oss–country journeys to ty toy boto to to make plum jam or to clean out tudy, and  great question of tomb in perpetual suspension, ion. It is true t o believe in tes a pamp o read at terly meeting of ty s are not of  arrooget of a C many tudor clay pipes, a piece of Roman pottery, and t Nelson drank out of—proving I really don’t know w.

    No, no, noto get up at t and ascertain t t sic old nail, driven in tient attrition of many generations of s  of paint, and is taking its first vie of a  room, er for furtion? I can tting still as anding up. And s of cs ing sing doars? And titions d for beauty and  , spacious  professors or specialists or  as a fiser ems of ter–lilies, s of re of ters, , and tions—if it  for aker’s Almanack—if it  for table of Precedency!

    I must jump up and see for myself  mark on the wood?

    ure once more at ion. train of t, sening mere e of energy, even some collision y, for  a finger against aker’s table of Precedency? terbury is folloaker; and t to kno t, so Nature counsels, comfort you, instead of enraging you; and if you can’t be comforted, if you must ster the wall.

    I understand Nature’s game—ing to take action as a  t tens to excite or to pain.  contempt for men of action—men, ill, tting a full stop to one’s disagreeable ts by looking at a mark on the wall.

    Indeed, no I , I feel t I isfying sense of reality urns te, somet dream of ily turns on t and lies quiescent,  is s to be sure of. . . ood is a pleasant to t. It come