‘Where are the sounds that swam along

The buoyant air when I was young?

The last vibration¹ now is o’er,

And they who listened are no more;

Ah! let me close my eyes and dream.’

W. S. LANDOR.

The idea of Helstone had been suggested to Mr. Bell’s waking mind by his conversation with Mr. Lennox, and all night long it ran riot through his dreams. He was again the tutor in the college where he now held the rank of Fellow; it was again a long vacation, and he was staying with his newly married friend, the proud husband, and happy Vicar of Helstone. Over babbling² brooks³ they took impossible leaps, which seemed to keep them whole days suspended in the air. Time and space were not, though all other things seemed real. Every event was measured by the emotions of the mind, not by its actual existence, for existence it had none. But the trees were gorgeous in their autumnal leafiness — the warm odours of flower and herb came sweet upon the sense — the young wife moved about her house with just that mixture of annoyance⁴ at her position, as regarded wealth, with pride in her handsome and devoted⁵ husband, which Mr. Bell had noticed in real life a quarter of a century ago. The dream was so like life that, when he awoke, his present life seemed like a dream. Where was he? In the close, handsomely furnished room of a London hotel! Where were those who spoke⁶ to him, moved around him, touched him, not an instant ago? Dead! buried! lost for evermore, as far as earth’s for evermore would extend. He was an old man, so lately exultant⁷ in the full strength of manhood. The utter loneliness of his life was insupportable to think about. He got up hastily, and tried to forget what never more might be, in a hurried dressing⁸ for the breakfast in Harley Street.

分享到：