generals who gain successes can set up dictators. What I now
ask of you is military success, and I will risk the dictatorship. The
government will support you to the utmost of its ability, which is
neither more nor less than it has done and will do for all commanders. I
much fear that the spirit you have aided to infuse into the army, of
criticising their commander and withholding confidence from him, will
now turn upon you. I shall assist you as far as I can to put it down.
Neither you nor Napoleon, if he were alive again, could get any good out
of an army while such a spirit prevails in it. And now beware of
rashness, but with sleepless vigilance go forward and give us victories.

Yours very truly, A. LINCOLN.

One point in this letter is especially worth our consideration, for it
suggests a condition that springs up like deadly nightshade from a
poisonous soil. I refer to the habit of carping, sneering, grumbling and
criticising those who are above us. The man who is anybody and who does
anything is certainly going to be criticised, vilified and
misunderstood. This is a part of the penalty for greatness, and every
great man understands it; and understands, too, that it is no proof of
greatness. The final proof of greatness lies in being able to endure
contumely without resentment. Lincoln did not resent criticism; he knew
that every life was its own excuse for being, but look how he calls
Hooker's attention to the fact that the dissension Hooker has sown is
going to return and plague him! "Neither you, nor Napoleon, if he were
alive, could get any good out of an army while such a spirit prevails in
it." Hooker's fault falls on Hooker--others suffer, but Hooker suffers
most of all.

Not long ago I met a Yale student home on a vacation. I am sure he did
not represent the true Yale spirit, for he was full of criticism and
bitterness toward the institution. President Hadley came in for his
share, and I was given items, facts, data, with times and places, for a
"peach of a roast."

Very soon I saw the trouble was not with Yale, the trouble was with the
young man. He had mentally dwelt on some trivial slights until he had
gotten so out of harmony with the place that he had lost the power to
derive any benefit from it. Yale college is not a perfect institution--a
fact, I suppose, that President Hadley and most Yale men are quite
willing to admit; but Yale does supply young men certain advantages, and
it depends upon the