A SUNDAY IN CHEYNE ROW. 285 



was he lonely, heavy laden, and at best full of " des- 

 perate hope." His own work, which was accom- 

 plished with such pains and labor throes, gave him no 

 satisfaction. When he was idle, his demon tormented 

 him with the cry, " Work, work ; " and when he was 

 toiling at his tasks, his obstructions, torpidities, and 

 dispiritments, nearly crushed him. 



It is probably true that he thought he had some 

 special mission to mankind, something as definite and 

 tangible as Luther had. His stress and heat of con- 

 viction was such as only the great world reformers 

 have been possessed of. He was burdened with the 

 sins and follies of mankind, and must mend them. 

 His mission was to mend them, but perhaps in quite 

 other ways than he thought. He sought to restore 

 an age fast passing, the age of authority, the age of 

 the heroic leader ; but toward the restoration of such 

 age he had no effect whatever. The tide of de- 

 mocracy sweeps on. He was like Xerxes whipping 

 the sea. His real mission he was far less conscious 

 of, for it was what his search for the hero implied 

 and brought forward, that ,he finally bequeathed us. 

 If he did not make us long for the strong man to 

 rule over us, he made us love all manly and heroic 

 qualities afresh, and as if by a new revelation of 

 their value. He made all shallownesses and shams 

 wear such a face as they never before wore. He 

 made it easier for all men to be more truthful and 

 earnest. Hence his final effect and value was as a 

 fountain of fresh moral conviction and power. The 



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