not be enjoyed as long as possible? Human beings
may ere long take their nourishment in the form of pills; the prevision
of that happy economy causes me no reproach when I sit down to a joint of
meat.

See how friendly together are the fire and the shaded lamp; both have
their part alike in the illumining and warming of the room. As the fire
purrs and softly crackles, so does my lamp at intervals utter a little
gurgling sound when the oil flows to the wick, and custom has made this a
pleasure to me. Another sound, blending with both, is the gentle ticking
of the clock. I could not endure one of those bustling little clocks
which tick like a fever pulse, and are only fit for a stockbroker's
office; mine hums very slowly, as though it savoured the minutes no less
than I do; and when it strikes, the little voice is silver-sweet, telling
me without sadness that another hour of life is reckoned, another of the
priceless hours--

"Quae nobis pereunt et imputantur."

After extinguishing the lamp, and when I have reached the door, I always
turn to look back; my room is so cosily alluring in the light of the last
gleeds, that I do not easily move away. The warm glow is reflected on
shining wood, on my chair, my writing-table, on the bookcases, and from
the gilt title of some stately volume; it illumes this picture, it half
disperses the gloom on that. I could imagine that, as in a fairy tale,
the books do but await my departure to begin talking among themselves. A
little tongue of flame shoots up from a dying ember; shadows shift upon
the ceiling and the walls. With a sigh of utter contentment, I go forth,
and shut the door softly.

II.

I came home this afternoon just at twilight, and, feeling tired after my
walk, a little cold too, I first crouched before the fire, then let
myself drop lazily upon the hearthrug. I had a book in my hand, and
began to read it by the firelight. Rising in a few minutes, I found the
open page still legible by the pale glimmer of day. This sudden change
of illumination had an odd effect upon me; it was so unexpected, for I
had forgotten that dark had not yet fallen. And I saw in the queer
little experience an intellectual symbol. The book was verse. Might not
the warm rays from the fire exhibit the page as it appears to an
imaginative and kindred mind, whilst that cold, dull light from the
window showed it as it is beheld by eyes to which poetry has but a poor,
literal m