Stop short, bring up with a round turn, at any inducement, however dazzling, that is not strictly honest. You can better afford to be mediocre than obnoxious.
Stop, and consider well, before taking up a patent lightning-rod. Agents are already numerous, and farmers’ dogs on the alert.
Stop, before joining the army of commercial drummers, and be sure that you possess three qualifications in a superlative degree, i.e.: cheek, pertinacity and the gift of gab.
Stop, should you become a drummer, at the nineteenth lie in support of one line of goods. Mendacity hath its limits, and even the credulity of a yokel may be gorged.
Stop on the giddy verge of over-estimate in any business. “Hope,” says Lacon, “is a prodigal young heir, and experience is his banker; but his drafts are seldom honored, because he draws largely on a small capital, is not yet in possession, and if he were, would die.”
Stop, indignantly repel, all inducements on the part of advertising sharks. Their name is legion, and they seek but to devour.
Stop, howsoever tempted, at the allurements of roguery, embezzlement, rascality, and satanic suggestions of every description. If you must be a cutpurse let it be on the broad highway, pistol in hand, dime-novel at heart, and the gallows in sight.
Stop, if contemplating a political career, and distinctly settle this question in your mind: Am I to boss the party, or is the party to boss me? There is nothing like avoiding a confusion of ideas.
Stop, next, and be certain that your ambition is not o’erleaping its aim. Pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon, if possible, but to make a dead set for the Presidency and bring up as a police-court janitor, or coroner’s assistant, is apt to prove discouraging.
Stop, even if rich, before entering upon pleasure as a business. Few constitutions can long stand the racket, ennui is the result, and premature death its bourne.