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self into objects with surprising ardour! I don’t regret that
I have not a strong will and an immense power of business
detail to throw myself into objects with surprising ardour. I
can admire her without envy. I can sympathize with the ob-
jects. I can dream of them. I can lie down on the grass—in
fine weather—and float along an African river, embracing
all the natives I meet, as sensible of the deep silence and
sketching the dense overhanging tropical growth as accu-
rately as if I were there. I don’t know that it’s of any direct
use my doing so, but it’s all I can do, and I do it thoroughly.
Then, for heaven’s sake, having Harold Skimpole, a confid-
ing child, petitioning you, the world, an agglomeration of
practical people of business habits, to let him live and ad-
mire the human family, do it somehow or other, like good
souls, and suffer him to ride his rocking-horse!’
It was plain enough that Mr. Jarndyce had not been ne-
glectful of the adjuration. Mr. Skimpole’s general position
there would have rendered it so without the addition of
what he presently said.
‘It’s only you, the generous creatures, whom I envy,’ said
Mr. Skimpole, addressing us, his new friends, in an imper-
sonal manner. ‘I envy you your power of doing what you
do. It is what I should revel in myself. I don’t feel any vulgar
gratitude to you. I almost feel as if YOU ought to be grate-
ful to ME for giving you the opportunity of enjoying the
luxury of generosity. I know you like it. For anything I can
tell, I may have come into the world expressly for the pur-
pose of increasing your stock of happiness. I may have been
born to be a benefactor to you by sometimes giving you an

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