The solitary summer . need not hurry. What awaste of life, just getting and spending. Sittingby my pansy beds, with the slow clouds floatingleisurely past, and all the clear day before me, Ilook on at the hot scramble for the pennies ofexistence and am lost in wonder at the vulgaritythat pushes, and cringes, and tramples, untiringand unabashed. And when you have got yourpennies, what then ? They are only pennies, afterall — unpleasant, battered copper things, withouta gold piece among them, and never worth thedegradation of self, and the hatred of those belowyou who have fewer, and the derisio
The solitary summer . need not hurry. What awaste of life, just getting and spending. Sittingby my pansy beds, with the slow clouds floatingleisurely past, and all the clear day before me, Ilook on at the hot scramble for the pennies ofexistence and am lost in wonder at the vulgaritythat pushes, and cringes, and tramples, untiringand unabashed. And when you have got yourpennies, what then ? They are only pennies, afterall — unpleasant, battered copper things, withouta gold piece among them, and never worth thedegradation of self, and the hatred of those belowyou who have fewer, and the derision of thoseabove you who have more. And as I perceive Iam growing wise, and what is even worse, alle-gorical, and as these are tendencies to be foughtagainst as long as possible, Ill go into the gardenand play with the babies, who at this moment aresitting in a row on the buttercups, singing whatappear to be selections from popular airs. J une g^m8»Mtta8«ttt««fflm<««t«««H««<ttf«tt«<m«M«^^^^^^. JUNE June 3rd. — The Man of Wrath, I observe, islaying traps for me and being deep. He hasprophesied that I will find soHtude intolerable,and he is naturally desirous that his prophecyshould be fulfilled. He knows that continuousrain depresses me, and he is awaiting a spellof it to bring me to a confession that I waswrong after all, whereupon he will make thatremark so precious to the married heart, Mydear, I told you so. He begins the day bytapping the barometer, looking at the sky, andshaking his head. If there are any clouds heremarks that they are coming up, and if there arenone he says it is too fine to last. He has evengone the length once or twice of starting oflf tothe farm on hot, sunny mornings in his mackintosh, 41 42 THE SOLITARY SUMMER in order to impress on me beyond all doubt thatthe weather is breaking up. He studiously keepsout of my way all day, so that I may have everyopportunity of being bored as quickly as possible,and in the evenings he ret
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