_Væ solis_--Society and solitude alike necessary--The use of each--In solitude we know ourselves--Montaigne as a book-buyer--Compensations of solitude--Description of one who loved and sought it--How men are driven into solitude--Cultivated people in the provinces--Use of solitude as a protection for rare and delicate natures--Shelley's dislike to general society--Wordsworth and Turner--Sir Isaac Newton's repugnance to society--Auguste Comte--His systematic isolation and unshakable firmness of purpose--Milton and Bunyan--The solitude which is really injurious--Painters and authors--An ideal division of life. You cry to me _Væ solis!_ and the cry seems not the less loud and stirring that it comes in the folds of a letter. Just at first it quite startled and alarmed me, and made me strangely dissatisfied with my life and work; but farther reflection has been gradually reconciling me ever since, and now I feel cheerful again, and in a humor to answer you. _Woe unto him that is alone!_ This has been often said, but the studious recluse may answer, _Woe unto him that is never alone and cannot bear to be alone!_ We need society, and we need solitude also, as we need summer and winter, day and night, exercise and rest. I thank heaven for a thousand pleasant and profitable conversations with acquaintances and friends; I thank heaven also, and not less gratefully, for thousands of sweet hours that have passed in solitary thought or labor, under the silent stars. Society is necessary to give us our share and place in the collective life of humanity, but solitude is necessary to the maintenance of the individual life. Society is to the individual what travel and commerce are to a nation; whilst solitude represents the home life of the nation, during which it develops its especial originality and genius. The life of the perfect hermit, and that of those persons who feel themselves nothing individually, and have no existence but what they receive from others, are alike imperfect lives. The perfect life is like that of a ship of war which has its own place in the fleet and can share in its strength and discipline, but can also go forth alone in the solitude of the infinite sea. We ought to belong to Society, to have our place in it, and yet to be capable of a complete individual existence outside of it. Which of the two is the grander, the ship in the disciplined fleet, arranged in order of battle, or the ship alone in the tempest, a thousand miles from land? The truest grandeur of the ship is neither in one nor the other, but in the capacity for both. What would that captain merit who either had not seamanship enough to work under the eye of the admiral, or else had not sufficient knowledge of navigation to be trusted out of the range of signals?