directions. If they are zealots, convinced of the righteousness of their
own decisions and conclusions, their conscience spurs them on to
reforming the world. Since they are more often wrong than right, they
become, as it were, a sort of misdirected Providence, raising havoc with
the happiness and comfort of others. Whether the conscienceless or
those overburdened with this type of conscience have done more harm in
the world is perhaps an open question, which I leave to the historians
for settlement.

The other type of the overconscientious does definite harm to
themselves. This type I have called the "Seekers of Perfection" and it
is their affliction that they are miserable with anything less. They are
particularly hard on themselves, differing in this wise from the by
hyperæsthetic. Constantly they examine and reëxamine what they have
done. "Is it the best I can do?" "Should I rest now; have I the right to
rest?"

Into every moment of enjoyment they obtrude conscience, or rather
conscience obtrudes itself. They become wedded to a purpose, and then
that purpose becomes a tyrant allowing no escape, even for a brief
pleasure, from its chains. Nothing is right that wastes any time;
nothing is good but the best. The sense of humor is conspicuously
lacking in this type, for one of the main functions of humor is to
season effort and straining purpose with proportion.

Should one of these unfortunates be a housewife, then she is continually
"picking up", continually pursuing that household Will-o'-the-Wisp,
"finishing the work." For it is the nature of housework that it is never
finished, no matter how much is done. This overconscientious person,
unless she is made of steel springs and resilient rubber, breathlessly