When he was a boy, as was said above, Darwin was colossally lazy. He neglected his books, and spent his days roaming through the fields, gun in hand. “You care for nothing but shooting, dogs, and rat-catching, and you will be a disgrace to yourself and all your family,” was his father’s bitter reproof. As he grew older, his propensity for idling seemed only to increase. In spite of this, hoping against hope that he would yet settle down to serious things, his father entered him at the University of Glasgow, with the idea of fitting him for the practice of medicine. “It is no use,” the boy frankly avowed, after a few months at Glasgow; “I hate the work here, and I cannot possibly be a physician.” So earnest were his protests that he was transferred to Cambridge University, on the understanding that he would study to be a clergyman. At Cambridge, as good fortune would have it, he entered the natural history class of an eminent and enlightened scholar, Professor Henslow, who sent him into the woods and fields to make collections of plants and insects. Free again to roam under the clear blue skies, but this time with a lofty purpose set before his mind, a passion for achievement took possession of him. The boy whom other teachers had found dull and lazy proved himself, under Professor Henslow’s inspiring guidance, a marvel of industry and mental vigour. There was no longer any thought of the “last resort” plan of putting him into the ministry. He would, he told his delighted father, become a naturalist, and he would work hard. And he did work hard. Though his health was permanently impaired by the hardships of a voyage of exploration, so that “for nearly forty years he never knew one day of the health of ordinary men,” and “every day succumbed to the exhaustion brought on by the slightest effort,” he nevertheless found a way to work with an effectiveness few men of normal health have equalled. The establishment of regular hours for work—thus gradually forming a work habit which itself constituted a sort of fixed idea contrary to the idea of indolence, and the reinforcement of this work habit by enthusiastic pre-occupation with an inspiring theme—such was the secret of Charles Darwin’s mastery over ills more serious than those which have made countless men lifelong idlers. What he did is precisely what the medical psychologist of to-day prescribes as fundamental in the successful treatment of laziness. Listen to the wise Doctor de Fleury: “Let it be known that it is often possible in the practice of life to replace an absurd idea by a good fixed one, and to form excellent habits in the place of deplorable manias. It is precisely in doing this that the psychological treatment of indolence consists; it is this patient work that the doctor of misguided minds ought to undertake.