his toes, though that leaves his shoe sticking in the mire, never dreaming that the form of boots and shoes depends as much upon him as upon the fool that first wore thin soles on a bad pavement. The great genius is always asking whether this or that might not in its turn be wrong too. He never gives his assent without reflection. I once knew a man of much talent whose whole philosophy no less than his stock of furniture was notable for its especial order and practical utility: he would have nothing in the house but what he clearly saw to be useful. He could never bring himself to provide anything simply because other people had it. He would say to himself: “People have decided that this matter ought to be so without consulting me; perhaps if I had been there they would have decided otherwise.” Let us be grateful to such men for at least now and again giving us a shake up when things are threatening to settle down—a state for which the world is still too young. We must not become Chinese yet awhile. Were the nations altogether separated from one another, perhaps every one of them—though at various stages of perfection—would have come to a state of Chinese stagnation.
Knowledge acquired too rapidly and without being personally supplemented is never very productive. Learning, too, may break into leaf without bearing fruit. We often find very shallow heads who astonish us by all they know. But what a person has to think out for himself leaves traces on the mind that may be used over again in other cases.
