sadden them. M. Blanc would be doing a real act of mercy if he would
exact his toll not in cash, but in flesh. Some of the players are of a
figure and temperament which would miss the pound of flesh far less than
the pound sterling.

What, then, in its essence is the quality of mercy? It is something
beyond the mere desire not to push an advantage too far. It is a feeling
of tenderness springing out of harsh experience, as a flower springs out
of a rock. It is an inner sense of gratitude for the scheme of things,
finding expression in outward action, and, therefore, assuring its
possessor of an abiding happiness.

The quality of Humility is by far the most difficult to attain. There
is something deep down in the nature of a successful man of affairs
which seems to conflict with it. His career is born in a sense of
struggle and courage and conquest, and the very type of the effort seems
to invite in the completed form a temperament of arrogance. I cannot
pretend to be humble myself; all I can confess is the knowledge that in
so far as I could acquire humility I should be happier. Indeed, many
instances prove that success and humility are not incompatible. One of
the most eminent of our politicians is by nature incurably modest. The
difficulty in reconciling the two qualities lies in that "perpetual
presence of self to self which, though common enough in men of great
ambition and ability, never ceases to be a flaw."

But there is certainly one form of humility which all successful men
ought to be able to practise. They can avoid a fatal tendency to look
down on and despise the younger men who are planting their feet in their
own footsteps. The established arrogance which refuses credit or
opportunity to rising talent is unpardonable. A man who gives way to