t view anywhere. It is nowhere in the Bible. It is true
that we might do a vast amount of good if we were wealthy, but it is
also highly improbable; not many do; and the art of growing rich is not
only quite distinct from that of doing good, but the practice of the one
does not at all train a man for practising the other. "Money might be of
great service to me," writes Thoreau; "but the difficulty now is that I
do not improve my opportunities, and therefore I am not prepared to have
my opportunities increased." It is a mere illusion that, above a certain
income, the personal desires will be satisfied and leave a wider margin
for the generous impulse. It is as difficult to be generous, or anything
else except perhaps a member of Parliament, on thirty thousand as on
two hundred a year.

Now Thoreau's tastes were well defined. He loved to be free, to be
master of his times and seasons, to indulge the mind rather than the
body; he preferred long rambles to rich dinners, his own reflections to
the consideration of society, and an easy, calm, unfettered, active life
among green trees to dull toiling at the counter of a bank. And such
being his inclination he determined to gratify it. A poor man must save
off something; he determined to save off his livelihood. "When a man has
attained those things which are necessary to life," he writes, "there is
another alternative than to obtain the superfluities; _he may adventure
on life now_, his vacation from humbler toil having commenced." Thoreau
would get shelter, some kind of covering for his body, and necessary
daily bread; even these he should get as cheaply as possible; and then,
his vacation from humbler toil having commenced, devote himself to
Oriental philosophers, the study of nature, and the work of
self-improvement.

Prudence, which bids us all go to the ant for wisdom and hoard against
the day of sickness, was not a favourite with Thoreau. He preferred that
other, whose name is so much misappropriated: Faith. When he had secured
the necessaries of the moment, he would not reckon up possible accidents
or torment himself with trouble for the future. He had no toleration for
the man "who ventures to live only by the aid of the mutual insurance
company, which has promised to bury him decently." He would trust
himself a little to the world. "We may safely trust a good deal more
than we do," says he. "How much is not done by us! or what if we had
been taken sick?" And then, wi