary of six dollars a week,
with two rooms at the top of the house to
wash bottles, clean the instruments, move them to and from
the lecture rooms, and make himself generally useful in the laboratory,
and out of it. No happier youth could be found

(01:11:31):
in all London. The door was open, not indeed wide,
but sufficiently to allow this ardent disciple to work his
way into the innermost shrine of the Temple of science.
Though it took years and years of plotting, incessant work
and study, and a devotion to purpose with which nothing
was allowed to interfere, it made Faraday, by virtue of

(01:11:52):
his marvelous discoveries in electricity, electromagnetism and chemistry, a world benefactor,
honored not only by his own country and so sovereign,
but by other rulers and leading nations of the Earth,
as one of the greatest chemists and natural philosophers of
his time. So great has been his value to the
scientific world that his theories are still a constant source

(01:12:13):
of inspiration to the workers in those great professions allied
to electricity and chemistry. No library is complete without his
published works. What wonder that Davy called Faraday his greatest discovery.
The triumph of Canova. The Villa Dia Sola, the country
residence of the senior Follieri, was in a state of

(01:12:33):
unusual excitement. Some of the most distinguished patricians of Venice
had been bidden to a great banquet which was to
surpass in magnificence any entertainment ever before given even by
the wealthy and hospitable Sinner Follieri. The feast was ready,
the guests were assembled, when word came from the confectioner,
who had been charged to prepare the center ornament for

(01:12:54):
the table, that he had spoiled the peace. Consternation reigned
in the servants hall. What was to be done? The
steward or head servant, was in despair. He was responsible
for the table decorations, and the absence of the centerpiece
would seriously mar the arrangements. He wrung his hands and
gesticulated wildly what should he do? If you will let

(01:13:19):
me try, I think I can make something that will do.
The speaker was a delicate, pale faced boy about twelve
years old, who had been engaged to help in some
of the minor details of preparation for the great event.
You exclaimed the steward, gazing in amazement at the modest
yet apparently audacious lad before him, And who are you?

(01:13:40):
I am Antonio Canova, the grandson of Pissano, the stone cutter,
desperately grasping at even the most forlorn hope, the perplexed
servant gave the boy permission to try his hand at
making a centerpiece, calling for some butter. With nimble fingers
and the skill of a practiced sculptor, in a short time,
the little scullion molded the figure of a crouching lion.

(01:14:02):
So perfect in proportion, so spirited and full of life
in every detail was this marvelous butter lion that it
elicited a chorus of admiration from the delighted guests, who
were eager to know who the great sculptor was who
had deigned to expend his genius on such perishable material.
Senior Follieri, unable to gratify their curiosity, sent for his

(01:14:22):
head servant, who gave them the history of the centerpiece.
Antonio was immediately summoned to the banquet hall, where he
blushingly received the praises and congratulations of all present, and
the promise of Signer Follieri to become his patron and
thus enable him to achieve fame as a sculptor. Such,
according to some biographers, was the turning point in the

(01:14:43):
career of Antonio Canova, who, from a peasant lad born
in the little Venetian village of Pisanio, rose to be
the most illustrious sculptor of his age. Whether or not
the story be true, it is certain that when the
boy was in his thirteenth year, Siiner Follieri placed him
in the studio of treas Boretto, of Venetian sculptor, then
living near a Sola. But it is equally certain that

(01:15:05):
the fame which crowned Canova's manhood, the title of Marquis
of Ischia, the decorations and honors so liberally bestowed upon
him by the ruler of the Vatican, Kings, princes and emperors,
were all the fruits of his ceaseless industry, high ideals
and unfailing enthusiasm. The little Antonio began to draw almost
as soon as he could hold a pencil, and the

(01:15:26):
gown of the dear old grandmother, who so tenderly loved him,
and was so tenderly loved in return, often bore the
marks of baby fingers fresh from modeling in clay. Antonio's father,
having died when the child was but three years old,
his grandfather Pisano hoped that he would succeed him as
village stone cutter and sculptor. Delicate, though the little fellow

(01:15:47):
had been from birth. At nine years of age, he
was laboring as far as his strength would permit in
Pisano's workshop, But in the evening, after the work of
the day was done, with pencil or clay, he tried
to give a expression to the poetic fancies he had
imbibed from the ballads and legends of his native hills,
crooned to him in infancy by his grandmother. Under Torreto,

(01:16:08):
his genius developed so rapidly that the sculptor spoke of
one of his creations as a truly marvelous production. He
was then only thirteen. Later we find him in Venice,
studying and working with ever increasing zeal. Though Signor Foieri
would have been only too glad to supply the youth's needs,
he was too proud to be dependent on others. Speaking

(01:16:31):
of this time, he says, I labored for a mere pittance,
but it was sufficient. It was the fruit of my
own resolution, and as I then flattered myself the foretaste
of more honorable rewards, For I never thought of wealth
too poor to hire a workshop or studio. Through the
kindness of the monks of Saint Stephano, he was given

(01:16:51):
a cell in a vacant monastery, and here, at the
age of sixteen, he started business as a sculptor on
his own account. Before he was twenty, the youth had
become a master of anatomy, which he declared was the
secret of the art. Was thoroughly versed in literature, languages, history, poetry, mythology,
everything that could help to make him the greatest sculptor

(01:17:12):
of his age, and had even then produced works of
surpassing merit. Effort to do better was the motto of
his life, and he never permitted a day to pass
without making some advance in his profession. Though often too
poor to buy the marble in which to embody his conceptions,
he for many years lived up to a resolution made
about this time, never to close his eyes at night

(01:17:34):
without having produced some design. What wonder that, at twenty
five this noble youth, whose incessant toil had perfected genius,
was the marvel of his age. What wonder that his
famous group theseus vanquishing the Minotaur elicited the enthusiastic admiration
of the most noted art critics of Rome. What wonder
that the little peasant boy who had first opened his

(01:17:57):
eyes in seventeen fifty seven in a mud cabin, closed
them at last in eighteen twenty two in a marble palace,
crowned with all of fame and honor and wealth the
world could give. But better still, he was loved and
enshrined in the hearts of the people, as a friend
of the poor, a patron of struggling merit, a man
in whom nobility of character overtopped even the genius of

(01:18:19):
the artist. Franklin's lesson on time value, dost thou love life? Then?
Do not squander time? For that is the stuff life
is made of. Franklin. Franklin not only understood the value
of time, but he put a price upon it that
made others appreciate its worth. A customer who came one

(01:18:40):
day to his little bookstore in Philadelphia, not being satisfied
with the price demanded by the clerk for the book
he wished to purchase, asked for the proprietor. Mister Franklin
is very busy just now in the press room, replied
the clerk. The man however, who had already spent an
hour aimlessly turning over books, insisted on seeing him. In

(01:19:01):
answer to the clerk's summons, mister Franklin hurried out from
the newspaper establishment at the back of the store. What
is the lowest price you can take for this book, sir,
asked the leisurely customer holding up the volume. One dollar
and a quarter was the prompt reply. A dollar and
a quarter. Why your clerk asked me only a dollar

(01:19:22):
just now, true, said Franklin, And I could have better
afforded to take a dollar than to leave my work.
The man, who seemed to be in doubt as to
whether mister Franklin was in earnest, said jokingly, well, come
now tell me your lowest price for this book. One
dollar and a half was the grave reply. A dollar

(01:19:43):
and a half. Why you just offered it for a
dollar and a quarter. Yes, and I could have better
taken that price then than a dollar and a half. Now,
without another word, the crestfallen purchaser laid the money on
the counter and left the store. He had learned not
only that he who squanders his own time is foolish,
but that he who wastes the time of others is

(01:20:05):
a thief from store boy to millionaire. But I am
only nineteen years old, mister Riggs, and the speaker looked
questioningly into the eyes of his companion, as if he
doubted his seriousness in asking him to become a partner
in his business. Mister Riggs was not joking, however, and
he met George Peabody's perplexed gaze smilingly as he replied,

(01:20:27):
that is no objection. If you are willing to go
in with me and put your labor against my capital,
I shall be well satisfied. This was the turning point
in a life which was to leave its impress on
two of the world's greatest nations. And what were the
experiences that led to it. They were utterly commonplace, and
in some respects such as fall to the lot of

(01:20:48):
many country boys today. At eleven, the lad was obliged
to earn his own living. At that time eighteen o six,
his native town, Danvers, Massachusetts, present and a few opportunities
to the ambitious, he took the best that offered, a
position as store boy in the village grocer's. For years

(01:21:08):
of faithful work and constant effort at self culture followed.
He was now fifteen. His ambition was growing. He must
seek a wider field. Another year passed, and then came
the long for opening. Joyfully, the youth set out for
his brother's store in Newburyport, Massachusetts. Here he felt he

(01:21:30):
would have a better chance. But disappointment and disaster were
lurking round the corner. Soon after he had taken up
his new duties, the store was burned to the ground.
In the meantime, his father had died, and his mother,
whom he idolized, needed his help more than ever. Penniless
and out of work, but not disheartened, he immediately looked

(01:21:52):
about for another position. Gladly, he accepted an offer to
work in his uncle's dry goods store in Georgetown, d c.
And here refined him two years later, at the time
when mister Riggs made his flattering proposition, did influence a
pull or financial considerations have anything to do with the
merchant's choice of a partner? Nothing? Whatever. The young man

(01:22:15):
had no money and no pull save what his character
had made for him. His agreeable personality had won him
many friends and his uncle much additional trade. His business
qualities had gained him an enviable reputation. His tact, says
Sarah kay Bolton, was unusual. He never wounded the feelings
of a buyer of goods, never tried him with unnecessary talk,

(01:22:39):
never seemed impatient, and was punctual to the minute. That
mister Riggs had made no mistake in choosing his partner.
The rapid growth of his business conclusively proved. About a
year after the partnership had been formed, the firm moved
to Baltimore. So well did the business flourish in Baltimore
that within seven years the partners had established branch houses

(01:23:00):
in New York and Philadelphia. Finally, mister Riggs decided to retire,
and Peabody, who was then but thirty five, found himself
at the head of the business. London, which he had
visited several times, now attracted him. It offered great possibilities
for banking. He went there, studied finance, established a banking business,

(01:23:22):
and thenceforth made London his headquarters. Wealth began to pour
in upon him in a golden stream, but although he
had worked steadily for this, it was not for personal ends.
He never married, and to the end lived simply and
unostentatiously through the long years of patient work. A great
purpose had been shaping his life. Daily he had prayed

(01:23:46):
that God might give him means wherewith to help his
fellow men. His prayer was being answered in overflowing measure.
Business interests constrained him to spend the latter half of
his life in London, but absence only deepened his love
for his own cind. All that great wealth could do
to advance the welfare and prestige of the United States
was done by the millionaire philanthropists. But above all else

(01:24:09):
he tried to bring within the reach of poor children
that which was denied himself. A school education. The Peabody
Institute in his native town, with its free library and
free course of lectures. The Institute Academy of Music and
Art Gallery of Baltimore, the Museum of Natural History at
Yale University, the Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology at Harvard University,

(01:24:32):
the Peabody Academy of Science at Salem, Massachusetts, besides large
contributions every year to libraries and other educational and philanthropic
institutions all over the country, bear witness to his love
for humanity. Surpassing all this, however, was his establishment of
the Peabody Fund of three million dollars for the education
of the freed slaves of the South and for the

(01:24:54):
equally needy poor of the white race. An equal amount
had been previously devoted to the better huse housing of
the London poor. A dream almost too good to come true,
it seemed to the toilers in the great city slums,
when they found their filthy, unhealthy tenements replaced by clean,
wholesome dwellings, well supplied with air and sunlight, and all
modern conveniences and comforts. London presented its generous benefactor with

(01:25:18):
the freedom of the city. A bronze statue was erected
in his honor, and Queen Victoria, who would fain have
loaded him with titles and honors, all of which he
respectfully declined, declared his act to be wholly without parallel.
A beautiful miniature portrait of her majesty, which she caused
to be specially made for him, and a letter written
by her own hand, were the only gifts he would

(01:25:40):
accept gloriously. Had his great purpose been fulfilled, he who
began life as a poor boy, had given to the
furtherance of education and for the benefit of the poor
in various ways the sum of nine million dollars. The
remaining four million dollars of his fortune was divided among
his relatives. England love and honored him even as his

(01:26:01):
own country did, and when he died in London November fourth,
eighteen sixty nine, she offered him a resting place among
her immortals in Westminster Abbey. His last wish, however, was fulfilled,
and he was laid beside his mother in his native land.
His legacies to humanity are doing their splendid work to day,
as they have done in the past, and as they

(01:26:22):
will continue to do in the future, enabling multitudes of
aspiring souls to reach heights which, but for him, they
never could have attained. These words of his, too, spoken
on the occasion of the dedication of his gift to
Danvers its free institute, will serve for ages as a
bugle call to all youths who are anxious to make
the most of themselves, and like him, to give of

(01:26:43):
their best to the world. Though Providence has granted me
an unvaried and unusual success in the pursuit of fortune
in other lands, he said, I am still in heart
the humble boy who left yonder, unpretending, dwelling many very
many years ago. There is not a youth within the
sound of my voice whose early opportunities and advantages are
not very much greater than were my own. And I

(01:27:04):
have since achieved nothing that is impossible to the most
humble boy among you. Bear in mind that to be
truly great, it is not necessary that you should gain
wealth and importance. Steadfast and undeviating truth, fearless and straightforward integrity,
and an honor ever unsullied by an unworthy word or action,
make their possessor greater than worldly success or prosperity. These

(01:27:28):
qualities constitute greatness. I will paint toward die how a poor,
untaught farmer's boy became an artist. I will paint toward die.
So stoutly resolved a poor, friendless boy on a far
away Ohio farm, amid surroundings calculated to quench rather than
to foster ambition. He knew not how his object was

(01:27:50):
to be accomplished, for genius is never fettered by details.
He only knew that he would be an artist that
settled it. He had never seen a work of art,
or read or heard anything on the subject. It was
his soul's voice alone that spoke, and the soul's emphasis
is always right. Left an orphan at the age of eleven,

(01:28:12):
the boy agreed to work on his uncle's farm for
a term of five years, for the munificent sum of
ten dollars per annum, the total amount of which he
was to receive at the end of the five years.
The little fellow struggled bravely along with the laborious farm work,
never for a moment losing sight of his ideal, and
profiting as he could by the few months schooling snatched
from the duties of the farm. During the winter, toward

(01:28:34):
the close of his five years service, a great event happened.
There came to the neighborhood an artist from Washington, mister Yule,
whom he overheard by chance, speaking on the subject of art.
His words transformed the dream in the youth's soul to
a living purpose, and it was then he resolved that
he would paint or die, and that he would go
to Washington and study under mister Yule. On his release

(01:28:56):
from the farm, he started for Washington with a coarse
outfit packed way in a shabby little trunk, and a
few dollars in his pocket. With the trustfulness of extreme
youth and in ignorance of a great world, he expected
to get work that would enable him to live and
at the same time find leisure for the pursuit of
his real life work. He immediately sought mister Yule, who

(01:29:18):
with great generosity offered to teach him without charge. Then
began the weary search for work in a large city
already overcrowded with applicants. In his earnestness and eveness, the
youth went from house to house asking for any kind
of work that would enable him to study art. But
it was all in vain, and to save himself from starvation,

(01:29:38):
he was at length forced to accept the position of
a day labor crushing stones for street paving. Yet he
hoped to study painting when his day's work was done.
Mister Yule was at this time engaged in painting the
portraits of Missus Francis Hodgson Burnett's sons. In the course
of conversation with Missus Burnett, he spoke of the heroic
struggle the youth was making. The author's heart was touched

(01:30:02):
by the pathetic story. She at once wrote a check
for one hundred dollars and handed it to mister Yule
for his protege. With that rare delicacy of feeling which
marks all beautiful souls, Missus Burnett did not wish to
embarrass the struggler by the necessity of thanking her. Do
not let him even write to me, she said to
mister Yule. Simply say to him that I shall sail

(01:30:25):
for Europe in a few days. And this is to
give him a chance to work at the thing he
cares for so much. It will at least give him
a start in the throbbing life of the crowded city.
One heart beat high with hope and happiness. That night
a youth lay awake until morning, too bewildered with gratitude
and amazement to comprehend the meaning of the good fortune

(01:30:45):
which had come to him. Who could his benefactor be.
Three years later, at the annual Exhibition of Washington Artists,
Missus Burnett stood before a remarkably vivid portrait. Addressing the
artist in charge of the exhibition, she said, that seems
to me very strong. It looks as if it must
be a realistic likeness. Who did it? I am so

(01:31:09):
glad you like it? It was painted by your protegee,
Missus Burnett, my protegee, my protegee. Whom do you mean?
Why the young man you saved from despair three years ago?
Don't you remember young w W? Queried Missus Burnett, the

(01:31:29):
young man whose story mister You'll told you. Missus Burnett
then inquired if the portrait was for sale. When informed
that the picture was an order and not for sale,
she asked if there was anything else of mister W's
on exhibition. She was conducted to a striking picture of
a turban head, which was pointed out as another of
mister W's works. How much does he ask for it?

(01:31:53):
A hundred and fifty dollars put sold upon it. And
when mister W comes, tell him his friend has bought
his picture, said Missus Burnett. On her return home, Missus
Burnett made out a check, which she enclosed in a
letter to the young painter. It was mailed simultaneously with
a letter from her protege, who had but just heard

(01:32:14):
of her return from Europe, in which he begged her
to accept as a slight expression of his gratitude the
picture she had just purchased. The turband head now adorns
the hall of Missus Burnett's house in Washington. I do
not understand it even to day, declares mister W. I
knew nothing of missus Burnett, nor she of me. Why

(01:32:34):
did she do it? I only know that that hundred
dollars was worth more to me than than fifty thousand
in gold would be. Now. I lived upon it a
whole year, and it put me on my feet. Mister
W is a successful artist, now favorably known in his
own country and in England for the strength and promise
of his work. The call that speaks in the blood.

(01:32:56):
Nature took the measure of little Tommy Edwards for a
round hole. But his parents, teachers, and all with whom
his childhood was cast dotted into their heads that Tommy
was certainly intended for a square hole, so with the
best intentions in the world. But oh, such woeful ignorance,
they tortured the poor little fellow and crippled him for
life by trying to fit him to their pattern instead

(01:33:17):
of that design for him. By the all wise mother,
Mother Nature called to Tommy to go into the woods
and fields, to wade through the brooks and make friends
with all the living things she had placed there. Tadpoles, beetles, frogs, crabs, mice, rats, spiders, bugs,
everything that had life. Willingly lovingly did the little lad obey,

(01:33:39):
but only to be whipped and scolded by good mother
Edwards when he let loose in her kitchen the precious
treasures which he had collected in his rambles. It was
provoking to have rats, mice, toads, bugs, and all sorts
of creepy things sent sprawling over one's clean kitchen floor.
But the pity of it was that Missus Edwards did
not understand her boy, and thought the only cure for

(01:34:01):
what she deemed his mischievous propensity as whipping. So Tommy
was whipped and scolded, and scolded and whipped, which, however,
did not in the least abate his love for nature.
Driven to desperation, his mother bethought her of a plan.
She would make the boy prisoner and see if this
would tame him. With a stout rope, she tied him

(01:34:22):
by the leg to a table and shut him in
a room alone. But no sooner was the door closed
than he dragged himself and the table to the fireplace, and,
at the risk of setting himself and the house on fire,
burned the rope which bound him and made his escape
into the woods to collect new specimens. And yet his
parents did not understand it was time, however, to send

(01:34:44):
him to school. They would see what the schoolmaster would
do for him. But the schoolmaster was as blind as
the parents, and Tommy's doom was sealed when one morning,
while the school was at prayers, a jackdaw poked its
head out of his pocket and began to call his
next teacher. Misunderstood, whipped and bore with him until one
day nearly every boy in the school found a horse

(01:35:06):
leech wriggling up his leg, trying to suck his blood.
This ended his second school experience. He was given a
third trial, but with no better results than before. Things
went on in the usual way until a centipede was
discovered in another boy's desk, Although in this case Tommy
was innocent of any knowledge of the intruder. He was

(01:35:27):
found guilty, whipped, and sent home with the message go
and tell your father to get you on board a
man of war, as that is the best school for
irreclaimable such as you. His school life thus ended, He
was apprenticed to a shoemaker and thenceforth made his living
at the bench, but every spare moment was given to
the work, which was meat and drink. Life itself to

(01:35:48):
him in his manhood to enable him to classify the
minute and copious knowledge of birds, beasts, and insects which
he had been gathering since childhood. With great labor and patience,
he learned how to read and write. Later, realizing how
his lack of education hampered him, he endeavored to secure
the means to enable him to study to better advantage,

(01:36:09):
and sold for twenty pounds sterling a very large number
of valuable specimens. He tried to get employment as a naturalist,
and but for his poor reading and writing, would have
succeeded poor little scotch Laddie. Had his parents or teachers
understood him, he might have been as great a naturalist
as Agacy, and his life, instead of being dwarfed and crippled,

(01:36:30):
would have been a joy to himself and an incalculable
benefit to the world. Washington's youthful heroism. No great deed
is done by falterers who ask for certainty, God will
give you a reward, solemnly spoke the grateful mother, as
she received from the arms of the brave youth, the
child he had risked his life to save. As if

(01:36:51):
her lips were touched with the spirit of prophecy, she continued,
He will do great things for you in return for
this day's work, and the blessings of thousands. Besides, mind
will attend you. The ear of George Washington was ever
open to the cry of distress. His sympathy and aid
were ever at the service of those who needed them.
One calm sunny day in the spring of seventeen fifty,

(01:37:13):
he was dining with other surveyors in a forest in Virginia. Suddenly,
the stillness of the forest was startled by the piercing
shriek of a woman. Washington instantly sprang to his feet
and hurried to the woman's assistance. My boy, my boy, oh,
my poor boy is drowning, and they will not let
me go, screamed the frantic mother as she tried to

(01:37:35):
escape from the detaining hands which withheld her from jumping
into the rapids. Oh, sir, she implored, as she caught
sight of the manly youth of eighteen, whose presence even
then inspired confidence. Oh sir, you will surely do something
for me. For an instant Washington measured the rocks and
the whirling currents with a comprehensive look, and then, throwing

(01:37:56):
off his coat, plunged into the roaring rapids where he
had caught a glimpse of the drowning boy. With stout
heart and steady hand, he struggled against the seething mass
of waters, which threatened every moment to engul for dash
him to pieces against the sharp pointed rocks which lay
concealed beneath. Three times he had almost succeeded in grasping
the child's dress when the force of the current drove

(01:38:17):
him back. Then he gathered himself together for one last effort.
Just as the child was about to escape him forever
and be shot over the falls into the whirlpool below,
he clutched him. The spectators on the bank cried out
in horror. They gave both up for lost, but Washington
seemed to lead a charmed life, and the cry of

(01:38:39):
horror was changed to one of joy. When still holding
the child, he emerged lower down from the vortex of waters,
striking out for a low place in the bank. Within
a few minutes he reached the shore with his burden,
Then amid the acclamations of those who had witnessed his heroism,
and the blessings of the overjoyed mother. Washington placed the
unconscious but still living child in her arms. A cow

(01:39:04):
his capital. A cow, now, of all things in the world,
of what use was a cow to an ambitious boy
who wanted to go to college? Yet a cow and
nothing more was the capital, the entire stock in trade
of an aspiring farmer boy who felt within him a
call to another kind of life than that his father led.

(01:39:24):
This youth, who was yet in his teens, next to
his father and mother, loved a book better than anything
else in the world, and his great ambition was to
go to college to become a scholar. Whether he followed
the plow, or tossed hay under a burning July sun,
or chopped wood while his blood tingled from the combined
effects of exercise and a keen December wind, his thoughts

(01:39:45):
were ever fixed on the problem, how can I go
to college? His parents were poor, and while they could
give him a comfortable support as long as he worked
on the farm with them, they could not afford to
send him to college. But if they could not give
him any material laid they gave him all their sympathy,
which kept the fire of his resolution burning at white heat.

(01:40:06):
There is some subtle communication between the mind and the
spiritual forces of achievement, which renders it impossible for one
to think for any great length of time on a
tangled problem without a method for its untanglement being suggested.
So one evening, while driving the cows home to be milked,
the thought flashed across the brain of the would be student.
If I can't have anything else for capital, why can't

(01:40:27):
I have a cow? I could do something with it.
I am sure, and to college I must go. Come
what will Courage is more than half the battle. Decision
and energy are its captains, and when these three are united,
victory is sure. The problem of going to college was
already more than half solved. Our youthful farmer did not

(01:40:49):
let his thought grow cold. Hurrying at once to his father,
he said, if you will give me a cow, I
shall feel free with your permission to go forth and
see what I can do for mysel in the world.
The father, agreeing to the proposition, which seemed to him
a practical one, replied, heartily, my son, you shall have
the best milch cow. I own. Followed by the prayers

(01:41:12):
and blessings of his parents, the youth started from home,
driving his cow before him, his destination being a certain
academy between seventy five and one hundred miles distant. Very
soon he experienced the truth of the old adage that
heaven helps those who helped themselves. At the end of
his first day's journey, when he sought a night's lodging
for himself and accommodation for his cow in return for

(01:41:34):
her milk, he met with unexpected kindness. The good people
to whom he applied not only refused to take anything
from him, but gave him bread to eat with his milk,
and his cow a comfortable barn to lie in with
all the hay she could eat. During the entire length
of his journey, he met with equal kindness and consideration
at the hands of all those with whom he came

(01:41:55):
in contact. And when he reached the academy, the principal
and his wife were so plas pleased with his frank,
modest yet self confident bearing that they at once adopted
himself and his cow into the family. He worked for
his board, and the cow ungrudgingly gave her milk for
the general good. In due time, the youth was graduated
with honors from the academy. He was then ready to

(01:42:18):
enter college, but had no money. The kind hearted principle
of the academy and his wife again came to his
aid and helped him out of the difficulty by purchasing
his cow. The money thus obtained enabled him to take
the next step forward. He bade his good friends farewell,
and the same year entered college. For four years, he
worked steadily with hand and brain. In spite of the

(01:42:41):
hard work, they were happy years, and at their close
the persevering student had won, in addition to his classical degree,
many new friends and well wishers. His next step was
to take a theological course in another institution. When he
had finished the course, he was called to be principal
of the academy, to which honest ambition first led him
with his cow. Years afterward, a learned professor of Hebrew

(01:43:04):
and the author of a scholarly commentary cheered and encouraged
many a struggling youth by relating the story of his
own experiences from the time when he, a simple rustic,
had started for college with naught but a cow. As capital.
This story was first related to the writer by the
late Francis E. Willard, who vouched for its truth. The
boy who said, I must farther back than the memory

(01:43:28):
of the grandfathers and grandmothers of some of my young
readers can go there, lived in a historic town in Massachusetts,
a brave little lad who loved books and study more
than toys or games or play of any kind. The
dearest wish of his heart was to be able to
go to school every day, like more fortunate boys and girls,
so that when he should grow up to be a man,

(01:43:48):
he might be well educated and fitted to do some
grand work in the world. But his help was needed
at home, and young as he was, he began then
to learn the lessons of unselfishness and duty. It was hard,
wasn't it for a little fellow only eight years old,
to have to leave off going to school and settle
down to work on a farm. Many young folks at

(01:44:09):
his age think they are very badly treated if they
are not permitted to have some toy or story book
or other thing on which they have set their hearts.
And older boys and girls too are apt to pout
and frown if their whims are not gratified. But Theodore's
parents were very poor and could not even indulge his
longing to go to school. Did he give up his
dreams of being a great man. Not a bit of it.

(01:44:33):
He did not even cry or utter a complaint, but
manfully resolved that he would do everything he could to
help father. And then when winter comes, he thought, I
shall be able to go to school again. Bravely, the
little fellow toiled through the beautiful springtide, though his wistful
glances were often turned in the direction of the schoolhouse,
but he resolutely bent to his work and renewed his

(01:44:55):
resolve that he would be educated. As spring deepened into summer,
the work on the farm grew harder and harder, but
Theodore rejoiced that the flight of each season brought winter nearer.
At length, autumn had vanished, the fruits of the spring,
in summer's toil had been gathered. The boy was free
to go to his beloved studies again, And oh how

(01:45:15):
he reveled in a few books at his command in
the village school. How eagerly he trudged across the fields
morning after morning to the schoolhouse, where he always held
first place in his class. Blustering winds and fierce snowstorms
had no terrors for the ardent student. His only sorrow
was that winter was all too short, and the days,

(01:45:36):
freighted with the happiness of regular study, slipped all too
quickly by. But the kind hearted schoolmaster lent him books
so that when spring came round again and the boy
had to go back to work, he could pore over them.
In his odd moments of relaxation. As he patiently plodded
along guiding the plow over the rough earth, he recited
the lessons he had learned during the brief winter season.

(01:45:58):
And after dinner, while the other rested awhile from their labors,
Theodore eagerly turned the pages of one of his borrowed books,
from which he drank in deep drafts of delight and knowledge.
Early in the summer mornings before the regular work began,
and late in the evening, when the day's tasks had
all been done, he read and re read his treasured
volumes until he knew them from cover to cover. Then

(01:46:20):
he was confronted with a difficulty. He had begun to
study Latin, but found it impossible to get along without
a dictionary. What shall I do? He thought? There is
no one from whom I can borrow a Latin dictionary,
and I cannot ask father to buy me one because
he cannot afford it. But I must have it. That
must settle the question. Three quarters of a century ago,

(01:46:45):
bookstores were few, and books very costly. Boys and girls
who have free access to libraries and reading rooms, and
can buy the best works of great authors sometimes for
a few cents can hardly imagine the difficulties which beset
the little farmer book and trying to get the book
he wanted? Did he get the dictionary? Oh? Yes, you remember,

(01:47:07):
he had said, I must. After thinking and thinking how
he could get the money to buy it, a bright
idea flashed across his mind. The bushes in the fields
about the farm seemed waiting for someone to pick the
ripe whortleberries. Why, thought he can't I gather and sell
enough to buy my dictionary. The next morning, before anyone

(01:47:28):
else in the farmhouse was astir, Theodore was moving rapidly
through the bushes, picking, picking, picking, with unwearied fingers the
shining berries, every one of which was of greater value
in his eyes than a penny would be to some
of you. At last, after picking and selling several bushels
of ripe berries, he had enough money to buy the
coveted dictionary. Oh what a joy it was to possess

(01:47:52):
a book that had been purchased with his own money.
How it thrilled the boy and quickened his ambition to
renewed efforts. Well done, my boy, But Theodore, I cannot
afford to keep you there. Well, father, replied the youth.
But I am not going to study there. I shall
study at home at odd times, and thus prepare myself

(01:48:12):
for a final examination which will give me a diploma.
Theodore had just returned from Boston and was telling his
delighted father how he had spent the holiday, which he
had asked for. In the morning, starting out early from
the farm so as to reach Boston before the intense
heat of the August day had set in, he cheerfully
tramped the ten miles that lay between his home in

(01:48:33):
Lexington and Harvard College, where he presented himself as a
candidate for admission. And when the examinations were over, Theodore
had the joy of hearing his name announced in the
list of successful students. The youth had reached the goal
which the boy of eight had dimly seen. And now
if you would learn how he worked and taught in
a country school in order to earn the money to

(01:48:53):
spend two years in college, and how the young man
became one of the most eminent preachers in America, you
must read a complete biography of Theodore Parker, the hero
of this little story, The Hidden Treasure. Long long ago
in the shadowy past, Ali Halft dwelt on the shores
of the River Indus, in the ancient land of the Hinduos.

(01:49:14):
His beautiful cottage, set in the midst of fruit and
flower gardens, looked from the mountain side on which it
stood over the broad expanse of the noble river. Rich meadows,
waving fields of grain, and the herds and flocks contentedly
grazing on the pasture lands testified to the thrift and
prosperity of Ali Haft. The love of a beautiful wife

(01:49:34):
and a large family of light hearted boys and girls
made his home an earthly paradise, healthy, wealthy, contented, rich
in love and friendship. His cup of happiness seemed full
to overflowing. Happy and contented, as we have seen, was
the good ali haft when one evening, a learned priest
of Buddha journeying along the banks of the Indus, stopped

(01:49:56):
for rest and refreshment at his home, where all wayfarers
were hospitably wealthy coomed entreated as honored guests. After the
evening meal, the farmer and his family, with the priest
in their midst, gathered around the fireside the chilly mountain
air of the late autumn, making a fire desirable. The
disciple of Buddha entertained his kind hosts with various legends

(01:50:16):
and myths, and last of all, with the story of
the creation. He told his wondering listeners how in the beginning,
the solid earth on which they lived was not solid
at all, but a mere bank of fog. The great
Spirit said. He thrust his finger into the bank of
fog and began slowly describing a circle in its midst,
increasing the speed gradually until the fog went whirling round

(01:50:38):
his finger so rapidly that it was transformed into a
glowing ball of fire. Then the creative Spirit hurled the
fiery ball from his hand, and it shot through the universe,
burning its way through other banks of fog and condensing
them into rain, which fell in great floods, cooling the
surface of the immense ball. Flames, then bursting from the
interior through the cooled outer crust, threw up the hills

(01:51:00):
and mountain ranges and made the beautiful fertile valleys. In
the flood of rain that followed this fiery upheaval, the
substance that cooled very quickly formed granite. That which cooled
less rapidly became copper. The next in degree cooled down
into silver, and the last became gold. But the most
beautiful substance of all, the diamond, was formed by the

(01:51:21):
first beams of sunlight condensed on the Earth's surface. A
drop of sunlight the size of my thumb, said the priest,
holding up his hand, is worth more than mines of gold.
With one such drop, he continued, turning to ali Haft,
you could buy many farms like yours. With a handful,
you could buy a province, And with a mine of diamonds,

(01:51:41):
you could purchase a whole kingdom. The company parted for
the night, and ali Halft went to bed, but not
to sleep. All night long, he tossed restlessly from side
to side, thinking, planning, scheming how he could secure some diamonds.
The demon of discontent had entered his soul, and the
blame blessings and advantages which he possessed in such abundance, seemed,

(01:52:03):
as by some malicious magic, to have utterly vanished. Although
his wife and children loved him as before, although his farm,
his orchards, his flocks and herds were as real and
prosperous as they had ever been. Yet the last words
of the priest, which kept ringing in his ears, turned
his content into vague longings, and blinded him to all
that had hitherto made him happy. Before dawn next morning,

(01:52:25):
the farmer, full of his purpose, was astir rousing the priest.
He eagerly inquired if he could direct him to a
mine of diamonds. A mine of diamonds, echoed the astonished priest.
What do you, who already have so much to be
grateful for, want with diamonds? I wish to be rich
and place my children on thrones. All you have to do, then,

(01:52:49):
said the Buddhist, is to go and search until you
find them. But where shall I go? Question the infatuated man.
Go anywhere? Was the vague reply, north south east or
west anywhere. But how shall I know the place, asked
the farmer. When you find a river running over white

(01:53:09):
sands between high mountain ranges. In these white sands you
will find diamonds. There are many such rivers, and many
mines of diamonds waiting to be discovered. All you have
to do is to start out and go somewhere. And
he waved his hand away away. All he half's mind
was full made up. I will no longer, he thought,

(01:53:30):
remain on a wretched farm, toiling day in and day
out for a mere subsistence, when acres of diamonds untold
wealth may be had by him who is bold enough
to seek them. He sold his farm for less than
half its value. Then, after putting his young family under
the care of a neighbor, he set out on his quest.

(01:53:50):
With high hopes, and the coveted diamond mines beckoning in
the far distance, all he halft began his wanderings. During
the first few weeks, his spirits did not flag, nor
did his feet grow weary. On and on he tramped
until he came to the mountains of the Moon, beyond
the bounds of Arabia. Weeks stretched into months, and the
wanderer often looked regretfully in the direction of his once

(01:54:13):
happy home. Still no gleam of waters glinting over white
sands greeted his eyes. But on he went into Egypt,
through Palestine and other Eastern lands, always looking for the
treasure he still hoped to find. At last, After years
of fruitless search, during which he had wandered north and south,
east and west, hope left him. All his money was spent,

(01:54:38):
He was starving and almost naked. And the diamonds which
had lured him away from all that made life dear?
Where were they? Poor Ali Haft never knew. He died
by the wayside, never dreaming that the wealth for which
he had sacrificed happiness and life might have been his head.
He remained at home. Here is a diamond, Here is

(01:54:58):
a diamond. Has Ally Halt returned, shouted an excited voice.
The speaker no other than our old acquaintance, the Buddhist priest,
was standing in the same room where years before he
had told poor Alli Halft how the world was made
and where diamonds were to be found. No, Alli Halft
has not returned, quietly answered his successor, Neither is that

(01:55:21):
which you hold in your hand a diamond. It is
but a pretty black pebble I picked up in my garden,
I tell you, said the priest excitedly. This is a
genuine diamond. I know one when I see it. Tell
me how and where you found it? One day, replied
the farmer, slowly, having led my camel into the garden
to drink, I noticed, as he put his nose into

(01:55:43):
the water a sparkle of light coming from the white
sand at the bottom of the clear stream. Stooping down,
I picked up the black pebble you now hold, guided
to it by that crystal eye in the center, from
which the light flashes so brilliantly. Why thou, simple one,
cried the priest, This is no common stone, but a
gem of the purest water. Come show me where thou

(01:56:06):
didst find it. Together they flew to the spot where
the farmer had found of pebble, and, turning over the
white sands with eager fingers, they found, to their great
delight other stones, even more valuable and beautiful than the first.
Then they extended their search, and so the Oriental story goes.
Every shovelful of the old farm, as acre after acre

(01:56:27):
was sifted over revealed gems with which to decorate the
crowns of emperors and moguls. Love tamed the lion, I
would not enter on my list of friends. Though graced
with polished manners and fine sense, yet wanting sensibility. The
man who needlessly sets foot upon a worm Cooper Nero crushed, baffled, blinded,

(01:56:50):
and like Samson, shorn of his strength. Prostrate in his
cage lay the great tawny monarch of the forest, heedless
of the curious crowds passing to and fro. He seemed
deaf as well as blind to everything going on around him.
Perhaps he was dreaming of the jungle. Perhaps he was
longing to roam the wilds once more in his native strength.

(01:57:12):
Perhaps memories of a happy past, even in captivity, stirred him. Perhaps,
But what is this? What change has come o'er the
spirit of his dreams. No one has touched him, Apparently
nothing has happened to arouse him. Only a woman's voice,
soft caressing, full of love, has uttered the name Nero.

(01:57:34):
But there was magic in the sound. In an instant,
the huge animal was on his feet, quivering with emotion.
He rushed to the side of the cage, from whence
the voice proceeded and threw himself against the bars with
such violence that he fell back, half stunned. As he fell,
he uttered the peculiar note of welcome with which, in
happier days he was wont to greet his loved and

(01:57:56):
long lost mistress. Touched with the devotion of her dust,
You friend, Rosa Buoneur, for it was she who had
spoken released from bondage the faithful animal, whom years before
she had bought from a keeper who declared him untamable.
In order to secure the affections of wild animals, said
the great hearted painter, you must love them, And by

(01:58:16):
love she had subdued the ferocious beast, whom even the
lion tamers had given up as hopeless. When about to
travel for two years, it being impossible to take her
pet with her, Mademoiselle Beraneur sold him to the Jardend
of plants in Paris, where she found him on her
return totally blind, owing, it is said, to the ill
treatment of the attendant. Grieved beyond measure at the condition

(01:58:38):
of poor Nero, she had him removed to her chateau,
where everything was done for his comfort. That love could suggest.
Often in her leisure moments, when she had laid aside
her painting garb, the artist would have him taken to
her studio, where she would play with and fondle the
enormous creature as if he were a kitten. And there
at last he died happily, his great pause, clinging fondly

(01:59:00):
to the mistress who loved him so well. His sightless
eyes turned upon her to the end, as if beseeching
that she would not again leave him. There is room
enough at the top. These words ere uttered many years
ago by a youth who had no other means by
which to reach the top than work in will. They
have since become the watchword of every poor boy whose

(01:59:20):
ambition is backed by energy and a determination to make
the most possible of himself. The occasion on which Daniel
Webster first said there is room enough at the top,
marked the turning point in his life. Had he not
been animated at that time by an ambition to make
the most of his talents, he might have remained forever
in obscurity. His father and other friends had secured for

(01:59:43):
him the position of Clerk of the Court of Common
Pleas of Hillsborough, County, New Hampshire. Daniel was studying law
in the office of mister Christopher Gore, a distinguished Boston lawyer,
and was about ready for his admission to the bar.
The position offered him was worth fifteen hundred dollars a
This seemed a fortune to the struggling student. He lay

(02:00:04):
awake the whole night following the day on which he
had heard the good news, planning what he would do
for his father and mother, his brother Ezekiel, and his sisters.
Next morning, he hurried to the office to tell mister
Gore of his good fortune. Well, my young friend, said
the lawyer, when Daniel had told his story. The gentlemen
have been very kind to you. I am glad of it.

(02:00:27):
You must thank them for it. You will write immediately.
Of course, Webster explained that, since he must go to
New Hampshire immediately, it would hardly be worth while to write.
He could thank his good friends in person. Why, said
mister Gore, in great astonishment. You don't mean to accept it, surely,

(02:00:48):
the youth's high spirits were damped at once by his
senior's manner. The bare idea of not accepting it, he says,
so astounded me that I should have been glad to
have found any hole to have hid myself in. Well,
said mister Gore, seeing the disappointment his words had caused.
You must decide for yourself. But come sit down and
let us talk it over. The office is worth fifteen

(02:01:11):
hundred a year, you say, well, it never will be
any more ten to one. If they find out it
is so much, the fees will be reduced. You are
appointed now by friends. Others may fill their places, who
are of different opinions, and who have friends of their
own to provide for. You will lose your place, or

(02:01:31):
supposing you to retain it. What are you but a
clerk for life? And your prospects as a lawyer are
good enough to encourage you to go on, Go on
and finish your studies. You are poor enough, but there
are greater evils than poverty. Live on no man's favor.
What bread you do eat, let it be the bread
of independence. Pursue your profession, make yourself useful to your friends,

(02:01:53):
and a little formidable to your enemies, and you have
nothing to fear. How fortunate Webster as to have it
this point in his career, so wise and far seeing
a friend His father, who had made many sacrifices to
educate his boys, saw in the proffered clerkship a great
opening for his favorite Daniel. He never dreamed of the
future that was to make him one of America's greatest

(02:02:16):
orators and statesmen. At first, he could not believe that
the position which he had worked so hard to obtain
was to be rejected Daniel, Daniel, he said, sorrowfully, don't
you mean to take that office? No, indeed, father, was
the reply, I hope I can do much better than that.
I mean to use my tongue in the courts, not

(02:02:37):
my pen, to be an actor, not a register of
other men's acts. I hope, yet, sir, to astonish your
honor in your own court by my professional attainments. Judge
Webster made no attempt to conceal his disappointment. He even
tried to discourage his son by reminding him that there
were already more lawyers than the country needed. It was

(02:02:58):
in answer to this objection that Daniel used the famous
and off quoted words there is room enough at the top. Well,
my son, said the fond but doubting father. Your mother
has always said you would come to something or nothing
she was not sure, which I think you are now
about settling that doubt for her. It was very painful
to Daniel to disappoint his father, but his purpose was

(02:03:21):
fixed and nothing now could change it. He knew he
had turned his face in the right direction. And though
when he commenced to practice law he earned only about
five or six hundred dollars a year, he never regretted
the decision he had made. He aimed high, and he
had his reward. It is true now and forever, as
Lowell says, that not failure, but low aim is crime.

(02:03:46):
The uplift of a slave boy's ideal, invincible determination, and
a right nature are the levers that move the world.
Dot Porter, born a slave with the feelings and possibilities
of a man, but with no rights of God above
the beast of the field. Fred Douglas gave the world
one of the most notable examples of man's power over circumstances.

(02:04:07):
He had no knowledge of his father, whom he had
never seen. He had only a dim recollection of his mother,
from whom he had been separated at birth. The poor
slave mother used to walk twelve miles when her day's
work was done, in order to get an occasional glimpse
of her child. Then she had to walk back to
the plantation on which she labored, so as to be

(02:04:28):
in time to begin to work at dawn next morning.
Under the brutal discipline of the aunt Katie, who had
charge of the slaves who were still too young to
labor in the fields, he early began to realize the
hardships of his lot and to revel against the state
of bondage into which he had been born, often hungry
and clothed in hottest summer and coldest winter alike, in

(02:04:49):
a coarse tow linen shirt, scarcely reaching to the knees,
without a bed to lie on or a blanket to
cover him, his only protection, no matter how cold the night,
was an old corn bag in dad to which he
thrust himself, leaving his feet exposed at one end and
his head at the other. When about seven years old,
he was transferred to new owners in Baltimore, where his

(02:05:10):
kind hearted mistress, who did not know that in doing
so she was breaking the law, taught him the alphabet.
He thus got possession of the key which was to
unlock his bonds, and young as he was, he knew it.
It did not matter that his master, when he learned
what had been done forbade his wife to give the
boy further instructions. He had already tasted of the fruit

(02:05:32):
of the tree of knowledge. The prohibition was useless. Neither threats,
nor stripes, nor chains could hold the awakened soul in bondage.
With infinite pains and patience, And by stealth he enlarged,
upon his knowledge of the alphabet, an old copy of
Webster's spelling book, cast aside by his young master as

(02:05:53):
his greatest treasure. With the aid of a few good
natured white boys who sometimes played with him in the streets,
he quickly mastered its contents. Then he cast about for
further means to satisfy his mental craving. How difficult it
was for the poor, despised slave to do this, we
learned from his own pathetic words. I have gathered, he says,

(02:06:15):
scattered pages of the Bible from the filthy street gutters,
and washed and dried them, that in moments of leisure
I might get a word or two of wisdom from them.
Think of that, boys and girls of the twentieth century,
with your day schools and evening schools, libraries, colleges and universities,
picking reading material from the gutter and mastering it by stealth.

(02:06:37):
Yet this boy grew up to be the friend and
co worker of Garrison and Phillips, the eloquent spokesman of
his race, the honored guest of distinguished peers and commoners
of England, one of the noblest examples of a self
made man that the world has ever seen. Under equal hardships,
he learned to write. The boy's wits sharpened, instead of
blunted by repression, saw opportunities were more fit. Favored children

(02:07:00):
could see none. He gave himself his first writing lesson
in his master's shipyard by copying from the various pieces
of timber the letters with which they had been marked
by the carpenters to show the different parts of the
ship for which they were intended. He copied from posters
on fences, from old copy books, from anything and everything
he could get hold of. He practiced his new art

(02:07:22):
on pavements and rails, and entered into contests in letter
making with white boys in order to add to his
knowledge with playmates. For my teachers, he says, fences and
pavements for my copy books, and chalk for my pen
and ink. I learned to write while being broken in
to field labor under the lash of the overseer, chained

(02:07:42):
and imprisoned for the crime of attempting to escape from slavery.
The spirit of the youth never quailed. He believed in himself,
in his God given powers, and he was determined to
use them in freeing himself and his race. How well
he succeeded in a stupendous task to which he set
himself while yet groping in a black knight of bondage, with
no human power outside of his own indomitable will to

(02:08:04):
help him. His life work attests in language more enduring
than storied urn or written history. A role call of
the world's great moral heroes would be incomplete without the
name of the slave born Douglas, who came on the
stage of life to play the leading role of the
Moses of his race in one of the saddest and
at the same time most glorious eras of American history.

(02:08:25):
He was born in Talbot County, Maryland. The exact date
of his birth is not known, but he himself thought
it was in February eighteen seventeen. He died in Washington,
d c. February twentieth, eighteen ninety five. To the first robin.
The air was keen and biting, and traces of snow

(02:08:46):
still lingered on the ground and sparkled on the tree
tops in the morning sun. But the happy, rosy cheeked children,
lately freed from the restraints of city life, who played
in the old garden in Concord, Massachusetts, that bright spring
morning many years ago. He did not the biting wind
or the lingering snow. As they raced up and down
the paths in and out among the trees. Their cheeks

(02:09:08):
took on a deeper glow, their eyes a brighter sparkle,
while their shouts of merry laughter made the morning glad.
But stay, what is this? What has happened? To check
the laughter on their lips and dim their bright eyes
with tears. The little group, headed by Louisa, has suddenly
come to a pause under a tree where a we robin,
half dead with hunger and cold, has fallen from its perch.

(02:09:32):
Poor poor Bertie, exclaimed a chorus of pitying voices. It
is dead, poor little thing, said Anna. No, said Louisa,
the leader of the children in fun and works of
mercy alike. It is warm and I can feel its
heart beat. As she spoke, she gathered the tiny bundle
of feathers to her bosom, and heading the little procession,

(02:09:54):
turned toward the house. A warm nest was made for
the foundling, and with motherly care, the little Louisa May
all caught, then only eight years old, fed and nursed
back to life. The half famished bird before the feathered
claimant on her mercy, flew away to freedom. The future Authoress,
the children's friend who loved and pitted all helpless things,

(02:10:16):
wrote her first poem and called it to the first Robin.
It contained only these two stanzas Welcome, Welcome, little stranger,
fear no harm, and fear no danger. We are glad
to see you here, for you sing sweet. Spring is
near now the white snow melts away, now the flowers blossom. Gay. Come,

(02:10:37):
dear bird, and build your nest, for we love our
robin best. The wizard. As an editor, although he had
only a few months regular schooling at ten, Thomas Alva
Edison had read and thought more than many youths of
twenty gibbons. Rome Hume's England Sears's History of the World,
beside several books on chemistry, a subject in which he

(02:10:59):
was even then deeply interested, were familiar friends. Yet he
was not by any means a serious bookworm. On the contrary,
he was as full of fun and mischief as any
healthy boy of his age. The little Fellow's sunny face
and pleasing manners made him a general favorite, and when
circumstances forced him from the parent nest into the big,

(02:11:21):
bustling world at the age of twelve, he became the
most popular trained boy on the Grand Trunk Railroad in
central Michigan. While his keen powers of observation and practical
turn of mind made him the most successful, his ambition
soared far beyond the selling of papers, song books, apples
and peanuts, and his business ability was such that he
soon had three or four boys selling his wares on commission.

(02:11:44):
His interest in chemistry, however, had not abedded, and his
busy brain now urged him to try new fields. He
exchanged some of his papers for retorts and other simple apparatus,
bought a copy of Phyacinius's Qualitative Analysis, and Scars secured
the use of an old baggage car as a laboratory. Here,
surrounded by chemicals and experimenting apparatus, he spent some of

(02:12:08):
the happiest hours of his life. But even this was
not a sufficient outlet for the energies of the budding inventor.
Selling papers had naturally aroused his interest in printing and editing,
and with Edison, interest always manifested itself in action. In
buying papers, he had, as usual made use of his eyes, and,

(02:12:28):
with the little knowledge of printing picked up in this way,
he determined to start a printing press and edit a
paper of his own. He first purchased a quantity of
old type from the Detroit Free Press. Then he put
a printing press in the baggage car, which did duty
as printing and editorial office as well as laboratory, and
began his editorial labors. When the first copy of the

(02:12:50):
Grand Trunk Herald was put on sale, it would be
hard to find a happier boy than its owner. Was
no matter that the youthful editors associated press consists of
baggage men and brake men, or that the literary matter
contributed to the Grand Trunk Herald was chiefly railway gossip,
with some general information of interest to passengers. The little
three cent sheet became very popular. Even the Great London

(02:13:14):
Times deigned to notice it as the only journal in
the world printed on a railway train. But successful as
he was in his editorial venture, Edison's best love was
given to chemistry and electricity, which latter subject he had
begun to study with his usual ardor And well it
was for the world when the youth of sixteen gave
up train and newspaper work, that no poverty, no difficulties,

(02:13:37):
no ridicule, no hard luck. None of the trials and
obstacles he had to encounter in after life had power
to chill or discourage the genius of the master inventor
of the nineteenth century. How good fortune came to Pierre
many years ago. In a shabby room in one of
the poorest streets of London, a little golden haired boy
sat singing in his sweet childish voice by the bedside

(02:14:00):
of his sick mother. Though faint from hunger and oppressed
with loneliness, he manfully forced back the tears that kept
welling up into his blue eyes, and for his mother's sake,
tried to look bright and cheerful. But it was hard
to be brave and strong, while his dear mother was
suffering for lack of the delicacies which he longed to
provide for her but could not. He had not tasted

(02:14:23):
food all day himself. How he could drive away the gaunt,
hungry wolf famine that had come to take up its
abode with them was the thought that haunted him as
he tried to sing a little song he himself had composed.
He left his place by the invalid, who, lulled by
his singing, had fallen into a light sleep. As he
looked listlessly out of the window, he noticed a man

(02:14:45):
putting up a large poster which bore in staring yellow letters,
the announcement that Madame m one of the greatest singers
that ever lived, was to sing in public that night.
Oh if I could only go, thought little Pierre, his
love of music for them a moment making him forgetful
of aught else. Suddenly his face brightened, and the light
of a great resolve shone in his eyes. I will

(02:15:08):
try it, he said to himself, and running lightly to
a little stand that stood at the opposite end of
the room. With trembling hands, he took from a tiny
box a roll of paper. With a wistful, loving glance
at the sleeper, he stole from the room and hurried
out into the street. Who did you say is waiting
for me? Asked Madame m of her servant. I am

(02:15:29):
already worn out with company. It is only a very
pretty little boy with yellow curls, who said that if
he can just see you, he is sure you will
not be sorry, and he will not keep you a moment.
Oh well, let him come, said the great singer, with
a kindly smile. I can never refuse children. Timidly, the
child entered the luxurious apartment, and, bowing before the beautiful,

(02:15:52):
stately woman, he began rapidly lest his courage should fail him.
I came to see you because my mother is very sick,
and we are too poor to get food and medicine.
I thought perhaps that if you would sing my little
song at some of your grand concerts, maybe some publisher
would buy it for a small sum, and so I
could get food and medicine for my mother. Taking the

(02:16:14):
little roll of paper which the boy held in his hand,
the warm hearted singer lightly hummed the air. Then, turning
toward him, she asked, in amazement, did you compose it
you a child, and the words too. Without waiting for
a reply, she added quickly, would you like to come
to my concert this evening? The boy's face became radiant

(02:16:37):
with delight at the thought of hearing the famous songstress,
but a vision of his sick mother lying alone in
a poor, cheerless room flitted across his mind, and he
answered with a choking in his throat, Oh, yes, I
should so love to go, but I couldn't leave my mother.
I will send somebody to take care of your mother
for the evening. And here is a crown with which

(02:16:58):
you may go and get food and medicine. Here is
also one of my tickets come to night, that will
admit you to a seat near me. Overcome with joy,
the child could scarcely express his gratitude to the gracious
being who seemed to him like an angel from heaven.
As he went out again into the crowded street, he
seemed to tread on air. He bought some fruit and

(02:17:20):
other little delicacies to tempt his mother's appetite, and while
spreading out the feast of good things before her astonished gaze,
with tears in his eyes, he told her of the
kindness of the beautiful lady. An hour later, tingling with expectation,
Pierre set out for the concert. How like fairyland it
all seemed. The color, the dazzling lights, the flashing gems,

(02:17:43):
and glistening silks of the richly dressed ladies bewildered him. Ah,
could it be possible that the great artists who had
been so kind to him would sing his little song
before this brilliant audience. At length, she came on the stage,
bowing right, and left an answer to the enthusiastic welcome
which greeted her appearance. A pause of expectancy followed. The

(02:18:05):
boy held his breath and gazed spellbound at the radiant
vision on whom all eyes were riveted. The orchestra struck
the first notes of a plaintive melody, and the glorious
voice of the great singer filled the vast hall as
the words of the sad little song of the child
composer floated on the air. It was so simple, so touching,
so full of exquisite pathos, that many were in tears

(02:18:27):
before it was finished. And little Pierre there he sat, scarcely,
daring to move or breathe, fearing that the flowers, the lights,
the music should vanish, and he should wake up to
find it all a dream. He was aroused from his
trance by the tremendous burst of applause that rang through
the house. As the last note trembled away into silence,

(02:18:49):
he started up. It was no dream. The greatest singer
in Europe had sung his little song before a fashionable
London audience. Almost dazed with happiness. He never knew how
he reached his poor home, and when he related the
incidents of the evening, his mother's delight nearly equalled his own.
Nor was this the end. Next day they were startled

(02:19:11):
by a visit from Madame m After gently greeting the
sick woman while her hand played with Pierre's golden curls,
she said, your little boy, Madam, has brought you a fortune.
I was offered this morning by the best publisher in
London three hundred pounds for his little song, and after
he has realized a certain amount from the sale, little

(02:19:31):
Pierre here is to share the profits. Madam, Thank God
that your son has a gift from heaven. The grateful
tears of the invalid and her visitor mingled, while the
child knelt by his mother's bedside and prayed God to
bless the kind lady, who, in their time of sorrow
and great need, had been to them as a savior.
The boy never forgot his noble benefactress, and years afterward,

(02:19:54):
when the great singer lay dying, the beloved friend who
smoothed her pillow and cheered and brightened her last moments,
the rich, popular and talented composer, was no other than
our little Pierre. If I rest i rust, the heights
by great men reached and kept were not attained by
sudden flight, but they, while their companions slept, were toiling

(02:20:16):
upward in the night. The significant inscription found on an
old key, if I rest i rust, would be an
excellent motto for those who are afflicted with the slightest
taint of idleness. Even the industrious might adopt it with
advantage to serve as a reminder that if one allows
his faculties to rest like the iron in the unused key,
they will soon show signs of rust, and ultimately cannot

(02:20:39):
do the work required of them. Those who would attain
the heights by great men reached and kept, must keep
their faculties burnished by constant use, so that they will
unlock the doors of knowledge, the gates that guard the
entrances to the professions, to science, art, literature, agriculture, every
department of human endeavor industry keeps right the key that

(02:21:00):
opens the treasury of achievement. If Hugh Miller, after toiling
all day in a quarry, had devoted his evenings to
rest and recreation, he would never have become a famous geologist.
The celebrated mathematician Edmund Stone would never have published a
mathematical dictionary, never have found the key to the science
of mathematics if he had given his spare moments snatched

(02:21:23):
from the duties of a gardener, to idleness. Had the
little scotch lad Ferguson allowed the busy brain to go
to sleep while he tended sheep on the hillside, instead
of calculating the position of the stars by the help
of a string of beads, he would never have become
a famous astronomer. Labor vanquishes all, not in constant spasmodic

(02:21:43):
or ill directed labor, but faithful, unremitting, daily effort toward
a well directed purpose. Just as truly as eternal vigilance
is the price of liberty, So is eternal industry. The
price of noble and enduring success sees then the minutes
as they pass, the wolf of life is thought. Warm
up the colors, let them glow with fire of fancy fraught.

(02:22:07):
A Boy who knew not fear. Richard Wagner, the great composer,
weaves into one of his musical dramas a beautiful story
about a youth named Siegfried who did not know what
fear was. The story is a sort of fairy tale
or myth, something which has a deep meaning hidden in it,
but which is not literally true. We smile at the

(02:22:28):
idea of a youth who never knew fear, who even
as a little child, had never been frightened by the
imaginary terrors of night, the darkness of the forest, or
the cries of the wild animals which inhabited it. Yet
it is actually true that there was born at Burnham Thorpe, Norfolk, England,
on September twenty ninth, seventeen fifty eight, a boy who
never knew what fear was. This boy's name was Horatio Nelson,

(02:22:53):
a name which his fearlessness, ambition, and patriotism made immortal
courage even to daring distinguished young young Nelson from his
boy companions. Many stories illustrating this quality are told of him.
On one occasion, when the future hero of England was
but a mere child, while staying at his grandmother's, he
wandered away from the house in search of birds nests.

(02:23:16):
When dinner time came and went and the boy did
not return, his family became alarmed. They feared that he
had been kidnapped by gypsies, or that some other mishap
had befallen him. A thorough search was made for him
in every direction. Just as the searchers were about to
give up their quest, the truant was discovered sitting quietly
by the side of a brook which he was unable

(02:23:37):
to cross. I wonder child, said his grandmother. That hunger
and fear did not drive you home. Fear, Grandmamma, exclaimed
the boy, I never saw fear? What is it? Horatio
was a born leader who never, even in childhood, shrank
from a hazardous undertaking. This story of his school days

(02:24:00):
shows how the spirit of leadership marked him before he
had entered his teens. In the garden attached to the
boarding school at North Walsham, which he and his elder
brother William, attended. There grew a remarkably fine pear tree.
The sight of this tree loaded with fruit was naturally
a very tempting one to the boys. The boldest among

(02:24:20):
the older ones, however, dared not risk the consequences of
helping themselves to the pears, which they knew were highly
prized by the master of the school. Horatio, who thought
neither of the sin of stealing the schoolmaster's property nor
of the risk involved in the attempt, volunteered to secure
the coveted pears. He was let down in sheets from

(02:24:41):
the bedroom window by his schoolmates, and after gathering as
much of the fruit as he could carry, returned with
considerable difficulty. He then turned the pears over to the boys,
not keeping one for himself. I only took them, he explained,
because the rest of you were afraid to venture. The
sense of honor of the future Hero of the Nile

(02:25:01):
and of Trafalgar was as keen in boyhood as in
later life. One year, at the close of the Christmas holidays,
he and his brother William set out on horseback to
return to school. There had been a heavy fall of snow,
which made traveling very disagreeable, and William persuaded Horatio to
go back home with him, saying that it was not
safe to go on. If that be the case, said

(02:25:24):
reverend mister Nelson, the father of the boys, when the
matter was explained to him, you certainly shall not go,
but make another attempt, and I will leave it to
your honor. If the road is dangerous, you may return.
But remember, boys, I leave it to your honor. The
snow was really deep enough to be made an excuse
for not going on, and William was for returning home

(02:25:46):
a second time. Horatio, however, would not be persuaded again.
We must go on, he said, remember, brother, it was
left to our honor. When only twelve years old, young
Nelson's and urged him to try his fortune at sea,
His uncle, Captain Maurice Suckling, commanded the raisin aable a

(02:26:07):
ship of sixty four guns, and the boy thought it
would be good fortune. Indeed, if he could get an
opportunity to serve under him. Do William, he said to
his brother, write to my father and tell him that
I should like to go to sea with Uncle Maurice.
On hearing of his son's wishes, mister Nelson at once
wrote to Captain Suckling. The latter wrote back, without delay,

(02:26:29):
what has poor Horatio done, who is so weak that he,
above all the rest, should be sent to rough it
out at sea? But let him come, and the first
time we go into action, a cannon ball may knock
off his head and provide for him at once. This
was not very encouraging for a delicate boy of twelve,
but Horatio was not daunted. His father took him to

(02:26:52):
London and there put him into the stage coach for Chatham,
where the raisin Abel was lying at anchor. He arrived
at Chatham during a temporary absence of his uncle, so
that there was no friendly voice to greet him when
he went on board the big ship. Homesick and heartsick,
he passed some of the most miserable days of his
life on the Raisinaable. The officers treated the sailors with

(02:27:14):
a harshness bordering on cruelty. This treatment, of course, increased
the natural roughness of the sailors, and altogether the conditions
were such that Horatio's opinion of the Royal Navy was
sadly altered. But in spite of the separation from his brother,
William who had been his schoolmate and constant companion, and
all his other loved ones. The Hardships he had to

(02:27:36):
endure as a sailor boy among rough officers and rougher men,
and his physical weakness, his courage did not fail him.
He stuck bravely to his determination to be a sailor. Later,
the lad went on a voyage to the West Indies
in a merchant ship commanded by mister John Rathbone. During
this voyage, his anxiety to rise in his profession and

(02:27:57):
his keen powers of observation, which were constantly exercised, combined
to make him a practical sailor. After his return from
the West Indies, his love of adventure was excited by
the news that two ships, the race Horse and the Carcass,
were being fitted out for a voyage of discovery to
the North Pole. Through the influence of Captain Suckling, he

(02:28:18):
secured an appointment as coxwin under Captain Ludwitch, who was
second in command of the expedition. All went well with
the race Horse and the Carcass until they neared the
polar regions. Then they were becombed, surrounded with ice and
wedged in so that they could not move. Young as
Nelson was, he was put in command of one of

(02:28:38):
the boats sent out to try to find a passage
to the open water. While engaged in this work, he
was instrumental in saving the crew of another of the boats,
which had been attacked by Walrusses. His most notable adventure
during this polar cruise, however, was a fight with a bear.
One night, he stole away from his ship with a
companion in pursuit of a bear. A fog which had

(02:29:01):
been rising when they left the carcass soon enveloped them.
Between three and four o'clock in the morning. When the
weather began to clear, they were sighted by Captain Lutwidge
and his officers at some distance from the ship, in
conflict with a huge bear. The boys, who had been
missed soon after they set out on their adventure, were
at one signal to return. Nelson's companion urged him to

(02:29:23):
obey the signal, and though their ammunition had given out,
he longed to continue the fight. Never mind, he cried excitedly.
Do but let me get a blow at this fellow
with the butt end of my musket, and we shall
have him. Captain Lutwidge, seeing the boy's danger, he, being
separated from the bear only by a narrow chasm in
the ice, fired a gun. This frightened the bear away.

(02:29:48):
Nelson then returned to face the consequences of his disobedience.
He was severely reprimanded by his captain for conduct so
unworthy of the office he filled. When asked what motive
he he had in hunting a bear, he replied, still
trembling from the excitement of the encounter, Sir, I wished
to kill the bear that I might carry the skin
to my father. The expedition finally worked its way out

(02:30:11):
of the ice and sailed for home. Horatio's next voyage
was to the East Indies aboard the Sea Horse, one
of the vessels of a squadron under the command of
Sir Edward Hughes. His attention to duty attracted the notice
of his senior officer, on whose recommendation he was raided
as a midshipman. After eighteen months in the trying climate

(02:30:32):
of India, the youth's health gave way and he was
sent home in the Dolphin. His physical weakness affected his spirits.
Gloom fastened upon him, and for a time he was
very despondent about his future. I felt impressed, he says,
with an idea that I should never rise in my profession.
My mind was staggered with a view of the difficulties

(02:30:53):
I had to surmount, and the little interest I possessed.
I could discover no means of reaching the object of
my ambition. After a long and gloomy reverie in which
I almost wished myself overboard, a sudden flow of patriotism
was kindled within me, and presented my King and my
country as my patrons. My mind exalted in the idea. Well,

(02:31:14):
then I exclaimed, I will be a hero, and, confiding
in providence, I will brave every danger. In that hour,
Nelson leaped from boyhood to manhood. Thenceforth the purpose of
his life never changed from that time. As he often
said afterward, a radiant orb was suspended in his mind's eye,
which urged him onward to renown. His health improved very

(02:31:38):
much during the homeward voyage, and he was soon able
to resume duty again. At nineteen, he was made second
lieutenant of the Loestoff, and at twenty he was commander
of the Badger. Before he was twenty one, owing largely
to his courage and presence of mind and face of
every danger, and his enthusiasm in his profession. He had
gained that mark, says his biographer South, which brought all

(02:32:01):
the honors of the service within his reach. Pleasing in
his address and conversation, always kind and thoughtful in his
treatment of the men and boys under him, Nelson was
the best loved man in the British Navy, nay in
all England. When he was appointed to the command of
the Boreas, a ship of twenty eight guns then bound
for the Leeward Islands, he had thirty midshipmen under him.

(02:32:24):
When any of them at first showed any timidity about
going up the masts, he would say, by way of encouragement,
I AM going a race to the masthead, and beg
that I may meet you there. And again he would say,
cheerfully that any person was to be pitted who could
fancy there was any danger or even anything disagreeable in
the attempt. Your excellency must excuse me for bringing one

(02:32:47):
of my midshipmen with me, he said to the Governor
of Barbados, who had invited him to dine. I make
it a rule to introduce them to all the good
company I can, as they have few to look up
to besides myself during the time they are at sea.
Was it any wonder that his midties almost worshiped him?
This thoughtfulness in small matters is always characteristic of truly great,

(02:33:09):
large souled men. Another distinguishing mark of Nelson's greatness was
that he ruled by love rather than fear. When at
the age of forty seven, he fell mortally wounded at
the Battle of Trafalgar, all England was plunged into grief.
The crowning victory of his life had been won, but
his country was inconsolable for the loss of the noblest

(02:33:29):
of her naval heroes. The greatest sea victory that the
world had ever known was one, says W. Clark Russell,
but at such a cost that there was no man
throughout the British fleet. There was no man indeed in
all England, but would have welcome defeat sooner than have
paid the price of this wonderful conquest. The last words
of the hero who had won some of the greatest

(02:33:50):
of england sea fights were, thank God, I have done
my duty. How Stanley found Livingstone in the year eighteen
sixty six days David Livingstone, the great African explorer and missionary,
started on his last journey to Africa. Three years passed away,
during which no word or sign from him had reached
his friends. The whole civilized world became alarmed for his safety.

(02:34:15):
It was feared that his interest in the savages in
the interior of Africa had cost him his life. Newspapers
and clergymen in many lands were clamoring for a relief
expedition to be sent out in search of him. Royal societies,
scientific associations, and the British government were debating what steps
should be taken to find him, but they were very

(02:34:36):
slow in coming to any conclusion. And while they were
weighing questions and discussing measures, an energetic American settled the
matter off hand. This was James Gordon Bennett, junior manager
of the New York Herald and son of James Gordon Bennett,
its editor and proprietor. Mister Bennett was in a position
which brought him into contact with some of the cleverest

(02:34:56):
and most enterprising young men of his day. From all
those he knew, he singled out Henry M. Stanley for
the difficult and perilous task of finding livingstone. And who
was this young man who was chosen to undertake a
work which required the highest qualities of manhood to carry
it to success. Henry M. Stanley, whose baptismal name was

(02:35:17):
John Rowlands, was born of poor parents in Wales in
eighteen forty. Being left an orphan at the age of three,
he was sent to the poor house in his native place.
There he remained for ten years, and then shipped as
a cabin boy in a vessel bound for America. Soon
after his arrival in this country, he found employment in

(02:35:37):
New Orleans with a merchant named Stanley. His intelligence, energy,
an ambition won him so much favor with this gentleman
that he adopted him as his son and gave him
his name. The elder Stanley died while Henry was still
a youth. This threw him again upon his own resources,
as he inherited nothing from his adopted father, who died

(02:35:58):
without making a will. He next went to California to
seek his fortune. He was not successful, however, and at
twenty he was a soldier in the Civil War. When
the war was over, he engaged himself as a correspondent
to the New York Herald. In this capacity he traveled
extensively in the East, doing brilliant work for his paper.

(02:36:20):
When England went to war with King Theodore of Abyssinia,
he accompanied the English army to Abyssinia, and from thence
wrote vivid descriptive letters to the Herald. The child, whose
early advantages were only such as a Welsh poor house afforded,
was already, through his own unaided efforts, a leader in
his profession. He was soon to become a leader in

(02:36:40):
a larger sense. At the time mister Bennet conceived the
idea of sending an expedition in search of Livingstone, Stanley
was in Spain. He had been sent there by the
Herald to report the civil war then raging in that country.
He thus describes the receipt of mister Bennett's message and
the events immediately following. I am in Madrid, fresh from

(02:37:01):
the carnage at Valencia. At ten A m Jacapo at
no Caye de la Cruz hands me a telegram. On
opening it, I find at read's come to Paris on
important business. The telegram is from James Gordon Bennett Junior,
the young manager of the New York Herald. Down come
my pictures from the walls of my apartments on the

(02:37:22):
second floor. Into my trunks go my books and souvenirs.
My clothes are hastily collected, some half washed, some from
the clothes line, half dry, and after a couple of
hours of hasty hard work, my portmanteaus are strapped up
and labeled for Paris. It was late at night when
Stanley arrived in Paris. I went straight to the Grand Hotel,

(02:37:43):
he says, and knocked at the door of mister Bennett's room.
Come in, I heard a voice say, entering, I found
mister Bennett in bed. Who are you, he asked, My
name is Stanley? I answered, ah, yes, Sit down, I
have important business on hand for you. Where do you

(02:38:04):
think Livingstone is. I really do not know, sir. Do
you think he is alive? He may be and he
may not be. I answered, well, I think he is
alive and that he can be found, and I am
going to send you to find him. What said I
do you really think I can find doctor Livingstone? Do

(02:38:26):
you mean me to go to Central Africa? Yes, I
mean that you shall go and find him wherever you may.
Hear that he is. Of course, you will act according
to your own plans and do what you think best.
But find livingstone. The question of expense coming up, mister
Bennet said, draw a thousand pounds now, and when you
have gone through that, draw another thousand, and when that

(02:38:48):
is spent, draw another thousand. And when you have finished that,
draw another thousand, and so on. But find livingstone. Stanley asked,
no questions awaited, no for the instructions. The two men
parted with a hearty hand clasp. Good Night, and God
be with you, said Bennett. Good night, Sir, returned Stanley.

(02:39:12):
What it is in the power of human nature to do?
I will do, and on such an errand as I
go upon, God will be with me. The young man
immediately began the work of preparation for his great undertaking.
This in itself was a task requiring more than ordinary
judgment and foresight, but Stanley was equal to the occasion.
On January sixth, eighteen seventy one, he reached Zanzibar, an

(02:39:35):
important native seaport on the east coast of Africa. Here
the preparations for the journey were completed. Soon with a
train composed of one hundred and ninety men, twenty donkeys,
and baggage amounting to about six tons. He started from
this point for the interior of the continent. Then began
a journey, the dangers and tediousness of which can hardly

(02:39:56):
be described. Stanley and his men were off obliged to
wade through swamps filled with alligators, crawling on hands and knees.
They forced their way through miles of tangled jungle, breathing
in as they went the sickening odor of decaying vegetables.
They were obliged to be continually on their guard against elephants, lions, hyenas,

(02:40:17):
and other wild inhabitants of the jungle. Fierce as these were, however,
they were no more to be dreaded than the savage
tribes whom they sometimes encountered. Whenever they stopped to rest,
they were tormented by flies, white ants, and reptiles which
crawled all over them. For months they journeyed on under
these conditions. The donkeys had died from drinking impure water,

(02:40:41):
and some of the men had fallen victims to disease.
It was no wonder that the survivors of the expedition,
all but Stanley, had grown disheartened. Half starved, wasted by
sickness and hardships of all kinds, with bleeding feet and
torn clothes, some of them became mutinous. Stand on skill
as a leader was taxed to the utmost, alternately coaxing

(02:41:04):
the faint hearted and punishing the insubordinate, he continued to
lead them on, almost in spite of themselves. So far
they had heard nothing of Livingstone, nor had they any
clue as to the direction in which they should go.
There was no ray of light or hope to cheer
them on their way. Yet Stanley never for a moment
thought of giving up the search. Once amid the terrors

(02:41:26):
of the jungle, surrounded by savages and wild animals, with
supplies almost exhausted, and the remnant of his followers in
a despairing condition, the young explorer came near being discouraged,
but he would not give way to any feeling that
might lessen his chances of success. And it was at
this crisis he wrote in his journal, no living man
shall stop me. Only death can prevent me. But death

(02:41:50):
not even this. I shall not die. I will not die.
I cannot die. Something tells me I shall find him.
In write it larger, find him find him even the
words are inspiring. Soon after this, a caravan passed and
gave the expedition news which renewed hope. A white man, old,
white haired, and sick, had just arrived at Ajiji. Stanley

(02:42:14):
and his followers pushed on until they came in sight
of Ajiji. Then the order was given to unfurl the
flags and load the guns. Immediately, the stars and stripes
and the flag of Zanzibar were thrown to the breeze,
and the report of fifty guns awakened the echoes. The
noise startled the inhabitants of Ajiji. They came running in

(02:42:35):
the direction of the sounds, and soon the expedition was
surrounded by a crowd of friendly black men who cried loudly,
waamb oh waambo bana, which signifies welcome. At this grand moment,
says Stanley, we do not think of the hundreds of
miles we have marched, of the hundreds of hills that
we have ascended and descended, of the many forests we

(02:42:56):
have traversed, of the jungle and thickets that annoyed us,
of the fervid soul plains that blistered our feet, of
the hot suns that scorched us, nor the dangers and
difficulties now happily surmounted. At last, the sublime hour has arrived.
Our dreams, our hopes, and anticipations are now about to
be realized. Our hearts and our feelings are with our

(02:43:17):
eyes as we peer into the palms and try to
make out in which hut or house lives the white
man with the gray beard we heard about on the Malagarazzi.
When the uproar had ceased, a voice was heard saluting
the leader of the expedition in English. Good morning, sir.
Startled at hearing this greeting in the midst of such
a crowd of black people, says Stanley. I turned sharply

(02:43:39):
round in search of the man, and see him at
my side, with the blackest of faces, but animated and joyous,
a man dressed in a long white shirt with a
turban of American sheeting around his head. And I ask
who the mischief are you? I am Susi, the servant
of Doctor Livingstone, said he, smiling and showing a gleaming
row of teeth. What is doctor Livingstone here? Yes, sir,

(02:44:06):
in this village? Yes, sir? Are you sure? Sure? Sure? Sir?
Why I leave him just now. Susy, run and tell
the doctor I am coming. Susy ran like a madman
to deliver the message. Stanley and his men followed more slowly.

(02:44:28):
Soon they were gazing into the eyes of the man
for news of whom the whole civilized world was waiting.
My heart beat fast, says Stanley. But I must not
let my face betray my emotions, lest it shall detract
from the dignity of a white man appearing under such
extraordinary circumstances. The young explorer longed to leap and shout
for joy, but he controlled himself, and, instead of embracing

(02:44:50):
Livingstone as he would have liked to do, he grasped
his hand, exclaiming, I thank God, doctor that I have
been permitted to see you. I feel grateful that I
am here to welcome you, was the gentle reply. All
the dangers through which they had passed, all the privations
they had endured, were forgotten in the joy of this meeting.
Doctor Livingstone's years of toil and suspense, during which he

(02:45:13):
had heard nothing from the outside world, Stanley's awful experiences
in the jungle, the fact that both men had almost
exhausted their supplies, the terrors of open and hidden, dangers
from men and beasts, sickness, hope deferred. All were for
the moment, pushed out of mind. Later, each recounted his
story to the other. After a period of rest, the

(02:45:35):
two joined forces and together explored and made plans for
the future. Stanley tried to induce Livingstone to return with him,
but in vain, the great missionary explorer would not lay
down his work. He persevered literally until death. At last,
the hour of parting came. With the greatest reluctance, Stanley

(02:45:56):
gave his men the order right about face, with the
silent farewell, a grasp of the hands, and a look
into each other's eyes, which said more than words. The
old man and the young man parted forever. Livingstone's life
work was almost done. Stanley was the man on whose
shoulders his mantle was to fall. The great work he

(02:46:17):
had accomplished in finding Livingstone was the beginning of his
career as an African explorer. After the death of Livingstone,
Stanley determined to take up the explorer's unfinished work. In
eighteen seventy four, he left England at the head of
an expedition fitted out by the London Daily Telegraph and
the New York Herald, and penetrated into the very heart

(02:46:37):
of Africa. He crossed the continent from shore to shore,
overcoming on his march dangers and difficulties compared with which
those encountered on his first journey, sank into insignificance. He
afterward gave an account of this expedition in his book
entitled Darkest Africa. Stanley had successfully accomplished one of the
great works of the world. He had opened the way

(02:46:59):
for commerce and Christianity into the vast interior of Africa, which,
prior to his discoveries had been marked on the map
by a blank space, signifying that it was an unexplored
and unknown country. On his return, the successful explorer found
himself famous princes and scientific societies vied with one another
in honoring him. King Edward the seventh of England, who

(02:47:22):
was then Prince of Wales, sent him his personal congratulations. Humbered,
the King of Italy, sent him his portrait. The cadiv
of Egypt decorated him with the grand commandership of the
Order of the Magaedy. The geographical societies of London, Paris,
Italy and Marseilles sent him their gold medals, while in Berlin, Vienna,
and many other large European cities he was elected an

(02:47:44):
honorary member of their most learned and most distinguished associations.
What pleased the explorer most of all, though, was the
honor paid him by America. The government of the United States,
he says, has crowned my success with its official approval
and the unanimous vote of thanks passed in both houses
of the legislature. Has made me proud for life of

(02:48:05):
the expedition and its achievements. Honored to day as the
greatest explorer of his age, and esteemed alike for his
scholarship and the immense services he has rendered mankind. Sir
Henry Morton Stanley, the once friendless orphan lad whose only
home was a Welsh poor house, may well be proud
of the career he has carved out for himself, the
nester of American journalists. I heard that a neighbor three

(02:48:28):
miles off had borrowed from a still more distant neighbor
a book of great interest. I started off barefoot in
the snow to obtain the treasure. There were spots of
bare ground upon which I would stop to warm my feet,
And there were also along the road occasional lengths of
log fence, from which the snow had melted, and upon

(02:48:49):
which it was a luxury to walk. The book was
at home, and the good people consented, upon my promise
that it should be neither torn nor soiled, to lend
it to me, in which, turning with the prize, I
was too happy to think of the snow on my
naked feet. This little incident related by Thurlowweed himself, is
a sample of the means by which he gained that

(02:49:10):
knowledge and power which made him not only the nester
of American journalists, but rendered him famous in national affairs
as the American warwick or the king Maker. There were
no long, happy years of schooling for this child of
the common people, whose father was a struggling teamster and farmer,
no prelude of careless, laughing childhood before the stern duties

(02:49:31):
of life began. Thurloughweed was born at Catskill, Green County,
New York, in seventeen ninety seven, a period in the
history of our republic when there were very few educational
opportunities for the children of the poor. I cannot ascertain,
he says, how much schooling. I got at Catskill probably
less than a year, certainly not a year and a half,

(02:49:52):
and this was when I was not more than five
or six years old. At an early age, Thurlough learned
to bend circumstances to his will, and ground by poverty,
shut in by limitations as he was, even while contributing
by his earning to the slender resources of the family.
He gathered knowledge and pleasure where many would have found
but thorns and bitterness. How simply he tells his story

(02:50:14):
as though his hardships and struggles were of no account,
and how clearly the narrative mirrors the brave little fellow
of ten. My first employment, he says, was in sugar making,
an occupation to which I became much attached. I now
look with great pleasure upon the days and nights passed
in the sap bush. The want of shoes, which as

(02:50:35):
the snow was deep, was no small privation, was the
only drawback upon my happiness. I used, however, to tie
pieces of an old rag carpet around my feet, and
got along pretty well chopping wood and gathering up sap.
During this period he traveled barefoot to borrow books wherever
they could be found among the neighboring farmers. With his

(02:50:58):
body and the sugar house and his head head thrust
out of doors where the fat pine was blazing, the
young enthusiast devoured with breathless interest a history of the
French Revolution and the few other well worn volumes which
had been loaned him. Later, after he left the farm,
we see the future journalist working successively as cabin boy
and deck hand on a Hudson River steamboat, and cheerfully

(02:51:20):
sending home the few dollars he earned while employed in
this capacity. He earned his first quarter in New York
by carrying a trunk for one of the passengers from
the boat to a hotel on Broad Street. But his
boyish ambition was to be a journalist, and after a
year of seafaring life, he found his niche in the
office of a small weekly newspaper, The Lynx, published at

(02:51:41):
Onondaga Hollow, New York. So at fourteen, owing to his
indomitable will and perseverance which conquered the most formidable obstacles,
Thurlough we'd started on the career in which, despite the
rugged road he still had to travel, he built up
a noble character and one international fame. The man with
an idea. It is February fourteen ninety two. A poor

(02:52:05):
man with gray hair, disheartened and dejected, is going out
of the gate from the beautiful Alhambra in Grenada on
a mule. Ever since he was a boy, he has
been haunted with the idea that the Earth is round.
He has believed that the pieces of carved wood picked
up four hundred miles at sea, and the bodies of
two men, unlike any other human beings known, found on

(02:52:27):
the shores of Portugal, have drifted from unknown lands in
the west. But his last hope of obtaining aid for
a voyage of discovery has failed. King John of Portugal,
under pretense of helping him, has secretly sent out an
expedition of his own. His friends have abandoned him. He
has begged bread, has drawn maps to keep him from starving,

(02:52:48):
and lost his wife. His friends have called him crazy
and have forsaken him. The Council of Wise Men, called
by Ferdinand and Isabella, ridicule his theory of reaching the
east by sailing blast. But the Sun and Moon are round,
replies Columbus, why not the earth? If the earth is
a ball, what holds it up. The wise men ask

(02:53:11):
what holds the sun and moon up? Columbus replies. A
learned doctor asks, how can men walk with their heads
hanging down and their feet up like flies on a ceiling?
How can trees grow with their roots in the air.
The water would run out of the ponds and we
should fall off, says another. The doctrine is contrary to

(02:53:32):
the Bible, which says the heavens are stretched out like
a tent. Of course, it is flat. It is rank
heresy to say it is round. He has waited seven
long years. He has had his last interview, hoping to
get assistance from Ferdinand and Isabella after they drive the
Moors out of Spain. Isabella was almost persuaded, but finally refused.

(02:53:55):
He is now old. His last hope has fled. The
ambition of his life has failed. He hears a voice
calling him. He looks back and sees an old friend
pursuing him on a horse and beckoning him to come back.
He saw Columbus turn away from the Alhambra, disheartened, and
he hastens to the queen and tells her what a
great thing it would be at a trifling expense if

(02:54:17):
what the sailor believes should prove true, it shall be done.
Isabella replies, I will pledge my jewels to raise the money.
Call him back. Columbus turns back, and with him turns
the world. Three frail vessels, little larger than fishing boats,
the Santa Maria, the Pinta, and the Nina, set sail

(02:54:38):
from Pallos August third, fourteen ninety two for an unknown
land upon untried seas. The sailors would not volunteer, but
were forced to go by the king. Friends ridiculed them
for following a crazy man to certain destruction, for they
believed the sea beyond the Canaries was boiling hot. What
if the earth is round, they said, and you sail

(02:54:59):
down on the other side, how can you get back again?
Can ships sail up hill? Only three days out? The
Pinto's signal of distress is flying. She has broken her rudder.
September eighth, they discover a broken mast covered with seaweed
floating in the sea. Terror seizes the sailors, but Columbus
calms their fears with pictures of gold and precious stones

(02:55:22):
of India. September thirteenth, two hundred miles west of the Canaries.
Columbus is horrified to find that the compass, his only guide,
is failing him and no longer points to the North Star.
No one had yet dreamed that the Earth turns on
its axis. The sailors are ready for mutiny, but Columbus
tells them the north Star is not exactly in the north.

(02:55:45):
October first, they are two thousand, three hundred miles from land,
though Columbus tells the sailors one thousand, seven hundred. Columbus
discovers a bush in the sea with berries on it,
and soon they see birds and a piece of carved wood.
At sun set, the crew kneel upon the deck and
chant the vesper him. It is sixty seven days since

(02:56:05):
they left Pallos, and they have sailed nearly three thousand miles,
only changing their course once. At ten o'clock at night,
they see a light ahead, but it vanishes two o'clock
in the morning. October twelfth, Rotorigo de Friana, on watch
at the masthead of the Pinta, shouts land, Land, Land.

(02:56:27):
The sailors are wild with joy and throw themselves on
their knees before Columbus and ask forgiveness. They reach the shore,
and the hero of the world's greatest expedition unfolds the
flag of Spain and takes possession of the New World.
Perhaps no greater honor was ever paid man than Columbus
received on his return to Ferdinand and Isabella. Yet after

(02:56:50):
his second visit to the land he discovered, he was
taken back to Spain in chains and finally died in
poverty and neglect. While a pickled dealer of Seville who
had never risen above second mate on a fishing vessel,
Amarigo Vespucci, gave his name to the New World. Amerigo's
name was put on an old chart or sketch to
indicate the point of land where he landed, five years

(02:57:11):
after Columbus discovered the country, and this crept into print
by accident. Bernard of Vetilleries. Opposite the entrance to the
Severe Museum in the old town of Severa in France
stands a handsome bronze statue of Bernard Palacey, the potter.
Within the museum are some exquisite pieces of pottery known

(02:57:32):
as pallacy. Where they are specimens of the art of Pallacy,
who spent the best years of his life toiling to
discover the mode of making white enamel. The story of
his trials and sufferings in seeking to learn the secret,
and of his final triumph over all difficulties is an
inspiring one. Born in the south of France as far

(02:57:52):
back as the year fifteen o nine, Bernard Palacy did
not differ much from an intelligent, high spirited American boy
of the twentieth century. His parents were poor, and he
had few of the advantages within the reach of the
humblest child in the United States today. In spite of poverty,
he was cheerful, light hearted, and happy in his great

(02:58:12):
love for nature, which distinguished him all through life. The
forest was his playground, his companions, the birds, insects, and
other living things that made their home there. From the
first Nature was his chief teacher. It was from her
and her alone he learned the lessons that in after
years made him famous both as a potter and a scientist.

(02:58:34):
The habit of observation seemed natural to him, for without
suggestions from books or older heads, his eyes and ears
noticed all that the nature student of our day is
drilled into. Observing the free, outdoor life of the forest
helped to give the boy the strength of mind and body,
which afterward enabled him, in spite of the most discouraging conditions,
to pursue his ideal. He was taught how to read

(02:58:57):
and write, and from his father learned how to paint
on glass. From him, he also learned the names and
some of the properties of the minerals employed in painting glass.
All the knowledge that in after years made him an artist,
a scientist, and a writer was the result of his
unaided study of nature. To books, he was indebted for
only the smallest part of what he knew. Happy and hopeful,

(02:59:21):
sunshiny of face and disposition, Bernard grew from childhood to youth. Then,
when he was about eighteen, there came into his heart
a longing to try his fortune in the great world
which lay beyond his forest home. Like most country bred
boys of his age, he felt that he had grown
too large for the parent nest and must try his
wings elsewhere. In his case, there was indeed little to

(02:59:44):
induce an ambitious boy to stay at home. The trade
of glass painting, which in previous years had been a
profitable one, had at that time fallen somewhat out of favor,
and there was not enough work to keep father and
son busy when he shouldered his scanty wallet and bade
fair farewell to father and mother and the few friends
and neighbours he knew. In the straggling forest hamlet, Bernard

(03:00:05):
Palacey closed the first chapter of his life. The second
was a long period of travel and self education. He
wandered through the forest of Ardn making observations and collecting
specimens of minerals, plants, reptiles and insects. He spent some
years in the Upper Pyrenees at Tarb. From Antwerp in

(03:00:26):
the east, he bent his steps to Breast in the
most westerly part of Brittany, and from Montpellier to Nimes
he traveled across France. During his wanderings, he supported himself
by painting on glass, portrait painting, which he practiced after
a fashion, surveying and planning sites for houses and gardens,
in copying or inventing patterns for painted windows. He had

(03:00:48):
acquired a knowledge of geometry and considerable skill in the
use of a rule and compass. His love of knowledge
for its own sake made him follow up the study
of geometry as far as he could pursue it, and
hence his skill as a surveyor. At this time, young
Pallisy had no other object in life than to learn.
His eager, inquiring mind was ever on the alert wherever

(03:01:12):
his travels led him. He sought information of men and nature,
always finding the latter his chief instructor. He painted and
planned that he might live to probe her secrets. But
the time was fast approaching when a new interest should
come into his life and overshadow all others. After ten
or twelve years of travel, he married and settled in Saints,

(03:01:32):
where he pursued as his services were required the work
of glass painter and surveyor. Before long he grew dissatisfied
with the dull routine of his daily life. He felt
that he ought to do more than make a living
for his wife and children. There were two babies now
to be cared for, as well as his wife, and
he could not shoulder his wallet as in the careless

(03:01:53):
days of his boyhood and wander away in search of
knowledge or fortune. About this time an event happen, and
which changed his whole life. He was shown a beautiful
cup of Italian manufacture. I give in his own words
a description of the cup and the effect the sight
of it had on him an earthen cup, he says,
turned and enameled with so much beauty that from that

(03:02:16):
time I entered into controversy with my own thoughts, recalling
to mind several suggestions that some people had made to
me in fun when I was painting portraits, then seeing
that these were falling out of request in a country
where I dwelt, and that glass painting was also little patronized,
I began to think that if I should discover how
to make enamels, I could make earthen vessels and other

(03:02:37):
things very prettily, because God has gifted me with some
knowledge of drawing. His ambition was fired at once. A
definite purpose formed itself in his mind. He knew nothing
whatever of pottery. No man in France knew the secret
of enameling, which made the Italian cup so beautiful and pallisy.
Had not the means to go to Italy, where he

(03:02:59):
probably could have loow earned it. He resolved to study
the nature and properties of clays, and not to rest
until he had discovered the secret of the white enamel.
Delightful visions filled his imagination. He thought within himself that
he would become the prince of Potter's and would provide
his wife and children with all the luxuries that money
could buy. Thereafter, he wrote, regardless of the fact that

(03:03:22):
I had no knowledge of clays, I began to seek
for the enamels as a man gropes in the dark.
Hallisy was a young man when he began his search
for the enamel. He was past middle life when his
labors were finally rewarded, groping like a man in the dark,
as he himself said, he experimented for years with clays
and chemicals, but with small success. He built with his

(03:03:44):
own hands a furnace at the back of his little
cottage in which to carry on his experiments. At first,
his enthusiasm inspired his wife and neighbors with the belief
that he would succeed in his efforts. But time went on,
and as one experiment after another failed or was only
partially successful, one and all lost faith in him. He
had no friend or helper to buoy him up under

(03:04:06):
his many disappointments. Even his wife reproached him for neglecting
his regular work and reducing herself and her children to
poverty and want, while he wasted his time and strength
in chasing a dream. His neighbors jeered at him as
a madman, one who put his plain duty aside for
the gratification of what seemed to their dull minds merely
a whim. His poor wife could hardly be blamed for

(03:04:28):
reproaching him. She could neither understand nor sympathize with his
hopes and fears. While she knew that if he followed
his trade, he could at least save his family from want.
It was a trying time for both of them. But
whoever heard tell of an artist, inventor discoverer, or genius
of any kind being deterred by poverty, abuse, ridicule, or

(03:04:50):
obstacles of any kind from the pursuit of an ideal.
After many painful efforts, the poor glass painter had succeeded
in producing a substance which he believed to be white enamel.
He spread it on a number of earthenware pots which
he had made, and placed them in his furnace. The
extremities to which he was reduced to supply heat to
the furnace are set forth in his own words, having

(03:05:12):
he says, covered the new pieces with the set enamel,
I put them into the furnace, still keeping the fire
at its height. But thereupon occurred to me a new
misfortune which caused great mortification, namely that the wood having
failed me, I was forced to burn the palings which
maintained the boundaries of my garden, which being burnt. Also,
I was forced to burn the tables in the flooring

(03:05:34):
of my house to cause the melting of the second composition.
I suffered an anguish that I cannot speak, for I
was quite exhausted and dried up by the heat of
the furnace. Further to console me, I was the object
of mockery, and even those from whom solace was due
ran crying through the town that I was burning my floors,
and in this way my credit was taken from me,

(03:05:55):
and I was regarded as a madman. Others said that
I was laboring to make false money, which was a scandal,
under which I pined away and slipped with bowed head
through the streets like a man put to shame. No
one gave me consolation, but on the contrary, men jested
at me, saying it was right for him to die
of hunger, seeing that he had left off following his trade.

(03:06:18):
All these things assailed my ears when I passed through
the street. But for all that, there still remained some hope,
which encouraged and sustained me, inasmuch as the last trials
had turned out tolerably well. And thereafter I thought that
I knew enough to get my own living, although I
was far enough from that. As you shall hear afterward,
this latest experiment filled him with joy, for he had

(03:06:38):
at last discovered the secret of the enamel. But there
was yet much to be learned, and several years more
of extreme poverty and suffering had to be endured before
his labors were rewarded with complete success. But it came
at last in overflowing measure, as it almost invariably does
to those who are willing to work and suffer privation
and persevere to the end. His work is a potter

(03:07:00):
brought Pallacey fame and riches. At the invitation of Catherine
de f Medici, wife of King Henry the Second of France,
he removed to Paris. He established a workshop in the
vicinity of the Royal Palace of the Tilleries, and was
thereafter known as Bernard of the Tilleries. He was employed
by the King and Queen, and some of the greatest

(03:07:21):
nobles of France to embellish their palaces and gardens with
the products of his beautiful art. Notwithstanding his lack of schooling,
Bernard Palacy was one of the most learned men of
his day. He founded a museum of natural history, wrote
valuable books on natural science, and for several years delivered
lectures on the same subject. His lectures were attended by

(03:07:43):
the most advanced scholars of Paris, who were astonished at
the extent and accuracy of his knowledge of nature. But
he was as modest as he was wise and good,
and when people wondered at his learning, he would reply
with the most unaffected simplicity. I have had no other
book than The Sky and the Earth known. No more
touching story of success in spite of great difficulties than

(03:08:05):
Bernard Palacies has been written. It is bad to think that,
after the terrible trials which he endured for the sake
of his art, his last years also should have been
clouded by misfortune. During the Civil war which raged in
France between the Huguenots and the Catholics, he was, on
account of his religious views, imprisoned in the Bastille, where
he died in fifteen eighty nine, at the age of

(03:08:27):
eighty how the learned blacksmith found time. The loss of
an hour, says the philosopher Leibnitz, is the loss of
a part of life. This is a truth that has
been appreciated by most men who have risen to distinction,
who have been world benefactors. The lives of those great
moral heroes put to shame the laggard youth of today,

(03:08:48):
who so often grumbles, I have no time. If I
didn't have to work all day, I could accomplish something,
I could read and educate myself. But if a fellow
has to grub away ten or twelve hours out of
the twenty four, what time is left to do anything
for oneself? How much spare time had Elihu Burritt, the

(03:09:09):
youngest of many brethren, as he himself quaintly puts it.
Born in a humble home in New Britain, Connecticut, reared
amid toil and poverty. Yet during his father's long illness
and after his death, when Elihu was but a lad
in his teens, with the family partially dependent upon the
work of his hands, he found time, if only a
few moments at the end of a fourteen hour day

(03:09:31):
of labor for his books. While working at his trade
as a blacksmith, he solved problems in arithmetic and algebra.
While his irons were heating over the forge also appeared
a Latin grammar and a Greek lexicon. And while with
sturdy blows the ambitious youth of sixteen shaped the iron
on the anvil, he fixed in his mind conjugations and declensions.

(03:09:52):
How did this man, born nearly a century ago, possessing
none of the advantages within reach of the poorest and
humblest boy of today, become one of the brightest ornaments
in the world of letters, a leader in the reform
movements of his generation, apparently no more talented than his
nine brothers and sisters. By improving every opportunity he could.
Ring from a youth of unremitting toil, his love for

(03:10:14):
knowledge grew with what it fed upon, and carried him
to undreamed of heights. In palaces and council halls, the
words of the learned blacksmith were listened to with the
closest attention and deference. Read the life of Elihu Burrett,
and you will be ashamed to grumble that you have
no time, no chance for self improvement the legend of
William Tell. Ye, crags and peaques, I'm with you once again.

(03:10:40):
I hold to you the hands you first beheld, to
show they still are free. Methinks I hear a spirit
in your echoes. Answer me and bid your tenant welcome
to his home again, O sacred forms, How proud you look,
how high you lift your heads into the sky, How
huge you are, How mighty and how free ye are

(03:11:01):
the things that tower, that shine, Whose smile makes glad,
whose frown is terrible? Whose forms robed or unrobed? Do
all the impress whereof are divine? Ye? Guards of liberty?
I'm with you once again. I call to you with
all my voice. I hold my hands to you to
show they still are free. I rush to you as

(03:11:22):
though I could embrace you. What schoolboy or schoolgirl is
not familiar with those stirring lines from William Tell's Address
to his native mountains by J. M. Knowles and the
Story of William Tell? Is it not dear to every
heart that loves liberty? Though modern history declares it to
be purely mythical, its popularity remains unaffected. It will live

(03:11:45):
forever in the traditions of Switzerland, dear to the hearts
of her people as their native mountains, and even more
full of interest to the stranger than authentic history, his
image tells, says Lamartine, with those of his wife and children,
are inseparably conected with the majestic, rural and smiling landscapes
of Helvitia, the modern arcadia of Europe. As often as

(03:12:07):
the traveler visits these peculiar regions, as often as the
unconquered summits of mont Blanc, Saint Gothard and the Regi
present themselves to his eyes in a vast firmament as
the ever enduring symbols of liberty. Whenever the Lake of
the Four Cantons presents a vessel wavering on the blue
surface of its waters, Whenever the cascade bursts in thunder
from the heights of the Splugeon and shivers itself upon

(03:12:29):
the rocks like tyranny against free hearts. Whenever the ruins
of him Austrian fortress darken with the remains of frowning walls,
the round eminences of Yuri or Claris, And whenever a
calm sunbeam gilds on the declivity of a village, the
green velvet of the meadows where the herds are feeding,
to the tinkling of bells and the echo of the
rms devatches. So often the imagination traces in all these

(03:12:50):
varied scenes that had on the summit of the pole,
the archer condemned to aim at the apple placed on
the head of his own child, The mark hurled to
the ground, transfixed by the unerring arrow, the father chained
to the bottom of the boat, subduing night, the storm
and his own indignation to save his executioner. And finally
the outraged husband, threatened with the loss of all he

(03:13:12):
holds most dear, yielding to the impulse of nature, and
in his turn striking the murderer with a death blow.
The story, which tradition hands down as the origin of
the Freedom of Switzerland, dates back to the beginning of
the fourteenth century. At that time, Switzerland was under the
sovereignty of the Emperor of Germany, who ruled over Central Europe.

(03:13:32):
Count Rudolph of Habsburg, a Swiss by birth, who had
been elected to the imperial throne in twelve seventy three,
made some efforts to save his countrymen from the oppression
of a foreign yoke. His son Albert, Archduke of Austria,
who succeeded him in twelve ninety eight, inherited none of
his sympathies for Switzerland. On his accession to the throne,

(03:13:53):
Albert resolved to curtail the liberties still enjoyed by the
inhabitants of some of the cantons, and to bend the
whole of the Swiss people to his will. The mountaineers
of the cantons of s hwytz Yuri and under Walden
recognized no authority but that of the Emperor, while the
peasants of the neighboring valleys were at the mercy of
local tyrants, the great nobles and their allies. In order

(03:14:16):
to carry out his project of subjecting all to the
same yoke, Albert of Austria appointed governors to rule over
the semi free provinces or cantons. These governors, who bore
the official title of bailiffs of the Emperor, exercised absolute
authority over the people. Men, women and children were at
their mercy and were treated as mere chattels the property

(03:14:38):
of their rulers. Insult and outrage were heaped upon them,
until their lives became almost unendurable. An instance of the
manner in which these petty tyrants used their authority is
related of the bailiff Landenburg, who ruled over under Walden
for some trumped up offense of which a young peasant
named Arnold of Melchthl was accused. His oxen were confious

(03:15:00):
by Landenburg. The deputy, sent to seize the animals, which
Landenburg really coveted for his own, said sneeringly to Arnold,
if peasants wish for bread, they must draw the plow themselves.
Roused to fury by this taunt, Arnold attempted to resist
the seizure of his property, and in so doing broken
arm of one of the deputy's men. He then fled

(03:15:21):
to the mountains, but he could not hide himself from
the vengeance of Landenburg. The peasant's aged father was arrested
by order of the bailiff and his eyes put out
in punishment for his son's offense. That puncture, says an
old chronicler, went so deep into many a heart that
numbers resolved to die rather than leave it unrequited. But

(03:15:42):
the crudest and most vindictive of the Austrian or German
bailiffs as they were interchangeably called, was one Hermanjesler. He
had built himself a fortress, which he called Yury's Restraint,
and there he felt secure from all attacks. This man
was the terror of the whole district. His name was
a synonym for all that was base, brutal, and tyrannical.

(03:16:05):
Neither the property, the lives, nor the honor of the
people were respected by him. His hatred and contempt for
the peasants were so great that the least semblance of
prosperity among them aroused desire. One day, while riding with
an armed escort through the canton of s e h
w y t Z, he noticed a comfortable looking dwelling
which was being built by one Werner Stalufaker. Turning to

(03:16:27):
his followers, he cried, is it not shameful that miserable
serfs like these should be permitted to build such houses
when huts would be too good for them? Let this
be finished, said his chief attendant. We shall then sculpture
over the gate the arms of the Emperor, and a
little time will show whether the builder has the audacity
to dispute possession with us. The answer pleased Jessler, who

(03:16:49):
replied thou art right and planning future vengeance. He passed
on with his escort. The wife of Stuffacer, who had
been standing near the new building but concealed from Jessler
and his men, heard the conversation and reported it to
her husband. The latter, filled with indignation, without uttering a word,
arose and started for the home of his father in law,

(03:17:11):
Walter First, in the village of Addinghassen. On his arrival,
Staffoatcher was cordially welcomed by his father in law, who
placed refreshments before him and waited for him to explain
the object of his visit. Pushing aside the food, he said,
I have made a vow never again to taste wine
or swallow meat until we ceased to be slaves. Staufacher

(03:17:32):
then related what had happened. First's anger was kindled by
the recital. Both men were roused to such a pitch
that they resolved then and there to free themselves and
their countrymen from the chains which bound them, or die
in the attempt. They conversed far into the night, making
plans for the gaining of national independence. Then they sought

(03:17:53):
out in his hiding place, Arnold of Melchthal, the young
peasant whom Landenberg had so cruelly persecuted in him, they found,
as they expected, an ardent supporter of their plans. The
three conspirators, Stauffacer First and Melchvil represented different cantons, one
belonging to s. E. H W y t Z, another

(03:18:14):
to Yuri, and the third to Underwalden. They hoped to
form a league and unite the three cantons against the
power of Austria. In pursuance of their plans, each pledged
himself to select, from among the most persecuted and the
most daring in their respective cantons, ten others to join
them in the cause of liberty. On the night of
November seventh or seventeen, the date is variously given in

(03:18:37):
the year thirteen o seven, the confederates met together in
a secluded mountain spot called Rutley. There they bound themselves
by an oath, the terms of which embodied their purpose.
We swear, in the presence of God, before whom kings
and people are equal, to live or die for our
fellow countrymen, to undertake and sustain all in common, neither
to suffering justice, nor to commit injury, to respect the

(03:19:00):
rights and property of the Count of Habsburg, to do
no violence to the imperial bailiffs, but to put an
end to their tyranny. They fixed upon January first, thirteen
o eight as the day for a general uprising. Events
were gradually shaping themselves for the appearance of William Tell
on the scene. Up to this time, his name does

(03:19:20):
not appear in the annals of his country. The bold
peasant of Yuri was so little prominent among his countrymen that,
according to some versions of the legend, although a son
in law of Walter First, he had not been chosen
among the thirty conspirators summoned to the meeting at Rubley. This, however,
is contradicted by another, which asserts that he was one
of the oath bound men of Ruby. The various divergences

(03:19:43):
in the different versions of the legend do not affect
its main features, on which all the chroniclers are agreed.
It was the crowning insult to his country which indisputably
brought Tell into prominence and made his name forever famous.
Jessler's hatred of the people daily increased, and and was
constantly showing itself in every form of petty tyranny. That
a mean and wicked nature could devise. He noticed the

(03:20:06):
growing discontent among the peasantry, but instead of trying to
allay it, he determined to humiliate them still more. For
this purpose, he had a pole surmounted by the Ducal
cap of Austria, erected in the market square of the
village of Altdorf, and issued a command that all who
passed it should bow before the symbol of imperial rule.
Guards were placed by the pole with orders to make

(03:20:28):
prisoners of all who refused to pay homage to the
Ducal cap. William Tell, a bold hunter and skillful boatman
of Yuri, passing by one day with his little son Walter,
refused to bend his knee before the symbol of foreign oppression.
He was seized at once by the guards and carried
before the bailiff. There is considerable contradiction at this point

(03:20:49):
as to whether Tell was at once carried before the
bailiff or bound to the pole, where he remained guarded
by the soldiers until the bailiff, returning the same day
from a hunting expedition, appeared upon the scene. Schiller, in
his drama of William Tell, adopts the latter version of
the story. According to the drama, Tell is represented as

(03:21:09):
being bound to the pole. In a short time, he
is surrounded by friends and neighbors. Among them are his
father in law, Walter first Werner Staufecker, and Arnold of Melchthl.
They advance to rescue the prisoner. The guards cry in
a loud voice, revolt, rebellion, treason, sedition, help protect the

(03:21:34):
agents of the law. Jessler and his party hear the
cries and rush to the support of the guards. Jessler cries,
in a loud, authoritative voice, wherefore is this assembly of
people who called for help? What does all this mean?
I demand to know the cause of this. Then, addressing himself,

(03:21:55):
particularly to one of the guards and pointing to Tell,
he says, stand for who art thou and why dost
thou hold that man a prisoner? Most Mighty Lord, replies
the guard, I am one of your soldiers placed here
as a sentinel over that hat. I seize this man
in the act of disobedience for refusing to salute it.

(03:22:16):
I was about to carry him to prison in compliance
with your orders, and the populace were preparing to rescue
him by force. After questioning Tell, whose answers are not satisfactory,
the bailiff pronounces sentence upon him. The sentence is that
he shall shot at an apple placed on the head
of his little son, Walter, and if he fails to
hit the mark, he shall die. My lord, cries the

(03:22:40):
agonized parent. What horrible command is this? You lay upon me?
What aim at a mark placed on the head of
my dear child? No, no, it is impossible that such
a thought could enter your imagination. In the name of
the God of mercy, you cannot seriously impose the trial
on a father. Thou shalt aim at an apple placed

(03:23:01):
on the head of thy son, I will, and I command, it,
repeats the tyrant, I William tell, aim with my own
crossbow at the head of my own offspring. I would
rather die a thousand deaths. Thou shalt shoot, or assuredly,
thou beest with thy son, become the murderer of my child.

(03:23:24):
My lord, you have no son. You cannot have the
feelings of a father's heart. Jessler's friends interfere in behalf
of the unhappy father and plead for mercy, But all
appeal is in vain. The tyrant is determined on carrying
out his sentence. The father and son are placed at
a distance of eighty paces apart. An apple is placed

(03:23:46):
on the boy's head, and the father is commanded to
hit the mark. He hesitates and trembles. Why dost thou hesitate,
questions his persecutor. Thou hast deserved death, and I could
compel thee to undergo the punishment. But in my clemency,
I place thy fate in thy own skillful hands. He
who is the master of his destiny cannot complain that

(03:24:08):
his sentence is a severe one. Thou art proud of
thy steady eye and unerring aim. Now, Hunter is the
moment to prove thy skill. The object is worthy of thee.
The prize is worth contending for to strike the center
of a target is an ordinary achievement. But the true
master of his art is he who is always certain,
and whose heart, hand and I are firm and steady

(03:24:31):
under every trial. At length, Tell nerves himself for the ordeal,
raises his bow and takes aim at the target on
his son's head. Before firing. However, he concealed a second
arrow under his vest. His movement did not escape Jessler's notice.
The marksman fires, the apple falls from his boy's head

(03:24:53):
cleft in Twain by the arrow. Even Jessler is loud
in his admiration of Tell's skill. By heaven, he cries,
he has clothed the apple exactly in the center. Let
us do justice. It is indeed a masterpiece of skill.
Tell's friends congratulate him. He is about to set out
for his home with the child who has been saved

(03:25:14):
to him from the very jaws of death, as it were,
but Jessler stays him. Thou hast concealed a second arrow
in thy bosom, he says, sternly, addressing Tell, what didst
Thou intend to do with it? Tell replies that such
is the custom of all hunters. Jessler is not satisfied
and urges him to confess his real motive. Speak truly

(03:25:37):
and frankly, he says, Say what thou wilt I promise
thee thy life? To what purpose didst Thou DestinE the
second arrow? Tell can no longer restrain his indignation, and
fixing his eyes steadily on Jessler, he answers, well, then,
my lord, since you assure my life, I will speak
the truth without reserve. If I had struck my beloved

(03:26:00):
child with the second arrow, I would have transpierced thy heart.
Assuredly that time I should not have missed my mark. Villain,
exclaims Jessler. I have promised thee life upon my knightly word.
I will keep my pledge. But since I know THEE
now and thy rebellious heart, I will remove THEE to
a place where thou shalt never more behold the light

(03:26:20):
of sun or moon. Thus only shall I be sheltered
from thy arrows. He orders the guards to seize and bind,
tell saying I will myself at once conduct him to Kusnacht.
The fortress of Kusnacht was situated on the summit of
Mount Riji, between Lake Lucerne or the Lake of the
Four Cantons as it is sometimes called, and Lake zag.

(03:26:42):
It was reached by crossing Lake Lucerne. The prisoner was
placed bound in the bottom of a boat and with
his guards, the rowers, an inexperienced pilot and Jessler in command,
the boat was headed for Kusnacht, when about half way
across the lake, a sudden and violent storm overwhelmed the part.
They were in peril of their lives. The rowers and

(03:27:04):
pilot were panic stricken and powerless in face of the
danger that threatened them. Tell's fame as a boatman was
as widespread as that of his skill as an archer.
The rowers cried aloud in their terror that he was
the only man in Switzerland that could save them from death.
Jessler immediately commanded him to be released from his bonds
and given the helm. Tell succeeded in guiding the vessel

(03:27:27):
to the shore. Then, seizing his bow and arrows which
his captors had thrown beside him, he sprang ashore at
a point known as tell Sleep. The boat, rebounding after
he leaped from it, was again driven out on the
lake before any of the remainder of its occupants could
effect a landing. After a time, however, the fury of
the storm abeedded, and they reached the shore in safety.

(03:27:50):
In the meantime, Tell had concealed himself in a defile
in the mountain through which Jessler would have to pass
on his way to Kusnacht. There he lay in wait
for his persecutor, who followed in hot pursuit. Vowing vengeance
as he went. Jessler declared that if the fugitive did
not give himself up to justice, every day that passed
by should cost him the life of his wife or

(03:28:11):
one of his children. While the tyrant was yet speaking,
an arrow shot by an unerring hand pierced his heart.
Tell had taken vengeance into his own hands. The death
of Jessler was the signal for a general uprising. The
oath bound men of Rutley saw that this was their
great opportunity. They called to their countrymen to follow them

(03:28:32):
to freedom or death. Jessler's crowning act of tyranny, his
inhuman punishment of Tell, had roused the spirit of rebellion
in the hearts of even the meekest and most submissive
of the peasants. Gladly then did they respond to the
call of the leaders of the insurrection. The legend says
that on New Year's Eve thirteen o eight, Stauffacher, with

(03:28:53):
a chosen band of followers climbed the mountain which led
to Landenberg's fortress castle of Rothsburg. There they were assisted
by an inmate of the castle, a young girl whose
lover was among the rebels. She threw a rope out
of one of the windows of the castle, and by
it her countrymen climbed one after another into the castle.
They seized the bailiff Landenburg and confined him in one

(03:29:16):
of the dungeons of his own castle. Next day, the
conspirators were reinforced by another party, who gained entrance to
the castle by means of a clever ruse. Landenburg and
his men were given their freedom by the peasants on
condition that they would quit Switzerland forever. The castle of
Yury was attacked and taken possession of by Walter First
and William Tell, while other strongholds were captured by Arnold

(03:29:39):
of Melchthel and his associates. Bonfires blazed all over the country.
The dawn of Switzerland's freedom had appeared. The reign of
Tyranny was doomed. William Tell was the hero of the hour,
and ever since his name has been enshrined in the
hearts of his countrymen as the watchword of their liberties.
Even to this day, as history tells us, the Swiss

(03:30:02):
peasant cherishes the belief that Tell and the three men
of Rutley are asleep in the mountains, but will awake
to the rescue of their land should Tyranny ever again
in chain it La Martine, to whose story of William
Tell the writer is indebted, commenting on the legend, says,
the artlessness of this history resembles a poem. It is
a pastoral song in which a single drop of blood

(03:30:22):
is mingled with the dew upon a leaf or a
tuft of grass. Providence seems thus to delight in providing
for every free community as the founder of their independence,
a fabulous or actual hero, conformable to the local situation, manners,
and character of each particular race. To a rustic pastoral
people like the Swiss, is given for their liberator, a

(03:30:44):
noble peasant. To a proud, aspiring race such as the Americans,
an honest soldier. Two distinct symbols standing erect by the
cradles of the two modern liberties of the world to
personify their opposite natures. On the one hand, Tell with
his arrow and the apple. On the other, Washington with
his sword and the law. Westward ho when the current

(03:31:06):
serves the unseen monitor that directs our affairs, bids a
step aboard our craft, and, with hand firmly grasping the helm,
steer boldly for the distant goal. Philip d Armour, the
open handed, large hearted merchant prince who has left a
standing memorial to his benevolence in the Armor Institute at
Chicago heard the call to put to sea when in

(03:31:27):
his teens. It came during the gold fever, which raged
with such intensity from eighteen forty nine to eighteen fifty one,
when the wildest stories were afloat of the treasures that
were daily being dug out of the earth in California.
The brain of the sturdy youth, whose Scotch and Puritan
blood tingled for some broader field than the village store
and his father's farm in Stockbridge, New York, was haunted

(03:31:49):
by the tales of adventure and fortune wafted across the
continent from the New El Dorado. I brooded over the difference,
he says, between tossing hay in the hot sun and
digging gold by handfuls, until one day I threw down
the pitchfork, went to the house and told mother that
I had quit that kind of work. Armor was nineteen
years old when he determined to seek his fortune in California.

(03:32:13):
His determination once formed, he lost no time in carrying
it out, As much of the journey across the plains
was to be made on foot. He first provided himself
with a pair of stout boots. Then he packed his
extra clothing in an old carpet bag, and with a
light heart, bade his family good bye. He had induced
a young friend, Calvin Gilbert, to accompany him in his

(03:32:35):
search for fortune. The two youths joined the Motley crowd
of adventurers who were flocking from all quarters to the
Land of Promise, and set out on their journey, tramping
over the plains, crossing rivers in tow boats and ferryboats,
and riding in trains and on wagons when they could.
The adventurers, after many weary months, reached their destination. During

(03:32:57):
the journey, young Armour became sick, but was tenderly nursed
back to health by his companion. I had scarcely any
money when I arrived at the gold fields, said Armor.
But I struck right out and found a place where
I could dig, and in a little time I struck
pay dirt. He entered into partnership with a mister Corkin,
and with characteristic energy, kept digging and taking his turn

(03:33:18):
at the rude housekeeping in the shanty which he and
his partner shared. Crkan would cook one week, he says,
and I the next, and we would have a clean up.
Sunday morning, we baked our own bread and kept a
few hens, two which supplied us with fresh eggs. The
young gold hunter, however, did not find nuggets as plentiful
as blackberries. But he found within himself that which led

(03:33:41):
him to a bonanza, far exceeding his wildest dreams of fines.
In the gold fields. He discovered his business ability. He
learned how to economize, how to rely upon himself, even
to the extent of baking his own bread. Three great
American songs and their authors, one the Star Spangled Banner

(03:34:02):
Poetry and music, says Sir John Lubbock, unite in song.
From the earliest age's song has been the sweet companion
of labor. The rude chant of the boatmen floats upon
the water, the shepherd sings upon the hill, the milk
maid in the dairy, the plowman in the field. Every trade,
every occupation, every act and scene of life has long

(03:34:24):
had its own especial music. The bride went to her marriage,
the laborer to his work, the old man to his
last long rest, each with appropriate and immemorial music. It
is strange that Lubbock did not mention specifically the power
of music in inspiring the soldier as he marches to
the defense of his country, or in arousing the spirit
of patriotism and kindling the love of country, whether in

(03:34:46):
peace or war, in every bosom, Let me make the
songs of a country, Fletcher of Saltune has well said,
and I care not who makes its laws. Not to
know the words and the air of the national anthem
or chief patriotic songs of one's country is considered little
less than a disgrace. To know something of their authors,
and the occasion which inspired them, or the conditions under

(03:35:08):
which they were composed, gives additional interest to the songs themselves.
Francis Scott Key, author of the Star Spangled Banner, one
of the, if not the most popular, of our national songs,
was born in Frederick County, Maryland, on August first, seventeen
seventy nine. He was the son of John Ross Key,

(03:35:29):
an officer in the Revolutionary Army. Young Key's early education
was carried on under the direction of his father. Later,
he became a student in Saint John's College, from which
institution he was graduated in his nineteenth year. Immediately after
his graduation, he began to study law under his uncle,
Philip Barton Key, one of the ablest lawyers of his time.

(03:35:52):
He was admitted to the bar in eighteen oh one
and commenced to practice in Fredericktown, Maryland, where he won
the reputation of an eloquent advocate. After a few years
practice in Fredericktown, he removed to Washington, where he was
appointed District Attorney for the District of Columbia. Young Key
was as widely known and admired as a writer of

(03:36:12):
hymns and ballads as he was as a lawyer of promise.
But the production of the popular national anthem, which crowned
him with immortality, has so overshadowed the rest of his
life work that we remember him only as its author.
The occasion which inspired the Star Spangled Banner must always
be memorable in the annals of our country. The war
with the British had been about two years in progress

(03:36:34):
when in August eighteen fourteen, a British fleet arrived in
the Chesapeake and an army under General Ross landed about
forty miles from the city of Washington. The army took
possession of Washington, burnt the capital, the President's residence, and
other public buildings, and then sailed around by the sea
to attack Baltimore. The fleet was to bombard Fort mc henry,

(03:36:56):
while the land forces were to attack the city. The
commanding officers of the Fleet and Land Army, Admiral Cockburn
and General Ross, made their headquarters in Upper Marlborough, Maryland,
at the house of doctor William Beanes, whom they held
as their prisoner. Francis Scott Key, who was a warm
friend of doctor Beanes, went to President Madison in order

(03:37:18):
to enlist his aid in securing the release of Beans.
The President furnished Key with a vessel and instructed John L. Skinner,
agent for the exchange of prisoners, to accompany him under
a flag of truce to the British fleet. The British
commander agreed to release doctor Beanes, but would not permit
Key and his party to return then lest they should
carry back important information to the American side. He boastingly declared, however,

(03:37:43):
that the defense could hold out only a few hours,
and that Baltimore would then be in the hands of
the British. Skinner and Key were sent on board the Surprise,
which was under the command of Admiral Colburn's son, but
after a short time, they were allowed to return to
their own vessel, and from its deck they saw the
American flag waving over Fort McHenry and witnessed the bombardment.

(03:38:06):
All through the night, the furious attack of the British continued.
The roar of cannon and the bursting of shells was incessant.
It is said that as many as fifteen hundred shells
were hurled at the fort. Shortly before daybreak, the firing ceased.
Key and his companions waited in painful suspense to know
the result. In the intense silence that followed the cannonading,

(03:38:28):
each one asked himself if the flag of his country
was still waving on high, or if it had been
hauled down to give place to that of England. They
strained their eyes in the direction of Baltimore, but the
darkness revealed nothing. At last day dawned, and to their delight,
the little party saw the American flag still floating over
Fort McHenry. Key's heart was stirred to its depths, and

(03:38:51):
in a glow of patriotic enthusiasm, he immediately wrote down
a rough draft of the Star Spangled Banner. On his
arrival in Baltimore, he perfected the first copy of the
song and gave it to Captain Benjamin Eads of the
twenty seventh Baltimore Regiment, saying that he wished it to
be sung to the air of Anacreon in Heaven. Eads
had it put in type and took the first proof

(03:39:13):
to a famous old tavern near the Holiday Street Theater,
a favorite resort of actors and literary people of that day.
The verses were read to the company assembled there, and
Frederic Durang, an actor, was asked to sing them to
the air designated by the author. Durang, mounting a chair
sang as requested. The song was enthusiastically received. From that

(03:39:35):
moment it became the great popular favorite that it has
ever since been, and that it will continue to be
as long as the American Republic exists. Key died in
Baltimore on January eleventh, eighteen forty three. A monument was
erected to his memory by the munificence of James Lick,
a California millionaire. The sculptor to whom the work was

(03:39:56):
entrusted was the celebrated W. W. Story, who com completed
it in eighteen eighty seven. The monument, which is fifty
one feet high stands in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco.
It is built of traverton in the form of a
double arch under which a bronze statue of Key is seated.
A bronze figure representing America with an unfolded flag supports

(03:40:20):
the arch. On the occasion of the unveiling of this statue,
the New York Home Journal contained an appreciative criticism of
Key as a poet and the following estimate of his
greatest production. The poetry of the Star Spangled Banner has
touches of delicacy for which one looks in vain in
most national odes, and is as near a true poem
as any national ode ever was. The picture of the

(03:40:43):
dawn's early light, and the tricolor half concealed, half disclosed
amid the mists that wreathed the battle sounding Padopsko is
a true poetic concept. The Star Spangled Banner has the
peculiar merit of not being a toxin song like the
t Marseilles. Indeed, there is not a RESTful, soothing, or
even humane sentiment in all that stormy shout. It is

(03:41:06):
the scream of oppressed humanity against its oppressor. Presaging a
more than quid pro quo, and it fitly prefigured the
sight of that long file of tumbrels bearing to the
place stillah Revolution, the fairest science of French aristocracy. On
the other hand, God save the King. In its original
as one or two lines as grotesque as Yankee doodle itself.

(03:41:26):
Yet we have paraphrased it in America and made it
a hymn meat for all our churches. But the star
Spangled Banner combines dignity and beauty, and it would be
hard to find a line of it that could be
improved upon. Over the simple grave of Francis Scott Key
in Frederick, Maryland, there is no other monument than the
Star Spangled Banner. In storm and in sunshine, in summer

(03:41:50):
and in winter, its folds ever float over the resting
place of the man who has immortalized it in verse.
No other memorial could so fitly commemorate the life and
death of this simple, dignified, patriotic American. A sweet, noble life,
says a recent writer, was that of the author of
our favorite national hymn, A life of ideal refinement, piety,

(03:42:11):
scholarly gentleness. Little did he think that his voice would
be the storm's song, the victor shout of conquering America,
to resound down and down the ages the star spangled banner.
Oh say, can you see by the dawn's early light,
what so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming,

(03:42:32):
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight
o'er the rampart we watched were so gallantly streaming, And
the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave
proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh say, does that star spangled banner yet wave o'er
the land of the Free and the home of the brave?

(03:42:53):
On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
where the foe's haughty host, in dread silence reposes. What
is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep as
it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses. Now it catches
the gleam of the morning's first beam in full glory
reflected now shines on the stream. Tis the star spangled banner?

(03:43:13):
Oh long, may it wave o'er the land of the
Free and the home of the brave. And where is
that band who so vauntingly swore that the havoc of
war and the battle's confusion a home and a country
should leave us no more? Their blood has washed out
their foul footsteps, pollution, no refuge could save the hireling
enslave from the terror of death and the gloom of

(03:43:36):
the grave. And the star spangled banner in triumph shall
wave o'er the Land of the Free and the home
of the brave. Oh, Thus be it, ever, when freemen
shall stand between their loved homes and the war's desolation,
blessed with victory and peace, May the heaven rescued land
praise the power that has made and preserved us a nation.

(03:43:57):
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,
And this be our motto. In God is our trust.
And the star spangled banner in triumph shall wave o'er
the Land of the Free and the home of the brave.
Two America. And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith.
Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith, but

(03:44:17):
he shouted a song for the brave and the free.
Just read on his medal, my country of thee In
these lines of his famous reunion poem The Boys. Doctor
Oliver Wendell Holmes commemorated his old friend and college mate,
doctor Samuel Francis Smith, author of America. Samuel Francis Smith
was born in Boston, Massachusetts, on October twenty first, eighteen

(03:44:39):
o eight. He attended the Latin School in his native city,
and it is said that when only twelve years old
he could talk Latin. He entered Harvard College, Cambridge, Massachusetts,
in eighteen twenty five, and graduated in the famous class
of eighteen twenty nine, of which doctor Oliver Wendell Holmes,
James Freeman Clark, William E. Channing, and other celebrated Americans

(03:45:03):
were members. Doctor Smith, like so many other noted men,
worked his way through college. He did this principally by
coaching other students and by making translations from the German
Conversations Lexicon for the American Cyclopaedia. After graduating from Harvard,
he immediately entered and over theological seminary. Three years later,

(03:45:25):
in eighteen thirty two, he wrote, among others, his most
famous hymn, America, of which the National Cyclopaedia of American
Biography says it has found its way wherever an American
heart beats or the English language is spoken, and has
probably proved useful in stirring the patriotic spirit of the
American people. Doctor Smith himself often said that he had

(03:45:47):
heard America sung half way round the world, under the
earth in the caverns of Manitou, Colorado, and almost above
the earth near the top of Pike's Peak. The hymn
as every Child Knows is sung to the air of
the national anthem of England, God Save the King. The
author came upon it in a book of German music,
and by it was inspired to write the Words of America,

(03:46:10):
a work which he accomplished in half an hour many
years after. Referring to its imprompted composition, he wrote, if
I had anticipated the future of it, doubtless I should
have taken more pains with it, such as it is.
I am glad to have contributed this might to the
cause of American freedom. In a magazine article written several

(03:46:30):
years ago, mister Herbert Heywood gave an interesting account of
an interview with doctor Smith, who told him the story
of the writing of the him himself. I wrote America,
he said, when I was a theological student, at Andover
during my last year there. In February eighteen thirty two,
I was poring over a German book of patriotic songs

(03:46:51):
which Lowell Mason of Boston had sent me to translate.
When I came upon one with a tune of Great Majesty.
I hummed it over and was struck with the ease
with which the accompanying German words fell into the music.
I saw it was a patriotic song, and while I
was thinking of translating it, I felt an impulse to
write an American patriotic him. I reached my hand for

(03:47:13):
a bit of waste paper, and taking my quill pen,
wrote the four verses in half an hour. I sent it,
with some translations of the German songs to Lowell Mason,
and the next thing I knew of it I was
told it had been sung by the Sunday school children
at Park Street Church, Boston, at the following Fourth of
July celebration. The house where I was living at the

(03:47:33):
time was on the Andover Turnpike, a little north of
the Seminary building. I have been in the house since
I left it in September eighteen thirty two, but never
went into my old room. This room is now visited
by patriotic Americans from every part of the country. Two
years after America was written, doctor Smith became pastor of

(03:47:54):
the first Baptist Church in Waterville, Maine, and also professor
of Modern Languages in Waterville College, which is now known
as Colby University. His great industry and zeal, both as
a clergyman and student and teacher of languages, enabled him
to perform the duties of both positions successfully. He was
a noted linguist and could read books in fifteen different languages.

(03:48:17):
He could converse in most of the modern European tongues,
and at eighty six was engaged in studying Russian. In
eighteen forty two, doctor Smith was made pastor of the
first Baptist Church, Newton Center, Massachusetts, where he made his
home for the rest of his life. When he died
in November eighteen ninety five, says mister Heywood, he was

(03:48:38):
living in the old brown frame house at Newton Center, Massachusetts,
which had been his home for over fifty years. It
stood back from the street on the brow of a
hill sloping gently to a valley on the north. Pine
trees were in the front and rear, and the sun
from his rising to his setting, smiled upon that abode
of simple greatness. The house was faded and worn by

(03:49:00):
wind and weather, and was in perfect harmony with its surroundings,
the brown grass saw that peeped from under the snow,
the dull colored, leafless elms, and the gray worn stone
steps leading up from the street. An air of gentle
refinement pervaded the interior, and every room spoke of its inmate.
But perhaps the library was best loved of all by

(03:49:21):
doctor Smith, for here it was that his work went on. Here,
beside a sunny bay window stood his work table and
his high backed, old fashioned chair with black rounded arms.
All about the room were ranged his bookcases, and an
old tall clock marked the flight of time that was
so kind to the old man. His figure was short,

(03:49:42):
his shoulders slightly bowed, and around his full ruddy face
that beamed with kindness, was a fringe of white hair
and beard. Doctor Smith resigned his pastorate of the Newton
Church in eighteen fifty four and became editorial secretary of
the American Baptist Missionary Union. In eighteen seventy five, he
went abroad for the first time and spent a year

(03:50:04):
in European travel. Five years later he went to India
and the Burmese Empire. During his travels, he visited Christian
missionary stations in France, Spain, Italy, Austria, Turkey, Greece, Sweden, Denmark, Burma,
India and Ceylon. The latter years of his life were
devoted almost entirely to literary work. He wrote numerous poems,

(03:50:28):
which were published in magazines and newspapers, but never collected
in book form. His hymns, numbering over one hundred, are
sung by various Christian denominations. The Morning Light Is Breaking
is a popular favorite. Among his other published works are
missionary sketches, Rambles in Mission Fields, A History of Newton,

(03:50:50):
and a Life of Reverend Joseph Grafton. Besides his original hymns,
he translated many from other languages and wrote numerous magazine
articles and sketches During his long and busy life. Doctor
Smith's vitality and enthusiasm remained with him to the last.
A great grandfather when he died in his eighty seventh year,

(03:51:10):
he was an inspiration to the younger generations growing up
around him. He was at work almost to the moment
of his death, and still actively planning for the future.
His great national hymn, if he had left nothing else,
will keep his memory green forever in the hearts of
his countrymen. It is even more popular today, after seventy
one years have elapsed than it was when first sung

(03:51:32):
in Park Street Church by the Sunday school children of Boston.
Its patriotic ring, rather than its literary merit, renders it
sweet to the ear of every American. Wherever it is sung,
the feeble treble of age will join as enthusiastically as
the joyous note of youth in rendering the inspiring strains
of America. My country tis of the sweet land of liberty,

(03:51:56):
of the I sing, land where my fathers died, Land
of the pilgrim's pride. From every mountain side, Let freedom
ring my native country, the land of the noble free,
Thy name I love, I love thy rocks and rills,
thy woods and templed hills. My heart with rapture thrills
like that above. Let music swell the breeze and ring

(03:52:19):
from all the trees, sweet Freedom's song. Let mortal tongues awake,
Let all that breathe partake. Let rocks their silence, break
the sound. Prolong our Fathers, God, to THEE, Author of Liberty,
to thee. We sing long, may our land be bright
with Freedom's holy light. Protect us by Thy might, Great God,
our King. Three. The Battle Hymn of the Republic, no

(03:52:43):
single influence, says United States Senator George F. Whore of Massachusetts,
has had so much to do with shaping the destiny
of a nation, as nothing more surely expresses national character
than what is known as the national anthem. There is
some difference of opinion as to which of our pattriotic
hymns or songs is distinctively the national anthem of America.

(03:53:04):
Senator Horse seems to have made up his mind in
favor of the Battle Hymn of the Republic, writing of
its author, Julia Ward how in nineteen o three, he said,
we waited eighty years for our American national anthem. At last,
God inspired an illustrious and noble woman to utter in
undying verse, the thought which we hope is forever to

(03:53:24):
animate the soldier of the Republic. In the beauty of
the lilies, Christ was born across the sea with a
glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me. As
he died to make men holy, let us die to
make men free. While God is marching on. Missus. Julia
Ward Howe is as widely known for her learning in
literary and poetic achievements as she is for her work

(03:53:45):
as a philanthropist and reformer. She was born in New
York City in a stately mansion near the Bowling Green
on May twenty seventh, eighteen nineteen. From her birth, she
was fortunate in possessing the advantages that wealth and high
soul position bestow. Her father, Samuel Ward, the descendant of
an old colonial family, was a member of a leading

(03:54:07):
banking firm of New York. Her mother, Julia Cutter Ward,
was a most charming and accomplished woman. She died very young, however,
while her little daughter Julia was still a child. Mister
Ward was a man of advanced ideas and was determined
that his daughters should have, as far as possible, the
same educational advantages as his sons. Of course, in those

(03:54:31):
early days, there were no separate colleges for women, and
they would not be admitted to men's colleges. It was
impossible for mister Ward to overcome these difficulties. Wholly, but
he did the next best thing he could for his girls.
He engaged as their tutor the learned doctor Joseph Greene Cogswell,
and instructed him to put them through the full curriculum
of Harvard College. On her entrance into society, the little

(03:54:55):
miss Ward, as Julia had been called from her childhood,
at once became a leader of the cult and fashionable
circle in which she moved in her father's home. She
met the most distinguished American men of letters of that time.
The liberal education which she had received made the young
girl feel perfectly at her ease in such society. In

(03:55:15):
addition to other accomplishments, she was mistress of several ancient
and modern languages, and a musical amateur of great promise.
In eighteen forty three, Miss Ward was married to doctor
Samuel G. Howe, director of the Institute for the Blind
in South Boston, Massachusetts. Immediately after their marriage, doctor and
missus Howe went to Europe, where they traveled for some time.

(03:55:38):
The home, which they established in Boston on their return,
became a center for the refined and literary society of
Boston and its environment. Missus Howe's grace learning and accomplishments
made her a charming hostess and fit mistress of such
a home. Her literary talent was developed at a very
early age. One of her friends has humorously said that

(03:55:59):
missus Howe wrote leading articles from her cradle. However this
may be, it is undoubtedly true that at seventeen she
contributed valuable articles to a leading New York magazine. In
eighteen fifty four she published her first volume of poems,
Passion Flowers. Other volumes, including collections of her later poems,

(03:56:19):
books of travel, and a biography of Margaret Fuller, were
afterward published. For more than half a century, she has
been a constant contributor to the leading magazines of the country.
Since eighteen sixty nine, missus how has been a leader
in the movement for woman's suffrage, and both by lecturing
and writing, has supported every effort put forth for the
educational and general advancement of her sex. Although in her

(03:56:42):
eightieth year, when the writer conversed with her a few
years ago, missus Howe was then full of youthful enthusiasm,
and her interest in the great movements of the world
was as keen as ever. Age had in no way
lessened her intellectual vigor, surrounded by her children and grandchildren
and one great grandchild. She recently celebrated her eighty fourth birthday.

(03:57:04):
The story of the Battle Hymn of the Republic has
been left to the last, not because it is the
least important, but on the contrary, because it is one
of the most important works of her life. Certain it
is that the Battle Hymn will live and thrill the
hearts of American centuries after its author has passed on
to the other life. The hymn was written in Washington

(03:57:24):
in November eighteen sixty one, the first year of our
Civil War. Doctor and Missus how were visiting friends in
that city. During their stay, they went one day with
a party to see a review of Union troops. The review, however,
was interrupted by a movement of the Confederate forces, which
were besieging the city. On their return, the carriage in

(03:57:46):
which Missus Howe and her friends were seated was surrounded
by soldiers. Stirred by the scene and the occasion, she
began to sing John Brown, to the delight of the soldiers,
who heartily joined in the refrain. At the close of
the song, Misses how expressed to her friends the strong
desire she felt to write some words which might be
sung to this stirring tune, but she added that she

(03:58:08):
feared she would never be able to do so. That night,
says her daughter Maud how Eliot, she went asleep full
of thoughts of battle, and awoke before dawn the next
morning to find the desired verses immediately present to her mind.
She sprang from her bed, and in the dim gray light,
found a pen and paper, whereon she wrote, scarcely seeing

(03:58:29):
them the lines of the poem. Returning to her couch,
she was soon asleep, but not until she had said
to herself, I like this better than anything I have
ever written before. The battle Hymn of the Republic. Mine
eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of
wrath are stored. He hath loosed the fateful lightning of

(03:58:50):
his terrible swift sword. His truth is marching on. I
have seen him in the watch fires of a hundred
circling camps. They have builded him an altar. In the
evening dews and damps. I can read his righteous sentence
by the dim and flaring lamps. His day is marching on.
I have read a fiery gospel, wrid and burnished rows
of steel. As ye deal with my contemers, so with you,

(03:59:12):
my grace shall deal. Let the hero born of woman
crush the serpent with his heel. Since God is marching on,
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat.
He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment. Seat. Oh,
be swift my soul to answer him. Be jubilant my feet.

(03:59:33):
Our God is marching on. In the beauty of the lilies.
Christ was born across the sea with a glory in
his bosom that transfigures you and me. As He died
to make men holy, let us die to make men
free while God is marching on. Training for greatness. Glimpses
of Abraham Lincoln's boyhood. In pronouncing a eulogy on Henry Clay,

(03:59:55):
Lincoln said, his example teaches us that one can scarcely
be so poor, but that if he will, he can
acquire sufficient education to get through the world respectably. In
dowed as he was, with all the qualities that make
a man truly great, Lincoln's own life teaches above all
other things. The lesson he drew from that of Henry Clay.
Is there in all the length and breadth of the

(04:00:16):
United States today, a boy so poor as to envy
Abraham Lincoln the chances of his boyhood. The story of
his life has been told so often that nothing new
can be said about him. Yet every fresh reading of
the story fills the reader anew with wonder and admiration
at what was accomplished by the poor backwoods boy. Let
your mind separate itself from all the marvels of the

(04:00:37):
twentieth century. Think of a time when railroads and telegraph wires, telephones,
great ocean steamers, lighting by gas and electricity, daily newspapers
except in a few centers, great circulating libraries, and the
hundreds of conveniences which are necessities to the people of
today were unknown. Even the very rich at the beginning

(04:00:58):
of the nineteenth century could not by the advantages that
are free to the poorest boy. At the beginning of
the twentieth century, when Lincoln was a boy, thorns were
used for pins, Cork covered with cloth or bits of
bones served as buttons. Crusts of rye bread were used
by the poor as substitutes for coffee and dried leaves
of certain herbs for tea. Abraham Lincoln was born on

(04:01:20):
February twelfth, eighteen o nine, in a log cabin in
Hardin County now LaRue County, Kentucky. His father, Thomas Lincoln,
was not remarkable either for thrift or industry. He was tall,
well built, and muscular, expert with his rifle, and a
noted hunter, but he did not possess the qualities necessary

(04:01:40):
to make a successful pioneer farmer. The character of the
mother of Abraham may best be gathered from his own words.
All that I am or hope to be, he said,
when President of the United States, I owe to my
Angel Mother blessings on her memory. It was at her
knee he learned his first lessons from the Bible with
his sister Sarah, a girl two years his senior. He

(04:02:03):
listened with wonder and delight to the Bible stories, fairy tales,
and legends with which the gentle mother entertained and instructed them.
When the labors of the day were done, when Abraham
was about four years old, the family moved from the
farm on Nolan Creek to another about fifteen miles distant.
There the first great event in his life took place.

(04:02:24):
He went to school. Primitive as was the log cabin schoolhouse,
and elementary as were the acquirements of his first schoolmaster.
It was a wonderful experience for the boy, and one
that he never forgot. In eighteen sixteen, Thomas Lincoln again
decided to make a change. He was enticed by stories
that came to him from Indiana to try his fortunes there.

(04:02:46):
So once more the little family pulled up stakes and
moved on to the place selected by the father in
Spencer County, about a mile and a half from Gentryville.
It was a long, toilsome journey through the forest from
the old home in Kentucky to the new one in Indiana.
In some places they had to clear their way through
the tangled thickets as they journeyed along. The stock of

(04:03:08):
provisions they carried with them was supplemented by games snared
or shot in the forest and fish caught in the river.
These they cooked over the wood fire kindled by means
of tinder and flint. The interlaced branches of trees and
the sky made the roof of their bedchamber by night,
and pine twigs their bed When the travelers arrived at
their destination. There was no time for rest after their journey.

(04:03:32):
Some sort of shelter had to be provided at once
for their accommodation. They hastily put up a half faced camp,
a sort of rude tent with an opening on one side.
The framework of the tent was of upright posts, crossed
by thin slabs cut from the trees they felled. The
open side or entrance was covered with pelts or half

(04:03:54):
dressed skins of wild animals. There was no routerer dwelling
in the wilds of Indiana, and no poorer family among
the settlers than the new adventurers from Kentucky. They were
reduced to the most primitive makeshifts in order to eke
out a living. There was no lack of food, however,
for the woods were full of game of all kinds,
both feathered and furred, and the streams and rivers abounded

(04:04:16):
with fish. But the home lacked everything in the way
of comfort or convenience. Abraham, who was then in his
eighth year, has been described as a tall, ungainly, fast growing,
long legged lad clad in the garb of the frontier.
This consisted of a shirt of lindsey woolsey, a coarse
homespun material made of linen and wool, a pair of

(04:04:38):
home made moccasins, deerskin leggings or breeches, and a hunting
shirt of the same material. This costume was completed by
a coonskin cap, the tail of the animal being left
to hang down the wearer's back as an ornament. This
sturdy lad, who was born to a life of unremitting toil,
was already doing a man's work from the time he

(04:04:58):
was four years old away back on the Kentucky farm,
he had contributed his share to the family labors, picking berries,
dropping seeds, and doing other simple tasks suited to his strength.
He had thus early begun his apprenticeship to toil. In
putting up the half faced camp, he was his father's
principal helper. Afterward, when they built a more substantial cabin

(04:05:22):
to take the place of the camp, he learned to
handle an axe, a mall, and a wedge. He helped
to fell trees, fashion logs, split rails, and do other
important work in building the one roomed cabin, which was
to be the permanent home of the family. He assisted
also in making the rough tables and chairs, and the
one rude bedstead or bed frame, which constituted the principal

(04:05:44):
furniture of the cabin. In his childhood, Abraham did not
enjoy the luxury of sleeping on a bedstead. His bed
was simply a heap of dry leaves which occupied a
corner of the loft over the cabin. He climbed to
it every night by a step ladder, or rather or
a number of pegs driven into the wall. Rough and
poor and full of hardship as his life was, Lincoln

(04:06:06):
was by no means a sad or unhappy boy. On
the contrary, he was full of fun and boyish pranks.
His life in the open air, the vigorous exercise of
every muscle which necessity forced upon him, the tonic of
the forests which he breathed from his infancy, his interest
in every living and growing thing about him, all helped
to make him unusually strong, healthy, buoyant, and rich in

(04:06:29):
animal spirits. The first great sorrow of his life came
to him in the death of his dearly loved mother
in eighteen eighteen. The boy mourned for her as few
children mourn, even for the most loving parent. Day after day,
he went from the home, made desolate by her death,
to weep on her grave under the nearby trees. There
were no churches in the Indiana wilderness, and the visits

(04:06:52):
of wandering ministers of religion to the scattered settlements were
few and far between. Little Abraham was grieved that no
funeral sir had been held over his dead mother. He
felt that it was, in some sense a lack of
respect to her. He thought a great deal about the matter,
and finally wrote a letter to a minister named Elkins,
whom the family had known in Kentucky. Several months after

(04:07:15):
the receipt of the letter, Parson Elkins came to Indiana
on the Sabbath morning after his arrival, in the presence
of friends who had come long distances to assist, he
read the funeral service over the grave of Missus Lincoln.
He also spoke in touching words of the tender Christian
mother who lay buried there. This simple service greatly comforted

(04:07:35):
the heart of the lonely boy. Some time after, Thomas
Lincoln brought a new mother to his children from Kentucky.
This was Missus Sally Bush Johnston, a young widow who
had been a girlhood friend of Nancy Hanks. She had
three children, John, Sarah and Matilda Johnston, who accompanied her
to Indiana. The second Missus Lincoln brought a stock of

(04:07:57):
household goods and furniture with her from Kentucky, and with
the help of these, made so many improvements in the
rude log cabin that her step children regarded her as
a sort of magician or wonder worker. She was a
good mother to them, intelligent, kind and loving. He was
ten years old at this time and had been to
school but little. Indeed, he says himself that he only

(04:08:20):
went to school by littles, and that all his schooling
did not amount to more than a year. But he
had learned to read when he was a mere baby
at his mother's knee, and to a boy who loved
knowledge as he did, this furnished the key to a
broad education. His love of reading amounted to a passion.
The books he had accessed to when a boy were

(04:08:40):
very few, but they were good ones, and he knew
them literally from cover to cover. They were the Bible,
Robinson Crusoe, Pilgrim's Progress, A History of the United States,
and Weems's Life of Washington. Some of these were borrowed,
among them the Life of Washington, of which Abraham afterward
became the happy owner. The story of how he became

(04:09:02):
its owner has often been told. The book had been
loaned to him by a neighbor, a well to do
farmer named Crawford. After reading from it laid into the
night by the light of pine knots, Abraham carried it
to his bedroom in the loft. He placed it in
a crack between the logs over his bed of dry leaves,
so that he could reach to it as soon as
the first streaks of dawn penetrated through the chinks in

(04:09:24):
the log cabin. Unfortunately, it rained heavily during the night,
and when he took down the precious volume in the morning,
he found it badly damaged, all sodden and stained by
the rain. He was much distressed and hurried to the
owner of the book as soon as possible to explain
the mishap. I'm real sorry, mister Crawford, he said, in

(04:09:44):
concluding his explanation, and want to fix it up with
you somehow, if you can tell me any way, for
I ain't got the money to pay for it with well,
said mister Crawford, being as it's you, abe, I won't
be hard on you. Come over and shut corn. Three
days and the book's yours. The boy was delighted with
the result of what at first had seemed a great misfortune.

(04:10:08):
Verily his sorrow was turned into joy. What shuck corn
only three days and become owner of the book that
told all about his greatest hero. What an unexpected piece
of good fortune. Lincoln's reading had revealed to him a
world beyond his home in the wilderness. Slowly it dawned
upon him that one day he might find his place

(04:10:29):
in that great world, and he resolved to prepare himself
with all his might for whatever the future might hold.
I don't intend to delve grub, shuck corn, split rails,
and the like always, he told Missus Crawford after he
had finished reading the Life of Washington. I'm going to
fit myself for a profession. Why what do you want

(04:10:50):
to be now, asked Missus Crawford in surprise. Oh I'll
be president, said the boy with a smile. You'd make
a pretty president with all your tricks and jokes, now,
wouldn't you, said Missus Crawford. Oh I'll study and get ready,
was the reply. And then maybe the chance will come.

(04:11:10):
If the life of George Washington, who had all the
advantages of culture and training that his time afforded, was
an inspiration to Lincoln, the poor, hard working backwoods boy,
what should the life of Lincoln be to boys of
to day? Here is a further glimpse of the way
in which he prepared himself to be president of the
United States. The quotation is from Ida M. Tarbell's Life

(04:11:31):
of Lincoln. Every lull in his daily labor he used
for reading, rarely going to his work without a book.
When plowing or cultivating the rough fields of Spencer County,
he found frequently a half hour for reading, for at
the end of every long row, the horse was allowed
to rest, and Lincoln had his book out and was
perched on stump or fence almost as soon as the

(04:11:52):
plow had come to a standstill. One of the few
people left in Gentryville who still remembers Lincoln, Captain John Lamar,
tells to this day of riding to mill with his
father and seeing as they drove along a boy sitting
on the top rail of an old fashioned stake and
rider worm fence, reading so intently that he did not
notice their approach. His father, turning to him, said, John,

(04:12:15):
look at that boy yonder, and mark my words, he
will make a smart man out of himself. I may
not see it, but you'll see if my words don't
come true. That boy was Abraham Lincoln, adds mister Lamar impressively.
Lincoln's father was illiterate and had no sympathy with his
son's efforts to educate himself. Fortunately for him, however, his

(04:12:38):
stepmother helped and encouraged him in every way possible. Shortly
before her death, she said to a biographer of Lincoln,
I induced my husband to permit Abe to read and
study at home as well as at school. At first
he was not easily reconciled to it, but finally he
too seemed willing to encourage him to a certain extent.
Abe was a dutiful son to me all away, and

(04:13:00):
we took particular care when he was reading not to
disturb him. Would let him read on and on till
he quit of his own accord. Lincoln fully appreciated his
stepmother's sympathy and love for him, and returned them in
equal measure. It added greatly to his enjoyment of his
reading and studies to have some one to whom he
could talk about them. And in after life he always
gratefully remembered what his second mother did for him in

(04:13:23):
those early days of toil and effort. If there was
a book to be borrowed anywhere in his neighborhood, he
was sure to hear about it and borrow it if possible.
He said himself that he read through every book he
had ever heard of in that county, for a circuit
of fifty miles, and how he read. Boys who have
books and magazines and papers in abundance in their homes,

(04:13:44):
besides having thousands of volumes to choose from in great
city libraries, can have no idea of what a book
meant to this boy in the wilderness. He devoured every
one that came into his hands, as a man famishing
from hungry devours a crust of bread. He read and
re read it until he had made the contents his own.
From everything he read, says Miss Tarbell. He made long

(04:14:06):
extracts with his turkey buzzard pen and briar root ink.
When he had no paper, he would write on a
board and thus preserve his selections until he secured a
copy book. The wooden fire shovel was his usual slate,
and on its back he ciphered with a charred stick,
shaving it off when it had become too grimy for use.
The logs and boards in his vicinity he covered with

(04:14:28):
his figures and quotations. By night he read and worked
as long as there was light, and he kept a
book in the crack of the logs in his loft
to have it at hand at peep of day when
acting as ferrymen on the Ohio in his nineteenth year,
Anxious no doubt to get through the books of the
house where he boarded before he left the place, he
read every night until midnight. His stepmother said, he read

(04:14:51):
everything he could lay his hands on, and when he
came across a passage that struck him, he would write
it down on boards if he had no paper, and
keep it by him until he could get paper. Then
he would copy it, look at it, commit it to memory,
and repeat it. His thoroughness in mastering everything he undertook
to study was a habit acquired in childhood. How he

(04:15:13):
acquired this habit, he tells himself. Among my earliest recollections,
I remember how when a mere child, He says, I
used to get irritated when anybody talked to me in
a way I could not understand. I do not think
I ever got angry at anything else in my life,
but that always disturbed my temper and has ever since.
I can remember going to my little bedroom after hearing

(04:15:35):
the neighbors talk of an evening with my father, and
spending no small part of the night walking up and
down and trying to make out what was the exact
meaning of some of their to me dark sayings. I
could not sleep, although I tried to when I got
on such a hunt for an idea until I had
caught it, And when I thought I had got it,
I was not satisfied until I had repeated it over
and over, until I had put it in language plain

(04:15:57):
enough as I thought for any boy I knew to comprehend.
This was a kind of passion with me, and it
has stuck by me, for I am never easy now
when I am handling a thought till I have bounded
it north, and bounded it south, and bounded at east
and bounded it west. With all his hard study, reading
and thinking, Lincoln was not a bookworm, nor a dull companion.

(04:16:19):
To the humble, unschooled people among whom his youth was spent.
On the contrary, although he was looked up to as
one whose acquirements in book learning had raised him far
above every one in his neighborhood, he was the most
popular youth in all the country round. No husking, bee,
or house raising, or merry making of any kind was
complete if Abraham was not present. He was witty, ready

(04:16:42):
of speech, a good story teller, and had stored his
memory with a fund of humorous anecdotes, which he always
used to good purpose and with great effect. He had
committed to memory, and could recite all the poetry in
the various school readers used at that time in the
log cabin schoolhouse. He could make rhyme himself, and even
make him prompt his speeches that excited the admiration of

(04:17:04):
his hearers. He was the best wrestler, jumper, runner, and
the strongest of all his young companions. Even when a
mere youth, he could lift as much as three full
grown men. And if you hurt him fell in trees
in a clearin', said his cousin Dennis Hanks, you would
say there was three men at work. By the way
the trees fell, his axe would flash and bite into

(04:17:25):
a sugar tree or sycamore, and down it would come.
His kindness and tenderness of heart were as great as
his strength and agility. He loved all God's creatures, and
cruelty to any of them always aroused his indignation. Only
once did he ever attempt to kill any of the
game in the woods, which the family considered necessary for

(04:17:46):
their subsistence. He refers to this occasion in an autobiography
written by him in the third person in the year
eighteen sixty, A few days before the completion of his
eighth year, he says, in the absence of his father,
a flock of wild turkeys approached the new log cabin,
and Abraham, with a rifle gun standing inside, shot through

(04:18:07):
a crack and killed one of them. He has never
since pulled the trigger on any larger game. Any suffering thing,
whether it was animal, man, woman, or child, was sure
of his sympathy and aid. Although he never touched intoxicating
drinks himself, he pitied those who lost manhood by their use.
One night, on his way home from a husking bee

(04:18:29):
or house raising, he found an unfortunate man lying on
the roadside, overcome with drink. If the man were allowed
to remain there, he would freeze to death. Lincoln raised
him from the ground and carried him a long distance
to the nearest house, where he remained with him during
the night. The man was his firm friend ever after.

(04:18:49):
Women admired him for his courtesy and rough gallantry, as
well as for his strength and kindness of heart, and he,
in his turn, reverenced women as every noble strong man does.
This big bony, tall, awkward young fellow, who at eighteen
measured six feet four was as ready to care for
a baby in the absence of its mother as he

(04:19:10):
was to tell a good story or to fell a tree.
Was it any wonder that he was popular with all
kinds of people. His stepmother says of him, Abe was
a good boy. And I can say what scarcely one
woman a mother can say in a thousand Abe never
gave me a cross word or look, and never refused,
in fact or appearance to do anything I requested him.

(04:19:31):
I never gave him a cross word. In all my life,
his mind and mine, what little I had seemed to
run together. He was here after he was elected president.
He was a dutiful son to me always. I think
he loved me truly. I had a son, John, who
was raised with Abe. Both were good boys. But I

(04:19:53):
must say, both now being dead, that Abe was the
best boy I ever saw, or expect to see. Wherever
he went or whatever he did, he studied men and things,
and gathered knowledge as much by observation as from books
and whatever newspapers or other publications he could get hold of.
He used to go regularly to the leading store in
Gentryville to read a Louisville paper taken by the proprietor

(04:20:17):
of the store, mister Jones. He discussed its contents and
exchanged views with the farmers who made the store their
place of meeting. His love of oratory was great. When
the courts were in session in Boonville, a town fifteen
miles distant from his home, Whenever he could spare a day,
he used to walk there in the morning and back
at night to hear the lawyers argue cases and make speeches.

(04:20:41):
By this time, Abraham himself could make an impromptive speech
on any subject with which he was at all familiar,
good enough to win the applause of the Indiana farmers.
So his boyhood days, rough, hard working days, but not
devoid of fun and recreation. Pasted Abraham did not love
working any more than other country boys of his age,

(04:21:02):
but he never shirked his tasks. Whether it was plowing,
splitting rails, felling trees, doing chores, reaping, freshing, or any
of the multitude of things to be done on a farm,
the work was always well done. Sometimes, to make a diversion,
when he was working as a hired hand, he would
stop to tell some of his funny stories, or to

(04:21:23):
make a stump speech before his fellow workers, who would
all crowd round him to listen. But he would more
than make up for the time thus spent by the
increased energy with which he afterward worked. Doubtless the other laborers, too,
were refreshed and stimulated to greater effort by the recreation
he afforded them and the inspiration of his example. Thomas
Lincoln had learned carpentry and cabinet making in his youth,

(04:21:46):
and taught the rudiments of these trades to his son,
so that, in addition to his skill and efficiency in
all the work that falls to the lot of a
pioneer backwoods farmer, Abraham added the accomplishment of being a
fairly good carpenter. He worked at these trades with his
father whenever the opportunity offered. When he was not working
for his family, he was hired out to the neighboring farmers.

(04:22:07):
His highest wage was twenty five cents a day, which
he always handed over to his father. Lincoln got his
first glimpse of the world beyond Indiana when he worked
for several months as a ferryman and boatman on the
Ohio River at Anderson Creek. He saw the steamers and
vessels of all kinds sailing up and down the Ohio
laden with produce and merchandise on their way to and

(04:22:29):
from western and southern towns. He came in contact with
different kinds of people from different states, and thus his
views of the world and its people became a little
more extended, and his longing to be somebody and to
do something worth while in the world wax stronger daily.
His work as a ferryman showed him that there were
other ways of making a little money than by hiring
out to the neighbors at twenty five cents a day.

(04:22:52):
He resolved to take some of the farm produce to
New Orleans and sell it there. This project led to
the unexpected earning of a dollar, which wh added strength
to his purpose to prepare himself to take the part
of a man in the world outside of Indiana. Let
him tell, in his own words, as he related the
story to mister Seward years afterward, how he earned the dollar. Seward,

(04:23:14):
he said, did you ever hear how I earned my
first dollar? No, said mister Seward. Well replied he I
was about eighteen years of age and belonged, as you know,
to what they called down south of Scrubs. People who
do not own land and slaves are nobodies there. But
we had succeeded in raising, chiefly by my labor, sufficient produce,

(04:23:36):
as I thought to justify me in taking it down
the river to sell. After much persuasion, I had got
the consent of my mother to go, and had constructed
a flatboat large enough to take the few barrels of
things we had gathered to New Orleans. A steamer was
going down the river. We have, you know, no wharves
on the western streams, and the custom was if passengers

(04:23:58):
were at any of the landings, they were to go
out in a boat the steamer, stopping and taking them
on board. I was contemplating my new boat, and wondering
whether I could make it stronger or improve it in
any part, when two men with trunks came down to
the shoring carriages, and looking at the different boats, singled
out mine and asked who owns this? I answered modestly,

(04:24:19):
I do, will you? Said one of them, take us
in our trunks to the steamer. Certainly, said I. I
was very glad to have the chance of earning something,
and supposed that each of them would give me a
couple of bits. The trunks were put in my boat,
The passengers seated themselves on them, and I sculled them
out to the steamer. They got on board, and I

(04:24:41):
lifted the trunks and put them on the deck. The
steamer was about to put on steam again when I
called out, you have forgotten to pay me. Each of
them took from his pocket a silver half dollar and
threw it on the bottom of my boat. I could
scarcely believe my eyes as I picked up the money.
You may think it was a very little thing, and
in these days it seems to me like a trifle,

(04:25:03):
But it was a most important incident in my life.
I could scarcely credit that I, the poor boy, had
earned a dollar in less than a day, that by
honest work I had earned a dollar. I was a
more hopeful and thoughtful boy from that time. In March
eighteen twenty eight, Lincoln was employed by one of the
leading men of Gentryville to take a load of produce

(04:25:25):
down the Mississippi River to New Orleans. For this service,
he was paid eight dollars a month in his rations.
This visit to New Orleans was a great event in
his life. It showed him the life of a busy,
cosmopolitan city, which was a perfect wonderland to him. Everything
he saw aroused his astonishment and interest, and served to

(04:25:45):
educate him for the larger life on which he was
to enter later. The next important event in the history
of the Lincoln family was their removal from Indiana to
Illinois in eighteen thirty. The farm in Indiana had not
prospered as they hoped it would once the removal to
new ground in Illinois, Abraham drove the team of oxen
which carried their household goods from the old home to

(04:26:07):
their new abiding place near Decatur in Macon County. Illinois.
Driving over the muddy ill made roads with a heavily
laden team was hard and slow work, and the journey
occupied a fortnite. When they arrived at their destination. Lincoln
again helped to build a log cabin for the family
home with his stepbrother. He also, as he said himself,

(04:26:28):
made sufficient of rails to fence ten acres of ground
and raised a crop of so corn upon it the
same year. In that same year, eighteen thirty, he reached
his majority. It was time for him to be about
his own business. He had worked patiently and cheerfully since
he was able to hold an axe in his hands
for his own and the family's maintenance. They could now

(04:26:50):
get along without him, and he felt that the time
had come for him to develop himself for larger duties.
He left the log cabin penniless, without even a good
suit of clothes. The first work he did when he
became his own master was to supply this latter deficiency
for a certain missus millet heat split four hundred rails
for every yard of brown jeans dyed with white walnut

(04:27:13):
bark necessary to make a pair of trousers. For nearly
a year he continued to work as a rail splitter
and farm hand. Then he was hired by a mister
Denton Offitt to take a flatboat loaded with goods from
Sangamon Town to New Orleans. So well pleased was mister
Offfitt with the way in which Lincoln executed his commission,
that on his return he engaged him to take charge

(04:27:35):
of a mill and store at New Salem. There, as
in every other place in which he had resided, he
became the popular favorite. His kindness of heart, his good humor,
his skill as a story teller, his strength, his courtesy, manliness,
and honesty were such as to win all hearts. He
would allow no man to use profane language before women.

(04:27:57):
A boorish fellow who insisted on doing so so in
the store on one occasion, in spite of Lincoln's protests,
found this out to his cost. Lincoln had politely requested
him not to use such language before ladies, but the
man persisted in doing so. When the women left the store,
he became violently angry and began to abuse Lincoln. He

(04:28:18):
wanted to pick a quarrel with him. Seeing this, Lincoln said, well,
if you must be whipped, I suppose I may as
well whip you as any other man, and taking the
man out of the store, he gave him a well
merited chastisement. Strange to say, he became Lincoln's friend after this,
and remained so to the end of his life. His
scrupulous honesty one for him in the New Salem community

(04:28:40):
the title of honest abe, a title which is still
affectionately applied to him. On one occasion, having by mistake
overcharged a customer six and a quarter cents, he walked
three miles after the store was closed in order to
restore the customer's money. At another time, in weighing tea
for a woman, he used a quarter pound instead of
a half pound weight. When he went to use the

(04:29:03):
scales again, he discovered his mistake and promptly walked a
long distance to deliver the remainder of the tea. Lincoln's
determination to improve himself continued to be the leading object
of his life. He said once to his fellow clerk
in the store, I have talked with great men, and
I do not see how they differ from others. His
observation had taught him that the great difference in men's

(04:29:25):
positions was not due so much to one having more
talents for being more highly gifted than another, but rather
to the way in which one cultivated his talent or talents,
and another neglected his. Up to this time he had
not made a study of grammar, but he realized that
if he were to speak in public, he must learn
to speak grammatically. He had no grammar and did not
know where to get one. In this dilemma, he consulted

(04:29:49):
the schoolmaster of New Salem, who told him where and
from whom he could borrow a copy of Kirkham's Grammar.
The place named was six miles from New Salem, but
that was nothing to a youth so hungry for an
education as Lincoln. He immediately started for the residence of
the fortunate people who owned a copy of Kirkham's Grammar.
The book was loaned to him without hesitation. In a

(04:30:12):
short time, its contents were mastered the students studying at
night by the light of shavings burned in the village
Cooper's shop. Well, said Lincoln to Green, his fellow clerk,
when he had turned over the last page of the grammar.
If that's what they call a science, I think I'll
go at another. The conquering of one thing after another.
The thorough mastery of whatever he undertook to do made

(04:30:34):
the next thing easier of accomplishment than it would otherwise
have been. In order to practice debating, he used to
walk seven or eight miles to debating clubs. No labor
or trouble seemed too great to him, if by it
he could increase his knowledge or add to his acquirements.
No matter how hard or exhausting his work, whether it
was rail splitting, plowing, lumbering, boating, or store keeping, he

(04:30:57):
studied and read every spare minute, and often until late
at night. But this sketch has already exceeded the limits
of Lincoln's boyhood, for he had reached his twenty second
year while in the store in New Salem. How he
was made captain of a company raised to fight against
the Indians, how he kept store for himself, learned surveying,
was elected a member of the Illinois legislature, studied law,

(04:31:20):
and was admitted to the bar in Springfield. And how
he finally became President of the United States. All this
belongs to a later chapter of his life, Lincoln's rise
from the poorest of log cabins to the White House
to be president of the greatest republic in the world
is one of the most inspiring stories in American biography.
Yet he was not a genius unless a determination to

(04:31:42):
make the most of one's self and to persist in
spite of all hardships, discouragements, and hindrances be genius. He
made himself what he was, one of the noblest, greatest,
and best of men, by sheer dint of hard work
and the cultivation of the talents that had been given him.
No fortunate chances, no influential friends, no rare opportunities, played

(04:32:04):
a part in his life. Alone and unaided. He made,
by the grace of God, the great career which will
forever challenge the admiration of mankind. The marble weighteth the statue,
the marble weights, immaculate and rude. Beside it stands the sculptor,
lost in dreams. With vague, chaotic forms, His vision, teams,

(04:32:28):
fair shapes pursue him only to elude and mock His eager.
Fancy lines of grace and heavenly beauty vanish and behold
out through the Parian luster, pure and cold glares, the
wild horror of a devil's face. The clay is ready
for the modeling the marble wights. How beautiful, how pure,

(04:32:50):
that gleaming substance, and it shall endure when dynasty and empire,
throne and king have crumbled back to dust. Well may
you pause, oh sculptor, artist, And before that mute, unshapen surface,
stand irresolute, awful. Indeed are art's unchanging laws. The thing

(04:33:11):
you fashion out of senseless clay transform to marble, shall
outlive your fame, And when no more is known your
race or name, men shall be moved by what you mold.
To day. We all are sculptors. By each act and
thought we form the model. Time the artisan stands with
his chisel, fashioning the man, and stroke by stroke the

(04:33:33):
masterpiece is wrought. Angel or demon. Choose and do not
err for time, but follows as you shape the mold
and finishes in marble, stern and cold, that statue of
the soul, the character by wordless blessing or by silent curse,
by act and motive. So do you define the image

(04:33:55):
which time copies line by line for the great gallery
of the universe. Ellow Wheeler Wilcox at the gateway of
a new year, emerging from the gay carelessness of childhood.
Stand troops of buoyant, eager eyed youths and maidens, gazing
down the vista of the future with glad expectancy. Fancy
spreads upon her canvas radiant pictures of the joys and

(04:34:17):
triumphs which await them in the unborn years. In their
unclouded springtime, there is no place for the specters of
doubt and fear, which too often overshadow the autumn of life.
In this formative period, the soul is unsoiled by warfare
with the world. It lies like a block of pure, uncut,
perim marble, ready to be fashioned into what its possibilities

(04:34:41):
are limitless. You are the sculptor. An unseen hand places
in yours the mallet and the chisel, and a voice whispers,
the marble weighteth, What will you do with it? In
this same block, the angel and the demon lie sleeping.
Which will you call into life? Those of some sort
you must strike? The marble cannot be left uncut from

(04:35:05):
its crudity. Some shape must be evolved. Shall it be
one of beauty or of deformity? An angel or a devil?
Will you shape it into a statue of beauty? Which
will enchant the world, or will you call out a
hideous image which will demoralize every beholder? What are your
ideals as you stand facing the dawn of this new year,
with the promise and responsibility of the new life on

(04:35:27):
which you have entered awaiting you? Upon them depends the
form which the rough block shall take. Every stroke of
the chisel is guided by the ideal behind the blow.
Look at this easy going, pleasure loving youth who takes
up the mallet and smites the chisel with careless, thoughtless blows.
His mind is filled with images of low, sensual pleasures.

(04:35:49):
The passing enjoyment of the hour is everything to him.
His work, the future nothing he carries in his heart.
Perhaps the bestial motto of the glutton eat and be merry,
for tomorrow we die, or the flippant maxim of the
gay world, ling a short life and a merry one.
The foam of the chalice for me, forgetting that beneath

(04:36:09):
the foam are the bitter drags which be he, ever
so unwilling, he must swallow, not to day, nor yet tomorrow,
perhaps not this year nor next, but sometime, as surely
as the reaping follows the sowing, will the bitter draft
follow the foaming glass of unlawful pleasure. As the years
go by and youth merges into manhood, the sculptor's hand

(04:36:32):
becomes more unsteady. One false blow follows another in rapid succession.
The formless marble takes on distorted outlines. Its whiteness has
long since become spotted. The sculptor, with blurred vision and
shattered nerves, still strikes with aimless hand, carving deep gashes,
adding a crooked line here another there, soiling and marring,

(04:36:54):
until no trace of the virgin purity of the block
of marble which was given him remains. It has become
so grimy, so demoniacally fantastic in its outlines, that the
beholder turns from it with a shudder. Not far off
we see another youth at work on a block of marble,
similar in every detail to the first. The tools with
which he applies his labor differ in no wise from

(04:37:17):
those of the worker we have been following. The Glory
of the morning shines upon the marble, glowing with enthusiasm,
the light of a high purpose illuminating his face. The sculptor,
with steady hand and eye, begins to work out his ideal.
The vision that flits before him is so beautiful that
he almost fears the cutting of his hand will be

(04:37:37):
unequal to fashioning it from the rigid mass before him. Patiently,
he measures each blow of the mallet with infinite care.
He chisels each line in curve, Every stroke is true.
Months stretch into years, and still we find the sculptor
at work. Time has given greater precision to his touch,
and the skill of the youth, strengthened by noble aspers

(04:38:00):
rations and right effort, has become positive genius in the man.
If he has not attained the ideal that haunted him,
he has created a form so beautiful in its clear
cut out lines, so imposing in the majesty of its
purity and strength, that the beholder involuntarily bows before it.
The marble weighteth, what will you do with it?

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TRAINING FOR GREATNESS: Success Stories of Character, Struggle, Purpose & Achievement - Orison Swett Marden (1909)

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.css-14f5ked{margin:0;word-break:break-word;display:-webkit-box;-webkit-box-orient:vertical;box-orient:vertical;-webkit-line-clamp:2;overflow:hidden;}TRAINING FOR GREATNESS: Success Stories of Character, Struggle, Purpose & Achievement - Orison Swett Marden (1909)