herings,--cattle-shows and Fourth-of-July celebrations. If Democritus
and Heraclitus could walk arm in arm through one of these crowds, the
first would be in a broad laugh to see the multitude of young persons
who were rejoicing in the possession of one of these useless and
worthless little commodities; happy himself to see how easily others
could purchase happiness. But the second would weep bitter tears to
think what a rayless and barren life that must be which could extract
enjoyment from the miserable flimsy wand that has such magic attraction
for sauntering youths and simpering maidens. What a dynamometer of
happiness are these paltry toys, and what a rudimentary vertebrate must
be the freckled adolescent whose yearning for the infinite can be stayed
even for a single hour by so trifling a boon from the venal hands of the
finite!

Pardon these polysyllabic reflections, Beloved, but I never contemplate
these dear fellow-creatures of ours without a delicious sense of
superiority to them and to all arrested embryos of intelligence, in
which I have no doubt you heartily sympathize with me. It is not
merely when I look at the vacuous countenances of the mastigophori, the
whip-holders, that I enjoy this luxury (though I would not miss that
holiday spectacle for a pretty sum of money, and advise you by all means
to make sure of it next Fourth of July, if you missed it this), but I
get the same pleasure from many similar manifestations.

I delight in Regalia, so called, of the kind not worn by kings, nor
obtaining their diamonds from the mines of Golconda. I have a passion
for those resplendent titles which are not conferred by a sovereign and
would not be the open sesame to the courts of royalty, yet which are as
opulent in impressive adjectives as any Knight of the Garter's list
of dignities. When I have recognized in the every-day name of His Very
Worthy High Eminence of some cabalistic association, the inconspicuous
individual whose trifling indebtedness to me for value received remains
in a quiescent state and is likely long to continue so, I confess to
having experienced a thrill of pleasure. I have smiled to think how
grand his magnificent titular appendages sounded in his own ears and
what a feeble tintinnabulation they made in mine. The crimson sash, the
broad diagonal belt of the mounted marshal of a great procession, so
cheap in themselves, yet so entirely satisfactory to the wearer, tickle
my heart's root.