ought to teach them to be satisfied with simple conditions, and to
improve themselves rather than their position--the end of it ought
to be to produce content. Suppose, for an instant--it sounds a
fantastic hypothesis--that a man born in the country, in the
labouring class, were fond of field-work, a lover of the sights of
nature in all her aspects, fond of good literature, why should he
seek to change his conditions? But education tends to make boys and
girls fond of excitement, fond of town sociabilities and
amusements, till only the dull and unambitious are content to
remain in the country. And yet the country work will have to be
done until the end of time.

It is a dark problem; but it seems to me that we are only saved
from disaster, in our well-meant efforts, by the simple fact that
we cannot make humanity what we so short-sightedly desire to make
it; that the dull, uninspired, unambitious element has an endurance
and a permanence which we cannot change if we would, and which it
is well for us that we cannot change; and that in spite of our
curricula and schedules, mankind marches quietly upon its way to
its unknown goal.



June 28, 1889.


An old friend has been staying with us, a very interesting man for
many reasons, but principally for the fact that he combines two
sets of qualities that are rarely found together. He has strong
artistic instincts; he would like, I think, to have been a painter;