Why could I not check my thinking, enjoy my popularity,
and rejoice in the success of my labors? And when I could not take their
flippant counsels, they had nothing left but hints at unpleasant
consequences. There was nothing for me therefore, but to follow the
promptings of my own insatiate soul, and travel on alone in the fear of
God, hoping that things would get better, and my prospects grow brighter
by and by.
So I moved on in my own track, still digging for truth as for silver,
and searching for it as for hidden treasure. And I worked unceasingly,
and with all my might. I lost no time. I hated pleasure parties, and all
kinds of amusements. My work was my amusement. I hated company, unless
the subject of conversation could be religion, or something pertaining
to it. When obliged to go out and take dinner, or tea, or supper, I
always took a book or two with me, and if the company were not inclined
to spend the time in useful conversation, I would slip away into some
quiet room, or take a walk, and spend my time in reading. I always read
on my walks and on my journeys, if the weather was fair, and on some
occasions when it was not fair. My mind was always on the stretch. I had
no idea that I needed rest or recreation. It never entered into my mind
that I could get to the end of my mental strength, and when I was
actually exhausted,--when I had wearied both body and mind to the
utmost, so that writing and even reading became irksome to me, I still
accused myself of idleness, instead of suspecting myself of weariness.
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