ofession lost his luck in the river, where he idled away his time
a-fishing. Another with a good trade perpetually burnt up his luck by
his hot temper, which provoked all his employes to leave him. Another
with a lucrative business lost his luck by amazing diligence at
everything but his own business. Another who steadily followed his
trade, as steadily followed the bottle. Another who was honest and
constant to his work, erred by his perpetual misjudgment,--he lacked
discretion. Hundreds lose their luck by indulging sanguine expectations,
by trusting fraudulent men, and by dishonest gains. A man never has good
luck who has a bad wife. I never knew an early-rising, hard-working,
prudent man, careful of his earnings and strictly honest, who complained
of his bad luck. A good character, good habits, and iron industry are
impregnable to the assaults of the ill luck that fools are dreaming of.
But when I see a tatterdemalion creeping out of a grocery late in the
forenoon with his hands stuck into his pockets, the rim of his hat
turned up, and the crown knocked in, I know he has had bad luck,--for
the worst of all luck is to be a sluggard, a knave, or a tippler."

"You have a difficult subject," said Anthony Trollope at Niagara Falls,
to an artist who had attempted to draw the spray of the waters. "All
subjects are difficult," was the reply, "to a man who desires to do
well." "But yours, I fear, is impossible," said Trollope. "You have no
right to say so till I have finished my picture," protested the artist.

"Tell Louisa to stick to her teaching; she can never succeed as a
writer." When her father delivered the rejected manuscript of a story
sent to James T. Fields, editor of the _Atlantic Monthly_, with the
above message, Miss Alcott said, "Tell him I _will_ succeed as a writer,
and some day I shall write for the _Atlantic_." Not long after she sent
an article to the _Atlantic_ and received a check for $50. With the
money she said she bought "a second hand carpet for the parlor, a bonnet
for her sister, shoes and stockings for herself." Her father was calling
upon Longfellow some time after this, when Longfellow took the
_Atlantic_, and said, "I want to read to you Emerson's fine poem upon
Thoreau's flute." Mr. Alcott interrupted him with delight and said, "My
daughter Louisa wrote that."

"Men talk as if victory were something fortunate," says Emerson. "_Work
is victory._ Wherever work is done victory is obtained. _Ther