her
beginning nor end. Go where I would--top, bottom, sides, 'twas all the
same. Bouilli avoided me--vegetables declined growing under my eyes--fowls
fled from me. I might as well have longed for ice-cream in
Iceland--dessert in a desert. I had no turn--I was the _last man_.
Nevertheless, dinner was a necessary evil.

READER.--And tea?

Was excluded from the calendar. Night came, but no rest--all things had
forgotten their office. The sheets huddled in undisturbed selfishness,
like knotted cables, in one corner of the bed; the blankets, doubtless
disgusted at their conduct, sought refuge at the foot; and the flock, like
most other flocks, without a directing hand, was scattered in disjointed
heaps.

READER.--Did not you complain?

I did--_imprimis_--to boots--boots scratched his head; ditto
waiter--waiter shook his; the chambermaid, strange to say, was suddenly
deaf.

READER.--And the landlord?

Did nothing all day; but when I spoke, was in a hurry, "going to his
ledger," Had I had as many months as hydra, that would have stopped them
all.

READER.--You were to be _pitied_.

I was. I rose one morning with the sun--it scorched my face, but shone
not. Nature was in her spring-time to all others, though winter to me. I
wandered beside the banks of the rapid Rhine, I saw nothing but the thick
slime that clogged them, and wondered how I could have thought them
beautiful; the pebbles seemed crushed upon the beach, the stream but added
to their lifelessness by heaping on them its dull green slime; the lark,
indeed, was singing--Juliet was right--its notes were nothing but "harsh
discords and unpleasing sharps"--a rainbow threw its varied arch across
the heavens--sadness had robbed it of its charm--it seemed a visionary
cheat--a beautiful delusion.

READER.--I feel with you.

I thank you. I went next day.

READER.--What then?

The glorious sun shed life and joy around--the clear water rushed bounding
on in glad delight to the sweet music of the scented wind--the pebbly
beach welcomed its chaste cool kiss, and smiled in freshness as it rolled
again back to its pristine bed. The buds on which I stepped, elastic with
high hope, sprung from the ground my foot had pressed them to--the lark--

READER.--You can say nothing new about that.

You are right. I'll pass it, and come at once to an end. My boots stood
upright, conscious of their glare; a new spring rushed into my bottles;
Flora's sweets were witnessed in m