The great men of the world
don't talk about the importance of their work: they just do
whatever comes to hand--it's only the second-rate men who say that
their talents haven't full scope. Do you remember poor Chambers,
who was at lunch the other day? He told me that he had migrated
from a town parish to a country parish, and that he missed the
organisation so much. 'There seems nothing to organise down in the
country!' he said. 'Now in my town parish there was the whole
machine to keep going--I enjoyed that, and I don't feel I am giving
effect to the best part of myself.' That seemed to me such a
pompous line, and I felt that I didn't want to be like that. One's
work! how little it matters! No one is indispensable--the
disappearance of one man just gives another his chance."
"Yes, of course, it is rather hard to draw the line," said Maud,
"and I think it is a pity to be solemn about it; but it seems to me
so simple in this case. You can do the work--they want you back--
there is no reason why you should not go back."
"Perhaps it is mere laziness," said Howard, "but I feel as if I
wanted a different sort of life now, a quieter life; and yet I know
that there is a snare about that. I rather mistrust the people who
say they must get time to think out things. It's like the old
definition of metaphysics--the science of muddling oneself
systematically. I don't think one can act by reason; one must act
by instinct, and reason just prevents one's making a fool of
oneself.
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