for his insolent Mind.




_Dissatisfaction_


For one thing I hate Spiders--I dislike all kinds of Insects.
Their cold intelligence, their empty, stereotyped, unremitted
industry repel me. And I am not altogether happy about the
future of the Human Race; when I think of the slow refrigeration
of the Earth, the Sun's waning, and the ultimate, inevitable
collapse of the Solar System, I have grave misgivings. And all
the books I have read and forgotten-the thought that my mind is
really nothing but a sieve--this, too, at times disheartens me.




_A Fancy_

More than once, though, I have pleased myself with the notion
that somewhere there is good Company which will like this little
Book--these Thoughts (if I may call them so) dipped up from that
phantasmagoria or phosphorescence which, by some unexplained
process of combustion, flickers over the large lump of soft gray
matter in the bowl of my skull.