give my thoughts to reading； if I sat unoccupied； they would brood with melancholy fixedness on I know not what。 Better to betake myself to the old mechanic exercise of the pen； which cheats my sense of time wasted。
I think of fogs in London； fogs of murky yellow or of sheer black； such as have often made all work impossible to me； and held me； a sort of dyspeptic owl； in moping and blinking idleness。 On such a day； I remember； I once found myself at an end both of coal and of lamp…oil； with no money to purchase either； all I could do was to go to bed； meaning to lie there till the sky once more became visible。 But a second day found the fog dense as ever。 I rose in darkness； I stood at the window of my garret； and saw that the street was illumined as at night； lamps and shop…fronts perfectly visible； with folk going about their business。 The fog； in fact； had risen； but still hung above the house…tops； impermeable by any heavenly beam。 My solitude being no longer endurable； I went out； and walked the town for hours。 When I returned； it was with a few coins which permitted me to buy warmth and light。 I had sold to a second…hand bookseller a volume which I prized； and was so much the poorer for the money in my pocket。
Years after that； I recall another black morning。 As usual at such times； I was suffering from a bad cold。 After a sleepless night； I fell into a torpor； which held me unconscious for an hour or two。 Hideous cries aroused me； sitting up in the dark； I heard men going along the street； roaring news of a hanging that had just taken place。 〃Execution of Mrs。〃……I forget the name of the murderess。 〃Scene on the scaffold！〃 It was a little after nine o'clock； the enterprising paper had promptly got out its gibbet edition。 A morning of midwinter； roo