I wish to have it distinctly understood that in the foregoing remarks I have not made any attempt to cast the slightest reflection on the personal attributes and abilities of any young man in any line of life or status of society, and I make this statement perfectly independent of the mere social incident as to whether the young man in question may part his hair in the middle or assume other dudish airs. That is his business, and I have no right to trench on the sacred precincts of his individuality, nor do I mean to do so. As a rule I stick to my own business. I simply intend to imply that when a dude happens to come into my office, where I think he will find the most æsthetic appointments in the way of furniture and the business arrangements, if he should, upon thus entering into my employment, come to the sudden conclusion that this æstheticism of office furnishing implied any plea for idleness or assumption of airs on his part, he would very soon experience a rude awakening from his charmed lethargy of conceit, and if he were not prepared to undertake in a calm and appreciative tone of mind the first lessons of business industry, I would politely bid him an affectionate adieu, and on parting tell him very kindly that though his great natural gifts might be thoroughly adapted to shine in another sphere of life, he was both by nature and education totally unfitted to play the most humble part in a business career, such as that of which my firm affords a fair and most successful example. The same remarks will apply to any other young man who does not appreciate his vocation, and try to know himself as old Seneca taught. I don’t insidiously single out the dude for an odious comparison. The remark will apply just as appropriately to the young man who is better fitted for a blacksmith or a farmer, or perhaps a preacher, than a business man or a financier. “All blacksmiths,” says the Rev. Robert Collyer, “can’t become preachers, and it would be bad for the world if they did.” There is a good deal of philosophy in the remark of this popular preacher, and quite to the point on the subject which I am now attempting to handle. In fact, there is nothing in this world would grieve me more than the prospect of being obliged to reflect in future years on the fact that I had been instrumental in keeping a young man’s “nose to the grind-stone,” so to speak, in my office, where he would make a very poor employee without the chance of attaining average success, while in a career for which nature and education had fitted him, he might not only be happy and successful, but make his mark as a star of the first magnitude. When viewed in this light, the question of adaptability becomes a serious affair, for young men starting in life, and for their parents, who often sacrifice a great deal of their worldly comforts and peace of mind to launch their fond offspring.