over work which we had given the boys to do to fill up their time, and to keep them, as we used to say, out of mischief.  The worst of bringing up boys on that system is that they require to be kept out of mischief all their life long; and yet the worst kind of mischief, after all, may be to fill life with useless occupations.  There are two ways of going out into your garden.  You may walk out straight from the bow-window on to the lawn; or you may go out into the street, take the first turn to the right, then the next to the right, and let yourself in at the back-garden door.  But there is no merit in that!  It is not a thing to be complacent about; still less does it justify you in saying to the simple person who prefers the direct course that the world is getting lazy and decadent and is always trying to save itself trouble.  The point is to have lived, not to have been merely occupied.  I remember once, when I was an undergraduate, staying at a place in Scotland for a summer holiday.  There were all sorts of pleasant things to be done, and we were there to amuse ourselves.  One evening it was suggested that we should go out yachting on the following day.  I agreed to go, but being a miserable sailor, added that I should only go if it were fine.  We were to start early, and when I was called and found it an ugly, gusty morning I went gratefully back to bed, and spent the rest of the day fishing.  There was a dreadful, strenuous old Colonel staying in the house; he had been with the yachting party, and they had had a very disagreeable day.  That evening in the smoking-room, when we were recounting our adventures, the old wretch said to me:  “Now I should like to give you a piece of advice.  You said you would go with us, and shirked because you were afraid of a bit of wind.  You must excuse an older man who knows something of the world saying straight out that that sort of thing won’t do.  Make up your mind and stick to it; that’s a golden rule.”  It was in vain that I said that I had never intended to go if it was windy, and that I should have been ill the whole time.  “Ah, that’s what I call cry-baby talk,” said the old ruffian; “I always say that if a thing is worth doing at all, it is worth doing thoroughly.”  I said meekly that I should certainly have been thoroughly sea-sick, but that I did not think it was worth while being sea-sick at all.  At which he felt very much nettled, and said that it was effeminate.  I was very much humiliated, but not in the least convinced; and I am afraid that I enjoyed the most unchristian exultation when, two or three days after, the Colonel insisted on walking to the deer-forest, instead of riding the pony that was offered him; in consequence of which he not only lost half the day, but got so dreadfully tired that he missed two stags in succession, and came home empty-handed, full of excellent excuses, and more pragmatical than ever.