Remain; becontent; go round and round in one barren path, a
little money, a little food and sleep, some ancient fables,
old age and death. Of all the inventions of casuistry with man for ages has
in various ways which manacled himself, and stayed his own advance, there is
none equally potent with the supposition that nothing more is possible. Once
well impress on the mind that it has already all, that advance is impossible
because there is nothing further, and it is chained like a horse to an iron
pin in the ground. It is the most deadly--the most fatal poison of the mind.
No such casuistry has ever for a moment held me, but still, if permitted,
the constant routine of house-life, the same work, the same thought in the
work, the little circumstances regularly recurring, will dull the keenest
edge of thought. By my daily pilgrimage, I escaped from it back to the sun.

In summer the leaves of the aspen rustled pleasantly, there was
the tinkle of falling water over a hatch, thrushes sang and
blackbirds whistled, greenfinches laughed in their talk to each
other. The commonplace dusty road was commonplace no longer.
In the dust was the mark of the chaffinches' little feet; the
white light rendered even the dust brighter to look on. The air
came from the south-west--there were distant hills in that
direction--over fields of grass and corn. As I visited the spot
from day to day the wheat grew from green to yellow, the wild
roses flowered, the scarlet poppies appeared, and again the
beeches reddened in autumn. In the march of time there fell
away from my mind, as the leaves from the trees in autumn, the
last traces and relics of superstitions and traditions acquired
compulsorily in childhood. Always feebly adhering, they finally
disappeared.

There fell away, too, personal bias and prejudices, enabling me