self capable of
great things. He also believed that the world accepted a man at the
estimate he placed upon himself.

Fiske was born at Hartford in Eighteen Hundred Forty-two. His mother's
maiden name was Fiske and his father's name was Green, and until
well-nigh manhood, John Fiske was called Edmund Green.

His father died while Edmund was a baby, and the wee youngster was taken
charge of by his grandmother Fiske of Middletown, Connecticut.

When his mother married again, Edmund did not approve of the match.
Parents often try to live their children's lives for them, and to hold
the balance true, children occasionally attempt to dictate to parents in
affairs of the heart. A young man by the name of Hamlet will be recalled
who, having no special business of his own, became much distressed and
had theories concerning the conduct of his mother. As a general
proposition the person who looks after the territory directly under his
own hat will find his time fairly well employed.

They say Edmund Green made threats when his mother changed her name, but
all he did was to follow her example and change his. Thereafter he was
plain John Fiske. "I must have a name easy to take hold of: one that
people can remember," he said. And they do say that John Fiske's
reverence for John Ruskin had something to do with his choice of name.

Just here some curious one of the curious sex, which by the way holds no
monopoly on curiosity, may ask if the second venture of Mrs. Green was
fruitful and fortunate. So I will say, yes, eminently so; and in one way
it seemed to serve, for John Fiske's stepfather waived John's
displeasure with his stepfather's wife, and did something toward sending
the young man to Harvard University, and also supplied the funds to send
him on a tour around the world.

However, the second brood revealed no genius, at sight of which the
defunct Mr. Green from his seat in Elysium must have chortled in glee,
assuming, of course, that disembodied spirits are cognizant of the
doings of their late partners, as John Fiske seemed to think they were.

If Alexander Humboldt's mother had not married again, we would have had
no Alexander Humboldt. Second marriages are like first ones in this:
Sometimes they are happy and sometimes not. In any event, I occasionally
think that mother-love has often been much exaggerated. Love is a most
beautiful thing, and it does not seem to make very much difference who
supplies it. Stepmother-