The only thing we do with assiduity is bathing, unless we belong to the army of bare-legged water-babies who unceasingly "paddle" and build castles on the beach.
Sometimes we carry our day-dreams in small boats across the glistering sea, and lazily drift or tack before the languid breeze.
It has even occurred that foolish relapses into energy have borne us upon bicycles through leafy lanes to lazier Suffolk Broads; but these excesses are rare and brief. No man could face these sleepy inland waters and preserve an active spirit; the apathetic willows on the banks dreamily curtsey as if too tired to hold up their heads.
But let Dr. Mackay, who opened this chapter, also speak the last word—
There's a humming of bees beneath the lime,
And the deep blue heaven of a southern clime
Is not more beautifully bright
Than this English sky with its islets white,
And its Alp-like clouds, so snowy fair!—
The birch leaves dangle in balmy air.
A RUDE AWAKENING
Men must work and women must weep;
There's little to earn and many to keep,
Though the harbour bar be moaning.