\->a^ns LECTURES BY THOMAS GALLOWAY. ) To THE Pu BLIC. The author has been afflicted with " spinal " disease upwards of thirty- seven years; was seven years con- fined to bed, during which time his hip joints became immovable. He has spent upwards of two years in New York under treatment, and is much benefited. He there underwent five severe and dangerous opera- tions in the hope of regaining the use of his limbs. The New York surgeons broke both hips, and have suc- ceeded in making him an artificial hip joint — ihe first of the kind in America. Though unable to move without crutches he is endeavouring to earn an honest and independent liveli- hood in the only way that his physical condition will allow, viZ: : by lecturing and selling his lectures. The following extracts from a few cf the many letters in his possesf.ion will show how his lectures are spoken of by the clergy : — "An able writer and an effective speaker."— Rbv, D. J. Mac- DONNBLL, Toronto. *' His lecture was inter^ting, instructive and devotional. I commend Mr. G. to the confidence of the Church and public."— Re^. John Potts, D.D., Toronto. " I was deeply interested." — Rbv. Principal Grant, Kingston. •• Everyone was delighted with it." — Rev. J. A. Murray, Lonaon. "Fitted to instruct and quicken any audience in town or countiy."— Rbv. G. M. Miixigan, Toronto. /. /• w ■> ) ■I'- . ^^^^^^^^K^^^^^K^^^^^H^^^K^^^^^^^^^M^^t^^^^^^^^^^^^^^KS^ • . '' .- <: ■ .-i^-.--- ■ '■' 4 •,"■»>■''■ " .m-. . . • -V^ ■'■■'•'.•'. -,. - X \ ^'%^ ■: .■- ^'-' ■' ■ ■ ' THOS. GALLOWAY, LECTURES DELIVERED BY THOMAS GALLOWAY, ♦' The Story of My Life." '' Through Scotland on Crutches." " Through Ireland on a Jaunting Car." *' How to Make Life a Success. ' '* 19th Century Miracles." *' Praise." A Creature Unknown to Natural Science." -r V TORONTO. ONT.: - ^ C. Blackett Robinson, Printer, 5 Jordan Street. va y-Y ) ANNtX STAJK FEB 2 j^ 1£51 Preface. The writing of a Biography is always a difficult and deli cate task, because of the interlinking of the life of the subject of the Biography with the lives of others. This difficulty is increased manifold when one undertakes to write an Auto- biography, because many of those with v^^hom the Author was on terms of intimacy and friendship, and others with wltoni he may have been intimate but not friendly, but quite the reverse, are still living, or their friends and relatives are, and it is next to impossible — perhaps altogetlier impossible — to en- tirely free the mind from the bias given it by the pleasant and the unpleasant associations that are oftentimes forced upon us in the battle of life. To give to each his due amount of praise for noble sentiments and generous deeds ; and, where we cannot commend, to pass as lightly over, and deal as charitably as may be with demerits, which in the eyes of others may not have been demerits, but grounds for admira- tion and commendation, requires a delicacy of feeling and a depth of judgment such as I make no pretension to. I will try to give to each ** honour where honour is due," and shall certainly ** set nought down in malice," but will endeavour to present my own checkered life with its trials and its suffer- ings, its defeats and its victories, its discouraging features and its cheerful trusting hope, believing that from the story of my life, others of God's tried and suffering ones may draw cheer, and comfort, and hope, and be led to seek and obtain eternal consolation in the God of all comfort and the Christ of all grace. God grant that such may be the case, and His name be glorified thereby. ^ March ist, 1896. • T. G. The Story of My Life. My father was born in r8o6, in the royal town of Loch- maben, Duinfries-shire, Scotland, the birth-plac(^ of Scotland's idolized King, Robert Bruce, from whom he traced his descent on his mother's side. My mother was born in the neighbouring town of Lockerbie, in 1811. Together in 1832 they sailed for the New World, to seek a home. They spent one year on Shore's Island m the St John river near Fredericton, New Brunswick. In 1833 they came to Toronto, and settled on Yonge Street, where so many immigrants to tiie west seem to have found their first resting-place. The following year my father " took up " one hundred acres of bush land in the Township of Scott, in the County of Ontario, and having erected a small log house thereon, thither they removed with the little they possessed of this world's goods, driving as far as possible vvith a team of horses. When it was impossible to go any farther thus the horses- were unhitched from the waggon, my mother with her babe in her arms climbed on to the back of one of them, and my father leading the other they made the remainder of their journey through the forest to their new home, if heme it could be called. It had no window, no floor save the bare earth, neither stove, nor fireplace, nor chimney. The light came in through the chinks m the walls which were after- wards stuffed with moss gathered from the trunks of the forest trees. The fire was made on the earth in the centre, the smoke escaping through a hole in the roof. Here they spent the first night in the wilderness together. The second night my mother with her babe less than a year old, was alone in that forest home where she was to endure the hardship and privation inseparable from a life on the frontiers of civilization ; the wolf, the bear, and the wild Indian her frequent yet dreaded visitors. Ah, who can tell the loneliness and desolation of heart, the homesickness, the sorrows and cares and trials of the frontiersman's wife! :2 THE STORY OF MY LIFE. What woman could endure them were the future not radiant with hope ? What woman would venture on such a life did she not see in the sunny days to come a peaceful, comfortable, happy home, lit up with the love of a fond husband and echo- ing the merry shouts and laughter of light-hearted, romping, winsome children ? Hope! Hope! What glowing pictures thou dost paint on the canvas of the future, pictures that lift the soul oi the mortal above the mere sordid desires of self and the world, and make the heart glow and throb and pulsate with the thrilling ecstacy of self-denying, self-sacrific- ing, God-like love. O Hope ! What would this sin-cursed, sin-blighted world be without thee to illumine, to elevate and inspire Few, few of thy roseate dreams are fulfilled, few of thy glowing visions become reality ! This world is little bet- ter than a charnel ^ )use of faded visions and unrealized ex- pectations, yet without thee to cheer us and lead us on life •would soon go out in black and gaunt despair. Here in this home in the forest my mother spent many years with little companionship except that of her children. My father was compelled to be absent a great part of each year earning a subsistence for his family. For this purpose he had to go twenty to thirty miles from home, only returning at intervals, making the long journey on foot through the dark forest after completing his day's work, often reaching home after midnight. During these long intervals of separa- tion my mother rarely saw any human being except half- savage Indians. All around was unbroken forest, no other settler's cabin was visible. During storms the tall forest trees around would sway to and fro, their branches often chafing the roof and walls, seeming as if they would fall and crush both house and occupants. Wolves and bears were often seen prowling near by, and the howls of the former oft- times disturbed the slumbers of herself and children. It was only after long years of hardship, self-denial, thrift and per- severing industry that a comfortable home and competence were secured. Here in this forest home I was born in 1847. I presume the most trying times of the family \ ere over, as I have no recollection of any want of either food or clothing. Tlie .rS".- "•"""*""* "T THE STORY OP MY LIFE. 3 earliest incident which my memory recalls was the death of my uncle which occurred when I was about a year and a half old. He had been a hotelkeeper for some time, '^nd had un- consciously acquired a liking for alcoholic bever< p,es. One day he suddenly awoke to the fact that he was nol a master but a slave. Possessed of an iron will he determined to be free. So leaving the hotel he came to my father's to fight his battle for freedom. He fought and won ; but his victory cost him his life. When the craving came upon him he would go out and walk till exhaustion induced sleep and for- getfulness. Returning from one of these exhausting tramps he flung himself down on a bunk in which some of us children slept at night and almost instantly expired. The incident was so striking and so deeply impressed on my young mind that I can still recall the sad scene. This was my first acquaintance with death, but, in how many forms, and in how many places I have met that dread visitor since. Alas, how many broken hearts, ruined homes and blighted lives has alcohol, that curse of our race, been responsible for ! When will our legislators — when will the Christian people of our land, rise in their might and say : " This curse shall cease from our land. Our sons and our daughters shall be no longer its prey ?" The next incident of which I have any recollection was the putting of a pump in our well, which occurred when I was about three years old. It was, I believe, the first pump in the neighbourhood. Well do I remember wondering what the strange thing with its coat of bright red paint was intended for. And when in position, how the working of the handle up and down made water flow from the spout was a great mystery. Beyond these two incidents nothing remains of my early childhood days When a little more than four years old the school-master, R B , came to board with us. He was a quiet, quaint, droll Irishman, who liked to entertain and amuse children because while doing so he amused and entertained himself. He long ago dropped out of the pro- fession, and for many years has eked out a subsistence with the aid of a plot of land whicL he purchased with the savings from the pedagogic portion of his life. His qualificatioiis 4 THE STORY OF MY LIFE. would not rank very high nowadays, but I used to think him the embodiment of wisdom. A mutual liking soon sprang up between us, and I longed to go to school, and constantly begged to be allowed to go. As the good-natured teacher expressed perfect willingness I was duly fitted out and started to school, the teacher leading me by the hand, for I was bashful and everything was strange. Soon this bashfulness wore off, and, instead of walking with my hand in that of my teacher, I used to run on before him shouting, «' T— o— m, Tom, T— o— m, Tom, When I get bigger I must have a bigger name." One morning as I was thus running along barefoot I started down a small hill with a great burst of speed, when, on glrncing down, I saw, just where my bare foot must fall, a huge snake that was cros- sing the road. It was too late to stop or to place my foot elsewhere, and I can yet recall the sensation of horror that almost paralyzed me as my foot fell on the cold reptile. The teacher heard my horrified exclamation and burring forward killed it. During this first summer at school I had a grand time. If the weather was at all fine the teacher turned me and other little ones out to play during the greater part of the day, only calling us in when he wished to give us a lesson. Thus I experienced little of the dreary discomfort so trying to children when confined in a hot ill-ventilated room, or of the torture of sitting for hours on an uncomfortable seat too high for me. Instead of sitting on a hard seat, my little aching legs dang- ling without support, I was chasing butterflies, making "bird- nests " in the sand, *' mud pies," or miniature forts. And often since I have been constrained to think that if pedagogues of the present day would show the same consideration it would be better for the little ones both physically and intel- lectually. Kindergartens did not exist in those days, but for entertainment and physical development, our play, in my estimation, far exceeded kindergarten work. In those days teachers were very different from what they now are. Then, any man who had a very slight acquaintance with the three R's, and could wield the birch well could be a school teacher, and unless the man was naturally kind THE STORY OP MY Llt^B. 5 hearted and fond of children theHttle ones often had a trying time. At the end of the year our teacher resigned and anotlier one was engaged. He proved to be a regular martinet, and our happy days with a minirnuni of study and confine- ment and a maximum of pleasure ind progress came to an end. My childhood's years rolled quickly by. We children were early taught to assist in performing many of the multi- tudinous tasks that are found on a farm. Through winter's cold and summer's heat, in storm and shine, we each had daily to perform our allotted share of these '* chores," besides acquiring, as well as we could, sufficient knowledge of the lessons that were given us to satisfy a teacher not always too indulg- ent ; and many were the stripes some of us were obliged to receive, not for any fault of our own, not because our task was incomplete, but simply that the teacher might show his authority or work of his temper which was often an unknown quantity in the morning, but not always so at night. Happily for the youth of our land those days are past and gone, and our scliool teachers are no longer permitted to inflict torture as the whim of the moment impels them. My aml)ition was to stand at the head of my class, and my ambition was often, but not always attained, for at that time, as at the present, there were many clever children, both boys and girls, whose ambition was quite equal to mine; their natural ability was equal or greater, but nature had endowed me with more stick-to it-iveness which balanced and more than balanced the others. During the first ten years of my life 1 was a stout, healthy, happy, active boy. Then an accident happened which resulted in untold suffering and life-long disability. One of my elder brothers was sent one day to the barn to pick straw to braid himself a sun hat. Straw hats were not then braided by steam, and for people who had only a very limited income, and a not very limited family, the hat question, even the straw hat question, was an important one, and most of our family — all the elder ones at least — were taught to braid their own hats and my mother sewed them. I do not recollect that I was sent on a similar mission, but my brother was anxious 6 THE STOPY OF MY LIFE. thai: 1 should go as I would thus accomplish two ends — be company for him and also pick straw to make m)'self a hat for the next summer. The sheaves we were to select from were on a scaffold almost at the very top of the barn. We succeeded in reach- ing the place in safety, completed our work and started to descend when the accident occurred. My brother slid down from the scaffold, holding on to the sheaves as he descended, and alighted safely on one of the beams on which the scaffold rested, bringing, however, quite a quantity of straw with him. I attempted to follow him and succeeded in descending to the beam all right, but my feet, unfortunatel}^ alighted on the straw which my brother had dragged down. The straw slipped from the beam, there was one moment of horror, and then unconsciousness. Two other elder brothers who were working in the barn at the time heard the dull heavy thud, and hastening to the place found me apparently dead. They lifted me from where I had fallen, and for awhile stood speechless, gazing into my apparently lifeless face, and when I began to show signs of life and returning consciousness, they carried me gently to the house and handed me over to my mother's care. Had 1 been put in bed then and kept there for <^wo or three weeks it is quite probable I should not have suffe d any permanent injury, but in less than one hour I had rallied sufficiently from the shock to walk Jxbout. My friends were thankful that my life had been spared. What their feelings would have been had they known the years of agony that would ensue I can only conjecture from incidents which transpired later. '* A woman when she is in travail hath sorrow because her hour is come ; but as soon as she is delivered of the child she remembereth no more the anguish for joy that a nan is born into the world." This is true — universally true — because the future is unknown. Could the mother look into the future and see the life her child will live, the character he will form, the sorrows and trials and sufferings that lie before him, it would no longer be universally true. As time rolled on what then must my mother have felt during the long years of apparently hopeless misery that resulted from this fall ? Her THE STORY OF MY LIFB. 7 afFection for her child, her sorrow for my sufferings, and her despair of any release save death, at length constrained her to exclaim, " I would be glad if his sufferings were over, and he laid away in his grave." I felt the words keenly. I thought then that she was weary of carying for me. I knew aftc wards that it was not self but the true mother love that spoke ; tl.at she was thinking only of me, of my release from a trouble that seemed hopeless, from an agony that she thought death alone could end. For nearly two years after this fall I felt no ill etTects, but seemed the same strong, healthy, active child as before. Threshing time in 1859 came. The threshing-machine was with us on Sept. ist and 2nd. Hands were scarce and diffi- cult to get, so every boy about the farm was pressed into ser- vice. In those days the hardest way was often the best way — of- tentimes the only way. The grain fell from the separator into a box which held about a bushel and sat directly beneath the machine. It was my duty to take another similar empty box, set it against the end of the full one, and shove it from beneath the machine that it might be carried away, emptied, and returned to me to repeat the operation. During the first day I succeeded very well. In the afternoon of the second day I experienced great difiiculty, and finally had to retire unable ;to continue the work. Next morning I seemed myself again. IV! y parents left home that. day to be gone for some days. I was sent to drive the oxen for my brother who was ploughing, and continued to do so during the forenoon. About half-past one in the afternoon we returned to the field, but had only been at work a few minutes when I was seized with severe pains in the knee and ankle joints, and was obliged to sit down. Presently the joints began to swell, and by three o'clock they had become so swollen and painful it was with great difficulty that I suc- ceeded in reaching the house. On the return of my parents, the family physician, Dr. J N , was called in. After a brief examination he pronounced my trouble inflammatory rheumatism. This proved to be another mistake, but it was not discovered to be svych for ten long years. I was immediately put under treatment for my supposed S THE STORY OP MY LIFE. ailment. All the remedies for rheumatism known to the pharmacopeia, and also electricity, wet pack, cold shower bath, etc., were tried with varying results. None proved beneficial, while some were positively injurious. Sometimes I was confined to bed for weeks or months ; sonietimes I was well enough to go to school. But always when any considerable improvement took place the doctor immediately insisted that I must be put to work, that my muscles were wasted, and unless I was made to work they would never grow. A terrible mistake ! Rest, absolute rest, was what I needed, and consequently a short period of work was always followed by a most serious relapse, the most excrutiating agony and another long confinement to the house or perhaps to bed. The doctor meanwhile maintained that he under- stood my case thoroughly, and was doing all for me that medical skill could do, and my parents had such implicit faith in him that his word was never doubted, nor was another physician consulted about my case. I do not believe that Dr. N ever thought that he was wronging me, yet under like circumstances, would it not be m.ore creditable to the doctor and more considerate to his patient to admit that he was not satisfied with the result, and leave his patient free to get other advice, or even counsel him to do so ? On general principles I think it would, and thus regrets and painful reflections in after days would be avoided. Year after year passed away. I would be confined to bed for a month or two, then would come a period of apparent improvement, a short term at school, an effort to perform some kind of work as the doctor insisted, and then another relapse still more serious than the preceding one. During all these years of suffering I endeavored to get an education ; the greater part of the little I possess I acquired by my own efforts in bed. In the year 1865 our county council, desiring to promote and encourage education, offered for the follow- ing year, to be awarded by competition, scholarships of $40 each in the different municipalities in the county, the number of scholarships in each municipality being determined by the population. As our township was small it received only one. Competition was limited to pupils of the public schools. I at THE STORY OF MY LIFE. Q once determined to compete and succeeded in wining it by 48 marks after a Ireen contest. Besides obtaining the highest standing in a written examination, I must also undergo an oral one, and likewise attend a high school in the county for a period of one year. Accordingly in the spring of 1866 I became a pupil of the Uxbridge High School. Although my health was so poor that I could only attend school a portion of the time, 1 not only secured the scholarship but also the highest standing in the school in every subject which I took up In the sprmg of 1867 I determined to try the examination for teacher's certificate. My health and strength were at this time failing fast, and when the time for the examination arrived 1 was so weak that when driven to the room door I could not walk in without assistance. My friends attempted to dissuade me from trying the examination, but I had pre- pared for it and was determined to go through if possible. At the last moment my courage almost failed me. I felt that my strength was not equal to a long written examination. How- ever, I laid the matter before the board, and they kindly consented to grant me an oral one. The result was that I was deemed worthy of the highest certificate the board could grant (ist A.), the examiners expressing regret that they could not grant a higher one, I had gained the end I had labored so hard to reach. Beyond that the satisfaction has been small, for I have never been able to use my certificate. Immediately after this examination my health became so very unsatisfactory and my sufferings so severe that I was obliged to quit school altogether. During the fall and winter there was no perceptible improvement in my condition. In June, 1868, my father decided to take me to the Maritime Provinces to try change of air and sea bathing. The sail from Toronto, down lake Ontario and the St. Lawrence, was doubtless pleasant for those who were well, but I have little recollection of anything except that I suffered severe pain, and that captain, crew and passengers were all extremely kind. On reaching Point de Chene, New Brunswick, we found comfortable lodging close to the sea-shore, and here we con- 10 THE STOUY OF MY MFK. eluded to rest. For a little time there seemed to be soni< miprovement; then came a sudden and serious relapse. Dr. Harrison, of Shediac, was called in. After a very careful examination he pronounced my trouble " spinal disease," the result, no doubt, of the fall which I had nearly twelve years before He advised the use of certain remedies, and also that I should return home at once, as there seemed no prospect of betterment, but the reverse, and the doctor thought I was l^oing home to die. Accordingly we started homewards, via St. John, N.B., and Portland, Maine. On board the steamer New York, somewhere ofT the Maine coast, an old gentleman, whose hair and 1 eard were as white as snow, came and talked with me. His kindly winning way and tender sympathy were very pleasant. For some time we talked on various subjects of mutual interest, and afterwards about my own ailment, its origin, progress, treatment, etc. Finally, taking me by the hand, his eyes expressing an interest beyond what tongue could speak, his voice full of sympathy and of a yearning that only those can understand who have felt the constraining love of Christ in their own souls, he tenderly said "Your prospects seem poor for this world, what are they for the next ?" In an instant he was gone, but the thoughts, the longings that had their origin in that question have begotten in my soul a hope, a trust, a faith that have never gone from me, and, I pray God, never will. In our home there was too much of that reserve in speak- ing of Spiritual things which is so characteristic of many Presbyterians, especiail}' Scotch Presbyterians, the result no doubt of the persecution of the Covenanters, when men might think, and believe, and hope, and trust, but the longings, 'and desires, and aspirations of the heart for heaven and heavenly things must remain unspoken unless they were cast in a certain mold and fashioned after a certain established pattern. Despite this reserve in speaking about spiritual life antl experience we were early taught the fundamental truths of Christianity. We were required to commit to memory the Shorter Catechism and large portions of the Bi! . Revcr- ! THE STOUT OP MY LIFE. 11 ince for the Sabbath, for God's Word and for His Churcli were inculcated both by precept and example. Patriotism, loyalty to •' the powers that be,'' integrity, truthfulness and general moral uprightness were constantly instilled. In course of time a Union Sabbath School was established near by, and we became regular attendants, and though my parents did not always approve of everything in connection with it, they always upheld it and generously contributed to its support. For the Scripture knowledge and Christian doctrmes thus acquired I trust I have been sincerely thankful. They furnished food for profitable thought and spiritual growth and comfort in after years when confined to bed and racked with pain I was unable to wait upon the usual means of grace.. But it has always been to me a source of keen regret that in our home there was not that interchange of spiritual thoughts,, and hopes, and desires, that confidential converse about all that pertains to the soul's life and growth and welfare for which I so often longed. For this my parents were probably more to be pitied than blamed. The habits acquired in early life are not easily overcome. Obliged by the customs of the community in which they were reared to exercise self-restraint in religious matters, the enforced reserve in time developed self-dependence and, to some extent, self-sufficiency. Hence, when their minds were most active, their feelings most deeply stirred, their utterances were fewest and briefest The journey home from the Maritime Provinces was very trying, and I can still recall the look of disappointment on my mother's face when she learned that my search for health had been fruitless. For some months I was able to sit up a little almost every day. In the beginning of December I became so much worse that I was obliged to remain in bed, but it was expected that I would be able to get up again in a few weeks or months as I had alwavs done before. Had I known then that for seven long years I should be confined to that bed, that for ten years I should be confined almost wholly to tlie house, suffering agony that words are power- less to express, I think the knowledge would have killed me. How kindly our Heavenly Father deals with us ! In love 12 THK STOKY OK MY LIFE. and mercy He conceals from us what shall befall us. How I felleville, Ont., I felt so exhausted that I deemed it unwise to attempt to continue my journey without rest I took a cab into the city. It had been rain- ing and the cushion was damp. I thought nothing of this at the time, but next morning I was waked by a pain in my thigh which soon grew so severe I decided to call in a doc- tor. He pronounced the trouble either rheumatism or neu- ralgia, and administered opiates to give relief. He presently awoke to the fact that the pain was caused by inflammation which worked upwards and an abscess formed in my side. The doctor despaired of my life. So did Rev. M. W. Mc- L , who was a kind and frequent visitor. For weeks the agony continued. I felt that I must die or go insane unless I could get sleep, so the doctor administered heavy doses of chloral, and finally I fell asleep and slept for hours. When I awoke it was dark and the pain was all gone. The abscess had reached an old wound in my side, had torn it open, and I was fast bleeding to death. I stanched the bleeding till morning and then sent for the doctor. A second time he told the kind people with whom I was staying, and who were tenderly caring for me, that I would surely die. I did not think so, and having no more faith in him after hearing his opinion, I wrote to Dr. DeGarmo for his opmion and ad- vice. I followed his directions and the wound quickly healed, but my strength did not return. All that summer and the next winter life was a burden. When the summer of 1887 came,, I felt that I could not live unless I could get away from the heat, so I s'arted once more for the seaside. I reached St. Andrews, N.B., now becoming a fashionable summer re- sort. The cool sea breeze was both life and health to me, and my recovery was much more rapid than I had dared to hope. Again a period of comparative health was vouchsafed THE STORY OP MY LIFE. .21 me, but in the fall of i88g my heart troubled me seriously, ar 1 rememberijig the effect of the sea air before, I decided {o try the ounce of prevention rather than the pound of cure, crossed the Atlantic to the British Isles, and spent the winter with my mother's relatives. During four short months I en- joyed pleasant and profitable intercourse with those of my own blood in the land of my ancestors, visited many places of interest because of historical incidents, family traditions, classic story or heroic martyrdom, while health and strength improved daily. Returning to Canada in the month of June, I continued to work during summer and autumn with varying success. In December, 1890, I took me a helpmeet, who has proved a helpmeet indeed. Whatever else Providence has denied me, He has given me a good, loving, faithful wife, and has sent us a bright, sweet-tempered little daughter, now four years old, who is truly " papa's sunshine." In April, 1891, I took an attack of la grippe, so severe that for five months it was doubtful if I could survive. Had it not been for the unwearying care and good nursing of my wife, I have little doubt that the attack v/ould have had a fatal termination. I made a slow and a poor recovery ; and in July, 1892, I broke down a second time with heart-failure while speaking in the Presbyterian church in Petrolea. As soon as I thought I was able, I started homewards. Several times on the way I thought I was dying. On reaching home I sent for a doctor and put myself under his care. For thir- teen months I struggled for life. In the fall of 1893, I began to improve and was looking forward to complete recovery in the near future when I was suddenl}' seized with neuralgia in the base of the brain and spinal cord. My right arm became helpless. The pain in my head was so intense that I often thought I must go insane. Night aftei night, for weeks in succession, the pain was so excruciating that I was obliged to send for the doctor. Four months this terrible agony lasted. Nervous prostration followed. Life became an almost insupportable burden. I was often tempted to com- mit suicide. Only my strong faith in God and His comfort- ing, all-embracing promise, *' I will never leave thee, nor for- 22 TUB STORY OF MY LIFE. sake thee," restrained me. How true is the assurance thnf Tie will not suffer His own to be tempted " beyond that they are able to bear, but will with the temptation also make a way of escape." During this long period of sickness and suffering, three assignments— one genuine and two fraudulent — swept away the little I had been able to save, and left me deep in debt. Twice I essayed to work to provide for the maintenance of myself and those dependent on me. Each time I was taken so ill before reaching my proposed field of labour that I was obliged to return home. An eminent physician in Toronto told me it was not likely that I would fvcr be able to travel again. '• Some murmur when their sky is clear and wholly bright to view, If one small speck of dark appear in their great heaven of blue ; While some with thankful love are filled if but one streak of light, One ray of God's great mercy, gild the darkness of their night." At this time I seemed to be encompassed by " an horror of great darkness." In the whole sky there seemed not one ray of hope. I was becoming despondent, when a letter from Dr. DeGarmo told me that he was coming to Toronto, and would come to see me. The very thought of seeing him re- vived my sinking spirit. When he came and examined me he assured me that there was no organic trouble, that it was only functional, and he could see no reason why I should not be restored to my accustomed state of health. Hope revived. His skill at length availed so far that I was able in the fall of 1894 ^^ ^^^ 9- little work and so keep the wolf from the door. Slowly, very slowly, health returned and spirits revived. During the early summer months of 1895 I continued to im- prove, and in August, by the advice of my physician, I went once more to the Maritime Provinces and contmued to work there for more than three months. The change had a mar- vellously stimulating effect upon me. My heart began to beat with something like its normal strength. Health and vigour returned, and about the middle of December I came home feeling that I have strength and vitality to go on work- ing, if God so wills, for the maintenance of myself, my wife THE STORY OP MY LIFE. iSd and child, for the good of my fellow-men and for the glory of His great name. In connection with most lives there are dispensations of Providence which, at the moment, seem incomprehensible ; yet as time reveals God's purposes, the wisdom and goodness of the Supreme Disposer of events become more and more apparent. " Why am I required to pass through such a long period of suffering ? " is a question that I often asked myself, but asked in vain, for I found no satisfactory answer. I think I can now see a part, if not the whole, of the reason. In the first place, by m)^ personal, practical acquaint- ance with the one form of spinal disease from which I suf- fered I have been enabled to make such suj^gestions, and lend such assistance, to others similarly afflicted as have been blessed by God to the restoration of many of them to health and usefulness : and, in the second place, that the perfecting process might be begun and carried on in me in the way which Infinite Love and Wisdom saw best, just as it behooved the Captain of our salvation to be made perfect through suffering. It was long a mystery to me why I should be kept alive, a burden to myself and to others, while many who could en- joy life and were useful in both Church and State were taken away. I now understand that these having completed the work which God had designed for them here, were called to receive their reward, while I was kept alive that the sustain- ing power of the grace of God might be manifested in me, that ni}' affliction might be made a means ol grace'to those about me, and, having passed through seasons of fierce trial and temptation, that I might be instrumental in helping others out of the '• horrible pit," out of the *' miry clay " of sin, and setting their feet on the Rock, Christ Jesus. I often asked myself the question, ** Wh}^ was I denied my heart's desire to enter the ministry, and forced into the lecture-field instead ? " Had I entered the ministry in the regular way I might have proclaimed the unsearchable riches of Christ to a few hundreds, or perhaps a few thousands, of my fellow-beings. As it is, I have done so to hundreds of thou- sands. When I began lecturing I spoke on week-evenings 24 THE STORY OF MY LIFE. only. Coming? occasionally where there was no minister, or where the minister was ill, I was asked to give the people a Sabbath service, and did so. Gradually Sabbath work grew upon me until I now do a large part of my work on the Sabbath. I have always selected subjects that I believed would not only interest but profit my hearers while profiting myself, and while I lecture I shall select such subjects only. During my journeyings the poor, the sick, the suffering, whether in body, mind, or soul, often send for me to visit them, believing that because of my own life of trial 1 must know how to sympathize with, clieer and encourage them. Many who have felt that they were struggling under insup- portable burdens or striving to overcome insurmountable obstacles, have been encouraged by my unfaltering, God- given perseverance, to press onward and upward, resolved, God helping them, to win. Even ministers of the gospel have said that my words and my example have inspired them- selves and their people with renewed zeal and hope and cour- age for the Master's work. To say or think that I understand the whole of God's purpose in afflicting me, or that I see the whole of the results which lie intended to spring from my affliction, would be presumption. But I am content, for ** what I know not now I shall know hereafter." And though I know naught of what God has in store for me during the remainder of my sojourn here, yet while the memory and consciousness of His sustain- ing grace during the trials and sufferings of the past remain with me I can trust Him for I'le future. " I know not what shall befall me, God kindly veils my eyes, And so each step in my onward path He makes new scenes to rise, And every joy He sends me Comes as a strange and sweet surprise. I see not a step before me As I tread on another year, But the past is safe in God's Iceeping, The future His mercy shall clear, And what looks dark in the distance • ' May brighten as I draw near. THE STORY OF MY LIFB. For perhaps the dreaded future Has less bitter than I think, The Lord may sweeten the water Before I stoop to drink, Or, if Marah must be Marah, He will stand beside the brink. It may be He has waiting For the coming of my feet. Some gift of such rare blessedness, Some joy so strangely sweet. That my lips will only tremble With ihe thanks they cannot speak, O restful, blissful ignorance 1 'Tis blessed not to know, It keeps me so safe in those arms That will not let me go, And hushes my soul to rest On the bosom that loves me so. Lly heart shrinks back from trials That the future may disclose, Yet I never had one sorrow But what the dear Lord chose ; So I send the coming tears back With the whispered words, ' He know 25 S: . ..'^.y. *^i' Through Scotland on Crutches. While in the British Islands I took many trips to places of interest, historical and otherwise. I purpose taking yon with me this evening on one of these ; not on crutches, as I went, that would be too painful and fatiguing, but only intel- lectually. The pleasure may be less on that account ; so, also, will the pain. On Monday morning, April 21st, 1890, I left Dumfries for Melrose by way of Gretna and Longtown. At each of these places is a railway junction where I changed cars. At the former is the famous " Green," where the Gretna black- smith married runaway couples; sometimes as many as three hundred in a year, of all r.iuks in life, from chancellors of the empire down to humble peasants. After leaving Longtown, we soon pass through the Lid- desdale district, the country of the Dandy Dmmont of Scott's " Guy Mannering," and come within three miles of Hermi- tage Castle, founded in the 13th century, and famous for Queen Mary visiting Bothwell there when he was ill, soon after the murder of Rizzio. The first place of importance which we reach is Hawick, which played an important part in the border feuds and was often burnt by the English. Quite close to the railway is an artificial mound of earth, called " The Moat." It is 30 feet high, 312 in circumference at the base, and 117 at the top It is circular in form, and is of such antiquity that it is not known when, by whom, or for what purpose it was made, though supposed to be of Roman origin The old fortress of the Barons of Drumlanrig is at Hawick, and now forms part of the Town Hall. It also is visible from the station. About three miles to the south-west of Hawick is Branks- holm Castle, immortalized by Sir Walter Scott in his " Lay of the Last Minstrel." It was from this castle that William of Deloraine was sent to Melrose Abbey to visit the tomb of the Wizard Michael Scott, and get therefrom his * Mighty Book." 2 Tiinouon Scotland on crutches. •' The Lady of Branksholm greets thee by me, Says that the fated hour is come, And that to-night I shall watch with thee, To win the treasure of the tomb." Such was the message Deloraine carried to Melrose Abbey to the ♦* Monk of St. Mary's Aisle." Said the monk : — " I swore to bury his Mighty Book, That never mortal might therein look, And never to tell where it was hid Save at his chief of Branksholm's need," Having removed the stone which covered the tomb :— " Before their eyes the wizard lay, As if he had not been dead a day ; His hoary beard in silver rolled, He seemed some seventy winters old ; A palmer's amice wrapped him round, With a wrought Spanish baldric bound, Like a oilgrim from beyond the sea ; His left hand held his Book of Might, A silver cross was in his right ; The lamp was placed beside his knee ; High and majestic was his look. At which the fellest fiends had shook, And all unruffled was his face; They trusted he had gotten grace. " Deloraine in terror took From his cold hand the Mighty Book, With iron clasped, and '" ith iron bound ; He thought as he took it the dead man frowned." Michael Scott belonged to Sir Walter's ancestral liiu! He lived in the i2th century, and his reputation extended all over Europe. He was so far in advance of those among whom he lived, both in wisdom and knowledge, that the i,',morant and superstitious invested him with supernatural powers. He wrote several able works on mathematics and other of the exact sciences, and the expression the " Mighty Book " has reference to these manuscripts, which the ignor- ant thought contained the magic spells ard incantations for the possession of which he had sold himself to the devil. Leaving Hawick, we soon come to Hasscndean, the THROUGH HCOTLANI) ON ritUTCUBS. 5 " Hazeldean " of " Jock o' Hazeldean ; " and then the Eildon Hills «^ome in sight. These three liills or mountains seem at one time to have formed only one mountain, which, during some volcanic convulsion, had been torn into three. Traili- tion says that Michael Scott one morning sent a demon to divide this mountain and that he completed the task before breakfast. Passing on we soon reach Melrose. Here I was met by a cousin from Edinburgh, a teacher in one of the city schools. At Melrone the chief attraction is the Old Abbey or Monas- tery, made so famous b}^ Scott in his •' Lay of the Last Min- strel," and thither we turned our steps. Having knocked at the gate we were presently admitted on payment of the usual fee, and a tall, lithe Scotch lassie, with pleasant face, spark- ling eyes and rav^en hair presented herself as our guide. She was lady-like and modest in manner and fluent in speech. She was well up in the architecture and sculpture of the place and in its historical associations, and I found her one of the most satisfactory guides I ever had. She led us from chapel to chapel, pointmg out their gen- eral resemblance and the difference in detail ; calling atten- tion to the various styles of windows, each different from all the others, and every one emblematic of the Trinity; and to the endless variety of ornamental carvings on pillar, arch and corbel, no two being alike. One of the most beautiful, and at the same time one of the most difficult jf execution, was the curly Scotch kale carved on the capital of one of the pillars. It looked as if the living leaves had been placed there and then petrified. The Abbey is now a ruin. The greater part of the roof has fallen, arches have given way, and many of the beautiful pillars are lying in fragments. Several of these fragments are gathered together in front of the beautiful cast window, and one piece worn smooth by the contact of clothing, was pointed out as the one on which Sir Walter Scott sat and conjured up the weird fancies of his waking hours and then crystallized them by h's genius, and so pre- served tnem for the recreation and entertainment of genera- tions yet unborn. Of course, we sat on that same stone, but we did not dream Sir Walter's dreams. 4 THROUGH SCOTLAND ON CRUTCHES. Melrose Abbey was begun by King David I. in 1136, was ten years in building, and was dedicated to the Virgin Mary. It was destroyed by the Enghsh under Edward II in 1322. In 1326 King Robert Bruce gave ;^2,ooo (equal to £50,000 iiow; and the beautiful fabric was erected, which, even in ruins, excites universal admiration. It was several times plundered and burned by the English, was sadly defaced at the Reformation, and fiercely bombarded by Cromwell. The Abbey, with its buildings, gardens and walks, was encircled by a high stone wall one mile in circumference, but now consists of the ruins of the church, cruciform in shape, which afford the finest specimens of Gothic architecture aiid sculpture in Scotland. Everything is graceful, elaborate and rich, combining great delicacy of touch and boldness of exe cution. While the stone of which it is built is soft enough to admit of great variety and delicacy of chiselling, it possesses great power of resistance to the weather, and the most minute ornaments still retain much of their original sharpness of out- line. Many writers have tried to describe the Abbey, but none have done so more beautifully than Sir Walter Scott. " The darkened roof rose high aloof On pillars lofty and light and small: The key-stone that locked each ribbed aisle Was 3.jfleur-de-Jys or a quatre-fenille : The corbels were carved grotesque and grim ; And the pillars with clustered shafts so trim, With base and with capital flourished around, Seemed bundles of lances which garlands had bound." Alexander II. is buried near the high altar under the sur- jiassingly beautiful east window which Scott describes thus : '• The moon on the east oriel shone Through slender shafts of polished stone, By foliaged tracery combined ; Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand 'Twixt poplars straight the osier wand, In many a freakish knot, had twined ^ Then framed a spell M'hen the work was done And changed the willow-wreaths to stone." THROUGH SCOTLAND ON CRUTCHES, 6 The heart of Bruce was deposited in Melrose Abbey after an unsuccessful attempt by Lord James Douglas to carry it to the Holy Land. Being hard pressed in battle with the Moors in Andelusia, he flung the heart of Bruce in its silver casket into the enemy's ranks, crying, ** On, brave heart, as thou wert wont ; Douglas will follow thee or die," and press- ing forward fell covered with wounds. The Lords of Liddesdale are buried in the Abbey with many another gallant Scot. Above the grave of Michael Scott, the wizard, stands a statue of the great magician, with weird face, longer on one side than on the other, and wild, staring eyes. If he looked like the statue it is no wonder his neighbors thought there was something uncanny about him. In the churchyard lie the mortal remains of Sir David Brew- ster. Among the many strange and striking epitaphs in the churchyard the following I thought worth transcribing : — •' The earth goeth on the earth glistening like gold, The earth goes to the earth sooner than it wold, The earth builds on the earth castles and towers, The earth says to the earth all shall be ours," In these lines the pride, the brevity, the greed and the vnn't\- of human life are strikingly set forth. Scott says : — " If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, Go visit it by the pale moonlight, For the gay beams of light-some day Gild but to flout the ruins grey. "When the broken arches are black in night, And each shafted oriel glimmers white; When the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the ruined central tower ; Whep buttress and buttress alternately Seem framed of ebon and ivo y ; When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ; When distant Tweed is heard to rave. And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave, Then go — but go alone the while — Then view St. David's ruined pile ; . And, home returning, soothly swear Was never scene so sad and fair.'* 6 THROUGH SCOTLAND ON CRUTCHES. If these liues be true, then I did not " see fair Melrose aright," for I went in dayhght with a companion, and during the whole of our visit there fell a cold, drizzling rain, yet 1 was charmed with tlie lovely old ruin. Having purch!' i UOW TO MAKE sayinij, godlosB and graceless man though ho was: ** Surely God hiteiids to do some great things by me, that he has so preserved nie." Tliat godidHs, graoch'ss man is known in history as Lord C!livk, the founder oj our great East Indian K/npire, the noblest appendage of the British Crown. " Tlioro is a Providence that Hhiip(!8 our ends, rough-how them as we will." Man is a child of destiny. It would be useless to multiply illustrations. The two I have given make it quite evident that thore are two distinct agencies at work moulding man's lif(\ a humiin and a divine, each acting in its own sphere, doing its own part, but never interfering with its co-worker. The divine is beyond our control. The human we can direct at will. If we turn to the Inspired Volume, we find these two distinct forces recognized, else where would be the sense in the apostle's injunction to the Philippians? " Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God which worketh in you, both to will and to do, of His good pleasure." These two forces, distinct and separate, yet never at variance, together work out the problem of life. It is the old question of Foreordination and Free-will (or God's i)lan and man's choice). Yet Foreordina- tion and Free-will are not antagonistic. They are in perfect harmony. Some years ago Dr. Talmage was spending his vacation in the Western States. A locomotive engineer offered him a ride on his locomotive. Willing to add this new sensation to his many strange experiences, he .iccepted the invitation. As he stepped on the locomotive a Methodist minister stepped on also. While enjoying their ride the two began discussing Foreordination and Free-will, and soon the discussion waxed warm. At length Talmaw said : " My brother, there is no difference between you and me. This road is Foreordination ; this locomotive is Free- will. Neither is of any use without the other, but both together carry us to our destination." They could not change the road, but they could choose which direction they would ride on it. And as this was true of their journey, so is it true of the journey of lifo. We cannot interfere (if we would) with the Divine agency, but we can control the human. Man's life mu^t be either a success or a failure, and it rests with him to decide which it shall be. It is foreordained tlFR A auCCKSS. ft that man must j^o either to heaven or hell. The road to heaven is the road to hell ; which place; wo reach ail depends on the direc tion we travel, and the choice rests with i.s. Man's life is just what he makes it. God gives him existence, and endows him with a threefold nature — physical, intellectual and moral, or spiritual. Time is the warp in his loom ; opportunity is wound up in his shuttle, and with these he weaves the web of life — a web that the "good and faithful " can make " a thing of beauty, and a joy fore/er;" a thing that men will gaze on with fc( lings of admiration and respect ; that they will call grand, beautiful, sublime ; of which even God will say, ' VV(!ll done." A web that the " wicked and slothful " can make a horrible monstrosity ; a thing which men will shrink from with feelings of disgust and pity, and even Infinite Compassion "cannot look upon with any degree of allowance." The materials are the same, but how dif- ferent are the results. Over the one Infinite Wisdom, Justice and Pity mingled will write failuhb; over the other, succkss. And just here arises a very important question. What constitutes success, and what failure '? Our opinions about other things diifur greatly, and they differ about this also. A tourist in Scotland asked an old man, who was breaking stones by the wayside, if he knew the Carlyles. "Aye, man," said he, " aw ken them brawley weel. There was Tam, an' Jamie, an' Sandy, an' Jock, the doctor, an' some five lassies for bye. Tam wasna o' muckle ac^coont. He gaed afl^ an' writet some buiks. He sent me ane ance, ca'ed ' Saucer Resorties,' or some 'at, but aw could mak' neither heid nor tail o' the trash intilt. But Jamie, the farmer, owerbye at the Newlan's there, is a clever fellow. D'ye ken, man, Jamie raised the best hogs that ha'e been seen in Ecclefechan market this twenty year." Fine hogs are ail very w 11 in their way, yet the world will award the palm of success to Tam, who, in the old stone-breaker's estimation, " wasna o' rauckle accoont." " To win and to wear, to have and to hold, Is the burden of dream and prayer ; The hope of the young, and the hope of the oid, The prize of the strong and tlio fair. All dream of some guerdon life's labour to blod.\ And, winning that guerdon, have nametl it succest.*' 4 HOW TO MAKE All hope for success, all work for it, but the accomplishment of one's plans and purposes in not necessarily success. " Boss " Tweed planned and worked to get millions of plunder, and got itj but was his life a success ! Napoleon Bonaparte fought for fame and power, and half a continent lay helpless at his feet ; but on tlie lonely isle of St. Helena did he think he had won success 1 " If a man strive for masteries, yet is he not crowned, except he strive lawfully." A man's life can only be called a success when he. attains the end for which he was created. To do this he must make the most and best of all those things committed to his charge, whether they be time, talents, wealth, position, privileges, or opportuni- ties. Success — complete and entire success — is the goal we all should strive for. Of him who reaches it alone can it be said, as our Saviour said of Mary of Bethany, " She hath done what she coiiid." He who has thus honestly and conscientiously tried to win success, though he may not be able to look back over his life without deep sorrow for sins of commission and of omission, can yet look forward without dread, and even contemplate the end of life with unwavering trust in Him who gave it ; for " like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him. For he knoweth our frame ; he remembereth that we are dust," and though " to err is human, to forgive is divine." But if there be a man who can look back over his life and not see '* something attempted, something dofte," for man's good and GotVs glory, — if there be one, the mainspring of whose life has been self, and self only, — his lot is sad indeed. "If such there be, go, mark hiin well j For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless hia wealth as wish can claim, — Despite those titles, power and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living shall forfeit fair renown. And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonorcd, and unsuiuj." Though sunli a i.^an were rich as Croesus, the poorest beggar on our streets is mor^ to be envied than he if his heart but throb with love CO God and man. LIFE A SUCCESS. | "A sacred burden is the life ye bear, Look on it, lift it, bear it solemnly, Stand up and walk beneath it steadfastly, Fail not for sorrow, falter not for sin, But onward, upward, till tlie goal ye win." Having seen what constitutes success, and what failure, we have next to inquire how the one is to be attained, and the other avoided. There is an old proverb, " Deserve success, and you will command it." But, *' How shall we deserve it 1 " TJiere are many things which may not be absolutely necessary to success, but are yet of very material assistance in winning it, and he who is wise will avail himself of every such aid. The first of these aids of which I shall speak, — and I'll only speak of a few of them — is a strong, active, healthy body. For a poor constitution and ill-health nothing can compensate. With them as a clog even genius finds her wings clipped, and perseverance is almost hopelessly handicapped. While waiting and seeking for health and strength equal to the effort the auspicious moment is lost, another steps in and wins the prize. Never before, in the world's history, was competition in every calling and pursuit so fierce as now ; never did success demand for its attainment such sterling physical and intellectual qualities as in this latter part of the nineteenth century. Carlyle truly says, "The race of life has become intense : the runners are treading upon each other's heels ; woe be to him who stops to tie his shoe-strings." I do not mean to say that he who is weighted with a weak, diseased body may not attain a measure of success in the struggle of life — may not even distance many who are blessed with every physical advantage, for I remember that Ben Jonson was a dwarf, John Milton was blind, Isaac Newton and James Watt were weak and delicate, Robert Hall su fibred from spinal disease, Horatio Nelson was little ind lame, Alexander Pope was a hunchback ; yet these, and others afflicted as they were, have lived lives that command the admiration of the world, and have left names behind them that will live to the end of time— names that are cherished because of the great achievements of their owners and the blessings they conferred on our race — names that we fain would hope are inscribed in the Lamb's Book of Life. Yet I cannot but think how much greater their achievements might have been, in this life at least, had they not laboured under such physi- 9 HOW TO MAKE cal disabilitiVa, for their greatness was attained not because of these, as mauy suppose, l»ut in spite of them. The value of good health cannot be estimated. It is beyond price. Having a strong frame and good health man has the greatest physical blessing earth can bestow. The strongest intel- lect is weakened, the brightest mind cloudod, the loftiest genius hampered by weakness and ill-health. " Health is a very large ingredient in what the world calls talent. A man without it may be a giant in intellect, but his d'^eds will be the deeds of a dwarf." There is no calling in which men do not need bodily health, strength, and agility. Therefore, as a valuable aid to success, pre- serve health and strength if you have them, and endeavour in every possible way to secure them if you have not. Having a strong, healthy body, one has an adequate support for a powerful mind. The influence of matter over mind is great — marvellously great, Yet the influence of mind over matter is perhaps greater. Hence the next aid to success which one should secure is a healthy, vigorous, well-stored, systematically developed mind. The mind should be healthy, that its balance may not be easily disturbed, for " who can minister to a mind diseased ? " It should be vigorous, in order that it may be capable of sustained eff'ort. ft should be well-stored, that it may have a fund of infor- mation to draw upon at will. It should be systematically deve- loped, because success is purchased too dear if one becomes a one-sided monster to gain it. In days of yore, fame, wealth, position, beauty, everything desirable which this world could bestow, might all be secured by strength and courage alone. But the age when the gallant knight who bestrode the noblest charger, and wielded the heaviest battle- axe and sharpest sword, gathered to himself life's prizes is past and gone. 'Tis mind, not muscle, that rules the world to-day. 'Twas mind that made Benjamin Disraeli, a member of a despised, outcast race, rise to be a star of fashion in the proudest and most exclusive society in the world, the trusted and beloved adviser of our gracious Queen, and Prime Minister of the most powerful nation of the earth. 'Twas mind that made a stone- mason, Hon. Alexander Mackenzie, the most successful leader the Reform party in Canada has had for a quarter of a century. 'Twas mind that made the Right Hon. Sir John A. Macdonald LIFE A SUCCESS. 7 Prime Minister of Canada for more than twenty years, one of the ablest of constitutional kiwyers, and a member of the executive comm.ittee of the Privy Council of Great Britain and Ireland. 'Twas mind that raised Lincoln, Grant and Garlield, from poverty to the Presidential chair of the United States. It is true that, even yet, men of powerful physique, iron will and inflexible purpose, but with undeveloped mind, may secure a certain amount of wealth and fame — may become not only noto- rious, but popular. (Our own Hanlan is an example of such a man.) Yet their fame and popularity are both transient. They peri h, and themselves and their fame are alike forgotten, 'Tis the man of mind whose deeds are rec^orded in history ; who finds a permanent niche in the temple of fame ; whose name is indelibly inscribed on the roll of honour. In this nineteenth century " the mind 's the standard of the man," in a sense, and to a degree that it never was before. In earlier ages, when the store and range of human knowledge were less extensive, a man of genius might excel in several depart- ments. Bacon, Dante and Leonardo da Vinci were men of almost universal attainments. But all are not Bacons, or Dantes, or Da Vincis. And at the present time the store and range of human knowledge have become so vast that he who would excel — he who would ris(i above mediocrity — must devote all his time and energy to one branch, and be content to remain in comparative ignorance of all the rest. Pope says : — " One science only, will one genius fit, So wide is art, so narrow human wit." With the exception of a few great minds, the men whose names are historic are identified with some one achievement upon which all their life force was spent. You think of Watt, and the shrill whistle of the steam-engine falls on your ear ; of Edison, and the electric light Hashes through the midnight dark- ness ; of Wilberforce, and the coloured race stand forth free men ; of Garibaldi, and the dream of a united Italy is an accomplished fact. It is the man of single and intenco purpose, who steels his soul against all things else — it is the man that can say with St. Paul, " This one thing I do" — that is the successful man to-day. And this brings us to the next thing to be considered, vi*,, tbp 8 HOW TO MAKE choicp of a profpspion, or wliat one thing hIirII each man do, that he may be a success in his calling. To no other cause, perhaps, is failure so frequently to be traced as to a mistaken calling. Sidney Smith says, " Be what nature inten.Vd you to be, and you will succeed ; be anything else, and you will ho. ton thousand times worse than nothing." And Mathews in "Getting on in the World'' says, "If there is any fact demon- strated by experience, it is that no man can succeed in a calling for which nature did not intend him." And Smith and Mathews may be correct. Yet there is another fact demonstrated by experience, v/hich is, that man has within him a power of adapt- ing himself to circumstances which enables him to thrive in almost any pursuit. If he be determined to succeed, experience will quicken his instincts ; he will become v»'ise, cautious, discreet, far- sighted, and those who know no better will declare that he was made for the place and bound to succeed. "Nothing is denied to well-directed labour. Nothing is to be obtained without it." An intense desire will itself transform possibility into reality. If it were true that one can succeed only in that calling for which nature designed him — for which he has a predilection — then this world would contain little else than failures, for 1 am convinced that most men are what they are, not from choice, but from force of circumstances. But they bow to these in the be- ginning, that in the end they may rise superio** to them, and win in spite of them. As the lithe willow bends before the storm and rises when 'tis past, they stoop to conquer. But for every man the profr sion is best which chords most nearly with the bent of his mind, if he can embrace it without compromise of his social standing or moral principle. Be what you wir' j be, if possible; but if not, lose no time in indecision, but promptly determine to what calling you will devote yourself. Having once decided what you will do, do it. Stick to it even though you may prefer another. You will probably succeed better in the calling to which you have already served an appren- ticeship, even though not to your liking, than if you turned to another. A traveller once asl^ed an Irishman of two roads lead- ing to the same place, which he had better take. ♦* Take ayther road ye loike," said Pat, "an go six moiles, thin come back an tViroy me other, an whichever road ye take first yees'll wish yees had stuck to it." LIFE A SUCCESS. 9 " If it be possible, give alt your energies to the highest em- ployment of which your nature is capable ; . . . and if you fail to reach the goal of your wishes, which is possible in spite of your utmost efforts, you will die with the consciousness of having done your best, which is, after all, the truest success to which man can aspire." Among the many qualities of mind and heart which conduce to worldly success, none is more frequently underrated, yet few are of more real importance, than courtesy. Hawthorne used to say, "God may forgive sins, but awkwardness has no forgiveness in heaven, or on earth." Courtesy is to a man what beauty is to a woman. It creates an instantaneous impression in his behalf, and is worth more as a means of winning favour than the finest clothes and jewels ever worn. " Give a boy address and accom- plishments," says Emerson, *' and you give him the mastery of palaces and fortunes wherever he goes ; he has not the trouble of owning or carrying them ; they solicit him to enter and possess." It is easy to depreciate courtesy as a trifle, but trifles make up the aggregate of human life. Courtesy costs little and is worth much. Another valuable aid to success is cheerfulness. The spectres of neglect, unkindness and despair fly before it, as fogs before the sun. Is your situation unpleasant? Make the best of it. Is your labour hard 1 A cheerful disposition will enable you to do double the work with half the physical and mental exhaustion. Are your friends few ] Cultivate a cheerful, sunny disposition, and friends will gather about you as if by magic, and you need never want a friend or a dollar. "Be glad, and your friends are many, Be sad, and they turn and go. They -v mt full measure of all your pleasure, But Liiey do not want your woe. "Rejoice, and men will seek you, Grieve, and you lose them all. There are n> ne to declii" your nectared wine, But alone j'ou must drink life's gall." Learn also how to economize ; and especially how to econo- mize time. In order that one may do so he should be punctual. Ue who lacks punctuality wastes the time of others, and ms 10 HOW TO MAKB own. Whatever claim he may pretend to have on the latter, he hflH none whatever on the former. When Washington's secretary pleaded a slow watch aa an excuse for being live minutes late, Washington replied, "Then, sir, you must either get a new watch, or I must get a new secretary." And Washington was right. He who wastes his own time is a spendthrift, and will yet be poor in that of which he is so prodigal, — may even crave it as Queen Elizabeth did when she cried : " My kingdom for an hour of time." He who wastes the time of others is a thief, and robs them of that which can never be restored. Many things if lost may be replaced, but lost time is gone forever. Time is the only portion of eternity that man can call his own. It is not only money, but the very stuff life is made of . Even the odds and ends of it may be worked up into results of the greatest value. Henry Kirke White learnt Greek while walking to and from a lawyer's office. Hugh Miller, while working as a stone- mason, became an able scientist, and one of the most facile and brilliant authors of his day. Elihu Burritt, while pursuing his trade as a blacksmith, mastered eighteen languages and twenty- two dialects. Learn, then, how to economize all things, but especially time. *' Glean up its golden dust, economize those raspings and parings of existence, — those fragments of days and wee bits of hours — so valueless singly, so inestimable in the aggregate, — which most persons sweep out into the waste of life," and you will have time for all life's duties, and be rich in leisure. I would say also : — Cultivate self-reliance. Learn to put your own shoulder to the wheel before looking for help. The inspired penman says, " It is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth ; " and that which one acquires by his own exertions is of infinitely more value to him than the richest legacy or costliest gift, because he has the experience^ or training, acquired while working for it, and that is priceless. Grace Greenwood says, *' Men who have fortunes are not those who had $5,000 given them to start with, but boys who have started with a well-earned dollar or two. Men who have acquired fame have never been thrust into popularity. . . . They have outstretched their own hands and touched the public heart. Men who win love do their own wooing, and I never knew a man fail LIFE A SUCCESS. 11 80 signally as ono who induced his grandmararaa to speak a word or two for him. Whether you work for fame, love, or money, or anything else, work with your own hands and heart and brain. Say, * I will,' and some day you will conquer." I might speak of accuracy, tact, reliability, and .so on, did time permit, but I must leave the aids, and hasten on to the essentials of success, or the three P's : Perseverance, Patience, Piety. I call these essentials, because without them man's life cannot be a success, wiih them it cannot be a failure. He who would make his life a success should get Perseverance, because "Perseverance overcomes all obstacles." Without it none can be either great or good. Life is one long series of struggles with difficulties and temptations. Were it only one battle, one difficult^^ one giant effort might win success. But as life is, after each struggle he who would " be a hero in the strife" must gird himself anew for the conflict. "Each victory will help us some other to win," But life's heroes have often learnt more from their failures than from their successes. Defeat has taught them where their weakness lay, but instead of discouraging has spurred them on to greater and more persistent efforts, and thus the talent that was cradled in weakness has grown strong by per- severance. Had the great men of the world been discouraged by defeat they would never have been heard of— they would not have been great men. Without perseverance nothing great has ever been achieved. All those whose names are blazoned on the scroll of fame have been distinguished for unflagging perseverance. Lord Beaconsfield's first speech in Parliament was a failure. The House refused to give him a hearing. He simply said, '' The day will come when you will be glad to hear me." He persevered, despite insult and ridicule, and after long years they under whose laughter he had wilted were made to writhe in turn under his burning sarcasm and the whole civilized world listened with breathless interest to his utterances on the profoundest poli- tical problems of the day. In his first sermon Robert Hall stuck almost at the beginning. Covering his face with his hands he sobbed aloud, "01 have lost all my ideas," and burst into a flood of tears. A second trial ended in a still more agonizing failure. A third effort was made, and from that hour hf> took rank as the most brilliant pulpit orator in England. 12 HOW TO MAKB Six times Robert Bruce tried to deliver Scotland. Six time.s he was forced to fly before his enemies. While hiding in a hay loft from his pursuers he saw a spider make six unsucces.sfu! attoiDpts to reach a rafter. It made the seventh, and succeeded Inspired by the spider's example he tried once more. Bannock burn was fought, and Scotland was free. Wolfe, with an insufficient force, sought a long time in vain to capture Quebec. He was severely repulsed in an attack upon Montcalm's entrenchments, his troops were dispirited, promised reinforcements did not arrive, he himself was ill with fever and sutl'ering from a fatal disease. It is impossible to conceive of prospects gloomier than were his. He even wrote home to England to prepare the public mind for failure or retreat. But one more effort was made, and within fiv^e days from the date of that letter the Heights of Abraham had been scaled, Montcalm defeated, the seemingly impregnable fortress surrendered, and the name of Wolfe had become immortal. Marcus Morton ran sixteen times for Governor of Massachu- setts, and was defeated every time. He ran again, and was elected by one vote. Men feel th tt it is useless to struggle against one who will not be beaten. They get out of your way, con- vinced that the .path before you does not belong to them but to you, and success is yours. But Patience, also, is necessary to success. By patience I mean the ability and willingness to bide one's time. Indeed of all the les- sons humanity has to learn in this school of the world, the hardest is to wait. Not to wait with folded hands that claim life's prizes without previous effort, but having toiled, and struggled, and crowded the slo^v years with trial, to see no results, or perhaps disastrous results, and yet to stand firm, to preserve one's poise, and relax no effort — this is patience indeed. To know how to wait is one of the great secrets of success. It is often asserted that only a man of genius can win the great prizes of life. But, Buffon says, " Genius is only a protracted patience." Without patience the man of brilliant parts is always a failure, because he puts his trust in his brilliancy instead of in hard work. It is the slow, persevering, patient plodder who wins life's prizes. Indeed the great men of the world have been as remarkable for dulness and stupidity in early life, as for patience in later years. LIFR ▲ 8UOOE8S. IS Newton, when at school, stood at the bottom of the lowest form but one. Adam Clarke was pronounced by lii.s father to be a grievous dunce. Dr. Chalmers and Dr. Cooke were dihuiissed from school as incorrif^ible dunceH. Professor Dalzell at Kdin- burgh University said of Scott, " Dunce he is, and dunce he will remain.'' Burns, Wellington and Napoleon wen; all dull boys. Ulysses S. Grant was called " Useless " Grant by his mother. In short, nearly all our great men have been more noted for their inde- fatigable perseverance and unconquerable patience than for their brilliancy. They knew how to "labour and to wait," and the waiting is often more important than the labouring. Dr. Guthrie, aft?r he was li<.ensed to preach, waited five years for a call, yet the Presbytfieari7ig nnd immortal- ity coini)i(j to li(jht. Atonement is not blood Jlowiiuj / lom the veins of Jesus hid His o)it flowing sense of Life, Truth, Love. Af.o)ietne>it is not so much th.