Church of England -- Clergy -- Biography; Jessopp, Augustus, 1823-1914; Rural churches -- England
“The only thing that can be said for your pitiful life,” said Nathan
to us once, “is that you have no interruptions. But there is not much
in that, where there’s nothing to interrupt.” Nathan, the wise youth,
is a type of his class. He’s so delicate in his little _innuendos_,
so sympathetically candid, so tender to “the things you call your
feelings, you know.” Do these people always wear hob-nailed boots,
prepared at any moment for a wrestling match, where kicking is part of
the game? “No interruptions!” Oh, Lady Shepherd, think of that! “No
interruptions!”
You observe that our day begins at eight. When we came first to Arcady
we said we would breakfast at half-past eight. We tried the plan for a
month. It was a dead failure. Jemima never kept true to the minutes. We
found ourselves slipping into nine o’clock; that meant ruin. It must
either be eight o’clock, or the financial bottom of the establishment
would inevitably drop out. So eight o’clock it is and shall be.
At eight o’clock, accordingly, on this particular morning we went down
as usual to the library--and, I am bound to say, we were just a little
depressed, because we had made up our minds that no postman in England
could bring us our bag this morning. To our immense surprise and joy,
there were the letters and papers lying on the table as if it were
Midsummer Day. The man had left the road, tramped along the fields
which the howling wind had made passable. There were nine letters. When
I see what these country postmen go through, the pluck and endurance
they exhibit, the downright suffering (_i.e._, it would be to you and
me) which they take all as a part of the day’s work, and how they go
on at it, and retire at last, after years of stubborn jog-trotting,
to enjoy a pension of ten shillings a week and the repose of acute
rheumatism consequent upon sudden cessation from physical exertion, I
find myself frequently exclaiming with the poet,--
πολλὰ τὰ δεινὰ κ’ οὐδὲν ἀνθρώπου δεινότερον πέλει.
Many the wonderful things that be, but the wonder of wonders is--Man!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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