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The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 55

An Address to Boys

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An Address to Boys.

The following capital address by Archdeacon Farrar was given recently at the lower school of John Lyon's Foundation, Harrow:—

There never had been an age in which boys could not, in a free country, rise from the lowest to the very highest positions. In that very town of Harrow there lived, a hundred years ago, a boy who was the son of a small apothecary of very small circumstances. The lad said he intended to live until he rode in a coach-and four of his own, and he became one of the most remarkable men of his age—he was referring to Dr Samuel Parr. Long before he died he drove about in a coach-and-four of his own, so that he fulfilled the ambition of his younger days. Instances like this were by no means uncommon. They might be quite sure that that particular form of success which consisted in getting on in the world and acquiring wealth was open to every English boy. That was not, however, the highest form of ambition. He hoped that, if any of them were making up their minds to be millionaires, they would put that ambition entirely behind one of a loftier kind. Even if they aimed at a very much higher form of success, it was perfectly open to them. That morning he was struck in coming through Westminster Abbey, by passing under two statues—one of Sir Robert Peel, the other recently erected to the Earl of Beaconsfield. On the latter was this inscription : " Erected I by the Parliament of England to the Earl of Beaconsfield, Knight of the Garter, twice Prime Minister of England." A nobleman who was also looking at it said the inscription might have read, "Twice Prime Minister of England, and once an attorney's clerk." Lord Beaconsfield, in addressing some youths at Birmingham, once said, "I bid you aspire." The secret of successful ambition was not ability, genius, intellect—it was simply resolution, purpose, perseverence, energy, and industry. They must not only have the power to say "I can," but also the power to say "I will." There were two rules he would give them, the first of which was that they must use every opportunity. There was a particular estate in England, better timbered, he believed, than any other in the country. It belonged to Admiral Collingwood, who, when he was retired, used always to go about with his pocket full of acorns, and a dibble in his hand. Whenever he came to a spot where he thought an oak would thrive, down went the dibble, and in went an acorn. They must do exactly the same in life. They must fill up the field of their life with these acorns, and never miss a single opportunity of putting in some seed of future usefulness and greatness. The other rule he had to give them was that they should not be afraid of difficulties. He did not know whether they knew the story of what a Spartan father said to his son. The son complained that his sword was too short, and his lather told him that if it was so he must add a step to it. If they found that their present page break opportunities were not so favorable to future success, they must add a step to them, and depend upon it, the advantages which they made for themselves were infinitely more important than those they received from others. In point of fact the advantages a man received from others were often disadvantages, because they tended rather to weaken the exertions which he otherwise might have made.

Having set before them the secrets of success, he wanted to say that any dream of selfish and personal success was always in its essence ignoble if it stopped there. He wished them to aim at something which was not so uncertain as this. They must remember that a great many persons who aimed at success failed to arrive at it; and they must also remember that many of the greatest and best men had not been in the least degree successful in a worldly sense, but had I died in poverty and exile, and "Borne the pelting scorn of half an age." Then he wanted them also to bear in mind that success did not always bring happiness. No doubt all boys thought if they grew up to be rich they would be extremely happy, but the whole experience of the world was against them. He was always very much struck by what the unhappy Queen of their own Royal family (the daughter of George III.) wrote on the window of the Castle in Denmark, "Oh, keep me innocent, make others great.' He did hope that if any great anger came to them with greatness in one hand and innocence in the other, they would not hesitate a moment in choosing innocence. Seek use and not fame. Set before them the desire before they died, to make the world a little wiser, and better, and happier than it was. First of all, seek innocence rather than greatness; and secondly, use rather than fame. He happened to be present when a memorial was proposed to the late Archbishon of Canterbury. The most striking speech made was that of the late lamented Prince Leopold, who said that he (Dr Tait) was a man who, under every circumstance, was never contented unless he did his very utmost—unless he was at his very best. All of them ought to aim at this, and if they attained to it they would certainly be happy.

"If I were a cobbler, I'd make it my pride,
The best of all cobblers to be;
If I were a tinker, no tinker besides,
Should tinker a kettle like me."

There was a story of a Greek sculptor who was visited one day by some friends just as he was engaged on the tresses of a statue. One of the company asked him what was the good of his taking so much trouble over the tresses of the statue when it was to be placed at a great height, with its back to the wall of the temple, where no one would see the work. The sculptor's admirable answer was "The gods will see it." Now, knowledge was a step which few might climb, but duty was a path which all might tread. Let those two great angels of God, duty and conscience, take them by the hand and lead them along the path of life. Then, indeed, they would be living a noble and happy life. Each, like Dante, in his immortal poem, could be "Crowned and mitred over himself." Dante had wandered into a gloomy valley from whence he saw a hill crowned with sunshine; which he was prevented from climbing by three beasts—a lion, a leopard, and a great gaunt hungry wolf. The gloomy valley was simply the valley of vice and sin, the lion represented passion, the leopard pleasure, and the wolf avarice, or the love of money. In conclusion, Canon Farrar said he hoped every boy there would live a life that would correspond to the words of the poet—

"That man is free from servile bands,
Or hope to rise or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, if not of lands,
And having nothing, yet hath all."