Penelope, Volume I by William Pitt Scargill

It has been said in the preceding chapter, that Dr Greendale resumed his studies as soon as Mrs Greendale left his apartment, and that he soon forgot the interruption and the discussion which it had occasioned. After a little while however he found that the train of his thoughts had been seriously broken, and that he could not very easily or conveniently resume and connect it. He therefore determined that he would for a few hours lay aside his pen, and indulge himself with a little relaxation from study. These occasional relaxations are very essential to authors, especially to those whose writings are the result of deep and continuous argumentative thought. The doctor indeed had found this to be the case to a much greater extent than he had anticipated: for, when he first busied himself upon his great work, he thought that three years would be the very utmost of the time which he should occupy in the labours of the pen. But it so happened that he spent so very large a portion of those three years in the pleasing employment of looking to the honor and glory which lay beyond them, that they were absolutely gone before he was well aware of it, and his important and momentous labours were only begun; he had scarcely laid the foundation of that magnificent superstructure, which was destined to be an immortal and unfading monument of his theological and polemic glory.

And even long after the expiration of the first three years, he found it necessary to rouse himself to extraordinary, and almost convulsive diligence by preaching some very eloquent discourses on procrastination. In these discourses he quoted Young's Night Thoughts; and most of his parishioners thought the quotations exceedingly fine; but Mr Kipperson, of whom more hereafter, quite sneered at them, and afterwards told the Earl of Smatterton's gamekeeper, that Young was nothing of a poet compared to Lord Byron. But, notwithstanding all that the worthy rector of Smatterton had said, thought, or preached, concerning procrastination, he could not help now and then indulging himself and laying aside his pen, just for an hour or two; it could not make much difference; and besides it would not do to be always writing; there must be some interval allowed for thought. In one of these intervals, now accounted for by the interruption of Mrs Greendale, he sent for his niece Penelope; for he thought that in Mrs Greendale's present humour the young lady would feel herself more at ease in any other company than that of her diligent and managing aunt.