, discontented with the very sight of the
sun, he finds suddenly that his feet are on the edge of the gulf, and he
knows that there will be no more to-morrows.

I am not entering a plea for hard, petrifying work. If a man is a
hand-worker or brain-worker, his fate is inevitable if he regards work
as the only end of life. The loss of which I speak is that incurred by
engaging in pursuits which do not give mental strength or resource or
bodily health. The hard-worked business-man who gallops twenty miles
after hounds before he settles to his long stretch of toil is not losing
his day; the empty young dandy whose life for five months in the year is
given up to galloping across grass country or lounging around stables is
decidedly a spendthrift so far as time is concerned.

I wish--if it be not impious so to wish--that every young man could
have one glimpse into the future. Supposing some good genius could say,
"If you proceed as you are now doing, your position in your fortieth
year will be this!" what a horror would strike through many among us,
and how desperately each would strive to take advantage of that kindly
"If." But there is no uplifting of the veil; and we must all be guided
by the experience of the past and not by knowledge of the future. I
observe that those who score the greatest number of lost days on the
world's calendar always do so under the impression that they are
enjoying pleasure. An acute observer whose soul is not vitiated by
cynicism may find a kind of melancholy pastime in observing the hopeless
attempts of these poor son's to persuade themselves that they are making
the best of existence. I would not for worlds seem for a moment to
disparage pleasure, because I hold that a human being who lives without
joy must either become bad, mad, or wretched. But I speak of those who
cheat themselves into thinking that every hour which passes swiftly to
eternity is wisely spent. Observe the parties of young men who play at
cards even in the railway-train morning after morning and evening after
evening. The time of the journey might be spent in useful and happy
thought; it is passed in rapid and feverish speculation. There is no
question of reviving the brain; it is not recreation that is gained, but
distraction, and the brain, instead of being ready to concentrate its
power upon work, is enfeebled and rendered vague and flighty. Supposing
a youth spends but one hour per day in handling pieces of pasteboard a