called when judged by a utilitarian standard or weighed in the scales of commercial comparison, have ever formed the true vanguard of the race. Blot out the lives and the intellectual results achieved by these men of thought during past ages, and you would at once put the race back into the rude periods of infancy and semi-barbarism. Just as glaciers on snow-capped Alpine summits move slowly down the mountain-side, and then melt into rivers which irrigate and make fertile the valleys below, just so the intellectual results achieved by these men of thought, dwelling the greater part of their lives on summits of abstraction high up above the level of their fellows, have moved down the intellectual plane, been changed into current comment and suggestion, and at last, embodied in practical projects, or worked out into labor-saving machinery, have made the valleys of industry to teem with verdure, and blossom with prosperity!

But in living this life of thought, instead of concentrating one's energies entirely upon business pursuits, in trying to be a scholar, a poet, or an inventor, there is no necessity for bidding adieu to this sovereign and primal virtue of common sense. In fact, he who lets go of this sheet-anchor of the mind, whether he purposes to be a practical business man or an abstract thinker, will be an unsuccessful man, and a fool. It is possible for a man to be a good scholar, a clear thinker, a logical reasoner, and at least a fair average man of business, too; and toward this desirable goal every young man should bend his steps.

The career of the late Disraeli, Lord Beaconsfield

and Prime Minister of England, affords an example in point. His first achievements in literature, like Bulwer's, were failures. His "Wondrous Tale of Alroy" and "Revolutionary Epic" were laughed at, and regarded as indications of literary lunacy. But he worked on in other directions, and his "Coningsby," "Sybil," and "Tancred," proved the sterling stuff of which he was made. As an orator, too, his first appearance in the House of Commons was a failure. It was spoken of as "more screaming than an Adelphi farce." Though composed in a grand and ambitious strain, every sentence was hailed with "loud laughter." "Hamlet" played as a comedy, were nothing to it. But he concluded with a sentence which embodied a prophecy. Writhing under the laughter with, which his studied eloquence had been received, he exclaimed: "I have begun several times many things, and have succeeded in them at last. I shall sit down now, but the time will come when you will hear me." The time did come; and how Disraeli succeeded in at length commanding the rapt attention of the first assembly of gentlemen in the world, affords a striking illustration of what energy and determination will do; for Disraeli earned his position by dint of patient industry. He did not, as many young men do, having once failed, retire, dejected, to mope and whine in a corner, but pluckily set himself to work. He carefully unlearned his faults, studied the character of his audience, practiced sedulously the art of speech, and industriously filled his mind with the elements of parliamentary knowledge. He worked patiently for success; and it came, but slowly; then the House laughed with him,

instead of at him. The recollection of his early failure was effaced, and by general consent he was at length admitted to be one of the most finished and effective of parliamentary speakers. As an old poet puts it,

"The wise do always govern their own fates,

And fortune with officious zeal attends

To crown their enterprises with success."

POLITENESS.

"What thou wilt,

Thou must rather enforce it with thy smile,
Than hew to it with thy sword."

-SHAKESPEre.

PLEASING exterior and true kindness of heart go a great way in helping one forward in the race for fortune; true politeness, such as was known and practiced in Lord Chesterfield's day, and of which Chesterfield himself was a distinguished exponent as well as a brilliant example, is rapidly becoming in this country one of the so-called "lost arts." There is very little of it seen or taught here, and among people in general it is not even held in very high estimation. Thus far in our national career the majority of our citizens have been too busy in pushing ahead their individual fortunes and enterprises, or have encountered too many difficulties in getting established in life, or have been too eager in shouting the praises of political liberty, and too intent upon exhibiting their independence, to pay much attention to the social amenities and refined courtesies of what is called polite life.

It is not enough to be made up of good qualities and traits of character, but it is equally important to have a good bearing toward our fellows. One of Chesterfield's maxims to his son was: "Prepare yourself for the world as the athlete does for his exercise; oil your mind and manners to give them the necessary suppleness and flexibility; simple strength alone will not do." Every one knows what a powerful thing for good or evil an impression is, particularly a first impression; and every one knows that outside demeanor and general appearance have much to do in creating this impression. Once in a while a person has insight and penetration of character enough to look through all the superficial layers of a man, and read the hidden thoughts and emotions; but these persons are by no means common. With the greater part of mankind the external appearance and the manner of a man determine his reception among his fellows. "Give a boy address and accomplishments," says Emerson, "and you give him the mastery of palaces and fortunes wherever he goes; he has not the trouble of earning or owning them; they solicit him to enter and possess."

Strange as it may seem, the manners of a man constitute a sort of minor morals. That is, a rude man is suspected of being, or actually taken for, a bad man. Thus, while coarseness and gruffness lock doors and close hearts, courtesy, refinement, and gentleness are an "open sesame" at which bolts fly back, and doors swing open. "You had better," wrote Chesterfield to his son, "return a dropped fan genteelly than give a thousand pounds awkwardly;