IV

PLAY

THE subject of one of our recent chapel talks was Work. It may have seemed like a rather heroic topic, but I think we all agree that our success in life will depend largely on our ability to do a large amount of good work. Every year increases the importance of working power. A college training ought certainly to yield good results in this direction. Carlyle says: "The only happiness a brave man ever troubles himself about is happiness enough to get his own work done.”

But, fortunately, life is not all made up of work. No one can work incessantly, and the attempt to do this always defeats itself and often brings its own swift penalty. He who would acquire and retain great capacity for work must

beware lest he lose the very power which is so valuable to him. The ability to work well implies the ability to rest well. Health is fundamental. A famous wit once said: “If I was to pick out a wife for the Crown Prince of England, I would ask first, 'Does she sleep well?' second, 'Does she eat plain food?' and if so, I'd tell the prince to take her and be thankful for whatever other good qualities she possessed."

Primitive man lacks power of application; he acts from impulse, as he is incited by hunger, love or hate. "There is danger," says Herbert Spencer, "that civilized man will lose the power of repose, of the ability to enjoy the present good in his eager strivings for the future."

We want health and heartiness and a bounding pulse. Many people are cynics without knowing it. They are undervitalized, overworked-victims of worry and borrowed trouble. Their friends

sometimes think them profound, but who would not rather be superficial and shallow than to be morose and cynical in order that he might be thought deep?

The opposite of work is not idleness, but play. Nature's penalty for idleness is no less stern than for overwork. She demands the joyous alternation of work and play. Every person whose life is to be robust and hearty must have his periods of play. Recreation must turn his thoughts into new channels, relieve the pressure upon the brain and the tension upon the nerves, and give tone and vigor to the muscles and vital organs.

I am sorry for the man who no longer likes to play. He has lost one of the most precious gifts with which nature endowed him. God intended that we should live in the sunshine, not grope about in clouds and shadows. It is a credit to a person's physical and moral condition that he likes to be amused.

Some one has said that it is work that

transforms a boy into a man; but it is also to be said that the boy of promise plays. If any boy says that he would rather sit and study than to go to the playground, take a good look at him. Either he is sick, or prematurely developed, or he is a little humbug, trying to get credit for studious tastes under false pretenses. If his schoolmates are at play, he ought to be squirming in his chair and impatient to join them. Unless he is a poor, premature little bookworm, with flabby muscles and quivering nerves, he is an incipient little pretender. "Man made the school; God made the playground," says Walter Bagehot.

So, I say, do n't be ashamed of the fact that you love to play and that you sometimes leave your lessons behind with a sense of relief, and hurry away to the athletic field or the gymnasium, or to the familiar haunts of your friends and playmates. Do not become prema

turely blasé, and look on with a lazy indifference and superiority while others amuse themselves.

Military drill and the systematic training of the gymnasium are excellent; no one should undervalue them; but real play is better. It was noted, years ago, by Dr. Wiese, that the young men of Rugby and Eton did not play in order to develop their muscles, expand their lungs, quicken their circulation, improve their figures, or add grace to their bearing. They thought of none of these things. They simply played, from the mere love of playing, and all these and many other benefits were the results.

Why is the little child so ceaselessly active? Every muscle is called into exercise. To the ordinary observer, it seems like a perpetual but meaningless use of half-developed organs. Sometimes the restlessness and noisy ways of the little ones disturb older people, and attempts are made to check them. But, fortunate