Excerpt from The Man Who Wanted a Bungalow: Being the Veracious Account of an Author Who Went Back to Nature to Get Inspiration and Reduce Expenses
Almost every man who knows the meaning of "sky-blue" or likes to look at a squirrel, has had longings for the country. A City life supplies all the luxuries except sweet air and sound livers. Does not the imagination in a dark dining room verily smell the walls of restraint? And do not the far-fancied field-lights and the distant azure burn voluptuously?
I had lived in a village when a boy, proud of every wart on my fingers; which proves me a predisposed lover of Nature. In the later muddle of a metropolis, rural fancies were constrained to exercise themselves with Spring poems, sonnets to choice neighborhoods of Creation, and such interpretations, that were not worth one real glance at a buttercup or shoes printed with dew by the blades of grass, The City tills the mind with commercial thoughts. It puts muck on our heartfelt desires, until mushrooms grow in the gloomy instincts we had theoried with roses for the sunlight. It makes us cross as the Devil with his tail caught in the door when we have to wait five minutes for dinner.
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