to offend
them. Southey was a scholar; he associated with educated people; and once
he complained because he could not get acquainted with workingmen--they
shut up like clams on his approach. Of course they did, for we are simple
and sincere only with our own.

Learned, scholarly and cultured men are to be pitied, for they are ever
the butt, byword and prey of the untaught, who are often the knowing. As
success came to Southey he lost the sense of values, that is to say, the
sense of humor. He attacked Byron with great severity, and Byron's reply
was the dedication of Don Juan, "To the illustrious Poet-Laureate, Robert
Southey, LL.D." It was as if the play of "Sappho" were dedicated to the
Reverend Doctor Parkhurst.

Southey came out with a card declaring he had given Lord Byron no
permission to dedicate any of his detestable works to him. Byron replied,
acknowledging all this, but saying he had a right to honor the name of
Southey, if he chose, just the same. No taint of excess or folly marks the
name of Southey; his life was filled with good work and kind deeds. His
name is honored by a monument in the village of Keswick, and in
Crosthwaite Church is another monument to his memory, the inscription
being written by Wordsworth.

* * * * *

Were Heaven a place, I still politely maintain, it would probably be
located in the Lake District of England.

Every man of genius the world has ever produced has come from a little
belt of land in the North Temperate Zone. Snow and cold, rock and
mountain, danger and difficulty--these are the conditions required to make
men. The heaven of which I can conceive is a place with plenty of oxygen,
sunshine and water. In a mountainous country water runs (I hope no one
will dispute this) and winds blow, and running water and air in motion are
always pure.

When I have no thoughts worth recording I take a walk, and the elements,
which seem to carry soul, fill me to the brim.

The Tropics may have much to offer in way of soft, luxurious creature
comforts. But the Tropics supply sundry and divers discomforts as well,
and really offer too much; for with the flowers, vines, fruits and
never-ending foliage go mosquitoes, tarantulas, and snakes that wiggle and
sometimes bite.

The climate of Cumberland does not overpower one--the air is of a quality
that urges you on to think and do.

By no reach of imagination can one conjure forth anything more beautiful