And after a time I sat me down at the foot of the oak with my face turned towards the water, and, folding my hands, I fell into deep meditation.  I thought on the early Sabbaths of my life, and the manner in which I was wont to pass them.  How carefully I said my prayers when I got up on the Sabbath morn, and how carefully I combed my hair and brushed my clothes in order that I might do credit to the Sabbath day.  I thought of the old church at pretty D—–­, the dignified rector, and yet more dignified clerk.  I though of England’s grand Liturgy, and Tate and Brady’s sonorous minstrelsy.  I thought of the Holy Book, portions of which I was in the habit of reading between service.  I thought, too, of the evening walk which I sometimes took in fine weather like the present, with my mother and brother—­a quiet sober walk, during which I would not break into a run, even to chase a butterfly, or yet more a honey-bee, being fully convinced of the dread importance of the day which God had hallowed.  And how glad I was when I had got over the Sabbath day without having done anything to profane it.  And how soundly I slept on the Sabbath night after the toil of being very good throughout the day.

And when I had mused on those times a long while, I sighed and said to myself, I am much altered since then; am I altered for the better?  And then I looked at my hands and my apparel, and sighed again.  I was not wont of yore to appear thus on the Sabbath day.

For a long time I continued in a state of deep meditation, till at last I lifted up my eyes to the sun, which, as usual during that glorious summer, was shining in unclouded majesty; and then I lowered them to the sparkling water, in which hundreds of the finny brood were disporting themselves, and then I thought what a fine thing it was to be a fish on such a fine summer day, and I wished myself a fish, or at least amongst the fishes; and then I looked at my hands again, and then, bending over the water, I looked at my face in the crystal mirror, and started when I saw it, for it looked squalid and miserable.

Forthwith I started up, and said to myself, I should like to bathe and cleanse myself from the squalor produced by my late hard life and by Mrs. Herne’s drow.  I wonder if there is any harm in bathing on the Sabbath day.  I will ask Winifred when she comes home; in the meantime I will bathe, provided I can find a fitting place.

But the brook, though a very delightful place for fish to disport in, was shallow, and by no means adapted for the recreation of so large a being as myself; it was, moreover, exposed, though I saw nobody at hand, nor heard a single human voice or sound.  Following the winding of the brook, I left the meadow, and, passing through two or three thickets, came to a place where between lofty banks the water ran deep and dark, and there I bathed, imbibing new tone and vigour into my languid and exhausted frame.