r the Good Samaritan
who held it to his parched lips wouldn't tilt it up exactly when he
ought to do so. If his rich uncle were to give him a splendid gold
hunter watch and chain, he would growl because there wasn't a seal
hanging on the latter. If he were to succeed in getting a third prize,
he'd growl because he had not got the second. If he got the second,
he'd growl because he had not got the first. And if he should win the
first prize of all, then he would growl because there was not a higher
one possible. Was ever such a hopeless fellow to have to deal with!

I dare say you have heard the story of the Scotch elder who, on the
question being raised what service he could render at the church
meetings, replied briskly, "I can always object." Well, Growler's one
strong point was his talent for objecting, and gallantly he used it.

He was one of those fellows who think a great deal more about the thorn
of the rose than the flower, and who, feeing quite sure that nothing
under the sun is perfect, set themselves to discover the imperfections
in all things.

I remember once a lot of us had planned a most delightful picnic for a
certain holiday. We were to take two boats some miles up the river to a
certain little island, where we proposed to land and erect a tent. Each
fellow was to bring some contribution to the picnic, which we were to
partake of with grand ceremony under the willows. Then we were to have
some music, and generally take it easy. Afterwards we were to bathe,
and then row some mile or two farther up to the woods, and have a
squirrel hunt; and towards evening, after a picnic tea, drift down with
the stream in time for the nine o'clock bell. It seemed a perfect plan,
and as we sat and discussed it our spirits rose, and we found ourselves
already enjoying our picnic in prospect. But presently Growler came
into the room, and as he was to be one of the party, we had to go over
all the plans again to him. Well, it was too bad! Not a single detail
in our programme pleased him.

"Row?" he said; "don't we get enough rowing, without having to give up
holidays to it? besides, what's the fun of sitting in a tent, or eating
your food among all the wasps and gnats up in that place? You surely
aren't going to take that wretched concertina; that'll be enough to give
us the blues, even if it doesn't rain, which it's pretty sure to do. I
suppose you know the island's about the worst place for bathing--"