The Idle Thoughts of An Idle Fellow

never knew aboy who could do less work in more time; and I remember my poorgrandmother once incidentally observing, in the course of aninstruction upon the use of the Prayer-book, that

what belied half the de

y laziness. But I have fully confirmed theaccuracy of her judgment so far as neglecting mu

nd plenty of slow-coaches, but agenuine idler is a rarity. He is not a man who slouches about withhis ha

is no fun in doing nothing when you have nothing todo. Wasting time is merely an occup

me to him a month before, and thatif it (whatever it was) had gone on for another week he would not haveanswered for the consequences. It is an extraordinary thing, but Inever knew a doctor called into any case yet but what it transpiredtha

Not too muchillness, but just illness enough--just sufficient to give it theflavor of suffering and make it poetical. I should get up late, sipchocolate, and have my breakfast in slippers and a dressing-gown. Ishould lie out in the garden in a hammock and read sentimental novelswith a melancholy ending, until the books should fall from my listlesshand, and I should recline there, dreamily gazing into

, those waters! I knew nothing about them then,and was rather taken with the idea. "Drin

hat hemust drink a glassful of them every day until he was recovered. Idrank them neat for six consecutive days, and they nearly killed me;but after then I adopted the plan of taking a stiff glass ofbrandy-and-water immediately on the top of them, and fou

ak the monotony to a certainextent. There is more excitement about Bath-chairing--especially ifyou are not used to the exhilarating exercise--than might appear tothe casual observer. A sense of danger, such as a mere outsider mightnot understand, is ever present to the mind of the occupant. He feelsconvinced every minute that the whole concern is going over, aconviction whi

, busy little town, reached through alovely valley, and with two sweetly pretty women in it. At least theywere sweetly pretty then; one passed me on the bridge and, I think,smiled; and the other was standing at an open door, making anunremunerative investment of kisses upon a red-faced baby. But it isyears ago, and I dare say they have both grown stout and snappishs

heartily glad when the last one came and Iwas being whirled away from gouty, consumptive Buxton to London withits stern work and life. I looked out of the carriage as we rushedthrough Hendon in the evening. The lurid glare o

g. I like idling when Iought not to be idlin

thmy back to the fire, calculating how much I owe, is when my desk

e me. And if, for some urgent reason, I ought tobe up particularly early in the morning

then they lie till half-past. If circumstanceschange and half-past eight becomes early enough for them, then it isnine before they can rise. They are like the statesman of whom it wassaid that he was always punctually half an hour late. They try allmanner of schemes. They buy alarm-clocks (artful contrivances that gooff at the wrong time and alar

myself, after having wasted the whole evening, "Well, I won'tdo any more work to-night; I'll get up early to-morrow morning;" and Iam thoroughly resolved to do so--then. In the morning, however, Ifeel less enth

way so quietly into the silence and rest. "0bed, 0 bed, delicious bed, that heaven on earth

. The strong man full of care--thesick man full of pain--the little maiden sobbing for her faithlessl

eed when you turn away

e dead, staring out into the dark hours thatdrift so slowly between us and the light. And oh! those still morehideous nights when we sit by another in pai

ave a smoke. That wastestime just as well and does not look so bad. Tobacco has been ablessing to us idlers.

g,then they got up a deadly family feud with the next-door neighbor, andif, in spite of this, they still had a few spare moments on theirhands, they occupied them with discussions as to whose sweetheart wasthe best looking, the arguments employed on both sides bein

he other fellow's--the other fellowto the second fellow, that is, because of course the other fellowwould only be the other fellow to him, not the first fellow who--well,if he broke his head, then _his_ girl--not the other fel

and let the girls fight

o thetime when we men shall have nothing to do but lie in bed till twelve,read two novels a day, have nice little five-o'clock teas all toourselves, and tax our brains with nothing more tryin