human
Your solitude, said Lester, smiling,
gpt
Can Humanity be at all times contented? said Aram.
human
No stream, howsoever secret or subterranean, glides on in eternal tranquillity.
gpt
You allow, then, that you feel some occasional desire for a more active and animated life?
human
Nay, answered Aram;
gpt
This may be true enough, said Lester, reluctantly;
human
But what?
gpt
A something at our hearts--a secret voice--an involuntary impulse-- rebels against it, and points to action--action, as the true sphere of man.
human
Yet, if you think so, the world lies before you; why not return to it?
gpt
Because constant habit is stronger than occasional impulse; and my seclusion, after all, has its sphere of action--has its object.
human
All seclusion has.
gpt
All? Scarcely so; for me, I have my object of interest in my children.
human
And mine is in my books.
gpt
And engaged in your object, does not the whisper of Fame ever animate you with the desire to go forth into the world, and receive the homage that would await you?
human
Listen to me, replied Aram.
gpt
When I was a boy, I went once to a theatre. The tragedy of Hamlet was performed: a play full of the noblest thoughts, the subtlest morality, that exists upon the stage. The audience listened with attention, with admiration, with applause. I said to myself, when the curtain fell, 'It must be a glorious thing to obtain this empire over men's intellects and emotions.' But now an Italian mountebank appeared on the stage,--a man of extraordinary personal strength and slight of hand. He performed a variety of juggling tricks, and distorted his body into a thousand surprising and unnatural postures. The audience were transported beyond themselves: if they had felt delight in Hamlet, they glowed with rapture at the mountebank: they had listened with attention to the lofty thought, but they were snatched from themselves by the marvel of the strange posture. 'Enough,' said I; 'I correct my former notion. Where is the glory of ruling men's minds, and commanding their admiration, when a greater enthusiasm is excited by mere bodily agility, than was kindled by the most wonderful emanations of a genius little less than divine?' I have never forgotten the impression of that evening.