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“ THE DISCIPLINE OF LIFE,” “ CLARE ABBEY,”.
“ EDWARD WILLOUGHBY,” &c.
“ It is excellent
IN TWO VOLUMES.
249. a. 403.
“My high-blown pride at length broke under me."
KING HENRY VIII.
The winter went by with its troubles. The spring and early summer came, and with them sunny weather in the outward world, and hope and tranquillity to men's minds. All things returned to their wonted course, and the strifes and discomforts of the winter seemed to be forgotten. Work was plentiful; the times busy and stirring; and there was
no leisure for any to brood over grievances, or foment discontent.
Lord Singleton was as active as ever. He had thought much during the winter ; had made many wise reflections, and was eager to bring them to bear fruit. Superficially speaking, it would have been said, that with ardour undamped by vexation, and benevolence unchecked by disappointment, he went about his philanthropic duties.
But this superficial view of things would not have been quite correct. Lord Singleton was changed, and without exactly meditating on the change, many felt it. The poor felt an awe of him they never had done before. They pondered longer before they assailed him with details of small grievances. This, of course, was partly the effect of conscience. They knew their virtue had not shone out very brightly in adversity. But conscience, on such points, is not very acute in the very poor; and they would soon have forgotten their failures, if there had not been a change in him.
This change was from love to duty. Duty is a very strong motive; it may become a passion; but it is stern and strong, not genial and hearty.
The effect of disappointment and failure on the young lord's mind, had been a very common one. That in which he most delighted had lost its power to please. The elation, the vanity, the pride in his certainty of commanding success, was gone melted, like snow. He had found himself a common man; his ways, apparently, no wiser and no better than those of his neighbours. Under the sting of mortified vanity, the passionate pleasure of benevolence came to an end. But though his pleasure was damped, not so was his activity. With an ardour equally great, he now set himself to do his duty; and did it with a something of fierceness of spirit, like that which prompted his