feeling.  You understand later that associations are not visible, and that they do not add to a man’s extension in space.  But (to go back) you do, as regards yourself, what you do as regards greater men:  you add your lot to your personality, and thus you make up a bigger object.  And when you see yourself in your tailor’s shop, in a large mirror (one of a series) wherein you see your figure all round, reflected several times, your feeling will probably be, What a little thing you are!  If you are a wise man, you will go away somewhat humbled, and possibly somewhat the better for the sight.  You have, to a certain extent, done what Burns thought it would do all men much good to do:  you have “seen yourself as others see you.”  And even to do so physically is a step towards a juster and humbler estimate of yourself in more important things.  It may here be said, as a further illustration of the principle set forth, that people who stay very much at home feel their stature, bodily and mental, much lessened when they go far away from home, and spend a little time among strange scenes and people.  For, going thus away from home, you take only yourself.  It is but a small part of your extension that goes.  You go; but you leave behind your house, your study, your children, your servants, your horses, your garden.  And not only do you leave them behind, but they grow misty and unsubstantial when you are far away from them.  And somehow you feel, that, when you make the acquaintance of a new friend some hundreds of miles off, who never saw your home and your family, you present yourself before him only a twentieth part or so of what you feel yourself to be when you have all your belongings about you.  Do you not feel all that?  And do you not feel, that, if you were to go away to Australia forever, almost as the English coast turned blue and then invisible on the horizon, your life in England would first turn cloud-like, and then melt away?

But without further discussing the philosophy of how it comes to be, I return to the statement that you yourself, as you live in your home, are to yourself the centre of this world,—­and that you feel the force of any great principle most deeply, when you feel it in your own case.  And though every worthy mortal must be often taken out of himself, especially by seeing the deep sorrows and great failures of other men, still, in thinking of people of whom more might have been made, it touches you most to discern that you are one of these.  It is a very sad thing to think of yourself, and to see how much more might have been made of you.  Sit down by the fire in winter, or go out now in summer and sit down under a tree, and look back on the moral discipline you have gone through,—­look back on what you have done and suffered.  Oh, how much better and happier you might have been!  And how very near you have often been to what would have made you so much happier and better!  If you had taken the other turning when you took the wrong one, after