XV。DICKENS
WhatIhavesaidofDickensremindsmethatIhadbeenreadinghimatthesametimethatIhadbeenreadingIkMarvel;butacuriousthingaboutthereadingofmylaterboyhoodisthatthedatesdonotsharplydetachthemselvesonefromanother。Thismaybesobecausemyreadingwasmuchmoremultifariousthanithadbeenearlier，orbecauseIwasreadingalwaystwoorthreeauthorsatatime。IthinkMacaulayalittleantedatedDickensinmyaffections，butwhenIcametothenovelsofthatmasterfulartist（asImustcallhim，withathousandreservationsastothetimeswhenheisnotamasterandnotanartist），Ididnotfailtofallunderhisspell。
Thiswasinaseasonofgreatdepression，whenIbegantofeelinbrokenhealththeeffectoftryingtoburnmycandleatbothends。Itseemedforawhileverysimpleandeasytocomehomeinthemiddleoftheafternoon，whenmytaskattheprinting—officewasdone，andsitdowntomybooksinmylittlestudy，whichIdidnotfinallyleaveuntilthefamilywereinbed;butitwasnotwell，anditwasnotenoughthatI
shouldliketodoit。Themostthatcanbesaidindefenceofsuchathingisthatwiththestrongnativeimpulseandtheconditionsitwasinevitable。IfIwastodothethingIwantedtodoIwastodoitinthatway，andIwantedtodothatthing，whateveritwas，morethanI
wantedtodoanythingelse，andevenmorethanIwantedtodonothing。