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for himself only, he becomes apt to regard other human beings only
in so far as they minister to his ends. Take a leaf from such
men’s ledger and you have their life.
Worldly success, measured by the accumulation of money, is no doubt
a very dazzling thing; and all men are naturally more or less the
admirers of worldly success. But though men of persevering, sharp,
dexterous, and unscrupulous habits, ever on the watch to push
opportunities, may and do “get on” in the world, yet it is quite
possible that they may not possess the slightest elevation of
character, nor a particle of real goodness. He who recognizes no
higher logic than that of the shilling, may become a very rich man,
and yet remain all the while an exceedingly poor creature. For
riches are no proof whatever of moral worth; and their glitter
often serves only to draw attention to the worthlessness of their
possessor, as the light of the glowworm reveals the grub.
The manner in which many allow themselves to be sacrificed to their
love of wealth reminds one of the cupidity of the monkey—that
caricature of our species. In Algiers, the Kabyle peasant attaches
a gourd, well fixed, to a tree, and places within it some rice.
The gourd has an opening merely sufficient to admit the monkey’s
paw. The creature comes to the tree by night, inserts his paw, and
grasps his booty. He tries to draw it back, but it is clenched,
and he has not the wisdom to unclench it. So there he stands till
morning, when he is caught, looking as foolish as may be, though
with the prize in his grasp. The moral of this little story is
capable of a very extensive application in life.
The power of money is on the whole over-estimated. The greatest
things which have been done for the world have not been
accomplished by rich men, nor by subscription lists, but by men
generally of small pecuniary means. Christianity was propagated
over half the world by men of the poorest class; and the greatest
thinkers, discoverers, inventors, and artists, have been men of
moderate wealth, many of them little raised above the condition of
manual labourers in point of worldly circumstances. And it will
always be so. Riches are oftener an impediment than a stimulus to
action; and in many cases they are quite as much a misfortune as a
blessing. The youth who inherits wealth is apt to have life made
too easy for him, and he soon grows sated with it, because he has
nothing left to desire. Having no special object to struggle for,
he finds time hang heavy on his hands; he remains morally and
spiritually asleep; and his position in society is often no higher
than that of a polypus over which the tide floats.
“His only labour is to kill the time,
And labour dire it is, and weary woe.”
Yet the rich man, inspired by a right spirit, will spurn idleness
as unmanly; and if he bethink himself of the responsibilities which
attach to the possession of wealth and property he will feel even a
higher call to work than men of humbler lot. This, however, must
be admitted to be by no means the practice of life. The golden
mean of Agur’s perfect prayer is, perhaps, the best lot of all, did
we but know it: “Give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with
food convenient for me.” The late Joseph Brotherton, M.P., left a
fine motto to be recorded upon his monument in the Peel Park at
Manchester,—the declaration in his case being strictly true: “My
richness consisted not in the greatness of my possessions, but in
the smallness of my wants.” He rose from the humblest station,
that of a factory boy, to an eminent position of usefulness, by the
simple exercise of homely honesty, industry, punctuality, and self-denial. Down to the close of his life, when not attending
Parliament, he did duty as minister in a small chapel in Manchester
to which he was attached; and in all things he made it appear, to
those who knew him in private life, that the glory he sought was
NOT “to be seen of men,” or to excite their praise, but to earn the
consciousness of discharging the every-day duties of life, down to
the smallest and humblest of them, in an honest, upright, truthful,
and loving spirit.
“Respectability,” in its best sense, is good. The respectable man
is one worthy of regard, literally worth turning to look at. But
the respectability that consists in merely keeping up appearances
is not worth looking at in any sense. Far better and more
respectable is the good poor man than the bad rich one—better the
humble silent man than the agreeable well-appointed rogue who keeps
his gig. A well balanced and well-stored mind, a life full of
useful purpose, whatever the position occupied in it may be, is of
far greater importance than average worldly respectability. The
highest object of life we take to be, to form a manly character,
and to work out the best development possible, of body and spirit—
of mind, conscience, heart, and soul. This is the end: all else
ought to be regarded but as the means. Accordingly, that is not
the most successful life in which a man gets the most pleasure, the
most money, the most power or place, honour or fame; but that in
which a man gets the most manhood, and performs the greatest amount
of useful work and of human duty. Money is power after its sort,
it is true; but intelligence, public spirit, and moral virtue, are
powers too, and far nobler ones. “Let others plead for pensions,”
wrote Lord Collingwood to a friend; “I can be rich without money,
by endeavouring to be superior to everything poor. I would have my
services to my country unstained by any interested motive; and old
Scott {27} and I can go on in our cabbage-garden without much
greater expense than formerly.” On another occasion he said, “I
have motives for my conduct which I would not give in exchange for
a hundred pensions.”
The making of a fortune may no doubt enable some people to “enter
society,” as it is called; but to be esteemed there, they must
possess qualities of mind, manners, or heart, else they are merely
rich people, nothing more. There are men “in society” now, as rich
as Croesus, who have no consideration extended towards them, and
elicit no respect. For why? They are but as money-bags: their
only power is in their till. The men of mark in society—the
guides and rulers of opinion—the really successful and useful men-
-are not necessarily rich men; but men of sterling character, of
disciplined experience, and of moral excellence. Even the poor
man, like Thomas Wright, though he possess but little of this
world’s goods, may, in the enjoyment of a cultivated nature, of
opportunities used and not abused, of a life spent to the best of
his means and ability, look down, without the slightest feeling of
envy, upon the person of mere worldly success, the man of money-bags and acres.
“Every person has two educations, one which he receives from
others, and one, more important, which he gives to himself.”—
Gibbon.
“Is there one whom difficulties dishearten—who bends to the storm?
He will do little. Is there one who will conquer? That kind of
man never fails.”—John Hunter.
“The wise and active conquer difficulties,
By daring to attempt them: sloth and folly
Shiver and shrink at sight of toil and danger,
And MAKE the impossibility they fear.”—Rowe.
“The best part of every man’s education,” said Sir Walter Scott,
“is that which he gives to himself.” The late Sir Benjamin Brodie
delighted to remember this saying, and he used to congratulate
himself on the fact that professionally he was self-taught. But
this is necessarily the case with all men who have acquired
distinction in letters, science, or art. The education received at
school or college is but a beginning, and is valuable mainly
inasmuch as it trains the mind and habituates it to continuous
application and study. That which is put into us by others is
always far less ours than that which we acquire by our own diligent
and persevering effort. Knowledge conquered by labour becomes a
possession—a property entirely our own. A greater vividness and
permanency of impression is secured; and facts thus acquired become
registered in the mind in a way that mere imparted information can
never effect. This kind of self-culture also calls forth power and
cultivates strength. The solution of one problem helps the mastery
of another; and thus knowledge is carried into faculty. Our own
active effort is the essential thing; and no facilities, no books,
no teachers, no amount of lessons learnt by rote will enable us to
dispense with it.
The best teachers have been the readiest to recognize the
importance of self-culture, and of stimulating the student to
acquire knowledge by the active exercise of his own faculties.
They have relied more upon TRAINING than upon telling, and sought
to make their pupils themselves active parties to the work in which
they were engaged; thus making teaching something far higher than
the mere passive reception of the scraps and details of knowledge.
This was the spirit in which the great Dr. Arnold worked; he strove
to teach his pupils to rely upon themselves, and develop their
powers by their own active efforts, himself merely guiding,
directing, stimulating, and encouraging them. “I would far
rather,” he said, “send a boy to Van Diemen’s Land, where he must
work for his bread, than send him to Oxford to live in luxury,
without any desire in his mind to avail himself of his advantages.”
“If there be one thing on earth,” he observed on another occasion,
“which is truly admirable, it is to see God’s wisdom blessing an
inferiority of natural powers, when they have been honestly, truly,
and zealously cultivated.” Speaking of a pupil of this character,
he said, “I would stand to that man hat in hand.” Once at Laleham,
when teaching a rather dull boy, Arnold spoke somewhat sharply to
him, on which the pupil looked up in his face and said, “Why do you
speak angrily, sir? INDEED, I am doing the best I can.” Years
afterwards, Arnold used to tell the story to his children, and
added, “I never felt so much in my life—that look and that speech
I have never forgotten.”
From the numerous instances already cited of men of humble station
who have risen to distinction in science and literature, it will be
obvious that labour is by no means incompatible with the highest
intellectual culture. Work in moderation is healthy, as well as
agreeable to the human constitution. Work educates the body, as
study educates the mind; and that is the best state of society in
which there is some work for every man’s leisure, and some leisure
for every man’s work. Even the leisure classes are in a measure
compelled to work, sometimes as a relief from ennui, but in most
cases to gratify an instinct which they cannot resist. Some go
foxhunting in the English counties, others grouse-shooting on the
Scotch hills, while many wander away every summer to climb
mountains in Switzerland. Hence the boating, running, cricketing,
and athletic sports of the public schools, in which our young men
at the same time so healthfully cultivate their strength both of
mind and body. It is said that the Duke of Wellington, when once
looking on at the boys engaged in their sports in the play-ground
at Eton, where he had spent many of his own younger days,
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