346 MEMOIR OF GEORGE WILSON. CHAP. XI. 



I had also, however, taken with me a sort of appendix, con- 

 sisting of the best part of an old lecture ; and when the 

 hour was done, 1 left them to say whether I should stop or 

 go on. They left me in no doubt as to their choice, so I 

 gave them another half hour, in which they heard some 

 things which I hope would do them good. ... It is curious 

 the feeling of having an audience like clay in your hands 

 to mould for a season as you please. It is a terribly re- 

 sponsible power. ... On looking back I am struck with 

 the little good I know these performances to have done, 

 or can on the highest estimate suppose them to have 

 effected. 



" Against that, however, I can set off a steadily increasing 

 indifference to applause or commendation. I do not mean 

 for a moment to imply that I am indifferent to the good 

 opinion of others. Far otherwise ; but to gain this is much 

 less a concern with me than to deserve it. It was not 

 so once. I had no wish for unmerited praise, but I was 

 too ready to settle that I did merit it. Now the word 

 1 duty ' seems the biggest word in the world, and is upper- 

 most in my serious doings. I must not deny that this 

 feeling is helped by bodily quiescence, to use no stronger 

 word. My physical activities and locomotive powers steadily 

 abridge their circle of energy. I am thus debarred from 

 the restless life I would otherwise lead, and I fear some- 

 times that I set down to rational contentment what is only 

 lazy valetudinarianism. 



" Yet I have a peace of mind and a calm joy, when not 

 positively suffering (and then they look through the dark 

 ness) such as I did not know before. Of such feelings it 

 is not wise or safe to write. They suffer by handling, and 

 I say no more about them. I was trying to make a clean 

 breast of it, and have only achieved this long drone. Set it 



