Ravenshoe. By Henry Kingsley.

CHARLES'S SECOND EXPEDITION. 243
CHAPTER XLI.
CHARLES'S SECOND EXPEDITION TO ST. JOHN'S WOOD.
WHAT a happy place a man's bed is, - probably the best
place in which he ever finds himself. Very few people will like
to deny that, I think; that is to say, as a general rule. After a
long day's shooting in cold weather, for instance; or half a night
on deck among the ice, when the fog has lifted, and the ghastly
cold walls are safe in sight; or after a fifty-mile ride in the bush,
under a pouring rain; or after a pleasant ball, when you have to
pull down the blind, that the impudent sun may not roast you
awake in two hours; for in all these cases, and a hundred more,
bed is very pleasant; but you know as well as I do, that there
are times when you would sooner be on a frozen deck, or in the
wildest bush in the worst weather, or waltzing in the hall of
Eblis with Vathek's mama, or almost in your very grave, than
in bed, and awake.
O, the weary watches! when the soul, which in sleep would
leave the tortured body to rest and ramble off in dreams, holds
on by a mere thread, yet a thread strong enough to keep every
nerve in tense agony. When one's waking dreams of the past
are as vivid as those of sleep, and there is always present,
through all, the dreadful lurking thought that one is awake, and
that it is all real. When, looking back, every kindly impulsive
action, every heartily spoken word, makes you fancy that you
have only earned contempt where you merit kindness. Where
the past looks like a hell of missed opportunities, and the future
like another black, hopeless hell of uncertainty and imminent misfortune of all kinds! O, weary watches! Let us be at such
times on the bleakest hill-side, in the coldest night that ever blew,
rather than in the warmest bed that money will buy.
When you are going to have a night of this kind, you seldom
know it beforehand, for certain. Sometimes, if you have had
much experience in the sort of thing, - if you have lost money,
or gone in debt, or if your sweetheart has cut you very often, -
you may at last guess, before you get your boots off, that you.are
going to have a night of it; in which case, read yourself to sleep
in bed. Never mind burning the house down (that would be
rather desirable as a distraction from thought); but don't read
till you are sleepy with your clothes on, and then undress, because,
if you do, you will find, by the time you have undressed yourself,