conscious satisfaction which accompanies any sustained effort of the
faculties. I deny that in fact it does yield this satisfaction, for
the reason that the man is too busy ever to examine the treasures of
his soul. And what else does it yield? For what other immediate end is
the colossal travail being accomplished?

Well, it may, and does, occur that the plain man is practising
physical and intellectual calisthenics, and running a vast business
and sending ships and men to the horizons of the earth, and keeping a
home in a park, and oscillating like a rapid shuttle daily between
office and home, and lying awake at nights, and losing his eyesight
and his digestion, and staking his health, and risking misery for the
beings whom he cherishes, and enriching insurance companies, and
providing joy-rides for nice young women whom he has never seen--and
all his present profit therefrom is a game of golf with a free mind
once a fortnight, or half an hour's intimacy with his wife and a free
mind once a week or so, or a ten minutes' duel with that daughter of
his and a free mind on an occasional evening! Nay, it may occur that
after forty years of incessant labour, in answer to an inquiry as to
where the genuine conscious fun comes in, he has the right only to
answer: "Well, when I have time, I take the dog out for a walk. I
enjoy larking with the dog."

The estimable plain man, with his horror of self-examination, is apt
to forget the immediate end of existence in the means. And so much so,
that when the first distant end--that of a secure old age--approaches
achievement, he is incapable of admitting it to be achieved, and goes
on worrying and worrying about the means--from simple habit! And when
he does admit the achievement of the desired end, and abandons the
means, he has so badly prepared himself to relish the desired end that