Be then thine own home, and in thyself dwell; Inn any where; And seeing the snail, which every where doth roam, Carrying his own home still, still is at home, Follow (for he is easy paced) this snail; Be thine own Palace, or the World's thy jail. DONNE. Such then as Daniel Dove was in the twenty-sixth year of his age we are now to consider him, settled at Doncaster, and with his way of life chosen, for better for worse, in all respects; except, as my female readers will remember, that he was neither married, nor engaged, nor likely to be so. One of the things for which he used to thank God was that the world had not been all before him where to chuse, either as to calling or place, but that both had been well chosen for him. To chuse upon such just motives as can leave no rational cause for after repentance requires riper judgement than ought to be expected at the age when the choice is to be made; it is best for us therefore at a time of life when though perhaps we might chuse well, it is impossible that we could chuse wisely, to acquiesce in the determination of others, who have knowledge and experience to direct them. Far happier are they who always know what they are to do, than they who have to determine what they will do. _Bisogna far quel che si deve fare, E non gia tutto quello che si vuole._[1] Thus he was accustomed to think upon this subject. [Footnote 1: PANANTI.] But was he well placed at Doncaster? It matters not where those men are placed, who, as South says, “have souls so dull and stupid as to serve for little else but to keep their bodies from putrefaction.” Ordinary people whether their lot be cast in town or country, in the metropolis or in a village, will go on in the ordinary way, conforming their habits to those of the place. It matters nothing more to those who live less in the little world about them, than in a world of their own, with the whole powers of the head and of the heart too (if they have one) intently fixed upon some favourite pursuit:—if they have a heart I say, for it sometimes happens that where there is an excellent head, the heart is nothing more than a piece of hard flesh. In this respect, the highest and the meanest intellects are, in a certain sense, alike self-sufficient; that is they are so far independent of adventitious aid, that they derive little advantage from society and suffer nothing from the want of it. But there are others for whose mental improvement, or at least mental enjoyment, collision and sympathy and external excitement seem almost indispensable. Just as large towns are the only places in which first-rate workmen in any handycraft business can find employment, so men of letters and of science generally appear to think that no where but in a metropolis can they find the opportunities which they desire of improvement or of display. These persons are wise in their generation, but they are not children of light.