"God's work is soon done."

It is a weary day when the youth first discovers that after all he will
only become a man; and this discovery came with a depressing weight one
morning to David, after he had been counting bank notes for three hours.
It was noon, but the gas was lit, and in the heavy air a dozen men sat
silent as statues, adding up figures and making entries. He thought of
the college courts, and the college green, of the crowded halls, and the
symposia, where both mind and body had equal refection. There had been
days when he had a part in these things, and when to "strive with things
impossible," or "to pluck honor from the pale-faced moon," had not been
unreasonable or rash; but now it almost seemed as if Mr. Buckle's dreary
gospel was a reality, and men were machines, and life was an affair to
be tabulated in averages.

He had just had a letter from Willie Caird, too, and it had irritated
him. The wounds of a friend may be faithful, but they are not always
welcome. David determined to drop the correspondence. Willie was going
one way and he another. They might never see each other again; and--

If they should meet one day,
If _both_ should not forget
They could clasp hands the accustomed way.

For by simply going with the current in which in great measure, subject
yet to early influences, he found himself, David Lockerby had drifted in
one twelve months far enough away from the traditions and feelings of
his home and native land. Not that he had broken loose into any flagrant
sin, or in any manner cast a shadow on the perfect respectability of his