300 JAMES CLERK MAXWELL. [CHAP. X. 



strange ! we are lost in delusion, 

 Our ways and doings are wrong, 



We are drowning in wilful confusion 

 The notes of that wonderful song. 



But listen, what harmony holy 



Is mingling its notes with our own ! 

 The discord is vanishing slowly, 



And melts in that dominant tone. 

 And they that have heard it can never 



Return to confusion again ; 

 Their voices are music for ever, 



And join in the mystical strain. 



No mortal can utter the beauty 



That dwells in the song that they sing ; 



They move in the pathway of duty, 

 They follow the steps of their King. 



1 would barter the world and its glory, 



The vision of joy to prolong, 

 Or to hear and remember the story 

 That lies in the heart of their song. 



To THE SAME. 



129 Union Street, 31st January 1858. 



Thank you for your letter, so kind and so speedy. Now 

 there are two of us, and I have that knowledge which is 

 better than all advice. Not that I undervalue the advice at 

 all, only the sense of unity between us is the main thing, 

 whether we keep up correspondence or not. And I know 

 that my friends are ipso facto your's, and your's mine, so that 

 we are a large and influential body. . . . 



But don't suppose that I intend to make you my con- 

 fessor. It would not be just to you, for I do not like being 

 confessed to myself; and I think every one should bear his 

 own burden, though willing to lighten that of others. 

 Besides, confession brings into set words and distinct out- 

 lines, doubtful suspicions and half-formed thoughts, which 

 would fade at once if they were not stirred up. 



