My mind had formed an estimate of its own powers; the energetic spirit which had been wasted in endless cavils and contradictions (for my temper was faulty and headstrong, and my uncle not always the aggressor) now asserted its own dignity, and furnished me with the weapon most needed in such petty warfare--self-respect.

Harrison had given me a motive for exertion, and I was ashamed of having suffered my mental powers to remain so long inactive.

As my mind recovered a healthy tone, my spirits rose in proportion.

The thirst for improvement daily acquired new strength, while my industry not only surprised, but drew forth the commendations of my uncle.
"What has become of your churlish, morose temper, Geoffrey ?" said he to me one day, at dinner; "why, boy, you are greatly changed of late.

From a sulky, impertinent, vindictive lad, you have become an industrious, agreeable, pleasant fellow." "It is never too late to mend, uncle," said I, laughing, though I did not much relish his portrait of what I had been.