of wearisome life, and a wearisome life the only occasion of daily
bread.

This put me in mind of the life I lived in my kingdom, the island;
where I suffered no more corn to grow, because I did not want it;
and bred no more goats, because I had no more use for them; where
the money lay in the drawer till it grew mouldy, and had scarce the
favour to be looked upon in twenty years. All these things, had I
improved them as I ought to have done, and as reason and religion
had dictated to me, would have taught me to search farther than
human enjoyments for a full felicity; and that there was something
which certainly was the reason and end of life superior to all
these things, and which was either to be possessed, or at least
hoped for, on this side of the grave.

But my sage counsellor was gone; I was like a ship without a pilot,
that could only run afore the wind. My thoughts ran all away again
into the old affair; my head was quite turned with the whimsies of
foreign adventures; and all the pleasant, innocent amusements of my
farm, my garden, my cattle, and my family, which before entirely
possessed me, were nothing to me, had no relish, and were like
music to one that has no ear, or food to one that has no taste. In
a word, I resolved to leave off housekeeping, let my farm, and
return to London; and in a few months after I did so.

When I came to London, I was still as uneasy as I was before; I had
no relish for the place, no employment in it, nothing to do but to
saunter about like an idle person, of whom it may be said he is
perfectly useless in God's creation, and it is not one farthing's
matter to the rest of his kind whether he be dead or alive. This