ruin to partake of it. A
light-hearted cook will make light bread; a pessimistic cook will serve
flour bricks in lieu thereof."

"I think possibly you are right when you say that," said the Doctor. "I
have myself observed that the people who sing at their work do the best
work."

"But the worst singing," growled the School-master.

"That may be true," put in the Idiot; "but you cannot expect a cook on
sixteen dollars a month to be a prima-donna. Now, if Mr. Whitechoker
will undertake to start a sewing-circle in his church for people who
don't care to wear clothing, but to sow the seeds of concord and good
cookery throughout the kitchens of this land, I am prepared to prophesy
that at the end of the year there will be more happiness and less
depression in this part of the world; and once eliminate dyspepsia from
our midst, and get civilization and happiness controvertible terms, then
you will find your foreign missionary funds waxing so fat that instead
of the amateur garments for the heathen you now send them, you will be
able to open an account at Worth's and Poole's for every barbarian in
creation. The scheme for the sewing on of suspender-buttons and the
miscellaneous mending that needs to be done for lone-lorn savages like
myself might be left in abeyance until the culinary scheme has been
established. Bachelors constitute a class, a small class only, of
humanity, but the regeneration of cooks is a universal need."

"I think your scheme is certainly a picturesque one and novel," said Mr.
Whitechoker. "There seems to be a good deal in it. Don't you think so,
Mr. Pedagog?"

"Yes--I do," said Mr. Pedagog, wearily. "A great deal--of language."

And amid the laugh at his expense which followed, the Idiot, joining in,
departed.

II

A Suggestion for the Cable-cars

"Heigh-ho!" sighed the Idiot, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "This is a
weary world."

"What? This from you?" smiled the Poet. "I never expected to hear that
plaint from a man of your cheerful disposition."

"Humph!" said the Idiot, with difficulty repressing a yawn. "Humph! and
I may add, likewise, tut! What do you take me for--an insulated
sun-beam? I can't help it if shadows camp across my horizon
occasionally. I wouldn't give a cent for the man who never had his
moments of misery. It takes night to enable us to appreciate daytime.
Misery is a foil necessary to the full appreciation of joy. I'm glad I
am sort of down in the mouth to-day. I