But what do these hermit’s reveries signify to the world?  The inward turmoils of most men are stifled by the outward ones; life does not give them time to question themselves.  Have they time to know what they are, and what they should be, whose whole thoughts are in the next lease or the last price of stock?  Heaven is very high, and wise men look only at the earth.

But I—­poor savage amid all this civilization, who seek neither power nor riches, and who have found in my own thoughts the home and shelter of my spirit—­I can go back with impunity to these recollections of my childhood; and, if this our great city no longer honors the name of God with a festival, I will strive still to keep the feast to Him in my heart.

CHAPTER VII

THE PRICE OF POWER AND THE WORTH OF FAME

Sunday, July 1st

Yesterday the month dedicated to Juno (Junius, June) by the Romans ended. 
To-day we enter on July.

In ancient Rome this latter month was called Quintiles (the fifth), because the year, which was then divided into only ten parts, began in March.  When Numa Pompilius divided it into twelve months this name of Quintiles was preserved, as well as those that followed—­Sexteles, September, October, November, December—­although these designations did not accord with the newly arranged order of the months.  At last, after a time the month Quintiles, in which Julius Caesar was born, was called Julius, whence we have July.  Thus this name, placed in the calendar, is become the imperishable record of a great man; it is an immortal epitaph on Time’s highway, engraved by the admiration of man.

How many similar inscriptions are there!  Seas, continents, mountains, stars, and monuments, have all in succession served the same purpose!  We have turned the whole world into a Golden Book, like that in which the state of Venice used to enroll its illustrious names and its great deeds.  It seems that mankind feels a necessity for honoring itself in its elect ones, and that it raises itself in its own eyes by choosing heroes from among its own race.  The human family love to preserve the memory; of the parvenus of glory, as we cherish that of a great ancestor, or of a benefactor.

In fact, the talents granted to a single individual do not benefit himself alone, but are gifts to the world; everyone shares them, for everyone suffers or benefits by his actions.  Genius is a lighthouse, meant to give light from afar; the man who bears it is but the rock upon which this lighthouse is built.

I love to dwell upon these thoughts; they explain to me in what consists our admiration for glory.  When glory has benefited men, that admiration is gratitude; when it is only remarkable in itself, it is the pride of race; as men, we love to immortalize the most shining examples of humanity.