idle thoughts of an idle fellow-第2部分

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mptive　Buxton　to　London　with　its　stern　work　and　life。　　I　looked　out　of　the　carriage　as　we　rushed　through　Hendon　in　the　evening。　　The　lurid　glare　overhanging　the　mighty　city　seemed　to　warm　my　heart；　and　when；　later　on；　my　cab　rattled　out　of　St。　Pancras'　station；　the　old　familiar　roar　that　came　swelling　up　around　me　sounded　the　sweetest　music　I　had　heard　for　many　a　long　day。

I　certainly　did　not　enjoy　that　month's　idling。　　I　like　idling　when　I　ought　not　to　be　idling；　not　when　it　is　the　only　thing　I　have　to　do。　That　is　my　pig…headed　nature。　　The　time　when　I　like　best　to　stand　with　my　back　to　the　fire；　calculating　how　much　I　owe；　is　when　my　desk　is　heaped　highest　with　letters　that　must　be　answered　by　the　next　post。　When　I　like　to　dawdle　longest　over　my　dinner　is　when　I　have　a　heavy　evening's　work　before　me。　　And　if；　for　some　urgent　reason；　I　ought　to　be　up　particularly　early　in　the　morning；　it　is　then；　more　than　at　any　other　time；　that　I　love　to　lie　an　extra　half…hour　in　bed。

Ah！　how　delicious　it　is　to　turn　over　and　go　to　sleep　again：　〃just　for　five　minutes。〃　　Is　there　any　human　being；　I　wonder；　besides　the　hero　of　a　Sunday…school　〃tale　for　boys；〃　who　ever　gets　up　willingly？　　There　are　some　men　to　whom　getting　up　at　the　proper　time　is　an　utter　impossibility。　　If　eight　o'clock　happens　to　be　the　time　that　they　should　turn　out；　then　they　lie　till　half…past。　　If　circumstances　change　and　half…past　eight　becomes　early　enough　for　them；　then　it　is　nine　before　they　can　rise。　　They　are　like　the　statesman　of　whom　it　was　said　that　he　was　always　punctually　half　an　hour　late。　　They　try　all　manner　of　schemes。　　They　buy　alarm…clocks　（artful　contrivances　that　go　off　at　the　wrong　time　and　alarm　the　wrong　people）。　　They　tell　Sarah　Jane　to　knock　at　the　door　and　call　them；　and　Sarah　Jane　does　knock　at　the　door　and　does　call　them；　and　they　grunt　back　〃awri〃　and　then　go　comfortably　to　sleep　again。　　I　knew　one　man　who　would　actually　get　out　and　have　a　cold　bath；　and　even　that　was　of　no　use；　for　afterward　he　would　jump　into　bed　again　to　warm　himself。

I　think　myself　that　I　could　keep　out　of　bed　all　right　if　I　once　got　out。　　It　is　the　wrenching　away　of　the　head　from　the　pillow　that　I　find　so　hard；　and　no　amount　of　over…night　determination　makes　it　easier。　　I　say　to　myself；　after　having　wasted　the　whole　evening；　〃Well；　I　won't　do　any　more　work　to…night；　I'll　get　up　early　to…morrow　morning；〃　and　I　am　thoroughly　resolved　to　do　sothen。　　In　the　morning；　however；　I　feel　less　enthusiastic　about　the　idea；　and　reflect　that　it　would　have　been　much　better　if　I　had　stopped　up　last　night。　　And　then　there　is　the　trouble　of　dressing；　and　the　more　one　thinks　about　that　the　more　one　wants　to　put　it　off。

It　is　a　strange　thing　this　bed；　this　mimic　grave；　where　we　stretch　our　tired　limbs　and　sink　away　so　quietly　into　the　silence　and　rest。　　〃0　bed；　0　bed；　delicious　bed；　that　heaven　on　earth　to　the　weary　head；〃　as　sang　poor　Hood；　you　are　a　kind　old　nurse　to　us　fretful　boys　and　girls。　Clever　and　foolish；　naughty　and　good；　you　take　us　all　in　your　motherly　lap　and　hush　our　wayward　crying。　　The　strong　man　full　of　carethe　sick　man　full　of　painthe　little　maiden　sobbing　for　her　faithless　loverlike　children　we　lay　our　aching　heads　on　your　white　bosom；　and　you　gently　soothe　us　off　to　by…by。

Our　trouble　is　sore　indeed　when　you　turn　away　and　will　not　comfort　us。　How　long　the　dawn　seems　coming　when　we　cannot　sleep！　　Oh！　those　hideous　nights　when　we　toss　and　turn　in　fever　and　pain；　when　we　lie；　like　living　men　among　the　dead；　staring　out　into　the　dark　hours　that　drift　so　slowly　between　us　and　the　light。　　And　oh！　those　still　more　hideous　nights　when　we　sit　by　another　in　pain；　when　the　low　fire　startles　us　every　now　and　then　with　a　falling　cinder；　and　the　tick　of　the　clock　seems　a　hammer　beating　out　the　life　that　we　are　watching。

But　enough　of　beds　and　bedrooms。　　I　have　kept　to　them　too　long；　even　for　an　idle　fellow。　　Let　us　come　out　and　have　a　smoke。　　That　wastes　time　just　as　well　and　does　not　look　so　bad。　　Tobacco　has　been　a　blessing　to　us　idlers。　　What　the　civil…service　clerk　before　Sir　Walter's　time　found　to　occupy　their　minds　with　it　is　hard　to　imagine。　I　attribute　the　quarrelsome　nature　of　the　Middle　Ages　young　men　entirely　to　the　want　of　the　soothing　weed。　　They　had　no　work　to　do　and　could　not　smoke；　and　the　consequence　was　they　were　forever　fighting　and　rowing。　　If；　by　any　extraordinary　chance；　there　was　no　war　going；　then　they　got　up　a　deadly　family　feud　with　the　next…door　neighbor；　and　if；　in　spite　of　this；　they　still　had　a　few　spare　moments　on　their　hands；　they　occupied　them　with　discussions　as　to　whose　sweetheart　was　the　best　looking；　the　arguments　employed　on　both　sides　being　battle…axes；　clubs；　etc。　　Questions　of　taste　were　soon　decided　in　those　days。　　When　a　twelfth…century　youth　fell　in　love　he　did　not　take　three　paces　backward；　gaze　into　her　eyes；　and　tell　her　she　was　too　beautiful　to　live。　　He　said　he　would　step　outside　and　see　about　it。　And　if；　when　he　got　out；　he　met　a　man　and　broke　his　headthe　other　man's　head；　I　meanthen　that　proved　that　histhe　first　fellow'sgirl　was　a　pretty　girl。　　But　if　the　other　fellow　broke　_his_　headnot　his　own；　you　know；　but　the　other　fellow'sthe　other　fellow　to　the　second　fellow；　that　is；　because　of　course　the　other　fellow　would　only　be　the　other　fellow　to　him；　not　the　first　fellow　whowell；　if　he　broke　his　head；　then　_his_　girlnot　the　other　fellow's；　but　the　fellow　who　_was_　the　　Look　here；　if　A　broke　B's　head；　then　A's　girl　was　a　pretty　girl；　but　if　B　broke　A's　head；　then　A's　girl　wasn't　a　pretty　girl；　but　B's　girl　was。　　That　was　their　method　of　conducting　art　criticism。

Nowadays　we　light　a　pipe　and　let　the　girls　fight　it　out　among　themselves。

They　do　it　very　well。　　They　are　getting　to　do　all　our　work。　　They　are　doctors；　and　barristers；　and　artists。　　They　manage　theaters；　and　promote　swindles；　and　edit　newspapers。　　I　am　looking　forward　to　the　time　when　we　men　shall　have　nothing　to　do　but　lie　in　bed　till　twelve；　read　two　novels　a　day；　have　nice　little　five…o'clock　teas　all　to　ourselves；　and　tax　our　brains　with　nothing　more　trying　than　discussions　upon　the　latest　patterns　in　trousers　and　arguments　as　to　what　Mr。　Jones'　coat　was　made　of　and　whether　it　fitted　him。　　It　is　a　glorious　prospectfor　idle　fellows。



ON　BEING　IN　LOVE。

You've　been　in　love；　of　course！　　If　not　you've　got　it　to　come。　　Love　is　like　the　measles；　we　all　have　to　go　through　it。　　Also　like　the　measles；　we　take　it　only　once。　　One　never　need　be　afraid　of　catching　it　a　second　time。　　The　man　who　has　had　it　can　go　into　the　most　dangerous　places　and　play　the　most　foolhardy　tricks　with　perfect　safety。　　He　can　picnic　in　shady　woods；　ramble　through　leafy　aisles；　and　linger　on　mossy　seats　to　watch　the　sunset。　　He　fears　a　quiet　country…house　no　more　than　he　would　his　own　club。　　He　can　join　a　family　party　to　go　down　the　Rhine。　　He　can；　to　see　the　last　of　a　friend；　venture　into　the　very　jaws　of　the　marriage　ceremony　itself。　He　can　keep　his　head　through　the　whirl　of　a　ravishing　waltz；　and　rest　afterward　in　a　dark　conservatory；　catching　nothing　more　lasting　than　a　cold。　　He　can　brave　a　moonlight　walk　adown　sweet…scented　lanes　or　a　twilight　pull　among　the　somber　rushes。　　He　can　get　over　a　stile　without　danger；　scramble　through　a　tangled　hedge　without　being　caught；　come　down　a　slippery　path　without　falling。　　He　can　look　into　sunny　eyes　and　not　be　dazzled。　　He　listens　to　the　siren　voices；　yet　sails　on　with　unveered　helm。　　He　clasps　white　hands　in　his；　but　no　electric　〃Lulu〃…like　force　holds　him　bound　in　their　dainty　pressure。

No；　we　never　sicken　with　love　twice。　　Cupid　spends　no　second　arrow　on　the　same　heart。　　Love's　handmaids　are　our　life…long　friends。　　Respect；　and　admiration；　and　affection；　our　doors　may　always　be　left　open　for；　but　their　great　celestial　master；　in　his　royal　progress；　pays　but　one　visit　and　departs。　　We　like；　we　cherish；　we　are　very；　very　fond　ofbut　we　never　love　again。　　A　man's　heart　is　a　firework　that　once　in　its　time　flashes　heavenward。　　Meteor…like；　it　blazes　for　a　moment　and　lights　with　its　glory　the　whole　world　beneath。　　Then　the　night　of　our　sordid　commonplace　life　closes　in　around　it；　and　the　burned…out　case；　falling　back　to　earth；　lies　useless　and　uncared　for；　slowly　smoldering　into　ashes。　　Once；　breaking　loose　from　our　prison　bonds；　we　dare；　as　mighty　old　Prometheus　dared；　to　scale　the　Olympian　mount　and　snatch　from　Phoebus'　chariot　the　fire　of　the　gods。　　Happy　those　who；　hastening　down　again　ere　it　dies　out；　can　kindle　their　earthly　altars　at　its　flame。　　Love　is　too　pure　a　light　to　burn　long　among　the　noisome　gases　that　we　breathe；　but　before　it　is　choked　out　we　may　use　it　as　a　torch　to　ignite　the　cozy　fire　of　affection。

And；　after　all；　that　warming　glow　is　more　suited　to　our　cold　little　back　parlor　of　a　world　than　is　the　burning　spirit　love。　　Love　should　be　the　vestal　fire　of　some　mighty　templesome　vast　dim　fane　whose　organ　music　is　the　rolling　of　the　spheres。　　Affection　will　burn　cheerily　when　the　white　flame　of　love　is　flickered　out。　　Affection　is　a　fire　that　can　be　fed　from　day　to　day　and　be　piled　up　ever　higher　as　the　wintry　years　draw　nigh。　　Old　men　and　women　can　sit　by　it　with　their　thin　hands　clasped；　the　little　children　can　nestle　down　i