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whistle； and living over again at large the business of my
day。
Though I write so little； I pass all my hours of field…work
in continual converse and imaginary correspondence。 I scarce
pull up a weed； but I invent a sentence on the matter to
yourself； it does not get written； AUTANT EN EMPORTENT LES
VENTS； but the intent is there； and for me （in some sort） the
companionship。 To…day； for instance； we had a great talk。 I
was toiling； the sweat dripping from my nose； in the hot fit
after a squall of rain： methought you asked me … frankly； was
I happy。 Happy （said I）； I was only happy once； that was at
Hyeres； it came to an end from a variety of reasons； decline
of health； change of place； increase of money； age with his
stealing steps； since then； as before then； I know not what
it means。 But I know pleasure still； pleasure with a
thousand faces； and none perfect； a thousand tongues all
broken； a thousand hands； and all of them with scratching
nails。 High among these I place this delight of weeding out
here alone by the garrulous water； under the silence of the
high wood； broken by incongruous sounds of birds。 And take
my life all through； look at it fore and back； and upside
down； … though I would very fain change myself … I would not
change my circumstances； unless it were to bring you here。
And yet God knows perhaps this intercourse of writing serves
as well； and I wonder； were you here indeed； would I commune
so continually with the thought of you。 I say 'I wonder' for
a form； I know； and I know I should not。
So far； and much further； the conversation went； while I
groped in slime after viscous roots； nursing and sparing
little spears of grass； and retreating （even with outcry）
from the prod of the wild lime。 I wonder if any one had ever
the same attitude to Nature as I hold； and have held for so
long？ This business fascinates me like a tune or a passion；
yet all the while I thrill with a strong distaste。 The
horror of the thing； objective and subjective； is always
present to my mind； the horror of creeping things； a
superstitious horror of the void and the powers about me； the
horror of my own devastation and continual murders。 The life
of the plants comes through my fingertips； their struggles go
to my heart like supplications。 I feel myself blood…
boltered； then I look back on my cleared grass； and count
myself an ally in a fair quarrel； and make stout my heart。
It is but a little while since I lay sick in Sydney； beating
the fields about the navy and Dean Swift and Dryden's Latin
hymns； judge if I love this reinvigorating climate； where I
can already toil till my head swims and every string in the
poor jumping Jack （as he now lies in bed） aches with a kind
of yearning strain； difficult to suffer in quiescence。
As for my damned literature； God knows what a business it is；
grinding along without a scrap of inspiration or a note of
style。 But it has to be ground； and the mill grinds
exceeding slowly though not particularly small。 The last two
chapters have taken me considerably over a month； and they
are still beneath pity。 This I cannot continue； time not
sufficing； and the next will just have to be worse。 All the
good I can express is just this； some day； when style
revisits me； they will be excellent matter to rewrite。 Of
course； my old cure of a change of work would probably
answer； but I cannot take it now。 The treadmill turns； and；
with a kind of desperate cheerfulness； I mount the idle
stair。 I haven't the least anxiety about the book； unless I
die； I shall find the time to make it good； but the Lord
deliver me from the thought of the Letters！ However； the
Lord has other things on hand； and about six to…morrow； I
shall resume the consideration practically； and face （as best
I may） the fact of my incompetence and disaffection to the
task。 Toil I do not spare； but fortune refuses me success。
We can do more； Whatever…his…name…was； we can deserve it。
But my misdesert began long since； by the acceptation of a
bargain quite unsuitable to all my methods。
To…day I have had a queer experience。 My carter has from the
first been using my horses for his own ends； when I left for
Sydney； I put him on his honour to cease； and my back was
scarce turned ere he was forfeit。 I have only been waiting
to discharge him； and to…day an occasion arose。 I am so much
THE OLD MAN VIRULENT； so readily stumble into anger； that I
gave a deal of consideration to my bearing； and decided at
last to imitate that of the late …。 Whatever he might have
to say； this eminently effective controversialist maintained
a frozen demeanour and a jeering smile。 The frozen demeanour
is beyond my reach； but I could try the jeering smile； did
so； perceived its efficacy； kept in consequence my temper；
and got rid of my friend； myself composed and smiling still；
he white and shaking like an aspen。 He could explain
everything； I said it did not interest me。 He said he had
enemies； I said nothing was more likely。 He said he was
calumniated； with all my heart； said I； but there are so many
liars； that I find it safer to believe them。 He said； in
justice to himself； he must explain： God forbid I should
interfere with you； said I； with the same factitious grin；
but it can change nothing。 So I kept my temper； rid myself
of an unfaithful servant； found a method of conducting
similar interviews in the future； and fell in my own liking。
One thing more： I learned a fresh tolerance for the dead …；
he too had learned … perhaps had invented … the trick of this
manner； God knows what weakness； what instability of feeling；
lay beneath。 CE QUE C'EST QUE DE NOUS！ poor human nature；
that at past forty I must adjust this hateful mask for the
first time； and rejoice to find it effective； that the effort
of maintaining an external smile should confuse and embitter
a man's soul。
To…day I have not weeded； I have written instead from six
till eleven； from twelve till two； with the interruption of
the interview aforesaid； a damned letter is written for the
third time； I dread to read it； for I dare not give it a
fourth chance … unless it be very bad indeed。 Now I write
you from my mosquito curtain； to the song of saws and planes
and hammers； and wood clumping on the floor above； in a day
of heavenly brightness； a bird twittering near by； my eye；
through the open door； commanding green meads； two or three
forest trees casting their boughs against the sky； a forest…
clad mountain…side beyond； and close in by the door…jamb a
nick of the blue Pacific。 It is March in England； bleak
March； and I lie here with the great sliding doors wide open
in an undershirt and p'jama trousers； and melt in the closure
of mosquito bars； and burn to be out in the breeze。 A few
torn clouds … not white； the sun has tinged them a warm pink
… swim in heaven。 In which blessed and fair day； I have to
make faces and speak bitter words to a man … who has deceived
me； it is true … but who is poor； and older than I； and a
kind of a gentleman too。 On the whole； I prefer the massacre
of weeds。
SUNDAY。
When I had done talking to you yesterday； I played on my pipe
till the conch sounded； then went over to the old house for
dinner； and had scarce risen from table ere I was submerged
with visitors。 The first of these despatched； I spent the
rest of the evening going over the Samoan translation of my
BOTTLE IMP with Claxton the missionary； then to bed； but
being upset； I suppose； by these interruptions； and having
gone all day without my weeding； not to sleep。 For hours I
lay awake and heard the rain fall； and saw faint； far…away
lightning over the sea； and wrote you long letters which I
scorn to reproduce。 This morning Paul was unusually early；
the dawn had scarce begun when he appeared with the tray and
lit my candle； and I had breakfasted and read （with
indescribable sinkings） the whole of yesterday's work before
the sun had risen。 Then I sat and thought； and sat and
better thought。 It was not good enough； nor good； it was as
slack as journalism； but not so inspired； it was excellent
stuff misused； and the defects stood gross on it like humps
upon a camel。 But could I； in my present disposition； do
much more with it？ in my present pressure for time； were I
not better employed doing another one about as ill； than
making this some thousandth fraction better？ Yes； I thought；
and tried the new one； and behold； I could do nothing： my
head swims； words do not come to me； nor phrases； and I
accepted defeat； packed up my traps； and turned to
communicate the failure to my esteemed correspondent。 I
think it possible I overworked yesterday。 Well； we'll see
to…morrow … perhaps try ag