JULY 371 



thought may have been specially presented to my mind 

 from the remarkable poem which appeared last year, 

 ' The Ballad of Eeading Gaol,' for, looking up out of my 

 window, I too could see over the opposite roof that little 

 square of blue which suggested these two verses : 



I never saw a man who looked 



With such a wistful eye 

 Upon that little tent of blue 



Which prisoners call the sky, 

 And at every wandering cloud that trailed 



Its ravelled fleeces by. 



He did not wring his hands, as do 



Those witless men who dare 

 To try to rear the changeling Hope 



In the cave of Black Despair : 

 He only looked upon the sun, 



And drank the morning air. 



Looking down in the early morning I saw the patients 

 in various quaint costumes hurrying to the morning 

 douches. One, a middle-aged man, could not walk unless 

 he pushed a large brown basket-work perambulator before 

 him. He did not lean on it, and was very cheerful, but 

 apparently it steadied his nerves, and with it his legs 

 obeyed his wishes and he walked perfectly. Many people 

 were, of course, quite well merely accompanying the 

 invalids. All these bathing-places strike me as being 

 deadly dull and tiresome for those who are well, but 

 foreigners seem to be much more patient about spending 

 their holidays in health resorts than we are, for they look 

 upon absolute idleness as the correct thing, and are con- 

 tent to spend their waking hours in talking. This can 

 be noticed any day at seaside places in France. To my 

 mind, the perfect holiday for people in health is change 

 of scene and occupation and interest ; certainly not what 

 is called ' rest,' which means sitting out all day long, 



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