ecause Nature has made them
indifferent to personal comfort and discomfort.

Now, in the first place, roughing it is not a nice process. There is
nothing at all delightful or charming about it. Plainly, it is
suffering. Suffering of numberless discomforts and privations, slight
in themselves as a rule, though not invariably so, but certainly a
serious matter in the aggregate. Nor is there anything grand or glorious
in the prospect of roughing it. Merely in itself it does not add to a
man's good in any particular way. It has to be got through in order that
certain ends may be achieved. That is about the sum of it.

On the other hand, there is nothing to daunt healthy young fellows in
the prospect of roughing it. Only those who are delicate, or who are of
sensitive nature, need turn back from the possibility of it. And it must
be remembered that, to succeed eventually in any path of life
whatsoever, some sort of hardship, toil, and self-sacrifice must be
undergone.

Of course, you cannot carry the drawing-room with you into the bush.
That side of life, with much of the refinement belonging to it, is swept
completely out of your reach. And what is of more importance still, your
existence is apt to grow somewhat unintellectual. Yet these are matters
that are already remedying themselves. As comfort and competence are
gradually achieved, and as society becomes large, so do the higher
results of civilization follow. And as pioneering progresses into the
more advanced stages of improvement, so do the opportunities and
possibilities for mental work and culture become more generally and
readily appreciable.

To us, when we first came out from England, the life here seemed utterly
delightful, because it was so fresh and novel. We were quite captivated
with it. Our existence was a perpetual holiday and picnic, to which the
various difficulties and discomforts that cropped up only seemed to add
more zest. But we soon got over that. We soon began to find that it did
not rain rosewater here. A rude picnic prolonged day after day, year
after year, soon lost its enchantment, and merged into something very
like suffering. We began to yearn after those flesh-pots of Egypt which
we had left behind us; and there were times when we have regretted that
we ever emigrated at all.

Now we have settled down to a calm and placid contentment with our lot.
We begin to see what results are possible to us, and there are signs
that our chrysalis