rasset.

Then, too, I felt that a great task must be taken up in a certain
buoyancy and cheerfulness of spirit, not in heaviness and diffidence.
There are, of course, instances where a work reluctantly undertaken has
been crowned with astonishing success. But one has no business to think
that reluctance and diffidence to undertake a great work are a proof
that God intends one to do it.

I am quite aware of the danger which a temperament like my own runs, of
dealing with such a situation in too complex and subtle a way. That is
the hardest thing of all to get rid of, because it is part of the very
texture of one's mind. I have tried, however, to see the whole thing in
as simple a light as possible, and to ask myself whether acceptance was
in any sense a plain duty. If the offer had been a constraining appeal,
I should have doubted. But it was made in an easy, complimentary way,
as if there was no doubt that I should fall in with it.

Well, I had a very anxious day; but I simply (I may say that to you)
prayed that my way might be made clear; and the result was a
conviction, which rose like a star and then, as it were, waxed into a
sun, that the quest was not for me.

And so I refused; and I am thankful to say that I have had, ever since,
the blessed and unalterable conviction that I have done right. Even the
conveniences have ceased to appeal to me; they have not even, like the
old Adam in the Pilgrim's Progress, pinched hold of me and given me a
deadly twitch. Though the picturesque mind of one who, like myself, is
very sensitive to "the attributes of awe and majesty," takes a certain
peevish pleasure in continuing to depict my unworthy self clothed upon
with majesty, and shaking all Olympus with my nod.

But if Olympus had refused to shake, even though I had nodded like a
mandarin?

I am sure that I shall not regret it; and I do not even think that my
conscience will reproach me; nor do I think that (on this ground alone)
I shall be relegated to the dark circle of the Inferno with those who
had a great opportunity given them and would not use it.

Please confirm me if you can! Comfort me with apples, as the Song says.
I am afraid you will only tell me that it proves that you are right,
and that I have no ambition.--Ever yours,

T. B.

UPTON,
June 4, 1904.

DEAR HERBERT,--I have nothing to write about. The summer is come, and
with it I enter into purgatory; I am poured out like water, and my
heart i