Evening〃 and that 〃Elegy〃 which； unsurpassed for beauty of thought and nobility of utterance in all the treasury of our lyrics； remains perhaps the most essentially English poem ever written。
This attribute of our national mind availed even to give rise to an English school of painting。 It came late； that it ever came at all is remarkable enough。 A people apparently less apt for that kind of achievement never existed。 So profound is the English joy in meadow and stream and hill； that； unsatisfied at last with vocal expression； it took up the brush； the pencil； the etching tool； and created a new form of art。 The National Gallery represents only in a very imperfect way the richness and variety of our landscape work。 Were it possible to collect； and suitably to display； the very best of such work in every vehicle； I know not which would be the stronger emotion in an English heart； pride or rapture。
One obvious reason for the long neglect of Turner lies in the fact that his genius does not seem to be truly English。 Turner's landscape； even when it presents familiar scenes； does not show them in the familiar light。 Neither the artist nor the intelligent layman is satisfied。 He gives us glorious visions； we admit the glory……but we miss something which we deem essential。 I doubt whether Turner tasted rural England； I doubt whether the spirit of English poetry was in him； I doubt whether the essential significance of the mon things which we call beautiful was revealed to his soul。 Such doubt does not affect his greatness as a poet in colour and in form； but I suspect that it has always been the cause why England could not love him。 If any man whom I knew to be a man of brains confessed to me that he preferred Birket Foster； I should smile……but I should understand。
V
A long time since I wrote in this book。 In September I caught a cold； which meant three weeks' illness。
I have not been suffering； merely feverish and weak and unable to use my mind for anything but a daily hour or two of the lightest reading。 The weather has not favoured my recovery； wet winds often blowing； and not much sun。 Lying in bed； I have watched the sky； studied the clouds； which……so long as they are clouds indeed； and not a mere waste of grey vapour……always have their beauty。 Inability to read has always been my horror； once； a trouble of the eyes all but drove me mad with fear of blindness； but I find that in my present circumstances； in my own still house； with no intrusion to be dreaded； with no task or care to worry me； I can fleet the time not unpleasantly even without help of books。 Reverie； unknown to me in the days of bondage； has brought me solace； I hope it has a little advanced me in wisdom。
For not； surely； by deliberate effort of thought does a man grow wise。 The truths of life are not discovered by us。 At moments unforeseen； some gracious influence descends upon the soul； touching it to an emotion which； we know not how； the mind transmutes into thought。 This can happen only in a calm of the senses； a surrender of the whole being to passionless contemplation。 I understand； now； the intellectual mood of the quietist。
Of course my good housekeeper has tended me perfectly； with the minimum of needless talk。 Wonderful woman！
If the evidence of a well…spent life is necessarily seen in 〃honour； love； obedience； troops of friends；〃 mine； it is clear； has fallen short of a moderate ideal。 Friends I have had； and have； but very few。 Honour and obedience……why； by a stretch； Mrs。 M… may perchance represent these blessings。 As for love……？
Let me tell myself the truth。 Do I really believe that at any time of my life I have been the kind of man who merits affection？ I think not。 I have always been much too self…absorbed； too critical of all about me； too unreasonably proud。 Such men as I live and die alone； however much in appearance acpanied。 I do not repine at it； nay； lying day after day in solitude and silence； I have felt glad that it was so。 At least I give no one trouble； and that is much。 Most solemnly do I hope that in the latter days no long illness a this life of quiet enjoyment to the final peace。 So shall no one think of me with pained sympathy or with weariness。 One……two……even three may possibly feel regret； e the end how it may； but I do not flatter myself that to them I am more than an object of kindly thought at long intervals。 It is enough； it signifies that I have not erred wholly。 And when I think that my daily life testifies to an act of kindness such as I could never have dreamt of meriting from the man who performed it； may I not be much more than content？
VI
How I envy those who bee prudent without thwackings of experience！ Such men seem to be not unmon。 I don't mean cold… blooded calculators of profit and loss in life's possibilities； nor yet the plodding dull； who never have imagination enough to quit the beaten track of security； but bright…witted and large…hearted fellows who seem always to be led by mon sense； who go steadily from stage to stage of life； doing the right； the prudent things； guilty of no vagaries； winning respect by natural progress； seldom needing aid themselves； often helpful to others； and； through all； good…tempered； deliberate； happy。 How I envy them！
For of myself it might be said that whatever folly is possible to a moneyless man； that folly I have at one time or another mitted。 Within my nature there seemed to be no faculty of rational self… guidance。 Boy and man； I blundered into every ditch and bog which lay within sight of my way。 Never did silly mortal reap such harvest of experience； never had any one so many bruises to show for it。 Thwack； thwack！ No sooner had I recovered from one sound drubbing than I put myself in the way of another。 〃Unpractical〃 I was called by those who spoke mildly； 〃idiot〃……I am sure……by many a ruder tongue。 And idiot I see myself； whenever I glance back over the long； devious road。 Something； obviously； I lacked from the beginning； some balancing principle granted to most men in one or another degree。 I had brains； but they were no help to me in the mon circumstances of life。 But for the good fortune which plucked me out of my mazes and set me in paradise； I should no doubt have blundered on to the end。 The last thwack of experience would have laid me low just when I was being really a prudent man。
VII
This morning's sunshine faded amid slow…gathering clouds； but something of its light seems still to linger in the air； and to touch the rain which is falling softly。 I hear a pattering upon the still leafage of the garden； it is a sound which lulls； and tunes the mind to calm thoughtfulness。
I have a letter to…day from my old friend in Germany； E。 B。 For many and many a year these letters have made a pleasant incident in my life； more than that； they have often brought me help and fort。 It must be a rare thing for friendly correspondence to go on during the greater part of a lifetime between men of different nationalities who see each other not twice in two decades。 We were young men when we first met in London； poor； struggling； full of hopes and ideals； now we look back upon those far memories from the autumn of life。 B。 writes to…day in a vein of quiet contentment； which does me good。 He quotes Goethe： 〃Was man in der Jugend begehrt hat man im Alter die Fulle。〃
These words of Goethe's were once a hope to me； later； they made me shake my head incredulously； now I smile to think how true they have proved in my own case。 But what； exactly； do they mean？ Are they merely an expression of the optimistic spirit？ If so； optimism has to content itself with rather doubtful generalities。 Can it truly be said that most men find the wishes of their youth satisfied in later life？ Ten years ago； I should have utterly denied it； and could have brought what seemed to me abundant evidence in its disproof。 And as regards myself； is it not by mere happy accident that I pass my latter years in such enjoyment of all I most desired？ Accident……but there is no such thing。 I might just as well have called it an accident had I succeeded in earning the money on which now I live。
From the beginning of my manhood； it is true； I longed for bookish leisure； that； assuredly； is seldom even one of th