not to be purchased. Neither gems nor purple nor gold will buy it, nor
favor. Not all the externals in the world can help the man who depends
upon them alone.

N_ot treasure trove nor consul's stately train_
D_rives wretched tumult from the troubled brain_;
S_warming with cares that draw unceasing sighs_,
T_he fretted ceiling hangs o'er sleepless eyes_.

Nor is peace to be pursued and laid hold of, or discovered in some other
clime. Of what avail to fly to lands warmed by other suns? What exile
ever escaped himself? It is the soul that is at fault, that never can be
freed from its own bonds. The sky is all he changes:

T_he heavens, not themselves, they change_
W_ho haste to cross the seas_.

The happiness men seek for is in themselves, to be found at little
Ulubrae in the Latin marshes as easily as in great cities, if only they
have the proper attitude of mind and heart.

But how insure this peace of mind?

At the very beginning, and through to the end, the searcher after
happiness must recognize that unhappiness is the result of slavery of
some sort, and that slavery in turn is begotten of desire. The man who
is overfond of anything will be unwilling to let go his hold upon it.
Desire will curb his freedom. The only safety lies in refusing the rein
to passion of any kind. "To gaze upon nothing to lust after it,
Numicius, is the simple way of winning and of keeping happiness." He who