Chapter 1
Although I am an old man, night is generally my time for
walking. In the summer I often leave home early in the
morning, and roam about fields and lanes all day, or even
escape for days or weeks together; but, saving in the country, I
seldom go out until after dark, though, Heaven be thanked, I love
its light and feel the cheerfulness it sheds upon the earth, as much
as any creature living.
I have fallen insensibly into this habit, both because it favours
my infirmity and because it affords me greater opportunity of
speculating on the characters and occupations of those who fill the
streets. The glare and hurry of broad noon are not adapted to idle
pursuits like mine; a glimpse of passing faces caught by the light of
a street-lamp or a shop window is often better for my purpose than
their full revelation in the daylight; and, if I must add the truth,
night is kinder in this respect than day, which too often destroys
an air-built castle at the moment of its completion,