Self-Help

I learned that no man in God's wide earth is either willing or able to help any other man.—PESTALOZZI.

I learned that no man on God's wide earth is willing or able to help another man. PESTALOZZI.

What I am I have made myself.—HUMPHRY DAVY.

I made myself who I am. HUMPHRY DAVY.

Be sure, my son, and remember that the best men always make themselves.—PATRICK HENRY.

Be sure to remember, my son, that the best men always make themselves. PATRICK HENRY.

"Colonel Crockett makes room for himself!" exclaimed a backwoods congressman in answer to the exclamation of the White House usher to "Make room for Colonel Crockett!" This remarkable man was not afraid to oppose the head of a great nation. He preferred being right to being president. Though rough, uncultured, and uncouth, Crockett was a man of great courage and determination.

"Colonel Crockett makes room for himself!" exclaimed a backwoods congressman. He was responding to the White House usher, who had called out, "Make room for Colonel Crockett!" This remarkable man was not afraid to oppose the leader of a great nation. He preferred being right to being president. Though rough, uneducated, and awkward, Crockett was a man of great courage and determination.

"Poverty is uncomfortable, as I can testify," said James A. Garfield; "but nine times out of ten the best thing that can happen to a young man is to be tossed overboard and compelled to sink or swim for himself. In all my acquaintance I have never known a man to be drowned who was worth the saving."

"Poverty is uncomfortable, as I can attest," said James A. Garfield. "But nine times out of ten, the best thing for a young man is to be thrown overboard. He must sink or swim on his own. Of all the men I have known, I have never known one worth saving to drown."

Garfield was the youngest member of the House of Representatives when he entered, but he had not been in his seat sixty days before his ability was recognized and his place conceded. He stepped to the front with the confidence of one who belonged there. He succeeded because all the world in concert could not have kept him in the background, and because when once in the front he played his part with an intrepidity and a commanding ease that were but the outward evidences of the immense reserves of energy on which it was in his power to draw.

Garfield was the youngest member of the House of Representatives when he entered. But within sixty days, his ability was recognized and his place was acknowledged. He stepped forward with the confidence of someone who belonged there. He succeeded because all the world acting together could not have kept him in the background. And once at the front, he played his part with courage and a commanding ease. These were outward signs of the immense reserves of energy he could draw on.

"Take the place and attitude which belong to you," says Emerson, "and all men acquiesce. The world must be just. It leaves every man with profound unconcern to set his own rate."

"Take the place and attitude that belong to you," says Emerson, "and everyone will accept them. The world must be fair. It leaves each person to decide their own worth and cares nothing about it."

"A person under the firm persuasion that he can command resources virtually has them," says Livy.

"A person who firmly believes he can command resources virtually has them," says Livy.

Richard Arkwright, the thirteenth child, in a hovel, with no education, no chance, gave his spinning model to the world, and put a scepter in England's right hand such as the queen never wielded.

Richard Arkwright was the thirteenth child, born in a hovel. He had no education and no chance. Yet he gave his spinning model to the world. He put a scepter in England's right hand greater than any the queen ever wielded.

Solario, a wandering gypsy tinker, fell deeply in love with the daughter of the painter Coll' Antonio del Fiore, but was told that no one but a painter as good as the father should wed the maiden. "Will you give me ten years to learn to paint, and so entitle myself to the hand of your daughter?" Consent was given, Coll' Antonio thinking that he would never be troubled further by the gypsy.

Solario, a wandering gypsy tinker, fell deeply in love with the daughter of the painter Coll' Antonio del Fiore. But he was told that only a painter as good as her father could marry her. "Will you give me ten years to learn to paint, so I can earn the right to marry your daughter?" Coll' Antonio agreed, thinking the gypsy would never trouble him again.

About the time that the ten years were to end the king's sister showed Coll' Antonio a Madonna and Child, which the painter extolled in terms of the highest praise. Judge of his surprise on learning that Solario was the artist. His great determination gained him his bride.

As the ten years were drawing to an end, the king's sister showed Coll' Antonio a Madonna and Child. The painter praised it highly. Imagine his surprise when he learned that Solario was the artist. His great determination won him his bride.

Louis Philippe said he was the only sovereign in Europe fit to govern, for he could black his own boots.

Louis Philippe said he was the only ruler in Europe fit to govern because he could polish his own boots.

When asked to name his family coat-of-arms, a self-made President of the United States replied, "A pair of shirtsleeves."

When asked to name his family coat of arms, a self-made U.S. president replied, "A pair of shirtsleeves."

It is not the men who have inherited most, except it be in nobility of soul and purpose, who have risen highest; but rather the men with no "start" who have won fortunes, and have made adverse circumstances a spur to goad them up the steep mount, where

The men who have risen highest are not those who inherited the most, except in nobility of soul and purpose. Instead, they are men who had no "start" but won fortunes. They used adversity to spur themselves up the steep mountain, where

To such men, every possible goal is accessible, and honest ambition has no height that genius or talent may tread, which has not felt the impress of their feet.

For such men, every possible goal is within reach. They have reached every height of honest ambition that genius or talent can reach.

You may leave your millions to your son, but have you really given him anything? You can not transfer the discipline, the experience, the power, which the acquisition has given you; you can not transfer the delight of achieving, the joy felt only in growth, the pride of acquisition, the character which trained habits of accuracy, method, promptness, patience, dispatch, honesty of dealing, politeness of manner have developed. You cannot transfer the skill, sagacity, prudence, foresight, which lie concealed in your wealth. It meant a great deal for you, but means nothing to your heir. In climbing to your fortune, you developed the muscle, stamina, and strength which enabled you to maintain your lofty position, to keep your millions intact. You had the power which comes only from experience, and which alone enables you to stand firm on your dizzy height. Your fortune was experience to you, joy, growth, discipline, and character; to him it will be a temptation, an anxiety, which will probably dwarf him. It was wings to you, it will be a dead weight to him; to you it was education and expansion of your highest powers; to him it may mean inaction, lethargy, indolence, weakness, ignorance. You have taken the priceless spur—necessity—away from him, the spur which has goaded man to nearly all the great achievements in the history of the world.

You may leave your millions to your son, but have you really given him anything? You cannot pass on the discipline, experience, and power you gained by acquiring your wealth. You cannot pass on the delight of achievement, the joy that comes only from growth, or the pride of acquisition. Nor can you pass on the character you developed through habits of accuracy, order, promptness, patience, efficiency, honesty, and politeness. You cannot pass on the skill, wisdom, caution, and foresight hidden in your wealth. Your wealth meant a great deal to you, but it means nothing to your heir. As you climbed toward your fortune, you developed the muscle, stamina, and strength to maintain your lofty position. These qualities helped you keep your millions intact. You had the power that comes only from experience, the power that alone lets you stand firm at such dizzying heights. Your fortune gave you experience, joy, growth, discipline, and character. To your son, it will be a temptation and a source of anxiety that will probably stunt his growth. Your fortune was wings to you, but it will be a dead weight to him. For you, it was an education and an expansion of your highest powers. For him, it may mean inaction, lethargy, laziness, weakness, and ignorance. You have taken away the priceless spur of necessity, which has driven people to nearly all the great achievements in world history.

You thought it a kindness to deprive yourself in order that your son might begin where you left off. You thought to spare him the drudgery, the hardships, the deprivations, the lack of opportunities, the meager education, which you had on the old farm. But you have put a crutch into his hand instead of a staff; you have taken away from him the incentive to self-development, to self-elevation, to self-discipline and self-help, without which no real success, no real happiness, no great character is ever possible. His enthusiasm will evaporate, his energy will be dissipated, his ambition, not being stimulated by the struggle for self-elevation, will gradually die away. If you do everything for your son and fight his battles for him, you will have a weakling on your hands at twenty-one.

You thought it was kind to go without so your son could start where you left off. You wanted to spare him the hard work, hardships, and deprivations you endured on the old farm. You wanted to spare him your lack of opportunities and limited education. But you have given him a crutch instead of a staff. You have taken away his incentive to develop and improve himself, to practice self-discipline, and to help himself. Without these, no real success, no real happiness, and no great character are ever possible. His enthusiasm will fade, and his energy will be wasted. His ambition will gradually die because it is not stimulated by the struggle to improve himself. If you do everything for your son and fight his battles for him, he will be weak at twenty-one.

"My life is a wreck," said the dying Cyrus W. Field, "my fortune gone, my home dishonored. Oh, I was so unkind to Edward when I thought I was being kind. If I had only had firmness enough to compel my boys to earn their living, then they would have known the meaning of money." His table was covered with medals and certificates of honor from many nations, in recognition of his great work for civilization in mooring two continents side by side in thought, of the fame he had won and could never lose. But grief shook the sands of life as he thought only of the son who had brought disgrace upon a name before unsullied; the wounds were sharper than those of a serpent's tooth.

"My life is a wreck," said Cyrus W. Field as he lay dying. "My fortune is gone, and my home is dishonored. Oh, I was so unkind to Edward when I thought I was being kind. If only I had been firm enough to make my boys earn their living. Then they would have known the meaning of money." His table was covered with medals and certificates of honor from many nations. They recognized his great work for civilization in bringing two continents together in thought. They also recognized the fame he had won and could never lose. But grief shook him as his life drew to a close. He thought only of the son who had disgraced a name that had never before been dishonored. The wounds were sharper than those of a serpent's tooth.

During the great financial crisis of 1857 Maria Mitchell, who was visiting England, asked an English lady what became of daughters when no property was left them. "They live on their brothers," was the reply. "But what becomes of the American daughters," asked the English lady, "when there is no money left?" "They earn it," was Miss Mitchell's reply.

During the great financial crisis of 1857, Maria Mitchell was visiting England. She asked an English woman what happened to daughters who inherited no property. "They live on their brothers," the woman replied. "But what happens to American daughters," the English woman asked, "when there is no money left?" "They earn it," Miss Mitchell replied.

Men who have been bolstered up all their lives are seldom good for anything in a crisis. When misfortune comes, they look around for somebody to lean upon. It the prop is not there, down they go. Once down, they are as helpless as capsized turtles, or unhorsed men in armor. Many a frontier boy has succeeded beyond all his expectations simply because all props were early knocked out from under him and he was obliged to stand upon his own feet.

Men who have been supported all their lives are rarely good for anything in a crisis. When misfortune comes, they look for someone to lean on. If no one is there to support them, they fall. Once down, they are as helpless as turtles on their backs or armored men knocked off their horses. Many a frontier boy has succeeded beyond all his expectations. That is simply because all his support was taken away early, and he had to stand on his own feet.

"A man's best friends are his ten fingers," said Robert Collyer, who brought his wife to America in the steerage.

"A man's best friends are his ten fingers," said Robert Collyer. He and his wife traveled to America in steerage.

There is no manhood mill which takes in boys and turns out men. What you call "no chance" may be your only chance. Don't wait for your place to be made for you; make it yourself. Don't wait for somebody to give you a lift; lift yourself. Henry Ward Beecher did not wait for a call to a big church with a large salary. He accepted the first pastorate offered him, in a little town near Cincinnati. He became literally the light of the church, for he trimmed the lamps, kindled the fires, swept the rooms, and rang the bell. His salary was only about $200 a year,—but he knew that a fine church and great salary can not make a great man. It was work and opportunity that he wanted. He felt that if there were anything in him work would bring it out.

There is no factory that takes in boys and turns out men. What you call "no chance" may be your only chance. Don't wait for someone to make a place for you. Make it yourself. Don't wait for someone to give you a lift. Lift yourself. Henry Ward Beecher did not wait for an invitation to lead a big church with a large salary. He accepted the first position as pastor that he was offered, in a small town near Cincinnati. He literally provided light for the church. He trimmed the lamps, lit the fires, swept the rooms, and rang the bell. His salary was only about $200 a year. But he knew that a fine church and a large salary cannot make a great man. He wanted work and opportunity. He felt that if he had anything worthwhile in him, work would bring it out.

When Beethoven was examining the work of Moscheles, he found written at the end, "Finis, with God's help." He wrote under it, "Man, help yourself."

When Beethoven was reviewing Moscheles's work, he found these words at the end: "Finis, with God's help." Beethoven wrote underneath, "Man, help yourself."

A young man stood listlessly watching some anglers on a bridge. He was poor and dejected. At length, approaching a basket filled with fish, he sighed, "If now I had these I would be happy. I could sell them and buy food and lodgings." "I will give you just as many and just as good," said the owner, who chanced to overhear his words, "if you will do me a trifling favor." "And what is that?" asked the other. "Only to tend this line till I come back; I wish to go on a short errand." The proposal was gladly accepted. The old man was gone so long that the young man began to get impatient. Meanwhile the fish snapped greedily at the hook, and he lost all his depression in the excitement of pulling them in. When the owner returned he had caught a large number. Counting out from them as many as were in the basket, and presenting them to the youth, the old fisherman said, "I fulfil my promise from the fish you have caught, to teach you whenever you see others earning what you need to waste no time in foolish wishing, but cast a line for yourself."

A young man stood on a bridge, watching some fishermen without much interest. He was poor and discouraged. At last, he walked up to a basket full of fish and sighed. "If I had these, I would be happy. I could sell them and buy food and a place to stay." The owner happened to overhear him. "I will give you just as many, and just as good," he said, "if you will do me a small favor." "What is it?" the young man asked. "Just watch this fishing line until I come back. I need to run a short errand." The young man gladly agreed. The old man was gone so long that the young man began to grow impatient. Meanwhile, the fish bit eagerly at the hook. The excitement of pulling them in made him forget all his discouragement. By the time the owner returned, he had caught a large number. The old fisherman counted out as many as were in the basket and gave them to the young man. He said, "I am keeping my promise with the fish you caught. Let this teach you not to waste time wishing when you see others earning what you need. Cast a line for yourself instead."

A white squall caught a party of tourists on a lake in Scotland, and threatened to capsize the boat. When it seemed that the crisis had really come, the largest and strongest man in the party, in a state of intense fear, said, "Let us pray." "No, no, my man," shouted the bluff old boatman; "let the little man pray. You take an oar."

A sudden squall caught a group of tourists on a lake in Scotland and threatened to overturn their boat. When disaster seemed imminent, the largest and strongest man in the group was terrified. He said, "Let us pray." "No, no, my man," shouted the blunt old boatman. "Let the little man pray. You take an oar."

The grandest fortunes ever accumulated or possessed on earth were and are the fruit of endeavor that had no capital to begin with save energy, intellect, and the will. From Croesus down to Rockefeller the story is the same, not only in the getting of wealth, but also in the acquirement of eminence; those men have won most who relied most upon themselves.

The greatest fortunes ever amassed or owned began with nothing but energy, intelligence, and determination. From Croesus to Rockefeller, the story is the same, both in gaining wealth and in achieving distinction. Those men who relied most on themselves achieved the most.

"The male inhabitants in the Township of Loaferdom, in the County of Hatework," says a printer's squib, "found themselves laboring under great inconvenience for want of an easily traveled road between Poverty and Independence. They therefore petitioned the Powers that be to levy a tax upon the property of the entire county for the purpose of laying out a macadamized highway, broad and smooth, and all the way down hill to the latter place."

"The men of the Township of Loaferdom, in the County of Hatework," says a printer's joke, "were greatly inconvenienced by the lack of an easy road between Poverty and Independence. So they petitioned the Powers that be to tax all the property in the county. The tax would pay for a broad, smooth, paved highway running downhill all the way to Independence."

"Every one is the artificer of his own fortune," says Sallust.

"Everyone makes their own fortune," says Sallust.

Man is not merely the architect of his own fate, but he must lay the bricks himself. Bayard Taylor, at twenty-three, wrote: "I will become the sculptor of my own mind's statue." His biography shows how often the chisel and hammer were in his hands to shape himself into his ideal.

A person is not just the architect of their own fate. They must also lay the bricks themselves. At twenty-three, Bayard Taylor wrote: "I will become the sculptor of my own mind's statue." His biography shows how often he used the chisel and hammer to shape himself into the person he wanted to be.

Labor is the only legal tender in the world to true success. The gods sell everything for that, nothing without it. You will never find success "marked down." The door to the temple of success is never left open. Every one who enters makes his own door, which closes behind him to all others.

Work is the only currency that buys true success in this world. The gods sell everything for work, and nothing without it. You will never find success "marked down." The door to the temple of success is never left open. Everyone who enters makes a door of their own. It closes behind them, leaving no way in for anyone else.

Circumstances have rarely favored great men. They have fought their way to triumph over the road of difficulty and through all sorts of opposition. A lowly beginning and a humble origin are no bar to a great career. The farmer's boys fill many of the greatest places in legislatures, in business, at the bar, in pulpits, in Congress, to-day. Boys of lowly origin have made many of the greatest discoveries, are presidents of our banks, of our colleges, of our universities. Our poor boys and girls have written many of our greatest books, and have filled the highest places as teachers and journalists. Ask almost any great man in our large cities where he was born, and he will tell you it was on a farm or in a small country village. Nearly all of the great capitalists of the city came from the country.

Circumstances have rarely favored great men. They have fought their way to success through difficulties and all kinds of opposition. A modest start and humble origins are no barrier to a great career. Today, farmers’ sons hold many of the most important positions in legislatures, business, law, the clergy, and Congress. Boys from humble backgrounds have made many of the greatest discoveries. They are presidents of our banks, colleges, and universities. Poor boys and girls have written many of our greatest books. They have also held the highest positions as teachers and journalists. Ask almost any great man in one of our large cities where he was born. He will tell you he was born on a farm or in a small country village. Nearly all the city’s great capitalists came from the country.

Isaac Rich, the founder of Boston University, left Cape Cod for Boston to make his way with a capital of only four dollars. Like Horace Greeley, he could find no opening for a boy; but what of that? He made an opening. He found a board, and made it into an oyster stand on the street corner. He borrowed a wheelbarrow, and went three miles to an oyster smack, bought three bushels of oysters, and wheeled them to his stand. Soon his little savings amounted to $130, and then he bought a horse and cart.

Isaac Rich, the founder of Boston University, left Cape Cod for Boston with only four dollars to make his way. Like Horace Greeley, he could find no opportunity for a boy. But what of that? He created his own opportunity. He found a board and made it into an oyster stand on a street corner. He borrowed a wheelbarrow and went three miles to an oyster boat. There he bought three bushels of oysters and wheeled them to his stand. Soon he had saved $130, and he bought a horse and cart.

Self-help has accomplished about all the great things of the world. How many young men falter, faint, and dally with their purpose because they have no capital to start with, and wait and wait for some good luck to give them a lift! But success is the child of drudgery and perseverance. It cannot be coaxed or bribed; pay the price and it is yours. Where is the boy to-day who has less chance to rise in the world than Elihu Burritt, apprenticed to a blacksmith, in whose shop he had to work at the forge all the daylight, and often by candle-light? Yet, he managed, by studying with a book before him at his meals, carrying it in his pocket that he might utilize every spare moment, and studying at night and holidays, to pick up an excellent education in the odds and ends of time which most boys throw away. While the rich boy and the idler were yawning and stretching and getting their eyes open, young Burritt had seized the opportunity and improved it. At thirty years of age he was master of every important language in Europe and was studying those of Asia. What chance had such a boy for distinction?

Self-help has accomplished nearly all the great things in the world. How many young men lose heart and put off pursuing their goals because they have no money to start with? They wait and wait for some good luck to give them a boost! But success is the child of hard work and perseverance. It cannot be coaxed or bribed. Pay the price, and it is yours. What boy today has less chance to rise in the world than Elihu Burritt had? As a blacksmith’s apprentice, he had to work at the forge all day, and often by candlelight. Yet he managed to get an excellent education in the scraps of time most boys throw away. He studied with a book before him at meals and carried it in his pocket to use every spare moment. He also studied at night and on holidays. While the rich boy and the idler were yawning, stretching, and waking up, young Burritt had seized the opportunity and made the most of it. At thirty, he had mastered every important language in Europe and was studying the languages of Asia. What chance did such a boy have to achieve distinction?

Probably not a single youth will read this book who has not a better opportunity for success. Yet he had a thirst for knowledge and a desire for self-improvement, which overcame every obstacle in his pathway.

Probably every young person who reads this book has a better chance of success than he did. Yet he had a thirst for knowledge and a desire to improve himself that overcame every obstacle in his path.

If the youth of America who are struggling against cruel circumstances to do something and be somebody in the world could only understand that ninety per cent. of what is called genius is merely the result of persistent, determined industry, in most cases of down-right hard work, that it is the slavery to a single idea which has given to many a mediocre talent the reputation of being a genius, they would be inspired with new hope. It is interesting to note that the men who talk most about genius are the men who like to work the least. The lazier the man, the more he will have to say about great things being done by genius.

Young Americans struggle against cruel circumstances to achieve something and become somebody in the world. They would find new hope if they understood what lies behind much of what is called genius. Ninety percent of it is simply the result of persistent, determined effort, and in most cases, downright hard work. An obsessive devotion to a single idea has given many people of ordinary talent a reputation for genius. Interestingly, the men who talk most about genius are the ones who least like to work. The lazier the man, the more he will say that great things are accomplished by genius.

The greatest geniuses have been the greatest workers. Sheridan was considered a genius, but it was found that the "brilliants" and "off-hand sayings" with which he used to dazzle the House of Commons were elaborated, polished and repolished, and put down in his memorandum book ready for any emergency.

The greatest geniuses have been the hardest workers. Sheridan was considered a genius. But the "brilliants" and "off-hand sayings" he used to dazzle the House of Commons were carefully prepared. He polished them again and again and wrote them in his notebook, ready for any occasion.

Genius has been well defined as the infinite capacity for taking pains. If men who have done great things could only reveal to the struggling youth of to-day how much of their reputations was due to downright hard digging and plodding, what an uplift of inspiration and encouragement they would give! How often I have wished that the discouraged, struggling youth could know of the heartaches, the headaches, the nerve-aches, the disheartening trials, the discouraged hours, the fears and despair involved in works which have gained the admiration of the world, but which have taxed the utmost powers of their authors. You can read in a few minutes or a few hours a poem or a book with only pleasure and delight, but the days and months of weary plodding over details and dreary drudgery often required to produce it would stagger belief.

Genius has rightly been defined as an unlimited capacity for hard work. If men who have done great things could tell struggling young people today how much of their reputations came from plain hard work and persistence, what inspiration and encouragement they would give! I have often wished that discouraged young people could know what went into works admired by the world. These works demanded every bit of their creators’ strength. They involved heartaches, headaches, aching nerves, discouraging trials and hours, fear, and despair. You can read a poem or a book in minutes or hours and feel only pleasure and delight. But it would often be hard to believe how many days and months of weary work on details and dull drudgery went into producing it.

The greatest works in literature have been elaborated and elaborated, line by line, paragraph by paragraph, often rewritten a dozen times. The drudgery which literary men have put into the productions which have stood the test of time is almost incredible. Lucretius worked nearly a lifetime on one poem. It completely absorbed his life. It is said that Bryant rewrote "Thanatopsis" a hundred times, and even then was not satisfied with it. John Foster would sometimes linger a week over a single sentence. He would hack, split, prune, pull up by the roots, or practise any other severity on whatever he wrote, till it gained his consent to exist. Chalmers was once asked what Foster was about in London. "Hard at it," he replied, "at the rate of a line a week."

The greatest works of literature have been refined again and again, line by line and paragraph by paragraph. They have often been rewritten a dozen times. The hard work writers have put into works that have stood the test of time is almost incredible. Lucretius worked nearly a lifetime on one poem. It completely absorbed his life. It is said that Bryant rewrote "Thanatopsis" a hundred times, and even then he was not satisfied with it. John Foster would sometimes spend a week on a single sentence. He would hack, split, prune, pull up by the roots, or otherwise deal severely with whatever he wrote. He would keep at it until he agreed to let it exist. Chalmers was once asked what Foster was doing in London. "Hard at it," he replied, "at the rate of a line a week."

Even Lord Bacon, one of the greatest geniuses that ever lived, at his death left large numbers of manuscripts filled with "sudden thoughts set down for use." Hume toiled thirteen hours a day on his "History of England." Lord Eldon astonished the world with his great legal learning, but when he was a student too poor to buy books, he had actually borrowed and copied many hundreds of pages of large law books. Matthew Hale for years studied law sixteen hours a day. Speaking of Fox, some one declared that he wrote "drop by drop." Rousseau says of the labor involved in his smooth and lively style: "My manuscripts, blotted, scratched, interlined, and scarcely legible, attest the trouble they cost me. There is not one of them which I have not been obliged to transcribe four or five times before it went to press.… Some of my periods I have turned or returned in my head for five or six nights before they were fit to be put to paper."

Even Lord Bacon was one of the greatest geniuses who ever lived. When he died, he left many manuscripts filled with "sudden thoughts set down for use." Hume worked thirteen hours a day on his "History of England." Lord Eldon amazed the world with his vast knowledge of the law. But as a student, he was too poor to buy books. He had actually borrowed large law books and copied hundreds of pages from them. Matthew Hale studied law sixteen hours a day for years. Someone said that Fox wrote "drop by drop." Rousseau described the hard work behind his smooth and lively style: "My manuscripts, blotted, scratched out, written over, and barely legible, show how much trouble they cost me. I had to copy every one of them four or five times before it went to press.… I have turned some of my sentences over in my head for five or six nights before they were ready to put on paper."

Beethoven probably surpassed all other musicians in his painstaking fidelity and persistent application. There is scarcely a bar in his music that was not written and rewritten at least a dozen times. His favorite maxim was, "The barriers are not yet erected which can say to aspiring talent and industry 'thus far and no further.'" Gibbon wrote his autobiography nine times, and was in his study every morning, summer and winter, at six o'clock; and yet youth who waste their evenings wonder at the genius which can produce "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," upon which Gibbon worked twenty years. Even Plato, one of the greatest writers that ever lived, wrote the first sentence in his "Republic" nine different ways before he was satisfied with it. Burke wrote the conclusion of his speech at the trial of Hastings sixteen times, and Butler his famous "Analogy" twenty times. It took Vergil seven years to write his Georgics, and twelve years to write the Aeneid. He was so displeased with the latter that he attempted to rise from his deathbed to commit it to the flames.

Beethoven probably surpassed all other musicians in his careful attention to detail and persistent effort. There is hardly a bar in his music that he did not write and rewrite at least a dozen times. His favorite saying was, "No barriers have yet been built that can say to aspiring talent and hard work, 'thus far and no further.'" Gibbon wrote his autobiography nine times. He was in his study every morning at six o'clock, in summer and winter alike. Yet young people who waste their evenings wonder at the genius behind "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire." Gibbon worked on that book for twenty years. Even Plato, one of the greatest writers who ever lived, wrote the first sentence of his "Republic" nine different ways before he was satisfied with it. Burke wrote the conclusion of his speech at the trial of Hastings sixteen times. Butler wrote his famous "Analogy" twenty times. It took Vergil seven years to write his Georgics and twelve years to write the Aeneid. He was so unhappy with the Aeneid that he tried to rise from his deathbed to burn it.

Haydn was very poor; his father was a coachman and he, friendless and lonely, married a servant girl. He was sent away from home to act as errand boy for a music teacher. He absorbed a great deal of information, but he had a hard life of persecution until he became a barber in Vienna. Here he blacked boots for an influential man, who became a friend to him. In 1798 this poor boy's oratorio, "The Creation," came upon the musical world like the rising of a new sun which never set. He was courted by princes and dined with kings and queens; his reputation was made; there was no more barbering, no more poverty. But of his eight hundred compositions, "The Creation" eclipsed them all. He died while Napoleon's guns were bombarding Vienna, some of the shot falling in his garden.

Haydn was very poor. His father was a coachman, and Haydn, friendless and lonely, married a servant girl. He was sent away from home to work as an errand boy for a music teacher. He learned a great deal, but he endured a hard life of persecution until he became a barber in Vienna. There he polished boots for an influential man, who became his friend. In 1798, this poor boy's oratorio, "The Creation," appeared in the musical world like a new sun rising, never to set. Princes sought his company, and he dined with kings and queens. His reputation was established, and he no longer had to work as a barber or live in poverty. Of his eight hundred compositions, however, "The Creation" outshone them all. He died while Napoleon's guns were bombarding Vienna, with some of the shots falling in his garden.

When a man like Lord Cavanagh, without arms or legs, manages to put himself into Parliament, when a man like Francis Joseph Campbell, a blind man, becomes a distinguished mathematician, a musician, and a great philanthropist, we get a hint as to what it means to make the most possible out of ourselves and our opportunities. Perhaps ninety-nine of a hundred under such unfortunate circumstances would be content to remain helpless objects of charity for life. If it is your call to acquire money power instead of brain power, to acquire business power instead of professional power, double your talent just the same, no matter what it may be.

Lord Cavanagh, a man without arms or legs, managed to win a seat in Parliament. Francis Joseph Campbell, a blind man, became a distinguished mathematician, musician, and great philanthropist. Their examples give us a hint of what it means to make the most of ourselves and our opportunities. Perhaps ninety-nine out of a hundred people in such unfortunate circumstances would be content to depend helplessly on charity for life. Your calling may be to gain the power that comes from money rather than knowledge, or from business rather than a profession. Even so, double your talent, whatever it may be.

A glover's apprentice of Glasgow, Scotland, who was too poor to afford even a candle or a fire, and who studied by the light of the shop windows in the streets, and when the shops were closed climbed the lamp-post, holding his book in one hand, and clinging to the lamp-post with the other,—this poor boy, with less chance than almost any boy in America, became the most eminent scholar of Scotland.

A glove maker’s apprentice in Glasgow, Scotland, was too poor to afford even a candle or a fire. He studied by the light of shop windows in the streets. When the shops closed, he climbed a lamp post, holding his book in one hand and clinging to the post with the other. This poor boy had fewer opportunities than almost any boy in America, yet he became Scotland’s most distinguished scholar.

Francis Parkman, half blind, became one of America's greatest historians in spite of everything, because he made himself such. Personal value is a coin of one's own minting; one is taken at the worth he has put into himself. Franklin was but a poor printer's boy, whose highest luxury at one time was only a penny roll, eaten in the streets of Philadelphia.

Francis Parkman was half blind, yet he became one of America's greatest historians despite every obstacle. He became one because he made himself into one. Personal value is a coin you mint yourself. People judge you by the worth you have built in yourself. Franklin was only a poor printer's boy. At one time, his greatest luxury was a penny roll eaten on the streets of Philadelphia.

Michael Faraday was a poor boy, son of a blacksmith, who apprenticed him at the age of thirteen to a bookbinder in London. Michael laid the foundations of his future greatness by making himself familiar with the contents of the books he bound. He remained at night, after others had gone, to read and study the precious volumes. Lord Tenterden was proud to point out to his son the shop where he had shaved for a penny. A French doctor once taunted Fléchier, Bishop of Nismes, who had been a tallow-chandler in his youth, with the meanness of his origin, to which he replied, "If you had been born in the same condition that I was, you would still have been but a maker of candles."

Michael Faraday was a poor boy whose father was a blacksmith. When Michael was thirteen, his father apprenticed him to a bookbinder in London. Michael laid the foundation for his future greatness by learning what was in the books he bound. At night, after the others had gone, he stayed to read and study the precious volumes. Lord Tenterden was proud to show his son the shop where he had once shaved customers for a penny. A French doctor once mocked Fléchier, Bishop of Nismes, for his humble origins. Fléchier had been a candle maker in his youth. He replied, "If you had been born in the same circumstances as I was, you would still be just a candle maker."

Edwin Chadwick, in his report to the British Parliament, stated that children, working on half time (that is, studying three hours a day and working the rest of their time out of doors), really made the greatest intellectual progress during the year. Business men have often accomplished wonders during the busiest lives by simply devoting one, two, three, or four hours daily to study or other literary work.

In his report to the British Parliament, Edwin Chadwick said that children working half time made the greatest intellectual progress over the year. They studied three hours a day and spent the rest of their time working outdoors. Businesspeople have often accomplished wonders even during their busiest years. They did this simply by devoting one, two, three, or four hours a day to study or other literary work.

James Watt received only the rudiments of an education at school, for his attendance was irregular on account of delicate health. He more than made up for all deficiencies, however, by the diligence with which he pursued his studies at home. Alexander V was a beggar; he was "born mud, and died marble." William Herschel, placed at the age of fourteen as a musician in the band of the Hanoverian Guards, devoted all his leisure to philosophical studies. He acquired a large fund of general knowledge, and in astronomy, a science in which he was wholly self-instructed, his discoveries entitle him to rank with the greatest astronomers of all time.

James Watt learned only the basics at school because poor health kept him from attending regularly. But he more than made up for all these gaps by studying diligently at home. Alexander V was a beggar. He was "born mud, and died marble." At fourteen, William Herschel became a musician in the band of the Hanoverian Guards. He devoted all his spare time to philosophical studies. He gained a wide range of general knowledge and taught himself everything he knew about astronomy. His discoveries in that science rank him among the greatest astronomers of all time.

George Washington was the son of a widow, born under the roof of a Westmoreland farmer; almost from infancy his lot had been that of an orphan. No academy had welcomed him to its shade, no college crowned him with its honors; to read, to write, to cipher—these had been his degrees in knowledge. Shakespeare learned little more than reading and writing at school, but by self-culture he made himself the great master among literary men. Burns, too, enjoyed few advantages of education, and his youth was passed in almost abject poverty.

George Washington was the son of a widow and was born in a farmer’s home in Westmoreland. He had lived as an orphan almost from infancy. He never attended an academy or earned honors from a college. His education consisted of reading, writing, and arithmetic. Shakespeare learned little more than reading and writing at school. But through self-education, he became the great master among literary men. Burns, too, had few educational advantages and spent his youth in almost desperate poverty.

James Ferguson, the son of a half-starved peasant, learned to read by listening to the recitations of one of his elder brothers. While a mere boy he discovered several mechanical principles, made models of mills and spinning-wheels, and by means of beads on strings worked out an excellent map of the heavens. Ferguson made remarkable things with a common penknife. How many great men have mounted the hill of knowledge by out-of-the-way paths! Gifford worked his intricate problems with a shoemaker's awl on a bit of leather. Rittenhouse first calculated eclipses on his plow-handle.

James Ferguson was the son of a half-starved peasant. He learned to read by listening to one of his older brothers recite lessons. As a young boy, he discovered several mechanical principles and made models of mills and spinning wheels. He also used beads on strings to make an excellent map of the heavens. Ferguson made remarkable things with an ordinary pocketknife. How many great men have climbed the hill of knowledge by unusual paths! Gifford worked out his complicated problems on a piece of leather with a shoemaker's awl. Rittenhouse first calculated eclipses on the handle of his plow.

Columbus, while leading the life of a sailor, managed to become the most accomplished geographer and astronomer of his time.

While working as a sailor, Columbus became the most accomplished geographer and astronomer of his time.

When Peter the Great, a boy of seventeen, became the absolute ruler of Russia his subjects were little better than savages, and in himself even the passions and propensities of barbarism were so strong that they were frequently exhibited during his whole career. But he determined to transform himself and the Russians into civilized people. He instituted reforms with great energy, and at the age of twenty-six started on a visit to the other countries of Europe for the purpose of learning about their arts and institutions. At Saardam, Holland, he was so impressed with the sights of the great East India dockyard that he apprenticed himself to a shipbuilder, and helped to build the St. Peter, which he promptly purchased. Continuing his travels, after he had learned his trade, he worked in England in paper-mills, saw-mills, rope-yards, watchmakers' shops, and other manufactories, doing the work and receiving the treatment of a common laborer.

When Peter the Great became the absolute ruler of Russia at seventeen, his subjects were little better than savages. His own barbaric passions and tendencies were also strong and often showed themselves throughout his life. But he was determined to make himself and the Russians civilized people. He introduced reforms with great energy. At twenty-six, he set out to visit other European countries and learn about their arts and institutions. In Saardam, Holland, he was deeply impressed by the great East India dockyard. He became a shipbuilder’s apprentice and helped build the St. Peter, which he promptly bought. After learning his trade, he continued his travels. In England, he worked in paper mills, sawmills, rope yards, watchmakers’ shops, and other factories. He did the work of an ordinary laborer and was treated like one.

While traveling, his constant habit was to obtain as much information as he could beforehand with regard to every place he was to visit, and he would demand, "Let me see all." When setting out on his investigations, on such occasions, he carried his tablets in his hand and whatever he deemed worthy of remembrance was carefully noted down. He would often leave his carriage if he saw the country people at work by the wayside as he passed along, and not only enter into conversation with them on agricultural affairs, but also accompany them to their homes, examine their furniture, and take drawings of their implements of husbandry. Thus he obtained much minute and correct knowledge, which he would scarcely have acquired by other means, and which he afterward turned to admirable account in the improvement of his own country.

Whenever he traveled, he made a habit of learning as much as he could beforehand about every place he would visit. He would demand, "Let me see all." When he set out to explore a place, he carried his writing tablets in his hand. He carefully wrote down whatever he thought worth remembering. If he saw country people working by the roadside, he would often leave his carriage. He would talk with them about farming and even go home with them. There he would examine their furniture and draw their farming tools. In this way, he gained detailed, accurate knowledge that he could hardly have acquired otherwise. He later put that knowledge to excellent use in improving his own country.

The ancients said, "Know thyself"; the twentieth century says, "Help thyself." Self-culture gives a second birth to the soul. A liberal education is a true regeneration. When a man is once liberally educated, he will generally remain a man, not shrink to a manikin, nor dwindle to a brute. But if he is not properly educated, if he has merely been crammed and stuffed through college, if he has merely a broken-down memory from trying to hold crammed facts enough to pass the examination, he will continue to shrink, shrivel, and dwindle, often below his original proportions, for he will lose both his confidence and self-respect, as his crammed facts, which never became a part of himself, evaporate from his distended memory.

The ancients said, "Know yourself." The twentieth century says, "Help yourself." Developing yourself gives the soul a second birth. A broad education truly renews a person. Once a man has a broad education, he will generally remain a man. He will not shrink into a miniature man or become a brute. But a man who is not properly educated will continue to shrink and shrivel. He may have simply crammed his way through college. He may have worn out his memory trying to retain enough facts to pass examinations. Such a man will often shrink below what he originally was. As the crammed facts fade from his overloaded memory, he will lose both his confidence and his self-respect. Those facts never became part of him.

Every bit of education or culture is of great advantage in the struggle for existence. The microscope does not create anything new, but it reveals marvels. To educate the eye adds to its magnifying power until it sees beauty where before it saw only ugliness. It reveals a world we never suspected, and finds the greatest beauty even in the commonest things. The eye of an Agassiz could see worlds of which the uneducated eye never dreamed. The cultured hand can do a thousand things the uneducated hand can not do. It becomes graceful, steady of nerve, strong, skilful, indeed it almost seems to think, so animated is it with intelligence. The cultured will can seize, grasp, and hold the possessor, with irresistible power and nerve, to almost superhuman effort. The educated touch can almost perform miracles. The educated taste can achieve wonders almost past belief. What a contrast between the cultured, logical, profound, masterly reason of a Gladstone and that of the hod-carrier who has never developed or educated his reason beyond what is necessary to enable him to mix mortar and carry brick!

Every bit of education or culture is a great advantage in the struggle for existence. A microscope creates nothing new, but it reveals marvels. Training the eye increases its power to see, until it sees beauty where it once saw only ugliness. It reveals a world we never suspected and finds the greatest beauty even in the most ordinary things. Agassiz could see worlds that an uneducated eye never dreamed of. A trained hand can do a thousand things an untrained hand cannot. It becomes graceful, steady, strong, and skillful. It shows so much intelligence that it almost seems to think. A trained will can take hold of a person and drive them to almost superhuman effort, with irresistible power and determination. A trained sense of touch can almost perform miracles. A trained sense of taste can achieve wonders almost beyond belief. What a contrast between the cultured, logical, profound, masterful reasoning of Gladstone and that of the hod-carrier! The hod-carrier has never developed or educated his reason beyond what he needs to mix mortar and carry bricks.

Be careful to avoid that over-intellectual culture which is purchased at the expense of moral vigor. An observant professor of one of our colleges has remarked that "the mind may be so rounded and polished by education, and so well balanced, as not to be energetic in any one faculty. In other men not thus trained, the sense of deficiency and of the sharp, jagged corners of their knowledge leads to efforts to fill up the chasms, rendering them at last far better educated men than the polished, easy-going graduate who has just knowledge enough to prevent consciousness of his ignorance. While all the faculties of the mind should be cultivated, it is yet desirable that it should have two or three rough-hewn features of massive strength. Young men are too apt to forget the great end of life, which is to be and do, not to read and brood over what other men have been and done."

Be careful not to pursue intellectual refinement at the expense of moral strength. An observant professor at one of our colleges has remarked: "Education may make the mind so polished and well balanced that none of its abilities is especially strong. Other men lack this training, but they recognize the gaps and rough edges in their knowledge. This awareness leads them to fill those gaps. In the end, they become far better educated than the polished, easygoing graduate who knows just enough to be unaware of his ignorance. All the mind's abilities should be developed. Yet it is desirable for the mind to have two or three rough but powerful strengths. Young men are too likely to forget the great purpose of life. It is to be and do, not to read and brood over what other men have been and done."

"I repeat that my object is not to give him knowledge, but to teach him how to acquire it at need," said Rousseau.

"I repeat that my goal is not to give him knowledge, but to teach him how to gain it when needed," said Rousseau.

All learning is self-teaching. It is upon the working of the pupil's own mind that his progress in knowledge depends. The great business of the master is to teach the pupil to teach himself.

All learning is self-teaching. A student's progress in knowledge depends on the work of their own mind. A teacher's main job is to teach the student to teach themselves.

"Thinking, not growth, makes manhood," says Isaac Taylor. "Accustom yourself, therefore, to thinking. Set yourself to understand whatever you see or read. To join thinking with reading is one of the first maxims, and one of the easiest operations."

“Thinking, not just growing up, makes a man,” says Isaac Taylor. “So make a habit of thinking. Try to understand everything you see or read. Combining thought with reading is one of the first principles and one of the easiest things to do.”