The things we do!

Ay, for I've not got over my neurasthenia yet.
The timber saw is in my room. But I cannot put it together, for the bulk
of the wooden parts I left behind at a vicarage in the country. It matters
little now, my love for the thing is dulled. My neurasthenic friends,
believe me, folk of our sort are useless as human beings, and we should
not even do for any kind of beast.
One day I suppose I shall grow tired of this unconsciousness, and go out
and live on an island once again.



A WANDERER PLAYS ON MUTED STRINGS


INTRODUCTION

It looks to be a fine year for berries, yes; whortleberries, crowberries,
and fintocks. A man can't live on berries; true enough. But it is good to
have them growing all about, and a kindly thing to see. And many a thirsty
and hungry man's been glad to find them.
I was thinking of this only yesterday evening.
There's two or three months yet till the late autumn berries are ripe;
yes, I know. But there are other joys than berries in the wilds.


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