pe in many different ways; an English sailor
only knows one way, but that is the best one. It is the one-sided man,
the sharp-eyed man, the man of single and intense purpose, the man of
one idea, who cuts his way through obstacles and forges to the front.
The time has gone forever when a Bacon can span universal knowledge; or
when, absorbing all the knowledge of the times, a Dante can sustain
arguments against fourteen disputants in the University of Paris, and
conquer in them all. The day when a man can successfully drive a dozen
callings abreast is a thing of the past. Concentration is the keynote
of the century.

Scientists estimate that there is energy enough in less than fifty
acres of sunshine to run all the machinery in the world, if it could be
concentrated. But the sun might blaze out upon the earth forever
without setting anything on fire; although these rays focused by a
burning-glass would melt solid granite, or even change a diamond into
vapor. There are plenty of men who have ability enough; the rays of
their faculties, taken separately, are all right, but they are
powerless to collect them, to bring them all to bear upon a single
spot. Versatile men, universal geniuses, are usually weak, because
they have no power to concentrate their talents upon one point, and
this makes all the difference between success and failure.

Chiseled upon the tomb of a disappointed, heart-broken king, Joseph II.
of Austria, in the Royal Cemetery at Vienna, a traveler tells us, is
this epitaph: "Here lies a monarch who, with the best of intentions,
never carried out a single plan."

Sir James Mackintosh was a man of remarkable ability. He excited in
every one who knew him the greatest expectations. Many watched his
career with much interest, expecting that he would dazzle the world;
but there was no purpose in his life. He had intermittent attacks of
enthusiasm for doing great things, but his zeal all evaporated before
he could decide what to do. This fatal defect in his character kept
him balancing between conflicting motives; and his whole life was
almost thrown away. He lacked power to choose one object and persevere
with a single aim, sacrificing every interfering inclination. He, for
instance, vacillated for weeks trying to determine whether to use
"usefulness" or "utility" in a composition.

One talent utilized in a single direction will do infinitely more than
ten talents scattered. A thimbleful of powd