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It would be foolish to begin digging a tunnel through a mountain with a mere pick and spade. We must assemble for the task great mechanical contrivances. And so with our energies of will; a slight tool means a slight achievement; a huge, aggressive engine, driving on at full blast, means corresponding bigness of results.

How do

JOW do you tackle your work each day?
Are you scared of the job you find?
Do you grapple the task that comes your way
With a confident, easy mind?

Do you stand right up to the work ahead
Or fearfully pause to view it?

Do you start to toil with a sense of dread
Or feel that you're going to do it?

You can do as much as you think you can,
But you'll never accomplish more;
If you're afraid of yourself, young man,
There's little for you in store.

For failure comes from the inside first,
It's there if we only knew it,

And you can win, though you face the worst,
If you feel that you're going to do it.

Success! It's found in the soul of you,
And not in the realm of luck!

The world will furnish the work to do,
But you must provide the pluck.
You can do whatever you think you can,
It's all in the way you view it.

It's all in the start you make, young man:
You mus feel that you're going to do it

How do you tackle your work each day?
With confidence clear, or dread?
What to yourself do you stop and say
When a new task lies ahead?

What is the thought that is in your mind?
Is fear ever running through it?
If so, just tackle the next you find
By thinking you're going to do it.

From "A Heap o' Livin',"

The Reilly & Lee Co.

Edgar A. Guest.


The world does not always distinguish between appearance and true merit. Pretence often gets the plaudits, but desert is above them-it has rewards of its own.

O matter whence you came, from a palace or a ditch,
You're a man, man, man, if you square yourself to


And no matter what they say, hermit-poor or Midas-rich, You are nothing but a husk if you sidestep strife.

For it's do, do, do, with a purpose all your own,
That makes a man a man, whether born a serf or king;
And it's loaf, loaf, loaf, lolling on a bench or throne
That makes a being thewed to act a limp and useless thing!

No matter what you do, miracles or fruitless deeds, You're a man, man, man, if you do them with a will; And no matter how you loaf, cursing wealth or mumbling creeds,

You are nothing but a noise, and its weight is nil.

For it's be, be, be, champion of your heart and soul, That makes a man a man, whether reared in silk or rags; And it's talk, talk, talk, from a tattered shirt or stole, That makes the image of a god a manikin that brags. Richard Butler Glaenzer

Permission of

Richard Butler Glaenzer.
From "Munsey's Magazine."


A member of Parliament, having succeeded notably in his maiden effort at speech-making, remained silent through the rest of his career lest he should not duplicate his triumph. This course was stupid; in time the address which had brought him fame became a theme for disparagement and mockery. A man cannot rest upon his laurels, else he will soon lack the laurels to rest on. If he has true ability, he must from time to time show it, instead of asking us to recall what he did in the past. There is a natural instinct which makes the whole world kin. It is distrust of a mere reputation. It is a hankering to be shown. Unless the evidence to set us right is forthcoming, we will praise dust which is gilded over rather than gold which is dusty from disuse.

IME hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,

A great-sized monster of ingratitudes:
Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devoured
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon

As done: perséverance, dear my lord,

Keeps honor bright: to have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail

In monumental mockery. Take the instant way;
For honor travels in a strait so narrow

Where one but goes abreast: keep, then, the path;
For emulation hath a thousand sons

That one by one pursue: if you give way,

Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,
Like to an entered tide they all rush by

And leave you hindmost;

Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank,

Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,

O'errun and trampled on: then what they do in present,
Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours;
For time is like a fashionable host,

That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand,
And with his arms outstretched, as he would fly,
Grasps in the comer; welcome ever smiles,

And farewell goes out sighing. O let not virtue seek
Remuneration for the thing it was; for beauty, wit,
High birth, vigor of bone, desert in service,
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
To envious and calumniating time.

One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,
That all with one consent praise new-born gawds,
Though they are made and moulded of things past,
And give to dust that is a little gilt

More laud than gilt o'er-dusted.

The present eye praises the present object,
Since things in motion sooner catch the eye
Than what not stirs.


William Shakespeare.

Faith is not a passive thing-mere believing or waiting. It is an active thing-a positive striving and achievement, even if conditions be untoward.

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What is opportunity? To the brilliant mind of Senator Ingalls it is a stupendous piece of luck. It comes once and once only to every human being, wise or foolish, good or wicked. If it be not perceived on the instant, it passes by forever. No longing for it, no effort, can bring it back. Notice that this view is fatalistic; it makes opportunity an external thing-one that enriches men or leaves their lives empty without much regard to what they deserve.

MASTER of human destinies am I!

Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps

Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate
Deserts and seas remote, and passing by
Hovel and mart and palace-soon or late
I knock, unbidden, once at every gate!
If sleeping, wake-if feasting, rise before
I turn away. It is the hour of fate,
And they who follow me reach every state
Mortals desire, and conquer every foe
Save death; but those who doubt or hesitate,
Condemned to failure, penury, and woe,
Seek me in vain and uselessly implore.
I answer not, and I return no more!

John James Ingalls.


HERE is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to forture;

Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat;

And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.

William Shakespeare.

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