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point of view, but rather that it is much to be content with a 
quiet seeking after knowledge, and contemplation of the beautiful 
things lying so near at hand. At the same time the reader is 
never allowed to forget that those conditions are only possible as 
the result of freedom from anxiety as to ways and means, and 
what this anxiety had meant to Ryecroft is made quite evident. 
Constitutionally he appears to have been a man of retiring 
habits and studious tastes. He thinks ‘he had in him the 
making of a scholar, and with leisure and tranquility of mind 
would have amassed learning.” For him there was but his own 
entity and that of the world, and between them was constant 
friction. So that it is not surprising to find with what keen 
relish, when fortune has at length grown kind, he tells of his 
quiet cottage home in Devonshire, and dilates greatly on the 
qualities of his excellent housekeeper, a woman of placid and 
cheerful mind, who ministered to his wants with such cordial 
and ordered method as was his constant wonder and delight. 
She helped him considerably in that shining moment of the day 
when, ‘a little weary from an afternoon walk, I exchange boots 
for slippers, out-of-doors coat for easy, familiar, shabby jacket, 
and in my deep, soft, elbowed-chair await the tea-tray. In days 
gone by I could but gulp down the refreshment, hurried, often 
harassed by the thought of the work I had before me. Now, 
how delicious is the soft, yet penetrating odour which floats into 
my study with the appearance of the tea-pot. What a solace is 
the first cup, what a delicious sipping of that which follows. 
What a glow does it bring after a walk in the chilly rain. The 
while, I look round at my books and pictures, tasting the happi- 
ness of their tranquil possession. I cast an eye towards my 
pipe ; perhaps I prepare it with seeming thoughtfulness for the 
reception of tobacco. And never, perhaps, is tobacco more 
soothing, more suggestive of human thoughts, than when it 
comes just after tea—itself a grand inspirer.” 
‘¢T like to look at my housekeeper when she carries in the 
tray. Her mien is festal, yet in her smile there is a certain 
gravity, as though she performed an office which honoured her. 
She has dressed for the evening, that is to say, her clean and 
seemly attire of working hours is exchanged for garments suit- 
able for fireside leisure; her cheeks are warm, for she has been 
making fragrant toast. Quickly her eye glances about my room, 
but only to have the pleasure of noting that all is in order, in- 
conceivable that anything serious should need doing at this hour 
of the day. She brings the little table within the glow of the 
hearth, so that I can help myself without changing an easy 
position. If she speaks, it will only be a pleasant word or two, 
and should she have anything important to say, the moment will 
