ecome one of the leading seed-growing concerns of
America. Young men with the same chance he had are apt to say, "It's no
use." We answer, "Where there's a will there's a way." "To think a thing
impossible is to make it so."

George W. Childs determined to own the _Public Ledger_. He determined to
own the leading paper of the great city of Philadelphia, and he was a
poor boy. Was this presumption? If it was he has proved its
practicability. If he was building an air-castle he has since placed a
firm foundation under it. He labored hard in this little store of his;
he built his own fires; he did his own sweeping,--it was the same old
story; he hired done nothing that he could himself do. He made some
money--not very fast--but a good average profit, and he saved what he
did earn. He mastered the publishing business, and he developed a marked
business capacity in that line. A man usually fills the notch for which
he is fitted: I was about to say--I will say that he fits himself to the
notch which he does fill. Sometime we see men in subordinate positions
who apparently are capable of the best, but a careful study reveals a
screw loose somewhere; there is a weak point, and invariably that point
is the one thing which stands between them and victory. "Neither do men
light a candle and put it under a bushel, but on a candle stick, and it
giveth light to all that are in the house." So said Christ eighteen
hundred years ago; is it not so to-day? As young Childs had ability, and
it was apparent, what matter it how old he was or where he came from?
All the world asks is, "What can he do"?

The publishing firm of R. E. Peterson & Co. sought his alliance, and the
firm of Childs and Peterson became known far and near. Do our readers
call this luck? He now became a successful publisher, and seemingly his
cup was running over, so far as this world was concerned, but it will be
remembered that years ago he determined to own the _Public Ledger_,
provided he lived. He was alive and his purpose still remained. He was
waiting and watching. The _Ledger_ was a penny paper--the war broke
out--stock went up--the management was weakened by death and other
complications, the _Public Ledger_ was losing nearly $500 every time it
went to press. The paper, great as it was, was losing $3,000 a week--at
the rate of $150,000 a year. Now was Mr. Child's chance. In vain did
friends entreat; in vain did wise business men shake their heads; Mr.
Childs fel