第23部分(第3/7 頁)

hat　tone　and　manner　indicated　an　inferiority　of　mind；　of　nature。　Dickens……though　he　died　in　the　endeavour　to　increase　（not　for　himself）　an　already　ample　fortune；　disastrous　influence　of　his　time　and　class……wrought　with　an　artistic　ingenuousness　and　fervour　such　as　Trollope　could　not　even　conceive。　Methodical；　of　course；　he　was；　no　long　work　of　prose　fiction　was　ever　brought　into　existence　save　by　methodical　labour；　but　we　know　that　there　was　no　measuring　of　so　many　words　to　the　hour。　The　picture　of　him　at　work　which　is　seen　in　his　own　letters　is　one　of　the　most　bracing　and　inspiring　in　the　history　of　literature。　It　has　had；　and　will　always　have；　a　great　part　in　maintaining　Dickens'　place　in　the　love　and　reverence　of　those　who　understand。

XXIII

As　I　walked　to…day　in　the　golden　sunlight……this　warm；　still　day　on　the　far　verge　of　autumn……there　suddenly　came　to　me　a　thought　which　checked　my　step；　and　for　the　moment　half　bewildered　me。　I　said　to　myself：　My　life　is　over。　Surely　I　ought　to　have　been　aware　of　that　simple　fact；　certainly　it　has　made　part　of　my　meditation；　has　often　coloured　my　mood；　but　the　thing　had　never　definitely　shaped　itself；　ready　in　words　for　the　tongue。　My　life　is　over。　I　uttered　the　sentence　once　or　twice；　that　my　ear　might　test　its　truth。　Truth　undeniable；　however　strange；　undeniable　as　the　figure　of　my　age　last　birthday。

My　age？　At　this　time　of　life；　many　a　man　is　bracing　himself　for　new　efforts；　is　calculating　on　a　decade　or　two　of　pursuit　and　attainment。　I；　too；　may　perhaps　live　for　some　years；　but　for　me　there　is　no　more　activity；　no　ambition。　I　have　had　my　chance……and　I　see　what　I　made　of　it。

The　thought　was　for　an　instant　all　but　dreadful。　What！　I；　who　only　yesterday　was　a　young　man；　planning；　hoping；　looking　forward　t