,,the ,,quest ,,of ,,the ,,simple ,,life
  by  ,w4 ,j4 ,,dawson        ,new ,york
 ,e4 ,p4 ,dutton and ,co4 #ca ,west     
,twenty-,third ,street #aijg ,edinburgh3
 ,t4 and ,a4 ,constable1 ,printers to   
,his ,majesty        ,ducite ab urbe    
domum1 mea carmina1 ducite ,daphnim4    
,,virg41 ,ecl4 viii41 l4 #gb4           
,,contents   ,,chapter ,i  ,,the ,,house
 ,,of ,,bondage   ,,chapter ,,ii        
,,getting ,,the ,,best ,,out ,,of ,,life
   ,,chapter ,,iii  ,,getting ,a        
,,living1 ,,and ,,living   ,,chapter    
,,iv  ,,earth-,,hunger   ,,chapter ,v   
,,health ,,and ,,economics   ,,chapter  
,,vi  ,,in ,,search ,,of ,,the          
,,picturesque   ,,chapter ,,vii  ,i     
,,find ,,my ,,cottage   ,,chapter ,,viii
  ,,buying ,,happiness   ,,chapter ,,ix 
,,how ,,we ,,lived   ,,chapter ,x       
,,neighbourship   ,,chapter ,,xi  ,,the 
,,wounds ,,of ,a ,,friend   ,,chapter   
,,xii  ,,am ,i ,,right8   ,,chapter     
,,xiii  ,,the ,,city ,,of ,,the ,,future
     ,,chapter ,i  ,,the ,,house ,,of   

,,bondage  ,for a considerable number of
 years ,i had been a resident in        
,london1 which city ,i regarded         
alternately as my ,paradise and my      
,house of ,bondage4  ,i am by no means  
one of those who are always ready to    
fling opprobrious epithets at ,london1  
such as 'a pestilent wen1' a cluster of 
'squalid villages1' and the like2 on the
 contrary1 ,i regard ,london as the most
 fascinating of all cities1 with the one
 exception of that city of ,eternal     
,memories beside the ,tiber4  ,but even 
,horace loved the olive-groves of       
,tivoli more than the far-ranged        
splendours of the ,palatine2 and ,i may 
be pardoned if an occasional vision of  
green fields often left my eye          
insensitive to metropolitan attractions4
  ,this is a somewhat sonorous preface  
to the small matter of my story2 but ,i 
am anxious to elaborate it a little1    
lest it should be imagined that ,i am   
merely a person of bucolic mind1 to whom
 all cities or large congregations of my

 fellow-men are in themselves abhorrent4
  ,on the contrary ,i have an inherent  
love of all cities which are something  
more than mere centres of manufacturing 
industry4  ,the truly admirable city    
secures interest1 and even passionate   
love1 not because it is a congeries of  
thriving factories1 but rather by the   
dignity of its position1 the splendour  
of its architecture1 the variety and    
volume of its life1 the imperial1       
literary1 and artistic interests of     
which it is the centre1 and the         
prolongation of its history through     
tumultuous periods of time1 which fade  
into the suggestive shadows of          
antiquity4 ,london answers perfectly to 
this definition of the truly admirable  
city4  ,it has been the stage of        
innumerable historic pageants2 it       
presents an unexampled variety of life2 
and there is majesty in the mere sense  
of multitude with which it arrests and  
often overpowers the mind4  ,as ,i have 
already1 with an innocent impertinence1 

justified myself by ,horace1 so ,i will 
now justify myself by ,wordsworth1 whose
 famous sonnet written on ,westminster  
,bridge is sufficient proof that he     
could feel the charm of cities as deeply
 as the charm of ,nature4  ',earth hath 
not anything to show more fair1' wrote  
,wordsworth1 and of a truth ,london has 
moods and moments of almost unearthly   
beauty1 perhaps unparalleled by any     
vision that inebriates the eye in the   
most gorgeous dawn that flushes ,alpine 
snows1 or the most solemn sunset that   
builds a gate of gold across the        
profound depth of ,borrowdale or        
,wastwater4  ,he who has seen the tower 
of ,st4 ,clement ,danes swim up1 like an
 insubstantial fabric1 through violet   
mist above the roaring ,strand2 or the  
golden ,cross upon ,st4 ,paul's with a  
flag of tinted cloud flying from it2 or 
the solemn reaches of the ,thames bathed
 in smoky purple at the slow close of a 
summer's day1 will know what ,i mean1   
and will 7it is possible7 have some     

memory of his own which will endorse the
 justness of my praise4  ,from this     
exalted prelude ,i will at once descend 
to more prosaic matter1 leaving my      
reader1 in his charity1 to devise for me
 an apology which ,i have neither the   
wit nor the desire to invent for myself4
  ,with the best will in the world to   
speak in praise of cities it must be    
owned that the epic and lyric moments of
 ,london are infrequent4  ,as a casual  
resident in ,london1 a student and      
spectator1 free to leave it when ,i     
willed1 ,i could have been heartily     
content2 but ,i1 in common with some    
insignificant millions of my            
fellow-creatures1 was bound to live in  
,london as a means of living at all4    
,he is no true citizen who merely comes 
up to town 'for the season1' alternating
 the pleasures of town with those of the
 country2 he alone is the true citizen  
who must live amid the roar of the      
street all the year round1 and for years
 together4  ,if ,i could choose for     

myself ,i would even now choose the life
 of pleasant alternation between town   
and country1 because ,i am persuaded    
that the true piquancy and zest of all  
pleasures lies in contrast4  ,but fate  
orders these things for us1 and takes no
 account of our desires1 unless it be to
 treat them with habitual irony4  ,at   
five-and-twenty the plain fact met      
me--that ,i must needs live in ,london1 
because my bread could be earned nowhere
 else4  ,no choice was permitted me2 ,i 
must go where crowds were1 because from 
the favour or necessities of such crowds
 ,i must gather the scanty tithes which 
put food upon my table and clothes upon 
my back4  ,when eminent writers1 seated 
at ample desks1 from which they command 
fair views of open country1 denounce    
with prophetic fervour the perils which 
attend the growth of cities1 they       
somewhat overlook the fact that the     
growth of cities is a sequence1 alike   
ineluctable and pitiless1 of the modern 
struggle for existence4  ,one cannot be 

a lawyer1 or a banker1 a physician or a 
journalist1 without neighbours4  ,he can
 scarce be a literary man in perfect    
sylvan solitude1 unless his work is of  
such quality--perhaps ,i should have    
said such popularity--that it wins for  
him immediate payment1 or unless his    
private fortune be such that he can     
pursue his aims as a writer with entire 
indifference to the half-yearly         
statements of his publisher4  ,in       
respect of the various employments of   
trade and commerce1 the case is still   
plainer4  ,men must needs go where the  
best wages may be earned2 and under     
modern conditions of life it is as      
natural that population should flow     
toward cities1 as that rivers should    
seek the sea4  ,these matters will be   
more particularly discussed later on2 it
 is enough for me to explain at present 
that ,i was one of those persons for    
whom life in a city was an absolute     
necessity4  ,it is not until one is tied
 to a locality that its defects become  

apparent4  ,a street that interests the 
mind by some charm of populous vivacity 
when it is traversed at random and      
without object1 becomes inexpressibly   
wearisome when it is the thoroughfare of
 daily duty4  ,my daily duty took me    
through a long stretch of ,oxford       
,street1 which is a street not          
altogether destitute of some real claim 
to gaiety and dignity4  ,at first ,i was
 ready to concede this claim1 and even  
to endorse it with enthusiasm2 but from 
the day when ,i realised that ,oxford   
,street conducted me1 by a force of     
inevitable gravitation1 to a desk in an 
office1 ,i began to loathe it4  ,the eye
 became conscious of a hundred defects  
and incongruities2 the tall houses rose 
like prison walls2 the resounding tumult
 of the streets seemed like the clamour 
of tormented spirits4  ,for the first   
time ,i began to understand why         
imaginative writers had often likened   
,london to ,inferno4  ,i well remember  
by what a series of curious expedients  

,i endeavoured to evade these           
sensations4  ,the most obvious was      
altogether to avoid this glittering and 
detested thoroughfare by making long    
detours through the meaner streets which
 lay behind it2 but this was merely to  
exchange one kind of aesthetic misery   
which had some alleviations for another 
kind which had none4  ,sometimes ,i     
endeavoured to contrive a doubtful      
exhilaration from the contrast which    
these meaner streets afforded2 saying to
 myself1 as ,i pushed my way through the
 costers' stalls of ,great ,james       
,street1 ',now you are exchanging       
squalor for magnificence4 ,be prepared  
for a surprise4'  ,but the ruse failed  
utterly1 and my mind laughed aloud at   
the pitiful imposture4  ,another device 
was to create points of interest1 like a
 series of shrines along a tedious road1
 which should present some aspect of    
allurement4  ,there was a book-shop here
 or an art-shop there2 yesterday a      
biography of ,napoleon was exhibited in 

the one1 or a print of ,murillo's       
',flight into ,egypt1' in the other2 and
 it is become a matter of speculation   
whether they were there to-day4  ,just  
as a solitary sailor will beguile the   
tedium of empty days at sea by a kind of
 cribbage1 in which the left hand plays 
against the right1 so ,i laid odds for  
and against myself on such trifles as   
these1 and even went so far as to keep  
an account of my successes and my       
failures4  ,thus1 for a whole month ,i  
was interested in a person quite unknown
 to me1 who wore an obsolete white      
beaver hat1 appeared punctually at the  
corner of ,bond ,street at half-past    
five in the afternoon1 and spent half an
 hour in turning over the odd volumes   
displayed on the street board of a      
secondhand-book shop not far from       
,oxford ,circus4  ,his appearances were 
so planetary in their regularity that   
one might have reckoned time by them4   
,who he was1 or what his objects in life
 may have been1 ,i never learned4  ,i   

never saw him walk but in the one       
direction2 ,i never saw him buy one of  
the many books which he examined3       
perhaps he also was afflicted with the  
tedium of ,london1 and took this        
singular way of getting through a       
portion of his sterile day with a       
simulated interest4  ,at all events he  
afforded me an interest1 and when he    
vanished at the end of the month1       
,oxford ,street once more became        
intolerable to me4  ,these particulars  
appear so foolish and so trivial that   
most persons will find them ridiculous1 
and even the most sympathetic will      
perhaps wonder why they are recorded4   
,they were1 however1 far from trivial to
 me4  ,the marooned seaman saves his    
sanity by cutting notches in a stick1   
the solitary prisoner by friendship with
 a mouse2 and when life is reduced to   
the last exiguity of narrowness1 the    
interests of life will be narrow too4   
,no writer1 whose work is familiar to   
me1 has ever yet described with         

unsparing fidelity the kind of misery   
which lies in having to do precisely the
 same things at the same hour1 through  
long and consecutive periods of time4   
,the hours then become a dead weight    
which oppresses the spirit to the point 
of torture4  ,life itself resembles     
those dreadful dreams of childhood1 in  
which we see the ceiling and the walls  
of the room contract round one's        
helpless and immobile form4  ,blessed is
 he who has variety in his life3 thrice 
blessed is he who has both freedom and  
variety3 but the subordinate toiler in  
the vast mechanism of a great city has  
neither4  ,he will sit at the same desk1
 gaze upon the same unending rows of    
figures1 do1 in fact1 the same things   
year in and year out till his youth has 
withered into age4  ,he himself becomes 
little better than a mechanism4  ,there 
is no form of outdoor employment of     
which this can be said4  ,the life of   
the agricultural labourer1 so often     
pitied for its monotony1 is variety     

itself compared with the life of the    
commercial clerk4  ,the labourer's tasks
 are at least changed by the seasons2   
but time brings no such diversion to the
 clerk4  ,it is this horrible monotony  
which so often makes the clerk a        
foul-minded creature2 driven in upon    
himself1 he has to create some kind of  
drama for his instincts and             
imaginations1 and often from the        
sorriest material4  ,when ,i played     
single-handed cribbage with the few     
trivial interests which ,i knew1 ,i at  
least took an innocent diversion2 and ,i
 may claim that my absurd fancies       
injured no one1 and were certainly of   
some service to myself4  ,the outsider  
usually imagines that great cities      
afford unusual opportunities of social  
intercourse1 and when ,i first became a 
citizen ,i found this prospect          
enchanting4  ,i scanned the horizon     
eagerly for these troops of friends     
which a city was supposed to furnish3   
quested here and there for a responsive 

pair of eyes2 made timid approaches     
which were repulsed2 and1 finally1 after
 much experiment1 had to admit that the 
whole idea was a delusion4  ,no doubt it
 is true enough that1 with a settled and
 considerable income1 and the power of  
entertaining1 friends are to be found in
 plenty4  ,but ,grosvenor ,square and   
,kentish ,town do not so much as share a
 common atmosphere4  ,in the one it is a
 pleasant tradition that the house door 
should be set wide to all comers who can
 contribute anything to the common      
social stock2 in the other1 the house   
door is jealously locked and barred4    
,the ,london clerk does not care to     
reveal the shifts and the bareness of   
his domestic life4 ,he will reside in   
one locality for years without so much  
as seeking to know his next-door        
neighbour4  ,he will live on cordial    
terms with his comrade in the office1   
but will never dream of inviting him to 
his home4  ,his instinct of privacy is  
so abnormal that it becomes mere        

churlishness4  ,his wife1 if he have    
one1 usually fosters this spirit for    
reasons of her own4  ,her interests end 
with the clothing and education of her  
children4  ,she does not wish for       
friends1 does not cultivate the grace of
 hospitality1 and is indifferent to     
social intercourse4  ,in short1 the     
barbaric legend that an ,englishman's   
house is his castle1 is nowhere so much 
respected as in ,london4  ,the          
exhausting character of life in ,london1
 and the mere vastness of its           
geographical area1 do something to      
produce this result4  ,men who leave    
home early in the morning1 sit for many 
hours in an office1 and reach home late 
at night1 soon lose both the instinct   
and desire for social intercourse4      
,they prefer the comfortable torpor of  
the fireside4  ,if some imperative need 
of new interests torments them1 they    
seek relaxation in the music-hall or    
some other place of popular resort4     
,the art of conversation is almost      

extinct in a certain type of ,londoner4 
,he knows nothing to converse about     
outside his business interests1 his     
family concerns1 and perhaps the latest 
sensation of the daily newspaper4       
,those lighter flights of fancy1 those  
delicate innuendoes and allusions of    
implied experience or culture--all the  
give-and-take of happily contending     
minds--all1 indeed1 that makes true     
conversation--is a science utterly      
unknown to him4  ,a certain superficial 
nimbleness of mind he does sometimes    
possess1 but for all that he is a dull  
creature1 made dull by the limitations  
of his life4  ,if it should happen1 as  
it often may1 that such a man has some  
genuine instinct for friendship1 and has
 a friend to whom he can confide his    
real thoughts1 the chances are that his 
friend will be separated from him by the
 mere vastness of ,london4  ,to the     
rural mind the metropolis appears an    
entity2 in reality it is an empire4  ,a 
journey from the extreme north to the   

extreme south1 from ,muswell ,hill to   
,dulwich1 is less easily accomplished1  
and often less speedily1 than a journey 
from ,london to ,birmingham4  ,there is 
none of that pleasant 'dropping-in' for 
an evening which is possible in country 
towns of not immoderate radius4         
,time-tables have to be consulted1      
engagement-books scanned1 serious       
preparations made1 with the poor result1
 perhaps1 of two hours' hurried         
intercourse4  ,the heartiest friendship 
does not long survive this malignity of 
circumstance4  ,it is something to know 
that you have a friend1 obscurely hidden
 in some corner of the metropolis2 but  
you see him so rarely1 that when you    
meet1 it is like forming a new          
friendship rather than pursuing an old  
one4  ,it is little wonder that1 under  
such conditions1 visits grow more and   
more infrequent1 and at last cease4  ,a 
message at ,christmas1 an intimation of 
a birth1 a funeral card1 are the        
solitary relics and mementoes of many a 

city friendship not extinct1 but utterly
 suspended4  ,i dwell on these obvious  
characteristics of ,london life1 because
 in course of time they assumed for me  
almost terrifying dimensions4  ,after   
ten years of arduous toil ,i found      
myself at thirty-five lonely1           
friendless1 and imprisoned in a groove  
of iron1 whose long curves swept on     
inevitably to that grim terminus where  
all men arrive at last4 ,sometimes ,i   
chided myself for my discontent2 and    
certainly there were many who might have
 envied me4  ,i occupied a fairly       
comfortable house in a decayed terrace  
where each house was exactly like its   
neighbour1 and had ,i told any one that 
the mere aspect of this grey terrace    
oppressed me by its featureless         
monotony1 ,i should have been laughed at
 for my pains4  ,i believe that ,i was  
trusted by my employers1 and if a mere  
automatic diligence can be accounted a  
virtue1 ,i merited their trust4  ,in    
course of time my income would have been

 increased1 though never to that degree 
which means competence or freedom4  ,to 
this common object of ambition ,i had   
indeed long ago become indifferent4     
,what can a few extra pounds a year     
bring to a man who finds himself bound  
to the same tasks1 and those tasks      
distasteful8  ,i was married and had two
 children2 and the most distressing     
thought of all was that ,i saw my       
children predestined to the same fate4  
,i saw them growing up in complete      
destitution of those country sights and 
sounds which had made my own youth      
delightful2 acquiring the superficial   
sharpness of the city child and his     
slang2 suffering at times by the anaemia
 and listlessness bred of vitiated air2 
high-strung and sensitive as those must 
needs be whose nerves are in perpetual  
agitation2 and when1 in chance          
excursions to the country1 ,i compared  
my children with the children of        
cottagers and ploughmen1 ,i felt that ,i
 had wronged them1 ,i saw my children   

foredoomed1 by an inexorable destiny1 to
 a life at all points similar with my   
own4  ,in course of time they also would
 become recruits in the narrow-chested1 
black-coated army of those who sit at   
desks4  ,they would become slaves       
without having known the value of       
freedom2 slaves not by capture but by   
heritage4  ,more and more the thought   
began to gather shape1 ,was ,i getting  
the most1 or the best1 out of life8     
,was there no other kind of life in     
which toil was redeemed from baseness by
 its own inherent interest1 no life     
which offered more of tranquil          
satisfaction and available1 if humble1  
happiness8  ,day by day this thought    
sounded through my mind1 and each fresh 
discouragement and disability of the    
life ,i led gave it sharper emphasis4   
,at last the time came when ,i found an 
answer to it1 and these chapters tell   
the story of my seeking and my finding4 
,,chapter ,,ii  ,,getting ,,the ,,best  
,,out ,,of ,,life  ,the reader will     

perhaps say that the kind of miseries   
recounted in the previous chapter are   
more imaginary than real4  ,many        
thousands of people subsist in ,london  
upon narrow means1 and do not find the  
life intolerable4  ,they have their     
interests and pleasures1 meagre enough  
when judged by a superior standard1 but 
sufficient to maintain in them some of  
the vivacity of existence4  ,no doubt   
this is true4  ,i remember being struck 
some years ago by the remark of a person
 of distinction1 equally acquainted with
 social life in its highest and its     
lowest forms4  ,mr4 ,h41 as ,i will call
 this person1 said that the dismal      
pictures drawn by social novelists of   
life among the very poor were true in   
fact1 but wrong in perspective4         
,novelists described what their own     
feelings would be if they were condemned
 to live the life of the disinherited   
city drudge1 rather than the actual     
feelings of the drudge himself4  ,a man 
of education1 accustomed to easy means1 

would suffer tortures unspeakable if he 
were made to live in a single room of a 
populous and squalid tenement1 and had  
to subsist upon a wage at once niggardly
 and precarious4  ,he would be tormented
 with that memory of happier things1    
which we are told is a 'sorrow's crown  
of sorrow4'  ,but the man who has known 
no other condition of life is           
unconscious of its misery4  ,he has no  
standard of comparison4  ,an environment
 which would drive a man of refinement  
to thoughts of suicide1 does not produce
 so much as dissatisfaction in him4     
,hence there is far more happiness among
 the poor than we imagine4  ,they see   
nothing deplorable in a lot to which    
they have become accustomed2 they are as
 our first parents before their eyes    
were opened to a knowledge of good or   
evil2 or1 to take a less mythical       
illustration1 they are as the contented 
savage1 to whom the refinements of      
,european civilisation are objects of   
ridicule rather than envy4  ,i quote    

this opinion for what it is worth2 but  
it has little relevance to my own case4 
,i am the only competent judge of my own
 feelings4  ,i know perfectly well that 
these feelings were not shared by men   
who shared the conditions of my own     
life4  ,there was a clerk in the same   
office with me who may be taken as an   
example of his class4  ,poor            
,arrowsmith--how well ,i recall         
him6--was a little pallid man1 always   
neatly if shabbily dressed1 punctual as 
a clock1 and of irreproachable          
diligence4  ,he was verging on forty1   
had a wife and family whom ,i never saw1
 and an aged mother whom he was proud to
 support4  ,he was of quite             
imperturbable cheerfulness1 delighted in
 small jokes1 and would chatter like a  
daw when occasion served him4  ,he had  
never read a book in his life2 his mind 
subsisted wholly upon the halfpenny     
newspapers4  ,he had no pleasures1      
unless one can count as such certain    
,bank ,holiday excursions to ,hampstead 

,heath1 which were performed under a    
heavy sense of duty to his family4  ,he 
had lived in ,london all his days1 but  
knew much less of it than the country   
excursionist4  ,he had never visited    
,st4 ,paul's or ,westminster ,abbey2 had
 never travelled so far as ,kew or      
,greenwich2 had never been inside a     
picture gallery2 and had never attended 
a concert in his life4  ,the pendulum of
 his innocuous existence swung between  
the office and his home with a uniform  
monotony4  ,yet not only was he         
contented with his life1 but ,i believe 
that he regarded it as entirely         
successful4  ,he had counted it a great 
piece of luck when he had entered the   
office as a youth of sixteen1 and the   
glow of his good fortune still lingered 
in his mind at forty4  ,he regarded his 
employers with a species of admiring awe
 not always accorded to kings4  ,the    
most violent social democrat could have 
made nothing of ,arrowsmith2 there was  
not the least crevice in his heart in   

which the seed of discontent could have 
found a lodgment4  ,as for making any   
question of whether he was getting the  
best or most out of life1 ,arrowsmith   
was as incapable as a kitten4  ,the     
virtues of ,arrowsmith1 which were in   
their way quietly heroic1 impressed me a
 good deal2 but his abject contentment  
with the limitations of his lot appalled
 me4  ,i felt a dread grow in me lest ,i
 should become subdued to the element in
 which ,i worked as he was4  ,i asked   
myself whether a life so destitute of   
real interests and pleasures was life at
 all8  ,i made fugitive attempts to     
allure the little man into some realms  
of wider interest1 but with the most    
discouraging results4  ,i once insisted 
on taking him with me for a day in      
,epping ,forest4  ,he came reluctantly1 
for he did not like leaving his wife at 
home1 and it seemed that no persuasion  
could induce her to undertake so        
adventurous a jaunt4  ,he was no walker1
 and half a dozen miles along the       

,forest roads tired him out4  ,by the   
afternoon even his cheerfulness had     
vanished2 he gazed with blank and gloomy
 eyes upon the wide spaces of the       
woodland scenery4  ,he did not regain   
his spirits till we drew near ,stratford
 on the homeward journey4  ,at the first
 sight of gas-lit streets he brightened 
up1 and ,i am persuaded that the rancid 
odours of the factories at ,bow were    
sweeter in his nostrils than all the    
,forest fragrances4  ,i never asked him 
again to share a pleasure for which ,i  
now perceived he had no faculty2 but ,i 
often asked myself how long it would    
take for a city life to extirpate in me 
the taste by which ,nature is           
appreciated1 as it had in ,arrowsmith4  
,i have taken ,arrowsmith as an example 
of the narrowness of interest created by
 a city life1 and it would be easy to   
offer an apology for him1 which ,i1 for 
one1 would most heartily endorse4  ,the 
poor fellow was very much the creature  
of his circumstances4  ,but this was    

scarcely the case with another man ,i   
knew1 whose circumstances1 had he known 
how to use them1 might have afforded him
 the opportunity of many cultivated     
tastes4  ,he was the son of a small     
farmer1 born in the same village as     
myself4  ,by some curious accident he   
was flung into the vortex of ,london    
life at seventeen1 and became a clerk in
 a reputable firm of stockbrokers in    
,throgmorton ,street4  ,he rose rapidly1
 speculated largely and successfully for
 himself1 became a partner1 and was rich
 at thirty4  ,i used to meet him        
occasionally1 for he never forgot that  
we had sat upon the same bench at       
school4  ,i can see him still2          
well-fleshed and immaculately dressed2  
his waistcoat pockets full of gold2 a   
prop of music-halls1 a patron of        
expensive restaurants2 flashing from one
 to the other in the evening hours in   
swift hansoms2 a man envied and admired 
by a host of clerks in ,throgmorton     
,street to whom he appeared a kind of   

,napoleon of finance4  ,i will confess  
that ,i myself was a little dazzled by  
his careless opulence4  ,when he took me
 to dine with him he thought nothing of 
giving the head waiter a sovereign as a 
guarantee of careful service1 or of     
sending another sovereign to the master 
of the orchestra with a request for some
 particular piece of music which he     
fancied4  ,he once confided to me that  
he had brought off certain operations   
which had made him the possessor of     
eighty thousand pounds4  ,to me the sum 
seemed immense1 but he regarded it as a 
bagatelle4  ,when ,i suggested certain  
uses for it1 such as retirement to the  
country1 the building of a country      
house1 the collection of pictures or of 
a library1 he laughed at me4  ,he       
informed me that he never spent more    
than a single day in the country every  
year2 it was spent in visiting his      
father at the old farm4  ,he loathed the
 quiet of the country1 and counted his  
one day in the year an infliction and a 

sacrifice4  ,books and pictures he had  
cared for once1 but as he now put it1 he
 had 'no use for them4'  ,it seemed that
 all his eighty thousand pounds was     
destined to be flung upon the great     
roulette table of stock and share       
speculations4  ,it was not that he was  
avaricious2 few men cared less for money
 in itself2 but he could not live       
without the excitement of speculation4  
',i prefer the air of ,throgmorton      
,street to any air in the world1' he    
observed4  ',i am unhappy if ,i leave it
 for a day4'  ,so far as knowledge of or
 interest in ,london went1 he was not a 
whit better than poor shabby            
,arrowsmith4 ,his ,london stretched no  
further than from the ,bank to ,oxford  
,circus1 and the landmarks by which he  
knew it were restaurants and            
music-halls4  ,the man seemed so        
satisfied with everything about his life
 that it was a kind of joy to meet him4 
,the sourness of my own discontent was  
dissolved in the alembic of his         

joviality4  ,yet it was certain that he 
lived a life of the most torturing      
anxiety4   ,there were recurring periods
 when his fortune hung in the balance1  
and his financial salvation was achieved
 as by fire4  ,when he sat silent for a 
moment1 strange things were written on  
his face4  ,haggard lines ran across the
 brow2 the hollows underneath the eyes  
grew deep2 and one could see that black 
care sat upon his shoulders4  ,there was
 a listening posture of the head1 as of 
one apprehensive of the footfall of     
disaster1 and though he was barely      
forty1 his hair was white4  ,what       
happened to him finally ,i do not know4 
,i missed him for a year or two2        
inquired at the hotel where he had lived
 and found him gone2 and ,i thought ,i  
read in the sarcastic smile of the      
hotel-manager more knowledge than he was
 willing to communicate4  ,i imagine    
that he went down in some financial     
storm1 like ships at sea that are heard 
of no more2 the ,napoleon of finance had

 somewhere found his ,waterloo4  ,the   
reflection is inevitable2 what had he   
got out of life after all8  ,he had won 
neither peace nor honour2 he had known  
nothing of the finer joys or tastes2 he 
had enjoyed no satisfying pleasures2    
such triumph as he had known had been   
the brief triumph of the gambler4  ,upon
 the whole ,i thought the narrow tedious
 life of ,arrowsmith the worthier4      
,reflections of this nature are usually 
attributed to mere envy or contempt of  
wealth1 which is a temper not less      
sordid than a love of wealth4  ,for my  
part ,i can but profess that ,i feel for
 wealth neither envy nor contempt4  ,on 
the contrary1 ,i love to imagine myself 
wealthy1 and ,i flatter myself--as most 
poor men do--that ,i am a person        
peculiarly fitted by nature to afford a 
conspicuous example of how wealth should
 be employed4  ,i like to dramatise my  
fancies1 and the more impossible these  
fancies are1 the more convincing is the 
drama that can be educed from them4     

,thus ,i have several times built       
palaces which have rivalled the         
splendours of the ,medici2 ,i have      
administered great estates to the entire
 satisfaction of my tenants2 ,i have    
established myself as the ,maecenas of  
art and literature2 and were ,i ever    
called to play these parts in reality1  
,i am convinced that my competence would
 secure applause4  ,the point at which  
,i stick1 however1 is this3 rich men    
rarely do these things4  ,it is the     
pursuit of wealth1 rather than wealth   
itself1 that is their pleasure4  ,let us
 suppose the case of a man who has      
toiled with undivided mind for thirty   
years to acquire a fortune2 will it not 
be usually found that in the struggle to
 be rich he has lost those very         
qualities which make riches worth       
possessing8  ,he buys his estate or     
builds his house2 but there is little   
pleasure in the business4  ,he is the   
mere slave of land-agents1 the puppet of
 architects and upholsterers4  ,he has  

no original taste to guide or interest  
him3 what he once had has perished long 
ago in the dreary toil of               
money-grubbing4  ,the men who build or  
decorate his house have a certain       
pleasure in their work2 all that he does
 is to pay them for being happy4  ,if he
 should adopt the rich man's hobby of   
collecting pictures or a library1 he    
rarely enjoys a higher pleasure than the
 mere lust of possession4  ,he buys what
 he is told to buy1 without             
discrimination2 he has no knowledge of  
what constitutes rarity or value2 and   
most certainly he knows nothing of those
 excitements of the quest which make the
 collection of articles of vertu a      
pursuit so fascinating to the man of    
trained judgment but moderate means4    
,and1 as if to complete the irony of the
 situation1 he is after all but the     
infrequent tenant of the treasure-house 
which he has built2 the blinds are drawn
 half the year2 the splendid rooms are  
seen by no wiser eyes than those of his 

butler and his housekeeper2 and his     
secretary1 if he be a man of taste and  
education1 draws the real dividend of   
pleasure from all these rare and costly 
things which ,dives has accumulated4    
,dives is in most cases little more than
 the man who pays the bill for things   
which other folk enjoy4  ,let ,dives be 
accounted then a public benefactor1 we  
may say2 perhaps so1 but the question   
still remains1 does ,dives get the most 
and best out of life8  ,the obvious     
answer is that the best things of life  
are not to be bought with money2 it     
would be nearer the truth to quote the  
prophetic paradox1 they are bought      
'without money and without price4' ,i   
was present once at a dinner given by a 
millionaire newspaper proprietor to a   
crowd of journalists1 on the occasion of
 the founding of a new magazine4  ,the  
millionaire ate little1 spoke little1   
and sat throughout the feast with an    
anxious cloud upon his brow4  ,i        
recognised the same furtive look of     

apprehension in his eyes that ,i had    
seen in the eyes of my stock-broking    
friend long before4  ,as ,i glanced     
round the room ,i found myself able to  
pick out all the men of wealth by that  
same look4  ,it would seem that the     
anxieties of getting money only beget   
the more torturing anxiety of how to    
keep it4  ,that1 ,i am persuaded1 was   
the dominant thought of my millionaire  
host throughout the meal2 he knew the   
fear and fever of the gambler risking an
 enormous stake1 the agitation of the   
soldier on the eve of a battle1 in which
 victory is highly problematical4  ,but 
that crowd of hungry journalists1 how   
they did eat6  ,what laughter sat on    
those boyish faces1 what zest of life1  
what capacity of pleasure6  ,there was  
not one of them whose daily bread was   
not precarious2 not one perhaps who had 
a decent balance at the bank2 yet they  
were so gay1 so resolutely cheerful1 so 
frankly interested in life and in       
themselves1 that ,i could fancy those   

gloomy eyes at the head of the table    
watched them with a sort of envy1 ,i    
think there must be something fatal to  
gaiety in the mere responsibilities of  
wealth2 ,i am sure that there is        
something corrupting in the labours of  
its acquisition4  ,i think ,i had rather
 be a vagrant1 with a crust in my       
knapsack1 a blue sky above me1 and the  
adventurous road before me1 than look   
upon the world with a pair of eyes so   
laughterless as his who was our host    
that night4  ,again ,i protest that ,i  
make no railing accusation against      
wealth in itself4  ,i am so far         
convinced of the truly beneficent       
utilities of wealth1 that ,i would quite
 willingly take the risks of a moderate 
competence1 should any one be disposed  
to make experiment with my virtues4     
,there is some magnanimity in this      
offer1 for ,i can no more foretell the  
effects of the bacillus of wealth upon  
my moral nature1 than can the physician 
who offers his body for inoculation with

 the germ of some dire disease that     
science may be served4  ,it argues some 
lack of imagination among millionaires  
that it has occurred to no one of the   
tribe to endow a man instead of an      
institution1 if it were only by way of  
change4  ,it would at least prove an    
interesting experiment1 and it would be 
cheap at the price of the few unmissed  
thousands which the millionaire would   
pay for it4  ,to such an experiment ,i  
would be willing to submit1 if it were  
only to ascertain whether ,i have been  
right or wrong in my supposition that ,i
 am better qualified by nature than my  
fellows for the right administration of 
wealth2 but there is one thing ,i would 
never do1 ,i would never undertake that 
laborious quest of wealth1 which robs   
men of the power to enjoy it when it is 
obtained4  ,it is there that the pinch  
comes2 granted that some degree of      
competence is needed for a free and     
various use of life1 is it worth while  
to destroy the power of living in       

attaining the means to live8 ,what is a 
man better for his wealth if he does not
 know how to use it8 ,a fool may steal a
 ship1 but it takes a wise man to       
navigate her towards the islands of the 
,blest4  ,i am told sometimes that there
 is a romance in business2 no doubt     
there is1 but it is pretty often the    
romance of piracy2 and the pleasures of 
the rich man are very often nothing     
better than the pleasures of the pirate3
 a barbaric wading in gold1 a reckless  
piling up of treasure1 which he has not 
the sense to use4  ,as long as there are
 shouting crews upon the sea and flaming
 ships1 he is happy2 but give him at    
last the gold which he has striven to   
win1 and he knows nothing better than to
 sit like the successful pirate in a    
common ale-house1 and make his boast to 
boon companions4  ,i believe that the   
dullest men in all the world are very   
rich men2 and ,i have sometimes thought 
that it cannot need a very high order of
 intelligence to acquire wealth1 since  

some of the meanest of mankind appear to
 prosper at the business4  ,a certain   
vulpine shrewdness of intelligence seems
 the thing most needed1 and this may    
coexist with a general dulness of mind  
which would disgrace a savage4  ,the    
thing that is least perceived about     
wealth is that all pleasure in money    
ends at the point where economy becomes 
unnecessary4  ,the man who can buy      
anything he covets1 without any         
consultation with his banker1 values    
nothing that he buys4  ,there is a      
subtle pleasure in the extravagance that
 contests with prudence2 in the anxious 
debates which we hold with ourselves    
whether we can or cannot afford a       
certain thing2 in our attempts to       
justify our wisdom2 in the risk and     
recklessness of our operations2 in the  
long deferred and final joy of our      
possession2 but this is a kind of       
pleasure which the man of boundless     
means never knows4  ,the buying of      
pictures affords us an excellent        

illustration on this point4  ,men of the
 type of ,balzac's ,cousin ,pons attain 
to rapture in the process because they  
are poor4  ,they have to walk weary     
miles and wait long weeks to get upon   
the track of their treasure2 to use all 
their knowledge of art and men to       
circumvent the malignity of dealers2 to 
experience the extremes of trepidation  
and of hope2 to deny themselves         
comforts1 and perhaps food1 that they   
may pay the price which has at last1    
after infinite dispute1 reached an      
irreducible minimum2 and the pleasure of
 their possession is in the ratio of    
their pains4  ,but the man who enters a 
sale-room with the knowledge that he can
 have everything he wishes by the       
signing of a cheque feels none of these 
emotions4  ,it seems to me that money   
has lost more than half its value since 
cheques became common4  ,when men kept  
their gold in iron coffers1 lock-fast   
cupboards1 or a pot buried in an        
orchard1 there was something tangible in

 wealth4  ,when it came to counting out 
gold pieces in a bag1 men remembered by 
what sweat of mind or body wealth was   
won1 and they had a sense of parting    
with something which was really theirs4 
,but a cheque has never yet impressed me
 with the least sense of its intrinsic  
value4  ,it is a thing so trivial and   
fragile that the mind refuses to regard 
it as the equivalent of lands and houses
 and solid bullion4  ,it is a thing     
incredible to reason that with a stroke 
of the pen a man may sign away his      
thousands4  ,if cheques were prohibited 
by law1 and all payments made in good   
coin of the realm1 ,i believe we should 
all be much more careful in our         
expenditure1 for we should have at least
 some true symbol of what expenditure   
implies4  ,in an ideal state all incomes
 beyond #aj1jjj pounds per year should  
be prohibited4  ,almost all the real    
luxuries of life may be enjoyed on half 
that sum2 and even this is an excessive 
estimate4  ,such a regulation would be  

of vast advantage to the rich1 simply   
because it would impose some limit at   
which economy commenced4  ,they would   
then begin to enjoy their wealth4       
,avarice would decline1 for obviously it
 would not be worth while to accumulate 
a larger fortune than the ,state        
permitted4  ,we might also expect some  
improvement in manners1 for there would 
be no room for that vulgar ostentation  
in which excessive wealth delights4     
,if a man chose to exceed the limit     
which the law prescribed he would do so 
as a public benefactor2 for1 of course1 
the excess of wealth would be applied to
 the good of the community1 in the      
relief of taxation1 the adornment of    
cities1 or the establishment of         
libraries and art-galleries4  ,it would 
no doubt be objected that the great     
historic houses of the aristocracy could
 not be maintained on such an income2   
five thousand pounds a year would hardly
 pay the servants on a great estate1 and
 provide the upkeep of a mansion4  ,but 

in this case the ,state would become the
 custodian of such houses1 which would  
be treated as national palaces4  ,it is 
by no means improbable that their       
present owners would be glad to be rid  
of them on generous terms1 which        
provided for a nominal ownership and an 
occasional occupation4  ,however this   
may be1 it is certain that the rich     
would profit by the change1 for their   
chance of getting the most and best out 
of life would be much increased by the  
limit put upon cupidity and ostentation4
     ,,chapter ,,iii  ,,getting ,a      
,,living1 ,,and ,,living  ,getting the  
best and most out of life1 ,i take to be
 the most rational object of human      
existence4  ,even religion1 although it 
affects to scorn the phrase1 admits the 
fact2 for no man would be religious     
unless he were convinced that he thereby
 added something to his store of        
happiness4  ,it is a matter of          
temperament whether a man treats        
religion as a panacea for his mortal    

troubles1 or the ',open ,sesame' of     
brighter worlds1 but it is quite certain
 that he regards it as a means of       
happiness4  ,i cannot doubt that the    
anchorites1 ascetics1 and cloistered    
nuns of mediaeval times were happy in   
their own way1 although it was in a     
fashion that appears to us highly       
foolish and absurd4  ,even a ,st4       
,stylites had his consolations2 he was  
kept warm upon his pillar by the        
comfortable sense of his superiority to 
his wicked fellow-creatures4  ,to get   
the best out of life there must be some 
adequate fulfilment of one's best self4 
,man is a bundle of tastes and          
appetites1 some lofty1 and some ignoble1
 but all crying out for satisfaction4   
,wisdom lies in the discernment of      
essentials2 in just discrimination      
between false and true tastes4  ,man has
 been a long time upon the earth1 and he
 has spent his time for the most part in
 one ceaseless experiment1 viz41 how he 
may become a satisfactory creature in   

his own eyes4  ,all civilisations       
converge upon this point2 and we maybe  
sure that1 in their lonely hours of     
meditation1 the fantastic warder on the 
great wall of ,china1 and the ,roman    
soldier pacing to and fro in the        
porticoes of the ,palatine1 had much the
 same thoughts4  ,whosoever speaks to   
man on the art of becoming happy is     
secure of a hearing2 even though he be  
the vilest of quacks he will have his   
following1 even though he were the worst
 of scoundrels some will take him for a 
prophet4  ,in short1 we are all the     
dupes of hope1 and it needs some        
experience to assure us that our only   
real hope is in ourselves4  ,in our own 
hearts lies the ,eldorado which we scour
 the world to find2 could we but fulfil 
our best selves we should ask no other  
happiness4  ,the question that soon     
comes to obtrude itself upon the mind of
 a thoughtful man in a great city1 is   
this old persistent question of whether 
his method of life is such as to answer 

to the ideal of fulfilling his best     
self8  ,it seemed to me that the        
inhabitants of cities were too busy     
getting a living to have time to live4  
,let us take the life of the average    
business man by way of example4 ,such a 
man will rise early1 sleep late1 and eat
 the bread of carefulness1 if he means  
to succeed4  ,he will probably live--or 
be said to live--in some suburb more or 
less remote from the roaring centre of  
affairs4  ,the first light of the winter
 dawn will see him alert2 breakfast is a
 hurried passover performance2 a certain
 train must be caught at all hazard to  
digestion1 and the most leisured moments
 of the day will be those he passes in  
the railway carriage4  ,once arrived at 
his office he must plunge into the      
vortex of business2 do battle with a    
thousand rivalries and competitions2 day
 after day must labour in the same      
wearisome pursuits1 content1 perhaps1 if
 at the end of the year he shall have   
escaped as by a miracle commercial      

shipwreck4  ,he will come back to his   
residence1 night after night1 a tired   
man2 not pleasantly wearied with        
pursuits which have exercised his       
complete powers1 but tired to the point 
of dejection by the narrowness and      
monotony of his pursuits4  ,i say he    
returns to his residence2 ,i scorn to   
say his home1 for the house he rents is 
merely the barrack where he sleeps4  ,of
 the life that goes on within this      
house1 which is nominally his1 he knows 
nothing4  ,in its daily ordering1 or    
even in its external features1 he has no
 part4  ,he has chosen no item of its   
furniture2 he has had no hand in its    
decoration2 he has but paid the         
tradesmen's bills4  ,his children       
scarcely know him2 they are asleep when 
he goes off in the morning1 and asleep  
when he returns at night2 he is to them 
the strange man who sits at the head of 
the table once a week and carves the    
,sunday joint4  ,it is well for them if 
they have a mother who possesses gifts  

of government1 sympathy1 and patient    
comprehension1 for it is clear that they
 have no father4  ,he gets a living1 and
 perhaps in time an ample living2 but   
does he live8  ,it may be said that this
 picture is exaggerated2 on the         
contrary1 ,i think it is                
under-estimated4  ,i have myself known  
men whose average daily absence from    
'home' is twelve hours2 they disappear  
by the eight o'clock morning train1 and 
in times of special business pressure it
 is not far from midnight when they     
return4  ,the trains1 cabs1 and public  
vehicles of ,london convey1 day by day1 
one million three hundred thousand of   
these homeless men to their employments 
in the city4  ,here and there a wise man
 may be found who resents this tyranny  
of suburbanism4  ,i know a young        
business man1 who also chances to       
possess domestic instincts1 for whom    
suburbanism grew so intolerable that he 
took a house in the very heart of       
,london1 that he might lunch and dine   

with his wife at his own table without  
neglecting his business interests4  ,he 
was a wise man1 but he is the only one  
,i know4  ,counting the time passed at  
luncheon and dinner1 the later departure
 in the morning1 and the earlier arrival
 at night1 he is the clear gainer1 day  
by day1 of three to four hours of       
domestic intercourse4  ,at the end of   
the week he has thus added to the credit
 of his family life four-and-twenty     
hours2 at the end of a year he has      
enjoyed more than fifty full days of    
domestic intercourse which would have   
been forfeited had he continued to live 
at ,surbiton4  ,he has also saved money1
 for though the rent he pays in ,central
 ,london is more than the rent he paid  
at ,surbiton1 yet he has saved the      
expense of his season-ticket1 lunches1  
and occasional dinners at a club or     
restaurant1 and cabs to ,waterloo when  
he was pressed for time4  ,but it is    
quite vain to urge such considerations  
on the average man of business4  ,he    

would tell you frankly that nothing     
would induce him to live in a house     
within a stone's-throw of ,leicester    
,square1 although it is a far better    
built and more comfortable house than   
the gimcrack villa which he rents at    
,surbiton4  ,the gain in domestic       
intercourse would not attract him1 for  
he has long ago lost taste for it2 and  
the privilege of lunching with his      
family would repel him1 for he is deeply
 suspicious of the virtues of domestic  
cookery4  ,nor1 ,i suppose1 would it    
influence him to tell him that by living
 in ,central ,london1 he could command  
without inconvenience the full          
attractions of the town1 such as        
concerts1 lectures1 theatres1 or those  
special assemblies which are            
representative of ,london life2 for he  
desires nothing of the kind4            
,considerations of economy might affect 
him1 but with all his skill at figures  
he seldom has the sense to see that the 
moiety of income paid yearly to the     

railway1 by himself and his family1 goes
 a long way toward the doubling of his  
rent4  ,in short1 suburbanism is his    
fetish2 it is the keynote of his poor   
respectability1 and he is not to be     
diverted from it by any reasons which a 
sane man would regard as considerable1  
if not imperative4  ,the most usual     
excuse of suburbanism is that it is a   
good thing for the wife and family of a 
business man1 though it is a bad thing  
for him4 ,it is singular that no one    
seems to recognise the gross selfishness
 of this plea4  ,it is like the plea of 
the vivisectionist1 that vivisection is 
a bad thing for a rabbit1 but a very    
good thing for humanity1 since humanity 
profits by the torture of the rabbit4   
,but for my part ,i doubt whether there 
is any real profit to anybody in        
suburbanism4  ,there is a town life1 and
 there is a country life1 each of which 
has peculiar compensations of its own2  
but suburbanism is a miserable          
compromise1 which like most compromises 

combines not the qualities but the      
defects of two antagonisms4  ,its worst 
effect is that it sets up in one family 
two standards of life1 which have       
nothing in common4  ,after a while it   
must happen that there is a serious     
estrangement of taste1 and it is not    
surprising if this often leads to a much
 more serious estrangement of affection4
  ,the air of ,surbiton may be a little 
fresher than the air of ,bloomsbury1 but
 what does this count for if the        
atmosphere of the hearth be poisoned8   
,moreover1 among the ,anglo-,saxon      
peoples women are not encouraged to take
 any vital interest in the pursuits of  
their husbands as they are among the    
,latin races4  ,i should not be         
surprised to find that half the women in
 the ,london suburbs do not know the    
precise nature of their husbands'       
occupations4  ,a ,french woman of the   
bourgeois class often has a real        
aptitude for business4  ,she can manage 
a shop1 keep accounts1 take an interest 

in markets1 and in all questions of     
commercial enterprise she is the        
confidante1 and often the adviser1 of   
her husband4  ,your ,english woman of   
the same class prides herself rather on 
her total ignorance of business4  ,it is
 probable that in twenty years of       
married life she has not once visited   
the warehouse or the office where her   
husband earns the income which she      
spends4  ,she is 'provided for without  
the sweet sense of providing4'  ,she    
sees her husband elated or depressed by 
things that have happened in the city2  
but to her the reasons of his hope or   
fear are not communicated1 nor would she
 understand them if they were4  ,his    
mind speaks a language foreign to her2  
his daily operations in the city have   
for her only the remote interest of     
things that have happened in a foreign  
country1 which appear too unreal to     
excite any sincere sympathy or          
apprehension4 ,is this divided life good
 for either party8  ,were some curious  

observer from another planet to arrive  
in ,london1 ,i think few things would   
appear to him so extraordinary as a     
,london suburb at noonday4  ,by ten     
o'clock in the morning at latest he     
would see it denuded of all its male    
inhabitants4  ,like that fabulous realm 
of ,tennyson's ,princess1 it is a realm 
inhabited by women2 and the only male   
voice left in the land is the voice of  
the milk-boy on his rounds1 the         
necessary postman1 and the innocuous    
grocer's tout4  ,there is something of  
the 'hushed seraglio' in these miles of 
trim houses1 from whose doors and       
windows only female faces look out4  ,an
 air of sensible bereavement lies upon  
the land4  ,woman1 deprived of her lord 
and natural complement1 cuts but a poor 
figure anywhere1 but nowhere so poor as 
in a wide realm populous with grass     
widows4  ,by what interests or          
avocations1 or by what delinquency of   
duty the tedious hours are cheated1 is  
not revealed to any male philosopher2   

but he is a poor observer who does not  
recognise something unnatural in this   
one-sided life4  ,a few miles away the  
loud ,niagara of ,london runs swift1 and
 the air vibrates with all the tumult of
 the strenuous life of man2 but here the
 air is dead1 unwinnowed by any         
clamorous wind1 unshaken by any         
planetary motion4  ,i cannot think this 
narrow separated life good for woman1   
and ,i am surprised that in these days  
when woman claims equal privilege with  
man1 she will submit to it4  ,in the act
 of getting a living she also suffers1  
and loses something of the power to     
live4  ,if the distraction of the city  
hurts the man she is not less injured by
 the torpor of the suburb4  ,let a woman
 be never so intelligent and keenly     
wrought1 a suburb will soon enfeeble    
her1 and take the fine edge off her     
spirit4  ,left to the sole society of   
nursemaids and cooks in her own house   
for many hours a day2 to the            
companionship of women outside her      

house1 whose conversation is mainly     
gossip about household difficulties2 to 
the tame diversions of shopping at the  
nearest emporium2 what power of interest
 in the larger things of life can be    
expected of her8  ,the suburb is her    
cloister1 and she the dedicated bride of
 littleness4  ,this seems a hard saying1
 but it can easily be verified by       
observation4 ,i have myself known women1
 rich enough to keep a carriage1 who had
 never been so far as ,hyde ,park1 never
 visited the ,national ,gallery1 and    
never sought any finer music than could 
be furnished by a local concert4  ,for  
them1 ,london as an entity did not      
exist4  ,this parochialism of suburban  
life is its most surprising feature4    
,there is after all some excuse for ,mr4
 ,grant ,allen's description of ,london 
as an aggregation of villages1 when we  
find that so vast a number of ,londoners
 really live the life of villagers4     
,but it is not patriotism that binds    
them to the soil1 nor local pride1 as is

 the case with genuine villagers2 it is 
rather sheer inertia4  ,such pride1 if  
it existed1 might do much for the       
regeneration of great cities1 by        
creating a series of eager and          
intelligent communities1 which would vie
 with one another in civic              
self-improvement2 but this is just the  
kind of pride which does not exist4  ,no
 one cares how his suburb is            
misgoverned1 so long as rates are not   
too exorbitant4  ,a suburb will wake    
into momentary life to curb the liberal 
programmes of the school-board1 or to   
vote against the establishment of a free
 library2 a gross self-interest being   
thus the only variation of its apathy4  
,it soon falls asleep again1 dulled into
 torpor by the fumes of its own         
intolerant smugness4  ,for much of this 
the element of family separation in     
suburban life is answerable4  ,the men  
pay their rates and house-rent at       
,surbiton1 but they live their real     
lives within hearing of the bell of ,st4

 ,paul's2 how should they take any      
interest in ,surbiton8  ,after all1     
,surbiton is to them but a vast         
caravansary1 where they are lodged and  
fed at night2 and one does not inquire  
too closely into the internal amenities 
of his hotel so long as the food is     
tolerable1 and the bed clean4           
,suburbanism is1 however1 but a branch1 
though an important branch1 of the      
larger question1 whether in cities men  
do not ultimately sacrifice the finer   
qualities and joys of life to the act of
 getting a living4 ,it will perhaps be  
said that the man with a true genius for
 business must in any case live in a    
city2 that he is not discontented with  
the conditions of his life2 that1 all   
things being considered1 he is probably 
living the kind of life for which he is 
best fitted4  ,may not a writer1 who is 
presumably a person of studious and     
quiet habits1 misinterpret the life of a
 business man precisely in the same way 
that he misinterprets the life of the   

poor1 by applying to it his own         
standards instead of measuring it by    
theirs8  ,business1 for the man of      
business genius1 is more than an        
employment2 it is his epic1 his romance1
 his adventurous crusade4  ,he brings to
 it something of the statesman's        
prescience1 the diplomatist's sagacity1 
the great captain's power of organising 
victory4  ,his days are battles1 his    
life a long campaign2 and if he does not
 win the spoil of kingdoms1 he does     
fight for commercial supremacy1 which   
comes to much the same thing4  ,no doubt
 there is much truth in this putting of 
the case1 though it really begs the main
 question4  ,but even if we grant that  
in the larger operations of commerce a  
certain type of genius is required1 we  
must remember that the men of this order
 are few in number4  ,every lord of     
commerce is attended by a vast retinue  
of slaves4  ,very few of these humble   
servitors of commerce can ever hope to  
rise from the ranks into supreme        

command4  ,they must labour to create   
the wealth of the successful merchant as
 a private soldier suffers wounds and   
hardships that fame may crown his       
general4  ,do these men share the higher
 privileges of life8  ,is not life with 
them the getting of a living rather than
 living8  ,nay1 more2 is it not the     
getting of a living for some one else8  
,the merchant-prince fulfils himself1   
for his highest powers of intelligence  
are daily taxed to the uttermost2 but   
the case is very different with that    
vast army of subordinates1 whom we see  
marching every morning in an infinite   
procession to the various warehouses and
 offices of ,london4  ,i have often     
wondered at their cheerfulness when ,i  
have recollected the nature of their    
life4  ,for they bring to their daily   
tasks not the whole of themselves1 but a
 mere segment of themselves2 some small 
industrious faculty which represents    
them1 or misrepresents them1 at the     
tribunal of those who ask no better     

thing of them4  ,few of them are doing  
the best that they can do1 and they know
 it4  ,they are not doing it because the
 world does not ask them to do it2      
indeed1 the world takes care that they  
shall have no opportunity of doing it4  
,a certain faculty for arithmetic       
represents a man who has many higher    
faculties2 and thus the man is forced to
 live by one capacity which is perhaps  
his least worthy and significant4  ,this
 is not the case in what we call the    
liberal professions and the arts4  ,the 
architect1 the barrister1 the humblest  
journalist needs his whole mind for his 
task1 and hence his work is a delight4  
,the artist1 if he be a true artist1    
does the one thing that he was born to  
do1 and so 'the hours pass away untold1 
without chagrin1 and without weariness1'
 nor would he wish them to pass         
otherwise4  ,many times as ,i took my   
way to the dreary labours of my desk ,i 
stopped to watch1 and sometimes to talk 
with1 a smiling industrious little      

,frenchman1 who repaired china and      
bronzes in a dingy shop in ,welbeck     
,street4  ,he was an expert at his      
trade2 knew all the distinctive marks of
 old china1 and could assign with       
certainty the right date of any piece of
 bronze he handled2 and to hear him     
discourse on these things would have    
been a liberal education to a budding   
connoisseur4  ,i never knew a man so    
indefatigably happy in his work2 his eye
 lit up at any special glow of colour or
 delicacy of design2 he used his tools  
as though he loved them2 and if he      
dreamed at night1 ,i doubt not that his 
canopies were coloured with the hues of 
,svres1 and that bronze angels from the 
hand of ,benvenuto stood about his bed4 
,plainly the man was happy because his  
work engaged his whole attention2 and to
 every cunning rivet that he fashioned  
he gave the entire forces of his mind4  
,here was a man who not merely got a    
living but lived2 and ,i1 chained to my 
desk1 knew well enough that his life was

 much more satisfactory than mine4      
,money has little to do with this       
problem of satisfactory living2 ,i think
 that this was the first discovery ,i   
made in the direction of a better mode  
of life4  ,my ,french workman earned    
perhaps two pounds a week3 ,i earned    
four or five2 but he bought happiness   
with his work1 whereas ,i bought        
discontent and weariness4  ,money may be
 bought at too dear a rate4  ,the       
average citizen1 if he did but know it1 
is always buying money too dear4  ,he   
earns1 let us say1 four hundred pounds a
 year2 but the larger proportion of this
 sum goes in what is called 'keeping up 
appearances4'  ,he must live in a house 
at a certain rental2 by the time that   
his rates and taxes are paid he finds   
one-eighth of his income at least has   
gone to provide a shelter for his head4 
,a cottage1 at ten pounds a year1 would 
have served him better1 and would have  
been equally commodious4  ,he must needs
 send his children to some private      

'academy' for education1 getting only   
bad education and high charges for his  
pains2 a village board-school at        
twopence a week would have offered      
undeniable advantages4  ,he must wear   
the black coat and top-hat sacred to the
 clerking tribe2 a tweed suit and cap   
are more comfortable1 and half the      
price4  ,at all points he is the slave  
of convention1 and he pays a price for  
his convention out of all proportion to 
its value4  ,at a moderate estimate half
 the daily expenditure of ,london is a  
sacrifice to the convention or imposture
 of respectability4  ,unless a man have1
 however1 a large endowment of that     
liberal discontent which makes him      
perpetually examine and reexamine the   
conditions of his life1 he will be a    
long time before he even suspects that  
he is the victim of artificial needs4   
,when once the yoke of habit is imposed1
 the shoulder soon accustoms itself to  
the bondage1 and the aches and bruises  
of initiation are forgotten4  ,there are

 spasms of disgust1 moments of wise     
suspicion2 but they are transient1 and  
men soon come to regard a city as the   
prison from whence there is no escape4  
,but is no escape possible8  ,that was  
the question which pressed more and more
 upon me as the years went on4  ,i saw  
that the crux of the whole problem was  
economic1 ,i knew that ,i was not the   
gainer by a larger income1 if ,i could  
buy a more real satisfaction on less    
income4  ,i saw that it was the         
artificial needs of life that made me a 
slave2 the real needs of life were few4 
,a cottage and a hundred pounds a year  
in a village meant happiness and        
independence2 but dared ,i sacrifice    
twice or thrice the income to secure it8
  ,the debate went on for years1 and it 
was ended only when ,i applied to it one
 fixed and reasoned principle4  ,that   
principle was that my first business as 
a rational creature was not to get a    
living but to live2 and that ,i was a   
fool to sacrifice the power of living in

 securing the means of life4            
,,chapter ,,iv  ,,earth-,,hunger  ,like 
,charles ,,ii41 who apologised for being
 so unconscionably long in dying1 ,i    
must apologise for being so long in     
coming to my point1 which is the        
possibility of buying happiness at a    
cheaper rate than ,london offers it4    
,as it took me twenty years of          
experience to make my discovery1 ,i may 
claim1 however1 that three chapters is  
no immoderate amount of matter in which 
to describe it4  ,my chief occupation   
through these years was to keep my      
discontent alive4  ,satisfaction is the 
death of progress1 and ,i knew well that
 if ,i once acquiesced entirely in the  
conditions of my life1 my fate was      
sealed4  ,i did not acquiesce1 though   
the temper of my revolt was by no means 
steady4  ,there were times when--to     
reverse an ancient saying--the muddy    
,jordan of ,london life seemed more to  
me than all the sparkling waters of     
,damascus4  ,humanity seemed            

indescribably majestic2 and there were  
moments when ,i sincerely felt that ,i  
would not exchange the trampled         
causeways of the ,london streets for the
 greenest meadows that bordered ,rotha  
or ,derwentwater4  ,there were days of  
early summer when ,london rose from her 
morning bath of mist in a splendour     
truly unapproachable2 when no music     
heard of man seemed comparable with the 
long diapason of the crowded streets2   
when from morn to eve the hours ran with
 an inconceivable gaiety and lightness1 
and the eye was in turn inebriated with 
the hard glare and deep shadows of      
abundant light1 with the infinite       
contrasts of the streets1 with the      
far-ranged dignity of domes and towers  
swimming in the golden haze of midday1  
or melting in the lilac mists of        
evening4  ,i felt also1 in this vast    
congregation of my fellow-creatures1 the
 exhilarating sense of my own           
insignificance4  ,of what value were my 
own opinions1 hopes1 or programmes in   

this huge concourse and confusion of    
opinion8  ,who cared what one human     
brain chanced to think1 where so many   
million brains were thinking8  ,i was   
swept on like a bubble in the stream1   
and ,i forgot my own individuality4     
,and this forgetfulness became a        
pleasure2 the mind1 wearied of its own  
affairs1 found delight in recollecting  
that the things that seemed so great to 
it were after all of infinitesimal      
importance in the general sum of things4
  ,astronomy is often credited with     
providing this sensation2 writers of    
fiction especially are fond of          
explaining how the voyage of the eye    
through space humbles the individual    
pride of man through the oppression of  
magnitude and vastness4  ,they might    
come nearer home1 for terrestrial       
magnitudes produce the same effect as   
celestial magnitudes2 the mind loses    
itself as readily in the abyss of       
,london as in those gulfs of chaos that 
open in the ,milky ,way1 confronting the

 eye with naked infinitude2 and this    
sense of personal insignificance is at  
once a horror and a joy4  ,that humble  
acquiescence of the ,londoner in his    
fate which we call his apathy1 is the   
natural consequence of an overwhelming  
sense of personal insignificance4  ,the 
great reformer should be country-born2  
in the solitude of nature he may come to
 think himself significant1 and have    
faith in those thoughts and intuitions  
which no one contradicts4  ,but in      
,london1 collective life1 by its mere   
immensity1 overwhelms individual life so
 completely that no audacity or         
arrogance of genius can supply that     
continuous and firm faith in himself    
which the reformer must possess4  ,if ,i
 resisted these debilitating influences1
 it was through no particular virtue of 
my own3 it was rather through what ,i   
may call a kind of earth-hunger4  ,i had
 an obstinate craving for fresh air1    
unimpeded movement1 outdoor life4  ,i   
wanted the earth1 and ,i wanted to live 

in the close embrace of the earth4      
,some ancestor of mine must have been a 
hermit on a mountain1 a gipsy1 or a     
peasant3 ,i know not which1 but         
something of the temperament of all     
three had been bequeathed to me4  ,the  
smell of fresh-turned earth was a smell 
that revived in me a portion of my      
nature that had seemed dead2 a flower   
set me dreaming of solitary woods2 and  
,i found myself watching clouds and     
weather-signs as though my bread        
depended on their lenience4  ,the first 
time ,i saw a mountain ,i burst into    
tears1 an act which astonished me no    
less than my companions4  ,i could offer
 no explanation of my conduct1 but ,i   
felt as though the mountain called me4  
,i said to myself1 ',there is my home1  
yonder is the earth of which my         
corporeal part is fashioned2 it is there
 that ,i should live and die4'  ,even a 
,london park in the first freshness of a
 summer morning produced these          
sensations2 and those rare excursions   

which ,i took into the genuine country  
left me aching for days afterwards with 
an exquisite pain4  ,i often imagined   
myself living as ,wordsworth did in     
,dove ,cottage1 as ,thoreau did in the  
,walden ,woods1 and the vision was      
delightful4  ,i took an agricultural    
paper1 and read it diligently1 not      
because it was of the least practical   
utility to me1 but because its simple   
details of country life seemed to me a  
kind of poetry4  ,in my rambles ,i never
 saw a lovely site without at once going
 to work to build an imaginary cottage  
on it1 and the views ,i had from the    
windows of my dream-cottages were more  
real to me than the actual prospects on 
which ,i looked every day4  ,i have even
 gone so far as to seek the offices of  
land-agents1 and haggle over the price  
of land which ,i never meant to buy1 for
 the mere pleasure of fancying it was   
mine2 and this kind of game was long    
pursued1 for land-agents are a numerous 
tribe1 and when one discovered my       

imposture1 there was always another     
ready to accept me as a capitalist in   
search of the picturesque4  ,in short1  
to possess one small fragment of the    
world's surface2 to have a hut1 a cabin1
 or a cottage that was verily my own1 to
 eat the fruits of my own labour on the 
soil--this seemed to me the crown and   
goal of all human felicity4  ,conscript 
of the city as ,i was1 drilled and      
driven daily in the grim barrack-yard of
 despotic civilisation1 yet ,i was a    
deserter at heart2 an earth-hunger as   
rapacious and intense as that of any    
,french or ,irish peasant burned in my  
bones1 and1 like the peasant conscript  
that ,i truly was1 my dreams were all of
 green pastures and running streams1 and
 the happy loneliness of open spaces    
under open skies4  ,this kind of        
earth-hunger is1 ,i believe1 not common 
among ,english people to-day2 if it     
were1 the tide of life would not set so 
steadily townward as it does4  ,the     
class in which it existed most strongly 

was the yeoman class1 and this is a     
class which has practically disappeared4
  ,in my youth ,i knew half a dozen     
persons of this class1 to whom towns    
were genuinely abhorrent4  ,they would  
come to ,london once or twice in their  
lives1 visit certain market towns in    
their district at intervals1 and escape 
back into the country with the joy of   
wild birds liberated from a cage4  ,the 
mere grime and dirt of cities horrified 
them2 they were suffocated in the close 
air1 and they were driven half          
distracted by the clamour of the        
streets4  ,these men lived1 upon the    
whole1 lives of not immoderate labour3  
or1 as one might say1 of sober ease1    
,they possessed little money1 it is     
true1 but the want of it did not appear 
to trouble them4  ,their houses were    
plain1 their method of life simple1 and 
clearly it had not entered their minds  
to covet any more sumptuous modes of    
life4  ,all this is changed now4  ,the  
daily press1 which presents a thousand  

pictures of the bustling life of cities1
 goes everywhere1 and has communicated a
 strange restlessness to the rural mind4
  ,increased means of locomotion have   
brought ,london to the very door of     
village communities4  ,if men to-day    
actually possessed the acres on which   
they toil they would be in no hurry to  
leave them2 they would be effectually   
chained to the soil by the sense of     
independence and proprietorship1 as is  
the case among the rural population of  
,france1 who do not rent but own the    
land4  ,the yeomen did own the land1 and
 that was the secret of their content4  
,but when the day of large farms came1  
the small landowners were crushed out2  
and as for the mere peasant1 he has no  
chance at all of ever owning land1 and  
never has had2 so that he has every     
inducement to crowd into towns where    
wages are nominally higher1 and he soon 
outgrows that natural earth-hunger which
 modern civilisation affords him no     
means of gratifying4  ,by virtue of the 

peasant or gipsy blood in me ,i kept my 
earth-hunger through twenty years of    
,london life1 but ,i count my case      
unique4  ,i never found any one who     
shared my feelings2 on the contrary1 ,i 
found that whatever primitive instincts 
toward country life my friends may have 
had once1 ,london had made an effectual 
end of them4  ,the country means for    
most ,londoners1 not the blessed        
solitude of open spaces1 but ,margate or
 ,brighton4   ,when the annual summer   
exodus arrives he does but exchange one 
kind of town for another kind4  ,he     
carries with him all the aptitudes and  
artificial instincts of the town2 he    
loves the bustle of a crowd2 he wants   
boarding-houses full of company1 and    
streets brilliant with electric light2  
and he returns to town1 after a         
vivacious fortnight1 without having once
 looked upon the real country1 unless it
 be with the distracted eye of a rider  
on a char--banc4  ,if my earth-hunger   
did not die in ,london1 it was mainly   

because my holidays were of a very      
different description4  ,i never visited
 but one watering-place1 and that was   
enough4  ,i never stayed in a           
boarding-house in my life1 nor would the
 promise of all my expenses paid and a  
handsome bonus into the bargain tempt me
 to the experiment4 ,i sought the       
country absolute2 a cottage or a little 
farm remote from towns and out of sound 
of railways2 villages so tiny that maps 
refuse to name them4  ,i can count half 
a dozen of these places which haunt my  
memory with all the sanctity of some    
religious dream4  ,they were my         
temporary cloisters1 where ,i received  
the sacrament of silence2 the woodland  
sanctuaries where my spirit was renewed4
  ,when my friends returned from        
,margate they were full of chatter about
 the people that they had met1 and they 
went about whistling the last song they 
had heard upon the beach4  ,i had met no
 one but a few simple labouring folk1   
and the music ,i remembered was the     

whistling of blackbirds and thrushes in 
the early dawn4  ,i knew that ,i had    
purchased much finer pleasure in a      
single day1 and at a cheaper rate1 than 
they in a month of days2 but ,i never   
told them so1 for they would not have   
understood me4  ,the ear that hungers   
for the raucous strains of cockney      
,pierrots on a beach cannot attune      
itself to the notes of the morning      
thrush4  ,there is one tiny farm that ,i
 love to think of1 because its tenants  
taught me better than a thousand books  
could have done how real was the        
felicity of simple life4  ,it had six   
rooms all told1 and was little better   
than a cottage4  ,before its door ran a 
clear river which connected two lakes2 a
 pinewood rose behind the house1 and    
behind this again the lower buttresses  
of the everlasting hills4  ,the nearest 
town was seven miles away2 you reached  
it by a lovely road1 in part through    
pinewoods1 in part over open moors1 with
 the silver flashing of a lake never far

 away1 and the purple mountains always  
close at hand4  ,the farm-holding was   
insignificantly small1 as was the case  
in those parts2 but my host uttered no  
word of its insufficiency4  ,he grew    
enough oats to provide good oatmeal for 
his family and fodder for his horse2 his
 potatoes also came from his own soil1  
and his bacon from his own stye2 his few
 sheep gave him fresh meat1 or brought  
him a little money in the market1 and   
from their wool every blanket in the    
house was spun1 and even his own        
clothing woven4  ,two cows provided milk
 and butter for the household2 his fowls
 gave him eggs and occasionally a       
dinner2 and thus with the exception of  
the yearly grocer's bill he spent next  
to no money4  ,i dwelt beneath this     
humble roof for a month1 and ,i profess 
that in all that time ,i never saw the  
members of the household engaged in any 
labour that was not also a pleasure4    
,there was plenty of work1 of course3   
cows to be milked1 vegetables to be dug 

and cleansed1 meals to be prepared1 the 
little harvest to be gathered in2 but it
 was work that one could do with        
singing4  ,no one hurried over it1 for  
there was ample time for every duty of  
the day4  ,no one felt these simple     
duties burdensome1 because they were so 
natural and inevitable1 ,it was a rare  
day when some member of the household   
did not find an hour or two for fishing1
 and a disappointing breakfast that did 
not show a lordly dish of trout4  ,it   
may be imagined that in a place so      
remote culture would be missing--at     
least the love and knowledge of books   
which we call culture2 but when ,i say  
the place was ,scotch this delusion is  
disposed of4  ,the children had had to  
walk that long seven miles a day and    
back again1 in all weathers1 to obtain  
an education4  ,they had grown up to    
value it1 and were the better mentally  
as well as physically for their         
thousands of miles of tramping4  ,there 
were books in the little household1 and 

good books too4  ,as often as not when  
we sat round the red peats of an        
evening1 we discussed ,browning or      
,herbert ,spencer4 ,that year it        
happened that a party of students from  
,edinburgh ,university were camping in  
the neighbourhood1 and they often joined
 us round the farm fire of an evening4  
,they talked about books and opinions   
and men with all the omniscience of     
youth2 but the two girls of the         
household held their own with them4     
,ah1 ,kate ,m',intyre1 you did me much  
friendly service in tying flies for me  
that summer1 and teaching me something  
of the craft of fishing2 but you did a  
far more enduring service in helping me 
to see that one does not need towns and 
libraries to grow the fine flower of    
wholesome cultured womanhood4 ,here1    
beside that lake1 whose lady has been   
made immortal by the hand of ,scott1 you
 showed me that ,god grows ladies still 
who wear homespun and live in cottages1 
and are all the wiser and sweeter for   

the bright seclusion of their lives4    
,in a town1 you and your family1 endowed
 only with such means as you found      
sufficient for existence1 would have    
been despondent drudges1 you yourself   
perhaps working in a sewing-room in bad 
air and for poor pay1 but here you were 
the free-holders of nature4 ,never did  
,i see you go about your simple         
duties--always with a bright look and a 
snatch of song--but ,i said to myself1  
',she hath chosen the better part1 which
 shall not be taken away from her'2 and 
,i say it still1 though ,i am well aware
 that the smart young women of ,london  
shops and restaurants will not believe  
me4  ,i dare say they would count       
themselves much better off than you in  
money1 in dress1 and in opportunities of
 pleasure2 but ,i know who was the      
richer in vitality1 in health1 and in   
the power of happiness4  ,when ,i lived 
among these simple folk ,i shared not   
only their roof but their labours1 and  
it was thus ,i came to distinguish      

between the nature of work in cities and
 work in the country4  ,to obtain my    
meal in a city ,i had to do things that 
were distasteful to me2 ,i had to shut  
myself away from the fresh air and      
sunlight in a dingy room and to spend   
dull hours in tasks which afforded me no
 genuine intellectual pleasure4 ,here1  
on the contrary1 every duty had a       
pastime yoked with it4  ,i rose early1  
not only that ,i might learn to milk the
 cows1 but that ,i might see the        
sunrise2 if ,i went into the woods to   
saw logs that would presently make a    
clear flame on the evening fire1 my     
lungs drank health among the forest     
fragrances2 when ,i went fishing ,i did 
something not only pleasurable but      
useful1 for ,i added dainties to my     
larder4  ,in the city ,i lived to work2 
here ,i worked to live4  ,i might go    
further and say that in the city ,i     
lived to work for other people1 for my  
brains were daily exploited that my     
master might maintain a house at        

,kensington1 and when the landlord1 the 
water-lord1 the light-lord1 and the     
rate-collector had all had their dues   
from me there was little enough left    
that ,i could call my own4  ,here1 on   
the contrary1 all that ,i did had an    
immediate and direct relation to my own 
well-being4  ,the amount of work ,i had 
to do to live was light1 and ,i bought  
with it something that was my own4  ,we 
are so used to the exactions of a       
complicated and artificial life1 that it
 is an amazing discovery to ascertain   
how small is the toll of labour which   
,nature asks of those who live          
naturally4  ,you have but to do certain 
things which in themselves are pleasures
 to obtain ample means of life2 and as  
these things are soon and easily done by
 a healthy human creature there is an   
abundant leisure at his command4  ,to   
split pine-logs1 dig a garden1 pull a   
heavy boat down the lake after fish1    
tramp up the hillside to collect the    
sheep1 are simply so many exercises of  

the body1 the equivalents of which town 
youths find in the gymnasium or the     
football field2 the difference is that  
all this exertion in the gymnasium1     
which the town youth takes to keep up   
his health1 would in the country keep   
him4  ,the same amount of muscular      
exertion which a town youth puts forth  
to chase a ball round a twenty acre     
field would1 if properly applied1 put a 
roof over his head and food on his      
table4  ,the sports of the civilised man
 are means of life to the natural man4  
,if a man must needs sweat1 and be      
bemired1 and have an aching back1 it is 
surely better economy to have a house   
and a good meal at the end of it all    
than merely a good appetite for a meal  
that he has yet to pay for4  ,i do not  
object to buy health in hard physical   
exercise if ,i can buy it in no other   
way2 but ,i am better satisfied if ,i   
can buy health and a meal at the same   
time and for the same price4  ,this is  
practically what is done every day by   

men who live in the country4  ,in a town
 they would undertake an equal amount of
 muscular exertion for the sake of      
health1 and would find that they still  
had 'to go to business' to live2 here   
they have done their business in doing  
their pleasure4  ,earth-hunger is       
without doubt the most wholesome passion
 men can entertain1 and if ,governments 
were wise they would do all they could  
to fortify and gratify it4  ,on the     
contrary1 the settled policy of ,english
 ,government is entirely hostile to it4 
,there is no country where it is so     
difficult to acquire freehold land in   
small quantities--a subject on which ,i 
shall have more to say presently4  ,bad 
land-laws lie at the back of what we    
call the urban tendencies of modern     
life4  ,if fifty years ago the ,irish   
peasantry had had the same facilities   
for acquiring land that they have       
to-day1 it is safe to say that there    
would have been little or no emigration1
 for never was there race that left the 

land of its fathers with such bitter and
 entire reluctance as the ,irish4  ,the 
,english peasant shares the same        
reluctance1 though his slower nature is 
incapable of expressing it with the same
 volubility of anguish4  ,give him      
enough land to live upon2 make him a    
proprietor instead of a serf2 let him   
have fair railway rates1 so that his    
produce can fetch its proper price in   
the markets1 and there were no man so   
proud and so content as he4  ,but this  
is just what the feudal laws of ,england
 will not do for him2 and so millions of
 acres fall out of cultivation and farms
 go a-begging because the men who could 
have kept them prosperous have been     
forced to sell their thews and muscles  
to be prostituted in the dismal         
drudgeries of cities4  ,there is an even
 worse result4  ,earth-hunger has been  
displaced by ,money-hunger4  ,simple    
ideas of life must needs perish where   
the nature of a nation's life makes them
 difficult or impossible of attainment4 

,a country-born youth might keep to the 
soil1 if he saw the slightest hope that 
the soil would keep him2 when he sees   
that this is impossible he files to     
cities1 because he believes that there  
is more gold to be picked up in the city
 mire in a month than can be won from   
the ploughed fallow in a year4  ,it is  
not until the altars of ,pan are        
overthrown that the worship of ,mammon  
is triumphant1 and the mischief is that 
when the great god ,pan is driven away  
he returns no more4  ,when once         
,money-hunger seizes on a nation1 that  
primitive and wholesome                 
,earth-hunger--old as the primal ,eden1 
where man's life began--is stifled at   
the birth2 the spade and harrow rust1   
and instead of swords being beaten to   
ploughshares1 ploughshares are beaten   
into swords for the use of soldiers who 
are the gladiators of commercial        
avarice2 the wealth of the country runs 
into the swamp of speculation2 the      
scripture of ,nature is cast aside for  

the blotted pages of the betting-book2  
sport becomes not a means of recreation 
but of gambling2 and instead of sturdy  
races bred upon the soil1 and drawing   
from the soil solid qualities of mind   
and body1 you have blighted and anaemic 
races1 bred amid the populous disease of
 cities1 and incapable of any task that 
shall demand steady energy1 continuous  
thought1 or sober powers of reflection  
or of will4     ,,chapter ,v  ,,health  
,,and ,,economics  ,enough has been said
 to show that ,i never heartily settled 
to a town life1 and that the obstacle to
 content was my own character4  ,mere   
discontent with one's environment1      
however useful it may be as an irritant 
to prevent stagnation and brutish       
acquiescence1 obviously does not carry  
one very far4  ,men may chafe for years 
at the conditions of their lot without  
in any way attempting to amend them4  ,i
 soon came to see that ,i was in danger 
of falling into this condition of       
futility4  ,i was1 therefore1 forced to 

face the question whether my continual  
inward protest against the kind of life 
which ,i led was founded on anything    
more stable than an opinion or a        
sentiment8  ,no man ever yet took a     
positively heroic or original course for
 the sake of an opinion4 ,opinion must  
become conviction before it has any     
potency to change the ordering of life4 
,i saw plainly that ,i must either bring
 my thoughts to the point of conviction 
or discard them altogether4  ,there is a
 good phrase which is sometimes used    
about men who are members of a party1   
without in any way entering into its    
propagandist aims--we say that they 'do 
not play the game4'  ,they may have     
excellent philosophic reasons for their 
aloofness1 or even admirable scruples2  
but parties do not ask for either4      
,parties ask for party loyalty1 and to  
give this loyalty personal scruples must
 be set aside4  ,i could not but apply  
this doctrine to my own state of mind4  
,london asked me to play the game1 and  

,i was not playing it4  ,it was         
impossible to put heart into a kind of  
life which ,i inwardly detested4  ,i did
 my day's work with a mind divided2 and1
 although no one could accuse me of     
wilful negligence1 yet a child could see
 that my work missed that quality of    
entire efficiency which makes for       
success4  ,i might count myself much    
superior to men like ,arrowsmith by the 
possession of superior sentiments1 yet1 
in the long run1 my sentiment           
debilitated me1 and his destitution of  
sentiment was a source of power to him  
in the kind of work we both had to do4  
,to the man who detests the nature of   
his employment as ,i detested mine1 ,i  
would say at once1 either conquer your  
detestation or change your work4  ,work 
that is not genuinely loved cannot      
possibly be done well4  ,it is no use   
chafing and fretting and wishing that   
you lived in the country1 if you know   
perfectly well that you have not the    
least intention of living anywhere but  

in the town4 ,if it is town life you are
 really bent upon1 the sooner rustic    
instincts are uprooted the better for   
you4  ,london can prove herself a       
complaisant mistress to those who desire
 no other1 but she will give nothing to 
those who flout her in their hearts4    
,in plain words there is no middle      
course between accepting the yoke or    
finally rejecting it2 either course may 
be justified1 but it is the silliest    
folly to accept with complacency a yoke 
which you mean to shake off the moment  
you have courage or opportunity to      
revolt4  ,london marks such dissemblers 
with an angry eye1 as captains mark     
reluctant soldiers2 and if time holds no
 disgrace for them it will certainly    
bring them no advancement4  ,were my    
fine theories composed of mere fluid    
sentiment1 or had they some more        
consistent element in them which was    
capable of hardening into invincible    
conviction8  ,that was my problem4  ,it 
was debated in season and out of season4

  ,gradually the two dominant factors in
 the problem became evident2 they were  
health and economics4  ,there could be  
no question about health4  ,it was true 
that ,i had suffered from no serious    
illness in my life1 but ,london kept me 
in a normal state of low vitality4  ,i  
had constant headaches1 fits of         
depression1 and minor physical          
derangements4  ,i rarely knew what it   
was to wake in the morning with that    
clear joyousness of spirit which marks  
vigorous vitality4  ,a ,london winter ,i
 dreaded1 and ,i had good reason for my 
dread4  ,when the fog lay on the town an
 unbearable oppression lay also on my   
spirits4  ,imagination had little to do 
with this oppression2 it was the        
physical result of lack of oxygen4  ,it 
was the same with my children2 they grew
 pinched and bleached in face1 and went 
about their little tasks with the       
slowness of old men4  ,it is stated1 ,i 
believe1 that ,london is the healthiest 
city in the world2 no doubt it is true  

as regards the actual percentage of     
disease to the immense population1 but  
statistics take no account of lowered   
vitality4 ,without being actually ill1  
vitality may be reduced to a point at   
which existence becomes a kind of       
misery4  ,alcohol dissolves for a time  
the cloud on the mind1 the incubus upon 
the energies2 and the relief is so great
 that men do not think of the price they
 pay for it4  ,no wonder public-houses  
are the landmarks of ,london locomotion2
 they are the ,temples of ,oblivion1    
where the devitalised multitudes seek to
 forget themselves1 that they may regain
 the courage to live at all4  ,for      
myself1 ,i had sense to know that       
stimulants of this kind were a remedy   
much worse than the disease4  ,the only 
stimulant1 at once safe and effectual1  
which ,i needed was fresh air4  ,the    
moment ,i found myself among the hills a
 miraculous change was wrought in me4   
,i had not breathed that quick and vital
 air for an hour before a glow ran      

through my veins more delightful1 and   
much more enduring1 than the glow of    
wine4  ,a single night in some small    
cottage chamber--where the very bed had 
a cool scent of flowers and lawns1 where
 the open window admitted air fresh from
 pine forest and mountain streams1 where
 the silence was so deep that one's     
pulse seemed to tick aloud like a       
watch--and ,i awoke a man renewed4  ,six
 o'clock1 or even five1 was not too soon
 for all my little household to be      
astir4  ,we were all alike eager for the
 open air2 for the walk1 bare-footed1   
through the dewy grass to the mountain  
pool2 for the shock and thrill of that  
green water into which we plunged       
delighted2 and in those prolonged and   
pure ablations ,i think our spirits     
shared4  ,the bells of laughter rang the
 livelong day4  ,the cramped mind began 
to move again1 and long abdicated powers
 of fancy and of humour were restored4  
,equanimity of body brought evenness of 
temper2 it was incredible to recollect  

how irritable we had been with one      
another in those ghastly days of ,london
 fog1 when the very grating of a chair  
along the floor made the nerves jump4   
,even the mind took new edge1 for though
 ,i did not read much upon a holiday1   
yet ,i found that what ,i did read left 
a clearness of impression to which ,i   
had long been unaccustomed4  ,and what  
was the root and cause of all this      
miracle8  ,fresh air1 wholesome food1   
rude health--nothing more6  ,to feel    
that it is bliss to be alive1 health    
alone is needed4  ,and by health ,i mean
 not the absence of physical ailment or 
disease1 but a high condition of        
vitality4  ,this the country gave me2   
this the town denied me4  ,the only     
question was then1 at what rate did ,i  
value the boon8  ,this brought me       
immediately to the much more complex    
problem of economics4  ,i knew that men 
could live in the country on small      
means1 for men did so2 but ,i perceived 
that the art of living in the country   

did not come by nature4  ,every one     
supposes that he can drive a horse or   
grow potatoes2 and1 when we recollect   
how many thousands of men go to ,canada 
to take up agricultural pursuits without
 the least knowledge of the business1 it
 is clear that the belief is general    
that any man can farm4  ,i may claim the
 merit of freedom from this popular     
delusion4 ,i not only knew that ,i could
 not farm1 but ,i did not wish to be a  
farmer4  ,what ,i wished was to live in 
the country in some modest way that     
answered to my needs2 to earn by some   
form of exertion a small income2 and at 
the most1 to grow my own vegetables1    
catch my own fish1 and snare my own     
rabbits4  ,a legacy of two hundred a    
year would have served my purpose       
admirably1 but modesty forbade me laying
 my case before benevolent millionaires1
 and a destitution of maiden aunts put  
an end to any hopes of a bequest by     
natural causes4  ,what was my precise   
position then8  ,i had a salary of two  

hundred and fifty pounds a year4  ,an   
investment that had turned out          
fortunately gave me about forty pounds a
 year4  ,i had done from time to time a 
little work for the press1 which had    
been worth to me about thirty pounds a  
year more4  ,my total budget showed1    
then1 an annual income of three hundred 
and twenty pounds1 which ,i found barely
 sufficient for my needs as a dweller in
 towns4  ,if ,i migrated to a cottage1  
how would matters stand with me8   ,i   
should lose my two hundred and fifty    
pounds per annum of course1 and this was
 an alarming prospect4  ,but1 on the    
other hand1 ,i reminded myself that ,i  
had never really possessed it4  ,i      
prepared various tables in which ,i     
arranged the items of my expenditure    
under two heads1 viz4 the expenditure   
that was inevitable1 and the expenditure
 that was evitable1 because it was the  
result of town life4 ,i shall best      
explain by giving a sample of these     
tables3--     ,,table ,i4               

,,inevitable ,,expenditure4             
,l4  s4  d4    ,food and general        
household expenses1     calculated at   
#cjs4 per week   4 4 4 4 4  #gh  #j   #j
   ,books1 magazines1 and papers  4 4 4 
4 4 4   #e  #j   #j   ,clothes for two  
adults and two children 4  #bj  #j   #j 
,insurances  4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4
 4  #be  #j   #j   ,holidays  4 4 4 4 4 
4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4  #cj  #j   #j     
,education   4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4
 4  #ce  #j   #j   ,sundries  4 4 4 4 4 
4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4  #aj  #j   #j     
,rent1 rates1 and taxes  4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4
 4  #fe  #j   #j                        
----------                              
,l#bfh  #j   #j    ,,table ,,ii4        
,,evitable ,,expenditure4    ,if ,i     
adopted a country life4                 
,l4  s4  d4    ,holidays  4 4 4 4 4 4 4 
4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4  #cj  #j   #j   ,by   
saving on rent1 rates1 and taxes1       
calculating my cottage cost me not      
more than ,l#bj per annum   4 4 4 4 4 4 
4  #de  #j   #j   ,by saving in food   4

 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4  #bj  #j   #j      
----------                              
,l#ie  #j   #j   ,it will be seen that  
,i allowed no reduction in clothes and  
books1 for ,i did not wish my children  
to be dressed as beggars1 or to be      
ignorant of current literature4  ,it    
does not need the eye of a chartered    
accountant to perceive that whatever may
 be said for ,table ,,ii41 ,table ,i4 is
 not satisfactory4  ,in it ,i accounted 
for only #bfh pounds1 whereas ,i have   
already stated my total income was #cbj 
pounds4  ,what became of the #eb pounds 
which found no record in my ingenuous   
schedule8  ,i could not tell1 but ,i was
 pretty sure that it was absorbed in the
 petty wastefulness of town life4       
,londoners are so accustomed to constant
 daily expenditure in small ways1 that  
it occurs to no one to ascertain how    
considerable an encroachment this       
aggregate expenditure is upon the total 
yearly income4  ,in all but very fine   
weather ,i must needs use some means of 

public conveyance every day2 there was a
 daily lunch to be provided2 and when   
work kept me late at the office there   
was tea as well4  ,one can lunch        
comfortably on a shilling or            
eighteenpence a day2 and ,i knew places 
where ,i could have lunched for much    
less1 but they were in parts of the town
 which ,i could not reach in the brief  
time at my disposal4 ,moreover1 one must
 needs be the slave of etiquette even   
though he be a clerk1 and if all the    
staff of an office frequent a certain   
restaurant1 one must perforce fall into 
line with them under penalty of social  
ostracism4  ,thus1 whether ,i liked it  
or not1 for five days in the week ,i had
 to spend eighteenpence a day for lunch1
 and fourpence for teas2 and if we add  
those small gratuities which the poorest
 men take it as a point of honour to    
observe1 here was an annual expenditure 
of #be pounds4  ,taking one thing with  
another #e pounds might be added for    
'bus and railway fares2 so that only #bb

 pounds is left to be accounted for4    
,and now1 if we return to ,table ,,ii41 
it is obvious that my income of #cbj    
pounds per annum was only nominal1      
because a very great part of it was     
really spent in keeping up a position   
which a town life imposed upon me4      
,before ,i touched a single penny of my 
nominal income of #bej pounds per annum1
 ,i had paid #cj pounds per year in the 
daily expenses inevitable to my         
position1 and #fe pounds for rent and   
taxes1 which was quite #de pounds more  
than ,i ought to pay4  ,education comes 
also to be considered at this point4    
,my two children went to a very         
respectable school at the cost of a     
little more than #ae pounds per annum   
each4  ,no doubt ,i might have sent them
 to a ,board school1 where they would   
have received a better education2 but in
 the part of ,london where ,i lived     
there was no ,board school within easy  
reach1 and besides this1 though ,i hate 
the pretension of gentility1 manners and

 companionship have to be considered as 
well as education in the choice of a    
school4  ,a child may take no harm by   
sitting on the same bench with village  
children1 but the ,london gamin is not a
 desirable acquaintance4  ,in this1 as  
in other matters1 ,i paid through the   
nose for my position2 and the convention
 cost me a clear #ce pounds per annum4  
,thus ,i calculated that out of a       
nominal income of #bej pounds per annum 
#ajj pounds was paid as a tax to        
convention and respectability4  ,i have 
no doubt that a good many flaws may be  
found in these calculations2 but one    
point is beyond dispute1 viz41 that a   
town income is always more apparent than
 real4  ,money is worth no more than its
 purchasing power4  ,the business man   
who is offered #ajjj pounds per annum in
 ,new ,york against #gjj pounds per     
annum in ,london1 refuses the offer     
unless it carries with it great         
contingent advantages1 because he knows 
perfectly well that #gjj pounds a year  

in ,london is worth a good deal more    
than #ajjj pounds a year in ,new ,york4 
,but the same kind of prudent           
calculation is seldom applied to the    
case of town versus country living at   
home4  ,it is impossible to persuade the
 labourer that a pound a week in ,london
 is really less than fifteen shillings a
 week in the country4  ,men are dazzled 
by mere figures1 and there is no country
 clerk who would not jump at the idea of
 a fifty pounds a year rise in ,london1 
though ten minutes spent over a sum in  
addition and subtraction would be       
sufficient to assure him that he would  
not be enlarging his income but         
diminishing it4  ,a man has to live upon
 a certain scale suited to his needs and
 tastes1 but the income which makes this
 kind of life possible is a variable    
quantity4  ,it is not by what men earn  
in the aggregate that their incomes     
should be measured1 but by what they    
have left when the necessary cost of    
living is defrayed4  ,if it costs a man 

fifty pounds a year more to live in     
,london than in the country1 he is      
obviously no better off by the extra    
fifty pounds he earns in ,london4  ,he  
is not earning fifty pounds for himself 
but fifty pounds for the landlord1 the  
rate-collector1 the gas-man1 the        
restaurant proprietor1 the omnibus and  
railway companies4  ,his gold never     
reaches his own pocket2 it is filched   
from him by dexterous thieves2 it gleams
 before him for an instant like the coin
 spun in the air by the conjurer or     
thimble-rigger1 and then vanishes for   
ever4  ,yet ,i have found few men keen  
enough to penetrate the delusion2 it    
would seem they love to be deluded1 and 
by their conduct justify the satiric    
lines of ,hudibras--    ,doubtless the  
pleasure is as great   ,to cheated be as
 'tis to cheat4  ,in most things ,i     
claim to be no wiser than my fellow-men1
 but in this ,i knew myself wiser2 ,i   
knew where ,i was cheated4  ,i knew that
 the schoolmaster who cost me thirty    

pounds a year was a licensed footpad2   
half the money spent in restaurants and 
tea-shops was blackmail paid to         
respectability2 the landlord who took   
his forty-five pounds a year from my    
pocket was a mere robber1 who took      
advantage of the need ,i had to live in 
a certain locality that ,i might attend 
to my vocation4  ,not only were my      
brains exploited that my employer might 
maintain a sumptuous house at           
,kensington1 but the wage he paid me was
 exploited by a host of other people1   
who had houses of their own to maintain4
 ,before ,i could feed my children ,i   
must help to pay for and cook the dinner
 of the folk who lived on the dividends 
of railways and omnibus companies4  ,on 
the way to my office the tailor took    
toll of me by forcing me to wear a garb 
which ,i detested1 simply because ,i    
dared wear no other garb4  ,i could not 
even drink plain water but that some one
 was the richer4  ,i was the common gull
 of the thing called convention4 ,i was 

plucked to the skin1 and if my skin had 
been worth turning into leather1 some   
one would have put in a claim to that4  
,even for my skin1 poor asset as it was1
 some one did wait1 when it had ceased  
to be of use to me1 for ,london         
cemeteries declare dividends upon the   
dead4  ,my case reminded me of an old   
gentleman ,i once knew1 who wore so many
 coats1 waistcoats1 and shirts to keep  
warmth in a body of singular            
attenuation1 that it was commonly said  
that by the time ,james ,smith undressed
 at night there was very little ,james  
,smith that was discoverable4           
,certainly by the time ,london had done 
wringing gold out of me there was very  
little gold left that was my own4       
,there was1 however1 one kind of comfort
 to be deduced from these reflections2  
if ,i was not nearly so well off as ,i  
appeared to be1 ,i had all the less to  
lose4  ,rightly considered it would not 
be #bej pounds per annum that ,i should 
lose by leaving ,london1 for ,i had     

never possessed that sum1 ,i calculated 
my real loss at something nearer #aej   
pounds1 and this seemed not so terrible 
a thing4  ,i had my forty pounds a year 
for certain4  ,i had the small earnings 
of my pen1 and with abundant time upon  
my hands ,i saw every reason why these  
should be increased4  ,could ,i face a  
new kind of life upon an income of      
seventy pounds per annum8  ,ah1 how     
anxiously that problem was debated with 
my wife1 many a night when the children 
were abed6  ,the natural conservatism of
 woman had a great deal to say in these 
debates4  ',it was all very well1' said 
my wife1 'to do these little sums on    
paper1 but suppose the facts did not    
correspond8  ,suppose ,i found no       
cottage at twenty pounds a year1 and no 
decent school at sixpence a week8  ,then
 the world was full of writers for the  
press4'  7,i frowned47  ',not of course 
like you1 not half so good1' she added  
with a smile1 'but how do you know that 
you will succeed8  ,show me a fixed     

income of #ajj pounds a year1 and ,i    
would chance it1 for ,i can live simply 
enough1' she would say1 'and am as fond 
of liberty as you4'  ,she might have    
added what ,i knew to be true1 that the 
penalties of ,london life fell heavier  
upon her than me4  ,i was not insensible
 to the instantaneous lightening of     
spirits that happened with her when she 
was able to forsake the abominable      
purlieus of the cellar-kitchen where her
 life was spent2 and although ,i knew   
not half her toils1 nor half her        
dejections and anxieties1 which were    
sedulously kept from me1 yet ,i was not 
wholly blind4  ,i had seen her too amid 
the roses of a cottage garden flying the
 colour of long-forgotten roses in her  
cheeks2 in the hay-field shaking off a  
dozen years in as many hours2 and       
although she was always young to me1 she
 never seemed so young and sweet as when
 we walked a honeysuckled lane together4
  ,her desire was with me ,i knew well2 
she had no fear of poverty1 and would   

have been content with plainer fare than
 ,i2 but her children made her prudent4 
,at last the one thing happened which   
made her prudence coincide with her     
desires2 one of the children sickened   
with a languor that was the precursor of
 disease1 and the doctors said that only
 country air could bring back strength4 
,and then fate itself took the whole    
matter out of my control4  ,something   
happened in the city--,i know not       
what--and the firm ,i served came near  
to shipwreck4  ,business shrank to a    
diminished channel1 and the staff of    
clerks must needs be reduced4  ,i have  
said some hard words of my employer as  
the exploiter of my labour2 he will     
appear no more in this history1 and my  
last word about him shall be justly     
kind4  ,he broke the news of his        
misfortune to me with a delicacy that   
made me respect him1 and with a         
hesitating painful shame that made me   
pity him4  ,he praised me beyond my     
merit for my twenty years of service2 he

 had hoped to keep me with him for      
another twenty years1 and ,i believe he 
spoke the truth when he said it pained  
him to think that his misfortunes should
 be mine4  ,he handed me in silence a   
cheque for fifty pounds4  ,he then shook
 my hand heartily1 murmured some vague  
words about hoping to reinstate me if   
things should mend1 and hurried from me2
 and in his broken look and bowed       
shoulders ,i read the prophecy that his 
days of fortune and success were gone   
for ever4  ,the little tragedy was      
played out in less than ten minutes4  ,i
 locked my desk1 put on my hat and coat1
 and went out into the street2 and my   
heart felt a pang at leaving the place  
which ,i should never have imagined     
possible4 ,i had walked fully half a    
mile before another thought occurred to 
me4 ,my blood suddenly sang in my veins1
 and ,i remembered that ,i was an       
emancipated slave2 at last ,i was ,free6
     ,,chapter ,,vi  ,,in ,,search ,,of 
,,the ,,picturesque  ,i was free1 but   

what was ,i to do with my freedom8      
,ingenious apologists for slavery used  
to argue that the slave was much happier
 as a bondman than a freeman1 as long as
 the conditions of his bondage were not 
unendurably harsh3 but no one ever knew 
a slave who held this creed4 ,there     
never was a slave who did not prefer his
 dinner of herbs1 earned by his own     
labour1 to the stalled ox of luxurious  
captivity4   ,for my part1 ,i thought   
the air never tasted so sweet as on that
 morning of my liberation4  ,i walked   
slowly1 drawing long breaths1 that ,i   
might taste its full relish1 as a       
connoisseur passes an exquisite and rare
 wine over his palate1 that he may      
discriminate its subtleties4  ,i became 
a lounger1 and took the pavement with   
the air of a gentleman at ease4  ,i     
wandered into ,hyde ,park1 paid my penny
 for a seat1 and sat down almost dizzy  
with the unaccustomed thought that there
 was not a human being in the universe  
who1 at that moment1 had the smallest   

claim to make upon my time or energy4   
,an hour passed in a kind of ecstatic   
dream4  ,it chanced to be a morning when
 ,queen ,victoria was driving from      
,paddington to ,buckingham ,palace1 and 
every instant the throng of carriages   
increased4  ,standing on my seat1 ,i saw
 an immense lane of people1 silent as a 
wood2 a contagious shiver stirred them1 
like a gust of wind amongst the leaves2 
,i saw the distant glitter of helmets   
and cuirasses1 and the pageant swept    
along with that one tired1 kindly1      
homely face for its centre of           
attraction1 luring loyalty even from a  
heart so republican as mine by its air  
of patient weariness4  ,i thought1 and  
,i believed the thought sincere1 that ,i
 would not have exchanged places with   
her who was the mistress of so many     
peoples1 the ,empress of such           
indeterminable ,empire4  ,my new-born   
loyalty was three-parts pity4  ,had she1
 who sat there in such 'lonely          
splendour1' ever known the day1 since as

 a young girl the heavy rod of empire   
was intrusted to her frail and          
unaccustomed hands1 when she woke to    
say1 ',this day ,i am free1 ,i will go  
where ,i will1 do as ,i please1 and none
 shall stay me8' ,yet ,i1 a manumitted  
clerk1 had come upon this singular and  
glad day2 and ,i had it in my heart to  
say with ,emerson1 ',give me health and 
a day1 and ,i will make the pomp of     
empire ridiculous4'  ,i turned slowly   
homeward in this glow of exultation4  ,i
 should have run1 for the news1 either  
good or evil1 called for instant        
communication4  ,let my delay stand     
excused2 ,i had certain matters to be   
settled with myself that morning4  ,my  
feet had to learn a new kind of         
movement1 and my thoughts a new         
sequence2 ,i was as a child learning to 
walk and think before ,i could take my  
place on equal terms with new           
companions4  ,one incident of my walk   
struck me by way of humour and          
discovery4  ,i had often strolled into  

bookshops toward evening1 and had       
remarked upon the cold discourtesy with 
which my presence was regarded4 ,now ,i 
knew the reason2 ,i had come at the     
clerk's hour1 and the keen eyes of      
discriminating shopmen had recognised my
 low estate4  ,i came now under altered 
auspices4  ,to shop at three in the     
afternoon is to give proof of leisure2  
behold1 in the eyes of obsequious       
shopmen ,i had at once become a wealthy 
dilettante1 nurturing the growth of an  
expensive library1 and the rarest books 
were laid before me with an ingratiating
 smile4  ,let the man who would         
understand how much the estimates men   
take of us are based on wealth1 or      
supposed wealth1 make the brief         
experiment of shopping at the rich man's
 hour1 instead of at the poor man's2 he 
will be surprised to note the difference
 of the social atmosphere4  ,a man's    
clothes may be poor enough1 and his     
appearance contemptible1 but if he will 
shop at the hour when all the drudges   

are at work1 no one will take him for a 
drudge4  ,i will confess it gave me     
pleasure to note this change of         
estimate4  ,i seemed to taste the first 
privilege of a freeman1 when a pursy    
bookseller took from a glass case       
certain expensive books on ,art1 and    
drew my attention1 with subtle deference
 to my judgment1 to the merits of the   
pictures they contained4  ,i may as well
 confess at once1 that so intoxicated   
was ,i with the new respect that greeted
 me1 that ,i even bought one of these   
volumes1 which ,i did not need1 and     
certainly could not afford4  ,it was a  
weakness and a folly1 no doubt2 but how 
could ,i tell my obsequious friend that 
,i paid my guinea not for anything he   
sold me1 but as a sort of first footing 
on my entrance to the realm of freedom8 
,i might have spent it much worse1 for  
,i bought my self-respect with it4  ,the
 sight of my doorstep brought me to my  
bearings1 for a man's own doorstep is a 
rare corrective of disordered fancies4  

,the fact ,i had to communicate was     
briefly this2 ,that ,i had lost #bej    
pounds per annum1 against which ,i had  
#ej pounds to show by way of            
compensation4  ,women1 ,i have long     
noticed--or women of the best kind1 ,i  
ought to add--have much more genius in  
finance than men4  ,they have a much    
keener sense of the use of money2 an    
excellent thing in women when it does   
not deteriorate into cheese-paring and  
sordid parsimony4  ,they1 being         
primitive and unsophisticated creatures1
 are unacquainted with the lax morals of
 the cheque-book2 a pound is just twenty
 shillings to them1 and each shilling is
 an entity1 and each is spent with an   
indomitable aim to get the most out of  
it4  ,how would my wife regard the      
definite disappearance of five thousand 
shillings8  ,not with levity1 ,i knew2  
and ,i thought it best to say nothing of
 that guinea volume on the ,tombs of the
 ,etruscans4  ,the ,tombs of the        
,etruscans would have meant to her three

 pairs of boots2 and ,i wished that ,i  
might conceal it in mine4  ,a wise      
bishop once argued that marriage was    
ordained not for man's pleasure1 but his
 discipline2 ,i believe that he was not 
far wrong4  ,it is no use disputing the 
fact that the married man is always in  
danger of the judgment2 and it is only  
by some form of bribery that he can hope
 to escape being cast in damages4  ,i   
resolved on bribery1 and made my cheque 
the bribe4  ,here said ,i1 was present  
wealth1 let us be content4  ,the plea   
was not received with instant favour1   
but it was not wholly ineffectual4  ,by 
the time we sat down to supper that     
night we had all attained to            
cheerfulness4  ,it was a meal of some   
tenuity1 not calculated to lie heavy on 
the stomach2 for1 said ,charlotte1 ',if 
we have to begin high thinking and plain
 living1 we can't begin too early4'     
,the only load on my digestion that     
night was the ,tombs of the ,etruscans4 
,it says much for the steadfastness of  

our convictions1 that in this new crisis
 of affairs the old resolution to seek a
 country life passed unquestioned4      
,what to another had seemed calamity    
appeared to us opportunity4  ,when the  
daily paper came next morning1 it was   
not to the columns where commerce       
chronicles its wants that my eye turned1
 but to the much more engaging columns  
where lands and houses were advertised  
for sale4  ,this part of the newspaper  
had long ago attracted me by its fine   
air of surreptitious romance4  ,my mind 
had often been kept aglow for a whole   
day by some seductive advertisement of  
cottages 'situate amid pine-woods1' or  
farmhouses1 all complete1 even to the   
styes and kennels1 which by all accounts
 were to be given away4  ,one such      
advertisement ,i particularly remember  
for a kind of insane generosity which   
pervaded it4  ,it described at length a 
farmhouse1 'stone-built and covered with
 ivy' 7observe the very definite sense  
of the picturesque conveyed in this     

phrase71 containing ten rooms1          
commanding pleasant views of a          
well-wooded country1 together with a    
large orchard1 and one hundred and fifty
 acres of freehold land1 the whole of   
which might be purchased for #gej       
pounds2 and1 added the advertiser1 'the 
furniture at present in the house is    
included in the price4'  ,i do not know 
where this terrestrial ,paradise        
existed2 ,i believe it was in ,essex2   
but ,i often regretted that ,i made no  
effort to discover it4  ,however1 the   
morning paper1 if it contained no       
paragraph comparable with this in point 
of style and seduction1 certainly did   
appear singularly rich in ,paradises4   
,philanthropists1 disguised as          
land-agents1 contended eagerly with one 
another through many columns of         
advertisements1 offering a reluctant    
world all the advantages of rural       
happiness on what appeared merely       
nominal terms4  ,it appeared that they  
did not even want the money1 which they 

mentioned only in a kind of gentlemanly 
whisper2 pay them but #ajj pounds in    
sound cash1 and the rest might stand at 
mortgage upon easy terms for an         
indefinite period6 ,one might have      
imagined that the whole of rural        
,england was depopulated2 that ,eden    
itself had been cut up into building    
lots2 that1 in fact1 the land-agent was 
subsidised by a paternal government to  
persuade the townsman to turn landed    
proprietor on terms which even the      
squatter in new lands would regard as   
generous4  ,the reality ,i soon found to
 be entirely different4  ,the moment ,i 
set about the deliberate business of    
finding a cottage ,i made a series of   
surprising discoveries which ,i will now
 relate4  ,in the first place1 ,i found 
that many of these much vaunted         
farmhouses were situated in districts   
utterly destitute of beauty1 and even   
desolate4  ,one specimen may stand for  
the whole4  ,i omit the particulars of  
the advertisement1 which was drawn up in

 the usual style2 but ,i must say1 in   
justice to its author1 that when ,i     
interviewed him in his city office he   
did what he could to discourage too     
abundant hope4  ,he did not go the      
length of admitting his description     
false1 but he told me drily that ',i had
 better see the thing for myself4'  ,an 
hour's journey found me on the ,essex   
flats4 ,there was a bright sky and a    
brisk wind1 but nothing could disguise  
the featureless monotony of the         
far-stretched landscape4  ,the train put
 me down at a roadside station where a  
dogcart waited my arrival4  ,i drove    
through a small village of mean1        
red-brick houses1 and soon found myself 
in the open country4  ,my driver made   
but one remark during the four-mile     
journey4  ',you be come to see ,dawes'  
farm8' he said4  ,i admitted the fact4  
',there's a-many has come1' he replied4 
',you be the twenty-first ,i have drove4
  ,an' they all be uncommon glad to get 
away agen4'  ',why8' ,i asked4  ',you'll

 soon find out4'  ,with that he lit his 
pipe and smoked stolidly4  ,i was not   
long in comprehending the reason of his 
reticence4  ,dawes' farm may once have  
been a comfortable residence1 but when  
,i saw it it was a mildewed1 rat-haunted
 ruin4  ,it stood upon a piece of       
redeemed marsh-land1 and the salt damp  
of the marsh had eaten into its very    
vitals4  ,the wainscots were            
discoloured1 the walls oozed1 and part  
of the roof was broken4  ,there had once
 been a garden2 that1 like the rest1 was
 a ruin4 ,the land was there no doubt1  
fifty acres said the advertisement1 but 
it was treeless1 bleak1 flat1 covered   
with coarse grass1 and cut up by muddy  
watercourses4  ,to have lived in the    
house at all it must have been rebuilt1 
and even then nothing could have made it
 a cheerful place of residence4  ,there 
was no water-supply that ,i could       
discover1 unless half a dozen butts that
 took the drippings of the roof         
represented it4 ,the orchard had long   

ago gone back to barbarism4  ,it        
appeared that the place had been        
deserted for half a dozen years4  ,i did
 not wonder4  ,the only wonder was that 
it had ever been inhabited4  ',ah1'     
repeated my driver1 'there's a-many as  
comes an' looks1 an' they all be        
uncommon glad to get away agen4'  ,i    
subscribed to the common sentiment4     
,never did that infinite diapason which 
we call the roar of ,london sound so    
sweet1 never did those long1 lighted1   
busy streets seem so habitable1 as on   
that night when ,i returned from my     
casual inspection of ,dawes' farm4  ,the
 memory of ,dawes' farm taught me that  
if ,i was to live in the country some   
charm of outlook was indispensable to my
 content4 ,mountains1 a lake1 a wood1 a 
running river--some delicate effect of  
scenery1 some concourse of elements1    
either in themselves or in their        
combination beautiful--these ,i must    
have if ,i would be happy4  ,they were  
as necessary to me as my daily bread4   

,but here ,i made a second disquieting  
discovery2 there was not a part of      
,england which could be justly described
 as beautiful that was not already      
occupied in the degree of its           
accessibility4  ,i thought of ,surrey2  
,i visited it and found myself in a     
superior ,cockney ,paradise4  ,half a   
dozen men of genius had in an           
inadvertent moment advertised the pure  
air of the ,surrey highlands1 and by the
 time ,i came upon the scene trim villas
 had sprung up by hundreds1 and wealth  
was already in possession4  ,the merest 
cottage in this favoured district       
provoked keen contest in the            
auction-room4  ,indeed1 in the true     
sense1 there were no cottages2 they had 
been transformed1 added to1 rebuilt1    
till only a remnant of their primitive  
rusticity remained4  ,it was the same   
everywhere4  ,i was too late by twenty  
years in this kind of quest4  ,i had    
been led to believe by various social   
writers that the villages of ,england   

were depopulated4  ,according to these  
fallacious chroniclers the country      
abounded in cottages and even small     
manor-houses from which the inhabitants 
had fled4  ,i can only say ,i never     
found it so4  ,a deserted roadside      
cottage ,i often found1 but there were  
obvious reasons for its desolation4     
,sometimes it was so far from other     
houses1 or any centre of congregated    
life1 that it must have been difficult1 
and almost impossible1 for any one      
residing in it to obtain the common     
necessaries of life4  ,more commonly it 
was deserted because it was falling into
 ruin4  ,but no sooner did ,i reach a   
real village than ,i found every house  
in occupation4  ,the usual complaint was
 lack of accommodation4  ,hence rents   
were by no means low1 and the contest   
for houses was vehement4  ,if the       
village had real beauties of its own--a 
cluster of thatched and dormer-windowed 
cottages1 properties valuable to the    
artist--one was sure to come upon       

immediate evidence of the cockney       
invasion4  ,what ,i thought a barn would
 as like as not prove a studio1 and it  
was no farmer who lived at the pleasant1
 yellow-washed farmhouse amid the       
rose-garden1 but 'a gentleman from      
,london4'  ,and we had but to go a      
little way down some shady lane to find 
a glaring board announcing building land
 for lease1 and from some local agent   
one obtained particulars of the exact   
kind of house which the investor would  
be permitted to build upon the site4    
,it will be said that this was not the  
country proper1 nor was it1 for ,london 
has annexed every place within fifty    
miles of ,charing ,cross4 ,but in the   
country proper a new difficulty met me3 
not only were there no empty cottages1  
but landowners stuck to their acres with
 such jealous obstinacy that they       
refused to sell a rood of land for a    
cottage on any terms whatever4  ,i will 
give one example1 which may be taken as 
typical4  ,there was a ,welsh valley    

where ,i had once spent a summer        
holiday1 exquisitely retired and        
beautiful--a dozen miles from the       
nearest railway4  ,beyond the green     
strath1 with its few white cottages and 
farms1 rose on every side the wide      
hills1 with ,snowdon towering over all  
like a dome4   ,the hillside land had   
but a prairie value4  ,it had never been
 cultivated4  ,a few sheep strayed over 
it2 but for months together no human    
foot trod its heather1 or wandered by   
its vociferous cascades4  ,one would    
have supposed that had any one offered  
to build a house on these solitary      
hillsides1 the owner of the land would  
have been only too glad to have fostered
 a folly that would have proved         
remunerative to himself4  ,on the       
contrary1 the two great landowners of   
the district stuck to every inch of soil
 as if it had been sown with gold4  ,the
 land was quite useless1 as ,i have     
said4  ,it might have been worth three  
pounds an acre--yet they refused fifty4 

,they would not even let on lease4  ,nor
 could it be pretended that the scenery 
would have lost any element of its charm
 by a cottage that would have been      
scarcely observed on those vast slopes  
of ,snowdon4 ,jealous obstinacy1 the    
desire to keep intact their own1 the    
desire to keep out all intruders--this  
was the temper of the landowners4  ,they
 did all they could to harass their     
existing tenants4  ,a tenant whose      
family had increased so that his cottage
 was as overcrowded as a tenement in    
,spitalfields1 had to plead long before 
he was allowed to add a couple of rooms 
to his cottage1 even when he did so at  
his own expense4  ,often enough he was  
refused so harshly1 that he was         
constrained to seek a house in some     
other district4  ,yet1 in all that      
valley1 which was five miles long by two
 in breadth1 there were not two hundred 
houses2 and there rose around them the  
unpopulated hillside1 where a host of   
people might have lived in health1 and  

where1 indeed1 men had once lived1 as   
was witnessed by the roofless gables    
which here and there rose among the     
heather4  ,it seems to me that in this  
state of things there is a monstrous    
injustice4  ,there is no law to compel  
these gentlemen to sell land1 and there 
is no public sentiment that can affect  
them4  ,they are the complete despots of
 the countryside4  ,if a man does not   
like their domination1 he leaves the    
district2 he knows that it is vain to   
resist it4  ,in this way many rural     
districts are depopulated1 or kept      
under-populated1 simply to gratify the  
selfish temper of a great proprietor4   
,it is not as though he lived in the    
district1 and wished to keep its        
beauties secret to himself2 often enough
 he visits it so rarely that his face is
 not known among his tenants4  ,no2 but 
he must have everything to himself2 he  
must round off his estate2 he must look 
from his park on nothing which is not   
his2 for your rural ,ahab could not     

sleep with a ,naboth's little vineyard  
even a mile away4  ,it is useless to    
tell him that the land you want is waste
 natural land1 on which you propose to  
confer value2 he prefers that it shall  
be valueless1 rather than that it shall 
be yours4  ,before population can be    
re-distributed to the advantage of town 
and country alike1 this difficulty must 
be overcome4  ,it can only be overcome  
by drastic legislation4  ,compulsory    
purchase1 regulated by an equitable land
 court1 is the only remedy2 and it is   
hard that ,irishmen should have1 and    
grumble over1 privileges which their    
,english brethren would receive with    
open arms4  ,such were some of the      
discoveries which ,i made when ,i came  
to the real business of finding a humble
 country residence4  ,in my ignorance   
and inexperience it had seemed the      
easiest thing in the world4  ,after a   
fortnight of experiment ,i began to     
think it was the hardest4     ,,chapter 
,,vii  ,i ,,find ,,my ,,cottage  ,in the

 meantime a circumstance had occurred   
which was of great importance to me4    
,some enterprising spirits had started a
 new weekly local paper1 and--mirabile  
dictu--they actually contemplated a     
literary page6  ,with a faith in        
suburban culture1 so unprecedented as to
 be almost sublime1 these daring        
adventurers proposed giving their       
readers reviews of books1 literary      
gossip1 and general information about   
the doings of eminent writers4  ,they   
offered the work to me at the modest    
honorarium of two pounds a week1 and    
were willing to give me a three years'  
agreement4  ,they were frank enough to  
acknowledge that their journal was      
likely to die of 'superiority to its    
public1' long before the three years    
were over2 but1 barring this disaster1  
they gave me assurance of regular       
employment4  ,this was the very thing   
for me4 ,one could write about books    
anywhere4  ,i thankfully closed with the
 offer and began to study the ha'-penny 

evening papers with assiduity1 in order 
to learn the craft of manufacturing     
biographies of living authors4  ,the    
greatest of all questions was thus      
settled3 ,i should not starve4 ,but the 
question of a local habitation remained 
as difficult as ever4 ,i went upon      
wild-goose chases innumerable2 was the  
victim of every kind of chance hint2    
gathered fallacious information from    
garrulous third-class passengers on many
 railways2 confided my case to carters  
and rural postmen1 who played upon my   
innocence with genial malice2 stayed so 
long at village public-houses without   
visible motive that ,i incurred the     
suspicion of the local constabulary1 and
 on one memorable occasion found myself 
identified with a long watched-for      
robber of local hen-roosts4  ,when ,i   
dropped upon some quaint village that1  
from a pictorial point of view1 seemed  
to offer all that ,i desired1 ,i found  
my tale1 that ,i wished to settle in it1
 universally derided4  ,no one could    

conceive any sane person as being       
desirous of living in a village2 the    
design seemed wholly unaccountable to   
people who themselves would have been   
only too glad to live in towns4  ,that  
,i came from ,london was against me1 ,it
 seemed to these village ,daniels barely
 possible that ,i was honest1 and quite 
certain that ,i cloaked some base       
designs under an innocent inquiry for   
empty cottages4 ,the little black bag in
 which ,i carried my lunch on these     
excursions was the object of            
extraordinary hypotheses4  ,at one time 
,i was believed to be selling tracts1 at
 another time1 tea2 once ,i was         
suspected of being an itinerant         
anarchist1 doing a brisk business in    
infernal machines4  ,landladies1 who had
 lavished smiles upon me when they      
supposed me an ordinary pedestrian in   
search of the picturesque1 gave me the  
cold shoulder when ,i began to explain  
my genuine intentions4 ,they sometimes  
treated me with such a mixture of       

aversion and alarm that it was plain    
they doubted not only my sincerity but  
my sanity4 ,the travelling artist they  
knew1 the pedlar1 the insurance agent1  
and the cockney beanfeaster2 but the    
stranger who desired permanent          
neighbourship with them they knew not2  
him they treated as a lunatic at large4 
,if the papers had chanced to be full at
 this time of the doings of some        
flagrant murderer flying from justice1  
which fortunately for me they were not1 
,i have little doubt that these amiable 
villagers would have delivered me up to 
the police without scruple1 and have    
chuckled over their sagacity4  ,the     
thing was amusing enough1 and yet it had
 a certain serious significance4  ,it   
was a striking illustration of the way  
in which the growth of cities had       
perverted even the rural mind4  ,i had  
thoughts of writing an article on ,the  
,reluctant ,villagers1 and a very good  
article ,i could have made of it2 for ,i
 found hardly any one who was a villager

 by choice4  ,a village might appear    
fair as ,paradise to the casual eye2 but
 closer inspection always revealed the  
serpent of discontent among the flowers4
  ,where every outward object breathed  
of rest1 there was universal            
restlessness among the people4  ,the    
common ambition of all the younger      
generation was to get to ,london by     
almost any means1 and in almost any     
capacity4  ,there was not a household   
that had not children or relatives in   
,london4  ,the young ploughman went to  
,london as a carter or ostler2 the      
milkmaid as a servant4  ,the village    
carpenter was invariably a middle-aged  
or an old man1 secretly despised by his 
apprentice1 if he had one1 for his      
contentment with his lot4 ,one saw very 
few young people in the village street1 
except mere children4  ,the universal   
complaint was that life was dull4       
,there were no libraries or             
reading-rooms2 no concerts or           
entertainments2 even the innocuous      

penny-reading had died out4  ,nor were  
there cricket clubs1 or any organised   
system of sport1 except in isolated     
cases4  ,here and there a modern-minded 
clergyman had recognised the need of    
recreation in his parishioners1 and had 
done something to provide for it2 but he
 was an exception4  ,hence it happened  
that the public-house was the common    
centre of the village life3 it was the  
poor man's club1 and it was used less   
for purposes of social intercourse than 
for the discussing of racing odds4      
,artists have often painted village     
politicians in earnest confabulation in 
an oak-pannelled inn-parlour4  ,i can   
only say that1 so far as my experience  
went1 ,i found the village politician   
quite extinct4  ,the sort of talk ,i    
heard in village bar-rooms was inane and
 contemptible to the last degree1 and it
 never once touched on politics4  ,nor1 
as a rule1 was there any trace of that  
leaven of superior intelligence which   
comes from a fusion of the classes4     

,all the landlords were practically     
non-resident4  ,they knew nothing of    
their tenants2 and that pleasant        
intercourse between hall and cottage    
which poets and novelists depict1 rarely
 happened4  ,once a year1 perhaps1 and  
for a few weeks only1 the blinds of the 
,hall windows were drawn up2 carriages  
rolled through the park gates2 young    
ladies1 bright in ,bond ,street toilets1
 flashed like deities upon the village  
street2 my ,lady ,bountiful left a      
quarter of a pound of tea at half a     
dozen cottages2 and then the whole      
vision faded like an unsubstantial      
pageant4  ,the blinds were drawn down   
again1 the lodge-keeper went to sleep1  
and the monotonies of life submerged    
everything like a wave4  ,the clergyman 
alone remained as the symbol of a fuller
 life1 sometimes doing his duty with    
intelligence1 sometimes not2 but the    
case was rare where any definite attempt
 was made to uplift the village         
community by the infusion of any        

intellectual interest1 any sense of     
,art1 or any care for honest sport4     
,and here lies the whole secret of the  
discontent of villages2 their           
inhabitants are conscious of unjust     
deprivations in their lot2 and if they  
remain villagers1 it is rather from     
lethargy than love4  ,were ,i to        
describe all the places ,i visited in   
search of a habitation1 my list would be
 interminable4  ,i have given one       
example in ,dawes' ,farm2 let me give   
one other1 as illustrating another kind 
of difficulty in my quest4  ,on an      
exquisite morning in ,june ,i found     
myself climbing the long chalk hills    
that lie northward of the ,thames       
valley4  ,at every step the air became  
more pure and sparkling2 and while in   
the hazy lowlands not a leaf stirred1   
here a brisk and gusty breeze was       
blowing4  ,the road ran through high    
chalk banks1 like a railway cutting1 and
 ,i have since found that ,roman        
soldiers used it in the days of ,caesar4

  ,at the height of three hundred feet  
authentic forest scenery began4  ,here  
the elms ceased1 and enormous woods of  
beech took their place4  ,the turf was  
of the greenest1 the solitude intense1  
the air exhilarating2 and never had ,i  
so admired the lace-like delicacy of    
foliage which distinguishes the beech1  
for never had ,i seen it in such mass or
 such perfection4  ,the house ,i sought 
stood at fully eight hundred feet above 
sea-level1 on a carpet of soft turf1    
round which the forest rose like a wall4
  ,never did place look so sweetly      
habitable2 it was a kind of green       
hermitage in the woods1 inimitably      
quiet1 warmed by clearest sunlight1     
cooled by freshest winds4  ,here1 said  
,i1 at last is my much sought ,el       
,dorado2 nor did the cottage1 when ,i   
came to it1 belie my hopes4  ,it was a  
true woodland cottage1 an intimate part 
and parcel of the scenery4  ,it had been
 recently inhabited by a man of letters1
 a poet and a dreamer2 and a fitter spot

 to dream in eye never rested on4  ,my  
enthusiasm rose as ,i drew nearer to it1
 ,there was a warm1 homely compactness  
about it1 as of a nest among the trees4 
,the forest turf came to the very gate2 
a young orchard of five hundred trees   
lay to the southward of the house1 a    
green paddock to the northward2 and1 as 
my advertisement informed me1 the entire
 price of this eligible freehold        
property was five hundred pounds6  ,why1
 then1 was its possessor so eager to be 
quit of it8  ,i walked round the house1 
went through its rooms1 took the view   
from various windows1 already treating  
it as mine1 and it was long before ,i   
came upon the cause4  ,that cause was   
not its remoteness or its solitude2 it  
was lack of water4  ,there was no well1 
and to have sunk a well would have been 
costly4  ,the only water-supply was the 
rain-water from the roofs4  ,men can    
laugh at a good many deprivations1 but  
deprivation of water is a serious       
business4  ,i found upon inquiry that   

the nearest spring was two miles away4  
,in time of drought--and in this high   
district summer drought was normal--it  
was this or nothing4  ,water was then   
sold by the bucket1 nor was it easy to  
find any one to fetch and carry for you4
  ,i had no mind to condemn myself to   
drink the droppings of a roof for life1 
nor to perform my ablutions by the aid  
of a teacup and a saucer4  ,the place1  
for all its beauty1 was plainly         
uninhabitable as the ,sahara4  ,a camel 
might have lived there with content2 it 
was no place for a family used to the   
delights of tubbing4  ,i had remarked in
 the owner of the house a certain       
elementary lack of linen2 the cause was 
now explained4  ,i think his only method
 of attaining cleanliness must have been
 by what is called 'the dry air         
process4'  ,this adventure lives in my  
memory1 not only because it had         
delightful elements1 but because it was 
the last of a long series1 which might  
have been called more truthfully        

misadventures4  ,for an exhilarating    
month ,i scoured the neighbourhood of   
,london1 living in a happy fever of     
enterprise and hope1 but without result4
  ,july came1 and my problem was still  
unsolved4   ,i had already given notice 
to terminate the tenancy of my house in 
,london1 and there seemed a fair        
prospect that ,september would find me  
homeless4  ,at my present height of good
 spirits ,i cannot say that even this   
prospect dismayed me4  ,if the worst    
came to the worst ,i meant to take to   
the road in one of those convenient vans
 much used by travelling hawkers4  ,i   
had long envied the extraordinary       
snugness of those itinerant habitations2
 to be a ,dr4 ,marigold seemed the      
happiest of fates2 rent free1 and       
finally delivered from tax-collectors   
and their tribe1 ,i might yet roam the  
world as a superior kind of vagrant4  ,i
 knew indeed a young friend of mine who 
had adopted this very life4  ,he sold   
tracts and ,bibles upon village greens1 

and ,i promise you no mansion had a     
warmer glow of comfort than the interior
 of his yellow van when the lamp was lit
 at night for supper4 ,he has since     
found his way to a lonely missionary    
station in ,peru2 but he has often told 
me that he was never happier than when  
he played the part of pious gipsy on the
 village greens of ,england4  ,at a     
pinch ,i thought that ,i could do what  
he had done2 it was a romantic trade1   
and a new ,lavengro might be written on 
it4  ,but whatever dreams of permanent  
and dedicated vagrancy ,i might         
entertain1 manifestly my first duty was 
to find a cottage if ,i could4 ,at last1
 and almost by accident1 ,i came on what
 ,i wanted4  ,i had gone to the ,lake   
,district in the month of ,august1 and  
one day ,i struck into a lonely road to 
the north-west of ,buttermere4  ,half an
 hour's walk brought me to a tiny hamlet
 beside a rushing stream1 and here1 for 
the first time in all my wanderings1 ,i 
found a genuine deserted cottage4 ,to   

speak by the book there were two        
cottages exactly similar1 covered by a  
single roof4  ,they stood upon a gentle 
slope2 a group of pines formed a shelter
 from the north1 the moorland rose      
behind them1 and the river sang through 
a contiguous glen4  ,my first glance    
told me that they had not long been out 
of occupation4  ,they showed no marks of
 dilapidation1 and the little gardens1  
though weed-grown1 gave signs of recent 
care4  ,a woman whom ,i met told me     
their history4  ,they had long been     
inhabited by two families1 father and   
son4  ,a few months previously these    
families had sailed for ,canada4  ,no   
one had applied for the cottages1 for in
 that part work was scarce1 and the     
foundries and shipyards on the coast    
drew away the younger population4  ,the 
rent--it seemed incredible--was two     
shillings a week4  ,the woman yielded to
 what she thought my idle curiosity1 and
 brought me the keys4 ,each cottage     
contained four rooms1 and the two could 

easily be thrown into one4  ,they were  
dry and water-tight1 the walls          
whitewashed and clean1 the woodwork     
sound and well cared for4  ,i sat down  
upon the sun-warmed bank beside the gate
 and thought4  ,here was solitude       
indeed2 a dozen neighbours in all1      
simple labouring folk3     ,the silence 
that is in the starry sky1   ,the sleep 
that is among the lonely hills4   ,here1
 too1 was beauty in excess2 a glen      
untrodden by the feet of tourists1      
moorland and pine-wood1 a stream that   
lifted up a cheerful voice1 hills and   
mountains of delightful form and colour1
 and not far away the silver gleam of   
lakes4  ,in all external features it was
 my dream come true1 and the            
deep-bosomed woman at my side1 with her 
face of rosy1 placid health1 was herself
 the proof of how lightly the wings of  
time passed over this haunt of ancient  
peace4  ,i suppose that no one ever     
approaches the realisation of his hopes 
without a kind of fear4  ,in those      

imaginary dramas which we invent and    
rehearse perpetually in the silent      
theatre of our own minds1 we always take
 care that we get the best of the       
situation and the dialogue4  ,the dramas
 of real life are apt to end            
differently4  ,the coveted occasion     
finds us incapable2 a baffling          
scepticism of our own powers leaves us  
impotent2 the part that ran so easily1  
with such unanimous applause1 when we   
were both the dramatist and the actor1  
suddenly bristles with a hundred        
unsuspected difficulties4  ,for the     
first time1 as ,i sat on that sunny     
bank1 ,i began to ask myself whether ,i 
could really play the part ,i had so    
long desired to play4  ,could ,i        
reconcile myself to seclusion so entire8
  ,would not this weight of utter       
silence grow heavier than ,i could bear8
  ,it was not always ,june1 ,i told     
myself1 and there were days of lashing  
rain1 grey skies1 and 'death-dumb autumn
 dripping' fog to think of4  ,the vision

 of lighted streets and bustling crowds1
 the warm contiguity of numbers1 the    
long lines of windows all aglow at      
evening1 the genial stir and tumult of  
congregated life1 took masterful        
possession of my mind4  ,could ,i bear  
to relinquish the familiar scene8 ,a    
thousand threads of use and habit bound 
me to it1 each in itself as light as    
gossamer1 but the whole tough as cords  
of steel4  ,i foresaw that ,i had       
underestimated the ease of my           
deliverance4   ,it would require a      
strength of consistent resolution of    
which perhaps ,i was not capable4  ,it  
was but too likely that ,i should be one
 of those who put their hand to the     
plough and look back1 a reluctant       
recruit of a cause that won my faith1   
but could not win my will4  ,this would 
be not only fatal to my peace1 it would 
make me despicable in my own eyes1 which
 is the worst of all calamities that man
 can suffer4  ,such a distress of mind  
was natural2 yet ,i think that behind it

 all my thought was firm and clear4     
,what ,i had proposed to do for twenty  
years ,i must do1 or attempt to do1 if  
,i would retain my self-respect4  ,i    
might become despicable to myself by    
failure in my task1 but ,i should be    
much more despicable by never trying to 
accomplish it4  ,in that half-hour of   
meditation the die was cast4  ,i had    
come to my predestined battlefield4  ,i 
must here be triumphant or defeated2 in 
any case ,i must attempt the conflict4  
,the decision restored1 as by a stroke  
of magic1 all my good spirits4  ,i      
examined my two cottages again with an  
eye less critical1 more kindly1 more    
urbane4  ,i saw with how few touches    
they could be transformed into a        
habitation suited to my needs4  ,with   
the two main rooms thrown into one ,i   
should have a spacious living-room2 the 
two gardens would compose an admirable  
lawn2 roses should grow against the     
walls1 warm-hued creepers frame the     
upper windows2 it should become a lodge 

in ,eden4 ,then there was the air1 the  
view1 the company of the silent         
mountains and the singing stream4  ,here
 was my theatre1 my orchestra1 my       
concert-room4  ,the woman who was my    
guide took me into her own cottage for a
 cup of tea1 and ,i was struck with its 
homely air of comfort4  ,an oak dresser1
 covered with blue ware such as is      
common in these parts1 filled one wall2 
an oak chest of drawers another2 there  
was a broad-seated oak settle by the    
fire2 all solid1 of a good design1 and  
polished to a deep brown by use and     
industry4  ,the floor was red brick2    
flowers lined the windows2 and          
everything was clean as hands could make
 it4  ,i saw my house furnished on the  
same plan1 and it pleased me4  ,a       
recollection crossed my mind1 curious   
and most fantastic at such a time1 of a 
certain room in one of the show-houses  
in ,london1 furnished entirely in the   
,french style4  ,i recalled the console 
tables of old gilt1 the brocaded couch1 

and the gilded chairs which no one dared
 to sit upon2 and ,i confess that ,i    
preferred this habitable cottage-room4  
,there was something satisfying in its  
plainness2 a sense of something honest  
and intimately right2 a suggestion of   
solid worth and homely ease4  ,my       
spirits had already been restored by my 
decision2 they were now invigorated to  
the point of joy1 for ,i saw the        
concrete emblems1 as it were1 of the    
beauty which is found in true           
simplicity4  ,the next day ,i returned  
to the spot accompanied by my wife and  
my two boys4  ,we made a new and        
elaborate inspection of the two         
cottages4  ,in the afternoon the        
landlord1 a neighbouring farmer1 met us4
  ,he was a dales-man born and bred1    
shrewd1 much given to silence1 but with 
a plenitude of genial good sense4  ,he  
began by being somewhat suspicious of us
 after the usual country fashion4  ,when
 he at last understood the sincerity and
 novelty of our intentions1 he treated  

us with a kind of fatherly derision1    
which had no hint of impoliteness or    
impertinence in it4  ',it will na do1   
,i'm thinking1' he said1 several times4 
,when he saw us persistent1 and that our
 persistence grew in the ratio of his   
dissuasion1 he said1 just as though he  
were talking to wayward children1       
',well1 a wilful man maun have his way4 
,as for my bit of cottages1 ye're       
welcome to them1 an' ,i'll ask no rent  
till ye've been in them long enough to  
know your own minds better4  ,they're of
 no worth to me1 an' ,i'll be your      
debtor for living in them4  ,if ye want 
to pull them aboot1 ye'll do it at your 
own expense1 ,i'm willing4  ,later on1  
if ye care to stay1 you and me'll fix a 
rent1 an' ,i gie ye ma word it shall na 
be more than ten pund a year4  ,i'll    
help ye too if ye'll let me4  ,i can    
find ye a man as 'll do all the little  
jobs you want done1 an' glad to do it4  
,as for fishing1 the stream's yours1 an'
 ,i would na say but what ye might get  

some shooting too4  ,but ye'll tire of  
it1 ye'll tire of it1' he concluded1    
with a grave smile4  ,with that he      
handed us the keys4  ,he then shook our 
hands with the melancholy air of a man  
who says farewell to friends embarked   
upon a perilous adventure1 and strode   
away across the heather1 stopping once  
to wave his hand to us as if in wise    
dissuasion4  ,so ,mahomet might have    
stood above ,damascus when he said1 ',my
 ,paradise is not there1' and yet       
,damascus was a ,paradise all the same4 
,,chapter ,,viii  ,,buying ,,happiness  
,we are all children1 and in nothing so 
much perhaps as in the kind of delight  
we take in any form of building4  ,the  
architectural efforts of a child with a 
box of bricks or a heap of sand explain 
the ,tower of ,babel1 the ,pyramids1 and
 the ,golden ,house of ,nero4           
,house-building unites the ideal with   
the real more thoroughly than any other 
human employment4  ,what can there be   
more delightful than to see that which  

you have dreamed grow into tangible and 
enduring form8  ,no wonder the rich man 
builds himself 'a lordly                
pleasure-house'2 it is a kind of        
practical poetry which he can           
understand4  ,were there only           
millionaires enough to go round all     
architects would be wealthy1 for        
building is a kind of material art      
admirably suited to men of material     
intelligence4  ,the weeks which followed
 the acquisition of my two deserted     
cottages were the most delightful ,i    
have ever spent4  ,first of all1 there  
was the question of structural          
alterations to be considered4  ,in my   
opinion the living-room of the house is 
the chief consideration4  ,it should be 
a room to live in1 the focus of the     
whole life of the household4  ,for this 
reason it should be large and airy1     
covering the whole site of the house as 
nearly as possible4  ,one large room is 
infinitely to be preferred to two or    
three small rooms2 it is healthier1 and 

much more cheerful4  ,space and air are 
most needed in the room which is most in
 use4  ,it is of no consequence that the
 bedrooms should be small2 one's active 
hours are not spent in them1 and a      
window left wide open summer and winter 
will provide an ample supply of oxygen  
in the smallest chamber4  ,what can be  
more absurd than the arrangement of a   
modern ,london villa8  ,it is usually   
cut up by partition walls into a number 
of small rooms1 not more than one of    
which is in constant use4  ,pretension  
takes the place of comfort4  ,mrs4      
,grundy must have a 'drawing-room' or   
die6  ,it is a kind of holiest of       
holies1 too beautiful for normal        
occupation1 full of gimcrack chairs that
 cannot be sat upon1 and decorative     
futilities which give it the aspect of a
 miscellaneous stall at a 'rummage      
sale4'  ,such a room is very well as a  
withdrawing-room1 its proper use2 but as
 a room into which no one withdraws it  
is absurd4 ,as ,i expected to keep no   

company1 and needed no room into which  
to withdraw1 ,i was able to get rid of  
this apartment4  ,moreover1 in a very   
small house1 common sense demanded that 
every room should be really and         
thoroughly used4  ,fortunately the      
fireplaces of my two cottages were      
against the outer or gable ends1 and not
 against the partition wall1 as is      
commonly the case4  ,i had only to      
remove this partition wall1 supporting  
the ceiling by a strong beam1 and ,i had
 a room about twenty-four long by       
fifteen in breadth4  ,at the back of    
this room were two small kitchens1 only 
one of which was needed4  ,by widening  
the doorway leading to one of them to   
double its breadth1 ,i gained another   
room about ten feet square4  ,this made 
my library1 by which ,i mean not a room 
in which ,i ever sat1 but a room        
entirely devoted to the housing of my   
books4  ,i had the walls entirely lined 
with books1 making and staining the     
bookshelves with my own hands4   ,across

 the widened doorway from which the door
 had been removed hung a warm curtain1  
so that it was to all intents and       
purposes a part of my living-room4  ,i  
took infinite and almost childish       
delight in the arrangement of this      
living-room4  ,i had brought not a      
single article of domestic furniture    
with me from ,london4  ,such furniture  
as ,i had--chairs1 tables1 couch1       
sideboard1 and so forth--would have     
looked out of place in the country1 and 
moreover it was better economy to sell  
them4  ,i sold them very well in a      
,london auction-room1 getting almost as 
much as they cost me4  ,with the money  
thus received in my pocket ,i went to a 
neighbouring market town where there    
happened to be a shop that dealt in old 
furniture4  ,for less than ten pounds ,i
 bought an excellent oaken gate-table1  
half a dozen serviceable oak chairs1 a  
couple of fine carved chests1 and a     
corner cupboard4  ,my oak dresser and   
settle1 each good specimens of          

serviceable cottage furniture1 cost me  
thirty-seven shillings at a country     
auction4  ,i found that even at these   
modest prices ,i had paid too much4     
,oaken furniture was common in these    
parts1 and had little value4  ,when a   
church was restored1 or an old house    
re-constructed1 large quantities of old 
oak were literally thrown away4  ,thus1 
at a merely nominal expense ,i acquired 
enough carved oak to fit together into a
 handsome fireplace1 and later on the   
pews of a church came in for oak        
panelling4  ,let me now picture my      
living-room as it was about four months 
after ,i took possession4  ,it was      
entirely oak panelled to a height of    
nine feet1 above which about a foot of  
white-washed wall showed1 forming a     
plain frieze4  ,the fireplace at one end
 of the room was built in with carved   
oak2 what had been the corresponding    
fireplace at the other end of the room  
was turned into a cupboard1 with plain  
oak doors4  ,the room had three         

old-fashioned leaded windows opening    
outward4  ,two were original1 one had   
been added--the centre window taking the
 place of the gap left by the destroyed 
partition wall4  ,my oak chests1 dresser
 and cupboard1 constituted the furniture
 of the room4  ,the library1 curtained  
off with a plain curtain of crimson     
plush1 adjoined2 the kitchen door opened
 at the east corner of the room4  ,the  
windows faced due south4  ,the room     
therefore was always sunny4  ,the       
floor-boards were stained1 and covered  
by two or three cheap rugs4  ,flowers   
were at the windows1 a vase of flowers  
always on the table4  ,the fireplace was
 open1 for ,i had removed the ugly      
modern grate1 substituting for it a low 
hearth of red brick with iron dogs1 on  
which wood could be burned4 ,this room1 
with the adjoining library1 was the     
great feature of my little house4  ,the 
other rooms in the house required no    
alteration2 fresh whitewash and         
wall-papers soon transformed them2 and  

although they were small1 they were not 
devoid of charm4  ,when my scheme of    
adaptation was complete ,i found myself 
possessed of a house containing one     
beautiful living-room1 a small library1 
a kitchen1 and four good bedrooms4  ,my 
bill for labour1 including the mason's  
work in the removal of the partition    
wall1 the building of a new window1 and 
the laying of a fresh hearth2 the       
carpenter's work in fitting my oak1 and 
various minor repairs1 amounted in all  
to about twelve pounds4  ,the cost of my
 furniture1 including the oak panelling 
in the living-room1 and all that was    
needed for the bedrooms1 was about fifty
 pounds1 against which ,i had to set    
thirty-eight pounds1 received from the  
sale of my superfluous effects in       
,london4  ,if ,i added to these sums the
 general expenses of removal1 the       
carriage and cartage of my goods1 and so
 forth1 which ,i reckoned at ten pounds1
 ,i found that the cost of my exodus and
 new tenancy had been as follows3--     

,l4   s4   d4   ,by expenses of removal 
4 4 4 4 4 4  #aj   #j    #j   ,by       
alterations and labour 4 4 4 4 4  #ab   
#j    #j   ,by cost of furniture for    
living-room     and four bedrooms 4 4 4 
4 4 4 4 4  #ej   #j    #j               
-----------                             
,l#gb   #j    #j   ,against which1 by   
sale of goods in     ,london  4 4 4 4 4 
4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4  #ch   #j    #j         
-----------   ,leaving total outlay of 4
 4 4 4 4 4 ,l#cd   #j    #j             
-----------   ,i am conscious that to a 
townsman1 accustomed to the wastefulness
 of towns1 some parts of this account   
must appear incredible4  ,take1 for     
instance1 the bill for labour4  ,no one 
has ever lived in ,london without having
 occasion to complain of the dearness   
and badness of labour4  ,the chief      
object of the town artisan is to do as  
little work as possible4 ,he is         
absolutely without conscience in his    
work1 and all that he does is slovenly4 
,he surveys a job1 and meditates upon it

 for an hour--at your expense2 begins   
it1 and goes away to fetch a tool that  
he has forgotten--the time of his       
absence being duly charged against you2 
procrastinates and dawdles2 sits down to
 read the paper1 if no one watches him2 
and in one way and another takes quite  
twice as long over a job as is needed1  
and then does it badly4  ,when ,i first 
became a householder in ,london ,i      
naturally sent to some neighbouring     
employer of labour for any little jobs  
of carpentering and plumbing that needed
 to be done4  ,i soon had to relinquish 
the practice4  ,if a new latch were put 
upon a window1 the screws were driven   
into the old holes1 so that in a week   
the latch was off again4  ,if the       
plumber effected one repair he          
invariably left some damage that made it
 necessary to recall him before the     
month was out4  ,there are houses in    
,london which must be as good as an     
annuity to local tradesmen2 ,i believe  
the workmen are instructed to do their  

work so badly that it is never really   
done4  ,i soon found it wise to learn   
how to do repairs for myself2 and it was
 by doing them myself that ,i discovered
 how ,i had been victimised by the      
rapacity1 dishonesty1 and inefficiency  
of the ,british workman and his master4 
,but in the country things are          
different4  ,the village workman has    
honest pride in his reputation1 and in  
his work4  ,moreover1 he can turn his   
hand to anything1 he does not grudge his
 time1 and he is not corrupted by the   
contiguity of the public-house4  ,the   
man who did my masonry work for me was a
 grey-haired1 silent1 pertinacious      
fellow1 of great practical intelligence 
and efficiency4  ,he did not work       
rapidly1 but all that he did was        
thoroughly done4  ,the carpenter was a  
man of the same type4  ,he took a       
genuine delight in fitting my oak to its
 new uses1 and had ideas of his own1    
which were often ingenious1 and always  
practical4  ,he even had a true artistic

 sense2 uncultivated for want of        
education1 but real4  ,i understood the 
extraordinary skill of mediaeval        
craftsmen through my association with   
this man4  ,the pieces of exquisite     
carved oak which find their way into    
museums to-day were wrought by men such 
as he was2 quiet1 thoughtful men1       
residing in villages1 who developed     
their artistic sense in solitude4  ,i am
 quite sure that this man thought a     
great deal more of his work than of the 
money he earned by it4  ,at all events  
he charged me astonishingly little4  ,he
 refused a contract1 evidently regarding
 it as implying suspicions of his       
honesty4  ',i'll charge ye what's fair1'
 he said1 'and you and me'll not quarrel
 as to the price4'  ,if my bill for     
labour was so moderate that it seems    
absurd to a townsman1 it was because ,i 
had to deal with honest craftsmen1 who  
brought not only efficiency and         
handiness to their work1 but a high     
sense of honour1 and a real intelligence

 and interest4  ,it was in the end of   
,august when ,i took my house2 by the   
beginning of ,december ,i had completed 
my work upon it4  ,the gardens in front 
of the house had been levelled1 and     
covered with the finest mountain turf4  
,the walls had been colour-washed a warm
 yellow1 and all the window-frames      
painted white4  ,for three months every 
hour had been busy1 and not the least   
blessing of my toil was that it had     
brought me a degree of physical vigour  
such as ,i had never yet enjoyed4  ,how 
different were my sensations when ,i    
woke in the morning now from those which
 ,i had known in ,london6  ,in ,london  
the hour of rising had invariably found 
me languid and reluctant4  ,i woke with 
the sense of a load upon me1 and ,i     
dreaded the long grey day4  ,i see now  
that these sensations were not so much  
mental as physical4  ,i had not mental  
buoyancy simply because ,i was deficient
 in physical vitality4  ,but at         
,thornthwaite ,i woke eager for the day4

  ,the first sounds that greeted me     
through the open window were the songs  
of the birds1 the sea-like diapason of  
the wind in the elm-trees on the lawn1  
and the animating song of the river in  
the glen4  ,the weather during the whole
 of that autumn was extraordinarily     
fine4  ,after a week of equinoctial     
storm in the end of ,september1 the     
weather settled into exquisite repose4  
,day succeeded day1 calm1 bright1 sunny4
  ,it was as warm as ,august1 but with  
all the tonic freshness of autumn4      
,november1 usually a month of misery in 
,london1 was here delightful4  ,the year
 died slowly1 amid the pomp of crimson  
leaves and bronzed bracken4  ,for the   
first time ,i understood that it is     
bliss to be alive4  ,like the child whom
 ,wordsworth celebrates1 ,i felt my life
 in every limb4  ,there was no goading  
of dull powers to unwelcome tasks2      
energy ran free1 like the               
mountain-stream at my door1 and the zest
 of life was strong in me4  ,i never    

came downstairs into my living-room     
without a sense of new delight4  ,how   
beautiful1 how sweetly habitable it     
looked in the morning sunshine6  ,any   
one living in a city1 who immediately on
 rising enters the room which he has    
used overnight1 has noticed the peculiar
 staleness of the atmosphere4  ,it is   
not exactly a noxious atmosphere2 there 
is no palpable unpleasant odour in it1  
but it is used up1 it is stale4  ,he    
will also notice the dust which rests on
 everything4  ,in a city the daily      
grinding of millions of wheels over     
thousands of miles of roads fills the   
air with an acrid1 almost impalpable    
powder1 which finds its way even through
 closed windows and settles upon        
everything4 ,in my ,london house ,i     
could not take up a book without soiled 
fingers4 ,even books which were         
protected by glass doors1 and papers    
shut up in drawers1 did not escape this 
filthy powder1 composed of the          
fine-ground dust and excrement of the   

,london streets4  ,if ,i wiped a picture
 with a white silk handkerchief1 a black
 stain showed itself upon the           
handkerchief1 and this in spite of the  
most careful efforts to keep the house  
clean4  ,i suppose ,londoners get used  
to dirt1 as eels are said to get used to
 skinning4  ,they spend their time in   
washing their hands1 but with the most  
transient gain of cleanliness4  ,no one 
knows how filthy ,london is till he     
begins to notice how much longer        
window-curtains1 household draperies1   
and personal linen keep clean in the    
country4  ,i should not like to be      
called an old maid1 but ,i confess to an
 old-maidish care for cleanliness4      
,untidiness in books or papers would not
 distress me1 but dirt is a real        
distress2 and if it be old-maidish to   
fight a continual battle with dirt1 to  
scour and polish and dust1 content with 
nothing less than immaculate purities of
 polished surface1 then ,i suppose ,i am
 an old maid1 and ,i count it to myself 

for righteousness4  ,amid the many      
miseries of cities1 this no doubt is but
 a minor misery1 but the relief which ,i
 experienced in deliverance from it was 
disproportionately great4  ,the purity  
and freshness of the atmosphere1 the    
corresponding cleanliness of all ,i     
touched in the house1 were delightful to
 me1 and added to my self-respect4  ,the
 clean1 aromatic air passed like a      
ceaseless lustration through every room 
of the house4 ,the very bed-linen1      
bleached in the open air1 had acquired  
the fragrance of mountain thyme and     
lavender4  ,i did not need to climb the 
hill to find the pine-woods2 they grew  
round the very table where ,i ate4      
,four walls and a roof gave me shelter1 
yet ,i lived in the open air all the    
time4  ,then there was also the silence1
 at first so strange as to be almost    
oppressive1 but later on sweeter than   
music4  ,it was at early morning and    
nightfall that this silence was most    
intense4  ,on a still night one could   

almost hear the earth move1 and fancy   
that the stars diffused a gentle        
crackling noise as of rushing flame4    
,the fall of an acorn in a pine wood    
startled the ear like an explosion4     
,the river also was discerned as having 
a definite rhythm of its own4  ,it ran  
up and down a perpetual scale1 like a   
bird singing4  ,what had seemed a heavy 
confused sound of falling water resolved
 itself into regular harmonies1 which   
could have been written down in musical 
notation4  ,at times there was also in  
the air the sense of breathing4  ,on a  
dark night1 standing at my door1 ,i had 
the sense of a great heart that beat in 
the obscurity1 of a bosom that rose and 
fell1 of a pulse as regular as a clock4 
,i think that the ear must have         
recovered a fine sensitiveness1 normal  
to it under normal conditions1 but lost 
or dulled amid the deafening roar of    
towns4  ,it is scarcely an exaggeration 
when poets speak of hearing the grass   
grow2 we could hear it1 no doubt1 if the

 ear were not stunned by more violent   
sounds4  ,it is probable that mere      
increase of vitality in itself is       
sufficient to account for this new      
delicacy of the physical senses4  ,the  
senses adapt themselves to their        
environment4  ,an example of this is    
found in the absence of what is called  
long sight among city children4  ,having
 no extensive horizon constantly before 
the eye1 the power of discerning distant
 objects gradually decays4  ,on the     
contrary a child brought up upon the    
,african veldt1 where he is daily       
confronted with almost infinite         
distances1 acquires what seems to be an 
almost preternatural sharpness of       
vision4  ,it is the same with hearing4  
,the savage can distinguish sounds which
 are entirely inaudible to the civilised
 man4 ,the footfall of his enemy1 the   
beat of a horse's hoofs1 the movement of
 a lion in the jungle1 are heard at what
 appear impossible distances4  ,i do not
 seek to offer any absolute explanation 

of these phenomena as regards myself1   
but ,i state the fact that in returning 
to a natural life ,i found a remarkable 
quickening of my physical senses4  ,as  
my eye became accustomed to the wide    
moorland prospects ,i found myself      
increasingly able to discriminate       
distant objects4  ,flowers that had     
seemed to me to smell pretty much alike1
 now had distinct fragrances4 ,i knew   
when ,i woke in the morning from which  
direction the wind came1 by its odour2  
the wind from the moorland brought the  
scent of heather and wild thyme1 the    
wind from the glen the scent of water4  
,it was the same with sound4  ,properly 
speaking there is no such thing as      
silence in ,nature4  ,the silence1 or   
what seems silence1 is divisible into a 
multitude of minute sounds4  ,everything
 in ,nature is toiling and straining at 
its task1 the sap in the tree1 the rock 
balanced on its bed of clay1 the        
grass-blade pushing and urging its way  
toward the sun4 ,and as there is no real

 silence1 so there is no real solitude  
in a world where every atom is          
vigorously at work4  ,wordsworth's      
conception of ,nature as a ,presence    
becomes at once intelligible when we    
live close to the heart of ,nature4     
,had ,wordsworth lived in towns his     
poetry could never have been written1   
nor can its central conception of       
,nature as a ,presence be understood by 
the townsman4  ,i had often enough read 
the wonderful lines--           ,and ,i 
have felt   ,a presence that disturbs me
 with the joy   ,of elevated thoughts3 a
 sense sublime   ,of something far more 
deeply interfused1   ,whose dwelling is 
the light of setting suns1   ,and the   
round ocean1 and the living air1   ,and 
the blue sky1 and in the mind of man    
,a motion and a spirit1 that impels     
,all thinking things1 all objects of all
 thought1   ,and rolls through all      
things4   ,but ,i never really          
understood them till ,i lived among     
scenes similar to those in which they   

were composed4  ,and the organ by which 
they were interpreted was not the mind  
so much as the senses1 quickened and    
invigorated by solitude4  ,i presented a
 more sensitive surface to ,nature1 and 
the instant result was the perception of
 ,nature as of something alive4  ,in the
 silence of the night1 as ,i stood at my
 door1 ,i felt the palpitation of a real
 life around me2 the sense1 as ,i have  
said1 of a breathing movement1 of       
pulsation1 of a beating heart1 and then 
,i knew that ,wordsworth wrote with     
strict scientific accuracy1 and not with
 vague mysticism as is commonly         
supposed1 when he described ,nature as a
 living ,presence4  ,the sum of these   
sensations was for me a state of        
physical beatitude4 ,i was often        
reminded of the grim confession of the  
poor wastrel1 who1 when asked where he  
lived1 replied1 ',i don't live1 ,i      
linger4'  ,i had never really lived2 ,i 
had lingered4  ,i had trodden the path  
of the days and years with reluctant    

feet4  ,now every daybreak was a new    
occasion of joy to me4  ,i was          
rejuvenated not only in mind1 but in the
 very core and marrow of my body4  ,i   
had put myself in right relation to     
,nature2 ,i had established contact1 as 
electricians would say2 and as a        
consequence all the electric current of 
,nature flowed through me1 vitalising   
and quickening me in every nerve4  ,men 
who live in cities are but half alive4  
,they mistake infinite contortion for   
life4  ,life consists in the efficient  
activity of every part of us1 each part 
equally efficient1 and moving in a      
perfect rhythm4  ,for the first time1   
since ,i had been conscious of myself1  
,i realised this entire efficiency4     
,many times ,i had coveted what is      
called 'rude health1' but ,i had been   
led to believe that rude health implies 
lack of sensitiveness4  ,i now found the
 reverse to be the case4  ,perfect      
health and perfect sensitiveness are the
 same thing4  ,i felt1 enjoyed1 and     

received sensations more acutely simply 
because my health was perfect4  ,it may 
be said that the sensations afforded by 
such a life as mine were not upon a     
grand scale4  ,they were not to be      
compared with the acute and poignant    
sensations afforded--perhaps ,i should  
say inflicted--by a city4  ,i can only  
say they were enough for me4  ,all      
pleasures are relative1 and the simplest
 pleasure is capable of affording as    
great delight as the rarest4  ,the sight
 of a flower can produce as keen a      
pleasure as a ,coronation pageant1 and  
the song of a bird may become to the    
sensitive ear as fine a music as a      
sonata by ,beethoven4  ,may ,i not also 
say that the simplest pleasures are the 
most enduring1 the commonest delights   
are the most invigorating1 the form of  
happiness which is the most easily      
available is the best8  ,the further we 
stray from ,nature the harder are we to 
please1 and he knows the truest pleasure
 who can find it in the simplest forms4 

,,chapter ,,ix  ,,how ,,we ,,lived  ,the
 most common objection to country life  
is what is called its dulness4  ,when ,i
 used to suggest to my town             
acquaintances the advantages of a       
holiday in purely rustic scenes1 ,i was 
always met by the remark3 ',oh1 there   
would be nothing to do there6'  ,no     
doubt if a holiday is devoted to        
lounging1 it is much more difficult to  
lounge at a solitary farm than at some  
crowded seaside resort4  ,but my        
holidays in the country had never been  
of this description4  ,i am             
constitutionally unfitted for a lounger4
  ,i like to have my days planned out1  
and to live them fully4  ,a country     
holiday for me had always meant         
incessant occupation of one kind or     
another1 fishing1 climbing1 boating1    
long cycling excursions1 and an         
industrious endeavour to explore all    
scenes of interest within a reasonable  
compass4  ,now that ,i had come to live 
in the country1 ,i felt more than ever  

the need of incessant occupation1 for ,i
 fully realised that the worst enemy of 
human happiness is ennui4  ,during the  
first three months1 while ,i was busy in
 getting settled1 there was no danger of
 ennui4  ,i was constantly interested1  
and ,i was constantly at work4  ,i      
learned how to do carpentering and      
joiner's jobs with a fair proficiency2  
,i dug nearly an acre of land at the    
back of my house with my own spade2 made
 paths1 and planted fruit trees2 all the
 turf for my lawn ,i laid myself1 with a
 few hours' assistance from a farm-hand2
 and there was no night when ,i did not 
go to bed with aching muscles and often 
with bruised hands4  ,if my bill for    
labour was absurdly moderate1 it was    
partly because ,i did so much myself4   
,for instance1 ,i employed no one to    
hang papers or to whitewash ceilings or 
paint woodwork4  ,with the willing help 
of my wife and my boys this was done    
with complete satisfaction4  ,one result
 of these labours was the pride and love

 for our little homestead which they    
created4  ,in modern civilised life we  
get too many things done for us1 and    
this is not merely an economical but an 
ethical mistake4  ,it is difficult to   
feel any real pride in a home which is  
the creation of other people4 ,in a true
 state of civilisation no man will pay  
another to do what he can do himself4   
,not only does he preserve his          
independence by such a rule1 but he     
creates a hundred new objects of        
interest for himself4 ,the paper which  
,i had hung with my own labour gave me a
 pleasure which a much finer paper hung 
by paid labour could not have given me4 
,the lawn which ,i had laid with my own 
hands seemed more intimately mine than  
if ,i had paid some one else to make it4
  ,the more ,i reflect upon the matter  
the more am ,i convinced that one of the
 great curses of civilisation is the    
division of labour which makes us       
dependent upon other people to a degree 
which destroys individual efficiency4   

,thrown back upon himself as a dweller  
in a wilderness1 any man of ordinary    
capacity soon develops efficiency for   
kinds of work which he would never have 
attempted in a city1 simply because a   
city tempts him at every point to       
delegate his own proper toil to others4 
,i can conceive of few things that would
 do more to create a genuine pride of   
home than to insist that no man should  
possess a house except by building it   
for himself1 after the old primitive    
principle of the earliest social        
communities4  ,to build thus is to mix  
sentiment with the mortar1 and the house
 thus created is a place to which       
affections and memories cling2 whereas  
the mere tenancy of a cube of rotten    
bricks1 thrown together by the          
jerry-builder--of which we know no more 
than the amount of rent which is charged
 for it--is incapable of nourishing any 
sentiment1 and is1 in any case1 not a   
home but a lodging4  ,this idea is no   
doubt chimerical2 for in a vast city1   

where the great object is to escape     
starvation1 no one has time to interest 
himself deeply in the kind of house he  
occupies1 and still less has he the     
opportunity to build a house which is   
the expression of his own taste and     
labour4  ,but in the country the idea is
 not only practicable1 it is urgent4    
,independence is made necessary because 
there are fewer people on whom we can   
become dependent4  ,i soon found that if
 ,i wanted potatoes and cabbages1 ,i    
must grow them2 if a pipe burst there   
was no plumber to mend it1 ,i must mend 
it myself2 and so through a long range  
of occupations1 with which ,i had had no
 previous acquaintance4  ,the immortal  
,captain ,davis1 of the ,sea ,ranger1   
remarks to the incompetent landsman     
,herrick1 whom he has engaged as first  
mate on the ,farralone1 ',there ain't   
nothing to sailoring when you come to   
look it in the face1' and ,i am inclined
 to think that the observation is true  
of other things besides navigation4     

,there is nothing in ordinary gardening1
 carpentering1 or work about a house    
that any intelligent man cannot learn in
 a month by giving his mind to it4      
,intelligence1 industry1 and a deft hand
 will take any man of capacity through  
any of the ordinary employments of life 
with moderate credit1 or at least       
without disgrace4 ,when once the right  
handling of tools is learned1 the rest  
is merely a matter of intelligence4  ,at
 all events1 ,i had to learn how to be  
proficient in the handling of many      
strange tools1 because there was no one 
within reach to handle them for me4     
,the experience was salutary for me in  
every way4  ,it taught me to be ashamed 
of that kind of inefficiency which in   
towns is reckoned the hall-mark of      
gentility4  ,it taught me the virtue of 
that independence which makes a man     
equal to his own needs4  ,it also saved 
me from ennui4  ,i found myself living a
 much busier life than ,i had ever      
lived4  ,i had never worked so hard1 and

 yet there was not a single part of my  
work that did not add to my delight4    
,and ,i worked for direct results1 for  
things ,i could see1 and things which ,i
 might justly claim as my own1 since ,i 
had created them4  ,i shall perhaps fall
 under the suspicion of morbid          
sensitiveness when ,i confess that ,i   
never took my weekly wage in ,london    
without a qualm and a compunction1 for  
,i could never make myself believe that 
,i had really earned it4  ,what had ,i  
done8  ,i had simply performed a few    
arithmetical processes which any        
schoolboy might have done as well4  ,my 
labour1 such as it was1 was absorbed    
instantly in the commercial operations  
of a great firm4  ,i could not trace it1
 and ,i had no means of estimating its  
value4  ,the money ,i took for it seemed
 therefore to come to me by a sort of   
legerdemain4  ,that some one thought it 
worth while to pay me was ostensible    
proof that my work was really worth     
something2 but so little able was ,i to 

penetrate the processes that resulted in
 this judgment1 so vivid was the sense  
of some ingenious jugglery in the whole 
business1 that ,i did not know whether  
,i had been cheated or was a cheat1 in  
living by a kind of labour that cost me 
so little4  ,how different was my       
feeling now6  ,at the end of an hour's  
spade-work1 ,i saw something actually   
done1 of which ,i was the indisputable  
author4 ,when ,i laid down the saw and  
plane and hammer1 and stretched my      
aching back1 ,i saw something growing   
into shape1 which ,i myself had created4
 ,there was no jugglery about this2     
there was immediate intimate relation   
between cause and effect4  ,and thence  
,i found a kind of joy in my work1 which
 was new and exquisite to me4  ,i stood 
upon my own feet1 self-possessed1       
self-respecting1 efficient for my own   
needs1 and conscious of a definite part 
in the great rhythm of infinite toil    
which makes the universe4  ,it is only  
when a man works for himself that this  

kind of joy is felt4  ,so enamoured was 
,i of this new joy1 that had it been    
possible ,i would have possessed nothing
 that was not the direct result of my   
own labour4  ,i would have liked to have
 spun the wool for my own clothes1 and  
have tanned the leather for my own      
boots4  ,i would have liked to grow the 
corn for my own bread1 and have killed  
my own meat1 as the savage or the       
primitive settler does4  ,in this       
respect the savage or the primitive     
settler approaches much nearer the true 
ideal of human life than the civilised  
man1 for the true ideal is that every   
man shall be efficient for his own      
needs1 with as little dependence as     
possible on others4  ,under natural     
conditions there is enough faculty in a 
man's ten fingers to supply his own     
needs1 and all the avocations needful to
 life may meet under one hat4  ,the     
familiar illustration of the number of  
men required to make a pin is typical of
 that contemptible futility to which    

what is called civilisation reduces men 
by mere dispersal of labour4  ,such     
dispersal develops single faculties1 but
 paralyses men4 ,it is like developing  
some single part of the human organism1 
such as a finger-tip1 to high           
sensitiveness1 by drawing away the      
sensitiveness from all the rest4  ,to do
 this reduces life to barrenness2 it    
makes it meagre in energy and pleasure2 
it makes work a disease4  ,but in such a
 life as ,i now lived1 it was not a     
finger-tip that worked but the whole    
man4  ,the cabbage ,i cut for dinner was
 fashioned from my own substance1 for my
 sweat had nourished it4  ,the butter ,i
 ate was part of my own energy1 spent   
over the churn1 come back to me in the  
freshness and firmness of edible gold4  
,my bread was baked in a flame kindled  
at my own heart ,transcriber's note3    
hearth81 and it was the sweeter for it4 
,when ,i lay down at night ,i was quits 
with ,nature4  ,i had paid so much      
energy into her bank1 and had a right to

 the dividend of rest she gave me4      
,apart from all other things1 the       
economy of this mode of life will be at 
once perceived4  ,my expenses sank      
steadily month by month4  ,i made a good
 many mistakes1 of course1 for there is 
more than meets the eye in remunerative 
gardening1 chicken farming1 and         
bee-keeping1 as there is in most human  
occupations which appear delusively     
simple4  ,it took me some time to       
rectify these mistakes1 but before a    
year had passed ,i found myself raising 
all my own garden produce1 well supplied
 with eggs and poultry for my own table1
 and able to earn a little by the sale  
of my superfluous stock4  ,some         
articles1 such as coal1 were excessively
 dear2 but then1 as a set-off1 ,i could 
have all the wood ,i required for next  
to nothing1 and we burned more wood than
 coal4  ,groceries ,i purchased in      
wholesale quantities from a ,manchester 
store1 so that in spite of carriage ,i  
paid less for them than ,i had paid in  

,london1 and secured the best quality4  
,my trout rod served my breakfast table1
 and my gun brought me many a dinner4   
,in short1 ,i found that small as was   
the sum of money which ,i had earned1   
yet it was more than enough for my      
needs4  ,winter is1 of course1 the      
trying time for a resident in the       
country4 ,about the beginning of        
,december the weather broke1 and there  
was a week of driving rain4  ,a         
fortnight of grey weather followed1 and 
then came three days of heavy snow4     
,from the moment that the snow ceased   
winter became delightful4  ,no words of 
mine can describe the glory of these    
winter days4  ,it is only of late years 
that people have discovered that        
,switzerland is infinitely more         
beautiful in winter than in summer2 some
 day they will discover the same truth  
about the ,lake ,district4  ,it happened
 one day in midwinter that business took
 me as far as ,keswick1 and ,i shall    
never forget the astonishment and       

delight of that visit4 ,skiddaw was a   
pure snow mountain1 a miniature ,mont   
,blanc2 ,derwentwater was blue as       
polished steel1 covered with ice so     
clear that it was everywhere            
transparent2 the woods were plumed with 
snow1 and over all shone the sun of     
,june1 and the keen air tingled in the  
veins like wine4 ,beside the road the   
drifts ran high1 hollowed by the wind   
into a hundred curves and cavities1 and 
in each the reflected light made a      
tapestry of delicate violet and rose4   
,those who imagine that snow is only    
white--dead1 cold white--have never seen
 the pure new-fallen snow1 when the     
stricture of the frost begins to bind   
it2 such snow has every colour of the   
rainbow in it1 and where it is beaten   
fine it is like a dust of diamonds4     
,under a hard grey sky snow appears dead
 white2 but under such a sun as this it 
glowed and sparkled with all the glories
 of an ice cave4  ,and then came the    
sunset1 a sunset to be dreamed of4      

,skiddaw was a pyramid of rosy flame2   
great saffron seas of light lay over the
 ,catbells1 the immense shoulders of    
,borrowdale were purple1 and the lake   
was truly a sea of glass and fire4  ,nor
 was this a singular and unmatched day4 
,for a whole month the pageant of the   
snow lasted4 ,close to my own door were 
glories scarcely inferior to those of   
,borrowdale and ,derwentwater4  ,the    
glen was rich with all the fantastic    
arabesque of the frost1 the moor was    
like a frozen sea1 and four miles away  
lay ,buttermere1 ringing from morn to   
night with the sound of skates4  ,there 
is no greater error than to suppose     
winter a drear and joyless season in the
 country4  ,it has delights of its own  
unimagined by the townsman1 to whom     
winter means burst pipes and slushy     
streets1 and snow that is soiled even as
 it falls4  ,but among mountains winter 
has its own incomparable glories1 and   
holds a pageant not inferior to         
summer's4  ,but even in days of rain    

life had its pleasures4  ,however bad   
the weather might be there were few days
 when we could not be abroad for some   
hours1 and none when the mountains had  
not some peculiar beauty to reveal4  ,at
 the end of a day of rain there were    
often splendid half-hours1 just before  
sunset1 when the mountains glowed with  
richest colour2 when through the rift of
 thinning clouds some vast peak named   
like a torch1 and the mist blew out like
 purple banners1 and the watercourses   
sparkled like ropes of brilliants hung  
on the scarred rocks1 and the air was   
fresh and fragrant with all the perfume 
of health4  ,fog we seldom had1 and when
 it came1 it rarely lasted beyond       
midday4  ,and then there were the warm  
delights of winter evenings1 when the   
wood fire blazed upon the hearth1 and   
the gale roared against the windows4  ,i
 have already remarked that books read  
in the solitude of the country always   
make a deeper impression on my mind than
 books read in the uneasy leisure of    

towns4  ,i found this doubly true when  
,i came to live in the country4  ,i came
 to my books with a keener and healthier
 brain4 ,the great masters of literature
 resumed their sway over me2 ,scott1    
,shakespeare1 ,cervantes1               
long-neglected1 took powerful hold upon 
my mind4  ,it is not to dwellers in the 
town that great writers ever make their 
full appeal4  ,they are too occupied    
with the trivial dramas of life among a 
crowd1 too disturbed by the eddy and    
rush of the life around them4  ,but for 
the dweller in solitude these great     
writers erect a theatre1 which is the   
only theatre he knows4  ,he is able to  
attend to the drama presented to him1   
and to be absorbed by it4  ,he discusses
 the actors and their doings as though  
they were real personages4  ,effie      
,deans and ,varley1 ,ophelia and ,don   
,quixote1 were for us creatures whom we 
knew4  ,it was the same with later      
writers4  ,byron's poetry once more     
appealed to me by its revolutionary     

note1 ,shelley was interpreted afresh to
 me by these mountains which he would   
have loved4  ,one incident ,i recollect 
which may serve to illustrate this new  
hold which imaginative literature took  
upon me4  ,i opened one evening ,great  
,expectations1 and began to read it     
aloud4  ,the next morning1 at five      
o'clock1 my two boys were contending for
 the book4  ,for a month ,pip sat beside
 our hearth1 and ,joe ,gargery winked at
 us1 and 'that ass' ,pumblechook mouthed
 his solemn platitudes4  ,we were       
continually reminding each other never  
to forget 'them as brought us up by     
hand4' ,could any book have laid hold of
 us after this fashion if it had been   
read in the hurried leisure of a city   
life8  ,it was the very absence of      
incident in our quiet lives that made   
these imaginary incidents delightful4   
,we lingered over the books we read1    
extracting from them all their charm1   
all their wisdom1 and there was more    
good talk1 more discriminating criticism

 heard in my cottage in a month than    
would be heard in a ,london drawing-room
 in a year4  ,and the explanation is    
simple4  ,we had no trivialities to talk
 about2 none of those odds and ends of  
gossip that do duty for conversation in 
cities2 and thus such talk as we had    
concerned itself with real thoughts1 and
 the thoughts of wise men and great     
writers4  ,one of the principal         
occupations of my first winter was the  
education of my boys4  ,after the       
approved modern fashion ,i had intrusted
 this task to others1 upon the foolish  
assumption that what ,i paid heavily for
 must needs be of some value4  ,i       
discovered my delusion the moment ,i    
came to look into the matter for myself4
  ,i found that they knew nothing       
perfectly3 certain things they had      
learned by rote1 and could recite with  
some exactitude1 but of the reasons and 
principles that underlie all real       
knowledge they knew nothing4  ,i believe
 this to be characteristic of almost all

 modern education1 especially since     
competitive examinations have set the   
pace4  ,the brain is gorged with crude  
masses of undigested fact1 which it has 
no power to assimilate4 ,fragments of   
knowledge are lodged in the mind1 but   
the mind is not taught to co-ordinate   
its knowledge1 or1 in other words1 to   
think and reason4  ,the yearly          
examination papers of public schools and
 universities afford ample and often    
amusing illustrations of this condition 
of things4  ,i remember an ,oxford      
tutor1 who set papers for a certain     
,theological ,college1 telling me that  
one year he put this question3 ',give   
some account of the life of ,mary1 the  
mother of our ,lord4'  ,this was a      
question which obviously required some  
power of synthesis1 some exercise of    
thought and skill in narrative4  ,one   
bright youth1 after a feeble sentence or
 two in which the name of ,mary was at  
least included1 went on to say1 ',at    
this point it may not be out of place to

 give a list of the kings of ,israel4'  
,here was something he did know1 and it 
was something not worth knowing4  ,i    
found that my boys had been educated on 
much the same principle4  ,they could do
 a simple problem of mathematics after a
 fashion2 that is1 they could recite it2
 but it had never once been suggested to
 them as an exercise of reason4 ,it was 
the same with history2 they could recite
 dates and facts1 but they had no       
perception of principles4  ,it may be   
imagined that ,i had to go to school    
again myself before ,i could attempt to 
instruct them4  ,i had to take down     
again my long disused ,virgil and       
,cicero1 and work through many a        
forgotten passage4  ,at first the task  
was distasteful enough1 but it soon     
became fascinating4  ,my love of the    
classics revived4  ,i began to read     
,homer and ,thucydides1 ,tacitus and    
,lucretius1 for my own pleasure4  ,it   
was delightful to observe what interest 
my boys took in ,virgil1 as soon as they

 discovered that ,virgil was not a mere 
task-book1 but poetry of the noblest    
order4  ,by avoiding all idea of mere   
unintelligent task-work1 ,i soon got    
them to take a real interest in their   
work1 until at last they came to        
anticipate the hour of these common     
studies4  ,i took care also to never    
make the burden of study oppressive4    
,two hours of real study is as much as a
 young boy can bear at a time4  ,he     
should rise from his task1 not with an  
exhausted1 but with a fresh and         
quickened1 mind4  ,on very fine days it 
was understood that no books should be  
opened4  ,such days were spent in       
fishing1 in mountain-climbing1 or in    
long cycling excursions1 and the store  
of health laid up by these days gave new
 vigour to the mind when the work of    
education was resumed4  ,when the summer
 came on1 life became a daily lyric of  
delight4  ,by five in the morning1      
sometimes by four1 we were out fishing4 
,in the narrow part of the glen there   

was a place where the rocks met in a    
wild miniature gorge1 and through them  
the water poured into a large circular  
rock-basin1 about forty feet in         
diameter4  ,this was our bathing-pool1  
and the cool shock and thrill of those  
exquisitely pure and flowing waters runs
 along my nerves still as ,i write4  ,we
 often spent more than an hour there in 
the early morning1 swimming from side to
 side of our natural bath1 diving off a 
rock which rose almost in the centre of 
the pool1 passing to and fro under the  
cascade1 or sitting out in the sun1 till
 sheer hunger drove us home to          
breakfast4  ,writers who boast a sort of
 finical superiority will no doubt      
disdain these barbarian delights1 and   
wonder that memory should be persistent 
over mere physical sensations4  ,but ,i 
am not sure that these physical         
sensations are not recollected with more
 acuteness than mental ones1 and there  
is no just reason why they should be    
despised4  ,i have forgotten a good many

 aesthetic pleasures which at the time  
gave me keen delight--some phrase in    
oratory1 some movement in concerted     
music1 and such like--but ,i never      
forget the sensation of wind blowing    
over my bare flesh as ,i coasted down a 
long mountain road on a broiling day in 
,august1 nor the poignant thrill of that
 rushing water in my morning bathes4    
,and mixed with it all is the aromatic  
scent of the pines beside the stream1   
the freshness of the meadows1 and the   
song of falling water4  ,sometimes1 when
 the river was in summer flood1 there   
was just that spice of danger in our    
bathing which gave it a memorable       
piquancy4  ,on such occasions we had to 
use skill and coolness to avoid         
disaster2 we were tossed about the      
boiling water like bubbles2 incredible  
masses of water flowed over us1 warm and
 strong1 in a few seconds1 and we came  
out of the roaring pool so beaten and   
thrashed by the violence of the stream  
that every nerve quivered4  ,breakfast  

was a great occasion after these        
adventures4  ,then came a stroll round  
our small estate1 and an hour or so over
 books4  ,matthew ,arnold's ,thyrsis was
 a favourite poem with us all on these  
mornings4  ,it breathed the very spirit 
of the life we lived1 but for its       
sadness--this we did not feel4  ,but we 
did appreciate its wonderfully exact and
 beautiful interpretation of ,nature1   
and we had but to look around us to see 
the very picture ,arnold painted when he
 wrote3     ,soon will the high         
midsummer pomps come on1     ,soon will 
the musk carnations break and swell1    
,soon shall we have gold-dusted         
snapdragon1     ,sweetwilliam with his  
homely cottage smell1     ,and stocks in
 fragrant blow3   ,roses that down the  
alley shine afar1     ,and open1        
jasmine-muffled lattices1     ,and      
groups under the dreaming garden trees1 
,and the full moon1 and the white       
evening star4   ,such was the life we   
lived4  ,if we looked back at all to the

 life we had left1 it was with that sort
 of sick horror which a prisoner may    
feel who has endured and survived a long
 term of imprisonment4  ,it seemed to us
 that we had never really lived before4 
,the past was a dream1 and an evil      
dream4  ,we had moved in a world of bad 
enchantment1 like phantoms1 barely      
conscious of ourselves4  ,we had now    
recovered proprietorship in our own     
lives4  ,work1 that had been a curse1   
was a blessing4  ,life1 that had gone on
 maimed feet1 was now virile in every   
part4  ,this mere fulness of health was 
in itself ample compensation for the    
loss of a hundred artificial pleasures  
which we had once thought necessary to  
existence4  ,we knew that we had found a
 delight in mere living which must      
remain wholly incredible to the tortured
 hosts that toil in cities2 and we knew 
also that when at last we came to lie   
down with kings and conquerors in the   
house of sleep1 we should carry with us 
fairer dreams than they ever knew amid  

all the tumult of their triumph4        
,,chapter ,x  ,,neighbourship  ,there is
 a wonderful passage in ,timon of       
,athens which appears to express in a   
few strokes1 at once broad and subtle1  
the picture and the ideal of a perfect  
city3         ,piety and fear1          
,religion to the gods1 peace1 justice1  
truth1   ,domestic awe1 night-rest1 and 
neighbourhood1   ,instruction1 manners1 
mysteries1 and trades1   ,degrees1      
observances1 customs1 and laws4   ,the  
congregated life of man1 many-coloured1 
intricate1 composed of numerous         
interwoven interests1 was never painted 
with a higher skill4 ,the word that is  
most expressive in this description is  
'neighbourhood4'  ,it strikes the note  
of cities4  ,uttering it1 one is aware  
of the pleasant music of bustling       
streets1 greetings in the market-place1 
whispered converse in the doorways1 gay 
meetings and laughter1 lighted squares  
and crowds1 the touch of kind hands1    
evening meals and festivals1 and all the

 reverberation of man's social voice4 ,a
 man may grow sick for such scenes as a 
sailor grows sick with longing for the  
sea4  ,there were times when this       
sickness came on me1 this nostalgia of  
streets4  ,it was only by degrees ,i    
came to see that neighbourhood has a    
significance apart from cities4  ,the   
first sensation of the man suddenly     
exiled from cities is a kind of         
bewildering homelessness in ,nature4    
,he is confronted with a spaciousness   
that knows no limit4  ,he treads among  
voids4  ,he experiences an almost       
unendurable sense of infinity4  ,he can 
put a bound to nothing that he sees2 it 
is a relief to the eye to come upon a   
wall or a hedge1 or any kind of object  
that implies dimension4  ,there is      
something awful in the glee or song of  
birds2 it seems irrational that with    
wings so slight they should dare heights
 so profound4  ,all sense of proportion 
seems lost4  ,after being accustomed for
 many years to think of himself as in   

some sense a figure of importance in the
 universe1 a man finds himself          
unimportant1 insignificant1 a little    
creature scarce perceptible a mile away4
  ,i came once upon some human bones    
lying exposed on the side of an old     
earthwork on the summit of a hill2 heavy
 rains had loosened the soil1 and there 
lay these painful relics in the cold eye
 of day4  ,two thousand years ago1 or   
more1 spears had clashed upon this      
hillside1 living men had gone to final  
rest amid their blood2 and it came upon 
me with a sense of insult how little man
 and all his battles counted for in the 
limitless arena of the world4 ,the brute
 violence of winds and tempests had     
swept these hills for centuries2 and he 
whose lordship of the world is so loudly
 trumpeted1 had lain prone beneath this 
violence1 unremembered even by his      
fellows4 ,i understood in that moment   
that affecting doctrine of the          
nothingness of man1 which coloured      
mediaeval thought so strangely3 like the

 monk of the cloister ,i also had before
 me my memento mori4  ,but in truth ,i  
did not need the bones of dead warriors 
to humble me2 the mere space and        
stillness of the world sufficed4  ,my   
ear ached for some sound more rational  
than the cry of blind winds1 my eye for 
some narrower stage than this tremendous
 theatre1 where an army might defile    
unnoticed4  ,in such a mood the desire  
of neighbourship grows keen4  ,one is   
cheered even by the comradeship of his  
own shadow4  ,it becomes necessary to   
talk aloud merely to gain assurance that
 one lives4  ,so ghost-like appears     
man's march across the fields of ,time1 
that some active expression of physical 
sensation becomes imperative1 in order  
to recover evidence of one's physical   
existence2 and thrice welcome1 like the 
violence offered to the half-drowned1 is
 any kind of buffet which breaks the    
dream1 and sets the nerves tingling in  
the certainty of contact with men who   
breathe and live4  ,the easy and        

ostensible remedy for such a state of   
mind is immediate retreat to the        
reassuring hum of cities3 the more      
difficult but real remedy is the        
reassurance of one's own identity4      
,many people take the first course      
without admitting it2 alleging the lack 
of intercourse or convenience in country
 life1 whereas the real truth is that   
contact with the steadfast indifference 
of ,nature has proved wounding to their 
egoism4  ,a vain man cannot maintain his
 sense of self-importance in the centre 
of a vast moor1 or amid the threatening 
bulk of giant hills4  ,he looks upon    
nothing that respects him4  ,he can find
 nothing subservient to him4  ,therefore
 he flies to the crowded haunts of men1 
and the porter touching his hat to him  
for a prospective twopence at the       
railway station1 is the welcome         
confessor of his disallowed divinity4   
,it is1 alas6 the most common and       
humbling feature of human nature that we
 all stiffen our backs with pride when  

the knee of some fellow-creature is     
crooked in homage to us1 although that  
homage may be bought for twopence6  ,no 
wonder that the man in whose character  
vanity is the chief essence cannot long 
endure contact with ,nature2 ,nature    
respects no man1 and laughs in the face 
of the strutting egoist4  ,but if a man 
will live long enough with ,nature to   
become reconciled to her impassivity1 he
 begins to recover self-respect1 by     
recovering the conviction of his own    
identity4  ,he has that within himself  
which ,nature has not1 the faculty of   
consciousness4  ,he is but a trifling   
atom in the scheme of things1 but he is 
a thinking atom4  ,he sees also that all
 living creatures have an identity of   
their own4  ,each goes about the scheme 
of life in deliberate wisdom4  ,why     
should he complain of insignificance    
when the bird1 the flower1 the horse    
that drags the plough1 the beaver in the
 stream1 the spider on the wall1 make no
 complaint2 each accomplishing its task 

as intently as though it were the one   
task the world wanted done8  ,in the    
life of the merest insect are toils as  
great1 and vicissitudes as tragic1 as in
 the most heroic human life1 and to see 
so much is to attach a new dignity to   
all kinds of life4  ,the bird building  
its nest is doing precisely the same    
thing as the man who builds his house1  
and with an equal skill of architecture4
  ,the flower1 fighting for its life1 is
 engaged in the same struggle as man1   
for whom every breath and pulse-beat is 
a victory over forces that threaten his 
destruction4  ,the world is full of     
identities1 each unmoved by the         
tremendous scale of its environment4    
,hence a new kind of neighbourship is   
possible1 wider and more catholic than  
the neighbourship between man and man4  
,kinship1 not in kindred1 but in        
universal life1 becomes possible4       
,there is no sense of loneliness in a   
country life after that discovery is    
made4  ,the emptiest field is as        

populous as the thronged city4  ,the    
,academy of ,god's art opens every      
spring upon the gemmed hillside4  ,the  
building of a new metropolis as         
wonderful as ,london is going on beneath
 the thatch where the bees toil4  ,all  
that constitutes human magnificence is  
seen to be but a part1 and not a large  
part either1 of a yet wider magnificence
 of effort and achievement2 for of the  
flowers of the field we can say1        
',solomon in all his glory was not      
arrayed like one of these4'  ,the fact  
is that civilised man moves in a much   
too narrow range of affinities4  ,he has
 forgotten the rock from which he was   
hewn1 and the hole of the pit from which
 he was dug4  ,he has reduced the       
keyboard of his sympathies by whole     
octaves4  ,the habit of shutting up his 
body within walls1 has produced the     
corresponding habit of shutting up his  
mind within walls4  ,hence ,nature1     
which should be an object of delight to 
him1 becomes a cause of terror or       

repugnance4  ,solitude1 which is one of 
the most agreeable sensations of the    
natural man1 is one of the most painful 
and alarming sensations of the civilised
 man4  ,the civilised man needs to be   
born again that he may enter the kingdom
 of ,nature2 for to enter either the    
kingdom of grace or of ,nature the same 
process is necessary--we must become as 
little children4  ,thoreau has described
 this experience in terms which might   
apply equally to the religious mystic or
 the ,nature-lover4  ,he tells us that  
for a brief period after he came to live
 in the woods he felt lonesome1 and     
'doubted if the near neighbourhood of   
man was not essential to a serene and   
healthy life4  ,to be alone was         
something unpleasant4  ,but ,i was at   
the same time conscious of a slight     
insanity in my mood1 and seemed to      
foresee my recovery4  ,in the midst of a
 gentle rain1 while those thoughts      
prevailed1 ,i was suddenly sensible of  
such sweet and beneficent society in    

,nature1 in the very pattering of the   
drops1 and in every sight and sound     
about my house1 an infinite and         
unaccountable friendliness all at once  
like an atmosphere sustaining me1 as    
made the fancied advantages of human    
neighbourhood insignificant1 and ,i have
 never thought of them since4  ,every   
little pine-needle expanded and swelled 
with sympathy1 and befriended me4  ,i   
was so distinctly made aware of the     
presence of something kindred to me1    
even in scenes that we are accustomed to
 call wild and dreary1 and also that the
 nearest of blood to me and humanest was
 not a person nor a villager1 that ,i   
thought no place could ever be strange  
to me again4'  ,this experience marked  
the rebirth of ,thoreau1 as truly as a  
new and delightful sensitiveness to a   
spiritual world marked the re-birth of  
,bunyan4  ,the whole secret of re-birth 
lies in the recovery of lost affinities4
  ,i do not recollect any particular    
crisis such as ,thoreau describes1 but  

,i can trace the process in myself4  ,i 
took no pains to cast the slough of     
cities2 ,i registered no vows and       
consulted no teachers2 it seemed that   
the thing was quietly done for me by the
 ,higher ,powers4  ,i had no part in the
 matter except to be docile4  ,nature   
took me in hand1 as sleep takes in hand 
the sick child2 the only thing asked of 
me was my submission4  ,the result soon 
appeared in the altered scale of my     
perceptions4  ,i became indifferent to  
newspapers1 to the doings and           
performances of public personages1 to   
the rise and fall of literary           
reputations1 and to a great many books  
which once interested me4  ,i saw that a
 considerable number of those whom ,i   
had counted public teachers were no     
better than persons who talked in their 
sleep4  ,they knew nothing of the       
elemental life of man1 and were unfitted
 to pronounce verdicts upon his destiny4
  ,novelists particularly offended me by
 their gross ignorance of life4  ,the   

pictures of life they drew were as      
untrue as a description of a            
street-fight would be if written by a   
perfumed odalisque who had never crossed
 the threshold of a harem4  ,the ancient
 elemental life of man1 spent in storm  
and sunshine1 under wide skies1 they had
 not so much as looked at1 and their    
voluminous chatter about man and his    
doings had as little relation to life as
 the philosophy that is enunciated in a 
monkey-house4  ,opera-bouffe performed  
upon ,helvellyn would be a sorry        
spectacle2 what was all this bedizened  
rout of people playing before the       
footlights of cities1 but a vain        
burlesque at which ,nature laughed8     
,and as my sense of the importance of   
this kind of spectacle gradually sank1  
my appreciation of the serious drama    
conducted by ,nature1 upon a stage as   
old as time1 whose footlights are the   
changeless planets1 gradually rose4  ,i 
had become the neighbour of ,eternity1  
through neighbourship with things that  

are themselves eternal4  ,i tasted the  
pleasure of enlarged existence1 which   
had become possible through enlarged    
affinities4  ,i had eaten of the ,tree  
of ,life1 which grows wherever there is 
a ,garden brought to beauty by the sweat
 of man's brow1 and ,i had the knowledge
 of good and evil4  ,one form of        
neighbourship which brought me perpetual
 delight was--if ,i may so describe     
it--neighbourship with the stars4  ,i   
had hitherto scarce given a thought to  
astronomy1 save of the vaguest kind1 and
 all ,i knew of it was derived from the 
recollection of one or two popular      
lectures4  ,this was pardonable in a    
citizen1 who is never able to see any   
considerable space of firmament4  ,but  
when a man comes to live in the country 
he can scarce remain indifferent to a   
pageant so sublime as the midnight      
heavens4  ,it is always with him2 it    
obtrudes itself upon him2 it becomes in 
time the scenery of his life4  ,it      
pleased me on clear evenings before ,i  

slept to go out and take what ,i called 
a star-bath1 a term justified by the    
real sense ,i had of waves of soft light
 and silence flowing over me1 submerging
 and cleansing me1 and setting my soul  
afloat4  ,but very soon this purely     
aesthetic pleasure became also an       
excitement of the intellect4  ,an       
immense curiosity seized me4  ,i desired
 to penetrate this lighted labyrinth of 
space1 to climb these shining terraces1 
to know where these vast roads led1 in  
whose profound seclusion ,god ,himself  
seemed to hide4  ,in a very humble way  
,i began the study of astronomy1 and    
although ,i never got beyond its        
elements yet my whole life was          
incalculably enriched by what ,i        
learned4 ,i sometimes felt that of all  
my neighbours the stars were the        
friendliest and wisest4  ,that sense of 
insignificance1 begotten by the pressure
 of immensity upon the spirit1 of which 
so many men have written1 ,i never felt2
 my most constant feeling was a kind of 

gladness which had its root in the      
conviction of some living friendly      
,power behind and in the spectacle4     
,the sense of insignificance1 if it came
 at all1 was associated with the        
vanities of mankind4  ,it did indeed    
seem a strange thing that a man whose   
thoughts could walk among the stars1    
should bend those thoughts to a mean    
eagerness for gold1 a pride in dress1 or
 the building of palaces1 which when    
achieved are not so much as a single    
grain of dust upon an ant-hill4  ,in a  
universe1 whose arithmetic employs      
worlds for the ciphers of its reckoning1
 bigness as associated with man sounds  
ridiculous2 and the biggest fortune or  
the biggest grief are alike             
infinitesimal4  ,but when the desire of 
bigness passes from a man's mind1       
humility becomes pleasurable1 and       
immensity is soothing4  ,i forgot to    
think of the vastness of the stars2 they
 were for me neighbourly and friendly   
presences1 talking like a wise old nurse

 to me of things that happened before my
 birth1 and the ancient kindness of ,him
 whom a daring poet calls1 ',my old     
neighbour--,god6'  ,neighbourship with  
the earth also became a vital pleasure  
and a source of peace4  ,there was a    
time when ,i had a vivid horror of      
death2 and as ,i look back1 and analyse 
my sensations1 ,i believe this horror   
was in large part the work of cities4   
,it sprang from the constant vision of  
deformity1 the presence of hospitals1   
newspaper narratives of tragic          
accidents1 and the ghastly cheerfulness 
of metropolitan cemeteries4  ,to die    
with a window open to the trampling of a
 clamorous1 unconcerned street seemed a 
thing sordid and unendurable4  ,to be   
whisked away in a plumed hearse to a    
grave dug out of the debris of a hundred
 forgotten graves was the climax of     
insult4  ,it happened to me once to see 
a child buried in what was called a     
common grave4  ,it was a grave which    
contained already half a dozen little   

coffins2 it was a mere dust-bin of      
mortality1 and it seemed so profane a   
place that no lustration of religion    
could give it sanctity4  ,dissolution   
met the mind there in more than its     
native horror2 it had the superimposed  
horror of indecency and wilful outrage4 
,but in the wide wholesome spaces of the
 world1 and beneath the clean stars1    
death seems not undesirable4  ,a country
 life gives one the pleasant sense of   
kinship with the earth4 ,it is no longer
 an offence to know oneself of the earth
 earthy4  ,i was so much engaged in the 
love and study of things whose life was 
brief that the thought of death became  
natural4  ,i saw constantly in flowers  
and birds1 and domestic creatures1 the  
little round of life completed and      
relinquished without regret4  ,i saw    
also how the aged peasant gathered up   
his feet and died1 like a tired child   
falling asleep at the close of a long   
day4  ,death is in reality no more      
terrible than birth2 but it is only the 

natural man who can so conceive it4  ,he
 who lives in constant kinship with the 
earth will go to his rest on the earth's
 bosom without repugnance4  ,i knew very
 well the place where ,i should be      
buried2 it was beneath a clean turf kept
 sweet by mountain winds2 and the place 
seemed desirable4  ,having come back by 
degrees to a life of entire kinship with
 the earth1 having shared the seasons   
and the storms1 it seemed but the final 
seal set upon this kinship1 that ,i     
should dissolve quietly into the        
elements of things1 to find perhaps my  
resurrection in the eternally renewed   
life of ,nature4  ,neighbourship meant  
also for me kinship1 with every kind of 
life around me1 and some friendly       
association with my fellow-men4  ,the   
creatures we call dumb have a sure way  
of talking to us1 if we will overcome   
their shyness and give them a chance4   
,moreover their habits1 their method of 
life1 their thoughts1 are in themselves 
profoundly interesting4  ,i seemed to   

have discovered a new universe when ,i  
first took to bee-culture4  ,the        
geometry of the heavens is not more     
astonishing than the geometry of the    
beehive1 nor is the architecture of the 
finest city built by man more intricate 
and masterly4  ,here1 as in all things1 
we are deceived by bulk1 counting a     
thing great merely because it is big2   
but if it come to deducing an ,invisible
 ,mind in the universe from the things  
that are visible1 ,i would as soon base 
my argument on what goes on in a bee's  
brain1 as on the harmonies of law       
manifested in the solar system4  ,i     
believe we greatly err in underrating   
other forms of life than our own4  ,the 
,hindu1 who acknowledges a mystic       
sacredness in all forms of life1 comes  
nearer the truth4  ,life for life1      
judged by proportion1 plan1 symmetry1   
delicacy of design and beauty of        
adjustment1 man is a creature not a whit
 more wonderful than many forms of life 
which he crushes with a careless foot4  

,the creature we call dumb is not dumb  
to its mates1 and it is very likely our 
human modes of communication appear as  
absurd to the dog or horse as theirs do 
to us4 ,we know what we think of the    
so-called dumb creatures2 it might be a 
humbling surprise if we could know what 
the dumb creature thinks of us4 ,the    
satire would not be upon one side1 be   
sure of it4  ,to the townsman the simple
 dwellers on the soil seem almost as    
incapable of intercourse as the         
creatures of the field and pasture4     
,because they do not know the kind of   
things the townsman knows1 they are     
supposed to know nothing4  ,i have      
already said enough to show how absurd  
and insolent is this assumption4  ,my   
neighbours were few1 and simple-minded2 
but they possessed many kinds of skill  
necessary to their life1 they had wisdom
 and virtue1 and upon the whole a kind  
of fundamental dignity of nature4  ,they
 were as shy as woodland creatures to a 
stranger's voice2 they were highly      

sensitive to the mere shadow of a       
slight1 and both suspicious and         
resentful of patronage2 but they met    
trust with trust1 and where they gave   
their trust they gave their full loyalty
 of friendship4  ,in my youth1 as ,i    
have said elsewhere1 ,i often passed a  
whole day in a forest4  ,i would choose 
some solitary glade1 where my intrusion 
was audibly resented by the unseen      
creatures of the wood1 who fled before  
me2 but when an hour had passed1 and the
 signal had run through the forest that 
,i meant no harm1 those scattered and   
astonished creatures reassembled4  ,the 
whole life of the wood then went on     
before my eyes2 the birds sang their    
best for me1 the squirrel performed his 
innocent gymnastics with an eye to my   
applause1 the very snake moved less     
shyly through the grass1 as though the  
word had gone forth that ,i was a guest1
 who must be entertained and made to    
feel at home4  ,this experience often   
recurred to me in my early days at      

,thornthwaite4  ,it was some time before
 ,i was admitted to the free-masonry of 
the scanty social life around me2 when  
at last ,i had paid my footing ,i found 
that here also was a commonwealth2 here 
also might be found upon a narrow scale1
 but in authentic forms1        ,piety  
and fear1   ,instruction1 manners1      
mysteries1 and trades1   ,degrees1      
observances1 customs1 and laws4         
,,chapter ,,xi  ,,the ,,wounds ,,of ,a  
,,friend  ,those who have been friendly 
enough to follow me so far in my little 
story will scarcely push their          
friendship so far that they will refrain
 from criticism upon myself and my      
doings4  ,on one point1 viz4 the social 
morality of my conduct1 ,i am so sure of
 criticism that ,i will anticipate it   
with self-criticism4  ,had ,i the moral 
right to desert the city1 and to ignore 
the social obligations of the city1 in  
order to find a life that was more      
pleasurable to myself8  ,a city which   
presents a depressing variety of social 

needs can hardly afford to spare any    
good citizen1 however humble1 who is    
capable of social service1 and for such 
a citizen to contract himself out of his
 obligations is very like skulking4  ,i 
confess that this consideration         
occasioned me some uneasiness1 and the  
questions which it raised have been     
treated with such admirable lucidity by 
a friend of mine1 who still resides in  
,london1 that ,i will let him put the   
case against me4  ,the friend of whom ,i
 speak belongs to that class which may  
be roughly described as ,earnest ,good  
,people4  ,with very small means1 and   
not much spare time at his disposal1 he 
is nevertheless constantly engaged in   
what is called the work of ,social      
,amelioration4  ,the problems of city   
squalor1 vice1 and ignorance haunt him  
like a nightmare4  ,when a very young   
man he made a voyage of discovery among 
the submerged tenth2 got acquainted with
 tramps1 night strollers1 and wastrels  
on the ,thames ,embankment2 slept in    

doss-houses and ,salvation ,army        
shelters2 tried his hand on experimental
 philanthropy among the slums2 and was  
driven half-frantic by what he saw4  ,he
 has the makings of a saint in him2 of a
 ,francis of ,assisi1 of a ,father      
,damien4  ,he teaches in night-schools1 
conducts ,penny ,banks1 and is grateful 
to any one who will introduce him to a  
desperate social enterprise which no one
 else will attempt4  ,the first business
 of life1 he is fond of saying1 is not  
to get good1 but to do good4  ,of       
pleasure1 in the usual sense of the     
term1 he knows nothing1 and would grudge
 the expenditure of a sixpence upon     
himself as long as he knew a cadger or a
 decayed washerwoman who seemed to have 
a better claim to it4  ,london is for   
him not a home1 but a battlefield1 and  
his spirit is the spirit of the soldier 
who dare not forsake his post4  ,many   
years ago1 when ,i was going for my     
summer holiday1 he wrote me a           
reproachful poem1 from which ,i quote a 

part1 because it is the best index to   
his own character and the most lucid    
exposition of his own attitude to life  
which ,i can recall3     ,the roar of   
the streets at their loudest     ,rises 
and falls like a tune2   ,midday in the 
heart of ,london1     ,midway in the    
month of ,june4    ,and blue at the end 
of a valley     ,i see the ocean gleam1 
,and a voice like falling water         
,speaks to me thro' a dream4    ,it     
calls1 and it bids me follow2     ,ah1  
how the worn nerves thrill   ,at the    
vision of those green pastures     ,and 
waters running still6    ,but ,i dare   
not move nor follow1     ,for out of the
 quivering heat   ,another vision arises
     ,and darkens at my feet--    ,white
 faces worn with the fever     ,that    
crouches evermore   ,in the court and   
alley1 and seizes     ,the poor man at  
his door1    ,float up in my dream and  
call me1     ,and cry1 ,if ,christ were 
here   ,he had not left us to perish    
,in the fever-heat of the year6    ,god 

knows how ,i yearn for the mountains    
,and the river that runs between6   ,ah1
 well1 ,i can wait--and the pastures    
,of heaven are always green4   ,no one  
will question the nobility of sentiment 
in these simple lines1 and they are the 
genuine expression of the man4  ,in his 
case1 however slight may be his claim to
 be called a poet1 that hardest test of 
the poet is fulfilled3--     ,the gods  
exact for song   ,to become what we     
sing4   ,it will be imagined that a man 
of this order would view my retreat from
 ,london with disfavour4  ,he thought me
 guilty of a kind of social perfidy4    
,no doubt the ,earnest ,good ,people1   
for whom ,i have the greatest reverence1
 will agree in the same verdict4  ,a    
letter received during the last few days
 from my friend puts the case with such 
force1 and yet with such good-feeling1  
that ,i will transcribe a part of it4   
',i confess1' he writes1 'that the      
pleasures of life among the mountains   
leaves me cold4  ,it is not that ,i am  

incapable of the same kind of pleasure1 
but1 as you know1 ,i have other ideas   
concerning the uses of life4  ,i cannot 
enjoy sunsets while men and women are   
starving4  ,the thought of all the      
misery of life for multitudes would1 as 
,rossetti puts it1 make a goblin of the 
sun4  ,you used to be very eloquent     
against good men who lived only for     
their own pleasure2 are not you yourself
 living in the same way8  ,i have heard 
you declaim against the gross           
selfishness of ,goethe's aim in life--to
 build the pyramid of his own           
intellectual culture2 are not you1 in   
your own way1 pursuing the same ideal8  
,i have heard you say that nothing so   
belittled ,goethe in your judgment as   
the fact that he was destitute of       
patriotism2 he dwelt at ease among his  
books1 while his country perished and   
felt no pang2 and you live your joyous  
life among the hills1 and have forgotten
 the ,golgothas on which the poor of    
,london endure their unpitied martyrdom4

 ,you are doing good to yourself1 no    
doubt2 but is it not a better thing to  
be doing good to others8  ,i marvel that
 you can sleep at peace amid the wailing
 of the world4  ,i cannot1 and ,i thank 
,god ,i cannot4  ',what you do not seem 
to realise is that all our acts must be 
judged not only from the personal1 but  
from the collective standpoint4 ,suppose
 all men followed your example1 what    
would happen8  ,why1 cities would soon  
become the mere refuse-heaps of the     
unfit4  ,the drudges would remain1 the  
captains of industry would be gone4     
,there would be no leaven of higher     
intelligence left1 no standard of       
manners1 nothing that could set the     
rhythm of life4  ,this is too much the  
case already4 ,the merchant1 the writer1
 the man of wealth and culture1 live as 
far as they can from the struggling     
crowd4  ,you would extend the process1  
and make it possible for the clerk as   
well as the merchant4  ,if your new     
gospel of a return to ,nature succeeds1 

we shall soon see the universal exodus  
of the best intellectual and physical   
units of the community4 ,but you forget 
that some millions will remain behind1  
who cannot flee4 ,have you no           
obligations to these8  ',besides this1  
you do not seem to perceive that the    
ultimate drift of the new gospel is     
toward anarchy4  ,the return to nature  
is practically a return to barbarism4   
,you would have all men content so long 
as they grew enough potatoes for their  
daily needs4  ,you would have ,england  
return to the conditions of the ,saxon  
heptarchy4  ,each man would squat upon  
his clearing in the forest1 ignobly     
independent1 brutally content4 ,there   
would be no longer that struggle for    
life which develops capacity1 that      
urging onward of the flood of life which
 cuts for itself new channels1 that     
passion for betterment which means      
progress4  ,you save yourself from the  
collisions of life2 but it is in such   
collisions that the finest fires are    

struck out of the heart of humanity4    
,again1 ,i say1 any course of action    
must be judged by its collective effect 
before it can be rightly understood4    
,it is not the individual that counts1  
but the race4  ,a good for the          
individual is not permissible unless it 
is a good also for the race4  ,i do not 
admit that your new way of life is an   
entire good for you1 for ,i believe you 
must in time suffer from your isolation2
 but even if ,i did admit it1 ,i should 
deny your right to it1 if in its large  
effects it means an ill for the race4   
,would you venture to say that the race 
would profit by it if your example were 
largely imitated8  ,i think you dare not
 say so much1 for you must be aware that
 the general desertion of cities would  
mean the decay of commerce and of the   
arts1 the arrest of progress1 and       
national disintegration4  ,and if your  
own personal example would bear only    
evil fruit were it elevated to a law of 
life1 it stands condemned4  ',for my own

 part1 ,i am where you left me4  ,i am  
in the same rooms--dull1 stuffy1        
inconvenient--you know all about them4  
,i breathe quantities of bad air every  
day1 and see a hundred things that      
distress me4  ,i go three nights a week 
to the room in ,lucraft's ,row2 struggle
 with the young barbarians of the slums1
 and am content if ,i see but a few     
signs of order evolving themselves out  
of chaos4  ,a week ago ,i was knocked   
down by a ruffian1 who came next day to 
apologise on the three-fold ground that 
he was drunk1 that he did not know it   
was me he struck1 and that if he had    
known he never would have done it4  ,my 
ruffian was very penitent4  ,he has     
since signed the pledge and is my firm  
friend4  ,i chased him out of a         
public-house last night1 and made him   
come home to my lodgings with me1 where 
,i gave him coffee1 and sang songs to   
him4  ,he followed all my movements with
 the big wistful eyes of a dog4  ,there 
were tears in those eyes when he bade me

 good-night4 ,he brushed them away with 
a dirty hand1 and said1 ,i know ,i can  
keep straight now1 sir1 because you are 
my pal1 and ,i ain't a-going against the
 wishes of my pal6  ,this morning he    
left a pineapple at the door for me--he 
is a coster1 and pineapples are cheap   
just now4  ,i felt more pleasure than ,i
 can say2 ,i could have sung over my    
work all day1 so glad was ,i4  ,my dear 
fellow1 don't think ,i speak            
pharisaically--you know me too well2 but
 ,i do believe ,i got more genuine      
pleasure out of my experience with this 
rough fellow than you will ever get out 
of your sunsets4  ,lucraft's ,row is a  
dull place enough1 but when a ray of    
light does shine into it1 it brings with
 it more than common joy4  ',my         
objection to your new mode of life is   
that it is entirely self-centred4       
,there is no projection of yourself into
 other lives4 ,you are contributing     
nothing to the common stock of moral    
effort4  ,you are simply marooned4  ,it 

alters nothing that you have marooned   
yourself under conditions that please   
and content you4  ,i think that if ,i   
were marooned upon the fairest island of
 the ,southern ,seas1 where ,i had but  
to bask in the sunshine and stretch out 
my hand to find delightful food1 there  
would be still something in my lot which
 ,i should find intolerable4  ,i should 
spend my days upon the island's loftiest
 crag1 watching for a sail4  ,the       
thought of a thousand ships not far     
away1 rushing round the globe1 with     
throb of piston1 crack of cordage1      
strain of timber1 buffeting of waves1   
and shouting crews1 would drive me      
distracted4  ,what to me were blue skies
 and soft winds when ,i might be sharer 
in this elemental strife8  ,how should  
,i covet1 in all this adorable and      
detested beauty of my solitary isle1 the
 grey skies that looked on human effort1
 the violent wind1 the roaring waves1   
the muscles cracking at the capstan1 the
 strong exhilaration of peril1 effort1  

conflict1 and the glory of hourly       
contiguity with death6  ,it was so      
,ulysses felt3     ,how dull it is to   
pause1 to make an end1   ,to rust       
unburnished1 not to shine in use4   ,it 
was so he resolved     ,to follow       
knowledge like a sinking star1          
99      99      99      99      99   ,to
 strive1 to seek1 to find1 and not to   
yield4   ,you will not question that the
 sentiment is manly4  ,is there not then
 something that is unmanly in the       
opposite sentiment8  ,or1 to be plain1  
my friend1 is it not lack of courage    
which has driven you from us1 lack of   
heroic temper1 lack of that divine and  
primitive instinct which takes a frolic 
welcome in the thunder and the sunshine1
 in the conflict and the stress of life8
  ',i believe that we are bound to be   
the losers by any wilful separation from
 our kind4  ,this was the case with the 
mediaeval monks and ascetics2 they lost 
far more than they gained from their    
separation from the common life of the  

people4  ,it is the same still with very
 rich folk who are able to evade the    
harsh conscription of life2 in evading  
the conscription of life they invariably
 deteriorate in physical and mental     
fibre4  ,i can conceive nothing more    
ruinous to a young man than that he     
should have just enough money to make   
the toil for bread unnecessary4  ,more  
lives have been spoiled by competence   
than by poverty2 indeed1 ,i doubt       
whether poverty has any effect at all   
upon a strong character1 except as a    
stimulus to exertion4  ,life being what 
it is1 we should take it as we find it3 
we gain nothing by going out of our way 
to find an easier path4  ,the beaten    
road is safest4  ,the man who boldly    
says1 ,let me know the fulness of life2 
let me taste all that it has to present 
of vicissitude1 joy1 sorrow1 labour1    
struggle2 let me know all that common   
people endure1 and endure with them2 let
 me be no exception to the common rule1 
enjoy no special privilege1 ask for no  

immunity from things harsh and          
disagreeable--the man who thinks and    
acts thus is the man who gets the best  
and most out of life4  ,but you1 my     
friend1 have simply copied the old monks
 in the arrangement of your life4       
,there is nothing novel in your action1 
though just now your egoism is gratified
 by the sense of novelty and            
originality4  ,you have simply gone out 
of the world to escape the evil of the  
world4  ,you have bought yourself out of
 the conscription of life4  ,you have   
yet to answer me one question3 are you  
the better for it8  ,that question      
cannot be answered in a day4  ,ten years
 hence you will be able to tell me      
something about it1 and ,i shall be much
 surprised if you do not then report    
more of loss than gain4  ,no man ever   
yet held aloof from his kind without    
paying the price in narrower sympathies1
 a narrower brain1 and a narrower heart4
  ,the eternal spirit of ,progress which
 works throughout the universe never    

fails to punish the deserter1 and the   
most common punishment is atrophy4  ,not
 to submit to the process of evolution  
is to fall down the long slope of       
degeneracy4  ',you do not need to be    
told that the entire history of nations 
confirms this rule4  ,the greatest      
nations are those which have found life 
most difficult1 and they have thriven on
 their difficulties4  ,the soft climate1
 which reduces toil to a minimum1       
invariably means the enervated race4    
,under the harsh skies of ,britain a    
great race has been trained to great    
exploits2 but what part have the islands
 of the ,south ,pacific ever played in  
human history8  ,give man a difficulty  
to overcome1 and he at once puts forth  
his strength2 difficulty is his         
spiritual gymnasium4  ,impose on him no 
need of exertion1 and he will rot out1  
just as the races of the ,south ,pacific
 are rotting out4  ,i would measure the 
future of a man1 or of a nation1 by this
 simple test2 do they habitually choose 

the easier or the harder path for       
themselves8 ,the nation that chooses the
 hard path1 that is not afraid of the   
burden of empire1 that glories in the   
strife for primacy and is not afraid to 
pay the price of primacy in incredible  
exertion1 in blood and sacrifice1 is the
 nation that shall possess the earth4   
,and is it not so with men8  ,here1     
again1 ,i press home the need for       
considering one's actions in their      
collective aspect4  ,your course of life
 is easily imitable3 would you have it  
imitated8  ,there are thousands of men  
in ,london who could readily retire into
 a peaceful life to-morrow1 on terms    
more favourable than yours4  ,every man 
possessed of a hundred pounds a year    
could do it4  ,yet there are plenty of  
old men1 with ample fortunes1 who never 
dream of doing it4  ,they stick to their
 posts and they die at them4  ,and it is
 by such men that the great machinery of
 social life1 of commerce1 of national  
progress is kept going4  ',you would    

say1 perhaps1 that they are simply      
sacrificing the finer pleasures of life 
to the fanaticism of work2 ah1 but they 
are also sacrificing them for the good  
of the community4  ,if the great surgeon
 or physician bolted from his duties the
 moment he had acquired money enough to 
buy a cottage1 you would say he had no  
right to rob mankind of his skill and   
service to please himself4  ,have you   
that right8  ,and if the whole nation   
acted in this spirit1 how long would the
 nation hold its place of power and     
influence8  ,in less than a century we  
should be as the ,hottentots4  ,we      
should be driven out before the advance 
of more energetic races1 just as the    
,hottentots2 who once possessed         
,southern ,europe and ,egypt1 have been 
forced back into the ,african           
wilderness1 where they live a life that 
is content with the gratification of the
 most primitive1 the most bestial1      
wants4  ,it is no excuse to say that the
 action of one man can have but little  

influence upon the trend of life in a   
whole nation4  ,the merest unit in the  
sum1 the cipher even1 has power to      
change the total4  ,the strength of     
wisdom in the majority of a nation may  
be more than sufficient to-day to       
counteract the folly of the unit2 but   
there is always the chance that the     
folly of the individual may in time     
prevail against the experience of the   
wise1 and pervert the nation4  ,at all  
events1 we ought to consider such       
possibilities before we hold ourselves  
free to do as we please in contempt of  
general custom4  ',do not be angry with 
me when ,i say that to me your flight   
from ,london appears only an            
illustration of that cowardice about    
life which is so common to-day4  ,men   
are very much afraid of life to-day2    
afraid of its responsibilities and      
duties2 afraid of marriage and the      
burden of children2 and not alone for   
the old are there fears in the way1 but 
even the young men faint and grow weary4

  ',i can understand ,stevenson flying  
to the ,south ,seas2 it was part of his 
prolonged duel with death4  ,but his    
heart was in the ,highlands1 and could  
he have chosen1 his feet would have     
trodden to old age the grey streets of  
,edinburgh4  ,your flight is altogether 
different4  ,you have no real excuse in 
ill-health4  ,you have simply fallen    
sick with a distaste for cities4  ,you  
have had a bad dream1 and you are       
frightened4 ,i love you still2 ,i count 
you friend still2 but ,i cannot call you
 brave4  ',o my friend1 if ,i have said 
anything that sounds unfriendly1 do not 
believe it of me2 do not doubt that ,i  
love you4  ,i think ,i should not have  
written thus but that in your last      
letter you expressed pity for me1 and   
that stung me1 ,i confess4  ,and so ,i  
retort1 you see1 by pitying you1 which  
is not admirable in me4  ,therefore let 
me say1 if you care still to please me1 
do not1 in any further letters you may  
write1 ever express the least pity for  

me4  ,quite honestly ,i say ,i do not   
need pity1 for ,i am perfectly happy4   
,in giving all the time and money ,i can
 spare to the poor in ,lucraft's ,row1  
,i have really renounced nothing2 or1 if
 ,i have1 ,i am so unconscious of       
sacrifice that ,i can only say with     
,browning3     ,renounce joy for thy    
fellow's sake8   ,that's joy beyond joy6
   ,there are half a dozen ragged boys  
who love me3 there are twenty more who  
will do so in time2 and there is my     
drunken friend with the dog's eyes1 who 
looks to me to save him from the pit2   
what more can ,i ask8 ,fog and mire1    
grime and drudgery1 these never trouble 
me1 because ,i see ,lucraft's ,row1 lit 
with a star1 waiting for me at the end  
of every day4 ,and the star is growing  
bigger and brighter1 for it shines over 
a tiny obscure ,bethlehem where the     
,soul is getting itself born in a few   
humble hearts4  ,to be permitted to see 
this miracle1 to assist in this         
incarnation of the ,soul of the ,people1

 is its own exceeding great reward2 and 
,i may be envied1 but never pitied4'    
,so ran the letter of my friend1 and as 
,i transcribe it ,i feel anew that it is
 an indictment not to be easily set     
aside4  ,i must think over what ,i can  
reply to it4  ,it seems as though if he 
be right in his mode of life ,i must be 
wrong in mine2 and yet may we not both  
be right8  ,are we not seeing life from 
different angles8  ,yes1 ,i must have   
time for thought before ,i can reply to 
such a letter4     ,,chapter ,,xii  ,,am
 ,i ,,right8  ,i have given myself a    
week to think over the letter of my     
friend1 and ,i am now able to perceive  
that it is built upon a number of most  
ingenious fallacies4  ,the chief fallacy
 appears to be this--that he insists    
that the race must always count for more
 than the individual1 and that the      
individual must fall in line and step   
with the average conventions of the race
 at the expense of his own well-being1  
or be judged a deserter and a recreant4 

,it is hardly necessary to point out    
that no doctrine could be more hostile  
to collective progress1 because progress
 is not a collective movement1 but the  
movement of great individuals who drag  
the race after them4  ,i do not         
recollect a single human reform that has
 been spontaneously generated in the    
heart of society itself2 it has always  
had its beginnings in the hearts of     
individuals4  ,thus the ,reformation is 
practically ,martin ,luther1 the        
,evangelical revival is ,wesley1 the    
,oxford ,movement is ,newman1 ,free     
,trade is ,cobden1 and so on through a  
hundred regenerations of thought1       
morals1 and politics4  ',the world being
 what it is1 we must take it as we find 
it1' is a note of quiet desperation4    
,it is precisely because the ,providence
 of ,history has again and again raised 
up men who were incapable of taking the 
world as they found it1 that            
regenerations and reformations of       
society have occurred at all4  ,society 

never moves forward except when it is   
goaded by the spirit of individual      
genius4  ,so far as we can trace the    
history of civilisation1 and thanks to  
modern research we have about ten       
thousand years to go by1 civilisation is
 a succession of waves1 each flowing a  
little higher than its predecessor1 with
 an ebb between each4 ,at what point is 
the ebb checked1 at what point does the 
fuller wave begin to flow8  ,always with
 the advent of individual genius4  ,a   
great man rises who founds a dynasty2 a 
great thinker1 who publishes new truths2
 a great lawgiver or statesman1 who     
establishes a new social system4  ,new  
worlds need a ,columbus1 and the social 
,columbus is always a man with          
sufficient daring to stand by original  
convictions4 ,therefore ,i say that     
human progress is only made possible by 
not taking the world as we find it2 and 
that he is the best friend of collective
 progress who is the most obedient not  
to collective convention1 but to        

individual insight4  ,i observe that my 
friend does not live in the spirit of   
his own axiom3 else1 why should he      
trouble himself over the inhabitants of 
,lucraft's ,row8  ,he is certainly not  
taking the world as he finds it when he 
devotes his hours of leisure to impart  
the elements of decency to              
gutter-snipes1 and save drunkards from  
the pit4  ,he is as much an             
individualist as ,i1 only his           
individualism expresses itself in a     
different way2 which confirms my        
original conjecture that we may be      
equally right in our own mode of life4  
,nor1 by his own confession1 does he    
really sacrifice his inclinations in his
 mode of life2 he gratifies his sense of
 altruism in ,lucraft's ,row1 and ,i my 
love of ,nature in the solitude of      
lonely hills4  ,the objects which give  
men pleasure may be so diverse that what
 is a source of joy to one man may be an
 equal source of misery to another4     
,there can be no doubt that many of the 

martyrs and ascetics were honestly      
enamoured of pain and whatever credit   
they deserve for sacrifice1 they pleased
 themselves by renouncing the world1 as 
others by enjoying it2 and all that can 
be said on the subject is that each     
pleased himself in his own way4         
,thoreau's defence when he was accused  
of not doing good was that it did not   
agree with his constitution2 and        
although the defence sounds like a piece
 of amusing cynicism1 it was in reality 
a plea entirely just4  ,the common fault
 of the ,good ,earnest ,people1 as of   
most people1 is that they can only      
conceive of doing good after a pattern  
which is congenial to themselves4  ,but 
their mode of doing good1 while it suits
 themselves admirably1 may not suit     
every constitution1 and people of a     
quite different mental constitution may 
be quite as good as themselves1 although
 it is after a very different pattern4  
,thoreau did a vast amount of good by   
showing men1 in his own example1 that   

the simplest kind of life was compatible
 with the highest intellectual aims2    
would he1 in the long-run1 have served  
the world half as well had he forced    
himself to live amid the squalor of a   
,new ,york slum8  ,are not we so much   
the wiser and stronger by the lessons   
taught in the hut beside ,walden ,pond1 
that it would be the poorest            
compensation for their loss to know that
 ,thoreau by dint of effort made himself
 a fairly efficient city missionary1 or 
pleased the pundits of a ,charity       
,organisation ,society8  ,or to take a  
yet more forcible example of my meaning3
 ,hood wrote ,the ,song of the ,shirt1  
and ,wordsworth ,the ,ode on            
,intimations of ,immortality2 would     
either have gained by an exchange of    
lot8  ,the one poem could only have been
 written by a man who knew 'the tragic  
heart of towns1' and the other by the   
man who knew the tranquil heart of      
,nature2 but ,hood1 transported to      
,grasmere1 would have written nothing1  

and ,wordsworth in ,fleet ,street is    
unthinkable4  ,as it was1 ,destiny took 
the matter in hand1 and having men to   
work upon whose first principle of life 
was to fulfil and not to violate the    
instincts of their own nature1 succeeded
 in producing two poets who served      
mankind each in a way not possible to   
the other4  ,i suspect there is a great 
deal of cant to be cleared out of the   
mind before we can become equitable     
judges of what doing good really means4 
,i define doing good as the fulfilment  
of our best instincts and faculties for 
the best use of mankind2 but ,i do not  
expect that the ,good ,earnest ,people  
will accept this definition4  ,they     
would find it much too catholic1 simply 
because they have learned to attach a   
specialised meaning to the phrase 'doing
 good1' which limits it to some form of 
active philanthropy4  ,if they would but
 allow a wider vision of life to pass   
before the eye1 they would see that     
there are many ways of doing good       

besides those which satisfy their own   
ideals4  ,it is a singular thing that   
men find it very difficult to live lives
 of charity without cherishing          
uncharitable tempers towards those who  
do not live precisely as they themselves
 do4  ,for instance1 the busy           
philanthropist1 nobly eager to bring a  
little happiness into the grey lives of 
the disinherited1 often has the poorest 
opinion of artists and novelists1 who   
appear to him to live useless lives4    
,but when ,turner paints a picture like 
the ,fighting ,temeraire ,towed to ,her 
,last ,berth1 which is destined to stir 
generous thoughts in multitudes of      
hearts long after his death3 or when    
,scott writes novels which have         
increased the sum of human happiness for
 a century1 is not each doing good of   
the rarest1 highest1 and most enduring  
kind8  ,the fulfilment of one's best    
instincts and faculties1 for the best   
use of mankind1 is not only the         
completest1 but also the only available 

form of philanthropy4  ,since ,nature   
has chosen to endow us with diverse     
faculties1 our service of mankind must  
be diverse too4  ,in a word1 doing good 
is a much larger business than the      
ordinary philanthropist imagines2 it has
 many branches and a thousand forms2 and
 they are not always doing the most who 
seem the busiest1 nor do those          
accomplish most in the alleviation of   
human misery whose contact with it is   
the closest4  ,during the last year of  
my life in ,london ,i came into contact 
with a brilliant young ,oxford man1 who 
had manifest talents for oratory1       
leadership1 and literature4  ,he was in 
search of a career1 and being a youth of
 quick sympathies and very generous     
instincts1 he was soon caught in the    
tide of a certain social movement1 whose
 chief aim was to induce persons of     
culture to live among the very poorest  
of the poor4 ,the leader of this        
movement was a man of beautifully       
unselfish temper1 but of no striking    

intellectual gifts2 apart from a certain
 originality of character1 which was the
 fruit of this unselfish temper1 he was 
quite commonplace in mind1 and could    
have aspired to no higher rank in life  
than an honourable place among the      
inferior clergy4  ,he attracted this    
brilliant youth1 however2 a youth who   
had been president of the ,oxford       
,union1 and had taken a double first in 
classics1 for whom distinction in life  
seemed inevitable4  ,the end was that   
his convert joined what was really a lay
 order of social and religious service4 
,he lived among the slums of ,holborn1  
devoted himself to the instruction of   
the children of the gutter1 kept the    
accounts of coal and blanket clubs1 and 
accepted cheerfully all the drudgery of 
philanthropy among the poor4  ,most     
people1 ,i am quite aware1 will say that
 this is a very noble example of        
renunciation2 so it is1 and as such ,i  
can admire it4 ,but is there nothing    
else to be considered8  ,may not the    

sociologist ask whether a man is serving
 society in the best way by refusing to 
use his best gifts in the only direction
 in which they could have full play8    
,for many years this youth had trained  
himself for a particular part in life   
which few could fill2 he might have     
influenced the councils of his nation by
 his powers of debate1 the mind of his  
nation by his gift of literature2 he    
should have stood before kings and      
spoken to scholars2 yet all these high  
utilities were extinguished in order    
that he might do something which a man  
with only a tenth part of his gifts     
might have done quite as well4  ,think  
of the picture2 a scholar who never     
opens a book1 an orator who addresses   
only costers and work-girls1 a writer   
who writes nothing1 a leader of men who 
exerts no public influence2 and what is 
this wilful destruction of high         
faculties but social waste and robbery8 
,no doubt he is doing good2 but would   
not the good he might have done have    

been far wider1 had he followed the line
 of his natural gifts1 and occupied the 
place in life for which those gifts     
obviously fitted him8  ,this story is a 
pertinent example of the cant of ,doing 
,good4  ,by all means let those live    
among the poor and work for their       
betterment who have a distinct vocation 
for the task2 but it is not a vocation  
for all4  ,i object to the spectacle of 
a late president of the ,oxford ,union  
giving up his life to the management of 
coal and blanket clubs1 just as ,i      
object to the spectacle of a            
thorough-bred racehorse harnessed to a  
dray4  ,it is a waste of power4  ,but   
the ,good ,earnest ,people never see    
this side of things1 because they are   
afflicted with narrowness of vision4    
,they admit no definition of doing good 
but their own4  ,they cannot see that   
the man who passes from a distinguished 
,university career to a distinguished   
public life may do more for the poor by 
his pen1 by his power of awakening      

sympathy1 by the opportunity that may be
 his to obtain the reversal of unjust   
laws or the establishment of good laws1 
than he ever could have done by living  
in a slum as the friend and helper of a 
small group of needy men and women4     
,decisive victories are won more often  
by lateral movements than by frontal    
attacks4  ,the wave of force which      
travels on a circle may arrive with more
 thrilling impact on a point of contact 
than that which travels on a horizontal 
line4  ,society is best served after all
 by the fullest development of our best 
faculties2 and whether we check this    
development from pious or selfish       
motives1 the result is still the same2  
we have robbed society of its profit by 
us1 which is the worst kind of evil     
which we can inflict on the community4  
,if this statement of social obligation 
is admitted as correct1 most of my      
friend's strictures on my conduct       
dissolve into mere harmless rhetoric4   
,for instance1 he says ,i have          

'marooned' myself1 and goes on to draw a
 fancy picture of a ,south ,sea         
,islander1 content with laziness and    
sunshine1 intimating that this is the   
kind of life which ,i have chosen4  ,on 
the contrary my life is what most city  
men would call a hard life4  ,i work    
hard every day1 the only difference     
between my work and theirs being that my
 work is natural1 wholesome1 and        
pleasant1 while theirs is drudgery4  ,in
 what am ,i more selfish than the       
average citizen1 who after all is doing 
just what ,i am doing1 viz4 working for 
his living8  ,my friend would have me   
believe that the man who toils in cities
 does so from exalted motives4  ,he is  
bearing the weight of empire1 assisting 
in the growth of ,british commerce1 and 
generally serving the cause of national 
progress1 while ,i sit in ignoble       
independence on my own potato patch4  ,i
 have known a good many men engaged in  
the lower ranks of commerce1 but ,i have
 yet to meet one who is influenced in   

the least by these highly-coloured      
motives and ideals4 ,they are intent on 
earning their living1 no more4  ,their  
interest in commerce is precisely       
confined to what they can get out of it4
  ,they bear just as little of the      
burden of the ,empire as the            
tax-gatherer will permit them4  ,there  
is not one of them who would not object 
with vigour to take a single shilling   
less per week for the sake of progress1 
or any cause that might arrogate that   
title4  ,besides1 it is surely a piece  
of undiluted ,cockney egoism to suppose 
that the only persons who do their duty 
by the ,empire are ,londoners4  ,we are 
still an agricultural country1 and there
 are some millions of people who live   
upon the land4  ,they do some kind of   
work1 which one may suppose is of some  
utility and value to the nation2 why    
should their kind of work be despised8  
,they also pay taxes1 give an equivalent
 of labour for their keep1 rear         
children1 educate them1 and send them   

out to be of some service to the ,state2
 what does the dweller in cities do more
 than these8  ,if ,i were disposed to   
argue the question1 ,i should contend   
that the man who gets a bushel of corn  
or a sack of good potatoes out of the   
land has added a more real asset to the 
wealth of the community1 and therefore  
deserves more praise from the           
commonwealth1 than all the tribe of     
stockbrokers since the world began2 for 
these lords of wealth1 who reign supreme
 in cities1 produce nothing4  ,but since
 my friend is fond of quoting ,browning1
 ,i also will quote him1 and let the    
poet say in the flash of three lines    
what the dialectician would need a page 
to say3     ,all service ranks the same 
with ,god1--   ,god's puppets1 best and 
worst1   ,are we3 there is no last nor  
first1   ,of course there is no         
disputing the general truth of the      
statement that nations are developed by 
the call made upon their energies by    
difficulty1 and their power of response 

to that call4  ,but why should such a   
statement be construed into a reproach  
on my mode of life8  ,if my friend1 who 
is probably sitting in a comfortable    
office at this moment1 adding up figures
 which he could do almost with his eyes 
shut1 would condescend to visit my      
potato patch1 he would find call enough 
upon his energy4  ,i have almost broken 
my back1 and certainly blistered my     
hands1 for the last four hours in hoeing
 my potato trenches into good level     
lines1 and ,i have still an hour's work 
at weeding to do before ,i can satisfy  
myself that ,i have earned my dinner4   
,i can assure him that bread-fruit does 
not grow on my land1 nor am ,i in danger
 of being corrupted by a too easy means 
of subsistence4  ,the worst crime that  
can be alleged against me is that ,i    
have changed my occupation in life1 but 
,i am very far from being unoccupied4   
,the occupation which ,i now follow is  
the most ancient and most honourable in 
the world2 ,i believe that ,adam        

followed it4  ,is it not a curious irony
 upon civilisation1 that it has so      
filled the mind with artificial         
estimates of work1 that a form of work  
which is still practised by the great   
majority of the world's inhabitants is  
scarcely regarded as work at all by the 
insolent minority of mankind who happen 
to live in cities8  ,but ,i have long   
observed that there is a universal      
tendency in men only to regard as work  
the peculiar sort of work which they    
themselves do2 and so the artisan       
supposes he is the only genuine 'working
 man1' and the shopkeeper thinks the    
life of the professional man a piece of 
organised idleness1 and the tradition   
appears ineradicable that all the       
clergy1 from bishops downwards1 never   
work at all because they do not sit in  
offices4  ,it is of a piece with the    
theory of 'doing good'2 for all men are 
bigots when they attempt to measure the 
universal life of men by their own      
little egoistic standards4  ,as to that 

imposing axiom1 that all our actions    
must be measured by their collective    
effects1 ,i heartily agree to it1       
because it is precisely here that ,i    
think my case is strongest4  ,i do not1 
of course1 invite all men to follow my  
example by returning to what my friend  
calls 'barbarism1' and there is so      
little danger of any such catastrophe   
that it is not worth while discussing   
it4  ,but if any considerable number of 
men should think my example good1 ,i    
would not deter them from following it1 
because ,i believe that no greater      
service could be done to society than to
 multiply the number of individuals who 
prefer a simple to an artificial        
existence1 who are willing to live lives
 of honest labour and entire            
contentment1 who will care not at all   
for riches1 but will spend their utmost 
care upon their virtues1 who will count 
'self-possession1' the best of all      
possessions1 and the power of living in 
,god's world in cheerful happiness and  

modest usefulness the real programme of 
life which ,god has set before all ,his 
children1 and which alone is worth our  
hope and struggle4  ,the basis of all   
good citizenship is physical and moral  
health4  ,health is really wholeness1   
and so we get the word holiness1 for all
 these words are products of the same   
idea4  ,what service to the race can be 
greater1 both in its present value and  
its ultimate effect1 than to produce men
 and women both physically and morally  
whole8  ,it is no doubt a duty to do all
 we can to help the unfit1 and assist   
the infirm2 but it is better wisdom and 
a truer duty to produce the fit and the 
whole4  ,in the degree that ,i am better
 equipped as a man1 ,i am better        
equipped as a member of the             
commonwealth4  ,all questions of doing  
good are secondary to the question of   
being good2 and to be good is but a     
synonym of moral wholeness4  ,if a      
nation can succeed in producing         
efficient human creatures1 efficient    

first of all in body1 because that is   
the basis of all efficiency of mind1 and
 will1 and energy1 there will be no     
question of efficient citizenship4  ,as 
for me1 ,i have found the means of a    
more efficient manhood by a return to a 
simple and a natural life2 and therefore
 ,i am quite willing to submit my action
 to the test of collective example1     
believing that the more widely it is    
imitated1 the better will it be for the 
happiness and well-being of my nation1  
and of the world4  ,the best way of     
doing good that ,i can devise is to make
 myself an efficient member of society2 
and it is obvious that if every man did 
this there would be very little work for
 the professional philanthropist4  ,it  
is not help that men need most1 but     
opportunity4 ,philanthropy is1 for the  
most part1 engaged in patching up the   
sick anaemic body of society2 which is  
equivalent to minimising the distress of
 ill-health without producing good      
health4  ,the wise physician knows very 

well that no amount of medicine will do 
much for the anaemic child2 what the    
child wants is room to grow4  ,we have  
social physicians in plenty1 each with  
his own particular medicine1 but all of 
them together have said nothing half so 
wise as these two lines of ,walt        
,whitman3     ,now ,i see the secret of 
the making of the best persons2   ,it is
 to grow in the open air1 and to eat and
 sleep with the earth4   ,to create the 
best persons is to accomplish a service 
for society which is durable1 and       
therefore is the only real good4  ,i    
claim that this is what ,i have tried to
 do in my own case1 and in no other way 
could ,i discharge my obligation to     
society so well4  ,economically         
considered ,i am now a profitable asset 
to society4  ,i do a man's work every   
day1 and ,i earn my keep4  ,when the    
time comes for my children to go out    
into life they will take with them good 
thews and muscles1 sound bodies1 and    
well-furnished minds4  ,i imagine that  

this is about as good a contribution to 
the cause of ,progress1 the service of  
,commerce1 and the maintenance of       
,empire1 as any one man can make4       
,,chapter ,,xiii  ,,the ,,city ,,of     
,,the ,,future  ,after four years'      
experiment in ,quest of the ,simple     
,life ,i am in a position to state      
certain conclusions1 which are          
sufficiently authoritative with me to   
suggest that they may have some weight  
with my readers4  ,these conclusions ,i 
will briefly recapitulate4  ,the chief  
discovery which ,i have made is that man
 may lead a perfectly honourable1       
sufficing1 and even joyous existence    
upon a very small income4  ,money plays 
a part in human existence much less     
important than we suppose4  ,the best   
boon that money can bestow upon us is   
independence4  ,how much money do we    
need to secure independence8  ,that must
 depend on the nature of our wants4     
,becky ,sharp thought that virtue might 
be possible on #ejjj pounds a year2 and1

 apart from the question of whether     
money has anything to do with virtue at 
all1 it is obvious that she put her     
figure absurdly high4  ,most of us put  
the figure at which independence may be 
purchased too high4  ,if our idea of    
independence is the possession of an    
income that allows extravagance1 if life
 would be intolerable to us without the 
gratification of many artificial wants1 
if our notion of a lodge in the         
wilderness is the           ,cottage1   
with a double coach-house1   ,the pride 
that apes humility1   at which          
,coleridge sneered1 then only a very few
 of us can ever hope for our            
emancipation4  ,the first step toward   
independence is the limitation of our   
wants4  ,we must be fed1 clothed1 and   
lodged in such a way that a             
self-respecting life is possible to us2 
when we have ascertained the figure at  
which this ideal can be realised1 we    
have ascertained the price of           
independence4  ,my experiment ,i regard 

as successful1 but there are two        
features in it which diminish its       
general application4  ,one is that ,i   
took with me into my solitude certain   
tastes and aptitudes1 which ,i may claim
 without the least egoism to be not     
altogether common4  ,i had an intense   
love of ,nature1 a delight in physical  
exertion1 and a vital interest in       
literature4  ,i was thus provided with  
resources in myself4  ,it would be the  
height of folly for a person wholly     
destitute of these aptitudes to venture 
upon such a life as mine4  ,he would    
find the country unutterably wearisome1 
its pursuits a detestable form of       
drudgery1 and the unoccupied hours of   
his life tedious beyond expression4  ,in
 reconsidering what ,i have written ,i  
perceive that unconsciously ,i have     
chronicled only the pleasant episodes of
 my existence4  ,there is another       
picture that might be painted of        
mountains clothed in cloud1 roads deep  
in mire1 work done under drenching      

rains1 early darkness1 lack of          
neighbourship1 isolation and monotony1 a
 life separated by continents of silence
 from all the eager movement of the     
world4  ,there are two pictures of the  
country1 equally true2 the country of   
,corot1 idyllic1 lovely1 full of soft   
light and graceful form2 the country of 
,millet1 austere1 harsh1 bleak1         
impressive only by a certain gravity and
 grand severity4  ,we all imagine that  
we could live in1 and we all desire1 the
 country of ,corot4  ,but could we live 
in the country of ,millet8  ,i confess  
that ,i could not have done so without  
resources in myself4  ,it required a    
genuine pleasure in hard physical       
exercise to get through the duties of   
the day1 and a genuine interest in      
literature to supply the place of those 
artificial forms of pleasure which      
relieve the tedium of towns4  ,i do not 
know what ,i should have done without   
books in the long winter evenings4      
,nowhere is a 'city of the mind1' into  

which one can retire1 so necessary as in
 the country4  ,there is also needed an 
enduring and genuine delight in ,nature 
and outdoor occupations1 which creates  
its own sunshine under dreary skies4    
,the mere sentiment of rusticity1       
created in the townsman's mind by       
pictures and novels1 soon dissolves     
before the realities of a genuine       
country life4  ,it is ,millet1 not      
,corot1 who is the most frequent comrade
 of the man who looks for months        
together on the same expanse of fields1 
and moves upon the same unchanging round
 of labour4  ,therefore it is necessary 
to insist that no error could be greater
 than for a man with no real aptitude   
for a solitary life1 and no resources of
 intellectual pleasure in himself1 to   
attempt such an experiment as mine4  ,he
 would weary of it in a month1 and would
 flee1 like a child afraid of the       
darkness1 back to gaslit streets again1 
with reviling on his lips and bitter    
anger in his heart4  ,it must also be   

remembered that ,i did not go into the  
country with the intention of deriving  
my livelihood from the soil4  ,my       
sources of income were separate from my 
mode of life2 and although my income was
 at the best very small1 yet it was     
sufficient to secure me ease of mind4   
,i did indeed discover that the expenses
 of a simple life were slight1 and that 
these expenses might be kept low by a   
moderate degree of industry in rural    
pursuits1 but ,i never imagined that ,i 
could live altogether by the soil4  ,i  
may frankly confess that while ,i       
believe it to be perfectly possible for 
a strong and handy man1 accustomed to   
agricultural pursuits1 to earn a living 
from the soil1 my example has little to 
teach in this direction4  ,the cry of   
',back to the ,land' will be meaningless
 until general ownership in the land is 
made possible4 ,it is the burden of     
rent1 often a cruel and unjust rent1    
that has driven men from the land4  ,not
 far from me at ,thornthwaite there     

resided a man and his wife who were     
among the most frugal and industrious   
persons ,i have ever met1 yet they found
 it absolutely impossible to earn a     
living from the land simply because the 
conditions of their tenure were         
unreasonable4  ,for thirteen acres of   
land1 with a small farm-house and       
farm-buildings1 they paid eighty pounds 
per annum1 with an additional charge of 
thirty shillings a year for the right of
 a boat upon the lake4  ,the most that  
they could do with this small holding   
was to graze four cows1 and in a good   
season they got nearly enough hay to    
feed their cattle during the winter     
months2 but with all the pinching in the
 world they went steadily behind at the 
rate of about forty pounds per annum4   
,this is a concrete example of the      
difficulties of the small farmer1 and it
 is sufficient to show how vain is the  
hope of any return to the land as long  
as rents are maintained at their present
 level4  ,were it possible for an       

,english government to offer free grants
 of land as the ,canadian government    
does1 or even to fix rents and provide  
for the purchase of land as is the case 
in ,ireland1 multitudes of able-bodied  
men1 wearied with the fierce struggle   
for bread in cities1 would avail        
themselves of the opportunity2 but under
 the present conditions of farm-tenure  
those who know the country best1 know   
that1 except in a very few districts1 it
 is next to impossible to live by the   
land4  ,in these important respects1 ,i 
admit that little can be deduced from my
 example4  ,all that ,i can pretend to  
teach is that any man possessed of a    
small but secure income can live with   
ease and comfort in the country1 where  
he would be condemned to a bitter       
struggle in a city2 that a country life 
presents incomparable advantages of     
health and happiness2 that it is not    
dull or monotonous to the man who has a 
genuine love of ,nature1 and some       
intellectual resources in himself2 and  

that what are called the privations of  
such a life are inconsiderable compared 
with the real injuries endured by the   
man of small income1 who earns his      
difficult bread in the fierce struggle  
of a city or a manufacturing town4      
,this leads me to a final question1 viz4
 can nothing be done to regenerate our  
cities8  ,is it quite impossible that   
the ,city of the ,future should be so   
contrived as to offer the best          
advantages of corporate and communal    
existence without those intolerable     
disadvantages which at present make the 
city a realm of 'dreadful night' to the 
poor1 the weak1 and the sensitive8  ,i  
began by saying that ,i am not a hater  
of cities4  ,i feel their fascination1  
and four years of country life have not 
destroyed that fascination4  ,when ,i   
had occasion recently to return to      
,london for a week's visit1 ,i was      
surprised to find with what eager joy ,i
 plunged into the labyrinth of lighted  
streets1 how the blood began to quicken 

with the movement of the ceaseless      
crowd1 how much of grandeur and beauty  
assailed the eye in the wide perspective
 of domes and towers and spires1 how the
 very voice of ,london1 sonorous and    
confused1 like the noise of a great     
battlefield1 thrilled the spirit1 and ,i
 felt again that old and poignant charm 
of cities1 that quickening of the       
imagination which lies in mere          
multitude1 that perpetual seduction of  
the senses begotten by the revelation of
 so much effort and magnificence4       
,there was an indescribable vivacity in 
this moving crowd1 a contagious         
animation in the air2 and1 if truth be  
told1 ,i found the air fresher and the  
sky less grey than ,i had fancied1 for a
 south-west wind1 soft as velvet and wet
 with sea-salt1 blew through street and 
square1 and the sky was full of sunshine
 and of racing clouds4  ,i could not    
wonder at the love of cities2 it seemed 
a passion inherent in modern man1 fed   
and brought to its maturity by centuries

 of communal existence4  ,and so the    
thought grew1 that the temper of        
enduring antagonism to cities was a     
temper more and more impossible to      
modern man1 who has long since left     
behind the realities of elemental life1 
the rude simplicities of patriarchal    
modes of existence4  ,the ,city is with 
us1 and it has come to stay4  ,london   
grows vaster year by year1 and there is 
no sign of arrest in its prodigious     
life4  ,is it then a dream quite        
impossible and vain1 that cities may be 
so administered as to develop the best  
life of men1 and not to stint it8  ,i   
believe that it is possible1 and1 most  
of all1 by the expansion of the city    
area4  ,there was a reason why men      
should be closely packed together in    
mediaeval times1 when cities had their  
defensive walls against invaders1 but   
those conditions have long since passed 
away4 ,entire security of life makes for
 the dispersal of population1 and in a  
city like ,london1 which has not been   

exposed to the perils of invasion for   
more than two centuries1 there is no    
reason why people should be confined in 
narrow areas1 ,from all that we can     
learn of the most ancient cities of the 
world1 such as ,nineveh and ,babylon1 we
 know that they covered enormous areas1 
although at no time were they secure    
from the capricious tragedies of war4   
,nineveh appears to have been a group of
 cities1 united by a common government2 
cities of gardens and parks1 so that the
 country flowed into the streets2 cities
 in which the great temples1 and        
palaces1 and public buildings were not  
confined to any one quarter1 but were   
scattered through the entire area of the
 city1 giving an equal dignity to its   
every part4  ,let us apply the analogy  
to ,london4  ,let us suppose a          
reconstructed ,london1 devised upon the 
broad principle of ample space and air  
according to population2 of congregated 
and contiguous cities under a common    
government2 of public buildings of      

utility and beauty equally distributed2 
and it is easy to imagine a ,london that
 should combine all the charm of the    
country with the advantages of the      
metropolis4  ,the splendid streets1     
which are the main arteries of traffic1 
would remain1 but the squalid tenements 
and alleys which are packed away behind 
them would disappear4  ,a long chain of 
parks and gardens would unite the ,west 
and ,east1 taking the place of a host of
 rotten rabbit-warrens1 which are a     
disgrace to any civilised community4    
,there would be no quarter of the town  
relinquished to the absolutely poor2    
,poplar would have its palaces of       
wealthy merchants as well as            
,kensington1 ,st4 ,albans on the north1 
,reigate on the south1 would mark the   
limits of the city1 and all the         
intervening space would be filled with  
thriving colonies of ,londoners1 living 
in well-built houses with ample gardens4
  ,manufactories would be distributed as
 well as mansions4  ,the various trades 

would not be huddled together in narrow 
inconvenient corners of the metropolis2 
the factory1 removed a dozen miles from 
,charing ,cross1 would take its workers 
with it1 and become the nucleus of a new
 township4  ,the artisan would thus work
 within sight of his house1 and that    
entire dislocation of home-life1        
involved by present conditions of       
labour1 would disappear4  ,and each of  
these townships would have its baths1   
libraries1 and technical schools1 not   
dependent on local enterprise or        
generosity1 but administered by a       
central body1 composed of men of wide   
views and experience1 who should deserve
 the great title of the ,city ,fathers2 
and each would be saved from the narrow 
spirit of suburbanism by the proud sense
 of its corporate unity with ,london4   
,such a ,london no doubt bears the      
aspect of a futile dream2 yet it is     
worth while pointing out that in a dim  
and feeble way this has been the ideal  
after which ,london has been groping    

ever since the day when the population  
first overflowed its normal boundaries4 
,the mischief has been that nothing has 
been done upon a grand scale and by     
organised effort4  ,a bit of open space 
has been bought for a park here and     
there1 while a much larger bit has      
passed into the builder's hands through 
local indifference or apathy4  ,new     
suburbs have arisen in a day1 not       
because any central power willed it1 but
 simply by the combined greed1 energy1  
and enterprise of the speculative       
builder1 who invariably builds rotten   
houses1 which he sells as fast as he can
 to guileless people with a passion for 
owning house-property4  ,the result has 
been confusion1 waste1 and              
disappointment4  ,the new township rises
 without any adequate provision for     
roads or railway accommodation4  ,it is 
filled by a migratory population who do 
not realise these inconveniences or     
ignore them1 as long as the novelty of  
the thing charms them2 presently they   

move off again1 a poorer population     
takes their place1 rents drop1 and      
another suburb is left to a precarious  
existence4  ,i contend that this        
necessary expansion of the metropolis   
should not be left to caprice2 it should
 be designed upon broad lines of        
development4  ,the ,london ,county      
,council should buy up every acre of    
land that comes into the market within a
 thirty-five mile radius of ,central    
,london4  ,it should be for the ,council
 to decide whether such land as they    
acquired should be retained for parks   
and gardens1 or utilised for building4  
,it should be in their sole power to    
decide the kind of buildings that should
 be erected1 and to bind themselves to  
erect buildings of public utility and   
convenience1 such as libraries1 baths1  
and concert-halls in a settled          
proportion to the number of             
dwelling-houses4  ,at all costs the     
speculative builder should be           
eliminated4  ,he is the worst sort of   

parasite on the community4  ,his        
dishonesty is absolute1 and the mischief
 which he works is little short of      
crime4  ,since the ,county ,council has 
established its right to build houses1  
and has built them well1 let it build   
all our houses1 and give to other       
classes beside the artisan the advantage
 of substantial tenements4  ,let it     
borrow as many millions as it pleases2  
no one will complain if its             
administration is efficient2 and after  
all1 we may as well pay a fair rent to a
 central body1 amenable to public       
opinion1 as to a private individual     
whose own gain is the chief matter      
involved1 ,we cannot do without the     
capitalist2 but a ,communal ,capitalist 
is infinitely preferable to a private   
capitalist4  ,municipal ,socialism is   
the watchword of the future2 and instead
 of being jealous of the existing powers
 of the ,county ,council1 ,i would      
increase those powers tenfold2 for      
without the widest kind of power1 and   

even of despotic power1 invested in some
 central authority1 the chaotic         
expansion of ,london will go on to the  
enrichment of the few and the abiding   
injury of the many4  ,one of the        
greatest difficulties in this expansion 
of the area is the means of locomotion4 
,it is at present in the power of a     
railway company1 which is after all only
 a private trading concern1 to create or
 ruin the prosperity of a suburb by the 
kind of provision which it makes for it 
necessities4  ,a good1 rapid1 cheap1 and
 frequent service of trains is a matter 
of the utmost importance to a suburb4   
,but here again1 our method of expansion
 is left to chance and haphazard4  ,the 
speculative builder does not trouble    
himself about a train-service2 he knows 
by experience that he can attract a     
population to any given locality1 and he
 leaves the new residents to discover   
the inconveniences of the locality for  
themselves4  ,it might be supposed that 
the railway company1 in its own         

interest1 would be quick to profit by   
the new population on its line of route2
 sometimes it does so1 but in many      
instances it does not4  ,one would      
suppose by the grudging way in which    
extra trains are put on to meet the     
needs of an increased population1 that  
the railway company was a beneficent    
association1 granting favours1 instead  
of a trading concern in search of new   
business4  ,the only real remedy for    
this kind of evil is that all the means 
of locomotion within a twenty-five miles
 radius of ,charing ,cross should be in 
the hands of one central authority4  ,if
 a ,county ,council is capable of       
superintending a tramway system1 it     
should also be capable of superintending
 the suburban railway system for the    
public good4  ,and if it be thought much
 too vast an undertaking for the ,county
 ,council to become the proprietor of   
all the suburban lines1 it should at    
least be in the power of the ,council to
 exercise effective control over their  

working1 and to compel the companies to 
make adequate provision for the outlying
 populations4  ,but it is clear that if 
factories and businesses were removed   
into suburban districts1 carrying their 
armies of workers with them1 a good part
 of the difficulty of locomotion would  
soon settle itself4  ,it is the enormous
 daily flow of population toward the    
centre that chokes the channels of      
locomotion1 and the wisest method of    
checking this flow is to make it        
unnecessary1 by establishing            
manufacturing colonies1 on the pattern  
of ,mr4 ,ellis ,lever's and ,mr4        
,cadbury's colonies at ,port ,sunlight  
and ,bourneville4  ,there would still   
remain the difficulty of locomotion in  
the central districts1 but with proper  
enterprise1 organisation1 and control1  
this difficulty is not insuperable4  ,in
 a few years we shall look back with    
wonder and pity to the days when the    
infrequent 'bus1 the slow and tedious   
horse-tram1 and the exorbitant cab were 

the means of locomotion in which a city 
of six million people put its trust4    
,the electric tram1 clean1 frequent1 and
 rapid1 will be everywhere2 the electric
 cab will run at a normal fare of       
threepence a mile2 perhaps also there   
will be electric overhead railways1     
constructed upon a system which does not
 interfere with the perspective of the  
main thoroughfares1 for the overhead    
electric railway1 whatever may be its   
defects1 is a means of locomotion vastly
 preferable to the unventilated tubes on
 which we now pride ourselves4  ,may we 
not also hope that the general          
application of electric force will do   
much to cleanse our atmosphere8  ,with  
houses lit and warmed by electricity1   
factories run by electric force1 cooking
 done in electric ovens1 the vile smoke 
which darkens and destroys the city     
would disappear4  ,the skies of ,london 
would be as pure as the sky of the      
,orkneys1 and a hundred trees and       
plants1 which now perish at the first   

touch of the fog-fiend1 would grow in   
our city parks and gardens as freely as 
they grow in ,epping ,forest4  ,with a  
fleet of electric boats upon the        
,thames1 running at one minute          
intervals1 the ,thames would once more  
become the river of pleasure1 and a     
highway of popular traffic4  ,there is  
no reason why these things should not   
be4  ,all that is needed is that        
,london1 through its chosen             
representatives1 should assume the full 
control of its own life2 working out the
 scheme of its improvement by deliberate
 methods and upon a settled plan2       
compelling the obedience of all its     
citizens to a central authority1 and    
intrusting to that authority the        
complete management of its affairs1 not 
as a means of personal profit1 but for  
the profit and the welfare of the whole 
community4  ,in the meantime much may be
 done by personal enterprise4  ,is there
 any real reason why groups of persons1 
whose employment is in the city1 but    

whose hearts are in the country1 should 
not found small colonies for themselves 
on the outskirts of ,london8  ,let a    
thousand householders combine themselves
 into a company2 let them choose their  
own site1 build their own houses2 let   
them erect their own ,church--one       
,church upon the broad basis of charity 
instead of dogma would suffice--elect   
their own managing committee1 and set   
themselves to the creation of a true    
community4  ,let them possess their own 
electric plant for heating and lighting2
 let every house share the common       
convenience2 and since domestic labour  
forms one of the chief difficulties     
to-day1 let common dining-halls be      
erected for every hundred persons1 where
 good and cheap meals could be provided1
 or from which such meals could be      
supplied to private houses1 at the bare 
cost of their production4  ,let it be   
the aim of these communities to collect 
persons of not one trade or profession  
only1 but persons of varied occupations 

to compose their citizenship1 so that as
 many forms of human energy as might be 
possible should be represented1 each    
contributing its own element to the     
common life4  ,let all the trades       
permitted in the little township be     
conducted on co-operative principles1   
and not for private gain4  ,let due     
provision be made for efficient         
education1 for the cultivation of the   
arts1 and for the proper means of       
pleasure4  ,would not such a combination
 of men and women represent the best    
ideal of a human community8  ,and can we
 not see that in the mere economy of    
means and money the gain by such a      
system would be immense8  ,suppose the  
capitalised value of such a township1   
including the purchase of land1 the     
erection of houses1 draining1 lighting1 
and so forth1 were put at a million and 
a quarter sterling1 which is a generous 
estimate1 this would impose upon the    
individual house-holders no more than   
#dj pounds per annum1 calculated at #d  

per cent42 and besides this he would    
share in the great economy of           
co-operative trading4  ,if this estimate
 be rejected as inadequate1 it is easy  
to compute the cost by adding a burden  
of #aj pounds per annum to each         
house-holder for each quarter of a      
million expended2 but even if the total 
charge reached #ej pounds or #fj pounds 
per annum for each householder1 he would
 gain immensely in what he could get for
 his expenditure1 compared with what he 
could get for the same money in crowded 
,london4  ,such a scheme is simply the  
application of the principle of         
co-operation to communal life4  ,it is  
not chimerical2 if it seem so1 it is    
simply because we are so ill-trained in 
morals that we are unwilling to act     
together in practical brotherhood4  ,it 
is not impracticable2 it might be       
achieved to-morrow if we were in earnest
 over it4  ,there are hundreds of       
thoughtful men who have perceived its   
attractions1 outlined its system1       

vaguely desired its benefits2 are there 
not a thousand bold adventurers in      
,london willing to bring their vague    
ideal to the test1 and to make a        
practical experiment which1 once        
successful1 would alter the whole       
science of living1 and go far to solve  
some of the most difficult problems of  
our time8  ,it is for such a movement   
that ,i wait4  ,free and glad as my life
 among the mountains has been1 yet ,i am
 sensible that ,i am deprived of many   
elements of human intercourse1 which are
 efficacious in the growth of thought   
and the widening of the mind4  ,i count 
my deprivation light compared with the  
higher gains that are mine in the       
composure of my mind1 the joy of animal 
vitality1 the tranquil days that leave  
no bitterness and bring no discord1 each
 joined to each in 'natural piety1' each
 inwoven into the calm rhythm of        
fulfilled desire and duty4 ,but my      
pleasure is too little shared to be     
entirely satisfactory4  ,i see that     

there are terms on which my happiness   
might be communicated2 that there is a  
mode of life that should combine all the
 delight of human intercourse with the  
tranquillity of natural existence2 that 
the choice does not lie1 and ought not  
to lie1 between the city and the desert2
 that it is only by the folly of man1   
only by his greed1 and haste1 and       
carelessness1 and contempt for the      
communal principle1 that such a choice  
is forced upon me4  ,the ,regenerated   
,city will come in time1 too late       
perhaps for me to enjoy it2 but the     
,city ,colony or ,commune may come at   
any time2 and when it comes ,i will     
gladly be its conscript1 ,i will        
earnestly labour for its welfare1 ,i    
will humbly seek to promote its success1
 believing that in the degree that      
society exchanges individualism for     
co-operation1 personal gain for common  
good1 man will enter on the widening    
evolution of a real progress1 and find  
the path that leads him to a truly      

,golden ,age4