idered as showing a spirit of superiority; he is humorous regarding
the state of his head on the morning after a late supper; he can give
you slangy little details about any one and every one whom you may meet
at a theatre or any other public place; he is somewhat proud when some
bellowing, foul-mouthed bookmaker smiles suavely and inquires, "Doing
anything to-day, sir?" Mark you, he is still a charming young fellow;
but the bloom has gone from his character. He has been in bad company.

Let it be remembered that bad company may be pleasant at first; and I
can easily give the reason for that, although the process of thinking
out the problem is a little complicated. The natural tendency of our
lower nature is toward idleness; our higher nature drives us to work.
But no man ever attained the habit of work without an effort. If once
that effort is slackened, then the lower nature gains sway by degrees
and idleness creeps in. Idleness is the beginning of almost every form
of ill, and the idlest man dashes down the steep to ruin either of body
or soul, perhaps of both. Now the best of us--until our habits are
formed--find something seductive in the notion of idleness; and it is
most marvellous to observe how strongly we are apt to be drawn by a
fascinating idle man. By-the-way, no one would accuse the resident
Cambridge professors of being slothful, yet one brilliant idle man of
genius said, "When I go to Cambridge, I affect them all with a murrain
of idleness. I should paralyze the work of the place if I were
resident." To return--it appears that the best of men, especially of
youthful men, feel the subtle charm of an invitation to laziness. The
man who says, "It's a sin to be indoors to-day; let us row up to the
backwater and try a smoke among the willows;" or the one who says,
"Never mind mathematics to-night; come and have a talk with me," is much
more pleasing than the stern moralist. Well, it happens that the most
dangerous species of bad company is the species Idler. Look round over
the ranks of the hurtful creatures who spoil the State, corrupt and sap
the better nature of young men, and disgrace the name of our race. What
are they all but idlers pure and simple? Idleness, idleness, the
tap-root of misery, sin, villainy! Note the gambler at Monte Carlo,
watching with tense but impassive face as the red and the black take the
advantage by turns--he is an idler. The roaring bookmaker who
contaminates the air with his cr