CHAPTER VII.

LOGIC OF THE GODS.


"Doctor," said Barton, in the little office of the latter, "I've
called to borrow your Euclid; may I have it? I have never tried
Euclid, really."

"Oh, yes, you can have it, and welcome. Do you want to try yourself on
the _pons asinorum?_"

"What is that; another bridge of sighs? for I suppose they can be
found out of Venice."

"It is a place over which asses have to be carried. It is, indeed, a
bridge of sighs, and a bridge of size."

"Oh, Doctor, don't you do that! Well, let me try it! I want more
work; and especially I want a wrestle with Euclid."

"Work! what are you doing, that you call work?"

"Well, hoeing beans, pulling up weeds, harvesting oats, with
recreations in Latin Grammar, Dabol, Algebra, Watts on the Mind,
Butler's Analogy, and other trifles."