of citizenship, never to have a recognised place among men
associated in the duties and pleasures of life?

Sunday was always a day of weariness and despondency, and at present he
suffered from the excitement of his conversation with Sidwell, followed
as it had been by a night of fever. Extravagant hope had given place to
a depression which could see nothing beyond the immediate gloom. Until
mid-day he lay in bed. After dinner, finding the solitude of his little
room intolerable, he went out to walk in the streets.

Not far from his door some children had gathered in a quiet corner, and
were playing at a game on the pavement with pieces of chalk. As he drew
near, a policeman, observing the little group, called out to them in a
stern voice:

'Now then! what are you doing there? Don't you know _what day_ it is?'

The youngsters fled, conscious of shameful delinquency.

There it was! There spoke the civic voice, the social rule, the public
sentiment! Godwin felt that the policeman had rebuked _him_, and in
doing so had severely indicated the cause of that isolation which he
was condemned to suffer. Yes, all his life he had desired to play games
on Sunday; he had never been able to understand why games on Sunday
should be forbidden. And the angry laugh which escaped him as he went
by the guardian of public morals declared the impossibility of his ever
being at one with communities which made this point the prime test of
worthiness.

He walked on at a great speed, chafing, talking to himself. His way
took him through Heavitree (when Hooker saw the light here, how easy to
believe that the Anglican Church was the noblest outcome of human
progress!) and on and on, until by a lane with red banks of sandstone,
thick with ferns, shadowed with noble boughs, he came to a hamlet which
had always been one of his favourite resorts, so peacefully it lay amid
the exquisite rural landscape. The cottages were all closed and silent;
hark for the reason! From the old church sounded an organ prelude, then
the voice of the congregation, joining in one of the familiar hymns.

A significant feature of Godwin's idiosyncrasy. Notwithstanding his
profound hatred and contempt of multitudes, he could never hear the
union of many voices in song but his breast heaved and a choking warmth
rose in his throat. Even where prejudice wrought most strongly with
him, it had to give way before this rush of emotion; he often hurried
out of earshot when a