What he feared was derision, and
the good-natured indifferent stolidity that is worse than any
derision, and the knowledge that, with all his powers and
perceptions, his common-sense, which was great, and his sense of
responsibility, he was treated by the world like a spoilt child,
charming even in his wrath, who had full license to be as vehement
as he liked, with the understanding that no one would act on his
advice.
I often go to Brantwood, which is a sacred place indeed, and see
with deep emotion the little rooms, with all their beautiful
treasures, and all the great accumulations of that fierce industry
of mind, and remember that in that peaceful background a man of
exquisite genius fought with sinister shadows, and was worsted in
the fight, for a time; because the last ten years of that long life
were a time of serene waiting for death, a beguiling by little
childish and homely occupations the heavy hours: he could uplift
his voice no more, often could hardly frame an intelligible
thought. But meanwhile his great message went on rippling out to
the world, touching heart after heart into light and hope, and
doing, insensibly and graciously, by the spirit, the very thing he
had failed to do by might and power.
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