--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 4 number: 7 published: 1901-05 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations, "Notes," *Improvement Era* 4, no. 7 (May 1901): 550–551.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0407unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera0407unse start_page: 550 end_page: 551 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1901-05) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0407unse publication_year: 1901 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1901, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Notes NOTES. I cannot think of any blessing so great to an ardent young American as to learn at the very threshold of his career of activities that duty and affection are the only things really worth his while —the only things that pay increasing dividends and never become bankrupt. The only grave danger before capable young Americans, and, in- much, of sweeping on deed, before our nation, is that of hastening too too rapidly, of straining every nerve too tensely, of living our lives too strenuously. What most of the young men of this country need is re- straint, not stimulant; what this nation needs is reserve. The only seri- ous fear I entertain for the future is that the great rapidity of our com- mon lives will make us neurotic and decadent. I prefer a young man to be a little less scintillant than that his brilliancy should be at the ex- pense of exhausted nerves and enfeebled vitality. From the low point of self-interest, I would advise every young man to cultivate unselfishness. Every young man should do at least one thing every day which helps somebody else, and from which he cannot possibly reap any profit and advantage. Let him do one thing every day that cannot possibly yield him any tangible reward directly or indirectly, now or ever. I know of no discipline of character equal to this. After a while a subtle change will come over your nature. You come to under- stand the practical value of the words of the Master, "It is more blessed to give than to receive." There comes to you an acquisition of power. Your influence, by a process which escapes any human analysis, reaches NOTES. 551 out over your associates, and, in proportion to the magnitude of your character, over all humanity. A man cannot select a surer road to ruin than to have a selfish motive back of every action. To do all of your deeds, or most of them, with the thought of the advantage they will bring you, will result in paralysis of character, as surely as certain drugs introduced into the nerves for a long period of time will result in physi- cal paralysis. I do not think there can be a more valuable suggestion made to a young man facing the world and desiring to increase his powers than to practice unselfishness. Senator Beveridge, in Saturday Evening Post. "It is a man's destiny still to be longing for something, and the gratification of one set of wishes but prepares the unsatisfied soul for the conception of another. The child of a year old wants little but food and sleep; and no sooner is he supplied with sufficient allowance of either of those very excellent things, than he begins whimpering or yelling, it may be for the other. At three, the young urchin becomes enamored of sugarplums, apple pies, and confectionary. At six, his imagination runs on kites, marbles and tops, and an abundance of playtime. At ten, the boy wants to leave school, and have nothing to do but go birdnest- ing and blackberry hunting. At fif teen.he wants a beard,and a watch, and a pair of boots. At twenty, he wishes to cut a figure and ride horses; sometimes his thirst for display breaks out in dandyism, and sometimes in poetry; he wants sadly to be in love, and takes it for granted that all the ladies are dying for him. The young man of twenty-five wants a wife; and at thirty he longs to be single again. From thirty to forty he wants to be rich, and thinks more of making money than spending it. About this time, also, he dabbles in politics and wants office. At fifty, he wants excellent dinners and capital wine, and considers a nap in the afternoon indispensable. The respectable old gentleman of sixty wants to retire from business with a snug independence of three or four hun- dred thousands, to marry his daughters, set up his sons, and live in the oountry; and then for the rest of his life he wants to be young again." "This is my symphony," says William Ellery Channing: "To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and re- finement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable; and weathy, not rich; to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly; to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages with open heart; to bear all cheer- fully, do all bravely, await occasions, hurry never— in a word, to let the spiritual unbidden and unconscious grow up through the common."