To the man who cherishes a secret in his breast, there is a still greater secret unexplored.  Our most indifferent acts may be matter for secrecy, but whatever we do with the utmost truthfulness and integrity, by virtue of its pureness, must be transparent as light.

In the third satire, he asks:—­

     “Est aliquid quo tendis, et in quod dirigis arcum? 
     An passim sequeris corvos, testave, lutove,
     Securus quo pes ferat, atque ex tempore vivis?”

   Is there anything to which thou tendest, and against which thou
       directest thy bow? 
   Or dost thou pursue crows, at random, with pottery or clay,
   Careless whither thy feet bear thee, and live ex tempore?

The bad sense is always a secondary one.  Language does not appear to have justice done it, but is obviously cramped and narrowed in its significance, when any meanness is described.  The truest construction is not put upon it.  What may readily be fashioned into a rule of wisdom, is here thrown in the teeth of the sluggard, and constitutes the front of his offence.  Universally, the innocent man will come forth from the sharpest inquisition and lecturing, the combined din of reproof and commendation, with a faint sound of eulogy in his ears.  Our vices always lie in the direction of our virtues, and in their best estate are but plausible imitations of the latter.  Falsehood never attains to the dignity of entire falseness, but is only an inferior sort of truth; if it were more thoroughly false, it would incur danger of becoming true.

     “Securus quo pes ferat, atque ex tempore vivit,”

is then the motto of a wise man.  For first, as the subtle discernment of the language would have taught us, with all his negligence he is still secure; but the sluggard, notwithstanding his heedlessness, is insecure.

The life of a wise man is most of all extemporaneous, for he lives out of an eternity which includes all time.  The cunning mind travels further back than Zoroaster each instant, and comes quite down to the present with its revelation.  The utmost thrift and industry of thinking give no man any stock in life; his credit with the inner world is no better, his capital no larger.  He must try his fortune again to-day as yesterday.  All questions rely on the present for their solution.  Time measures nothing but itself.  The word that is written may be postponed, but not that on the lip.  If this is what the occasion says, let the occasion say it.  All the world is forward to prompt him who gets up to live without his creed in his pocket.

In the fifth satire, which is the best, I find,—­

     “Stat contra ratio, et secretam garrit in aurem,
     Ne liceat facere id, quod quis vitiabit agendo.”

   Reason opposes, and whispers in the secret ear,
   That it is not lawful to do that which one will spoil by doing.