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[196] a strong resistance to all sorts of ritual. Moreover, this book of Scheffer's seems to me uncommonly lugubrious of its kind. I read a few of the poems, and they made me feel so forlorn that I hastened to hide the book away in a receptacle that I keep for things not cheerful to read, and consequently not profitable to lend. The world is so full of sadness that I more and more make it a point to avoid all sadness that does not come within the sphere of my duty.

I read only “chipper” books. I hang prisms in my windows to fill the room with rainbows ; I gaze at all the bright pictures in shop windows; I cultivate the gayest flowers; I seek cheerfulness in every possible way. This is my “necessity in being old.” Then you know I never did like the things that “good people” like. Ritual was always antagonistic to my temperament; it interferes with my free-will, and my free — will grows more rampant every year I live. And now having blown my blast against the “saint's” book, I thank you sincerely for your friendly intention in sending it; that I shall cherish in my memory though I consign the book to oblivion. The poems are certainly pure, solid good sense; dreadful solid.

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