He could amuse his predominant faculties by reading
metaphysical philosophy and analytical reasoning on any subject, and by
elaborating endless analyses and reasonings of his own, which he had not
energy to embody. Occasionally the torpor encroached even on his
predominant faculties, and then he roused himself to overcome the habit;
underwent fearful suffering in the weaning; began to enjoy the vital
happiness of temperance and health, and then fell back again. The
influence upon the moral energies of his nature was, as might be
supposed, fatal. Such energy he once had, as his earlier efforts at
endurance amply testify. But as years passed on, he had not only become
a more helpless victim to his prominent vice, but manifested an
increasing insensibility to the most ordinary requisitions of honor and
courtesy, to say nothing of gratitude and sincerity. In his hungry days,
in London, he would not beg nor borrow. Five years later he wrote to
Wordsworth, in admiration and sympathy; received an invitation to his
Westmoreland Valley; went, more than once, within a few miles, and
withdrew and returned to Oxford, unable to conquer his painful shyness;
returned at last to live there, in the very cottage which had been
Wordsworth's; received for himself, his wife, and a growing family of
children, an unintermitting series of friendly and neighborly offices;
was necessarily admitted to much household confidence, and favored with
substantial aid, which was certainly not given through any strong liking
for his manners, conversation, or character.
Pages:
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315