saw my children foredoomed, by an inexorable destiny, to a life at all
points similar with my own. In course of time they also would become
recruits in the narrow-chested, black-coated army of those who sit at
desks. They would become slaves without having known the value of
freedom; slaves not by capture but by heritage. More and more the
thought began to gather shape, Was I getting the most, or the best, out
of life? Was there no other kind of life in which toil was redeemed
from baseness by its own inherent interest, no life which offered more
of tranquil satisfaction and available, if humble, happiness? Day by
day this thought sounded through my mind, and each fresh discouragement
and disability of the life I led gave it sharper emphasis. At last the
time came when I found an answer to it, and these chapters tell the
story of my seeking and my finding.




CHAPTER II

GETTING THE BEST OUT OF LIFE

The reader will perhaps say that the kind of miseries recounted in the
previous chapter are more imaginary than real. Many thousands of
people subsist in London upon narrow means, and do not find the life
intolerable. They have their interests and pleasures, meagre enough
when judged by a superior standard, but sufficient to maintain in them
some of the vivacity of existence. No doubt this is true. I remember
being struck some years ago by the remark of a person of distinction,
equally acquainted with social life in its highest and its lowest
forms. Mr. H., as I will call this person, said that the dismal