Stories from Life
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PREFACE
To make a life, as well as to make a living, is one of the supreme
objects for which we must all struggle. The sooner we realize what
this means, the greater and more worthy will be the life which we
shall make.
In putting together the brief life stories and incidents from
great lives which make up the pages of this little volume, the
writer's object has been to show young people that, no matter how
humble their birth or circumstances, they may make lives that will
be held up as examples to future generations, even as these
stories show how boys, handicapped by poverty and the most
discouraging surroundings, yet succeeded so that they are held up
as models to the boys of to-day.
No boy or girl can learn too early in life the value of time and
the opportunities within reach of the humblest children of the
twentieth century to enable them to make of themselves noble men
and women.
The stories here presented do not claim to be more than mere
outlines of the subjects chosen, enough to show what brave souls
in the past, souls animated by loyalty to God and to their best
selves, were able to accomplish in spite of obstacles of which the
more fortunately born youths of to-day can have no conception.
It should never be forgotten, however, in the strivings of
ambition, that, while every one should endeavor to raise himself
to his highest power and to attain to as exalted and honorable a
position as his abilities entitle him to, his first object should
be to make a noble life.
The author wishes to acknowledge the assistance of Miss Margaret
Connolly in the preparation of this volume.
O.S.M.
CONTENTS
TO-DAY
"THE MILL BOY OF THE SLASHES"
THE GREEK SLAVE WHO WON THE OLIVE CROWN
TURNING POINTS IN THE LIFE OF A HERO:
I. THE FIRST TURNING POINT
II. A BORN LEADER
III. "FARRAGUT IS THE MAN"
HE AIMED HIGH AND HIT THE MARK
THE EVOLUTION OF A VIOLINIST
THE LESSON OF THE TEAKETTLE
HOW THE ART OF PRINTING WAS DISCOVERED
SEA FEVER AND WHAT IT LED TO
GLADSTONE FOUND TIME TO BE KIND
A TRIBUNE OF THE PEOPLE
THE MIGHT OF PATIENCE
THE INSPIRATION OF GAMBETTA
ANDREW JACKSON: THE BOY WHO "NEVER WOULD GIVE UP"
SIR HUMPHRY DAVY'S GREATEST DISCOVERY, MICHAEL FARADAY
THE TRIUMPH OF CANOVA
FRANKLIN'S LESSON ON TIME VALUE
FROM STORE BOY TO MILLIONAIRE
"I WILL PAINT OR DIE!"
THE CALL THAT SPEAKS IN THE BLOOD
WASHINGTON'S YOUTHFUL HEROISM
A COW HIS CAPITAL
THE BOY WHO SAID "I MUST"
THE HIDDEN TREASURE
LOVE TAMED THE LION
"THERE IS ROOM ENOUGH AT THE TOP"
THE UPLIFT OF A SLAVE BOY'S IDEAL
"TO THE FIRST ROBIN"
THE "WIZARD" AS AN EDITOR
HOW GOOD FORTUNE CAME TO PIERRE
"IF I REST, I RUST"
A BOY WHO KNEW NOT FEAR
HOW STANLEY FOUND LIVINGSTONE
THE NESTOR OF AMERICAN JOURNALISTS
THE MAN WITH AN IDEA
"BERNARD OF THE TUILERIES"
HOW THE "LEARNED BLACKSMITH" FOUND TIME
THE LEGEND OF WILLIAM TELL
"WESTWARD HO!"
THREE GREAT AMERICAN SONGS AND THEIR AUTHORS
I. THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER
II. AMERICA
III. THE BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC
TRAINING FOR GREATNESS
THE MARBLE WAITETH
STORIES FROM LIFE
TO-DAY
For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.
Longfellow.
To-day! To-day! It is ours, with all its magic possibilities of
being and doing. Yesterday, with its mistakes, misdeeds, lost
opportunities, and failures, is gone forever. With the morrow we
are not immediately concerned. It is but a promise yet to be
fulfilled. Hidden behind the veil of the future, it may dimly
beckon us, but it is yet a shadowy, unsubstantial vision, one that
we, perhaps, never may realize. But to-day, the Here, the Now,
that dawned upon us with the first hour of the morn, is a reality,
a precious possession upon the right use of which may depend all
our future of happiness and success, or of misery and failure; for
"This day we fashion Destiny, our web of Fate we spin."
Lest he should forget that Time's wings are swift and noiseless,
and so rapidly bear our to-days to the Land of Yesterday, John
Ruskin, philosopher, philanthropist, and tireless worker though he
was, kept constantly before his eyes on his study table a large,
handsome block of chalcedony, on which was graven the single word
"To-day." Every moment of this noble life was enriched by the
right use of each passing moment.
A successful merchant, whose name is well-known throughout our
country, very tersely sums up the means by which true success may
be attained. "It is just this," he says: "Do your best every day,
whatever you have in hand."
This simple rule, if followed in sunshine and in storm, in days of
sadness as well as days of gladness, will rear for the builder a
Palace Beautiful more precious than pearls of great price, more
enduring than time.
"THE MILL BOY OF THE SLASHES"
A picturesque, as well as pathetic figure, was Henry Clay, the
little "Mill Boy of the Slashes," as he rode along on the old
family horse to Mrs. Darricott's mill. Blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked,
and bare-footed, clothed in coarse shirt and trousers, and a
time-worn straw hat, he sat erect on the bare back of the horse,
holding, with firm hand, the rope which did duty as a bridle. In
front of him lay the precious sack, containing the grist which was
to be ground into meal or flour, to feed the hungry mouths of the
seven little boys and girls who, with the widowed mother, made up
the Clay family.
It required a good deal of grist to feed so large a family,
especially when hoecake was the staple food, and it was because of
his frequent trips to the mill, across the swampy region called
the "Slashes," that Henry was dubbed by the neighbors "The Mill
Boy of the Slashes."
The lad was ambitious, however, and, very early in life, made up
his mind that he would win for himself a more imposing title. He
never dreamed of winning world-wide renown as an orator, or of
exchanging his boyish sobriquet for "The Orator of Ashland." But
he who forms high ideals in youth usually far outstrips his first
ambition, and Henry had "hitched his wagon to a star."
This awkward country boy, who was so bashful, and so lacking in
self-confidence that he hardly dared recite before his class in
the log schoolhouse, DETERMINED TO BECOME AN ORATOR.
Henry Clay, the brilliant lawyer and statesman, the American
Demosthenes who could sway multitudes by his matchless oratory,
once said, "In order to succeed a man must have a purpose fixed,
then let his motto be VICTORY OR DEATH." When Henry Clay, the poor
country boy, son of an unknown Baptist minister, made up his mind
to become an orator, he acted on this principle. No discouragement
or obstacle was allowed to swerve him from his purpose. Since the
death of his father, when the boy was but five years old, he had
carried grist to the mill, chopped wood, followed the plow
barefooted, clerked in a country store,--did everything that a
loving son and brother could do to help win a subsistence for the
family.
In the midst of poverty, hard work, and the most pitilessly
unfavorable conditions, the youth clung to his resolve. He learned
what he could at the country schoolhouse, during the time the
duties of the farm permitted him to attend school. He committed
speeches to memory, and recited them aloud, sometimes in the
forest, sometimes while working in the cornfield, and frequently
in a barn with a horse and an ox for his audience.
In his fifteenth year he left the grocery store where he had been
clerking to take a position in the office of the clerk of the High
Court of Chancery. There he became interested in law, and by
reading and study began at once to supplement the scanty education
of his childhood. To such good purpose did he use his
opportunities that in 1797, when only twenty years old, he was
licensed by the judges of the court of appeals to practice law.
When he moved from Richmond to Lexington, Kentucky, the same year
to begin practice for himself, he had no influential friends, no
patrons, and not even the means to pay his board. Referring to
this time years afterward, he said, "I remember how comfortable I
thought I should be if I could make one hundred pounds Virginia
money (less than five hundred dollars) per year; and with what
delight I received the first fifteen-shilling fee."
Contrary to his expectations, the young lawyer had "immediately
rushed into a lucrative practice." At the age of twenty-seven he
was elected to the Kentucky legislature. Two years later he was
sent to the United States Senate to fill out the remainder of the
term of a senator who had withdrawn. In 1811 he was elected to
Congress, and made Speaker of the national House of
Representatives. He was afterward elected to the United States
Senate in the regular way.
Both in Congress and in the Senate Clay always worked for what he
believed to be the best interests of his country. Ambition, which
so often causes men to turn aside from the paths of truth and
honor, had no power to tempt him to do wrong. He was ambitious to
be president, but would not sacrifice any of his convictions for
the sake of being elected. Although he was nominated by his party
three times, he never became president. It was when warned by a
friend that if he persisted in a certain course of political
conduct he would injure his prospects of being elected, that he
made his famous statement, "I would rather be right than be
president."
Clay has been described by one of his biographers as "a brilliant
orator, an honest man, a charming gentleman, an ardent patriot,
and a leader whose popularity was equaled only by that of Andrew
Jackson."
Although born in a state in which wealth and ancient ancestry were
highly rated, he was never ashamed of his birth or poverty. Once
when taunted by the aristocratic John Randolph with his lowly
origin, he proudly exclaimed, "I was born to no proud paternal
estate. I inherited only infancy, ignorance, and indigence."
He was born in Hanover County, Virginia, on April 12, 1777, and
died in Washington, June 29, 1852. With only the humble
inheritance which he claimed--"infancy, ignorance, and indigence"
--Henry Clay made himself a name that wealth and a long line of
ancestry could never bestow.
THE GREEK SLAVE WHO WON THE OLIVE CROWN
The teeming life of the streets has vanished; the voices of the
children have died away into silence; the artisan has dropped his
tools, the artist has laid aside his brush, the sculptor his
chisel. Night has spread her wings over the scene. The queen city
of Greece is wrapped in slumber.
But, in the midst of that hushed life, there is one who sleeps
not, a worshiper at the shrine of art, who feels neither fatigue
nor hardship, and fears not death itself in the pursuit of his
object. With the fire of genius burning in his dark eyes, a youth
works with feverish haste on a group of wondrous beauty.
But why is this master artist at work, in secret, in a cellar
where the sun never shone, the daylight never entered? I will tell
you. Creon, the inspired worker, the son of genius, is a slave,
and the penalty of pursuing his art is death.
When the Athenian law debarring all but freemen from the exercise
of art was enacted, Creon was at work trying to realize in marble
the vision his soul had created. The beautiful group was growing
into life under his magic touch when the cruel edict struck the
chisel from his fingers.
"O ye gods!" groans the stricken youth, "why have ye deserted me,
now, when my task is almost completed? I have thrown my soul, my
very life, into this block of marble, and now--"
Cleone, the beautiful dark-haired sister of the sculptor, felt the
blow as keenly as her brother, to whom she was utterly devoted. "O
immortal Athene! my goddess, my patron, at whose shrine I have
daily laid my offerings, be now my friend, the friend of my
brother!" she prayed.
Then, with the light of a new-born resolve shining in her eyes,
she turned to her brother, saying:--
"The thought of your brain shall live. Let us go to the cellar
beneath our house. It is dark, but I will bring you light and
food, and no one will discover our secret. You can there continue
your work; the gods will be our allies."
It is the golden age of Pericles, the most brilliant epoch of
Grecian art and dramatic literature.
The scene is one of the most memorable that has ever been enacted
within the proud city of Athens.
In the Agora, the public assembly or market place, are gathered
together the wisdom and wit, the genius and beauty, the glory and
power, of all Greece.
Enthroned in regal state sits Pericles, president of the assembly,
soldier, statesman, orator, ruler, and "sole master of Athens." By
his side sits his beautiful partner, the learned and queenly
Aspasia. Phidias, one of the greatest sculptors, if not the
greatest the world has known, who "formed a new style
characterized by sublimity and ideal beauty," is there. Near him
is Sophocles, the greatest of the tragic poets. Yonder we catch a
glimpse of a face and form that offers the most striking contrast
to the manly beauty of the poet, but whose wisdom and virtue have
brought Athens to his feet. It is the "father of philosophy,"
Socrates. With his arm linked in that of the philosopher, we see--
but why prolong the list? All Greece has been bidden to Athens to
view the works of art.
The works of the great masters are there. On every side paintings
and statues, marvelous in detail, exquisite in finish, challenge
the admiration of the crowd and the criticism of the rival artists
and connoisseurs who throng the place. But even in the midst of
masterpieces, one group of statuary so far surpasses all the
others that it rivets the attention of the vast assembly.
"Who is the sculptor of this group?" demands Pericles. Envious
artists look from one to the other with questioning eyes, but the
question remains unanswered. No triumphant sculptor comes forward
to claim the wondrous creation as the work of his brain and hand.
Heralds, in thunder tones, repeat, "Who is the sculptor of this
group?" No one can tell. It is a mystery. Is it the work of the
gods? or--and, with bated breath, the question passes from lip to
lip, "Can it have been fashioned by the hand of a slave?"
Suddenly a disturbance arises at the edge of the crowd. Loud
voices are heard, and anon the trembling tones of a woman. Pushing
their way through the concourse, two officers drag a shrinking
girl, with dark, frightened eyes, to the feet of Pericles. "This
woman," they cry, "knows the sculptor; we are sure of this; but
she will not tell his name."
Neither threats nor pleading can unlock the lips of the brave
girl. Not even when informed that the penalty of her conduct was
death would she divulge her secret. "The law," says Pericles, "is
imperative. Take the maid to the dungeon."
Creon, who, with his sister, had been among the first to find his
way to the Agora that morning, rushed forward, and, flinging
himself at the ruler's feet, cried "O Pericles! forgive and save
the maid. She is my sister. I am the culprit. The group is the
work of my hands, the hands of a slave."
An intense silence fell upon the multitude, and then went up a
mighty shout,--"To the dungeon, to the dungeon with the slave."
"As I live, no!" said Pericles, rising. "Not to the dungeon, but
to my side bring the youth. The highest purpose of the law should
be the development of the beautiful. The gods decide by that group
that there is something higher in Greece than an unjust law. To
the sculptor who fashioned it give the victor's crown."
And then, amid the applause of all the people, Aspasia placed the
crown of olives on the youth's brow, and tenderly kissed the
devoted sister who had been the right hand of genius.
TURNING POINTS IN THE LIFE OF A HERO
I. THE FIRST TURNING POINT
David Farragut was acting as cabin boy to his father, who was on
his way to New Orleans with the infant navy of the United States.
The boy thought he had the qualities that make a man. "I could
swear like an old salt," he says, "could drink as stiff a glass of
grog as if I had doubled Cape Horn, and could smoke like a
locomotive. I was great at cards, and was fond of gambling in
every shape. At the close of dinner one day," he continues, "my
father turned everybody out of the cabin, locked the door, and
said to me, 'David, what do you mean to be?'
"'I mean to follow the sea,' I said.
'"Follow the sea!' exclaimed father, 'yes, be a poor, miserable,
drunken sailor before the mast, kicked and cuffed about the world,
and die in some fever hospital in a foreign clime!'
"'No, father,' I replied, 'I will tread the quarterdeck, and
command as you do.'
"'No, David; no boy ever trod the quarterdeck with such principles
as you have and such habits as you exhibit. You will have to
change your whole course of life if you ever become a man.'
"My father left me and went on deck. I was stunned by the rebuke,
and overwhelmed with mortification. 'A poor, miserable, drunken
sailor before the mast, kicked and cuffed about the world, and die
in some fever hospital!' 'That's my fate, is it? I'll change my
life, and _I_ WILL CHANGE IT AT ONCE. I will never utter another
oath, never drink another drop of intoxicating liquor, never
gamble,' and, as God is my witness," said the admiral, solemnly,
"I have kept these three vows to this hour."
II. A BORN LEADER
The event which proved David Glasgow Farragut's qualities as a
leader happened before he was thirteen.
He was with his adopted father, Captain Porter, on board the
Essex, when war was declared with England in 1812. A number of
prizes were captured by the Essex, and David was ordered by
Captain Porter to take one of the captured vessels, with her
commander as navigator, to Valparaiso. Although inwardly quailing
before the violent-tempered old captain of the prize ship, of
whom, as he afterward confessed, he was really "a little afraid,"
the boy assumed the command with a fearless air.
On giving his first order, that the "main topsail be filled away,"
the trouble began. The old captain, furious at hearing a command
given aboard his vessel by a boy not yet in his teens, replied to
the order, with an oath, that he would shoot any one who dared
touch a rope without his orders. Having delivered this mandate, he
rushed below for his pistols.
The situation was critical. If the young commander hesitated for a
moment, or showed the least sign of submitting to be bullied, his
authority would instantly have fallen from him. Boy as he was,
David realized this, and, calling one of the crew to him,
explained what had taken place, and repeated his order. With a
hearty "Aye, aye, sir!" the sailor flew to the ropes, while the
plucky midshipman called down to the captain that "if he came on
deck with his pistols, he would be thrown overboard."
David's victory was complete. During the remainder of the voyage
none dared dispute his authority. Indeed his coolness and
promptitude had won for him the lasting admiration of the crew.
III. "FARRAGUT IS THE MAN"
The great turning point which placed Farragut at the head of the
American navy was reached in 1861, when Virginia seceded from the
Union, and he had to choose between the cause of the North and
that of the South. He dearly loved his native South, and said,
"God forbid that I should have to raise my hand against her," but
he determined, come what would, to "stick to the flag."
So it came about that when, in order to secure the control of the
Mississippi, the national government resolved upon the capture of
New Orleans, Farragut was chosen to lead the undertaking. Several
officers, noted for their loyalty, good judgment, and daring, were
suggested, but the Secretary of the Navy said, "Farragut is the
man."
The opportunity for which all his previous noble life and
brilliant services had been a preparation came to him when he was
sixty-one years old. The command laid upon him was "the certain
capture of the city of New Orleans." "The department and the
country," so ran his instructions, "require of you success. ... If
successful, you open the way to the sea for the great West, never
again to be closed. The rebellion will be riven in the center, and
the flag, to which you have been so faithful, will recover its
supremacy in every state."
On January 9, 1862, Farragut was appointed to the command of the
western gulf blockading squadron. "On February 2," says the
National Cyclopedia of American Biograph, "he sailed on the steam
sloop Hartford from Hampton Roads, arriving at the appointed
rendezvous, Ship Island, in sixteen days. His fleet, consisting of
six war steamers, sixteen gunboats, twenty-one mortar vessels,
under the command of Commodore David D. Porter, and five supply
ships, was the largest that had ever sailed under the American
flag. Yet the task assigned him, the passing of the forts below
New Orleans, the capture of the city, and the opening of the
Mississippi River through its entire length was one of difficulty
unprecedented in the history of naval warfare."
Danger or death had no terror for the brave sailor. Before setting
out on his hazardous enterprise, he said: "If I die in the
attempt, it will only be what every officer has to expect. He who
dies in doing his duty to his country, and at peace with his God,
has played the drama of life to the best advantage."
The hero did not die. He fought and won the great battle, and thus
executed the command laid upon him,--"the certain capture of the
city of New Orleans." The victory was accomplished with the loss
of but one ship, and 184 men killed and wounded,--"a feat in naval
warfare," says his son and biographer, "which has no precedent,
and which is still without a parallel, except the one furnished by
Farragut himself, two years later, at Mobile."
HE AIMED HIGH AND HIT THE MARK
"Without vision the people perish"
Without a high ideal an individual never climbs. Keep your eyes on
the mountain top, and, though you may stumble and fall many times
in the ascent, though great bowlders, dense forests, and roaring
torrents may often bar the way, look right on, never losing sight
of the light which shines away up in the clear atmosphere of the
mountain peak, and you will ultimately reach your goal.
When the late Horace Maynard, LL.D., entered Amherst College, he
exposed himself to the ridicule and jibing questions of his
fellow-students by placing over the door of his room a large
square of white cardboard on which was inscribed in bold outlines
the single letter "V." Disregarding comment and question, the
young man applied himself to his work, ever keeping in mind the
height to which he wished to climb, the first step toward which
was signified by the mysterious "V."
Four years later, after receiving the compliments of professors
and students on the way he had acquitted himself as valedictorian
of his class, young Maynard called the attention of his fellow-
graduates to the letter over his door. Then a light broke in upon
them, and they cried out, "Is it possible that you had the
valedictory in mind when you put that 'V' over your door?"
"Assuredly I had," was the emphatic reply.
On he climbed, from height to height, becoming successively
professor of mathematics in the University of Tennessee, lawyer,
member of Congress, attorney-general of Tennessee, United States
minister to Constantinople, and, finally, postmaster-general.
Honorable ambition is the leaven that raises the whole mass of
mankind. Ideals, visions, are the stepping-stones by which we rise
to higher things.
"Still, through our paltry stir and strife,
Glows down the wished ideal,
And longing molds in clay what life
Carves in the marble real;
"To let the new life in, we know,
Desire must ope the portal,--
Perhaps the longing to be so
Helps make the soul immortal."
THE EVOLUTION OF A VIOLINIST
He was a famous artist whom kings and queens and emperors
delighted to honor. The emperor of all the Russias had sent him an
affectionate letter, written by his own hand; the empress, a
magnificent emerald ring set with diamonds; the king of his own
beloved Norway, who had listened reverently, standing with
uncovered head, while he, the king of violinists, played before
him, had bestowed upon him the Order of Vasa; the king of
Copenhagen presented him with a gold snuffbox, encrusted with
diamonds; while, at a public dinner given him by the students of
Christiana, he was crowned with a laurel wreath. Not all the
thousands who thronged to hear him in London could gain entrance
to the concert hall, and in Liverpool he received four thousand
dollars for one evening's performance.
Yet the homage of the great ones of the earth, the princely gifts
bestowed upon him, the admiration of the thousands who hung
entranced on every note breathed by his magic violin, gave less
delight than the boy of fourteen experienced when he received from
an old man, whose heart his playing had gladdened, the present of
four pairs of doves, with a card suspended by a blue ribbon round
the neck of one, bearing his own name, "Ole Bull."