Passages in the Life of an Unpractical Man 



His teachers are the people, books, animals, plants, stones and earth round 

 about him. — Philip Gilbert Hamerton. 



My father was well fitted to live only in a highly organ- 

 ized community in which man's stint is measured out to him 

 according to his strength. As the world is going he was per- 

 haps as fortunately placed in this respect as he well could be. 

 Yet the world was driving along so fast that he lived in per- 

 plexity between his self-distrust and disposition to acquit 

 himself fully in his proper part, and the supposed demands of 

 Society, Religion and Commerce. 



The affectations by which he aimed to hide his unreadi- 

 ness were so transparent and his real qualities had so little 

 of brilliancy that he passed with others, even with many of 

 his friends, for a man of much less worth, ability and attain- 

 ments than he was. 



If one had said to my father that he was highly sensitive 

 to beauty he would have straightened himself, coughed and 

 bridled like a girl, in the desire to accept flattery with becom- 

 ing deprecation and admission. And he would probably 

 soon after try to justify the compliment by referring admir- 

 ingly to something which he thought had the world's stamp 

 of beauty upon it, quite possibly something which, but for 

 the stamp, would be odious to him. 



He rarely talked even in his family on matters at all out 

 of the range of direct and material domestic interests, and in a 

 company where lively conversation was going on, would sit 

 silent and even answer questions unfrankly and with evident 

 discomfort. Yet though his communion with others was 



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