same instinct, and even they are bound to silence by
circumstance, by lack of opportunity. The rest--life is enough for
them; hunger and thirst, love and strife, hope and fear, that is their
daily meat. And life, I doubt not, is what we are set to taste. Of all
those thousands, some few have the desire, and fewer still the power,
to stand apart from the throng. These are not content with the humdrum
life of earning a livelihood, of forming ties, of passing the time as
pleasantly as they can. They desire rather to be felt, to exercise
influence, to mould others to their will, to use them for their
convenience. I have had little temptation to do that, but my life has
been poisoned at its source, I now discern, by the desire to
differentiate myself from others. I could not walk faithfully in the
procession; I was as one who likes to sit securely in his window above
the street, noting all that he sees, sketching all that strikes his
fancy, hugging his pleasure at being apart from and superior to the
ordinary run of mortals. Here lay my chiefest fault, that I could not
bear a humble hand, but looked upon my wealth, my loving circle, as
things that should fence me from the throng. I lived in a paradise of
my own devising.

But now I have put that all aside for ever. I will live the life of a
learner; I will be docile if I can. I might indeed have been stripped
of everything, bidden to join the humblest tribe of workers for daily
bread. But God has spared my weakness, and I should be faithless
indeed, if, seeing how intently His will has dealt with me, I did not
recognise the clear guiding of His hand. He has given me a place and a
quiet work to do; these strange bereavements, one after another, have
not hardened me. I feel the bonds of love for those whom I have lost
drawn closer every hour. They are waiting for me, I am sure of that. It
is not reason, it is not faith which prompts me; it is a far deeper and
stronger instinct, which I could not doubt if I would. What wonder if I
look forward with an eager and an ardent hope to death. I can conceive
no more welcome tidings than the tidings that death was at hand. But I
do not expect to die. My health of body is almost miraculously
preserved. What I dare to hope is that I may learn by slow degrees to
set the happiness of others above my own. I will listen for any sound
of grief or discontent, and I will try to quiet it. I will spend my
time and strength as freely as I can. Tha