
who reviews his own life, as I do mine, in going on here, from page to page, had
need to have been a good man indeed, if he would be spared the sharp
consciousness of many talents neglected, many opportunities wasted, many erratic
and perverted feelings constantly at war within his breast, and defeating him. I
do not hold one natural gift, I dare say, that I have not abused. My meaning
simply is, that whatever I have tried to do in life, I have tried with all my
heart to do well; that whatever I have devoted myself to, I have devoted myself
to completely; that in great aims and in small, I have always been thoroughly in
earnest. I have never believed it possible that any natural or improved ability
can claim immunity from the companionship of the steady, plain, hard-working
qualities, and hope to gain its end. There is no such thing as such fulfilment
on this earth. Some happy talent, and some fortunate opportunity, may form the
two sides of the ladder on which some men mount, but the rounds of that ladder
must be made of stuff to stand wear and tear; and there is no substitute for
thorough-going, ardent, and sincere earnestness. Never to put one hand to
anything on which I could throw my whole self; and never to affect depreciation
of my work, whatever it was; I find, now, to have been my golden rules.
    How much of the practice I have just reduced to precept, I owe to Agnes, I
will not repeat here. My narrative proceeds to Agnes, with a thankful love.
    She came on a visit of a fortnight to the Doctor's. Mr. Wickfield was the
Doctor's old friend, and the Doctor wished to talk with him, and do him good. It
had been matter of conversation with Agnes when she was last in town, and this
visit was the result. She and her father came together. I was not much surprised
to hear from her that she had engaged to find a lodging in the neighbourhood for
Mrs. Heep, whose rheumatic complaint required change of air, and who would be
charmed to have it in such company. Neither was I surprised when, on the very
next day, Uriah, like a dutiful son, brought his worthy mother to take
possession.
    »You see, Master Copperfield,« said he, as he forced himself upon my company
for a turn in the Doctor's garden, »where a person loves, a person is a little
jealous - leastways
