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AN APPRECIATION OF MR. GLADSTONE

From an address in the House of Commons

BY ARTHUR J. BALFOUR

I feel myself unequal even to dealing with what is, perhaps, more
strictly germane to this address--I mean, Mr. Gladstone as a
politician, as a Minister, as a leader of public thought, as an eminent
servant of the Queen; and if I venture to say anything, it is rather of
Mr. Gladstone, the greatest member of the greatest deliberative
assembly, which, so far, the world has seen.

Sir, I think it is the language of sober and unexaggerated truth to say
that there is no gift which would enable a man to move, to influence,
to adorn an assembly like this that Mr. Gladstone did not possess in a
supereminent degree. Debaters as ready there may have been, orators as
finished. It may have been given to others to sway as skillfully this
assembly, or to appeal with as much directness and force to the simpler
instincts of the great masses in the country; but, sir, it has been
given to no man to combine all these great gifts as they were combined
in the person of Mr. Gladstone. From the conversational discussion
appropriate to our work in committees, to the most sustained eloquence
befitting some great argument, and some great historic occasion, every
weapon of Parliamentary warfare was wielded by him with the success and
ease of a perfect, absolute, and complete mastery. I would not venture
myself to pronounce an opinion as to whether he was most excellent in
the exposition of a somewhat complicated budget of finance or
legislation, or whether he showed it most in the heat of extemporary
debate. At least this we may say, that from the humbler arts of
ridicule or invective to the subtlest dialectic, the most persuasive
eloquence, the most cogent appeals to everything that was highest and
best in the audience that he was addressing, every instrument which
could find place in the armory of a member of this House, he had at his
command without premeditation, without forethought, at the moment and
in the form which appeared best suited to carry out his purpose.

It may, perhaps, be asked whether I have nothing to say about Mr.
Gladstone's place in history, about the judgment we ought to pass upon
the great part which he has played in the history of his country and
the history of the world during the many years in which he held a
foremost place in this assembly. These questions are legitimate
questions. But they are not to be discussed by me to-day. Nor, indeed,
do I think that the final answer can be given to them--the final
judgment pronounced--in the course of this generation. But one service
he did--in my opinion incalculable--which is altogether apart from the
judgment which we may be disposed to pass on the particular opinions,
the particular views, or the particular lines of policy which Mr.
Gladstone may from time to time have adopted. Sir, he added a dignity
and he added a weight to the deliberations of this House by his genius
which I think it is impossible adequately to express.

It is not enough, in my opinion, to keep up simply a level, though it
be a high level, of probity and of patriotism. The mere virtue of civic
honesty is not sufficient to preserve this assembly from the fate which
has overcome so many other assemblies, the products of democratic
forces. More than this is required, more than this was given to us by
Mr. Gladstone. Those who seek to raise in the public estimation the
level of our proceedings will be the most ready to admit the infinite
value of those services, and realize how much the public prosperity is
involved in the maintenance of the work of public life. Sir, that is a
view which, it seems to me, places the services of Mr. Gladstone to
this assembly, which he loved so well, and of which he was so great a
member, in as clear a light and on as firm a basis as it is possible to
place them.


WILLIAM E. GLADSTONE

From an address in the House of Lords, May, 1898

BY LORD ROSEBERY

My Lords, this is, as has been pointed out, an unique occasion. Mr.
Gladstone always expressed a hope that there might be an interval left
to him between the end of his political and of his natural life. That
period was given to him, for it is more than four years since he
quitted the sphere of politics. Those four years have been with him a
special preparation for his death, but have they not also been a
preparation for his death with the nation at large? Had he died in the
plenitude of his power as Prime Minister, would it have been possible
for a vigorous and convinced Opposition to allow to pass to him,
without a word of dissent, the honors which are now universally
conceded? Hushed for the moment are the voices of criticism; hushed are
the controversies in which he took part; hushed for the moment is the
very sound of party conflict. I venture to think that this is a notable
fact in our history. It was not so with the elder Pitt. It was not so
with the younger Pitt. It was not so with the elder Pitt--in spite of
his tragic end, of his unrivaled services, and of his enfeebled old
age. It was not so with the younger Pitt--in spite of his long control
of the country and his absolute and absorbed devotion to the State. I
think that we should remember this as creditable not merely to the man,
but to the nation.

My Lords, there is one deeply melancholy feature of Mr. Gladstone's
death--by far the most melancholy--to which I think none of my noble
friends have referred. I think that all our thoughts must be turned,
now that Mr. Gladstone is gone, to that solitary and pathetic figure
who, for sixty years, shared all the sorrows and all the joys of Mr.
Gladstone's life; who received his every confidence and every
aspiration; who shared his triumphs with and cheered him under his
defeats; who, by her tender vigilance, I firmly believe, sustained and
prolonged his years. I think that the occasion ought not to pass
without letting Mrs. Gladstone know that she is in all our thoughts to-
day. And yet, my Lords--putting that one figure aside--to me, at any
rate, this is not an occasion for absolute and entire and unreserved
lamentation. Were it, indeed, possible so to protract the inexorable
limits of human life that we might have hoped that future years, and
even future generations, might see Mr. Gladstone's face and hear his
matchless voice, and receive the lessons of his unrivaled experience--
we might, perhaps, grieve to-day as those who have no hope. But that is
not the case. He had long exceeded the span of mortal life; and his
latter months had been months of unspeakable pain and distress. He is
now in that rest for which he sought and prayed, and which was to give
him relief from an existence which had become a burden to him. Surely
this should not be an occasion entirely for grief; when a life
prolonged to such a limit, so full of honor, so crowned with glory, had
come to its termination. The nation lives that produced him. The nation
that produced him may yet produce others like him; and, in the
meantime, it is rich in his memory, rich in his life, and rich, above
all, in his animating and inspiring example. Nor do I think that we
should regard this heritage as limited to our own country or to our own
race. It seems to me that, if we may judge from the papers of to-day,
that it is shared by, that it is the possession of, all civilized
mankind, and that generations still to come, through many long years,
will look for encouragement in labor, for fortitude in adversity, for
the example of a sublime Christianity, with constant hope and constant
encouragement, to the pure, the splendid, the dauntless figure of
William Ewart Gladstone.


THE SOLDIER'S CREED

From a centennial address at the United States Military Academy at West
Point, with the author's permission.

BY HORACE PORTER

As we stand here to-day a hundred years of history pass in review
before us. The present permanent Academy was founded in 1802. The class
that year contained two cadets. During the ten years following the
average number was twenty. We might say of the cadets of those days
what Curran said of the books in his library--"not numerous, but
select."

And now a word to the Corps of Cadets, the departure of whose
graduating class marks the close of the first century of the Academy's
life. The boy is father to the man. The present is the mold in which
the future is cast. The dominant characteristics of the cadet are seen
in the future general. You have learned here how to command, and a
still more useful lesson, how to obey. You have been taught obedience
to the civil, as well as to the military, code, for in this land the
military is always subordinate to the civil law. Not the least valuable
part of your education is your service in the cadet ranks, performing
the duties of a private soldier. That alone can acquaint you with the
feelings and the capabilities of the soldiers you will command. It
teaches you just how long a man can carry a musket in one position
without overfatigue, just how hard it is to keep awake on sentry duty
after an exhausting day's march. You will never forget this part of
your training. When Marshal Lannes's grenadiers had been repulsed in an
assault upon the walls of a fortified city, and hesitated to renew the
attack, Lannes seized a scaling ladder and, rushing forward, cried:
"Before I was a marshal I was a grenadier, and I have not forgotten my
training." Inspired by his example, the grenadiers carried the walls
and captured everything before them.

Courage is the soldier's cardinal virtue. You will seldom go amiss in
following General Grant's instructions to his commanders, "When in
doubt move to the front."

A generous country has with fostering care equipped you for your
career. It is entitled to your undivided allegiance. In closing, let me
mention, by way of illustration, a most touching and instructive scene
which I once witnessed at the annual meeting in the great hall of the
Sorbonne in Paris for the purpose of awarding medals of honor to those
who had performed acts of conspicuous bravery in saving human life at
sea. A bright-eyed boy of scarcely fourteen summers was called to the
platform. The story was recounted of how one winter's night when a
fierce tempest was raging on the rude Normandy coast, he saw signals of
distress at sea and started with his father, the captain of a small
vessel, and the mate to attempt a rescue. By dint of almost superhuman
effort the crew of a sinking ship was safely taken aboard. A wave then
washed the father from the deck. The boy plunged into the seething
waves to save him, but the attempt was in vain, and the father
perished. The lad struggled back to the vessel to find that the mate
had also been washed overboard. Then lashing himself fast, he took the
wheel and guided the boat, with its precious cargo of human souls,
through the howling storm safely into port. The minister of public
instruction, after paying a touching tribute to the boy's courage in a
voice broken with emotion, pinned the medal on his breast, placed in
his hands a diploma of honor, and then, seizing the brave lad in his
arms, imprinted a kiss on each cheek. For a moment the boy seemed
dazed, not knowing which way to turn, as he stood there with the tears
streaming down his bronzed cheeks while every one in that vast hall
wept in sympathy. Suddenly his eyes turned toward his old peasant
mother, she to whom he owed his birth and his training, as she sat at
the back of the platform with bended form and wearing her widow's cap.
He rushed to her, took the medal from his breast, and, casting it and
his diploma into her lap, threw himself on his knees at her feet.

Men of West Point, in the honorable career which you have chosen,
whatever laurels you may win, always be ready to lay them at the feet
of your country to which you owe your birth and your education.


COMPETITION IN COLLEGE

From an address at Columbia University, June, 1909

BY ABBOTT LAWRENCE LOWELL

We have seen that the sifting out of young men capable of scholarship
is receiving to-day less attention than it deserves; and that this
applies not only to recruiting future leaders of thought, but also to
prevailing upon every young man to develop the intellectual powers he
may possess. We have seen also that, while the graduate school can
train scholars, it cannot create love of scholarship. That work must be
done in undergraduate days. We have found reasons to believe that
during the whole period of training, mental and physical, which reaches
its culmination in college, competition is not only a proper but an
essential factor; and we have observed the results that have been
achieved at Oxford and Cambridge by its use. In this country, on the
other hand, several causes, foremost among them the elective system,
have almost banished competition in scholarship from our colleges;
while the inadequate character of our tests, and the corporate nature
of self-interest in these latter times, raise serious difficulties in
making it effective.

Nevertheless, I have faith that these obstacles can be overcome, and
that we can raise intellectual achievement in college to its rightful
place in public estimation. We are told that it is idle to expect young
men to do strenuous work before they feel the impending pressure of
earning a livelihood; that they naturally love ease and self-
indulgence, and can be aroused from lethargy only by discipline, or by
contact with the hard facts of a struggle with the world. If I believed
that, I would not be president of a college for a moment. It is not
true. A normal young man longs for nothing so much as to devote himself
to a cause that calls forth his enthusiasm, and the greater the
sacrifice involved, the more eagerly will he grasp it. If we were at
war and our students were told that two regiments were seeking
recruits, one of which would be stationed at Fortress Monroe, well-
housed and fed, living in luxury, without risk of death or wounds,
while the other would go to the front, be starved and harassed by
fatiguing marches under a broiling sun, amid pestilence, with men
falling from its ranks killed or suffering mutilation, not a single man
would volunteer for the first regiment, but the second would be quickly
filled. Who is it that makes football a dangerous and painful sport? Is
it the faculty or the players themselves?

A young man wants to test himself on every side, in strength, in
quickness, in skill, in courage, in endurance; and he will go through
much to prove his merit. He wants to test himself, provided he has
faith that the test is true, and that the quality tried is one that
makes for manliness; otherwise he will have none of it. Now we have not
convinced him that high scholarship is a manly thing worthy of his
devotion, or that our examinations are faithful tests of intellectual
power; and in so far as we have failed in this we have come short of
what we ought to do. Universities stand for the eternal worth of
thought, for the preeminence of the prophet and the seer; but instead
of being thrilled by the eager search for truth, our classes too often
sit listless on the bench. It is not because the lecturer is dull, but
because the pupils do not prize the end enough to relish the drudgery
required for skill in any great pursuit, or indeed in any sport. To
make them see the greatness of that end, how fully it deserves the
price that must be paid for it, how richly it rewards the man who may
compete for it, we must learn--and herein lies the secret--we must
learn the precious art of touching their imagination.


A MASTER OF THE SITUATION

From a lecture, entitled "Masters of the Situation"

BY JAMES T. FIELDS

There was once a noble ship full of eager passengers, freighted with a
rich cargo, steaming at full speed from England to America. Two thirds
of a prosperous voyage thus far were over, as in our mess we were
beginning to talk of home. Fore and aft the songs of good cheer and
hearty merriment rose from deck to cabin.

"As if the beauteous ship enjoyed the beauty of the sea,
She lifteth up her stately head, and saileth joyfully,
A lovely path before her lies, a lovely path behind;
She sails amid the loveliness like a thing of heart and mind."

Suddenly, a dense fog came, shrouding the horizon, but as this was a
common occurrence in the latitude we were sailing, it was hardly
mentioned in our talk that afternoon. There are always croakers on
board ship, if the weather changes however slightly, but the
_Britannia_ was free, that voyage, of such unwelcome passengers. A
happier company never sailed upon an autumn sea! The storytellers are
busy with their yarns to audiences of delighted listeners in sheltered
places; the ladies are lying about on couches, and shawls, reading or
singing; children in merry companies are taking hands and racing up and
down the decks,--when a quick cry from the lookout, a rush of officers
and men, and we are grinding on a ledge of rocks off Cape Race! One of
those strong currents, always mysterious, and sometimes impossible to
foresee, had set us into shore out of our course, and the ship was
blindly beating on a dreary coast of sharp and craggy rocks.

I heard the order given, "Every one on deck!" and knew what that
meant--the masts were in danger of falling. Looking over the side, we
saw bits of the keel, great pieces of plank, floating out into the deep
water. A hundred pallid faces were huddled together near the stern of
the ship where we were told to go and wait. I remember somebody said
that a little child, the playfellow of passengers and crew, could not
be found, and that some of us started to find him; and that when we
returned him to his mother she spake never a word, but seemed dumb with
terror at the prospect of separation and shipwreck, and that other
specter so ghastly when encountered at sea.

Suddenly we heard a voice up in the fog in the direction of the
wheelhouse, ringing like a clarion above the roar of the waves, and the
clashing sounds on shipboard, and it had in it an assuring, not a
fearful tone. As the orders came distinctly and deliberately through
the captain's trumpet, to "ship the cargo," to "back her," to "keep her
steady," we felt somehow that the commander up there in the thick mist
on the wheelhouse knew what he was about, and that through his skill
and courage, by the blessing of heaven, we should all be rescued. The
man who saved us so far as human aid ever saves drowning mortals, was
one fully competent to command a ship; and when, after weary days of
anxious suspense, the vessel leaking badly, and the fires in danger of
being put out, we arrived safely in Halifax, old Mr. Cunard, agent of
the line, on hearing from the mail officer that the steamer had struck
on the rocks and had been saved only by the captain's presence of mind
and courage, simply replied, "Just what might have been expected in
such a disaster; Captain Harrison is always master of the situation."
Now, no man ever became master of the situation by accident or
indolence. I believe with Shelley, that the Almighty has given men and
women arms long enough to reach the stars if they will only put them
out! It was an admirable saying of the Duke of Wellington, "that no
general ever blundered into a great victory." St. Hilaire said, "I
ignore the existence of a blind chance, accident, and haphazard
results." "He happened to succeed," is a foolish, unmeaning phrase. No
man happens to succeed.


WIT AND HUMOR

Reprinted from "American Wit and Humor," copyrighted in "Modern
Eloquence," Geo. L. Shuman and Company, Chicago, publishers.

BY MINOT J. SAVAGE

Wit may take many forms, but it resides essentially in the thought or
the imagination. In its highest forms it does not deal in things but
with ideas. It is the shock of pleased surprise which results from the
perception of unexpected likeness between things that differ or of an
unexpected difference between things that are alike. Or it is where
utterly incongruous things are apparently combined in the expression of
one idea. Wit may be bitter or kindly or entirely neutral so far as the
feelings are concerned. When extremes of feeling, one way or the other,
are concerned, then it takes on other names which will be considered by
themselves.

But not to stop any longer with definition, it is almost pure wit when
some one said of an endless talker that he had "occasional brilliant
flashes of silence." So of the saying of Mr. Henry Clapp. You know it
is said of Shakespeare, "He is not for a day, but for all time."
Speaking of the bore who calls when you are busy and never goes, Mr.
Clapp said, "He is not for a time, but for all day." And what could be
more deliciously perfect than the following: Senator Beck of Kentucky
was an everlasting talker. One day a friend remarked to Senator Hoar,
"I should think Beck would wear his brain all out talking so much."
Whereupon Mr. Hoar replied, "Oh, that doesn't affect him any: he rests
his mind when he is talking." This has, indeed, a touch of sarcasm; but
it is as near the pure gold of wit as you often get. Or, take this.
There being two houses both of which are insisted on as the real
birthplace of the great philosopher and statesman, Mark Twain gravely
informs us that "Franklin was twins, having been born simultaneously in
two different houses in Boston."

One of the finest specimens of clear-cut wit is the saying of the Hon.
Carroll D. Wright. Referring to the common saying, he once keenly
remarked: "I know it is said that figures won't lie, but,
unfortunately, liars will figure."

In contradistinction from wit, humor deals with incidents, characters,
situations. True humor is altogether kindly; for, while it points out
and pictures the weaknesses and foibles of humanity, it feels no
contempt and leaves no sting. It has its root in sympathy and blossoms
out in toleration.

It would take too long at this point in my lecture to quote complete
specimens of humor; for that would mean spreading out before you
detailed scenes or full descriptions. But fortunately it is not
necessary. Cervantes, Shakespeare, Charles Lamb, Dickens, and a host of
others will readily occur to you. But what could be better of its kind
than this? General Joe Johnston was one day riding leisurely behind his
army on the march. Food had been scarce and rations limited. He spied a
straggler in the brush beside the road. He called out sharply, "What
are you doing here?" Being caught out of the ranks was a serious
offense, but the soldier was equal to the emergency. So to the
General's question he replied, "Pickin' 'simmons." The persimmon, as
you know, has the quality of puckering the mouth, as a certain kind of
wild cherry used to mine when I was a boy. "What are you picking
'simmons for?" sharply rejoined the General. Then came the humorous
reply that disarmed all of the officer's anger and appealed to his
sympathy, while it hinted all "the boys" were suffering for the cause.
"Well, the fact of it is, General, I'm trying to shrink up my stomach
to the size of my rations, so I won't starve to death."


A MESSAGE TO GARCIA

From an article in The Philistine, with the permission of the author

BY ELBERT HUBBARD

When war broke out between Spain and the United States, it was very
necessary to communicate quickly with the leader of the Insurgents.
Garcia was somewhere in the mountain fastnesses of Cuba--no one knew
where. No mail or telegraph message could reach him. The President
must secure his cooperation, and quickly.

What to do!

Some one said to the President, "There's a fellow by the name of Rowan
will find Garcia for you if anybody can." Rowan was sent for and given
a letter to be delivered to Garcia. How "the fellow by the name of
Rowan" took the letter, sealed it up in an oilskin pouch, strapped it
over his heart, in four days landed by night off the coast of Cuba from
an open boat, disappeared into the jungle, and in three weeks came out
on the other side of the island, having traversed a hostile country on
foot, and delivered his letter to Garcia, are things I have no special
desire now to tell in detail.

The point I wish to make is this: McKinley gave Rowan a letter to be
delivered to Garcia; Rowan took the letter and did not ask, "Where is
he at?" By the Eternal! there is a man whose form should be cast in
deathless bronze and the statue placed in every college of the land. It
is not book learning young men need, nor instruction about this and
that, but a stiffening of the vertebrae which will cause them to be
loyal to a trust, to act promptly, concentrate their energies; do the
thing--"Carry a message to Garcia!"

General Garcia is dead now, but there are other Garcias. No man who has
endeavored to carry out an enterprise where many hands were needed, but
has been well-nigh appalled at times by the imbecility of the average
man--the inability or unwillingness to concentrate on a thing and do
it. Slipshod assistance, foolish inattention, dowdy indifference, and
half-hearted work seem the rule; and no man succeeds, unless by hook or
crook, or threat, he forces or bribes other men to assist him; or
mayhap, God in His goodness performs a miracle, and sends him an angel
of light for an assistant.

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