m: nor
are egotists of the X. school absolutely without entertainment.
Several of these the world reads assiduously too, although for another
reason. The avid vanity of Mr. Pepys would be gratified if made aware
of the success of his diary; but curiously to inquire into the reason
of that success, _why_ his diary has been found so amusing, would not
conduce to his comfort.

After all, the only thing a man knows is himself. The world outside he
can know only by hearsay. His shred of personality is all he has; than
that, he is nothing richer nothing poorer. Everything else is mere
accident and appendage. Alexander must not be measured by the
shoutings of his armies, nor Lazarus at Dives' gates by his sores. And
a man knows himself only in part. In every nature, as in Australia,
there is an unexplored territory--green, well-watered regions or mere
sandy deserts; and into that territory experience is making progress
day by day. We can remember when we knew only the outer childish
rim--and from the crescent guessed the sphere; whether, as we advanced,
these have been realised, each knows for himself.

A SHELF IN MY BOOKCASE

When a man glances critically through the circle of his intimate friends,
he is obliged to confess that they are far from being perfect. They
possess neither the beauty of Apollo, nor the wisdom of Solon, nor the
wit of Mercutio, nor the reticence of Napoleon III. If pushed hard he
will be constrained to admit that he has known each and all get angry
without sufficient occasion, make at times the foolishest remarks, and
act as if personal comfort were the highest thing in their estimation.
Yet, driven thus to the wall, forced to make such uncomfortable
confessions, our supposed man does not like his friends one whit the
less; nay, more, he is aware that if they were very superior and
faultless persons he would not be conscious of so much kindly feeling
towards them. The tide of friendship does not rise high on the bank of
perfection. Amiable weaknesses and shortcomings are the food of love.
It is from the roughnesses and imperfect breaks in a man that you are
able to lay hold of him. If a man be an entire and perfect chrysolite,
you slide off him and fall back into ignorance. My friends are not
perfect--no more am I--and so we suit each other admirably. Their
weaknesses keep mine in countenance, and so save me from humiliation and
shame. We give and take, bear and forbear; the st