e pushing by who will not be a
fool, as he thinks--he's for the emigrant-ship. Ask yourself if the
people who go out from the remote places of Ireland, quiet-spoken and
ruddy-faced, and return after a few years loud-voiced and pallid, have
found things exactly as their hope. They protest, yes; but their voice
and colour belie them. Take the other man who does not emigrate but who
has his fling at home, who "knocks around" and tells you to do likewise
and be no fool--mark him for your guidance. You will find his leisure is
boisterous, but never gay. Catch him between whiles off his guard and
you will find the deadening lassitude of his life. This votary of
pleasure has a burden to carry in whatever walk of life, high or low. On
the higher plane he may have a more fastidious club or two, a more
epicurean sense of enjoyment, more leisure and more luxury; but the type
wherever found is the same. Life is an utter burden to him; in his soul
is no interest, no inspiration, no energy, and no hope. Let him be no
object of envy. Here a friend pats you on the shoulder: "Quite right; be
neither an emigrant nor a waster; but be practical; have no illusions;
deal with possibilities--who can say what is in the future? We must
face these facts." Our confident friend lacks a sense of humour. He
would put your plan by for its bearing on the future, but he proposes
one himself that the future must justify. He tells you circumstances
will not be in your favour: he assumes them in his own. But we only
claim that our principles will rule the future as they have ruled the
past; for the circumstances no man can speak. He calls you a dreamer for
your principles, but he can't show, now nor in history, that his
exemplars were ever justified. We are all dreamers, then; but some have
ugly dreams, while the dreams of others are beautiful worlds,
star-lighted and full of music.

X

Let the newborn enthusiast, just come eagerly to the flag, be warned of
hours of depression that seize even the most earnest, the boldest and
the strongest. Our work is the work of men, subject to such vicissitudes
as hover around all human enterprise; and every man enrolled must face
hard struggles and dark hours. Then the depression rushes down like a
horrible, cold, dark mist that obscures every beautiful thing and every
ray of hope. It may come from many causes: perhaps, a body not too
robust, worn down by a tireless mind; perhaps, the memory of long years
of eff