the leisure hours of posterity. But reflection
assured me that posterity had, thus far, done very little to place me
under that or any other obligation. Ah, no! Youth, health and--though
I say it--a modicum of intelligence are loaned to most of us for a
while, and for a terribly brief while. They are but loans, and Time is
waiting greedily to snatch them from us. For the perturbed usurer
knows that he is lending us, perforce, three priceless possessions, and
that till our lease runs out we are free to dispose of them as we
elect. Now, had I jealously devoted my allotment of these treasures
toward securing for my impressions of the universe a place in yet
unprinted libraries, I would have made an investment from which I could
not possibly have derived any pleasure, and which would have been to
other people of rather dubious benefit. In consequence, I chose a
wiser and devouter course."

This statement Lady Drogheda afforded the commentary of a grimace.

"Why, look you," Wycherley philosophized, "have you never thought what
a vast deal of loving and painstaking labor must have gone to make the
world we inhabit so beautiful and so complete? For it was not enough
to evolve and set a glaring sun in heaven, to marshal the big stars
about the summer sky, but even in the least frequented meadow every
butterfly must have his pinions jeweled, very carefully, and every
lovely blade of grass be fashioned separately. The hand that yesterday
arranged the Himalayas found time to glaze the wings of a midge! Now,
most of us could design a striking Flood, or even a Last judgment,
since the canvas is so big and the colors used so virulent; but to
paint a snuff-box perfectly you must love the labor for its own sake,
and pursue it without even an underthought of the performance's
ultimate appraisement. People do not often consider the simple fact
that it is enough to bait, and quite superfluous to veneer, a trap;
indeed, those generally acclaimed the best of persons insist this world
is but an antechamber, full of gins and pitfalls, which must be
scurried through with shut eyes. And the more fools they, as all we
poets know! for to enjoy a sunset, or a glass of wine, or even to
admire the charms of a handsome woman, is to render the Artificer of
all at least the tribute of appreciation."

But she said, in a sharp voice: "William, William----!" And he saw
that there was no beach now in Teviot Bay except the dwindling cresce