m the streets, as
though the near-by traffic in the pressure had burst its pipes. But only at
morning and night when the city collects or discharges its people, are the
sidewalks filled. Then for a half hour the nozzle of the city plays a full
stream on us.

The park seems to be freer and more natural than the streets outside. A man
goes by gesticulating as though he practiced for a speech. A woman adjusts
her stocking on the coping below the fence with the freedom of a country
road. A street sweeper, patched to his office, tunes his slow work to fit
the quiet surroundings. Boys skate by or cut swirls upon the pavement in
the privilege of a playground.

My work--if anything so pleasant and unforced can carry the name--is
done at a window that overlooks this park. Were it not for several high
buildings in my sight I might fancy that I lived in one of the older
squares of London. There is a look of Thackeray about the place as though
the Osbornes might be my neighbors. A fat man who waddles off his steps
opposite, if he would submit to a change of coat, might be Jos Sedley
starting for his club to eat his chutney. If only there were a crest above
my bell-pull I might even expect Becky Sharp in for tea. Or occasionally I
divert myself with the fancy that I am of a still older day and that I have
walked in from Lichfield--I choose the name at hazard--with a tragedy in my
pocket, to try my fortune. Were it not for the fashion of dress in the park
below and some remnant of reason in myself, I could, in a winking moment,
persuade myself that my room is a garret and my pen a quill. On such
delusion, before I issued on the street to seek my coffee-house, I would
adjust my wig and dust myself of snuff.

But for my exercise and recreation--which for a man of Grub Street is
necessary in the early hours of afternoon when the morning fires have
fallen--I go outside the park. I have a wide choice for my wanderings. I
may go into the district to the east and watch the children play against
the curb. If they pitch pennies on the walk I am careful to go about, for
fear that I distract the throw. Or if the stones are marked for hop-scotch,
I squeeze along the wall. It is my intention--from which as yet my
diffidence withholds me--to present to the winner of one of these contests
a red apple which I shall select at a corner stand. Or an ice wagon pauses
in its round, and while the man is gone there is a pleasant thieving of
bits of ice.