ll find this in the highest degree
with industry and _temperance_. The epicure, who seeks it in a
dinner which costs five dollars, will find less enjoyment of
appetite than the laborer who dines on a shilling. If the devotee
to appetite desires its high gratification, he must not send for
buffalo tongues and champagne, but climb a mountain or swing an axe.
Let a young man pursue temperance, sobriety, and industry, and he
may retain his vigor till three score years and ten, with his cup of
enjoyment full, and depart painlessly; as the candle burns out in
its socket, he will expire."[2]

[Footnote 2: Horace Mann.]

Next to Temperance in importance, I would rank the habit of
INDUSTRY. We were evidently made for active occupation. Every joint,
sinew, and muscle plainly shows this. A young person who is an
idler, a drone, is a pest in society. He is ready to engage in
mischief, and to fall into vice, with but little resistance. It is
an old saying, that "an idle brain is the devil's workshop." Those
who are not actively employed in something useful, will be very
likely to fall into evil practices. Industry is one of the best
safeguards against the inroads of vice. The young, whatever may be
their condition, or however abundantly they may believe their future
wants already provided for, should actively engage in some honorable
occupation or profession--in something that will benefit mankind.
They should be fired with the high and noble ambition of making the
world better for their living in it. Who can wish to pass a _blank_
existence? Yet this is the life of every idler, poor or rich. Be
stirring in anything which is useful--anything which will make
others happy. Then you will not have lived in vain. Behold how a
good man can devote his life to labors for the benefit of others.
Would you partake of the immortal fame of a Howard? Imitate, to the
extent of your ability, the example of industrious benevolence he
has placed before the world.

"From realm to realm, with cross or crescent crowned,
Where'er mankind and misery are found,
O'er burning sands, deep waves, or wilds of snow,
Mild Howard journeying seeks the house of woe.
Down many a winding step to dungeons dank,
Where anguish wails aloud and fetters clank,
To caves bestrewed with many a mouldering bone,
And cells whose echoes only learn to groan;
Where no kind bars a whispering friend disclose,
No sunbeam enters, a