9° 



The Review of Reviews. 



July 1, 190d. 



higher than either of these dimeiisions ; the ceiling 

 was of plaster, cracked and bulging in places, 

 grey \\4th the soot of the lamp, and in one place 

 discoloured by a system of yellow and olive-green 

 stains caused by the percolation of damp from 

 above. The waJls were covered with dun-coloured 

 paper upon which had been printed in oblique 

 reiteration a crimson shape, something of the 

 nature of a curly ostrich feather or an acanthus- 

 flower, that had in its less faded moments a sort 

 of dingx gaiety. There were several big plaster- 

 rimmed wounds in this, caused by Parload's 

 ineffectual attempts to get nails into the wall, 

 whereby there might hang pictures. One nail had 

 hit between two bricks and got home, and from 

 this depended, sustained a little insecurely by 

 frayed and knotted blind-cord, Parload's hanging 

 bookshelves, planks painted over with a treacly 

 blue enamel, and further decorated by a fringe of 

 pinked American cloth insecurely fixed by tacks. 

 Below this was a little table that behaved with a 

 mulish vindictiveness to any knee that was thrust 

 beneath it suddenly ; it was covered with a cloth 

 whose pattern of red and black had been rendered 

 less monotonous by the accidents of Parload's ver- 

 satile ink-bottle, and on it, leitmotif of the whole, 

 stood and stank the lamp. This lamp, you must 

 understand, was of some whitish translucent sub- 

 stance that was neither china or glass ; it had a 

 shade that did not protect the eyes of a reader in 

 any measure, and it seemed admirably adapted to 

 bring into pitiless prominence the fact that after the 

 lamp's trimming, dust and paraffin had been smeared 

 over its exterior with a reckless generositv'. 



The uneven floor-boards of this apartment were 

 covered with scratched enamel of a chocolate hue, 

 on which a small island of fraved carpet dimly blos- 

 somed in the dust and shadows. 



There was a very small grate, made of cast-iron 

 in one piece and painted buff, and a still smaller 

 misfit of a cast-iron fender that confessed the grey 

 stone of the hearth. No fire was laid, only a few 

 scraps of torn paper and the bowl of a broken 

 corn-cob pipe were visible behind the barv. and in 

 the comer, and rather thrust away, was an angular 

 japanned coal-box with a damaged hinge. 



Parload's truckle-bed hid its grey sheets beneath 

 an old patch-work counterpane on one side of the 

 room and veiled his boxes and suchlike oddments ; 

 and invading the two comers of the window were 

 an old whatnot and the washhand-stand, on which 

 were distributed the simple appliances of his toilet. 



The washhand-stand had been made of deal by 

 someone with an excess of turner}- appliances in a 

 hurry, who had tried to distract attention from the 

 rough economies of his workmanship by an arrest- 

 ing ornamentation of blobs and bulbs upon the 

 joints and legs. Apparently the piece had then been 

 "olaced in the hands of some f)erson of infinite 



leisure equipped with a pot of ocherous paint, var- 

 nish and a set of flexible combs. This person had 

 first painted the article, then, I fancy, smeared it 

 with vamish, and then sat down to work with the 

 combs to streak and comb the vamish into a weird 

 imitation of the grain of some nightmare timber. 

 The washhand-stand so made had evidently had 

 a prolonged career of violent use ; had been 

 chipped, kicked, splintered, punched, stained, 

 scorched, hammered, desiccated, damped and de- 

 filed ; had met indeed with almost every possible 

 adventure, except a conflagration or a scrubbing, 

 until at last it had come to this high refuge of 

 Parload's attic to sustain the simple requirements 

 of Parload's personal cleanliness. It is to be re- 

 marked that every drop of water Parload used had 

 to be carried by an unfortunate ser\'ant-girl — the 

 ■ slavey," Parload called her — up from the base- 

 ment to the top of the house, and subsequendy 

 down again. 



A chest, also singularly grained and streaked, of 

 two large and two small drawers, held Parload's re- 

 ser\'e of garments, and pegs on the door carried 

 his two hats and completed this inventor)' of a 

 • bed-sitting room '' as I knew it before the Change. 

 But I had forgotten — there was also a chair with 

 a ■• squab " that apologised inadequately for the de- 

 fects of its cane seat. I forgot that for the mo- 

 ment, because I was sitting on the chair on the 

 occasion that best begins this story. 



I have described Parload's room with such par- 

 ticularit)' because it will help you to understand 

 the key in which my earlier chapters are written, 

 but you must not imagine that this singular equip- 

 ment or the smell of the lamp engaged my attention 

 at that time to the slightest degree. I took all this 

 grimy unpleasantness as if it were the most natural 

 and proper setting for existence imaginable. It was 

 the world as I knew- it. My mind was entirely oc- 

 cupied then by graver and intenser matters, and 

 it is only now in the distant retrospect that I see 

 these details of environment as being remarkable, 

 as significant, as indeed obviously the outw-ard 

 visible manifestations of the old-world disorder in 

 our hearts. 



II. 



Parload stood at the open window, opera-glass 

 in hand, and sought and found, and was uncertain 

 about and lost again, the new comet. 



I thought the comet no more than a nuisance then, 

 because I wanted to talk of other matters. But 

 Parload was full of it. My head was hot, I was 

 feverish with interlacing annoyances and bitterness, 

 I wanted to open my heart to him — at least, I 

 wanted to relieve my heart by some romanric ren- 

 dering of my troubles — and I gave but little heed 

 to the things he told me. 



We were two youths much of an age together; 

 Parload was two and twenty, and eight months 



