But usually he allows other people to instruct him, listening patiently and giving so little hint of what he himself thinks that few people know him intimately and the general public stands a little in awe of him.  What more natural?  His work has been a hard disciplinarian, a relentless grudger of little joys; and, as is well known, those who make history have little time to make friends.

Yet on the whole his success has been cheap as successes go.  True he worked prodigiously—­how he did work, straight on from his University days!—­but none of his labours have been hopelessly dull, while some have been exceptionally interesting, and all have been flavoured with a pinch of romance.  Further, he has had the satisfaction of filling his years about twice as full as other people’s—­of helping more men than most of his neighbours, and of gaining the world’s respect and admiration.

How has he done it?  Shall I tell you the secret—­or what he often laughingly said was the secret?  It lies hidden in a verse which he wrote in his fantastic hand on the desk at which he stood for so many years with unremitting industry.  First came two dates “1854—­1908,” and then these lines: 

  “If thou hast yesterday thy duty done,
     And thereby cleared firm footing for to-day,
  Whatever clouds may dark to-morrow’s sun,
     Thou shalt not miss thy solitary way.”

THE END