Memoirs of Sir Wemyss Reid 1842-1885Reid, T. Wemyss (Thomas Wemyss)
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Memoirs of Sir Wemyss Reid 1842-1885
Reid, T. Wemyss (Thomas Wemyss)
Journalists -- Great Britain -- Biography; Reid, T. Wemyss (Thomas Wemyss), 1842-1905
It was not only from my intercourse with Mr. Toulmin that I derived
mental profit in those days. I was always a rapid worker, and I speedily
found that two days and a half in each week sufficed to enable me to
discharge my duties at the _Guardian_ office. The ample leisure
which I thus enjoyed I devoted to reading, and in my lonely lodgings I
spent hours each day in study. As I look back upon that time I feel again
stealing over me like a vivifying flood the influence of Carlyle, under
the spell of whose teaching and inspiration I then practically came for
the first time. The companions of my solitude in those days were at least
not ignoble ones. Carlyle, Browning--not yet the victim of the Browning
Society--Thackeray, and most of our great historians, were always by my
side, and my mind gradually expanded as it absorbed their words and
thoughts. In one respect Preston has always seemed to me to be unique
among English towns. The centre of the town, if I may commit a bull, lay
at a point on its circumference. The Town Hall, the parish church, the
leading business thoroughfare, the railway station, and the
_Guardian_ office were all close to the river Ribble, separated from
it only by the beautiful Avenham Park, where the residences of the local
aristocracy were to be found. All the industrial part of the town, and
the houses of the operatives, lay farther away from the river. Across the
river there was nothing but open country. My modest lodgings in Regent
Street were at the same time within three minutes' walk of the
_Guardian_ office and of the old wooden bridge that crossed the
Ribble. Thus I could escape almost directly from the town into the open
country, and many were the hours I spent in delightful solitary rambles
through the lanes and fields of rural Lancashire. It is a good thing for
a young man to have time for solitary thinking, and no one who is worth
his salt can enjoy the kind of solitude which fell to my lot at Preston
without gaining by it. If I went there a boy, I left the place, after my
eighteen months of editorship, a man.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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