is a very commendable way of thinking about the matter. But, as an
amateur philosopher, I warn you never to let yourself get under practical
bondage to such notions. I tell you when you betake yourself to music or
painting, carpentry or gardening, as a means of getting through the day,
you are sapping your mental constitution and shortening your life: unless
you are sustained by more than ordinary littleness of mind you will never
see threescore and ten. All these things are good in proportion as you
have difficulty in finding time for them. When you have to rise early in
the morning and work hard to make a little leisure for your favourite
hobby, then you are getting its blessing. Now, the _Dirzee_ is not a
means of killing time. On the contrary, I see that he compels his
mistress to take thought how she may save time alive, if she wishes to
get anything done. He hurries the day along and scatters its hours, so
that _ennui_ cannot find an empty minute to lurk in. I do not deny that
he is the occasion of a few provocations, and the simile of the fly is
just; but are not provocations an element in the interest of every
pursuit, the pepper which flavours all pleasant occupation? I collect
butterflies, and my friends think I am a man to be envied because I have
such a taste. Do they suppose a butterfly catcher has no provocations?
Was it seventeen or seventy times (I forget) in one page that I laid down
my pen, put off my spectacles and caught up my net to rush after that
brute of a _Papilio polymnestor_, who just came to the _duranta_ flowers
to flout me and skip over the wall into the next garden? And does anyone
but a butterfly hunter know how it feels to open your cabinet drawers
just a few hours after the ants have got the news that the camphor is
done? Does anyone but an entomologist know the grub of _Dermestes
intolerabilis_? Why should a collection of butterflies be called an
object of perennial interest and delight, and the _Dirzee_ an unmitigated
provocation? They are both of one family. Nothing is unmitigated in
this world.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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