This, if we think of it, is the state natural to children. Every person and thing commands their interest; but the person or thing in action is deeply interesting. “May I go and make mud-pies with the boy in the gutter?” prays the little prince, discerning no difference at all; and the little boy in the gutter would meet him with equal frankness. What is the secret of this absolute humility, humble alike towards higher or lower, and unaware of distinctions? Our notion of a humble person is one who thinks rather slightingly of himself, who says, deprecatingly, “Oh, I can’t do this or that, you know, I’m not clever;” “I’m not cut out for public work of any sort, I’ve no power or influence;” “Ah! well, I hope he’ll be a better man than his father, I don’t think much of myself anyway;” “Your children have great advantages, I wish mine had such a mother, but I’m not a bit wise.” Such things are often said, in all sincerity, without the least _soupçon_ of the “Uriah Heap” sentiment. The thing we quarrel with is, that the speakers are apt to feel that they have, anyway, the saving grace of humility. It is worth while to reflect that there are no such deprecatory utterances ascribed to the Example of that “great humility” which we are bound to follow; and if there is not the slightest evidence of humility in this kind in the divine life, which was all humility, we must re-cast our notions. Children, too, never make deprecatory remarks; that is because they are humble, and with the divine Example before us, and the example of our children, we may receive it that humility does not consist in thinking little of ourselves. It is a higher principle, a blessed state, only now and then attained by us elders, but in which the children perpetually dwell, and in which it is the will of God that we should keep them. Humility does not think much or little of itself; it does not think of itself at all. It is a negative rather than a positive quality, being an absence of self-consciousness rather than the presence of any distinctive virtue. The person who is unaware of himself is capable of all lowly service, of all suffering for others, of bright cheerfulness under all the small crosses and worries of everyday life. This is the quality that makes heroes, and this is the quality that makes saints. We are able to pray, but we are hardly able to worship or to praise, to say, “_My_ soul doth magnify the Lord,” so long as in the innermost chamber of our hearts we are self-occupied.