one o'clock in the afternoon
Nobody saw Bob , and Bob could n't hear the wagon , which the next moment passed over his neck , and broke it . The sole thing connected with my days on this spot , attended by a satisfactory feeling , is the remembrance of my long and quiet evenings , when I did happen to spend the week in the parish . It was the only period of my life that I read to any effect , and I must own , that even then it was no fault of mine , for it was impossible to do otherwise . I used to rise at one o'clock in the afternoon , and go to bed at five the next morning . As to late hours , as it is termed , I have no sort of compunction , so long as I do not spend more than the necessary quantum of the twenty-four in bed . I was agreeably surprised with the number of works I crept through ; among which , my favourites were Byron 's works throughout , with his life by Moore ; Butler 's Analogy , White 's Farriery , and Dwight 's Theology , which last is as full of poetry as Childe Harold . The last half hour of each night or morning , I invariably enjoyed with my feet on the fender , in dreamy contemplation of the past , wreathed in the fumes of a cigar , and soothed by the lowly and desultory murmurs of the geese in the straw-yard beneath my window .