in thinking, but in wondering how it was he had come
to kiss a strange woman. He said to himself that such conduct was not
right; but this statement was no more than the automatic working of a
mind long exercised in the distinctions of right and wrong, for, almost
in the same breath, he assured himself that what he had done did not
matter in the least. His opinions were undergoing a curious change.
Right and wrong were meeting and blending together so closely that it
became difficult to dissever them, and the obloquy attaching to the one
seemed out of proportion altogether to its importance, while the other
by no means justified the eulogy wherewith it was connected. Was there
any immediate or even distant, effect on life caused by evil which
was not instantly swung into equipoise by goodness? But these slender
reflections troubled him only for a little time. He had little desire
for any introspective quarryings. To feel so well was sufficient in
itself. Why should thought be so apparent to us, so insistent? We do
not know we have digestive or circulatory organs until these go out of
order, and then the knowledge torments us. Should not the labours of a
healthy brain be equally subterranean and equally competent? Why have we
to think aloud and travel laboriously from syllogism to ergo, chary of
our conclusions and distrustful of our premises? Thought, as we know
it, is a disease and no more. The healthy mentality should register its
convictions and not its labours. Our ears should not hear the clamour of
its doubts nor be forced to listen to the pro and con wherewith we are
eternally badgered and perplexed.

The road was winding like a ribbon in and out of the mountains. On
either side there were hedges and bushes,--little, stiff trees which
held their foliage in their hands and dared the winds snatch a leaf from
that grip. The hills were swelling and sinking, folding and soaring
on every view. Now the silence was startled by the falling tinkle of a
stream. Far away a cow lowed, a long, deep monotone, or a goat's call
trembled from nowhere to nowhere. But mostly there was a silence which
buzzed with a multitude of small winged life. Going up the hills the
Philosopher bent forward to the gradient, stamping vigorously as he
trod, almost snorting like a bull in the pride of successful energy.
Coming down the slope he braced back and let his legs loose to do as
they pleased. Didn't they know their business--Good luck to them