ofane bursting open of secret recesses. Though
standing in the heart of this house, though hitherto we have all nestled
about it, unsuspicious of aught hidden within, this chimney may or may
not have a secret closet. But if it have, it is my kinsman's. To
break into that wall, would be to break into his breast. And that
wall-breaking wish of Momus I account the wish of a churchrobbing gossip
and knave. Yes, wife, a vile eavesdropping varlet was Momus."

"Moses? Mumps? Stuff with your mumps and Moses?"

The truth is, my wife, like all the rest of the world, cares not a
fig for philosophical jabber. In dearth of other philosophical
companionship, I and my chimney have to smoke and philosophize together.
And sitting up so late as we do at it, a mighty smoke it is that we two
smoky old philosophers make.

But my spouse, who likes the smoke of my tobacco as little as she does
that of the soot, carries on her war against both. I live in continual
dread lest, like the golden bowl, the pipes of me and my chimney shall
yet be broken. To stay that mad project of my wife's, naught answers.
Or, rather, she herself is incessantly answering, incessantly besetting
me with her terrible alacrity for improvement, which is a softer name
for destruction. Scarce a day I do not find her with her tape-measure,
measuring for her grand hall, while Anna holds a yardstick on one side,
and Julia looks approvingly on from the other. Mysterious intimations
appear in the nearest village paper, signed "Claude," to the effect that
a certain structure, standing on a certain hill, is a sad blemish to
an otherwise lovely landscape. Anonymous letters arrive, threatening me
with I know not what, unless I remove my chimney. Is it my wife, too, or
who, that sets up the neighbors to badgering me on the same subject,
and hinting to me that my chimney, like a huge elm, absorbs all moisture
from my garden? At night, also, my wife will start as from sleep,
professing to hear ghostly noises from the secret closet. Assailed on
all sides, and in all ways, small peace have I and my chimney.

Were it not for the baggage, we would together pack up and remove from
the country.

What narrow escapes have been ours! Once I found in a drawer a whole
portfolio of plans and estimates. Another time, upon returning after
a day's absence, I discovered my wife standing before the chimney
in earnest conversation with a person whom I at once recognized as
a meddlesome architect