ing himself as the victim of
ill-luck. Go visit the incarcerated criminal, who has imbued his hands
in the blood of his fellow-man, or who is guilty of less heinous
crimes, and you will find that, joining the temptations which were easy
to avoid with those which were comparatively irresistible, he has
hurriedly patched up a treaty with conscience, and stifles its
compunctious visitings by persuading himself that, from first to last,
he was the victim of circumstances. Go talk with the mediocre in
talents and attainments, the weak-spirited man who, from lack of energy
and application, has made but little headway in the world, being
outstripped in the race of life by those whom he had despised as his
inferiors, and you will find that he, too, acknowledges the all-potent
power of luck, and soothes his humbled pride by deeming himself the
victim of ill-fortune. In short, from the most venial offense to the
most flagrant, there is hardly any wrong act or neglect to which this
too fatally convenient word is not applied as a palliation."

Paris was in the hands of a mob, the authorities were panic-stricken,
for they did not dare to trust their underlings. In came a man who
said, "I know a young officer who has the courage and ability to quell
this mob." "Send for him; send for him; send for him," said they.
Napoleon was sent for, came, subjugated the mob, subjugated the
authorities, ruled France, then conquered Europe.

What a lesson is Napoleon's life for the sickly, wishy-washy, dwarfed,
sentimental "dudes," hanging about our cities, country, and
universities, complaining of their hard lot, dreaming of success, and
wondering why they are left in the rear in the great race of life.

Success in life is dependent largely upon the willpower, and whatever
weakens or impairs it diminishes success. The will can be educated.
That which most easily becomes a habit in us is the will. Learn, then,
to will decisively and strongly; thus fix your floating life, and leave
it no longer to be carried hither and thither, like a withered leaf, by
every wind that blows. "It is not talent that men lack, it is the will
to labor; it is the purpose, not the power to produce."

It was this insatiable thirst for knowledge which held to his task,
through poverty and discouragement, John Leyden, a Scotch shepherd's
son. Barefoot and alone, he walked six or eight miles daily to learn
to read, which was all the schooling he had. His desire f