THOREAU. 203 



nality consists in power of digesting and assimilating 

 thought, so that they become part of our life and sub- 

 stance. Montaigne, for example, is one of the most 

 original of authors, though he helped himself to ideas in 

 every direction. But they turn to blood and coloring in 

 his style, and give a freshness of complexion that is for- 

 ever charming. In Thoreau much seems yet to be 

 foreign and unassimilated, showing itself in symptoms 

 of indigestion. A preacher-up of Nature, we now and 

 then detect under the surly and stoic garb something of 

 the sophist and the sentimentalizer. We are far from 

 implying that this was conscious on his part. But it is 

 much easier for a man to impose on himself when he 

 measures only with himself. A greater familiarity with 

 ordinary men would have done Thoreau good, by show- 

 ing him how many fine qualities are common to the race. 

 The radical vice of his theory of life was, that he con- 

 founded physical with spiritual remoteness from men. 

 One is far enough withdrawn from his fellows if he keep 

 himself clear of their weaknesses. He is not so truly 

 withdrawn as exiled, if he refuse to share in their 

 strength. " Solitude," says Cowley, " can be well fitted 

 and set right but upon a very few persons. They must 

 have enough knowledge of the world to see the vanity 

 of it, and enough virtue to despise all vanity." It is 

 a morbid self-consciousness that pronounces the world 

 of men empty and worthless before trying it, the 

 instinctive evasion of one who is sensible of some 

 innate weakness, and retorts the accusation of it before 

 any has made it but himself. To a healthy mind, 

 the world is a constant challenge of opportunity. Mr. 

 Thoreau had not a healthy mind, or he would not 

 have been so fond of prescribing. His whole life 

 was a search for the doctor. The old mystics had a 

 wiser sense of what the world was worth. They or- 



