Sometimes I think I should like to give him half my
money--how ridiculous it seems that such a thing should be out of
the question!--and let him lead the tranquil life of study and
contemplation that he loves, send him to other lands where he might
wander up and down in the sunshine, seeing the world and all its
beauties,--he that has eyes to see, a heart to feel. But then, at
other times, I feel that I should like to strip him even of the
little he has, and hurl him into the very vortex of life, see him
struggle and fight and come out a conqueror. I see in him the germs
of so much greatness that I cannot believe he was meant to dream his
days away on the heather. It was right of him, certainly, to break
from a course of life he felt himself unable to pursue, and right it
is also that he should pause now, and breathe, and feel his wings.
But it will soon be time for energy and action. We are not here for
ourselves only; there is so much to be done. And if I am often
discontented with myself for the futility of my dreams, for sitting
here a mere spectator, as it were, of struggles that I long to
share, yet know not how, greater still is my impatience at the sight
of one wasting his days in mere speculation, who, having all the
strength, the manhood, that I lack, might leap into the very thick
of the fight, Truth's warrior.
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