But the wood was empty of publishers.
The offer did not come. The moment was lost. The five volumes will
hardly now be written. In place of them I offer poor this, which you may
take or leave. But I beg leave before I end to cite certain words very
nobly attached to that great inn "The Griffin," which has its foundation
set far off in another place, in the town of March, in the Fen Land:
"England my desire, what have you not refused?"
The End Of The World
One day I met a man who was sitting quite silent near Whitney, in the
Thames Valley, in a very large, long, low inn that stands in those
parts, or at least stood then, for whether it stands now or not depends
upon the Fussyites, whose business it is to Fuss, and in their Fussing
to disturb mankind.
He had nothing to say for himself at all, and he looked not gloomy but
sad. He was tall and thin, with high cheekbones. His face was the colour
of leather that has been some time in the weather, and he despised us
altogether: he would not say a word to us, until one of the company
said, rising from his meat and drink: "Very well, there's a thing we
shall never know till the end of the world" (he was talking about some
discussion or other which the young men had been holding together).
"There's a thing we shall never know till the end of the world--and
about that nobody knows!"
"You will pardon me," said the tall, thin, and elderly man with a face
like leather that has been exposed to the weather, "I know about the End
of the World, for I have been there.
Pages:
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261