THE way to study a man, I find, is at close range, when he is not on the platform or under the limelight. Better than any other is his vacation time, when the armor has been laid aside and the man himself stands forth. My card of introduction proved a ready passport to the country seat of Theodore Roosevelt, near Oyster Bay, Long Island. As I drove up, one bright July morning, the shore of this sequestered inlet was framed in a background of heavy green. No painter could do justice to the mirrored loveliness of the water, or the graceful line of sailboats lazily floating over it. The beach was a silver mat in an emerald frame, and every tree on the opposite shore was inverted in the clear depths. The Roosevelt house stands on a hill overlooking a magnificent view of Long Island Sound. It is three miles away from the railway station, just the sort of place one would choose for complete rest. The dreamy beauty of the scene was conducive to indolence, and so, sure enough, I found Mr. Roosevelt in outing attire, surrounded by his children and entering with zest into their out-door sports. Little Theodore was prancing up and down the road on his favorite black pony, a genuine rough rider in horsemanship, brown as a berry, and an unmistakable cadet of the Roosevelt house. The president’s war-horse, “Texas,” whose right ear was clipped by a Spanish “Mauser,” was out for an airing. Over the veranda flared a pair of great antlers, a trophy of the chase, while in the big reception hall were other antlers. The sword worn by Colonel Roosevelt in Cuba has found a resting-place across the mantel mirror, its leathern strap all ready to be buckled on again should a military emergency arise. The overcoat is there, too, with the hat and boots. I found him averse to politics as a topic for discussion, but I hinted that I would be pleased to quote his views on young men in politics,—their chances and their duties. YOUNG MEN IN POLITICS. “That opens up,” said he, as he smiled graciously, “such a vista of human thought that I know you will excuse me from its contemplation this hot weather.” The shade of the veranda where we sat was deliciously somnolent, and I was beginning to regret my question when the president relented for a moment. “You know I have always advocated an earnest, intelligent study of political subjects by young men. Our American politics offer a clean, wholesome field, after all is said and done, for the young man of character and ability; but never should one enter politics for a living.” “Now, we know that you approve of college education for boys, but want your own words about it.” “It depends somewhat on the boy. I don’t believe in every boy going to college.” “But do you not think it makes them less practical than they would be if they grew up in business pursuits?” “Not at all. The best kind of college graduates are the most practical, and they are becoming more numerous every year. Don’t you think I’m practical?”