Part 14 (1/2)
The humblest, in sight of even the greatest, may admire and hope and take courage. These great brothers of ours in blood and lineage, who live a universal life, still speak to us from their graves, and beckon us on in the paths which they have trod.”
One of the last things said by Sir Walter Scott, as he lay dying, was this: ”I have been, perhaps, the most voluminous author of my day, and it is a comfort to me to think that I have tried to unsettle no man's faith, to corrupt no man's principles, and that I have written nothing which, on my deathbed, I would wish blotted out.” To have lived such a life as he lived is more than to have reigned over a kingdom.
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
We are glad to call special attention to Scott, because of his heroic struggle to maintain his good name. He was born in Edinburgh, August 15, 1771. He was the son of Walter Scott, an attorney at law; and Anne Rutherford, daughter of Dr. John Rutherford, professor of medicine in the University of Edinburgh, and a lineal descendant from the ancient chieftain Walter Scott, traditionally known as ”Auld Walt of Harden.”
As a schoolboy Walter was very popular. He made himself respected for his courage and general ability to take care of himself. He was not considered a very bright scholar, although, even then, he gave evidence of his special delight in history, poetry, fairy tales, and fables. In 1783 he entered the university. He made little progress in the ancient languages, but was more successful in other studies. His time, however, was industriously employed in storing his mind with that great wealth of knowledge which afterward made him famous as a writer.
Scott was educated for a lawyer, but all his natural tastes were in the direction of literature. The greater part of his early life was an unconscious preparation for writing. He had been writing prose romances for several years with considerable success, when in January, 1805, he published ”The Lay of the Last Minstrel.” It at once became extremely popular. It sold more widely than any poem had ever sold before. This led him to decide that literature was to be the main business of his life. ”Marmion,” which appeared in 1808, and ”The Lady of the Lake,” in 1810, placed Scott among the greatest living poets. He touched then the highest point of happiness and prosperity.
Soon after this he entered into a business partners.h.i.+p with a publis.h.i.+ng house, which resulted in his financial ruin. The failure left him partner to a debt of over one hundred thousand pounds. At the age of fifty-five, when all the freshness of youth was gone, he set himself the task of paying this enormous claim and winning back his ancestral estates. He went to work with a dogged determination to pay off his debt of honor. The heaviest blow was to his pride; yet pride alone never enabled any man to struggle so vigorously to meet the obligations he had incurred. It was rather that high feeling of self-respect which nerved his power to meet and try to overcome his great misfortune. His estates were conveyed to trustees for the benefit of his creditors, until such time as he could free them. Between January, 1826, and January, 1828, he earned forty thousand pounds by unremitting toil. Then his health broke down; yet he still struggled on with enfeebled const.i.tution, but with an unbroken will, to discharge, if possible, his obligations, and leave to the world a respected name.
[Footnote: See Lockhart's ”Life of Sir Walter Scott” (Houghton, Mifflin & Co.); Hutton's ”Sir Walter Scott;” and articles in encyclopedias.]
XX.
CONSCIENTIOUSNESS.
MEMORY GEMS.
Conscientiousness is the underlying granite of life.--Sir Walter Raleigh
When love of praise takes the place of praiseworthiness, the defect is fatal.--S. Baring-Gould
When a man is dead to the sense of right, he is lost forever.
--James McCrie
Insincerity alienates love and rots away authority.--Bulwer
The value of conscientiousness is princ.i.p.ally seen in the benefits of civilization.--Charles Kingsley
”Conscientiousness is a scrupulous regard to the decisions of conscience.” When we say a duty was performed ”religiously,” it is the same as a duty done conscientiously. Conscience does not _teach_ us what is right; we learn that from experience, and in many other ways. It simply tells us to do the best we know, and reproaches us when we do otherwise.
Some one has well said: ”We can train ourselves to be conscientious, to be responsive to conscience, to obey it; but conscience itself cannot be educated. It is like the sun. We may so arrange our house as to receive the largest amount of sunlight; but the sun itself cannot be changed either for our advantage or disadvantage. As a house with ample windows is illuminated within by the rays of the sun, so is a well-trained life filled with the light of conscience.” We may therefore define conscientiousness as the inborn desire to do that which is right and just.
Conscientiousness, which is, as we have just seen, another name for justice, is a trait to be cultivated among young people in their sports, in family life, and in school. A boy is unjust who refuses to ”play fair”; a girl is unjust who deprives a friend of anything properly hers.
Young people may be unjust in their words, in their thoughts, or in their actions; and the greatest watchfulness is needed to prevent us from failing in this important matter.
One's sense of justice may be increased by thoughtfulness as to his duty to himself, as well as to others; and by demanding very rigid observance of every law of conduct which commends itself as needful to ideal character. ”There is only one real failure possible in life,” said Canon Farrar, ”and that is, not to be true to the best one knows.”
”I can remember when you blackened my father's shoes,” said one member of the British House of Commons to another in the heat of debate. ”True enough,” was the prompt reply, ”but did I not blacken them well?” The sense of right-doing was sufficient to turn an intended insult into a well-merited compliment, and to increase for him the esteem of his fellow-members.
”Whatever is right to do,” said an eminent writer, ”should be done with our best care, strength, and faithfulness of purpose.”
Leonardo da Vinci would walk across Milan to change a single tint or the slightest detail in his famous picture of ”The Last Supper.”