致加西亚的信
Elbert Hubbard/阿尔伯特·哈伯德
In all this Cuban business there is one man stands out on the horizon of my memory like Mars at perihelion.
When war broke out between Spain and the United States，it was very necessary to communicate quickly with the leader of the Insurgents. Garcia was somewhere in the mountain fastnesses of Cuba—no one knew where.No mail or telegraph message could reach him. The President must secure his co-coperation，and quickly. What to do!
Some said to the President，“There’s a fellow by the name of Rowan who will find Garcia for you，if anybody can.”
Rowan was sent for and given a letter to be delivered to Garcia. How the“ fellow by the name of Rowan”took the letter，sealed it up in an oilskin pouch，strapped it over his heart，in four days landed by night off the coast of Cuba from an open boat，disappeared into the jungle，and in three weeks came out on the other side of the Island，having traversed a hostile country on foot and delivered his letter to Garcia—are things I have no special desire now to tell in detail. The point that I wish to make is this：McKinley gave Rowan a letter to be delivered to Garcia；Rowan took the letter and did not ask，“Where is he at? ”
By the Eternal! There is a man whose form should be cast in deathless bronze and the statue placed in every college of the land. It is not book-learning young men need，nor instruction about this and that，but a stiffening of the vertebrae which will cause them to be loyal to a trust，to act promptly，concentrate their energies：do the thing—“Carry a message to Garcia.”
General Garcia is dead now，but there are other Garcias. No man who has endeavored to carry out an enterprise where many hands were needed，but has been well-nigh appalled at times by the imbecility of the average man—the inability or unwillingness to concentrate on a thing and do it.
Slipshod assistance，foolish inattention，dowdy indifference，and half-hearted work seem the rule；and no man succeeds，unless by hook or crook or threat he forces or bribes other men to assist him；or mayhap，God in His goodness performs a miracle，and sends him an Angel of Light for an assistant.
We have recently been hearing much maudlin sympathy expressed for the“downtrodden denizens of the sweat-shop”and the“homeless wanderer searching for honest employment”，and with it all often go many hard words for the men in power.
Nothing is said about the employer who grows old before his time in a vain attempt to get frowsy ne’er-do-wells to do intelligent work；and his long，patient striving after“help”that does nothing but loaf when his back is turned.
In every store and factory there is a constant weeding-out process going on. The employer is constantly sending away“help”that have shown their incapacity to further the interests of the business，and others are being taken on.No matter how good times are，this sorting continues;only，if times are hard and work is scarce ，the sorting is done finer—but out and forever out the incompetent and unworthy go.It is the survival of the fittest. Self-interest prompts every employer to keep the best—those who can carry a message to Garcia.
I know one man of really brilliant parts who has not the ability to manage a business of his own，and yet who is absolutely worthless to anyone else，because he carries with him constantly the insane suspicion that his employer is oppressing，or intending to oppress him.He cannot give orders，and he will not receive them. Should a message be given him to take to Garcia，his answer would probably be，“Take it yourself!”Of course，I know that one so morally deformed is no less to be pitied than a physical cripple；but in our pitying let us drop a tear，too，for the men who are striving to carry on a great enterprise，whose working hours are not limited by the whistle，and whose hair is fast turning white through the struggle to hold in line dowdy indifference，slipshod imbecility，and the heartless ingratitude which，but for their enterprise，would be both hungry and homeless.
Have I put the matter too strongly? Possibly I have；but when all the world has gone a slumming I wish to speak a word of sympathy for the man who succeeds—the man who，against great odds，has directed the efforts of others，and having succeeded，finds there’s nothing in it：nothing but bare board and clothes. I have carried a dinner-pail and worked for day’s wages，and I have also been an employer of labor，and I know there is something to be said on both sides. There is no excellence，perse，in poverty；rags are no recommendation；and all employers are not rapacious and high-handed，any more than all poor men are virtuous. My heart goes out to the man who does his work when the“boss”is away，as well as when he is at home. And the man who，when given a letter for Garcia，quietly takes the missive，without asking any idiotic questions，and with no lurking intention of chucking it into the nearest sewer，or of doing aught else but deliver it，never gets ”laid off，nor has to go on a strike for higher wages.
