The idea that nearly all successful men are unscrupulous is very frequently accepted.  To the man who knows, the doctrine is simply foolish.  Success is not the only or the final test of character, but it is the best rough-and-ready reckoner.  The contrary view that success probably implies a moral defect springs from judging a man by the opinions of his rivals, enemies, or neighbours.  The real judges of a man’s character are his colleagues.  If they speak well of him, there is nothing much wrong.  The failure, on the other hand, can always be sure of being popular with the men who have beaten him.  They give him a testimonial instead of a cheque.  It would be too curious a speculation to pursue to ask whether Justice, like the other virtues, is not a form of self-interest.  To answer it in the affirmative would condemn equally the doctrines of the Sermon on the Mount and the advice to do unto others what they should do unto you.  But this is certain.  No man can be happy if he suffers from a perpetual doubt of his own justice.

The second quality, Mercy, has been regarded as something in contrast or conflict with justice.  It is not really so.  Mercy resembles the prerogative of the judge to temper the law to suit individual cases.  It must be of a kindred temper with justice, or it would degenerate into mere weakness or folly.  A man wants to be certain of his own just inclination before he can dare to handle mercy.  But the quality of mercy is, perhaps, not so common in the human heart as to require this caution.  It is a quality that has to be acquired.  But the man of success and affairs ought to be the last person to complain of the difficulty of acquiring it.  He has in his early days felt the whip-hand too often not to sympathise with the feelings of the under-dog.  And he always knows that at some time in his career he, too, may need a merciful interpretation of a financial situation.  Shakespeare may not have had this in his mind when he said that mercy “blesseth him that gives and him that takes”; but he is none the less right.  Those who exercise mercy lay up a store of it for themselves.  Shylock had law on his side, but not justice or mercy.  One is reminded of his case by the picture of certain Jews and Gentiles alike as seen playing roulette at Monte Carlo.  Their losses, inevitable to any one who plays long enough, seem to 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.