 wind that blew; disgraced and sorrowful, because
they could not please others. Had they been men, they would have made these
disappointments their best friends, and learned from them the needful lesson of
self-reliance.«
    »To confess the truth,« added the Baron, »the lives of literary men, with
their hopes and disappointments, and quarrels and calamities, present a
melancholy picture of man's strength and weakness. On that very account the
scholar can make them profitable for encouragement, consolation, warning.«
    »And after all,« continued Flemming, »perhaps the greatest lesson which the
lives of literary men teach us is told in a single word: Wait! Every man must
patiently bide his time. He must wait. More particularly in lands like my native
land, where the pulse of life beats with such feverish and impatient throbs, is
the lesson needful. Our national character wants the dignity of repose. We seem
to live in the midst of a battle, - there is such a din, such a hurrying to and
fro. In the streets of a crowded city it is difficult to walk slowly. You feel
the rushing of the crowd, and rush with it onward. In the press of our life it
is difficult to be calm. In this stress of wind and tide, all professions seem
to drag their anchors, and are swept out into the main. The voices of the
Present say, Come! But the voices of the Past say, Wait! With calm and solemn
footsteps the rising tide bears against the rushing torrent up stream, and
pushes back the hurrying waters. With no less calm and solemn footsteps, nor
less certainty, does a great mind bear up against public opinion, and push back
its hurrying stream. Therefore should every man wait, - should bide his time.
Not in listless idleness, not in useless pastime, not in querulous dejection,
but in constant, steady, cheerful endeavors, always willing and fulfilling, and
accomplishing his task, that, when the occasion comes, he may be equal to the
occasion. And if it never comes, what matters it? What matters it to the world,
whether I, or you, or another man did such a deed, or wrote such a book, so be
it the deed and book were well done? It is the part of an indiscreet and
troublesome ambition to care too much about fame, about what the world says of
us; to be always looking into the faces of others for approval; to be always
anxious for the effect of what we do and
