On the third day up rose the sun and Mr. Marvel. His troubles and his
dangers were now such as he wishes no other man ever to encounter. The
ways were less frequented, and the country more thinly inhabited. He
rode many a lonely hour through mire and water, and met not a single
soul for two miles together, with whom he could exchange a word. He
cannot deny that, looking round upon the dreary region, and seeing
nothing but bleak fields and naked trees, hills obscured by fogs, and
flats covered with inundations, he did, for some time, suffer melancholy
to prevail upon him, and wished himself again safe at home. One comfort
he had, which was, to consider that none of his friends were in the same
distress, for whom, if they had been with him, he should have suffered
more than for himself; he could not forbear sometimes to consider how
happily the Idler is settled in an easier condition, who, surrounded
like him with terrours, could have done nothing but lie down and die.
Amidst these reflections he came to a town, and found a dinner which
disposed him to more cheerful sentiments: but the joys of life are
short, and its miseries are long; he mounted and travelled fifteen miles
more through dirt and desolation.
Pages:
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480