But then my eye fell upon a smaller book. Its maroon binding spelled out in golden script Virginibus Puerisque, by Robert Louis Stevenson.
I decided it was worth further inspection - this was the author of classics such as Treasure Island and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I walked quickly down the stairs with my finds, eager to check them out and ensure that I could purvey them at my leisure. I wished I had more space and the shoulder satchel I had brought along, but made do with rearranging the current contents to accommodate the borrowed literature. But I felt compelled to begin the Stevenson book - the leather cover and embossed swirls intrigued me. I opened the introduction and read that it was a series of essays meant for a friend. It was originally to be entitled, "Life at Twenty-five" but Stevenson soon found that he was unable to sustain that view as the years passed and the wisdom and experience of age changed his sensibilities.
I have only completed the first essay and have enjoyed the transition in the second, concerning men aging but never quite growing up. Each man has a seed of his boyhood, which in old age the male regresses to the mental playground of his youth. It contains a warning that marriage is not the answer to a wayward youth - you will be taking on responsibility for another's well-being. If you cannot manage your own life, how do you expect to suddenly do a capitol job when handling two? No longer will you have the liberty of dismissing your failures and faults of character - you will have a faithful witness who suffers alongside you and holds you accountable for your actions.
I will have to postpone reading this in pleasure as my schoolwork has deadlines that must be acknowleged and conquered, but I look forward to resuming and reporting further.
Oh! Updates are late.
Is it like riding a bike?
A wobbly return...
