d on,--that when he says he knows a thing, he
does know it,--that when he says he will do a thing, he can do, and
does it. Thus reliableness becomes a passport to the general esteem and
confidence of mankind.

In the affairs of life or of business, it is not intellect that tells so
much as character,--not brains so much as heart,--not genius so much
as self-control, patience, and discipline, regulated by judgment. Hence
there is no better provision for the uses of either private or public
life, than a fair share of ordinary good sense guided by rectitude. Good
sense, disciplined by experience and inspired by goodness, issues in
practical wisdom. Indeed, goodness in a measure implies wisdom--the
highest wisdom--the union of the worldly with the spiritual. "The
correspondences of wisdom and goodness," says Sir Henry Taylor, "are
manifold; and that they will accompany each other is to be inferred, not
only because men's wisdom makes them good, but because their goodness
makes them wise." [106]

It is because of this controlling power of character in life that we
often see men exercise an amount of influence apparently out of all
proportion to their intellectual endowments. They appear to act by means
of some latent power, some reserved force, which acts secretly, by mere
presence. As Burke said of a powerful nobleman of the last century, "his
virtues were his means." The secret is, that the aims of such men are
felt to be pure and noble, and they act upon others with a constraining
power.

Though the reputation of men of genuine character may be of slow
growth, their true qualities cannot be wholly concealed. They may be
misrepresented by some, and misunderstood by others; misfortune
and adversity may, for a time, overtake them but, with patience and
endurance, they will eventually inspire the respect and command the
confidence which they really deserve.

It has been said of Sheridan that, had he possessed reliableness of
character, he might have ruled the world; whereas, for want of it, his
splendid gifts were comparatively useless. He dazzled and amused, but
was without weight or influence in life or politics. Even the poor
pantomimist of Drury Lane felt himself his superior. Thus, when Delpini
one day pressed the manager for arrears of salary, Sheridan sharply
reproved him, telling him he had forgotten his station. "No, indeed,
Monsieur Sheridan, I have not," retorted Delpini; "I know the difference
between us perf