those sunflower temperaments which turn by instinct, not effort,
towards the light, and are, as Mr Francis Thompson puts it,
'heartless and happy, lackeying their god.' The strains of his
heredity were very curiously, but very clearly, mingled. It may
surprise some readers to find him speaking of 'the family evil,
despondency,' but he spoke with knowledge. He inherited from his
father not only a stern Scottish intentness on the moral aspect of
life ('I would rise from the dead to preach'), but a marked
disposition to melancholy and hypochondria. From his mother, on
the other hand, he derived, along with his physical frailty, a
resolute and cheery stoicism. These two elements in his nature
fought many a hard fight, and the besieging forces from without -
ill-health, poverty, and at one time family dissensions - were by
no means without allies in the inner citadel of his soul. His
spirit was courageous in the truest sense of the word: by effort
and conviction, not by temperamental insensibility to fear. It is
clear that there was a period in his life (and that before the
worst of his bodily ills came upon him) when he was often within
measurable distance of Carlylean gloom. He was twenty-four when he
wrote thus, from Swanston, to Mrs Sitwell:

"'It is warmer a bit; but my body is most decrepit, and I can just
manage to be cheery and tread down hypochondria under foot by work.
I lead such a funny life, utterly without interest or pleasure
outside of my work: nothing, indeed, but work all day long, except
a short walk alone on the cold hills, and meals, and a couple of
pipes with my father in the evening. It is surprising how it suits
me, and how happy I keep.'