, but with his own; he cares not to read other
men's thoughts, but to think his own, for a love of books only comes to
him who is shut always from the world by ill-health, by poverty, by
circumstance. When we are poor and miserable, we like to read of those
who are happier. When we are shut in towns, we love to read of the
beauties of the hills. When we have no love in our hearts, we like to
read of those who have. Few men who think their own thoughts care much
to read the thoughts of others, for a man's own thoughts are worth more
to him than all the thoughts of all the world besides. That a man should
think, that is a great thing. Very, very few great readers are great
thinkers. And he who can live his life, what cares he for reading of the
lives of other people? To have loved once is more than to have read all
the poets that ever sang. So a Burman thinks. To see the moon rise on
the river as you float along, while the boat rocks to and fro and
someone talks to you--is not that better than any tale?

So a Burman lives his life, and he asks a great deal from it. He wants
fresh air and sunshine, and the great thoughts that come to you in the
forest. He wants love and companionship, the voice of friends, the low
laugh of women, the delight of children. He wants his life to be a full
one, and he wants leisure to teach his heart to enjoy all these things;
for he knows that you must learn to enjoy yourself, that it does not
always come naturally, that to be happy and good-natured and
open-hearted requires an education. To learn to sympathize with your
neighbours, to laugh with them and cry with them, you must not shut
yourself away and work. His religion tells him that the first of all
gifts is sympathy; it is the first step towards wisdom, and he holds it
true. After that, all shall be added to you. He believes that happiness
is the best of all things.

We think differently. We are content with cheerless days, with an
absence of love, of beauty, of all that is valuable to the heart, if we
can but put away a little money, if we can enlarge our business, if we
can make a bigger figure in the world. Nay, we go beyond this: we
believe that work, that drudgery, is a beautiful thing in itself, that
perpetual toil and effort is admirable.

This we do because we do not know what to do with our leisure, because
we do not know for what to seek, because we cannot enjoy. And so we go
back to work, to feverish effort, because we cann