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235
The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft
·
George Gissing
158
XVI.
I
stood
to-day
watching
harvesters
at
work,
and
a
foolish
envy
took
hold
upon
me.
To
be
one
of
those
brawny,
brown-necked
men,
who
can
string
their
muscles
from
dawn
to
sundown,
and
go
home
without
an
ache
to
the
sound
slumber
which
will
make
them
fresh
again
for
to-morrow's
toil!
I
am
a
man
in
the
middle
years,
with
limbs
shaped
as
those
of
another,
and
subject
to
no
prostrating
malady,
yet
I
doubt
whether
I
could
endure
the
lightest
part
of
this
field
labour
even
for
half
an
hour.
Is
that
indeed
to
be
a
man?
Could
I
feel
surprised
if
one
of
these
stalwart
fellows
turned
upon
me
a
look
of
good-natured
contempt?
Yet
he
would
never
dream
that
I
envied
him;
he
would
think
it
as
probable,
no
doubt,
that
I
should
compare
myself
unfavourably
with
one
of
the
farm
horses.
There
comes
the
old
idle
dream:
balance
of
mind
and
body,
perfect
physical
health
combined
with
the
fulness
of
intellectual
vigour.
Why
should
I
not
be
there
in
the
harvest
field,
if
so
it
pleased
me,
yet
none
the
less
live
for
thought?
Many
a
theorist
holds
the
thing
possible,
and
looks
to
its
coming
in
a
better
time.
If
so,
two
changes
must
needs
come
before
it;
there
will
no
longer
exist
a
profession
of
literature,
and
all
but
the
whole
of
every
library
will
be
destroyed,
leaving
only
the
few
books
which
are
universally
recognized
as
national
treasures.
Thus,
and
thus
only,
can
mental
and
physical
equilibrium
ever
be
brought
about.
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