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With this philosophical rejoinder； the airy Goodchild clapped Mr。
Idle on the shoulder in a final manner； and they sat down to
dinner。
'By…the…by；' said Goodchild； 'I have been over a lunatic asylum
too； since I have been out。'
'He has been；' exclaimed Thomas Idle； casting up his eyes； 'over a
lunatic asylum！ Not content with being as great an Ass as Captain
Barclay in the pedestrian way； he makes a Lunacy Commissioner of
himself … for nothing！'
'An immense place；' said Goodchild； 'admirable offices； very good
arrangements； very good attendants； altogether a remarkable place。'
'And what did you see there？' asked Mr。 Idle； adapting Hamlet's
advice to the occasion； and assuming the virtue of interest； though
he had it not。
'The usual thing；' said Francis Goodchild； with a sigh。 'Long
groves of blighted men…and…women…trees； interminable avenues of
hopeless faces； numbers； without the slightest power of really
combining for any earthly purpose； a society of human creatures who
have nothing in common but that they have all lost the power of
being humanly social with one another。'
'Take a glass of wine with me；' said Thomas Idle； 'and let US be
social。'
'In one gallery； Tom；' pursued Francis Goodchild； 'which looked to
me about the length of the Long Walk at Windsor； more or less … '
'Probably less；' observed Thomas Idle。
'In one gallery； which was otherwise clear of patients （for they
were all out）； there was a poor little dark…chinned； meagre man；
with a perplexed brow and a pensive face； stooping low over the
matting on the floor； and picking out with his thumb and forefinger
the course of its fibres。 The afternoon sun was slanting in at the
large end…window； and there were cross patches of light and shade
all down the vista； made by the unseen windows and the open doors
of the little sleeping…cells on either side。 In about the centre
of the perspective； under an arch； regardless of the pleasant
weather； regardless of the solitude； regardless of approaching
footsteps； was the poor little dark…chinned； meagre man； poring
over the matting。 〃What are you doing there？〃 said my conductor；
when we came to him。 He looked up； and pointed to the matting。 〃I
wouldn't do that； I think；〃 said my conductor； kindly； 〃if I were
you； I would go and read； or I would lie down if I felt tired； but
I wouldn't do that。〃 The patient considered a moment； and vacantly
answered； 〃No； sir； I won't； I'll … I'll go and read；〃 and so he
lamely shuffled away into one of the little rooms。 I turned my
head before we had gone many paces。 He had already come out again；
and was again poring over the matting； and tracking out its fibres
with his thumb and forefinger。 I stopped to look at him； and it
came into my mind； that probably the course of those fibres as they
plaited in and out； over and under； was the only course of things
in the whole wide world that it was left to him to understand …
that his darkening intellect had narrowed down to the small cleft
of light which showed him； 〃This piece was twisted this way； went
in here； passed under； came out there； was carried on away here to
the right where I now put my finger on it； and in this progress of
events； the thing was made and came to be here。〃 Then； I wondered
whether he looked into the matting； next； to see if it could show
him anything of the process through which HE came to be there； so
strangely poring over it。 Then； I thought how all of us； GOD help
us！ in our different ways are poring over our bits of matting；
blindly enough； and what confusions and mysteries we make in the
pattern。 I had a sadder fellow…feeling with the little dark…
chinned； meagre man； by that time； and I came away。'
Mr。 Idle diverting the conversation to grouse； custards； and bride…
cake； Mr。 Goodchild followed in the same direction。 The bride…cake
was as bilious and indigestible as if a real Bride had cut it； and
the dinner it completed was an admirable performance。
The house was a genuine old house of a very quaint description；
teeming with old carvings； and beams； and panels； and having an
excellent old staircase； with a gallery or upper staircase； cut off
from it by a curious fence…work of old oak； or of the old Honduras
Mahogany wood。 It was； and is； and will be； for many a long year
to come； a remarkably picturesque house； and a certain grave
mystery lurking in the depth of the old mahogany panels； as if they
were so many deep pools of dark water … such； indeed； as they had
been much among when they were trees … gave it a very mysterious
character after nightfall。
When Mr。 Goodchild and Mr。 Idle had first alighted at the door； and
stepped into the sombre； handsome old hall； they had been received
by half…a…dozen noiseless old men in black； all dressed exactly
alike； who glided up the stairs with the obliging landlord and
waiter … but without appearing to get into their way； or to mind
whether they did or no … and who had filed off to the right and
left on the old staircase； as the guests entered their sitting…
room。 It was then broad； bright day。 But； Mr。 Goodchild had said；
when their door was shut； 'Who on earth are those old men？' And
afterwards； both on going out and coming in； he had noticed that
there were no old men to be seen。
Neither； had the old men； or any one of the old men； reappeared
since。 The two friends had passed a night in the house； but had
seen nothing more of the old men。 Mr。 Goodchild； in rambling about
it； had looked along passages； and glanced in at doorways； but had
encountered no old men； neither did it appear that any old men
were； by any member of the establishment； missed or expected。
Another odd circumstance impressed itself on their attention。 It
was； that the door of their sitting…room was never left untouched
for a quarter of an hour。 It was opened with hesitation； opened
with confidence； opened a little way； opened a good way； … always
clapped…to again without a word of explanation。 They were reading；
they were writing； they were eating； they were drinking； they were
talking； they were dozing； the door was always opened at an
unexpected moment； and they looked towards it； and it was clapped…
to again； and nobody was to be seen。 When this had happened fifty
times or so； Mr。 Goodchild had said to his companion； jestingly：
'I begin to think； Tom； there was something wrong with those six
old men。'
Night had come again； and they had been writing for two or three
hours： writing； in short； a portion of the lazy notes from which
these lazy sheets are taken。 They had left off writing； and
glasses were on the table between them。 The house was closed and
quiet。 Around the head of Thomas Idle； as he lay upon his sofa；
hovered light wreaths of fragrant smoke。 The temples of Francis
Goodchild； as he leaned back in his chair； with his two hands
clasped behind his head； and his legs crosse