ory of the world; or do anything well who does not esteem his
work to be of importance. My work may be of none, but I must not think
it of none, or I shall not do it with impunity.

In like manner, there is throughout nature something mocking, something
that leads us on and on, but arrives nowhere; keeps no faith with
us. All promise outruns the performance. We live in a system of
approximations. Every end is prospective of some other end, which is
also temporary; a round and final success nowhere. We are encamped in
nature, not domesticated. Hunger and thirst lead us on to eat and to
drink; but bread and wine, mix and cook them how you will, leave us
hungry and thirsty, after the stomach is full. It is the same with all
our arts and performances. Our music, our poetry, our language itself
are not satisfactions, but suggestions. The hunger for wealth, which
reduces the planet to a garden, fools the eager pursuer. What is the end
sought? Plainly to secure the ends of good sense and beauty, from the
intrusion of deformity or vulgarity of any kind. But what an operose
method! What a train of means to secure a little conversation! This
palace of brick and stone, these servants, this kitchen, these stables,
horses and equipage, this bank-stock and file of mortgages; trade to all
the world, country-house and cottage by the waterside, all for a little
conversation, high, clear, and spiritual! Could it not be had as well
by beggars on the highway? No, all these things came from successive
efforts of these beggars to remove friction from the wheels of life, and
give opportunity. Conversation, character, were the avowed ends; wealth
was good as it appeased the animal cravings, cured the smoky chimney,
silenced the creaking door, brought friends together in a warm and
quiet room, and kept the children and the dinner-table in a different
apartment. Thought, virtue, beauty, were the ends; but it was known that
men of thought and virtue sometimes had the headache, or wet feet, or
could lose good time whilst the room was getting warm in winter days.
Unluckily, in the exertions necessary to remove these inconveniences,
the main attention has been diverted to this object; the old aims have
been lost sight of, and to remove friction has come to be the end. That
is the ridicule of rich men, and Boston, London, Vienna, and now the
governments generally of the world are cities and governments of the
rich; and the masses are not men, but poor