A year ago Mr. Larkins, with the most pressing engagement in front of
him, would have spared me just as much time as I liked to give him.
Formerly I woke up (sometimes, it is true, after a restless night) with
the feeling that before me lay a day of adventure. I did not know what
was in my letters, nor what might happen. Now, when I rose I had nothing
to anticipate but fifteen hours of monotony varied only by my meals. My
niece proposed that I should belong to a club, but the members of clubs
were not of my caste. I had taken a pride in my garden and determined I
would attend to it more myself. I bought gardening books, but the
gardener knew far more than I could ever hope to know, and I could not
displace him. I had been in the habit of looking through a microscope in
the evening, although I did not understand any science in which the
microscope is useful, and my slides were bought ready-made. I brought it
out now in the daytime, but I was soon weary of it and sold it. We went
to Worthing for a month. We had what were called comfortable lodgings
and the weather was fine, but if I had been left to myself I should have
gone back to Stockwell directly my boxes were unpacked. We drove
eastwards as far as we could and then westward, and after that there was
nothing more to be done except to do the same thing over again. At the
end of the first week I could stand it no longer, and we returned. I
fancied my liver was out of order and consulted a physician. He gave me
some medicine and urged me to ‘cultivate cheerful society,’ and to take
more exercise. I therefore tried long walks, and often extended them
beyond Croydon, and once as far as Reigate, but I had never been
accustomed to walking by myself, and as I knew the names of scarcely
half-a-dozen birds or trees, my excursions gave me no pleasure. I have
stood on Banstead Downs in the blaze of sunlight on a still October
morning, and when I saw the smoke-cloud black as night hang over the
horizon northwards, I have longed with the yearning of an imprisoned
convict to be the meanest of the blessed souls enveloped in it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account