business and bosoms of the modern multitude irrelevant as Memphis or
Babylon.

The man of thought, as we understand him, is all but necessarily the man
of impaired health. The rare exception will be found to come of a stock
which may, indeed, have been distinguished by intelligence, but
represented in all its members the active rather than the studious or
contemplative life; whilst the children of such fortunate thinkers are
sure either to revert to the active type or to exhibit the familiar
sacrifice of body to mind. I am not denying the possibility of _mens
sana in corpore sano_; that is another thing. Nor do I speak of the
healthy people (happily still numerous) who are at the same time bright-
witted and fond of books. The man I have in view is he who pursues the
things of the mind with passion, who turns impatiently from all common
interests or cares which encroach upon his sacred time, who is haunted by
a sense of the infinity of thought and learning, who, sadly aware of the
conditions on which he holds his mental vitality, cannot resist the
hourly temptation to ignore them. Add to these native characteristics
the frequent fact that such a man must make merchandise of his
attainments, must toil under the perpetual menace of destitution; and
what hope remains that his blood will keep the true rhythm, that his
nerves will play as Nature bade them, that his sinews will bide the
strain of exceptional task? Such a man may gaze with envy at those who
"sweat in the eye of Phoebus," but he knows that no choice was offered
him. And if life has so far been benignant as to grant him frequent
tranquillity of studious hours, let him look from the reapers to the
golden harvest, and fare on in thankfulness.