and he takes arbitrary revenge by discounting every effort made by anyone now living. Like a robin in the snow he stands silent as the chill of his own spirit. When he does open his mouth it is to chirp a querulous and reminiscent elegy to a glory that has departed from the earth. He is fully convinced that the grave has reaped a total harvest of righteousness (his lone self excepted) and that no man now on earth can be big or honest or sincere. If there were any such they would be dead; anyone should