四季随笔-the private papers of henry ryecroft(英文版)-第20章

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　worth　all　the　moralists　and　preachers　who　ever　laboured　to　humanise　mankind。　Had　HE　withdrawn　into　solitude；　it　would　have　been　a　national　loss。　Every　one　of　his　blunt；　fearless　words　had　more　value　than　a　whole　evangel　on　the　lips　of　a　timidly　good　man。　It　is　thus　that　the　monalty；　however　well　clad；　should　be　treated。　So　seldom　does　the　fool　or　the　ruffian　in　broadcloth　hear　his　just　designation；　so　seldom　is　the　man　found　who　has　a　right　to　address　him　by　it。　By　the　bandying　of　insults　we　profit　nothing；　there　can　be　no　useful　rebuke　which　is　exposed　to　a　tu　quoque。　But；　as　the　world　is；　an　honest　and　wise　man　should　have　a　rough　tongue。　Let　him　speak　and　spare　not！
XIV
Vituperation　of　the　English　climate　is　foolish。　A　better　climate　does　not　exist……for　healthy　people；　and　it　is　always　as　regards　the　average　native　in　sound　health　that　a　climate　must　be　judged。　Invalids　have　no　right　whatever　to　talk　petulantly　of　the　natural　changes　of　the　sky；　Nature　has　not　THEM　in　view；　let　them　（if　they　can）　seek　exceptional　conditions　for　their　exceptional　state；　leaving　behind　them　many　a　million　of　sound；　hearty　men　and　women　who　take　the　seasons　as　they　e；　and　profit　by　each　in　turn。　In　its　freedom　from　extremes；　in　its　mon　clemency；　even　in　its　caprice；　which　at　the　worst　time　holds　out　hope；　our　island　weather　pares　well　with　that　of　other　lands。　Who　enjoys　the　fine　day　of　spring；　summer；　autumn；　or　winter　so　much　as　an　Englishman？　His　perpetual　talk　of　the　weather　is　testimony　to　his　keen　relish　for　most　of　what　it　offers　him；　in　lands　of　blue　monotony；　even　as　where　climatic　conditions　are　plainly　evil；　such　talk　does　not　go　on。　So；　granting　that　we　have　bad　days　not　a　few；　that　the　east　wind　takes　us　by　the　throat；　that　the　mists　get　at　our　joints；　that　the　sun　hides　his　glory　too　often　and　too　long；　it　is　plain　that　the　result　of　all　es　to　good；　that　it　engenders　a　mood　of　zest　under　the　most　various　aspects　of　heaven；　keeps　an　edge　on　our　appetite　for　open…air　life。
I；　of　course；　am　one　of　the　weaklings　who；　in　grumbling　at　the　weather；　merely　invite　passion。　July；　this　year；　is　clouded　and　windy；　very　cheerless　even　here　in　Devon；　I　fret　and　shiver　and　mutter　to　myself　something　about　southern　skies。　Pshaw！　Were　I　the　average　man　of　my　years；　I　should　be　striding　over　Haldon；　caring　not　a　jot　for　the　heavy　sky；　finding　a　score　of　pensations　for　the　lack　of　sun。　Can　I　not　have　patience？　Do　I　not　know　that；　some　morning；　the　east　will　open　like　a　bursting　bud　into　warmth　and　splendour；　and　the　azure　depths　above　will　have　only　the　more　solace　for　my　starved　anatomy　because　of　this　protracted　disappointment？
XV
I　have　been　at　the　seaside……enjoying　it；　yes；　but　in　what　a　doddering；　senile　sort　of　way！　Is　it　I　who　used　to　drink　the　strong　wind　like　wine；　who　ran　exultingly　along　the　wet　sands　and　leapt　from　rock　to　rock；　barefoot；　on　the　slippery　seaweed；　who　breasted　the　swelling　breaker；　and　shouted　with　joy　as　it　buried　me　in　gleaming　foam？　At　the　seaside　I　knew　no　such　thing　as　bad　weather；　there　were　but　changes　of　eager　mood　and　full…blooded　life。　Now；　if　the　breeze　blow　too　roughly；　if　there　e　a　pelting　shower；　I　must　look　for　shelter；　and　sit　with　my　cloak　about　me。　It　is　but　a　new　reminder　that　I　do　best　to　stay　at　home；　travelling　only　in　reminiscence。
At　Weymouth　I　enjoyed　a　hearty　laugh；　one　of　the　good　things　not　easy　to　get　after　middle　age。　There　was　a　notice　of　steamboats　which　ply　along　the　coast；　steamboats　remended　to　the　public　as　being　〃REPLETE　WITH　LAVATORIES　AND　A　LADIES'　SALOON。〃　Think　how　many　people　read　this　without　a　chuckle！
XVI
In　the　last　ten　years　I　have　seen　a　good　deal　of　English　inns　in　many　parts　of　the　country；　and　it　astonishes　me　to　find　how　bad　they　are。　Only　once　or　twice　have　I　chanced　upon　an　inn　（or；　if　you　like；　hotel）　where　I　enjoyed　any　sort　of　fort。　More　often　than　not；　even　the　beds　are　unsatisfactory……either　pretentiously　huge　and　choked　with　drapery；　or　hard　and　thinly　accoutred。　Furnishing　is　uniformly　hideous；　and　there　is　either　no　attempt　at　ornament　（the　safest　thing）　or　a　villainous　taste　thrusts　itself　upon　one　at　every　turn。　The　meals；　in　general；　are　coarse　and　poor　in　quality；　and　served　with　gross　slovenliness。
I　have　often　heard　it　said　that　the　touring　cyclist　has　caused　the　revival　of　wayside　inns。　It　may　be　so；　but　the　touring　cyclist　seems　to　be　very　easily　satisfied。　Unless　we　are　greatly　deceived　by　the　old　writers；　an　English　inn　used　to　be　a　delightful　resort；　abounding　in　fort；　and　supplied　with　the　best　of　food；　a　place；　too；　where　one　was　sure　of　wele　at　once　hearty　and　courteous。　The　inns　of　to…day；　in　country　towns　and　villages；　are　not　in　that　good　old　sense　inns　at　all；　they　are　merely　public…houses。　The　landlord's　chief　interest　is　the　sale　of　liquor。　Under　his　roof　you　may；　if　you　choose；　eat　and　sleep；　but　what　you　are　expected　to　do　is　to　drink。　Yet；　even　for　drinking；　there　is　no　decent　acmodation。　You　will　find　what　is　called　a　bar…parlour；　a　stuffy　and　dirty　room；　with　crazy　chairs；　where　only　the　sodden　dram…gulper　could　imagine　himself　at　ease。　Should　you　wish　to　write　a　letter；　only　the　worst　pen　and　the　vilest　ink　is　forthing；　this；　even　in　the　〃mercial　room〃　of　many　an　inn　which　seems　to　depend　upon　the　custom　of　travelling　tradesmen。　Indeed；　this　whole　business　of　innkeeping　is　incredibly　mismanaged。　Most　of　all　does　the　mon　ineptitude　or　brutality　enrage　one　when　it　has　possession　of　an　old　and　picturesque　house；　such　as　reminds　you　of　the　best　tradition；　a　house　which　might　be　made　as　fortable　as　house　can　be；　a　place　of　rest　and　mirth。
At　a　public…house　you　expect　public…house　manners；　and　nothing　better　will　meet　you　at　most　of　the　so…called　inns　or　hotels。　It　surprises　me　to　think　in　how　few　instances　I　have　found　even　the　pretence　of　civility。　As　a　rule；　the　landlord　and　landlady　are　either　contemptuously　superior　or　boorishly　familiar；　the　waiters　and　chambermaids　do　their　work　with　an　indifference　which　only　softens　to　a　condescending　interest　at　the　moment　of　your　departure；　when；　if　the　tip　be　thought　insufficient；　a　sneer　or　a　muttered　insult　speeds　you　on　your　way。　One　inn　I　remember；　where；　having　to　go　in　and　out　two　or　three　times　in　a　morning；　I　always　found　the　front　door　blocked　by　the　portly　forms　of　two　women；　the　landlady　and　the　barmaid；　who　stood　there　chatting　and　surveying　the　street。　ing　from　within　the　house；　I　had　to　call　out　a　request　for　passage；　it　was　granted　with　all　deliberation；　and　with　not　a　syllable　of　apology。　This　was　the　best　〃hotel〃　in　a　Sussex　market　town。
And　the　food。　Here；　beyond　doubt；　there　is　grave　degeneracy。　It　is　impossible　to　suppose　that　the　old　travellers　by　coach　were　contented　with　entertainment　such　as　one　gets　nowadays　at　the　table　of　a　country　hotel。　The　cooking　is　wont　to　be　eat　and　vegetables　worse　than　mediocre。　What！　Shall　one　ask　in　vain　at　an　English　inn　for　an　honest　chop　or　steak？　Again　and　again　has　my　appetite　been　frustrated　with　an　offer　of　mere　sinew　and　scrag。　At　a　hotel　where　the　charge　for　lunch　was　five　shillings；　I　have　been　sickened　with　pulpy　potatoes　and　stringy　cabbage。　The　very　joint……ribs　or　sirloin；　leg　or　shoulder……is　monly　a　poor；　underfed；　saple