“‘But you haven’t told me how you succeeded in getting rid of yourself?’ ses I.
“‘Well,’ ses he, ‘I only got rid of myself, in a measure, of course, by escaping from the thralls of convention, and coming to live the life of a recluse in this shady and lonely grove. And while I am here, ’tis consoling to know that I cannot injure anybody by doing them good turns, nor can I be of any assistance to them by being their enemies. A decent enemy,’ ses he, ‘oftentimes is worth ten thousand friends, who would only do you a kindness for the sake of talking about it afterwards. But the best and most charitable way to behave towards those who try to injure you is to treat them one and all with silent contempt. That will hurt them more than anything else. The tongue may cut like a scissors, but silence gives the deepest wound.’
“‘That was well spoken for a lonely man,’ ses I.
“‘There are worse things than loneliness,’ ses he, ‘and, strictly speaking, we never feel really lonesome until we find ourselves in the midst of a crowd. And we are never in better company than when we take our place among the trees of a glorious forest like this, where nature has so plentifully bestowed her choicest gifts. I never felt lonesome since I left the noise of the cities behind me, and as I lie awake on my couch at night, I ever long for the morning, so that I may hear the birds on the wing and the birds on the branches singing their praises to the Lord. Aye, and I never tire of watching the rabbit and the weasel, the fox and the hare, or listening to the droning of the bee,’ ses he.
“‘To live close to and feel the divine influence of nature must be a wonderful thing surely, but I am sorry to say that ’tis the ugly in nature that interests me more than anything else, and the sting of a bee or a mosquito affects me more than the beauty of the sunset,’ ses I.
“‘Why, man alive,’ ses he, ‘there’s nothing ugly in nature. And the sting of an insect, like the slur of a friend, is a thing to be forgotten and not remembered. But for all that, insects with the capacity for causing annoyance have their uses. And those who never lift their eyes to the skies, so to speak, to look at other worlds than their own, will never feel lonesome while they have bees, wasps, and mosquitoes to torment them.’
“‘’Tis the devil of a thing,’ ses I, ‘when you come to think of it, that man can never really enjoy himself. When his wife or daughters, as the case may be, stop nagging at him, his friends commence to turn on him, or the wild animals of the earth, such as bugs and mosquitoes, will try to drive him to desperation.’
“‘Very true, indeed,’ ses he, ‘but we must cultivate patience in all things, and self-control as well, if we want to be comparatively happy.’
“‘Patience,’ ses he, ‘is the next best thing to stupidity. And ’tis nothing more nor less than an infinite capacity for taking pains.’
“‘And what’s genius then?’ ses I.