ouch of the rosy-fingered
goddess. These are the things I shall never see again; things, indeed,
so perfect in memory that I should dread to blur them by a newer
experience. My senses are so much duller; they do not show me what once
they did.

How far away is that school-boy time, when I found a pleasure in getting
up and escaping from the dormitory whilst all the others were still
asleep. My purpose was innocent enough; I got up early only to do my
lessons. I can see the long school-room, lighted by the early sun; I can
smell the school-room odour--a blend of books and slates and wall-maps
and I know not what. It was a mental peculiarity of mine that at five
o'clock in the morning I could apply myself with gusto to mathematics, a
subject loathsome to me at any other time of the day. Opening the book
at some section which was wont to scare me, I used to say to myself:
"Come now, I'm going to tackle this this morning! If other boys can
understand it, why shouldn't I?" And in a measure I succeeded. In a
measure only; there was always a limit at which my powers failed me,
strive as I would.

In my garret-days it was seldom that I rose early: with the exception of
one year--or the greater part of a twelvemonth--during which I was
regularly up at half-past five for a special reason. I had undertaken to
"coach" a man for the London matriculation; he was in business, and the
only time he could conveniently give to his studies was before breakfast.
I, just then, had my lodgings near Hampstead Road; my pupil lived at
Knightsbridge; I engaged to be with him every morning at half-past six,
and the walk, at a brisk pace, took me just about an hour. At that time
I saw no severity in the arrangement, and I was delighted to earn the
modest fee which enabled me to write all day long without fear of hunger;
but one inconvenience attached to it. I had no watch, and my only means
of knowing the time was to hear the striking of a clock in the
neighbourhood. As a rule, I awoke just when I should have done; the
clock struck five, and up I sprang. But occasionally--and this when the
mornings had grown dark--my punctual habit failed me; I would hear the
clock chime some fraction of the hour, and could not know whether I had
awoke too soon or slept too long. The horror of unpunctuality, which has
always been a craze with me, made it impossible to lie waiting; more than
once I dressed and went out into the street to discover as