140 Autumn 



he is not followed by your cheery laughter ; it is out 

 of your power to build castles in the air for anybody 

 the wind pipes but fancy will not dance to it the 

 prattling of the brook is not listened to ; gone are the 

 novels and plays of dreamland, and with them every- 

 thing but the inane. To emerge triumphantly from 

 that morass and slough of despond is a crucial test of 

 philosophy. One man advises a run up to town, a 

 look in at the theatre, a cosy dinner at your club ; 

 and his counsel is not unworthy of regard ; another 

 recommends you to drown care in the Lethe of a 

 thrilling romance, while the child of nature says, ' Drink 

 in the atmosphere swathing the pine-trees, bask in 

 the magical sunlight that plays on the mountain tops, 

 rest you in the kindly lap of earth, thus will the dying 

 red of your humour be fanned into flame again.' But 

 is there no better substitute than these for the harp 

 of David when Saul is possessed by the evil spirit ? 

 There is, and its name is Patience. Wait, and you 

 will find that depression runs its course like a disease 

 and leaves you merrier than before. 



The insane sadness of one's questioning moods 

 causes a hunger for the oblivion of active employment. 

 While your ploughman is labouring like his own 

 horses, the mere happiness of gathering and dispersing 

 force is enough for him ; at leisure he seeks forgetful- 

 ness in drink and opiates. Business, art, sport, 

 literature, are but correlative avenues of escape from 

 oneself, different forms of nepenthe. For it requires 



