There are few of us who do not like to see a man living a brave and
righteous life, so long as he keeps clear of us; and still fewer who
_do_ like to be in constant contact with one who, not content with so
living himself, is always coming across them, and laying bare to them
their own faint-heartedness, and sloth, and meanness. The latter, no
doubt, inspires the deeper feeling, and lays hold with a firmer grip
of the men he does lay hold of, but they are few. For men can’t keep
always up to high pressure till they have found firm ground to build
upon, altogether outside of themselves; and it is hard to be thankful
and fair to those who are showing us, time after time, that our
foothold is nothing but shifting sand.