after a certain lapse of time； of places where we lingered； often bears but a faint resemblance to the impression received at the time； what in truth may have been very moderate enjoyment； or enjoyment greatly disturbed by inner or outer circumstances； shows in the distance as a keen delight； or as deep； still happiness。 On the other hand； if memory creates no illusion； and the name of a certain place is associated with one of the golden moments of life； it were rash to hope that another visit would repeat the experience of a by…gone day。 For it was not merely the sights that one beheld which were the cause of joy and peace； however lovely the spot； however gracious the sky； these things external would not have availed； but for contributory movements of mind and heart and blood； the essentials of the man as then he was。
Whilst I was reading this afternoon my thoughts strayed； and I found myself recalling a hillside in Suffolk； where； after a long walk I rested drowsily one midsummer day twenty years ago。 A great longing seized me； I was tempted to set off at once； and find again that spot under the high elm trees； where； as I smoked a delicious pipe； I heard about me the crack； crack； crack of broom…pods bursting in the glorious heat of the noontide sun。 Had I acted upon the impulse； what chance was there of my enjoying such another hour as that which my memory cherished？ No； no； it is not the PLACE that I remember； it is the time of life； the circumstances； the mood； which at that moment fell so happily together。 Can I dream that a pipe smoked on that same hillside； under the same glowing sky； would taste as it then did； or bring me the same solace？ Would the turf be so soft beneath me？ Would the great elm…branches temper so delightfully the noontide rays beating upon them？ And； when the hour of rest was over； should I spring to my feet as then I did； eager to put forth my strength again？ No； no； what I remember is just one moment of my earlier life； linked by accident with that picture of the Suffolk landscape。 The place no longer exists； it never existed save for me。 For it is the mind which creates the world about us； and； even though we stand side by side in the same meadow； my eyes will never see what is beheld by yours； my heart will never stir to the emotions with which yours is touched。
XI
I awoke a little after four o'clock。 There was sunlight upon the blind； that pure gold of the earliest beam which always makes me think of Dante's angels。 I had slept unusually well； without a dream； and felt the blessing of rest through all my frame； my head was clear； my pulse beat temperately。 And； when I had lain thus for a few minutes； asking myself what book I should reach from the shelf that hangs near my pillow； there came upon me a desire to rise and go forth into the early morning。 On the moment I bestirred myself。 The drawing up of the blind； the opening of the window； only increased my zeal； and I was soon in the garden； then out in the road； walking light…heartedly I cared not whither。
How long is it since I went forth at the hour of summer sunrise？ It is one of the greatest pleasures； physical and mental； that any man in moderate health can grant himself； yet hardly once in a year do mood and circumstance bine to put it within one's reach。 The habit of lying in bed hours after broad daylight is strange enough； if one thinks of it； a habit entirely evil； one of the most foolish changes made by modern system in the healthier life of the old time。 But that my energies are not equal to such great innovation； I would begin going to bed at sunset and rising with the beam of day； ten to one； it would vastly improve my health； and undoubtedly it would add to the pleasures of my existence。
When travelling； I have now and then watched the sunrise； and always with an exultation unlike anything produced in me by other aspects of nature。 I remember daybreak on the Mediterranean； the shapes of islands growing in hue after hue of tenderest light； until they floated amid a sea of glory。 And among the mountains……that crowning height； one moment a cold pallor； the next soft…glowing under the touch of the rosy…fingered goddess。 These are the things I shall never see again； things； indeed； so perfect in memory that I should dread to blur them by a newer experience。 My senses are so much duller； they do not show me what once they did。
How far away is that school…boy time； when I found a pleasure in getting up and escaping from the dormitory whilst all the others were still asleep。 My purpose was innocent enough； I got up early only to do my lessons。 I can see the long school…room； lighted by the early sun； I can smell the school…room odour……a blend of books and slates and wall…maps and I know not what。 It was a mental peculiarity of mine that at five o'clock in the morning I could apply myself with gusto to mathematics； a subject loathsome to me at any other time of the day。 Opening the book at some section which was wont to scare me； I used to say to myself： 〃e now； I'm going to tackle this this morning！ If other boys can understand it； why shouldn't I？〃 And in a measure I succeeded。 In a measure only； there was always a limit at which my powers failed me； strive as I would。
In my garret…days it was seldom that I rose early： with the exception of one year……or the greater part of a twelvemonth……during which I was regularly up at half…past five for a special reason。 I had undertaken to 〃coach〃 a man for the London matriculation； he was in business； and the only time he could conveniently give to his studies was before breakfast。 I； just then； had my lodgings near Hampstead Road； my pupil lived at Knightsbridge； I engaged to be with him every morning at half…past six； and the walk； at a brisk pace； took me just about an hour。 At that time I saw no severity in the arrangement； and I was delighted to earn the modest fee which enabled me to write all day long without fear of hunger； but one inconvenience attached to it。 I had no watch； and my only means of knowing the time was to hear the striking of a clock in the neighbourhood。 As a rule； I awoke just when I should have done； the clock struck five； and up I sprang。 But occasionally……and this when the mornings had grown dark……my punctual habit failed me； I would hear the clock chime some fraction of the hour； and could not know whether I had awoke too soon or slept too long。 The horror of unpunctuality； which has always been a craze with me； made it impossible to lie waiting； more than once I dressed and went out into the street to discover as best I could what time it was； and one such expedition； I well remember； took place between two and three o'clock on a morning of foggy rain。
It happened now and then that； on reaching the house at Knightsbridge； I was informed that Mr。……felt too tired to rise。 This concerned me little； for it meant no deduction of fee； I had the two hours' walk； and was all the better for it。 Then the appetite with which I sat down to breakfast； whether I had done my coaching or not！ Bread and butter and coffee……such coffee！……made the meal； and I ate like a navvy。 I was in magnificent spirits。 All the way home I had been thinking of my day's work； and the morning brain； clarified and whipped to vigour by that brisk exercise； by that wholesome hunger； wrought its best。 The last mouthful swallowed； I was seated at my writing…table； aye； and there I sat for seven or eight hours； with a short munching interval； working as only few men worked in all London； with pleasure； zeal； hope。 。 。 。
Yes； yes； those were the good days。 They did not last long； before and after them were cares； miseries； endurance multiform。 I have always felt grateful to Mr。……of Knightsbridge； he gave me a year of health； and almost of peace。
XII
A whole day's walk yesterday with no plan； just a long ramble of hour after hour； entirely enjoyable。 It ended at Topsham； where I sat on the little churchyard terrace； and watched the evening tide e up the broad estuary。 I have a great liking for Topsham； and that churchyard； overlooking ore than river； is one of the most restful spots I know。 Of course the association with old Chaucer； who speaks of Topsham sailors； helps my mood。 I came home very tired； but I am not yet decrepit； and for that I must be thankful。
The unspeakable blessedness of having a HOME！ Much as my imagination has dwelt upon it for thirty years； I never knew how deep and exquisite a joy could lie in the assurance that one is AT HOME for ever。 Again and again I e back upon this thought； nothing but Death can oust me from my abiding place。 And Death I would fain learn to regard as a friend； who will but intensify the peace I now relish。
When one is at home； how one's affections grow about everything in the neighbourhood！ I always thought with fondness of this corner of Devon； but what was that pared with the love which now strengthens in me day by day！ Beginning with my house； every stick and stone of it is dear to me as my heart's blood； I find myself laying an affectionate hand on the door…post； giving a pat； as I go by； to the garden gate。 Every tree and shrub in the garden is my beloved friend； I touch them； when need is； very tenderly； as though carelessness might pain； or roughness injure them。 If I pull up a weed in the walk； I look at it with a certain sadness before throwing it away； it belongs to my home。
And all the country round about。 These villages； how delightful are their names to my ear！ I find myself reading with interest all the local news in the Exeter paper。 Not that I care about the people； with barely one or two exceptions； the people are nothing to me； and the less I see of them the better I am pleased。 But the PLACES grow ever more dear to me。 I like to know of anything that has happened at Heavitree； or Brampford Speke； or Newton St。 Cyres。 I begin to pride myself on knowing every road and lane； every bridle path and foot…way for miles about。 I like to learn the names of farms and of fields。 And all this because here is my abiding place； because I am home for ever。
It seems to me that the very clouds that pass above my house are more interesting and beautiful than clouds elsewhere。
And to think that at one time I called myself a socialist； munist； anything you like of the revolutionary kind！ Not for long； to be sure； and I suspect that there was always something in me that scoffed when my lips uttered such things。 Why； no man living has a more profound sense of property than I； no man ever lived； who was； in every fibre； more vehemently an individualist。
XIII
In this high summertide； I remember with a strange feeling that there are people who； of their free choice； spend day and night in cities； who throng to the gabble of drawing…rooms； make festival in public eating…houses； sweat in the glare of the theatre。 They call it life； they call it enjoyment。 Why； so it is； for them； they are so made。 The folly is mine； to wonder that they fulfil their destiny。
But with what deep and quiet thanksgiving do I remind myself that never shall I mingle with that well…millinered and tailored herd！ Happily； I never saw much of them。 Certain occasions I recall when a supposed necessity took me into their dismal precincts； a sick buzzing in the brain； a languor as of exhausted limbs