More and more as a man holds in his passions, more and more as he
feels the pride of holding all the reins of his whole system firmly
in his hand, will he have an abhorrence of scattering them to the
idle winds at the bidding of the first fool who chances to vex him.
But if he forms the habit of holding those reins so loosely that
they drag along in the mud, and are trampled on at every instant,
more and more difficult is it to gather them up.
The man who begins striking his dog as a punishment will proceed to
kick it when it comes accidentally in his way, and then go on to
knocking it about, simply because he feels in a bad humour.
So I never would, when I came back from these chasings, crimson,
heated, breathless, made to look like a fool, and excessively
annoyed altogether, cheat myself with the excuse that Nous wanted
correction, or any other nonsense to cover my own ill-temper. As a
matter of fact, he soon learnt it was uninteresting to be brought
back to the very same corner from where he had started and have to
walk all the rest of the way at the end of a scrap of chain, and his
education passed happily over without a single rough word. It took
longer perhaps than a treatment by blows, but I had my reward.
The dog conceived a limitless, boundless affection for me which more
than repaid me. Some men, of course, don't want affection.
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