all sorts of extraneous objects. But the incorporation must be witty, or
you may soon convert the whole thing into an incoherent muddle of half-
good ideas.

I have taken two photographs, one to the right and one to the left of
this agreeable place. I may perhaps adopt a kind of guide-book style in
reviewing its principal features: I begin at the railway station. I have
made a rather nearer and larger photograph of the railway station, which
presents a diversified and entertaining scene to the incoming visitor.
Porters (out of a box of porters) career here and there with the trucks
and light baggage. Quite a number of our all-too-rare civilians parade
the platform: two gentlemen, a lady, and a small but evil-looking child
are particularly noticeable; and there is a wooden sailor with jointed
legs, in a state of intoxication as reprehensible as it is nowadays
happily rare. Two virtuous dogs regard his abandon with quiet scorn. The
seat on which he sprawls is a broken piece of some toy whose nature I
have long forgotten, the station clock is a similar fragment, and so is
the metallic pillar which bears the name of the station. So many toys,
we find, only become serviceable with a little smashing. There is an
allegory in this--as Hawthorne used to write in his diary.

("What is he doing, the great god Pan, Down in the reeds by the river?")

The fences at the ends of the platforms are pieces of wood belonging to
the game of Matador--that splendid and very educational construction
game, hailing, I believe, from Hungary. There is also, I regret to say,
a blatant advertisement of Jab's "Hair Color," showing the hair. (In the
photograph the hair does not come out very plainly.) This is by G. P.
W., who seems marked out by destiny to be the advertisement-writer of
the next generation. He spends much of his scanty leisure inventing and