1 82 The Life Worth Living 



even in a bad wood-cut," says this writer, 

 "conveys some hint of the limitations of his 

 mind and character. With his almost acid 

 sharpness of insight, with his almost animal 

 dexterity in action, there went none of that 

 large, unconscious geniality of the world's 

 hero. He was not easy, or ample, or urbane, 

 not even kind." "He was bred to no pro- 

 fession," says Emerson; "he never married; 

 he lived alone, he went to no church ; he never 

 voted, he refused to pay a tax to the State ; he 

 ate no flesh, he drank no wine, he never knew 

 the use of tobacco; and though a naturalist, 

 he used neither trap nor gun. When asked at 

 dinner what dish he preferred, he answered, 

 'the nearest.' ' He was no ascetic, rather an 

 epicurean of the noblest sort. And he had this 

 one great merit, that he succeeded so far as to 

 be happy. He was content in living like the 

 plant he had planted and watered with solici- 

 tude. For instance, he explains his abstinence 

 from tea and coffee by saying that it was bad 

 economy and worthy of no true virtuoso to 

 spoil the natural rapture of the morning with 

 stimulants; let him see the sunshine and he 



