his tragic fate to have the best that he can do lie far below the best that
society already possesses.

If one will see what genius without adequate instruction comes to, let him
look at the case of the mathematical prodigy, Arthur Griffith. There is
what no one would refuse to call genius. There is originality, spontaneity,
insatiable interest, unceasing labor. And the result? A marvelous skill for
which society has almost no use, and a knowledge of the science of
arithmetic which is two hundred years behind that of the high school
graduate.

III

But now that we have told off these three classes who will not learn what
society has to teach, we have happily left most of mankind; certainly, I
trust, most of you who have submitted to the instruction of society thus
far. And it is you who are willing to work and eager for the best
instruction that society can give, whom the question of occupations
especially concerns.

And here I beg to have you discriminate between the work to which one gives
his attention and the great swarm of activities physical and mental which
are always going on in the background.

A boy who is driving nails into a fence has for the immediate task of his
eyes and hands the hitting of a certain nail on the head. Meanwhile, the
rest of the boy's body and soul may be full of rebellion and longing to be
done with the fence on any terms and away at the fishing. Or instead of
that the whole boy may be full of pride in what he has done and of
resolution to drive the last nail as true as the first. Which of these two
things is the more important--the task in the foreground or the disposition
in the background--I do not know. They cannot be separated. They are both
present in every waking hour, weaving together the threads of fate.

A man's life is not wholly fortunate unless all that is within him rises
gladly to join in the work that he has to do.

It is, however, unhappily true that many good and useful men are forced by
circumstances to work at one thing, while their hearts are tugging to be at
something else. They have not chosen their tasks. They have been driven by
necessity. There must be bread. There are the wife and the children. There
is no escape. It is up with the sun. It is bearing the burden and heat of
the day. It is intolerable weariness. It is worse than that. It is tramping
round and round in the same hated steps until you cannot do anything else.
You cannot think of anything els