"Aid from heaven you may have," he said, "by saying your prayers; and I don't doubt you ask it for this and all other things generally.

But an angel won't come to tell you who ought to be Chancellor of the Exchequer." "No angel will, and therefore I wish that I could wash my hands of it." His old friend still stared at him.

"It is like sacrilege to me, attempting this without feeling one's own fitness for the work.

It unmans me,--this necessity of doing that which I know I cannot do with fitting judgment." "Your mind has been a little too hard at work to-day." "It hasn't been at work at all.

I've had nothing to do, and have been unable really to think of work.