And again:
Empty is the childless home;
Hearts that lack a friendship sure;
Wide horizons, to the fool;
All is empty to the poor.
And once again:
His passions are entire; his name,
Keen wit, and speech are just the same;
The man's the same. No! See him change!
Cash fails. The life is out! Ah, strange!
"Yet what have folk like me to do with money? Folk whose final fate is such as this? Positively my best course, now that property is gone, is to withdraw to the forest. As the proverb says:
Pride builds a proper house;
Never be humble:
Spurn cars of heaven, where
Pride takes a tumble.
Failure may dog the step;
Pride stands erect,
Stoops not to widest wealth
Tainted, abject."
And I continued my reflections: "Yes, the curse of beggary is dreadful as death. For
Gutted by the forest fire,
Stands in sterile soil a tree,
Gnarled, and riddled by the worms—
Better that than beggar be.
And as for beggary:
It is the shrine of wretchedness,
The dwelling-place of tears,
