he lawn and over the shrubs of the
Vicarage garden, by the light of a low moon, entangled in cloud, the
high elms, the church tower, with a light in the belfry, like a solemn,
cheerful eye, and the roofs of the little village, all in a patient,
musing slumber. Everything is unutterably fresh, tranquil, and serene.
By day it is a commonplace scene enough, with a sense of little
work-a-day cares and businesses about it all; but now, at night, it is
all dim and rich and romantic, full of a calm mystery, hushed and
secret, dreaming contented dreams.

I have had an almost solitary day, except for meals. I like being here
in a way; there is no strain about it. That is the best of
blood-relationship; there is no need to entertain or to be entertained.
My brother-in-law, Charles, is an excellent fellow, full to the brim of
small plans and designs for his parish; my sister is a very simple and
unworldly person, entirely devoted to her husband and children. My
nephews and nieces, four in number, three girls and a boy, do not, I
regret to say, interest me very deeply; they are amiable, healthy
children, with a confined horizon, rather stolid; they never seem to
quarrel or to have any particular preferences. The boy, who is the
youngest, is to come to my house at Upton when he is old enough; but at
present I am simply a good-natured uncle to the children, whose arrival
and whose gifts make a pleasant little excitement. Our talk is purely
local, and I make it my business to be interested. It is all certainly
very restful. Sometimes--as a rule, in fact--when I stay in other
people's houses, I have a sense of effort; I feel dimly that a certain
brightness is expected of me; as I dress in the morning I wonder what
we shall talk about, and what on earth I shall do between breakfast and
lunch. But here I have a fire in my bedroom all day, and for the first
time, I am permitted to smoke there. I read and write all the morning;
I walk, generally alone, in the afternoon. I write before dinner. The
result is that I am perfectly content. I sleep like a top; and I find
myself full of ideas. The comfort of the whole thing is that no one is
afraid that I am not amused, and I myself do not have the uneasy sense
that I am bound, so to speak, to pay for my entertainment by being
brisk, lively, or sympathetic. The immediate consequence is, that I get
as near to all three qualities as I ever get. We simply live our own
lives quietly, in company. My p