reature, was (when we lived with him) so potently
hypnoidal that, even erect and determined as his bookcase and urgently
bent upon Brann's _Iconoclast_ or some other literary irritant, sleep
would seep through his pores and he would fall with a crash, lying there
in unconscious bliss until someone came in and prodded him up, reeling
and ashamed.

But, as we started to say, those who survive this drastic weeding out
which Night imposes upon her wooers--so as to cull and choose only the
truly meritorious lovers--experience supreme delights which are unknown
to their snoring fellows. When the struggle with somnolence has been
fought out and won, when the world is all-covering darkness and
close-pressing silence, when the tobacco suddenly takes on fresh vigour
and fragrance and the books lie strewn about the table, then it seems as
though all the rubbish and floating matter of the day's thoughts have
poured away and only the bright, clear, and swift current of the mind
itself remains, flowing happily and without impediment. This perfection
of existence is not to be reached very often; but when properly
approached it may be won. It is a different mind that one uncovers then,
a spirit which is lucid and hopeful, to which (for a few serene hours)
time exists not. The friable resolutions of the day are brought out
again and recemented and chiselled anew. Surprising schemes are started
and carried through to happy conclusion, lifetimes of amazement are
lived in a few passing ticks. There is one who at such moments resolves,
with complete sincerity, to start at one end of the top shelf and read
again all the books in his library, intending this time really to
extract their true marrow. He takes a clean sheet of paper and sets down
memoranda of all the people he intends to write to, and all the plumbers
and what not that he will call up the next day. And the next time this
happy seizure attacks him he will go through the same gestures again
without surprise and without the slightest mortification. And then,
having lived a generation of good works since midnight struck, he
summons all his resolution and goes to bed.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS

GARDEN CITY, N. Y.

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