that some pebble or plant, or question in physics, did not induce them to deviate from their route or tarry on their way.  One day they both started for Rockhouse to fetch provisions for the family dinner, but instead of bringing back the needful supplies of beef and mutton, they returned in great glee with the solution of an intricate problem in geometry.  All fared very indifferently on that occasion, and, in consequence, Wolston and Ernest were, from that time on, deprived of the office of purveyors.

In the present instance, instead of running like Mrs. Becker, they had philosophically seated themselves on the trunk of a tree.  At their feet was a diagram that Wolston had traced with the end of his stick; this was neither a tangent nor a triangle, as might have been expected, but a figure denoting how to carve one’s way to a position, amidst the rugged defiles of life.

“In all things,” observed Wolston, “in morals as well as physics, the shortest road from one point to another, is the straight line.”

“Unless,” objected Ernest, “the straight line were encumbered with obstacles, that would require more time to surmount than to go round.  Two leagues of clear road would be better than one only a single league in length, if intersected by ditches and strewn with wild beasts.”

“Bah!” cried Jack, who had just come up out of breath, “you might leap the one and shoot the others.”

“Your argument,” replied Wolston, “is that of the savage, who can imagine no obstacles that are not solid and tangible.  The obstacles that retard our progress in life neither display yawning chasms nor rows of teeth; they dwell within our own minds—­they are versatility, disgust, ennui, thirst after the unknown, and love of change.  These lead us to take bye-paths and long turnings, and fritter away the strength that should be used in promoting a single aim.  Hence arise a multiplicity of hermaphrodite avocations and desultory studies, that terminate in nothing but vexation of spirit.  Let us suppose, for example, that Peter has made up his mind to be a lawyer.”

“I do not see any particular reason why Peter should not be a lawyer,” said Jack.

“Nor I either; but unfortunately when Peter has pored a certain time over Coke upon Littleton, and other abstruse legal authorities, he accidentally witnesses a review; he throws down his books, and resolves to become a soldier.”

“After the manner and style of our Fritz,” suggested Jack.

“He changes the Pandects for Polybius, and Gray’s Inn for a military school.  All goes well for awhile; the idea of uniform helps him over the rudiments of fortification and the platoon exercise.  He passes two examinations creditably, but breaks down at the third, in consequence of which he throws away his sword in disgust.  He does not like now to rejoin his old companions in the Inn, who have been working steadily during the years he has lost.  He therefore, perhaps, adopts a middle course, and gets himself enrolled in the society of solicitors, which does not exact a very elaborate diploma.”