What Career?

The crowning fortune of a man is to be born to some pursuit which finds him in employment and happiness, whether it be to make baskets, or broadswords, or canals, or statues, or songs.—EMERSON.

A man's greatest fortune is to be born for work that gives him both a livelihood and happiness. That work may be making baskets, broadswords, canals, statues, or songs. EMERSON.

Whatever you are by nature, keep to it; never desert your line of talent. Be what nature intended you for, and you will succeed; be anything else, and you will be ten thousand times worse than nothing.—SYDNEY SMITH.

Whatever your natural talents are, stick with them. Never abandon them. Be what nature intended you to be, and you will succeed. Be anything else, and you will be ten thousand times worse than nothing. SYDNEY SMITH.

"Every man has got a Fort," said Artemus Ward. "It's some men's fort to do one thing, and some other men's fort to do another, while there is numeris shiftless critters goin' round loose whose fort is not to do nothin'.

"Every man has got a forte," said Artemus Ward. "It's some men's forte to do one thing, and some other men's forte to do another. While there are numerous shiftless critters going around loose whose forte is not to do nothing.

"Twice I've endevered to do things which they wasn't my Fort. The first time was when I undertook to lick a owdashus cuss who cut a hole in my tent and krawld threw. Sez I, 'My jentle sir, go out, or I shall fall onto you putty hevy.' Sez he, 'Wade in, Old Wax Figgers,' whereupon I went for him, but he cawt me powerful on the hed and knockt me threw the tent into a cow pastur. He pursood the attack and flung me into a mud puddle. As I aroze and rung out my drencht garmints, I concluded fitin was n't my fort.

"Twice I've endeavored to do things which they wasn't my forte. The first time was when I undertook to lick an audacious cuss who cut a hole in my tent and crawled through. Says I, 'My gentle sir, go out, or I shall fall onto you pretty heavy.' Says he, 'Wade in, Old Wax Figures.' Whereupon I went for him, but he caught me powerful on the head and knocked me through the tent into a cow pasture. He pursued the attack and flung me into a mud puddle. As I arose and wrung out my drenched garments, I concluded fighting wasn't my forte.

"I'le now rize the curtain upon seen 2nd. It is rarely seldum that I seek consolation in the Flowin Bole. But in a certain town in Injianny in the Faul of 18—, my orgin grinder got sick with the fever and died. I never felt so ashamed in my life, and I thought I'd hist in a few swallers of suthin strengthnin. Konsequents was, I histed so much I didn't zackly know whereabouts I was. I turned my livin' wild beasts of Pray loose into the streets, and split all my wax-works.

"I'll now raise the curtain on scene 2. It is rarely seldom that I seek consolation in the flowing bowl. But in a certain town in Indiana in the fall of 18—, my organ grinder got sick with the fever and died. I never felt so ashamed in my life, and I thought I'd hoist in a few swallows of something strengthening. Consequently, I hoisted so much I didn't exactly know whereabouts I was. I turned my living wild beasts of prey loose into the streets, and split all my waxworks.

"I then Bet I cood play hoss. So I hitched myself to a kanawl bote, there bein' two other hosses behind and anuther ahead of me. But the hosses bein' onused to such a arrangemunt, begun to kick and squeal and rair up. Konsequents was, I was kicked vilently in the stummuck and back, and presently, I found myself in the kanawl with the other hosses, kikin and yellin like a tribe of Cusscaroorus savajis. I was rescood, and as I was bein carried to the tavern on a hemlock bored I sed in a feeble voice, 'Boys, playin' hoss isn't my Fort.'

"I then bet I could play horse. So I hitched myself to a canal boat, with two other horses behind me and another ahead. But the horses weren't used to such an arrangement. They began to kick, squeal, and rear up. As a consequence, I was kicked violently in the stomach and back. Presently, I found myself in the canal with the other horses, kicking and yelling like a tribe of Cusscaroorus savajis. I was rescued and carried to the tavern on a hemlock board. As they carried me, I said in a feeble voice, 'Boys, playing horse isn't my forte.'

"Moral: Never don't do nothin' which isn't your Fort, for ef you do you'll find yourself splashin' round in the kanawl, figuratively speakin."

"Moral: Never don't do nothing which isn't your forte, for if you do you'll find yourself splashing around in the canal, figuratively speaking."

The following advertisement, which appeared day after day in a Western paper, did not bring a single reply:—

The following advertisement ran day after day in a Western newspaper, but it did not receive a single reply:

"Wanted.—Situation by a Practical Printer, who is competent to take charge of any department in a printing and publishing house. Would accept a professorship in any of the academies. Has no objection to teach ornamental painting and penmanship, geometry, trigonometry, and many other sciences. Has had some experience as a lay preacher. Would have no objection to form a small class of young ladies and gentlemen to instruct them in the higher branches. To a dentist or chiropodist he would be invaluable; or he would cheerfully accept a position as bass or tenor singer in a choir."

"Wanted: A position for a practical printer who can manage any department in a printing and publishing house. He would accept a professorship at any academy. He would also be willing to teach ornamental painting, penmanship, geometry, trigonometry, and many other sciences. He has some experience as a lay preacher. He would be willing to teach advanced subjects to a small class of young women and men. He would be invaluable to a dentist or foot specialist. Or he would gladly accept a position as a bass or tenor singer in a choir."

At length there appeared this addition to the notice:—

Eventually, this addition appeared on the notice:

"P. S. Will accept an offer to saw and split wood at less than the usual rates." This secured a situation at once, and the advertisement was seen no more.

"P. S. I will saw and split wood for less than the usual rates." This offer secured a job at once, and the advertisement did not appear again.

Your talent is your call. Your legitimate destiny speaks in your character. If you have found your place, your occupation has the consent of every faculty of your being.

Your talent is your calling. Your character reveals the path you are meant to follow. If you have found your place, every part of you approves of your work.

If possible, choose that occupation which focuses the largest amount of your experience and tastes. You will then not only have a congenial vocation, but also will utilize largely your skill and business knowledge, which is your true capital.

If possible, choose work that draws on as much of your experience and interests as possible. You will then have work you enjoy and make full use of your skills and business knowledge. These are your true capital.

Follow your bent. You cannot long fight successfully against your aspirations. Parents, friends, or misfortune may stifle and suppress the longings of the heart, by compelling you to perform unwelcome tasks; but, like a volcano, the inner fire will burst the crusts which confine it and will pour forth its pent-up genius in eloquence, in song, in art, or in some favorite industry. Beware of "a talent which you cannot hope to practice in perfection." Nature hates all botched and half-finished work, and will pronounce her curse upon it.

Follow your natural inclinations. You cannot fight your aspirations successfully for long. Parents, friends, or misfortune may force you to do unwanted work and suppress your deepest desires. But the fire within you is like a volcano. It will break through whatever holds it back and release your pent-up genius in speech, song, art, or some favorite occupation. Beware of "a talent which you cannot hope to practice in perfection." Nature hates all botched and unfinished work and will curse it.

Better be the Napoleon of bootblacks, or the Alexander of chimney-sweeps, let us say with Matthew Arnold, than a shallow-brained attorney who, like necessity, knows no law.

As Matthew Arnold says, it is better to be the Napoleon of shoeshiners or the Alexander of chimney sweeps than a shallow-minded lawyer who, like necessity, knows no law.

Half the world seems to have found uncongenial occupation, as though the human race had been shaken up together and exchanged places in the operation. A servant girl is trying to teach, and a natural teacher is tending store. Good farmers are murdering the law, while Choates and Websters are running down farms, each tortured by the consciousness of unfulfilled destiny. Boys are pining in factories who should be wrestling with Greek and Latin, and hundreds are chafing beneath unnatural loads in college who should be on the farm or before the mast. Artists are spreading "daubs" on canvas who should be whitewashing board fences. Behind counters stand clerks who hate the yard-stick and neglect their work to dream of other occupations. A good shoemaker writes a few verses for the village paper, his friends call him a poet, and the last, with which he is familiar, is abandoned for the pen, which he uses awkwardly. Other shoemakers are cobbling in Congress, while statesmen are pounding shoe-lasts. Laymen are murdering sermons while Beechers and Whitefields are failing as merchants, and people are wondering what can be the cause of empty pews. A boy who is always making something with tools is railroaded through the university and started on the road to inferiority in one of the "three honorable professions." Real surgeons are handling the meat-saw and cleaver, while butchers are amputating human limbs. How fortunate that—

Half the world seems to have found work that doesn't suit them. It is as if the whole human race had been shaken up and everyone had exchanged places. A servant girl is trying to teach, while a natural teacher is working in a store. Good farmers are butchering the law, while Choates and Websters are ruining farms. Each is tortured by the knowledge that their destiny remains unfulfilled. Boys who should be wrestling with Greek and Latin are wasting away in factories. And hundreds are struggling under unnatural burdens in college when they should be on the farm or working aboard ship. Artists are spreading "daubs" on canvas when they should be whitewashing board fences. Clerks stand behind counters, hating the yardstick and neglecting their work to dream of other occupations. A good shoemaker writes a few verses for the village paper, and his friends call him a poet. He abandons the shoemaker's last he knows so well for a pen he handles awkwardly. Other shoemakers are cobbling in Congress, while statesmen are hammering away at shoemakers' lasts. Laymen are butchering sermons while Beechers and Whitefields are failing as merchants. Meanwhile, people wonder why the pews are empty. A boy who is always making things with tools is pushed through university. He is then set on a path to mediocrity in one of the "three honorable professions." Real surgeons are handling the meat saw and cleaver, while butchers are amputating human limbs. How fortunate that...

"He that hath a trade," says Franklin, "hath an estate; and he that hath a calling hath a place of profit and honor. A plowman on his legs is higher than a gentleman on his knees."

"Anyone who has a trade has an estate," says Franklin, "and anyone who has a calling has a place of profit and honor. A plowman standing on his feet is higher than a gentleman on his knees."

A man's business does more to make him than anything else. It hardens his muscles, strengthens his body, quickens his blood, sharpens his mind, corrects his judgment, wakes up his inventive genius, puts his wits to work, starts him on the race of life, arouses his ambition, makes him feel that he is a man and must fill a man's shoes, do a man's work, bear a man's part in life, and show himself a man in that part. No man feels himself a man who is not doing a man's business. A man without employment is not a man. He does not prove by his works that he is a man. A hundred and fifty pounds of bone and muscle do not make a man. A good cranium full of brains is not a man. The bone and muscle and brain must know how to do a man's work, think a man's thoughts, mark out a man's path, and bear a man's weight of character and duty before they constitute a man.

A man's work does more to shape him than anything else. It builds his muscles, strengthens his body, and gets his blood moving. It sharpens his mind, improves his judgment, awakens his inventive genius, and puts his wits to work. It starts him in the race of life and stirs his ambition. It makes him feel that he is a man and must fill a man's shoes. He must do a man's work, bear a man's share of life's burdens, and prove himself a man in doing so. No man feels like a man unless he is doing a man's work. A man without employment is not a man. His actions do not prove that he is a man. A hundred and fifty pounds of bone and muscle do not make a man. A good head full of brains does not make a man either. Bone, muscle, and brain must know how to do a man's work and think a man's thoughts. They must also know how to chart a man's path and bear a man's weight of character and duty. Only then do they make a man.

Go-at-it-iveness is the first requisite for success. Stick-to-it-iveness is the second. Under ordinary circumstances, and with practical common sense to guide him, one who has these requisites will not fail.

Go-at-it-iveness is the first requirement for success. Stick-to-it-iveness is the second. Under ordinary circumstances, anyone with these qualities and the guidance of practical common sense will not fail.

Don't wait for a higher position or a larger salary. Enlarge the position you already occupy; put originality of method into it. Fill it as it never was filled before. Be more prompt, more energetic, more thorough, more polite than your predecessor or fellow workmen. Study your business, devise new modes of operation, be able to give your employer points. The art lies not in giving satisfaction merely, not in simply filling your place, but in doing better than was expected, in surprising your employer; and the reward will be a better place and a larger salary.

Don't wait for a higher position or a bigger salary. Make more of the position you already have. Bring original methods to it. Do the job better than anyone has done it before. Be more prompt, energetic, thorough, and polite than your predecessor or your coworkers. Study your business and develop new ways of doing things. Be ready to offer your employer useful suggestions. The art is not merely to satisfy your employer or simply do your job. It is to do better than expected and surprise your employer. The reward will be a better position and a bigger salary.

When out of work, take the first respectable job that offers, heeding not the disproportion between your faculties and your task. If you put your manhood into your labor, you will soon be given something better to do.

When you are out of work, take the first respectable job offered, even if it falls short of your abilities. If you put your full strength of character into your work, you will soon be given something better to do.

This question of a right aim in life has become exceedingly perplexing in our complicated age. It is not a difficult problem to solve when one is the son of a Zulu or the daughter of a Bedouin. The condition of the savage hardly admits of but one choice; but as one rises higher in the scale of civilization and creeps nearer to the great centers of activity, the difficulty of a correct decision increases with its importance. In proportion as one is hard pressed in competition is it of the sternest necessity for him to choose the right aim, so as to be able to throw the whole of his energy and enthusiasm into the struggle for success. The dissipation of strength or hope is fatal to prosperity even in the most attractive field.

Choosing the right aim in life has become extremely difficult in our complicated age. It is not a difficult problem for the son of a Zulu or the daughter of a Bedouin. The condition of the savage hardly allows more than one choice. But as one rises higher in civilization and moves closer to the great centers of activity, the right decision becomes both more difficult and more important. The more intense the competition, the more essential it is to choose the right aim. Then one can put all one's energy and enthusiasm into the struggle for success. Wasting strength or hope is fatal to prosperity, even in the most attractive field.

Gladstone says there is a limit to the work that can be got out of a human body, or a human brain, and he is a wise man who wastes no energy on pursuits for which he is not fitted.

Gladstone says there is a limit to how much work the human body or brain can do. A wise person wastes no energy on pursuits they are not suited for.

"Blessed is he who has found his work," says Carlyle. "Let him ask no other blessedness. He has a work—a life purpose; he has found it, and will follow it."

“Blessed is the person who has found his work,” says Carlyle. “Let him ask for no other blessing. He has a purpose in life. He has found it and will follow it.”

In choosing an occupation, do not ask yourself how you can make the most money or gain the most notoriety, but choose that work which will call out all your powers and develop your manhood into the greatest strength and symmetry. Not money, not notoriety, not fame even, but power is what you want. Manhood is greater than wealth, grander than fame. Character is greater than any career. Each faculty must be educated, and any deficiency in its training will appear in whatever you do. The hand must be educated to be graceful, steady, and strong. The eye must be educated to be alert, discriminating, and microscopic. The heart must be educated to be tender, sympathetic, and true. The memory must be drilled for years in accuracy, retention, and comprehensiveness. The world does not demand that you be a lawyer, minister, doctor, farmer, scientist, or merchant; it does not dictate what you shall do, but it does require that you be a master in whatever you undertake. If you are a master in your line, the world will applaud you and all doors will fly open to you. But it condemns all botches, abortions, and failures.

When choosing an occupation, do not ask yourself how to make the most money or attract the most attention. Choose work that will bring out all your abilities and develop your manhood to its fullest strength and balance. What you want is not money, attention, or even fame, but power. Manhood is greater than wealth and grander than fame. Character is greater than any career. You must train every ability. Any gap in that training will show in whatever you do. You must train your hand to be graceful, steady, and strong. You must train your eye to be alert, discerning, and able to see the smallest details. You must train your heart to be tender, sympathetic, and true. You must train your memory for years to be accurate, retentive, and comprehensive. The world does not demand that you be a lawyer, minister, doctor, farmer, scientist, or merchant. It does not dictate what you must do. But it does require you to master whatever you undertake. If you are a master in your field, the world will applaud you and all doors will open to you. But it condemns all botched work, malformed efforts, and failures.

"Whoever is well educated to discharge the duty of a man," says Rousseau, "cannot be badly prepared to fill any of those offices that have relation to him. It matters little to me whether my pupils be designed for the army, the pulpit, or the bar. Nature has destined us to the offices of human life antecedent to our destination concerning society. To live is the profession I would teach him. When I have done with him, it is true he will be neither a soldier, a lawyer, nor a divine. Let him first be a man. Fortune may remove him from one rank to another as she pleases; he will be always found in his place."

“Anyone well educated to fulfill the duties of a man,” says Rousseau, “cannot be badly prepared for any role related to them. It matters little to me whether my pupils are intended for the army, the ministry, or the law. Nature has destined us for the duties of human life before any role society assigns us. Living is the profession I want to teach my pupil. When I am done with him, he will not be a soldier, a lawyer, or a minister. Let him first be a man. Fortune may move him from one rank to another as she pleases. He will always be at home in his place.”

In the great race of life common sense has the right of way. Wealth, a diploma, a pedigree, talent, genius, without tact and common sense, cut but a small figure. The incapables and the impracticables, though loaded with diplomas and degrees, are left behind. Not what do you know, or who are you, but what are you, what can you do, is the interrogation of the century.

In the great race of life, common sense has the right of way. Without tact and common sense, wealth, a diploma, family background, talent, and genius count for little. People who are incapable or impractical are left behind, even if they have many diplomas and degrees. The question of the century is not what you know or who you are, but what you are and what you can do.

George Herbert has well said: "What we are is much more to us than what we do." An aim that carries in it the least element of doubt as to its justice or honor or right should be abandoned at once. The art of dishing up the wrong so as to make it look and taste like the right has never been more extensively cultivated than in our day. It is a curious fact that reason will, on pressure, overcome a man's instinct of right. An eminent scientist has said that a man could soon reason himself out of the instinct of decency if he would only take pains and work hard enough. So when a doubtful but attractive future is placed before one, there is a great temptation to juggle with the wrong until it seems the right. Yet any aim that is immoral carries in itself the germ of certain failure, in the real sense of the word—failure that is physical and spiritual.

George Herbert put it well: "What we are matters much more to us than what we do." If you have the slightest doubt that an aim is just, honorable, or right, abandon it at once. The art of dressing up wrong to make it look and taste like right has never been more widely practiced than today. Curiously, reason can, under pressure, overcome a person's instinct for what is right. An eminent scientist said that a man could soon reason himself out of his instinct for decency. He would only have to take pains and work hard enough. So when someone is offered a questionable but attractive future, the temptation to twist wrong into right is great. Yet any immoral aim contains the seed of certain failure, in the true sense of the word. That failure is both physical and spiritual.

There is no doubt that every person has a special adaptation for his own peculiar part in life. A very few—geniuses, we call them—have this marked in an unusual degree, and very early in life.

There is no doubt that every person is especially suited to their own particular role in life. A very few people, whom we call geniuses, show this special ability to an unusual degree, and very early in life.

Madame de Staël was engrossed in political philosophy at an age when other girls are dressing dolls. Mozart, when but four years old, played the clavichord and composed minuets and other pieces still extant. The little Chalmers, with solemn air and earnest gestures, would preach often from a stool in the nursery. Goethe wrote tragedies at twelve, and Grotius published an able philosophical work before he was fifteen. Pope "lisped in numbers." Chatterton wrote good poems at eleven, and Cowley published a volume of poetry in his sixteenth year. Thomas Lawrence and Benjamin West drew likenesses almost as soon as they could walk. Liszt played in public at twelve. Canova made models in clay while a mere child. Bacon exposed the defects of Aristotle's philosophy when but sixteen. Napoleon was at the head of armies when throwing snowballs at Brienne.

Madame de Staël was absorbed in political philosophy at an age when other girls play with dolls. At just four, Mozart played the clavichord and composed minuets and other pieces that still exist. As a little boy, Chalmers often preached from a stool in the nursery, with a solemn expression and earnest gestures. Goethe wrote tragedies at twelve. Grotius published an accomplished philosophical work before he was fifteen. Pope "lisped in numbers." Chatterton wrote good poems at eleven, and Cowley published a volume of poetry at fifteen. Thomas Lawrence and Benjamin West drew portraits almost as soon as they could walk. Liszt played in public at twelve. Canova made clay models when he was just a child. Bacon exposed the flaws in Aristotle's philosophy at only sixteen. Napoleon was leading armies of boys in snowball fights at Brienne.

All these showed their bent while young, and followed it in active life. But precocity is not common, and, except in rare cases, we must discover the bias in our natures, and not wait for the proclivity to make itself manifest. When found, it is worth more to us than a vein of gold.

All these people showed their talents when they were young and followed them in their working lives. But such early signs of talent are uncommon. Except in rare cases, we must discover our natural inclinations rather than wait for them to reveal themselves. Once found, a natural inclination is worth more to us than a vein of gold.

"I do not forbid you to preach," said a Bishop to a young clergyman, "but nature does."

"I don't forbid you to preach," a bishop said to a young clergyman, "but nature does."

Lowell said: "It is the vain endeavor to make ourselves what we are not that has strewn history with so many broken purposes, and lives left in the rough."

Lowell said: "The futile effort to be what we are not has left history littered with broken plans and unfinished lives."

You have not found your place until all your faculties are roused, and your whole nature consents and approves of the work you are doing; not until you are so enthusiastic in it that you take it to bed with you. You may be forced to drudge at uncongenial toil for a time, but emancipate yourself as soon as possible. Carey, the "Consecrated Cobbler," before he went as a missionary said: "My business is to preach the gospel. I cobble shoes to pay expenses."

You have not found your place until all your abilities are awakened and your whole being approves of your work. You must also be so enthusiastic about your work that you take it to bed with you. You may have to do unpleasant, tiresome work for a time, but free yourself as soon as possible. Before Carey, the "Consecrated Cobbler," became a missionary, he said: "My business is to preach the gospel. I cobble shoes to pay expenses."

If your vocation be only a humble one, elevate it with more manhood than others put into it. Put into it brains and heart and energy and economy. Broaden it by originality of methods. Extend it by enterprise and industry. Study it as you would a profession. Learn everything that is to be known about it. Concentrate your faculties upon it, for the greatest achievements are reserved for the man of single aim, in whom no rival powers divide the empire of the soul. Better adorn your own than seek another's place.

If your work is humble, elevate it by bringing more strength of character to it than others do. Bring intelligence, heart, energy, and thrift to it. Broaden it with original methods. Expand it through initiative and hard work. Study it as you would a profession. Learn everything there is to know about it. Focus all your abilities on it. For the greatest achievements are reserved for the man with a single aim, whose soul is not divided by competing powers. It is better to honor your own place than to seek someone else's.

Go to the bottom of your business if you would climb to the top. Nothing is small which concerns your business. Master every detail. This was the secret of A. T. Stewart's and of John Jacob Astor's great success. They knew everything about their business.

Learn your business from the ground up if you want to reach the top. Nothing concerning your business is too small to matter. Master every detail. This was the secret of A. T. Stewart's and John Jacob Astor's great success. They knew everything about their business.

As love is the only excuse for marriage, and the only thing which will carry one safely through the troubles and vexations of married life, so love for an occupation is the only thing which will carry one safely and surely through the troubles which overwhelm ninety-five out of every one hundred who choose the life of a merchant, and very many in every other career.

Love is the only reason to marry. It is also the only thing that can carry someone safely through the troubles and frustrations of married life. In the same way, love for an occupation is the only thing that can carry someone safely and surely through its troubles. These troubles overwhelm ninety-five out of every one hundred people who choose to become merchants, and many people in every other career.

A famous Englishman said to his nephew, "Don't choose medicine, for we have never had a murderer in our family, and the chances are that in your ignorance you may kill a patient; as to the law, no prudent man is willing to risk his life or his fortune to a young lawyer, who has not only no experience, but is generally too conceited to know the risks he incurs for his client, who alone is the loser; therefore, as the mistakes of a clergyman in doctrine or advice to his parishioners cannot be clearly determined in this world, I advise you by all means to enter the church."

A famous Englishman said to his nephew, "Don't choose medicine. We have never had a murderer in our family, and you may kill a patient through ignorance. As for the law, no prudent man is willing to trust his life or fortune to a young lawyer. A young lawyer not only lacks experience but is generally too conceited to understand the risks he takes with his client's interests. The client alone suffers the loss. A clergyman's mistakes in doctrine or advice to his parishioners, however, cannot be clearly judged in this world. Therefore, I strongly advise you to enter the church."

"I felt that I was in the world to do something, and thought I must," said Whittier, thus giving the secret of his great power. It is the man who must enter law, literature, medicine, the ministry, or any other of the overstocked professions, who will succeed. His certain call, that is his love for it, and his fidelity to it, are the imperious factors of his career. If a man enters a profession simply because his grandfather made a great name in it, or his mother wants him to, with no love or adaptability for it, it were far better for him to be a motor-man on an electric car at a dollar and seventy-five cents a day. In the humbler work his intelligence may make him a leader; in the other career he might do as much harm as a bowlder rolled from its place upon a railroad track, a menace to the next express.

"I felt that I was in the world to do something, and thought I had to," said Whittier. In those words, he revealed the secret of his great power. The man who feels compelled to enter law, literature, medicine, the ministry, or any other overcrowded profession will succeed. His sense of calling, his love for the work, and his dedication to it are the driving forces of his career. But a man may enter a profession simply because his grandfather made a great name in it or his mother wants him to. If he has no love or aptitude for the work, he would be far better off driving an electric streetcar for a dollar and seventy-five cents a day. In that humbler work, his intelligence may make him a leader. In the profession, he might do as much harm as a boulder dislodged onto a railroad track, threatening the next express train.

Only a few years ago marriage was the only "sphere" open to girls, and the single woman had to face the disapproval of her friends. Lessing said: "The woman who thinks is like a man who puts on rouge, ridiculous." Not many years have elapsed since the ambitious woman who ventured to study or write would keep a bit of embroidery at hand to throw over her book or manuscript when callers entered. Dr. Gregory said to his daughters: "If you happen to have any learning, keep it a profound secret from the men, who generally look with a jealous and malignant eye on a woman of great parts and a cultivated understanding." Women who wrote books in those days would deny the charge as though a public disgrace.

Only a few years ago, marriage was the only "sphere" open to girls. A single woman had to face her friends' disapproval. Lessing said: "A woman who thinks is like a man who wears rouge, ridiculous." Until recently, an ambitious woman who dared to study or write kept embroidery nearby. When visitors arrived, she would throw it over her book or manuscript. Dr. Gregory told his daughters: "If you have any learning, keep it completely secret from men. They generally look with jealousy and malice on a woman of great ability and a well-trained mind." In those days, women who wrote books would deny it as if it were a public disgrace.

All this has changed, and what a change it is! As Frances Willard said, the greatest discovery of the century is the discovery of woman. We have emancipated her, and are opening countless opportunities for our girls outside of marriage. Formerly only a boy could choose a career; now his sister can do the same. This freedom is one of the greatest glories of the twentieth century. But with freedom comes responsibility, and under these changed conditions every girl should have a definite aim.

All this has changed, and what a change it is! As Frances Willard said, the greatest discovery of the century is the discovery of woman. We have freed women and are opening up countless opportunities for girls outside marriage. In the past, only a boy could choose a career. Now his sister can do the same. This freedom is one of the greatest glories of the twentieth century. But freedom brings responsibility, and in these new circumstances, every girl should have a clear goal.

Dr. Hall says that the world has urgent need of "girls who are mother's right hand; girls who can cuddle the little ones next best to mamma, and smooth out the tangles in the domestic skein when thing's get twisted; girls whom father takes comfort in for something better than beauty, and the big brothers are proud of for something that outranks the ability to dance or shine in society. Next, we want girls of sense,—girls who have a standard of their own, regardless of conventionalities, and are independent enough to live up to it; girls who simply won't wear a trailing dress on the street to gather up microbes and all sorts of defilement; girls who don't wear a high hat to the theater, or lacerate their feet and endanger their health with high heels and corsets; girls who will wear what is pretty and becoming and snap their fingers at the dictates of fashion when fashion is horrid and silly. And we want good girls,—girls who are sweet, right straight out from the heart to the lips; innocent and pure and simple girls, with less knowledge of sin and duplicity and evil-doing at twenty than the pert little schoolgirl of ten has all too often. And we want careful girls and prudent girls, who think enough of the generous father who toils to maintain them in comfort, and of the gentle mother who denies herself much that they may have so many pretty things, to count the cost and draw the line between the essentials and non-essentials; girls who strive to save and not to spend; girls who are unselfish and eager to be a joy and a comfort in the home rather than an expense and a useless burden. We want girls with hearts,—girls who are full of tenderness and sympathy, with tears that flow for other people's ills, and smiles that light outward their own beautiful thoughts. We have lots of clever girls, and brilliant girls, and witty girls. Give us a consignment of jolly girls, warm-hearted and impulsive girls; kind and entertaining to their own folks, and with little desire to shine in the garish world. With a few such girls scattered around, life would freshen up for all of us, as the weather does under the spell of summer showers."

Dr. Hall says the world urgently needs "girls who are their mother's right hand. Girls who can cuddle the little ones almost as well as Mama can. Girls who can sort out problems at home when things get tangled. Girls whose fathers take comfort in them for more than their beauty. Girls whose big brothers are proud of them for more than their ability to dance or shine in society. Next, we want sensible girls. Girls who have standards of their own, regardless of convention, and are independent enough to live by them. Girls who simply refuse to wear long dresses that drag through the streets, gathering germs and all kinds of filth. Girls who don't wear tall hats to the theater, or hurt their feet and risk their health with high heels and corsets. Girls who wear what is pretty and flattering and ignore fashion's demands when fashion is awful and silly. And we want good girls. Girls who are sweet from the heart to the lips. Innocent, pure, and simple girls who, at twenty, know less about sin, dishonesty, and wrongdoing than a cheeky ten-year-old schoolgirl all too often does. And we want careful and prudent girls. Girls who think about their generous father, who works hard to keep them comfortable. Girls who think about their gentle mother, who gives up much so they can have so many pretty things. Girls who care enough about their parents to consider the cost and distinguish between what they need and what they don't. Girls who try to save rather than spend. Girls who are unselfish and eager to bring joy and comfort to their homes, rather than be an expense and a useless burden. We want girls with heart. Girls full of tenderness and sympathy, who shed tears for other people's troubles and whose smiles reveal their own beautiful thoughts. We have lots of clever girls, brilliant girls, and witty girls. Give us a whole batch of cheerful, warm-hearted, impulsive girls. Girls who are kind and entertaining to their own families and have little desire to shine in the flashy world. With a few such girls scattered around, life would feel fresh again for all of us, just as the weather does after summer showers."

"Do that which is assigned you," says Emerson, "and you cannot hope too much or dare too much. There is at this moment for you an utterance brave and grand as that of the colossal chisel of Phidias, or trowel of the Egyptians, or the pen of Moses or Dante, but different from all these."

"Do the work assigned to you," says Emerson, "and you cannot hope or dare too much. Right now, you can express something as brave and grand as the work of Phidias's mighty chisel, the Egyptians' trowel, or the pen of Moses or Dante. But your expression will be different from all of these."

"The best way for a young man to begin, who is without friends or influence," said Russell Sage, "is, first, by getting a position; second, keeping his mouth shut; third, observing; fourth, being faithful; fifth, making his employer think he would be lost in a fog without him; and sixth, being polite."

"The best way for a young man without friends or influence to start is to get a job," said Russell Sage. "Second, he should keep his mouth shut. Third, he should observe. Fourth, he should be faithful. Fifth, he should make his employer think he would be lost in a fog without him. Sixth, he should be polite."

"Close application, integrity, attention to details, discreet advertising," are given as the four steps to success by John Wanamaker, whose motto is, "Do the next thing."

John Wanamaker gives four steps to success: "Hard work, integrity, attention to detail, and careful advertising." His motto is, "Do the next thing."

Whatever you do in life, be greater than your calling. Most people look upon an occupation or calling as a mere expedient for earning a living. What a mean, narrow view to take of what was intended for the great school of life, the great man developer, the character-builder; that which should broaden, deepen, heighten, and round out into symmetry, harmony, and beauty all the God-given faculties within us! How we shrink from the task and evade the lessons which were intended for the unfolding of life's great possibilities into usefulness and power, as the sun unfolds into beauty and fragrance the petals of the flower!

Whatever you do in life, be greater than your occupation. Most people see their work as merely a way to earn a living. What a small, narrow view of something meant to be the great school of life! Work is meant to develop people and build character. It should broaden, deepen, heighten, and bring into balance, harmony, and beauty all our God-given abilities. Yet how we shrink from the task and avoid its lessons! Those lessons were meant to unfold life's great possibilities into usefulness and power, just as the sun unfolds a flower's petals into beauty and fragrance.