ied in churchyards? Why should he, because he was nameless,
be outcast as well? Why should his body be held unworthy of a place by
the side of persons who, though they were as dead as himself, still went
on being respectable? I took off my hat and leaned against the Finnish
warrior's grave and stared up along the smooth beech trunks to the point
where the leaves, getting out of the shade, flashed in the sun at the
top, and marvelled greatly at the ways of men, who pursue each other
with conventions and disapproval even when their object, ceasing to be a
man, is nothing but a poor, unresentful, indifferent corpse.

It is--certainly with me it is--a symptom of fatigue and want of food to
marvel at the ways of men. My spirit grows more and more inclined to
carp as my body grows more tired and hungry. When I am not too weary and
have not given my breakfast to fowls, my thoughts have a cheerful way of
fixing themselves entirely on the happy side of things, and life seems
extraordinarily charming. But I see nothing happy and my soul is lost in
blackness if, for many hours, I have had no food. How useless to talk to
a person of the charities if you have not first fed him. How useless to
explain that they are scattered at his feet like flowers if you have fed
him too much. Both these states, of being over-fed and not fed enough,
are equally fatal to the exquisitely sensitive life of the soul. And so
it came about that because it was long past luncheon-time, and I had
walked far, and it was hot, I found myself growing sentimental over the
poor dead Finn; inclined to envy him because he could go on resting
there while I had to find a way back to Binz in the heat and excuse my
absence to an offended cousin; launching, indignant at his having been
denied Christian burial, into a whole sea of woful reflections on the
spites and follies of mankind, from which a single piece of bread would
have rescued me. And as I was very tired, and it was very hot, and very
silent, and very drowsy, my grumblings and disapprovals grew gradually
vaguer, grew milder, grew confused, grew intermittent, and I went to
sleep.

Now to go to sleep out of doors on a fine summer afternoon is an
extremely pleasant thing to do if nobody comes and looks at you and you
are comfortable. I was not exactly comfortable, for the ground round the
grave was mossless and hard; and when the wind caught it the bracken
cross tickled my ear and jerked my mind dismally on to e