No More Learning

Apply that motion
to the "sheltered life," and see how it works. It does not sound pretty,
but it is the better of two evils.

There was a Boy once who had been brought up under the "sheltered life"
theory; and the theory killed him dead. He stayed with his people all
his days, from the hour he was born till the hour he went into Sandhurst
nearly at the top of the list. He was beautifully taught in all that
wins marks by a private tutor, and carried the extra weight of "never
having given his parents an hour's anxiety in his life. " What he learnt
at Sandhurst beyond the regular routine is of no great consequence.
He looked about him, and he found soap and blacking, so to speak, very
good. He ate a little, and came out of Sandhurst not so high as he went
in.

Them there was an interval and a scene with his people, who expected
much from him. Next a year of living "unspotted from the world" in a
third-rate depot battalion where all the juniors were children, and all
the seniors old women; and lastly he came out to India, where he was cut
off from the support of his parents, and had no one to fall back on in
time of trouble except himself.

Now India is a place beyond all others where one must not take things
too seriously--the midday sun always excepted. Too much work and too
much energy kill a man just as effectively as too much assorted vice or
too much drink. Flirtation does not matter because every one is being
transferred and either you or she leave the Station, and never return.
Good work does not matter, because a man is judged by his worst output
and another man takes all the credit of his best as a rule. Bad work
does not matter, because other men do worse, and incompetents hang on
longer in India than anywhere else.
Amusements do not matter, because
you must repeat them as soon as you have accomplished them once, and
most amusements only mean trying to win another person's money.

Sickness does not matter, because it's all in the day's work, and if you
die another man takes over your place and your office in the eight
hours between death and burial. Nothing matters except Home furlough
and acting allowances, and these only because they are scarce. This is a
slack, kutcha country where all men work with imperfect instruments; and
the wisest thing is to take no one and nothing in earnest, but to escape
as soon as ever you can to some place where amusement is amusement and a
reputation worth the having.

But this Boy--the tale is as old as the Hills--came out, and took all
things seriously. He was pretty and was petted. He took the pettings
seriously, and fretted over women not worth saddling a pony to call
upon. He found his new free life in India very good.

It DOES look attractive in the beginning, from a Subaltern's point of
view--all ponies, partners, dancing, and so on. He tasted it as the
puppy tastes the soap. Only he came late to the eating, with a growing
set of teeth. He had no sense of balance--just like the puppy--and could
not understand why he was not treated with the consideration he received
under his father's roof. This hurt his feelings.

He quarrelled with other boys, and, being sensitive to the marrow,
remembered these quarrels, and they excited him. He found whist, and
gymkhanas, and things of that kind (meant to amuse one after office)
good; but he took them seriously too, just as he took the "head" that
followed after drink. He lost his money over whist and gymkhanas because
they were new to him.