lope was
all seen to be limited, not infinite but finite, and all a measurable
matter _how_ it went,--he had been content to plow the ground, and
read his Bible. He in his old days could not support it any longer,
without selling himself to Falsehood, that he might ride in gilt
carriages to Whitehall, and have clerks with bundles of papers
haunting him, "Decide this, decide that," which in utmost sorrow of
heart no man can perfectly decide! What could gilt carriages do for
this man? From of old was there not in his life a weight of meaning, a
terror and a splendor as of Heaven itself? His existence there as man
set him beyond the need of gilding. Death, Judgment, and Eternity:
these already lay as the background of whatsoever he thought or did.
All his life lay begirt as in a sea of nameless Thoughts, which no
speech of a mortal could name. God's Word, as the Puritan prophets of
that time had read it: this was great, and all else was little to him.
To call such a man "ambitious," to figure him as the prurient wind-bag
described above, seems to me the poorest solecism. Such a man will
say: "Keep your gilt carriages and huzzaing mobs, keep your red-tape
clerks, your influentialities, your important businesses. Leave me
alone, leave me alone; there is _too much of life_ in me already!" Old
Samuel Johnson, the greatest soul in England in his day, was not
ambitious. "Corsica Boswell" flaunted at public shows with printed
ribbons round his hat; but the great old Samuel stayed at home. The
world-wide soul, wrapt-up in its sorrows;--what could ribbons in the
hat, do for it?

Ah, yes, I will say again: The great _silent_ men! Looking round on
the noisy inanity of the world, words with little meaning, actions
with little worth, one loves to reflect on the great Empire of
_Silence_. The noble silent men, scattered here and there, each in his
own department; silently thinking; silently working; whom no Morning
Newspaper makes mention of! They are the salt of the Earth. A country
that has none or few of these is in a bad way. Like a forest which had
no _roots_; which had all turned into leaves and boughs;--which must
soon wither and be no forest. Woe for us if we had nothing but what we
can _show_, or speak. Silence, the great Empire of Silence: higher
than the stars; deeper than the Kingdoms of Death! It alone is great;
all else is small.--I hope we English will long maintain our _grand
talent pour le silence_. Let others that can