I wanted you to have your fun out first; now we can be serious.'
And then with a glowing heat of pleasure, he laid his plans before
me, revelling in the details, revelling in hope. It was as he
wrote about the joy of electrical experiment. 'What shall I
compare them to? A new song? - a Greek play?' Delight attended
the exercise of all his powers; delight painted the future. Of
these ideal visions, some (as I have said) failed of their
fruition. And the illusion was characteristic. Fleeming believed
we had only to make a virtue cheap and easy, and then all would
practise it; that for an end unquestionably good, men would not
grudge a little trouble and a little money, though they might
stumble at laborious pains and generous sacrifices. He could not
believe in any resolute badness. 'I cannot quite say,' he wrote in
his young manhood, 'that I think there is no sin or misery. This I
can say: I do not remember one single malicious act done to
myself. In fact it is rather awkward when I have to say the Lord's
Prayer. I have nobody's trespasses to forgive.
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