I shall soon expect to see the earth stand still and roll
backwards. Yes; there they trot upon life's highway, chained
together, dragging each other along; not one of them dares stop to
pick a flower lest the others should tread on his fingers and toes.
And they are so swaddled up in customs and conventions, baby-learned
forms of speech and bearing, that there is nothing to be seen of the
real man and woman; indeed, I cannot say that I have yet found a
mummy worth unrolling. Yesterday a kind of cousin brought her
children to see me. There was a small girl who had already learned,
poor wretch, to play her little part, to quell the impulses of her
young heart, to tune her tongue to a given pitch. She sat on the
edge of her chair, feigning indifference to everything, from Chinese
chessmen to gingerbread-nuts; it was a positive relief to me when
her younger brother, who has not yet learned the most necessary
falsehoods, yelled lustily and smashed a tea-cup. I should have been
glad to do both myself.
I must unpack my books. A Broadwood is on its way from London; in a
few days I hope to have made unto myself some kind of oasis in this
desert.
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