who will not


"Come when you do call for them."


What to do, then? You are sitting, perhaps, in your coracle, upon
some mountain tarn, waiting for a wind, and waiting in vain.


"Keine luft an keine seite,
Todes-stille frchterlich;"


as G”the has it -


"Und der schiffer sieht bekmmert
Glatte fl„che rings umher."


You paddle to the shore on the side whence the wind ought to come,
if it had any spirit in it; tie the coracle to a stone, light your
cigar, lie down on your back upon the grass, grumble, and finally
fall asleep. In the meanwhile, probably, the breeze has come on,
and there has been half-an-hour's lively fishing curl; and you wake
just in time to see the last ripple of it sneaking off at the other
side of the lake, leaving all as dead-calm as before.

Now how much better, instead of falling asleep, to have walked