t all； and that it now only depends upon my will to lead a worthy existence。 That may be a sort of consolation； but it does not obscure the truth that I shall never again see possibilities and promises opening before me。 I have 〃retired；〃 and for me as truly as for the retired tradesman； life is over。 I can look back upon its pleted course； and what a little thing！ I am tempted to laugh； I hold myself within the limit of a smile。
And that is best； to smile； not in scorn； but in all forbearance； without too much self…passion。 After all； that dreadful aspect of the thing never really took hold of me； I could put it by without much effort。 Life is done……and what matter？ Whether it has been； in sum； painful or enjoyable； even now I cannot say……a fact which in itself should prevent me from taking the loss too seriously。 What does it matter？ Destiny with the hidden face decreed that I should e into being； play my little part； and pass again into silence； is it mine either to approve or to rebel？ Let me be grateful that I have suffered no intolerable wrong； no terrible woe of flesh or spirit； such as others……alas！ alas！……have found in their lot。 Is it not much to have acplished so large a part of the mortal journey with so much ease？ If I find myself astonished at its brevity and small significance； why； that is my own fault； the voices of those gone before had sufficiently warned me。 Better to see the truth now； and accept it； than to fall into dread surprise on some day of weakness； and foolishly to cry against fate。 I will be glad rather than sorry； and think of the thing no more。
XXIV
Waking at early dawn used to be one of the things I most dreaded。 The night which made me capable of resuming labour had brought no such calm as should follow upon repose； I woke to a vision of the darkest miseries and lay through the hours of daybreak……too often…… in very anguish。 But that is past。 Sometimes； ere yet I know myself； the mind struggles as with an evil spirit on the confines of sleep； then the light at my window； the pictures on my walls； restore me to happy consciousness； happier for the miserable dream。 Now； when I lie thinking； my worst trouble is wonder at the mon life of man。 I see it as a thing so incredible that it oppresses the mind like a haunting illusion。 Is it the truth that men are fretting； raving； killing each other； for matters so trivial that I； even I； so far from saint or philosopher； must needs fall into amazement when I consider them？ I could imagine a man who； by living alone and at peace； came to regard the everyday world as not really existent； but a creation of his own fancy in unsound moments。 What lunatic ever dreamt of things less consonant with the calm reason than those which are thought and done every minute in every munity of men called sane？ But I put aside this reflection as soon as may be； it perturbs me fruitlessly。 Then I listen to the sounds about my cottage； always soft； soothing； such as lead the mind to gentle thoughts。 Sometimes I can hear nothing； not the rustle of a leaf； not the buzz of a fly； and then I think that utter silence is best of all。
This morning I was awakened by a continuous sound which presently shaped itself to my ear as a multitudinous shrilling of bird voices。 I knew what it meant。 For the last few days I have seen the swallows gathering； now they were ranged upon my roof； perhaps in the last council before their setting forth upon the great journey。 I know better than to talk about animal instinct； and to wonder in a pitying way at its resemblance to reason。 I know that these birds show to us a life far more reasonable； and infinitely more beautiful； than that of the masses of mankind。 They talk with each other； and in their talk is neither malice nor folly。 Could one but interpret the converse in which they make their plans for the long and perilous flight……and then pare it with that of numberless respectable persons who even now are projecting their winter in the South！
XXV
Yesterday I passed by an elm avenue； leading to a beautiful old house。 The road between the trees was covered in all its length and breadth with fallen leaves……a carpet of pale gold。 Further on； I came to a plantation； mostly of larches； it shone in the richest aureate hue； with here and there a splash of blood…red； which was a young beech in its moment of autumnal glory。
I looked at an alder； laden with brown catkins； its blunt foliage stained with innumerable shades of lovely colour。 Near it was a horse…chestnut； with but a few leaves hanging on its branches； and those a deep orange。 The limes； I see； are already bare。
To…night the wind is loud； and rain dashes against my casement； to… morrow I shall awake to a sky of winter。
WINTER
I
Blasts from the Channel； with raining scud； and spume of mist breaking upon the hills； have kept me indoors all day。 Yet not for a moment have I been dull or idle； and now； by the latter end of a sea…coal fire； I feel such enjoyment of my ease and tranquillity that I must needs word it before going up to bed。
Of course one ought to be able to breast weather such as this of to… day； and to find one's pleasure in the strife with it。 For the man sound in body and serene of mind there is no such thing as bad weather； every sky has its beauty； and storms which whip the blood do but make it pulse more vigorously。 I remember the time when I would have set out with gusto for a tramp along the wind…swept and rain…beaten roads； nowadays； I should perhaps pay for the experiment with my life。 All the more do I prize the shelter of these good walls； the honest workmanship which makes my doors and windows proof against the assailing blast。 In all England； the land of fort； there is no room more fortable than this in which I sit。 fortable in the good old sense of the word； giving solace to the mind no less than ease to the body。 And never does it look more homely； more a refuge and a sanctuary； than on winter nights。
In my first winter here； I tried fires of wood； having had my hearth arranged for the purpose； but that was a mistake。 One cannot burn logs successfully in a small room； either the fire； being kept moderate； needs constant attention； or its triumphant blaze makes the room too hot。 A fire is a delightful thing； a panion and an inspiration。 If my room were kept warm by some wretched modern contrivance of water…pipes or heated air； would it be the same to me as that beautiful core of glowing fuel； which； if I sit and gaze into it； bees a world of wonders？ Let science warm the heaven… forsaken inhabitants of flats and hotels as effectually and economically as it may； if the choice were forced upon me； I had rather sit； like an Italian； wrapped in my mantle； softly stirring with a key the silver…grey surface of the brasier's charcoal。 They tell me we are burning all our coal； and with wicked wastefulness。 I am sorry for it； but I cannot on that account make cheerless perhaps the last winter of my life。 There may be waste on domestic hearths； but the wickedness is elsewhere……too blatant to call for indication。 Use mon sense； by all means； in the construction of grates； that more than half the heat of the kindly coal should be blown up the chimney is desired by no one； but hold by the open fire as you hold by whatever else is best in England。 Because； in the course of nature； it will be some day a thing of the past （like most other things that are worth living for）； is that a reason why it should not be enjoyed as long as possible？ Human beings may ere long take their nourishment in the form of pills； the prevision of that happy economy causes me no reproach when I sit down to a joint of meat。
See how friendly together are the fire and the shaded lamp； both have their part alike in the illumining and warming of the room。 As the fire purrs and softly crackles； so does my lamp at intervals utter a little gurgling sound when the oil flows to the wick； and custom has made this a pleasure to me。 Another sound； blending with both； is the gentle ticking of the clock。 I could not endure one of those bustling little clocks which tick like a fever pulse； and are only fit for a stockbroker's office； mine hums very slowly； as though it savoured the minutes no less than I do； an