n," and they come down to our present day; to
Bismarck, who, while so brilliant as a young man that he attracted the
attention of Europe, was not great till he was past forty-five; to
Disraeli, who, though so dazzling in his youth and early prime that
he astounded Parliament and filled the press with comment, was not
constructive or permanent in his success till comparatively late in
life.

Think, too, of those historic successes of which there was not the
faintest sign until far past middle life--they are not many, to be
sure, but they are inspiring. Some of the great headlands that
shoulder out into history--Washington, Lincoln, and the like--became
visible to the world after forty-five.

Of course, it is true that the immense majority of the world's great
achievers--generals, statesmen, poets, philosophers, inventors,
builders--have been young men. But the noble exceptions contain
sufficient encouragement for you if you still have the heart of
purpose.

I like to think of a man fighting his best fight just at the end of
life. There has always been something attractive to me about the
expression of Western hardihood, "Dying with his boots on," and the
attitude of character that it describes.

From my infancy the story of the _Bon Homme Richard_ has been like
wine to my blood. Be you like that ship, my dear friend past fifty!
She had, apparently, failed, but she kept in service. She had reached
the age of decay, and her timbers scarcely held together; yet she did
not go out of commission.

She attacked the _Serapis_, one of the youngest and stanchest and best
equipped of the matchless navy of England. She was blown full of
holes; still she fought. She was on fire; still she fought. The water
poured into her hold and she was sinking; still she fought. Fought,
fought, fought, and in the grim, the terrible, and the sublime end she
won.

The _Serapis_ was captured by the _Bon Homme Richard_, and the
victorious old ship's crew established themselves on the decks of the
conquered Englishman. The gallant veteran of the waves was kept afloat
that night, but at sunrise the next day they ran to her masthead her
glorious, shot-torn battle-flag, and she went to her home in the
abysses of the deep with that banner of battle and ultimate triumph
flying as she sank beneath the waves.

Be that your end, my friend, and that of all brave hearts. Fight until
the last, and let your noblest and most decisive victory be won with