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The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft
·
George Gissing
82
VIII.
In
this
hot
weather
I
like
to
walk
at
times
amid
the
full
glow
of
the
sun.
Our
island
sun
is
never
hot
beyond
endurance,
and
there
is
a
magnificence
in
the
triumph
of
high
summer
which
exalts
one's
mind.
Among
streets
it
is
hard
to
bear,
yet
even
there,
for
those
who
have
eyes
to
see
it,
the
splendour
of
the
sky
lends
beauty
to
things
in
themselves
mean
or
hideous.
I
remember
an
August
bank-holiday,
when,
having
for
some
reason
to
walk
all
across
London,
I
unexpectedly
found
myself
enjoying
the
strange
desertion
of
great
streets,
and
from
that
passed
to
surprise
in
the
sense
of
something
beautiful,
a
charm
in
the
vulgar
vista,
in
the
dull
architecture,
which
I
had
never
known.
Deep
and
clear-
marked
shadows,
such
as
one
only
sees
on
a
few
days
of
summer,
are
in
themselves
very
impressive,
and
become
more
so
when
they
fall
upon
highways
devoid
of
folk.
I
remember
observing,
as
something
new,
the
shape
of
familiar
edifices,
of
spires,
monuments.
And
when
at
length
I
sat
down,
somewhere
on
the
Embankment,
it
was
rather
to
gaze
at
leisure
than
to
rest,
for
I
felt
no
weariness,
and
the
sun,
still
pouring
upon
me
its
noontide
radiance,
seemed
to
fill
my
veins
with
life.
That
sense
I
shall
never
know
again.
For
me
Nature
has
comforts,
raptures,
but
no
more
invigoration.
The
sun
keeps
me
alive,
but
cannot,
as
in
the
old
days,
renew
my
being.
I
would
fain
learn
to
enjoy
without
reflecting.
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