may be unfit for some occupations, but he can, if he pleases, make himself useful and agreeable to others, and he can improve his little farm, if he has one, as Cincinnatus did, and as I, in all humility, do, by cutting down trees where they are too thick, and planting them where they are too thin. And now, as the reader knows all about me that he will care to know, I will further explain that, as I sat on the shore of Lake Sorell on that high mountain, in the far distant island of Tasmania, building sparkling 'castles in the air,' I fell into the following train of thought:
'I am rather tired of this same castle-building. Of what use is it? If I walk in a frenzy into this lake, will it save me from being drowned? If I fall over these rocks and break my leg, will it mend it again, and give me renewed strength to prosecute my journey? Will it put money in my purse when it is empty, or bread on my table, or clothes on my back? If it is a gift from on high, a branch, possibly, of the great candelabrum of human genius, of what use is it? Surely the ability to dig potatoes, to break in horses, to cook a dinner, or to sweep a crossing, would be much more beneficial to its possessor, and useful to the world at large. It is like Falstaff's honour: it pricks us on, and often pricks us off again; not even a word or a mere breath of air, only a thought built up in any fantastic shape we please, and then blown into fragments. And yet it is not like Falstaff's honour; it is not always of lower rank than a breath of air. It is an amusement to the great heart and mind of man, when he who builds such a castle has not a balance at his bankers' to amuse him, or a regiment of soldiers, or a ship to command, or anything to do to keep himself alive. It is an unquestionable fact that our airy castles, which your hard-headed, practical people sneer at so much, very often turn into real towers of grandeur and magnificence. Did Nelson, or Wellington, or Stanley, never build castles in the
