flat to enter this desolation of riches and false luxury at all. The
unsightly picture of the late Samuel Franklyn, Esq., stared down upon me
from the farther end of the room above the mighty mantelpiece.

He looked, I thought, like some pompous Heavenly Butler who denied to
all the world, and to us in particular, the right of entry without
presentation cards signed by his hand as proof that we belonged to his
own exclusive set. The majority, to his deep grief, and in spite of all
his prayers on their behalf, must burn and "perish everlastingly."




Chapter IV


With the instinct of the healthy bachelor I always try to make myself a
nest in the place I live in, be it for long or short. Whether visiting,
in lodging-house, or in hotel, the first essential is this nest--one's
own things built into the walls as a bird builds in its feathers. It may
look desolate and uncomfortable enough to others, because the central
detail is neither bed nor wardrobe, sofa nor armchair, but a good solid
writing-table that does not wriggle, and that has wide elbowroom.

And The Towers is vividly described for me by the single fact that I
could not "nest" there.

I took several days to discover this, but the first impression of
impermanence was truer than I knew. The feathers of the mind refused
here to lie one way. They ruffled, pointed, and grew wild.