itude to my unknown benefactor……a state of mind I have often experienced in the days long gone by。 It happened at times……not in my barest days； but in those of decent poverty……that some one in the house where I lodged played the piano……and how it rejoiced me when this came to pass！ I say 〃played the piano〃……a phrase that covers much。 For my own part； I was very tolerant； anything that could by the largest interpretation be called music； I weled and was thankful； for even 〃five…finger exercises〃 I found； at moments； better than nothing。 For it was when I was labouring at my desk that the notes of the instrument were grateful and helpful to me。 Some men； I believe； would have been driven frantic under the circumstances； to me； anything like a musical sound always came as a godsend； it tuned my thoughts； it made the words flow。 Even the street organs put me in a happy mood； I owe many a page to them……written when I should else have been sunk in bilious gloom。
More than once； too； when I was walking London streets by night； penniless and miserable； music from an open window has stayed my step； even as yesterday。 Very well can I remember such a moment in Eaton Square； one night when I was going back to Chelsea； tired； hungry； racked by frustrate passions。 I had tramped miles and miles； in the hope of wearying myself so that I could sleep and forget。 Then came the piano notes……I saw that there was festival in the house……and for an hour or so I revelled as none of the bidden guests could possibly be doing。 And when I reached my poor lodgings； I was no longer envious nor mad with desires； but as I fell asleep I thanked the unknown mortal who had played for me； and given me peace。
XXVII
To…day I have read The Tempest。 It is perhaps the play that I love best；