Writers upon labor, who have never labored, generally make the profound mistake of considering labor as one solid mass, when the truth is that it contains orders and degrees as distinct as those in aristocracy. The workman skilled beyond his fellows, who is called upon by his superintendent to undertake the difficult job in emergencies, ranks high, and probably enjoys an honorable title, a pet name conferred by his shopmates. Men measure each other as correctly in the workshop as in the professions, and each has his deserved rank. When the right man is promoted, they rally round and enable him to perform wonders. Where favoritism or poor judgment is shown, the reverse occurs, and there is apathy and dissatisfaction, leading to poor results and serious trouble. The manual worker is as proud of his work, and rightly so, as men are in other vocations. His life and thought centre in the shop as those of members of Congress or Parliament centre in the House; and triumph for him in the shop, his world, means exactly the same to him, and appears not less important to his family and friends than what leadership is to the public man, or in any of the professions. He has all their pride of profession, and less vanity than most. How far this "pride of profession" extends is well illustrated by the Pittsburgh story of the street scrapers at their noon repast. MacCarthy, recently deceased, was the subject of eulogy, one going so far as to assert that he was "the best man that ever scraped a hoe on Liberty Street." To this, one who had aspirations "allowed Mac was a good enough man on plain work, but around the gas-posts he wasn't worth a cent." A public character, stopping over night with a friend in the country, the maid-of-all-work tells her mistress, after the guest departs, "I have read so much about him, never expecting to see him; little did I think I should have the honor of brushing his boots this morning." Happy girl in her work, knowing that all service is honorable. Even shoe-blacking, we see, has its rewards.