Remember,myson,youhavetowork.
Whetheryouhandleapickorapen,awheel-barroworasetofbooks,diggingditchesoreditingapaper,ringinganauctionbellorwritingfunnythings,youmustwork.
Ifyoulookaroundyouwillseethemenwhoarethemostabletolivetherestoftheirdayswithoutworkarethemenwhoworkthehardest.
Don'tbeafraidofkillingyourselfwithoverwork.
Itisbeyondyourpowertodothatonthesunnysideofthirty.
Theydiesometimes,butitisbecausetheyquitworkatsixintheevening,anddonotgohomeuntiltwointhemorning.
It'stheintervalthatkills,myson.
Theworkgivesyouanappetiteforyourmeals;itlendssoliditytoyourslumbers;itgivesyouaperfectandgratefulappreciationofaholiday.
Thereareyoungmenwhodonotwork,buttheworldisnotproudofthem.
Itdoesnotknowtheirnames;evenitsimplyspeaksofthemas“oldso-and-so'sboy”.
Nobodylikesthem;thegreat,busyworlddoesn'tknowthattheyarethere.
Sofindoutwhatyouwanttobeanddo,andtakeoffyourcoatandmakeadustintheworld.
Thebusieryouare,thelessharmyouwillbeapttogetinto,thesweeterwillbeyoursleep,thebrighterandhappieryourholidays,andthebettersatisfiedwilltheworldbewithyou.