WILLIE WHISPER n 



can profit a man if he lose his own soul. I felt as 

 if the life I was leading left, as it flowed through 

 me, some accretion binding and choking the best 

 in me. The thought sickened me. How far it 

 was all a question of nerves I didn't know. I 

 consulted an old friend of mine, a very eminent 

 medical man, and something of a psychologist 

 also. Of course he said nerves, brain fag, over- 

 work, and recommended a complete change ; but 

 he added, * Congenial work is never too hard. It 

 is the work that jars that irritates the nerves. 

 Perhaps your work cuts against the grain. If it 

 does, give it up, for that is the only cure.' 



" Well, I took his advice partially by utilising my 

 first long vacation in a trip — a solitary trip into the 

 wilds. That was my undoing from a utilitarian 

 point of view. I cannot tell you — well, I suppose 

 it is scarcely necessary, for you must understand 

 something about it yourself — anyhow I cannot 

 describe the cleansing, healing influence of the 

 deep woods upon perplexed spirit and harassed 

 nerves. Great flakes of all the conventionahties 

 and hypocrisies of the world seemed to be shed off 

 me. Something seemed to whisper, ' What is 

 your civilisation after all ? Masses of men strug- 

 gling to survive, striving amid degrading surround- 



