prosperity……I can give with happiest freedom； I feel myself a man； and no crouching slave with his back ever ready for the lash of circumstance。 There are those； I know； who thank the gods amiss； and most easily does this happen in the matter of wealth。 But oh； how good it is to desire little； and to have a little more than enough！
IV
After two or three days of unseasonable and depressing warmth； with lowering but not rainy sky； I woke this morning to find the land covered with a dense mist。 There was no daybreak； and； till long after the due hour； no light save a pale； sad glimmer at the window； now； at mid…day； I begin dimly to descry gaunt shapes of trees； whilst a haunting drip； drip on the garden soil tells me that the vapour has begun to condense； and will pass in rain。 But for my fire； I should be in indifferent spirits on such a day as this； the flame sings and leaps； and its red beauty is reflected in the window…glass。 I cannot give my thoughts to reading； if I sat unoccupied； they would brood with melancholy fixedness on I know not what。 Better to betake myself to the old mechanic exercise of the pen； which cheats my sense of time wasted。
I think of fogs in London； fogs of murky yellow or of sheer black； such as have often made all work impossible to me； and held me； a sort of dyspeptic owl； in moping and blinking idleness。 On such a day； I remember； I once found myself at an end both of coal and of lamp…oil； with no money to purchase either； all I could do was to go to bed； meaning to lie there till the sky once more became visible。 But a second day found the fog dense as ever。 I rose in darkness； I stood at the window of my garret； and saw that the street was illumined as at night； lamps and shop…fronts perfectly visible； with folk going about their business。 The fog； in fact； had risen； but still hung above the house…tops； impermeable by any heavenly beam。 My solitude being no longer endurable； I went out； and walked the town for hours。 When I returned； it was with a few coins which permitted me to buy warmth and light。 I had sold to a second…hand bookseller a volume which I prized； and was so much the poorer for the money in my pocket。
Years after that； I recall another black morning。 As usual at such times； I was suffering from a bad cold。 After a sleepless night； I fell into a torpor； which held me unconscious for an hour or two。 Hideous cries aroused me； sitting up in the dark； I heard men going along the street； roaring news of a hanging that had just taken place。 〃Execution of Mrs。〃……I forget the name of the murderess。 〃Scene on the scaffold！〃 It was a little after nine o'clock； the enterprising paper had promptly got out its gibbet edition。 A morning of midwinter； roofs and ways covered with soot…grimed snow under the ghastly fog…pall； and； whilst I lay there in my bed； that woman had been led out and hanged……hanged。 I thought with horror of the possibility that I might sicken and die in that wilderness of houses； nothing above me but 〃a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours。〃 Overe with dread； I rose and bestirred myself。 Blinds drawn； lamp lit； and by a blazing fire； I tried to make believe that it was kindly night。
V
Walking along the road after nightfall； I thought all at once of London streets； and； by a freak of mind； wished I were there。 I saw the shining of shop…fronts； the yellow glistening of a wet pavement； the hurrying people； the cabs； the omnibuses……and I wished I were amid it all。
What did it mean； but that I wished I were young again？ Not seldom I have a sudden vision of a London street； perhaps the dreariest and ugliest； which for a moment gives me a feeling of home…sickness。 Often it is the High Street of Islington； which I have not seen for a quarter of a century； at least； no thoroughfare in all London less attractive to the imagination； one would say； but I see myself walking there……walking with the quick； light step of youth； and there； of course； is the charm。 I see myself； after a long day of work and loneliness； setting forth from my lodging。 For the weather I care nothing； rain； wind； fog……what does it matter！ The fresh air fills my lungs； my blood circles rapidly； I feel my muscles； and have a pleasure in the hardness of the stone I tread upon。 Perhaps I have money in my pocket； I am going to the theatre； and； afterwards； I shall treat myself to supper……sausage and mashed potatoes； with a pint of foaming ale。 The gusto with which I look forward to each and every enjoyment！ At the pit…door； I shall roll and hustle amid the throng； and find it amusing。 Nothing tires me。 Late at night； I shall walk all the way back to Islington； most likely singing as I go。 Not because I am happy……nay； I am anything but that； but my age is something and twenty； I am strong and well。
Put me in a London street this chill； damp night； and I should be lost in barren disfort。 But in those old days； if I am not mistaken； I rather preferred the seasons of bad weather； I had； in fact； the true instinct of townsfolk； which finds pleasure in the triumph of artificial circumstance over natural conditions； delighting in a glare and tumult of busy life under hostile heavens which； elsewhere； would mean shivering ill…content。 The theatre； at such a time； is doubly warm and bright； every shop is a happy harbour of refuge……there； behind the counter； stand persons quite at their ease； ready to chat as they serve you； the supper bars make tempting display under their many gas…jets； the public houses are full of people who all have money to spend。 Then clangs out the piano…organ……and what could be cheerier！
I have much ado to believe that I really felt so。 But then； if life had not somehow made itself tolerable to me； how should I have lived through those many years？ Human creatures have a marvellous power of adapting themselves to necessity。 Were I； even now； thrown back into squalid London； with no choice but to abide and work there…… should I not abide and work？ Notwithstanding thoughts of the chemist's shop； I suppose I should。
VI
One of the shining moments of my day is that when； having returned a little weary from an afternoon walk； I exchange boots for slippers； out…of…doors coat for easy； familiar； shabby jacket； and； in my deep； soft…elbowed chair； await the tea…tray。 Perhaps it is while drinking tea that I most of all enjoy the sense of leisure。 In days gone by； I could but gulp down the refreshment； hurried； often harassed； by the thought of the work I had before me； often I was quite insensible of the aroma； the flavour； of what I drank。 Now； how delicious is the soft yet perating odour which floats into my study； with the appearance of the teapot！ What solace in the first cup； what deliberate sipping of that which follows！ What a glow does it bring after a walk in chilly rain！ The while； I look around at my books and pictures； tasting the happiness of their tranquil possession。 I cast an eye towards my pipe； perhaps I prepare it； with seeming thoughtfulness； for the reception of tobacco。 And never； surely； is tobacco more soothing； more suggestive of humane thoughts； than when it es just after tea……itself a bland inspirer。
In nothing is the English genius for domesticity more notably declared