CHAPTER IV 

 And this our Life 



" I would admonish the world that all persons, indifferently, are 

 not fit for this sort of diversion." 



Whereas the average town-dweller could not endure 

 the commonplaces of Nature which entertain me, rouse 

 my wonder, enliven my imagination, and gratify my 

 inmost thoughts, so his pursuits are to me devoid of 

 purpose, insipid, dismally unsatisfactory. To one whose 

 everyday admission (apology if you like) is that he is not 

 as other men are — fond of society and of society's occupa- 

 tions, pastimes, refinements, and (pardon) illusions — the un- 

 soiled jungle is more desirable than all the prim parks and 

 clipped gardens ; all this amplitude of time and space than 

 the one " crowded hour." Here I came to my birthright-:— 

 a heritage of nothing save the most glorious of all posses- 

 sions : freedom — freedom beyond the dreams of most men 

 in its comprehensiveness and exactitude. These few hap- 

 hazard notes refer to the exercise of rare independence. 

 They cannot be otherwise than trivial and dull, but they at 

 least fulfil the purpose to which I was pledged. They reveal 

 my puny efforts to be none other than myself. So tranquil, 

 so uniform are our days, that but for the diary — the civilised 

 substitute for the notched stick — count of them might be 

 lost. And this extorts yet another confession. One year, 

 Good Friday passed, and Easter-time had progressed to the 

 joyful Monday, ere cognisance of the season came. Speedy 

 is the descent to the automaton. A mechanical mis- 

 entry in the diary threw all the orderly days of the 

 week into a whirling jumble. We knew not Wednesday 

 from Thursday, nor Thursday from Friday, though we 

 calculated and checked notes of the transactions and 



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