aim. The bread-and-butter side of life is important, but not the most important, and no one who is ambitious to get up, as well as on, can afford to make it the exclusive aim of his existence. It is a good thing, a desirable and praiseworthy thing, to be great in one's specialty, but an infinitely greater thing is to be a man, to have the confidence of one's fellow-men, to be loved, esteemed, respected.

The world wants men who are well balanced, who are not cursed with some inherent defect or moral weakness which cripples their usefulness and neutralizes all their power. While specialists are in demand, there is little hope for men who are one-sided in their development, and who have sent all the energies of their being into one narrow twig, so that all the other branches of their lives have withered and died. Men who do not take half views of things—men of completeness, and of large comprehensive ability,—are needed everywhere.

In the material universe we behold steadfast order and beauty as the result of equilibrium between opposing forces. The balance of forces which in equilibrium give us the noblest type of manhood is sometimes seriously disturbed by lack of practical wisdom, which, as Arthur Helps says, "acts in the mind as gravitation does in the material world, combining, keeping things in their places, and maintaining a mutual dependence

amongst the various parts of the system." A thousand biographies of men who have had their share of fame carry the lesson embodied in Emerson's declaration that practical wisdom or plain common sense is the basis of genius, and in Young's forcible remark, that, "with the talents of an angel a man may be a fool."

The world wants men of common sense,—those who will not let a college education spoil them for a practical everyday life. It wants men who are educated all over, whose hands are deft, whose eyes are alert and microscopic, and whose brains are keen and well developed. Every employer is looking for such employees. The whole world is looking for men who can do things.

Yet with all the demand for young men of force, energy, and purpose, young men symmetrically developed, trained to do some particular thing; with managers and superintendents of great institutions everywhere hunting for good people to fill all sorts of positions, and on all sides people asking where to find a good workman, a polite and efficient clerk, an honest cashier, a stenographer who can spell and punctuate, and is generally well informed; with thousands always out of employment; with hundreds of applicants for every vacant place, why is it we are told that never before was it so hard to get a good employee for almost any position as today?

They who make up the army of the unemployed,

haunting intelligence offices, tramping about from store to store, from office to factory, wondering why others succeed when they fail, why others get the positions when they are denied, probably in nine cases out of ten are afraid of hard work, or are deficient in education or training, or have some other defect which bars them out.

The fatal defect in most cases is that these supposed men, who expected to fill men's places in the world, are in reality not men enough to fill the places. They are not men in the sense of possessing in a high degree the distinctive qualities of true manhood.

Herodotus long ago said that human creatures were very plentiful, but men very scarce. In our own day, Thomas Carlyle, the "sage of Chelsea," described the population of his country as consisting of so many millions, "mostly fools."

While we may disagree with the ancient historian and the modern philosopher, it cannot be denied that manly men, who are also efficient, educated, trained, practical, men of common sense, are sadly in the minority. Besides the out-and-out incompetents, there is a large class of men who impress us as immense possibilities. They seem to have a sweep of intellect that is grand; a penetrative power that is phenomenal; they seem to know everything, to have read everything, to have seen everything. Nothing seems to escape the keenness of their vision. But somehow they are

forever disappointing our expectations. They raise great hopes only to dash them. They are men of great promise, but they never pay. There is some indefinable lack in their make-up. They are not fitted for the common duties of life. And what we need in every rank of society is men who can fulfill, not some, but all the offices of a man.

Rousseau said, "Whoever is well educated to discharge the duty of a man cannot be badly prepared to fill any of those offices that have a relation to him. It matters little to me whether my pupil be designed for the army, the pulpit, or the bar. 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."

First be a man, and then, no matter what your vocation, your real worth will make itself felt. If you are not a man, no training, no culture, no tricks of manner can conceal the truth. You never can hide that.

A little boy, standing on a scales, and being very anxious to outweigh his playmate, puffed out his cheeks, and swelled up like a little frog. "Oho!" cried the playmate in scorn, "that doesn't do any good; you can only weigh what you are!"

"You can only weigh what you are," in all the weighing of life. You may sometimes impose

upon your neighbor's judgment, you may deceive others for a short time, but never can you belie the estimate of the All-seeing.

The man who would be a man must be true through and through.

What this means in the common walks of life, amid the temptations that test a man's caliber, was splendidly illustrated by Admiral Dewey's son at the outset of his career. The young man, who had just entered business in a New York house at a salary of twenty dollars a month, beginning at the bottom, at his father's request, was offered a position upon the editorial staff of a paper whose unscrupulous editor saw an opportunity to use the son of the famous admiral, fresh from his victory at Manila, for advertising purposes. "You need write no articles, nor do any reporting," said the editor; "just sign your name to an article every day and I will pay you two hundred dollars a month." But the son of the Manila hero was worthy of his father, and positively refused to lend his name to any such dishonesty. He preferred hard work at twenty dollars a month to no work and a big salary gained by smirching his manhood by being false to himself.

From his earliest childhood the dignity and importance of the great office he is destined to fill is instilled into the heir apparent to every royal throne. The young crown prince is reared and educated with this object constantly in view. He