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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
16
It
was
now
quite
dark.
A
Snipe
rose
at
my
feet
and
disappeared
into
the
darkness.
Coots
and
Moorhens
clekked,
and
a
Little
Grebe
grew
bold
and
began
to
dive
and
fish
quite
close
to
me,
methodically
working
its
way
upstream
and
so
quartering
out
its
feeding
area.
A
happy
half-hour!
Alas!
I
enjoy
these
moments
the
more
as
they
recede.
Not
often
do
I
realise
the
living
present.
That
is
always
difficult.
It
is
the
mere
shades--the
ghosts
of
the
dead
days--that
are
dearest
to
me.
Spent
my
last
day
at
school.
De
Quincey
says
(or
was
it
Johnson?)
that
whenever
we
do
anything
for
the
last
time,
provided
we
have
done
it
regularly
for
years
before,
we
are
a
little
melancholy,
even
though
it
has
been
distasteful
to
us....
True.
December
14.
Signed
my
Death
Warrant,
i.e.,
my
articles
apprenticing
me
to
journalism
for
five
years.
By
Jove!
I
shall
work
frantically
during
the
next
five
years
so
as
to
be
ready
at
the
end
of
them
to
take
up
a
Natural
History
appointment.
[1]
Up
to
1911,
the
Journal
is
mainly
devoted
to
records
of
observations
in
general
Natural
History
and
latterly
in
Zoology
alone.
1907
March
1.
As
long
as
he
has
good
health,
a
man
need
never
despair.
Without
good
health,
I
might
keep
a
long
while
in
the
race,
yet
as
the
goal
of
my
ambition
grew
more
and
more
unattainable
I
should
surely
remember
the
words
of
Keats
and
give
up:
"There
is
no
fiercer
Hell
than
the
failure
of
a
great
ambition."
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