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leans　his　hinder　shell　against　a　wall。



Among　these　tranquillising　objects；　it　is　my　delight　to　walk　and

meditate。　　Soothed　by　the　repose　around　me；　I　wander　insensibly　to

considerable　distances；　and　guide　myself　back　by　the　stars。　　Thus；

I　enjoy　the　contrast　of　a　few　still　partially　inhabited　and　busy

spots　where　all　the　lights　are　not　fled；　where　all　the　garlands　are

not　dead；　whence　all　but　I　have　not　departed。　　Then；　does　it　appear

to　me　that　in　this　age　three　things　are　clamorously　required　of　Man

in　the　miscellaneous　thoroughfares　of　the　metropolis。　　Firstly；

that　he　have　his　boots　cleaned。　　Secondly；　that　he　eat　a　penny　ice。

Thirdly；　that　he　get　himself　photographed。　　Then　do　I　speculate；

What　have　those　seam…worn　artists　been　who　stand　at　the　photograph

doors　in　Greek　caps；　sample　in　hand；　and　mysteriously　salute　the

public　…　the　female　public　with　a　pressing　tenderness　…　to　come　in

and　be　'took'？　　What　did　they　do　with　their　greasy　blandishments；

before　the　era　of　cheap　photography？　　Of　what　class　were　their

previous　victims；　and　how　victimised？　　And　how　did　they　get；　and

how　did　they　pay　for；　that　large　collection　of　likenesses；　all

purporting　to　have　been　taken　inside；　with　the　taking　of　none　of

which　had　that　establishment　any　more　to　do　than　with　the　taking　of

Delhi？



But；　these　are　small　oases；　and　I　am　soon　back　again　in

metropolitan　Arcadia。　　It　is　my　impression　that　much　of　its　serene

and　peaceful　character　is　attributable　to　the　absence　of　customary

Talk。　　How　do　I　know　but　there　may　be　subtle　influences　in　Talk；　to

vex　the　souls　of　men　who　don't　hear　it？　　How　do　I　know　but　that

Talk；　five；　ten；　twenty　miles　off；　may　get　into　the　air　and

disagree　with　me？　　If　I　rise　from　my　bed；　vaguely　troubled　and

wearied　and　sick　of　my　life；　in　the　session　of　Parliament；　who

shall　say　that　my　noble　friend；　my　right　reverend　friend；　my　right

honourable　friend；　my　honourable　friend；　my　honourable　and　learned

friend；　or　my　honourable　and　gallant　friend；　may　not　be　responsible

for　that　effect　upon　my　nervous　system？　　Too　much　Ozone　in　the　air；

I　am　informed　and　fully　believe　（though　I　have　no　idea　what　it　is）；

would　affect　me　in　a　marvellously　disagreeable　way；　why　may　not　too

much　Talk？　　I　don't　see　or　hear　the　Ozone；　I　don't　see　or　hear　the

Talk。　　And　there　is　so　much　Talk；　so　much　too　much；　such　loud　cry；

and　such　scant　supply　of　wool；　such　a　deal　of　fleecing；　and　so

little　fleece！　　Hence；　in　the　Arcadian　season；　I　find　it　a

delicious　triumph　to　walk　down　to　deserted　Westminster；　and　see　the

Courts　shut　up；　to　walk　a　little　further　and　see　the　Two　Houses

shut　up；　to　stand　in　the　Abbey　Yard；　like　the　New　Zealander　of　the

grand　English　History　（concerning　which　unfortunate　man；　a　whole

rookery　of　mares'　nests　is　generally　being　discovered）；　and　gloat

upon　the　ruins　of　Talk。　　Returning　to　my　primitive　solitude　and

lying　down　to　sleep；　my　grateful　heart　expands　with　the

consciousness　that　there　is　no　adjourned　Debate；　no　ministerial

explanation；　nobody　to　give　notice　of　intention　to　ask　the　noble

Lord　at　the　head　of　her　Majesty's　Government　five…and…twenty

bootless　questions　in　one；　no　term　time　with　legal　argument；　no

Nisi　Prius　with　eloquent　appeal　to　British　Jury；　that　the　air　will

to…morrow；　and　to…morrow；　and　to…morrow；　remain　untroubled　by　this

superabundant　generating　of　Talk。　　In　a　minor　degree　it　is　a

delicious　triumph　to　me　to　go　into　the　club；　and　see　the　carpets

up；　and　the　Bores　and　the　other　dust　dispersed　to　the　four　winds。

Again；　New　Zealander…like；　I　stand　on　the　cold　hearth；　and　say　in

the　solitude；　'Here　I　watched　Bore　A　1；　with　voice　always

mysteriously　low　and　head　always　mysteriously　drooped；　whispering

political　secrets　into　the　ears　of　Adam's　confiding　children。

Accursed　be　his　memory　for　ever　and　a　day！'



But；　I　have　all　this　time　been　coming　to　the　point；　that　the　happy

nature　of　my　retirement　is　most　sweetly　expressed　in　its　being　the

abode　of　Love。　　It　is；　as　it　were；　an　inexpensive　Agapemone：

nobody's　speculation：　　everybody's　profit。　　The　one　great　result　of

the　resumption　of　primitive　habits；　and　（convertible　terms）　the　not

having　much　to　do；　is；　the　abounding　of　Love。



The　Klem　species　are　incapable　of　the　softer　emotions；　probably；　in

that　low　nomadic　race；　the　softer　emotions　have　all　degenerated

into　flue。　　But；　with　this　exception；　all　the　sharers　of　my　retreat

make　love。



I　have　mentioned　Saville…row。　　We　all　know　the　Doctor's　servant。

We　all　know　what　a　respectable　man　he　is；　what　a　hard　dry　man；　what

a　firm　man；　what　a　confidential　man：　　how　he　lets　us　into　the

waiting…room；　like　a　man　who　knows　minutely　what　is　the　matter　with

us；　but　from　whom　the　rack　should　not　wring　the　secret。　　In　the

prosaic　〃season；〃　he　has　distinctly　the　appearance　of　a　man

conscious　of　money　in　the　savings　bank；　and　taking　his　stand　on　his

respectability　with　both　feet。　　At　that　time　it　is　as　impossible　to

associate　him　with　relaxation；　or　any　human　weakness；　as　it　is　to

meet　his　eye　without　feeling　guilty　of　indisposition。　　In　the　blest

Arcadian　time；　how　changed！　　I　have　seen　him；　in　a　pepper…and…salt

jacket　…　jacket　…　and　drab　trousers；　with　his　arm　round　the　waist

of　a　bootmaker's　housemaid；　smiling　in　open　day。　　I　have　seen　him

at　the　pump　by　the　Albany；　unsolicitedly　pumping　for　two　fair　young

creatures；　whose　figures　as　they　bent　over　their　cans；　were　…　if　I

may　be　allowed　an　original　expression　…　a　model　for　the　sculptor。

I　have　seen　him　trying　the　piano　in　the　Doctor's　drawing…room　with

his　forefinger；　and　have　heard　him　humming　tunes　in　praise　of

lovely　woman。　　I　have　seen　him　seated　on　a　fire…engine；　and　going

（obviously　in　search　of　excitement）　to　a　fire。　　I　saw　him；　one

moonlight　evening　when　the　peace　and　purity　of　our　Arcadian　west

were　at　their　height；　polk　with　the　lovely　daughter　of　a　cleaner　of

gloves；　from　the　door…steps　of　his　own　residence；　across　Saville…

row；　round　by　Clifford…street　and　Old　Burlington…street；　back　to

Burlington…gardens。　　Is　this　the　Golden　Age　revived；　or　Iron

London？



The　Dentist's　servant。　　Is　that　man　no　mystery　to　us；　no　type　of

invisible　power？　　The　tremendous　individual　knows　（who　else　does？）

what　is　done　with　the　extracted　teeth；　he　knows　what　goes　on　in　the

little　room　where　something　is　always　being　washed　or　filed；　he

knows　what　warm　spicy　infusion　is　put　into　the　comfortable　tumbler

from　which　we　rinse　our　wounded　mouth；　with　a　gap　in　it　that　feels

a　foot　wide；　he　knows　whether　the　thing　we　spit　into　is　a　fixture

communicating　with　the　Thames；　or　could　be　cleared　away　for　a

dance；　he　sees　the　horrible　parlour　where　there　are　no　patients　in

it；　and　he　could　reveal；　if　he　would；　what　becomes　of　the　Every…Day

Book　then。　　The　conviction　of　my　coward　conscience　when　I　see　that

man　in　a　professional　light；　is；　that　he　knows　all　the　statistics

of　my　teeth　and　gums；　my　double　teeth；　my　single　teeth；　my　stopped

teeth；　and　my　sound。　　In　this　Arcadian　rest；　I　am　fearless　of　him

as　of　a　harmless；　powerless　creature　in　a　Scotch　cap；　who　adores　a

young　lady　in　a　voluminous　crinoline；　at　a　neighbouring　billiard…

room；　and　whose　passion　would　be　uninfluenced　if　every　one　of　her

teeth　were　false。　　They　may　be。　　He　takes　them　all　on　trust。



In　secluded　corners　of　the　place　of　my　seclusion；　there　are　little

shops　withdrawn　from　public　curiosity；　and　never　two　together；

where　servants'　perquisites　are　bought。　　The　cook　may　dispose　of

grease　at　these　modest　and　convenient　marts；　the　butler；　of

bottles；　the　valet　and　lady's　maid；　of　clothes；　most　servants；

indeed；　of　most　things　they　may　happen　to　lay　hold　of。　　I　have　been

told　that　in　sterner　times　loving　correspondence；　otherwise

interdicted；　may　be　maintained　by　letter　through　the　agency　of　some

of　these　useful　establishments。　　In　the　Arcadian　autumn；　no　such

device　is　necessary。　　Everybody　loves；　and　openly　and　blamelessly

loves。　　My　landlord's　young　man　loves　the　whole　of　one　side　of　the

way　of　Old　Bond…street；　and　is　beloved　several　doors　up　New　Bond…

street　besides。　　I　never　look　out　of　window　but　I　see　kissing　of

hands　going　on　all　around　me。　　It　is　the　morning　custom　to　glide

from　shop　to　shop　and　exchange　tender　sentiments；　it　is　the　evening

custom　for　couples　to　stand　hand　in　hand　at　house　doors；　or　roam；

linked　in　that　flowery　manner；　through　the　unpeopled　streets。

There　is　nothing　else　to　do　but　love；　and　what　there　is　to　do；　is

done。



In　unison　with　this　pursuit；　a　chaste　simplicity　obtains　in　the

domestic　habits　of　Arcadia。　　Its　few　scattered　people　dine　early；

live　moderately；　sup　socially；　and　sleep　soundly。　　It　is　rumoured

that　the　Beadles　of　the　Arcade；　from　being　the　mortal　enemies　of

boys；　have　signed　with　tears　an　address　to　Lord　Shaftesbury；　and

subscribed　to　a　ragged　school。　　No　wonder！　　For；　they　might　turn

their　heavy　maces　into　crooks　and　tend　sheep　in　the　Arcade；　to　the

purling　of　the　water…carts　as　they　give　the　thirsty　streets　much

more　to　drink　than　they　can　carry。



A　happy　Golden　Age；　and　a　serene　tranquillity。　　Charming　picture；

but　it　will　fade。　　The　iron　age　will　return；　London　will　come　back

to　town；　if　I　show　my　tongue　then　in　Saville…row　for　half　a　minute

I　shall　be　prescribed　for；　the　Doctor's　man　and　the　Dentist's　man

will　then　pretend　that　these　days　of　unprofessional　innocence　never

existed。　　Where　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Klem　and　their　bed　will　be　at　that

time；　passes　human　knowledge；　but　my　hatter　hermitage　will　then

know　them　no　more；　nor　will　it　then　know　me。　　The　desk　at　which　I

have　written　these　meditations　will　retributively　assist　at　the

making　out　of　my　account；　and　the　wheels　of　gorgeous　carriages　and

the　hoofs　of　high…stepping　horses　will　crush　the　silence　out　of

Bond…street　…　will　grind　Arcadia　away；　and　give　it　to　the　elements

in　granite　powder。







CHAPTER　XVII　…　THE　ITALIAN　PRISONER







The　rising　o