the dangers of the deep make men among men, saved me from
becoming a milksop. For the rest I learned more from my father,
whom I always desired to please because I loved him, than I
should have done at the best and most costly of schools. This was
shown when at last I went to college with a scholarship, for
there I did very well indeed, as search would still reveal.

Here I had better set out some of my shortcomings, which in
their sum have made a failure of me. Yes, a failure in the
highest sense, though I trust what Stevenson calls "a faithful
failure." These have their root in fastidiousness and that lack
of perseverance, which really means a lack of faith, again using
the word in its higher and wider sense. For if one had real faith
one would always persevere, knowing that in every work undertaken
with high aim, there is an element of nobility, however humble
and unrecognised that work may seem to be. God after all is the
God of Work, it is written large upon the face of the Universe. I
will not expand upon the thought; it would lead me too far
afield, but those who have understanding will know what I mean.

As regards what I interpret as fastidiousness, this is not very
easy to express. Perhaps a definition will help. I am like a man
with an over-developed sense of smell, who when walking through a
foreign city, however clean and well kept, can always catch the
evil savours that are inseparable from such cities. More, his
keen perception of them interferes with all other perceptions and
spoils his walks. The result is that in after years, whenever he
thinks of that beautiful city, he remembers, not its historic
buildings or its wide boulevards, or whatever it has to boast,
but rather its ancient, fish-like smell. At least he remembers