Jerome Klapka Jerome

George goes to sleep at a bank from ten to four each day, except Saturdays, when they wake him up and put him outside at two)

the river, playing round the boat, prattles strange old tales and secrets, sings low the old child's song that it has sung so many

dream that the world is young again-young and sweet as she used to be ere the centuries of fret and care had furrowed her fair face, ere her children's sins and follies had made old her loving heart-sweet as she was in those bygone days when, a new-made mother, she nursed us, her children, upon her own deep breast-ere the wiles of painted civilization had lured us away from her fond arms, and the poisoned sneers of artificiality had made us ashamed of the simple life we led with her, and the simple, stately home where mankind was born so many thousands years ago