but only they faint and are weary. A wet match! What greater
or more invincible deterrent could exist to the kindling of a fire? If
Terry's manners were less adroit and his hair less curly, I could
almost love him. I am half-purposed to anyway.

And now that we are on matters literary I wish to announce that some
day, when my thoughts have come to issue, I intend writing an article
on the evil taste of pen-handles. There are several million dollars in
store for the man who will manufacture handles that are toothsome--say
of licorice, cinnamon, or sassafras wood, or of some composition
agreeable to the palate. The connection between the tongue and the pen
is a much closer one than generally recognized.

We might even have pleasantly medicated pen-handles guaranteed to
stimulate our addled heads, or--Heigh, my hearts of the fourth
estate!--to fill us with an irresistible desire to work when there is
music and laughter downstairs, or a horse and sunshine out of doors.
The invention of such a pen could not fail to be imparted as
righteousness.... The roses are in full blast, and all the way along I
walk the earth in a fine rapture. On the hill-top, there is a spread
of blue hyacinths like a torn veil that has been thrown to the earth.
Here, in bewildering array, grow wild parsnips, feverfew, painter's
brush, mint-flowers, and lilies that flame riotously across the sheens
and greens of the open ways. I love the crimson glories of these
lilies; they seem to bring grist to life. Indeed, there is no question
but they do.

The poplars and cottonwoods are hanging out long tassels of woolly
silver. It is a pity these do not pledge fruit like the tassels of the
Indian corn. Mayhap, some day, a scientist will cause the black poplar
to produce something for the sustenance of the North. Even the honey
which the bees store in its cavities becomes bitter and acrid to the
taste. Or it may happen we shall discover a cordial substance which
will transmute the tassels of the poplar into something else--say into
mulberries. Long ago, the English orchardists believed such things to
be possible, for, in the fourteenth century, one wrote down that "a
peach-tree shall bring forth pomegranates if it be sprinkled with
goat's milk three days when it beginneth to flower."

It is good to be here this day enjoying the pleasant amity of the earth
and sky. One may draw physical and spiritual renovation from both. It
is very good to