ngers. Some people think
this waste of matches: the same people who object to the building of
Cathedrals.

"7th. About three pounds in gold and silver, the remains of one of
Mr. Unwin's bursts of affection: those explosions of spontaneous love
for myself, which, such is the perfect order and harmony of his mind,
occur at startlingly exact intervals of time.

"8th. A book of Children's Rhymes, in manuscript, called the 'Weather
Book' about 3/4 finished, and destined for Mr. Nutt.* I have been
working at it fairly steadily, which I think jolly creditable under
the circumstances. One can't put anything interesting in it. They'll
understand those things when they grow up.

[* _Greybeards at Play_.]

"9th. A tennis racket--nay, start not. It is a part of the new
regime, and the only new and neat-looking thing in the Museum. We'll
soon mellow it--like the straw hat. My brother and I are teaching
each other lawn tennis.

"10th. A soul, hitherto idle and omnivorous but now happy enough to
be ashamed of itself.

"11th. A body, equally idle and quite equally omnivorous, absorbing
tea, coffee, claret, sea-water and oxygen to its own perfect
satisfaction. It is happiest swimming, I think, the sea being about a
convenient size.

"12th. A Heart--mislaid somewhere. And that is about all the property
of which an inventory can be made at present. After all, my tastes
are stoically simple. A straw hat, a stick, a box of matches and some
of his own poetry. What more does man require? . . ."

". . . The City of Felixstowe, as seen by the local prophet from the
neighbouring mountain-peak, does not strike the eye as having
anything uncanny about it. At least I imagine that it requires rather
careful scrutiny before the eerie curl of a chimney pot, or the elfin
wink of a lonely lamp-post brings home to the startled soul that it
is really the City of a Fearful Folk. That the inhabitants are not
human in the ordinary sense is quite clear, yet it has only just
begun to dawn on me after staying a week in the Town of Unreason with
its monstrous landscape and grave, unmeaning customs. Do I seem to be
raving? Let me give my experiences.

"I am bound to admit that I do not think I am good at shopping. I
generally succeed in getting rid of money, but other observances,
such as bringing away the goods that I've paid for, and knowing what
I've bought, I often pass over as secondary. But to shop in a town of
ordinary tradesmen is one thing: