ce）　change；　and　the　mode　of　life　and　evolution　in　consequence　changes　also。　I　remember　when　I　was　a　boy　wishinglike　many　other　boysto　go　to　sea。　I　wanted　to　join　the　Navy。　It　was　not；　I　am　sure；　that　I　was　so　very　anxious　to　defend　my　country。　No；　there　was　a　much　simpler　and　more　prosaic　motive　than　that。　The　ships　of　those　days　with　their　complex　rigging　suggested　a　perfect　paradise　of　CLIMBING；　and　I　know　that　it　was　the　thought　of　THAT　which　influenced　me。　To　be　able　to　climb　indefinitely　among　those　ropes　and　spars！　How　delightful！　Of　course　I　knew　perfectly　well　that　I　should　not　always　have　free　access　to　the　rigging；　but　thensome　day；　no　doubt；　I　should　be　an　Admiral；　and　who　then　could　prevent　me？　I　remember　seeing　myself　in　my　mind's　eye；　with　cocked　hat　on　my　head　and　spy…glass　under　my　arm；　roaming　at　my　own　sweet　will　up　aloft；　regardless　of　the　remonstrances　which　might　reach　me　from　below！　Such　was　my　childish　ideal。　But　a　time　cameneedless　to　saywhen　I　conceived　a　different　idea　of　the　object　of　life。
  It　is　said　that　John　Tyndall；　whose　lectures　on　Science　were　so　much　sought　after　in　their　time；　being　on　one　occasion　in　New　York　was　accosted　after　his　discourse　by　a　very　successful　American　business　man；　who　urged　him　to　devote　his　scientific　knowledge　and　ability　to　commercial　pursuits；　promising　that　if　he　did　so；　he；　Tyndall；　would　easily　make　〃a　big　pile。〃　Tyndall　very　calmly　replied；　〃Well；　I　myself　thought　of　that　once；　but　I　soon　abandoned　the　idea；　having　come　to　the　conclusion　that　I　had　NO　TIME　TO　WASTE　IN　MAKING　MONEY。〃　The　man　of　dollars　nearly　sank　into　the　ground。　Such　a　conception　of　life　had　never　entered　his　head　before。　But　to　Tyndall　no　doubt　it　was　obvious　that　if　he　chained　himself　to　the　commercial　ideal　all　the　joy　and　glory　of　his　days　would　be　gone。
  We　sometimes　hear　of　the　awful　doom　of　some　of　the　Russian　convicts　in　the　quarries　and　mines　of　Siberia；　who　are　（or　were）　chained　permanently　to　their　wheelbarrows。　It　is　difficult　to　imagine　a　more　dreadful　fate：　the　despair；　the　disgust；　the　deadly　loathing　of　the　accursed　thing　from　which　there　is　no　escape　day　or　nightwhich　is　the　companion　not　only　of　the　prisoner's　work　but　of　his　hours　of　restwith　which　he　has　to　sleep；　to　feed；　to　take　his　recreation　if　he　has　any；　and　to　fulfil　all　the　offices　of　nature。　Could　anything　be　more　crushing？　And　yet；　and　yet　。　。　。　is　it　not　true　that　we；　most　of　us；　in　our　various　ways　are　chained　to　our　wheelbarrowsis　it　not　too　often　true　that　to　these　beggarly　things　we　have　for　the　most　part　chained　OURSELVES？
  Let　me　be　understood。　Of　course　we　all　have　（or　ought　to　have）　our　work　to　do。　We　have　our　living　to　get；　our　families　to　support；　our　trade；　our　art；　our　profession　to　pursue。　In　that　sense　no　doubt　we　are　tied；　but　I　take　it　that　these　things　are　like　the　wheelbarrow　which　a　man　uses　while　he　is　at　work。　It　may　irk　him　at　times；　but　he　sticks　to　it　with　a　good　heart；　and　with　a　certain　joy　because　it　is　the　instrument　of　a　noble　purpose。　That　is　all　right。　But　to　be　chained　to　it；　not　to　be　able　to　leave　it　when　the　work　of　the　day　is　donethat　is　indeed　an　ignoble　slavery。　I　would　say；　then；　take　care　that　even　with　these　things；　these　necessary　arts　of　life；　you　preserve　your　independence；　that　even　if　to　some　degree　they　may　confine　your　body　they　do　not　enslave　your　mind。
  For　it　is　the　freedom　of　the　mind　which　counts。　We　are　all　no　doubt　caught　in　the　toils　of　the　earth…life。　One　man　is　largely　dominated　by　sensual　indulgence；　another　by　ambition；　another　by　the　pursuit　of　money。　Well；　these　things　are　all　right　in　themselves。　Without　the　pleasures　of　the　senses　we　should　be　dull　mokes　indeed；　without　ambition　much　of　the　zest　and　enterprise　of　life　would　be　gone；　gold；　in　the　present　order　of　affairs；　is　a　very　useful　servant。　These　things　are　right　enoughbut　to　be　CHAINED　to　them；　to　be　unable　to　think　of　anything　elsewhat　a　fate！　The　subject　reminds　one　of　a　not　uncommon　spectacle。　It　is　a　glorious　day；　the　sun　is　bright；　small　white　clouds　float　in　the　transparent　bluea　day　when　you　linger　perforce　on　the　road　to　enjoy　the　sence。　But　suddenly　here　comes　a　man　painfully　running　all　hot　and　dusty　and　mopping　his　head；　and　with　no　eye；　clearly；　for　anything　around　him。　What　is　the　matter？　He　is　absorbed　by　one　idea。　He　is　running　to　catch　a　train！　And　one　cannot　help　wondering　what　EXCEEDINGLY　important　business　it　must　be　for　which　all　this　glory　and　beauty　is　sacrificed；　and　passed　by　as　if　it　did　not　exist。
  Further　we　must　remember　that　in　our　foolishness　we　very　commonly　chain　ourselves；　not　only　to　things　like　sense…　pleasures　and　ambitions　which　are　on　the　edge；　so　to　speak；　of　being　vices；　but　also　to　other　things　which　are　accounted　virtues；　and　which　as　far　as　I　can　see　are　just　as　bad；　if　we　once　become　enslaved　to　them。　I　have　known　people　who　were　so　exceedingly　'spiritual'　and　'good'　that　one　really　felt　quite　depressed　in　their　company；　I　have　known　others　whose　sense　of　duty；　dear　things；　was　so　strong　that　they　seemed　quite　unable　to　REST；　or　even　to　allow　their　friends　to　rest；　and　I　have　wondered　whether；　after　all；　worriting　about　one's　duty　might　not　be　as　badas　deteriorating　to　oneself；　as　distressing　to　one's　friendsas　sinning　a　good　solid　sin。　No；　in　this　respect　virtues　MAY　be　no　better　than　vices；　and　to　be　chained　to　a　wheelbarrow　made　of　alabaster　is　no　way　preferable　to　being　chained　to　one　of　wood。　To　sacrifice　the　immortal　freedom　of　the　mind　in　order　to　become　a　prey　to　self…regarding　cares　and　anxieties；　self…estimating　virtues　and　vices；　self…chaining　duties　and　indulgences；　is　a　mistake。　And　I　warn　you；　it　is　quite　useless。　For　the　destiny　of　Freedom　is　ultimately　upon　every　one；　and　if　refusing　it　for　a　time　you　heap　your　life　persistently　upon　one　objecthowever　blameless　in　itself　that　object　may　beBeware！　For　one　dayand　when　you　least　expect　itthe　gods　will　send　a　thunderbolt　upon　you。　One　day　the　thing　for　which　you　have　toiled　and　spent　laborious　days　and　sleepless　nights　will　lie　broken　before　youyour　reputation　will　be　ruined；　your　ambition　will　be　dashed；　your　savings　of　years　will　be　lostand　for　the　moment　you　will　be　inclined　to　think　that　your　life　has　been　in　vain。　But　presently　you　will　wake　up　and　find　that　something　quite　different　has　happened。　You　will　find　that　the　thunderbolt　which　you　thought　was　your　ruin　has　been　your　salvationthat　it　has　broken　the　chain　which　bound　you　to　your　wheelbarrow；　and　that　you　are　free！
  I　think　you　will　now　see　what　I　mean　by　Rest。　Rest　is　the　loosing　of　the　chains　which　bind　us　to　the　whirligig　of　the　world；　it　is　the　passing　into　the　centre　of　the　Cyclone；　it　is　the　Stilling　of　Thought。　For　（with　regard　to　this　last）　it　is　Thought；　it　is　the　Attachment　of　the　Mind；　which　binds　us　to　outer　things。　The　outer　things　themselves　are　all　right。　It　is　only　through　our　thoughts　that　they　make　slaves　of　us。　Obtain　power　over　your　thoughts　and　you　are　free。　You　can　then　use　the　outer　things　or　dismiss　them　at　your　pleasure。
  There　is　nothing　new　of　course　in　all　this。　It　has　been　known　for　ages；　and　is　part　of　the　ancient　philosophy　of　the　world。
  In　the　Katha　Upanishad　you　will　find　these　words　（Max　Muller's　translation）：　〃As　rainwater　that　has　fallen　on　a　mountain　ridge　runs　down　on　all　sides；　thus　does　he　who　sees　a　difference　between　qualities　run　after　them　on　all　sides。〃　This　is　the　figure　of　the　man　who　does　NOT　rest。　And　it　is　a　powerful　likeness。　The　thunder　shower　descends　on　the　mountain　top；　torrents　of　water　pour　down　the　crags　in　every　direction。　Imagine　the　state　of　mind　of　a　manhowever　thirsty　he　may　bewho　endeavors　to　pursue　and　intercept　all　these　streams！
  But　then　the　Upanishad　goes　on：　〃As　pure　water　poured　into　pure　water　remains　the　same；　thus；　O　Gautama；　is　the　Self　of　a　thinker　who　knows。〃　What　a　perfect　image　of　rest！　Imagine　a　cistern　before　you　with　transparent　glass　sides　and　filled　with　pure　water。　And　then　imagine　some　one　comes　with　a　phial；　also　of　pure　water；　and　pours　the　contents　gently　into　the　cistern。　What　will　happen？　Almost　nothing。　The　pure　water　will　glide　into　the　pure　water〃remaining　the　same。〃　There　will　be　no　dislocation；　no　discoloration　（as　might　happen　if　MUDDY　water　were　poured　in）；　there　will　be　only　perfect　harmony。
  I　imagine　here　that　the　meaning　is　something　like　this。　The　cistern　is　the　great　Reservoir　of　the　Universe　which　contains　the　pure　and　perfect　Spirit　of　all　life。　Each　one　of　us；　and　every　mortal　creature；　represents　a　drop　from　that　reservoir　a　drop　indeed　which　is　also　pure　and　perfect　（though　the　phial　in　which　it　is　contained　may　not　always　be　so）。　When　we；　each　of　us；　descend　into　the　world　and　meet　the　great　Ocean　of　Life　which　dwells　there　behind　all　mortal　forms；　it　is　like　the　little　phial　being　poured　into　the　great　reservoir。　If　the　tiny　canful　which　is　our　selves　is　pure　and　unsoiled；　then　when　it　meets　the　world　it　will　blend　with　the　Spirit　which　informs　the　world　perfectly　harmoniously；　without　distress　or　dislocation。　It　will　pass　through　and　be　at　one　with　it。　How　can　one　describe　such　a　state　of　affairs？　You　will　have　the　key　to　every　person　that　you　meet；　because　indeed　you　are　conscious　that　the　real　essence　of