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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
36
October
4.
Sat
at
the
Civil
Service
Commission
in
Burlington
House
for
the
exam,
for
the
vacancy
in
the
B.M.
No
luck
at
all
with
the
papers.
The
whole
of
my
nine
months'
assiduous
preparation
helped
me
in
only
two
questions.
In
fine,
I
have
not
succeeded,
I
shall
not
obtain
the
appointment,
and
in
a
few
weeks
I
shall
be
back
in
the
wilds
of
N----
again
under
the
old
regime,
reporting
platitudes
from
greasy
guardians
of
the
poor,
and
receiving
condolences
from
people
not
altogether
displeased
at
some
one
else's
misfortune.
October
14.
Returned
home
from
London.
Felt
horribly
defeated
in
crossing
the
threshold.
It
was
so
obviously
returning
after
an
unsuccessful
flight.
October
22.
Dissected
a
Squilla
for
which
I
paid
2s.
6d.
to
the
Plymouth
Marine
Laboratory.
October
23.
Ambition
Am
attempting
to
feel
after
some
practical
philosophy
of
living--something
that
will
enable
me
to
accept
disappointment
with
equanimity
and
Town
Council
meetings
with
a
broad
and
tolerant
smile.
At
present,
ambition
consumes
me.
I
was
ambitious
before
I
was
breeched.
I
can
remember
wondering
as
a
child
if
I
were
a
young
Macaulay
or
Ruskin
and
secretly
deciding
that
I
was.
My
infant
mind
even
was
bitter
with
those
who
insisted
on
regarding
me
as
a
normal
child
and
not
as
a
prodigy.
Since
then
I
have
struggled
with
this
canker
for
many
a
day,
and
as
success
fails
to
arrive
it
becomes
more
gnawing.
October
24.
In
the
morning
a
Town
Council
and
in
the
afternoon
a
Rural
Council.
With
this
abominable
trash
in
my
notebook
waiting
to
be
written
up
and
turned
into
"copy,"
and
with
the
dream
pictures
of
a
quiet
studious
life
in
Cromwell
Road
not
yet
faded
from
my
mind,
where
can
I
turn
for
consolation?
That
I
have
done
my
best?
That's
only
a
mother's
saying
to
her
child.
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