uccess can be identified at once. For the
first thing they do is to leave the town. The air of the town is not
bracing enough for them. Their nostrils dilate for something keener.
Those who are left form a microcosm which is representative enough of
the world at large. Between the ages of thirty and forty they begin to
sort themselves out. In their own sphere they take their places. A
dozen or so politicians form the town council and rule the town. Half
a dozen business men stand for the town's commercial activity and its
wealth. A few others teach science and art, or are locally known as
botanists, geologists, amateurs of music, or amateurs of some other
art. These are the distinguished, and it will be perceived that they
cannot be more numerous than they are. What of the rest? Have they
struggled for success and been beaten? Not they. Do they, as they grow
old, resemble disappointed men? Not they. They have fulfilled
themselves modestly. They have got what they genuinely tried to get.
They have never even gone near the outskirts of the battle for
success. But they have not failed. The number of failures is
surprisingly small. You see a shabby, disappointed, ageing man flit
down the main street, and someone replies to your inquiry: "That's
So-and-so, one of life's failures, poor fellow!" And the very tone in
which the words are uttered proves the excessive rarity of the real
failure. It goes without saying that the case of the handful who have
left the town in search of the Success with the capital S has a
tremendous interest of curiosity for the mass who remain. I will
consider it.

THE SUCCESSFUL AND THE UNSUCCESSFUL

Having boldly stated that success is not, and cannot be, within grasp
of the majority, I now proceed to state, as regards the minority, that
they do not achieve it in the manner in which they are commonly
supposed to achieve it. And I may add an expression of my thankfulness
that they do not. The popular delusion is that success is attained by
what I may call the "Benjamin Franklin" method. Franklin was a very
great man; he united in his character a set of splendid qualities as
various, in their different ways, as those possessed by Leonardo da
Vinci. I have an immense admiration for him. But his Autobiography
does make me angry. His Autobiography is understood to be a classic,
and if you say a word against it in the United States you are apt to
get killed. I do not, however, contemplate an immediat