crew mutinied and threatened to throw him
overboard, but he turned the ship's guns on them. One day an Indian
diver went down for a curious sea plant and saw several cannon lying on
the bottom. They proved to belong to the wreck for which he was
looking, sunk fifty years before. He had nothing but dim traditions to
guide him, but he returned to England with $1,500,000. The King made
him High Sheriff of New England, and he was afterward made Governor of
Massachusetts Bay Colony.

Ben Jonson, when following his trade of a mason, worked on Lincoln's
Inn in London with trowel in hand and a book in his pocket. Joseph
Hunter was a carpenter in youth, Robert Burns a plowman, Keats a
druggist, Thomas Carlyle and Hugh Miller masons. Dante and Descartes
were soldiers. Andrew Johnson was a tailor. Cardinal Wolsey, Defoe,
and Kirke White were butchers' sons. Faraday was the son of a
blacksmith, and his teacher, Humphry Davy, was an apprentice to an
apothecary. Kepler was a waiter boy in a German hotel, Bunyan a
tinker, Copernicus the son of a Polish baker. The boy Herschel played
the oboe for his meals. Marshal Ney, the "bravest of the brave," rose
from the ranks. His great industry gained for him the name of "The
Indefatigable." Soult served fourteen years before he was made a
sergeant. When made Foreign Minister of France he knew very little of
geography, even. Richard Cobden was a boy in a London warehouse. His
first speech in Parliament was a complete failure; but he was not
afraid of defeat, and soon became one of the greatest orators of his
day. Seven shoemakers sat in Congress during the first century of our
government: Roger Sherman, Henry Wilson, Gideon Lee, William Graham,
John Halley, H. P. Baldwin, and Daniel Sheffey.

A constant struggle, a ceaseless battle to bring success from
inhospitable surroundings, is the price of all great achievements.

The man who has not fought his way up to his own loaf, and does not
bear the scar of desperate conflict, does not know the highest meaning
of success.

The money acquired by those who have thus struggled upward to success
is not their only, or indeed their chief reward. When, after years of
toil, of opposition, of ridicule, of repeated failure, Cyrus W. Field
placed his hand upon the telegraph instrument ticking a message under
the sea, think you that the electric thrill passed no further than the
tips of his fingers? When Thomas A. Edison demonstrated i