It is for this reason that men are in love with power and greatness:  it affords them so pleasurable an expansion of faculty, so large a run for their minds, an exercise of spirit so various and refreshing; they have the freedom of so wide a tract of the world of affairs.  But if they use power only for their own ends, if there be no unselfish service in it, if its object be only their personal aggrandizement, their love to see other men tools in their hands, they go out of the world small, disquieted, beggared, no enlargement of soul vouchsafed them, no usury of satisfaction.  They have added nothing to themselves.  Mental and physical powers alike grow by use, as every one knows; but labor for oneself is like exercise in a gymnasium.  No healthy man can remain satisfied with it, or regard it as anything but a preparation for tasks in the open, amid the affairs of the world—­not sport, but business—­where there is no orderly apparatus, and every man must devise the means by which he is to make the most of himself.  To make the most of himself means the multiplication of his activities, and he must turn away from himself for that.  He looks about him, studies the fact of business or of affairs, catches some intimation of their larger objects, is guided by the intimation, and presently finds himself part of the motive force of communities or of nations.  It makes no difference how small part, how insignificant, how unnoticed.  When his powers begin to play outward, and he loves the task at hand, not because it gains him a livelihood, but because it makes him a life, he has come to himself.

Necessity is no mother to enthusiasm.  Necessity carries a whip.  Its method is compulsion, not love.  It has no thought to make itself attractive; it is content to drive.  Enthusiasm comes with the revelation of true and satisfying objects of devotion; and it is enthusiasm that sets the powers free.  It is a sort of enlightenment.  It shines straight upon ideals, and for those who see it the race and struggle are henceforth toward these.  An instance will point the meaning.  One of the most distinguished and most justly honored of our great philanthropists spent the major part of his life absolutely absorbed in the making of money—­so it seemed to those who did not know him.  In fact, he had very early passed the stage at which he looked upon his business as a means of support or of material comfort.  Business had become for him an intellectual pursuit, a study in enterprise and increment.  The field of commerce lay before him like a chess-board; the moves interested him like the manoeuvers of a game.  More money was more power, a great advantage in the game, the means of shaping men and events and markets to his own ends and uses.  It was his will that set fleets afloat and determined the havens they were bound for; it was his foresight that brought goods to market at the right time; it was his suggestion that made the industry of unthinking men efficacious; his sagacity saw itself justified at home not only, but at the ends of the earth.  And as the money poured in, his government and mastery increased, and his mind was the more satisfied.  It is so that men make little kingdoms for themselves, and an international power undarkened by diplomacy, undirected by parliaments.