Curiously enough, my greatest fear is lest I should be reborn in Europe!
For there one cannot recline like this with one's whole being laid open to
the infinite above--one is liable, I am afraid, to be soundly rated for
lying down at all. I should probably have been hustling strenuously in
some factory or bank, or Parliament. Like the roads there, one's mind has
to be stone-metalled for heavy traffic--geometrically laid out, and kept
clear and regulated.
I am sure I cannot exactly say why this lazy, dreamy, self-absorbed,
sky-filled state of mind seems to me the more desirable. I feel no whit
inferior to the busiest men of the world as I lie here in my jolly-boat.
Rather, had I girded up my loins to be strenuous, I might have seemed ever
so feeble compared to those chips of old oaken blocks.
SHELIDAH,
_3rd July 1893._
All last night the wind howled like a stray dog, and the rain still pours
on without a break. The water from the fields is rushing in numberless,
purling streams to the river. The dripping ryots are crossing the river in
the ferryboat, some with their tokas[1] on, others with yam leaves held
over their heads. Big cargo-boats are gliding along, the boatman sitting
drenched at his helm, the crew straining at the tow-ropes through the
rain. The birds remain gloomily confined to their nests, but the sons of
men fare forth, for in spite of the weather the world's work must go on.
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