about noon
He was glad of an opportunity to be alone with his own thoughts , for he was at one of those periodical epochs of life when we like to pause and breathe a while , in brief respite from that methodical race in which we run to the grave . He wished to re-collect the stores of his past experience , and repose on his own mind , before he started afresh upon the active world . The weather was cold and inclement ; but Ernest Maltravers was a hardy lover of nature , and neither snow nor frost could detain him from his daily rambles . So , about noon , he regularly threw aside books and papers , took his hat and staff , and went whistling or humming his favourite airs through the dreary streets , or along the bleak waters , or amidst the leafless woods , just as the humour seized him ; for he was not an Edwin or Harold , who reserved speculation only for lonely brooks and pastoral hills . Maltravers delighted to contemplate nature in men as well as in sheep or trees . The humblest alley in a crowded town had something poetical for him ; he was ever ready to mix in a crowd , if it were only gathered round a barrel-organ or a dog-fight , and listen to all that was said and notice all that was done . And this I take to be the true poetical temperament essential to every artist who aspires to be something more than a scene-painter .