Solomon to those of Smiles and " Titcomb." Some of the topics, however, have been less hackneyed than others; as, for example, the important one of "Reserved Power,"

in writing the chapter upon which the author has been materially aided by some of the suggestions contained in "The Army of the Reserve," an eloquent and scholarly address delivered at Bowdoin College, in 1862, by Hon. B. F. Thomas, LL. D.

If this book shall serve to rouse to honorable effort any young man who is wasting his time and energies through indifference to life's prizes, to cheer, stimulate, and inspire with enthusiasm any one who is desponding through distrust of his own abilities, or to reveal to any one who is puzzled to discover the path to success and usefulness the art of "getting on" to the goal of his wishes, the author will feel himself abundantly repaid for his labors. Doubtless there are many persons who are better qualified by their worldly knowledge to discuss the subject here considered; but, unhappily, the most successful men do not reveal the secret of their successes; and if we do not reject criticisms on paintings from men who have never handled a brush, nor refuse to follow the directions of a guide-post though it has never hopped off upon its one leg and travelled the road to which it points, a young man who is beginning life may accept the hints of a well-wisher whose knowledge of his needs has been derived from observation, rather than from experience.

CHICAGO, October 9, 1872.

GETTING ON IN THE WORLD.

CHAPTER I.

SUCCESS AND FAILURE.

Let every man be occupied, and occupied in the highest employment of which his nature is capable, and die with the consciousness that he has done his best. SYDNEY SMITH.

Men must know that in this theatre of man's life it remaineth only to God and angels to be lookers-on. - BACON.

Toil alone could not have produced the "Paradise Lost" or the "Principia." The born dwarf never grows to the middle size. — REV. R. A. WILLMOTT.

The talent of success is nothing more than doing what you can do well, without a thought of fame. — HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

N attending a concert in one of our large cities, did you ever

violinists of the orchestra? One is all pomp, fire, bustle, enthusiasm, energy. Now waving his bow high in the air, he silently guides the harmony; now rapidly tapping on the rest-board, he hurries the movement; and again, bringing the violin to his shoulder, he takes the leading strain, and high above the crash of sound, above the shrill blast of the trumpet, the braying of horns, the ear-piercing notes of the fife, the sobbing of oboes, the wailing of violoncellos, and all the thunders of the orchestra, are heard, distinct and clear, the shrieking notes of the first violin. Dressed in unimpeachable broadcloth, with kids and linen of immaculate purity, stamping his feet, wagging his head, nodding earnestly to the right and to the left, and beating time with mad energy, he enters heart and

soul into the music, oblivious of all things else; and all because he is the leader, and plays the first violin. Standing by his side, but upon a lower platform, and before a lower music-rest, is a patient, careworn man, who saws quietly on the strings, with the air rather of the hired laborer than of the enthusiast. His eye you never see in a fine frenzy rolling, glancing from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, nor does his facile hand run off in roulades of melody; he never wags his head, nor stamps his foot, nor labors to wreak his thoughts upon expression; but steadily and conscientiously he pours a rich undercurrent of harmony into the music, which few hear, fewer care for, but without which, losing the charm of contrast, it would be as dreary as the droning of a bagpipe, as monotonous as a picture which is all lights and no shadows. With his eye fixed on the notes, he scrapes away with diligence, not with enthusiasm ; he is moved, not by the inspiration of a master, but by the reflection that he is exchanging his notes for dollars, and that, with each quaver, he earns so much bread and butter for his family. Yet this automaton - this musical machine, that plays its part so mechanically, with apparently as little interest in the result as Babbage's calculating-machine in the solution of a mathematical problem may have been endowed by nature with as much genius and fire as that thundering Jupiter of the orchestra, the leader; but, alas! he plays second fiddle.

The world is an orchestra, and men are players. All of us are playing some part in the production of life's harmony,some wielding the baton, and fired by the sympathy of lookerson; others feeling that they are but second fiddles, humbled by conscious inferiority, and drudging on as the treadmill horse plods through his monotonous task. Our object will be, in this series of papers, to show the reason of this inequality, and especially how, whether one plays first or second fiddle, or is gifted with talents that qualify him only to strike the cymbals or beat the drum, he may magnify his calling, and act well his part, "where all the honor lies."