needs no such care. He will get work enough, hard, physical work, if
only in trotting up and down the steep stairs of tenant-houses, to keep
his digestion in tolerable order. It is only your pseudo-saint,
who cuddles himself for the pulpit and the platform, and keeps the
safety-valve down with midnight sittings while "rosining up" the
furnaces with strong coffee, that will come to grief by collapse of
flues. If a man, whether sinner or saint, will run races for the honor
of being the fastest boat in the river of popular favor, he must take
the consequences.

But for the poor, benighted, heathen sinner, desiring enjoyment that
shall be honest, cheap, satisfying, and attainable, I say, in the full
faith of the creed of Nemophily,--Get into the woods! No matter what
you expect to find there,--go and see what you can find. Don't walk for
"constitutionals," without an object at the end or on the way. Keep your
feet well shod and your eyes open. Bring home all the flowers and pretty
wood-growths you can, and you may find that you have been entertaining
angels unawares. Find out about them all you can yourself, and then (in
spite of a previous tirade against botany, be it said) go to BIGELOW'S
"PLANTS OF BOSTON" and learn more.




SUBSTANCE AND SHADOW.


A fatiguing journey up six long, winding flights of smoothly-waxed
stairs carried me to the door of the room I occupied in the Place ----.
But no matter for the name of the Place; no one, I am confident, will