rd
when it was needed. And one sees them with large powers, noble
capacities, wise thoughts, relegated to the crowd of unconsidered and
inconsiderable persons whose opinion has no weight, whose suggestions
have no effectiveness. Are they to be blamed? Or has one humbly and
faithfully to take it as an indication that they are just not fit, from
some secret weakness, some fibre of feebleness, to take the tiller?

I am speaking with entire sincerity when I say to you that I think I am
myself rather cast in that mould. I have always just missed getting
what used to be called "situations of dignity and emolument," and I
have often been condoled with as the person who ought to have had them.

Well, I expect that this is probably a very wholesome discipline for
me, but I cannot say that it is pleasant, or that use has made it
easier.

The worst of it is that I have an odd mixture of practicality and
mysticism within me, and I have sometimes thought that one has damaged
the other. My mysticism has pulled me back when I ought to have taken a
decided step, urging "Leave it to God"--and then, when I have failed to
get what I wanted, my mysticism has failed to comfort me, and the
practical side of me has said, "The decided step was what God clearly
indicated to you was needed; and you were lazy and would not take it."

I have a highly practical friend, the most absolutely and admirably
worldly person I know. In talk he sometimes lets fall very profound
maxims. We were talking the other day about this very point, and he
said musingly, "It is a very good rule in this world not to ask for
anything unless you are pretty sure to get it." That is the cream of
the worldly attitude. Such a man is not going to make himself tiresome
by importunity. He knows what he desires, he works for it, and, when
the moment comes, he just gives the little push that is needed, and
steps into his kingdom.

That is exactly what I cannot do. It is not a sign of high-mindedness,
for I am by nature greedy, acquisitive, and ambitious. But it is a want
of firmness, I suppose. Anyhow, there it is, and one cannot alter one's
temperament.

The conclusion which I come to for myself and for all like-minded
persons--not a very happy class, I fear--is that one should absolutely
steel oneself against disappointment, not allow oneself to indulge in
pleasing visions, not form plans or count chickens, but try to lay hold
of the things which do bring one tranquillity