When Wolston the mechanician, and Ernest the philosopher, travelled in company, it was rare that some pebble or plant, or question in physics, did not induce them to deviate from their route or tarry on their way.

One day they both started for Rockhouse to fetch provisions for the family dinner, but instead of bringing back the needful supplies of beef and mutton, they returned in great glee with the solution of an intricate problem in geometry.

All fared very indifferently on that occasion, and, in consequence, Wolston and Ernest were, from that time on, deprived of the office of purveyors.
In the present instance, instead of running like Mrs.Becker, they had philosophically seated themselves on the trunk of a tree.

At their feet was a diagram that Wolston had traced with the end of his stick; this was neither a tangent nor a triangle, as might have been expected, but a figure denoting how to carve one's way to a position, amidst the rugged defiles of life.
"In all things," observed Wolston, "in morals as well as physics, the shortest road from one point to another, is the straight line." "Unless," objected Ernest, "the straight line were encumbered with obstacles, that would require more time to surmount than to go round.
Two leagues of clear road would be better than one only a single league in length, if intersected by ditches and strewn with wild beasts." "Bah!" cried Jack, who had just come up out of breath, "you might leap the one and shoot the others." "Your argument," replied Wolston, "is that of the savage, who can imagine no obstacles that are not solid and tangible.

The obstacles that retard our progress in life neither display yawning chasms nor rows of teeth; they dwell within our own minds--they are versatility, disgust, ennui, thirst after the unknown, and love of change.