nxious interest in what is passing in the world,
but not to feel the slightest inclination to make or meddle with it. It
is such a life as a pure spirit might be supposed to lead, and such an
interest as it might take in the affairs of men, calm, contemplative,
passive, distant, touched with pity for their sorrows, smiling at their
follies without bitterness, sharing their affections, but not troubled
by their passions, not seeking their notice, nor once dreamt of by them.
He who lives wisely to himself and to his own heart looks at the busy
world through the loop-holes of retreat, and does not want to mingle in
the fray. 'He hears the tumult, and is still.' He is not able to mend
it, nor willing to mar it. He sees enough in the universe to interest
him without putting himself forward to try what he can do to fix the
eyes of the universe upon him. Vain the attempt! He reads the clouds,
he looks at the stars, he watches the return of the seasons, the falling
leaves of autumn, the perfumed breath of spring, starts with delight at
the note of a thrush in a copse near him, sits by the fire, listens to
the moaning of the wind, pores upon a book, or discourses the freezing
hours away, or melts down hours to minutes in pleasing thought. All this
while he is taken up with other things, forgetting himself. He relishes
an author's style without thinking of turning author. He is fond of
looking at a print from an old picture in the room, without teasing
himself to copy it. He does not fret himself to death with trying to
be what he is not, or to do what he cannot. He hardly knows what he is
capable of, and is not in the least concerned whether he shall ever make
a figure in the world. He feels the truth of the lines--

The man whose eye is ever on himself,
Doth look one, the least of nature's works;
One who might move the wise man to that scorn
Which wisdom holds unlawful ever.

He looks out of himself at the wide, extended prospect of nature, and
takes an interest beyond his narrow pretensions in general humanity. He
is free as air, and independent as the wind. Woe be to him when he first
begins to think what others say of him. While a man is contented with
himself and his own resources, all is well. When he undertakes to play
a part on the stage, and to persuade the world to think more about him
than they do about themselves, he is got into a track where he will find
nothing but briars and thorns, vexation and disappointmen