70 her hand—”

    “But it’s no .

    “A knoo ed.

    [1] * * * *

    talia in tings used to be urning over te books. “Queer,” I mused, “to see alia quoted, reading over my s it is t of life to produce good people and good books.” e made no comment upon t. “A good man is at any rate , passionate and un ,” s on. “I believe  on purpose—t ridiculous o read all t learnt to read,” sterly, “ life after all. I knoo say about  our mot, and t complain. t read. I’ve done my best,” so prevent my little girl from learning to read, but  Ann only yesterday o ask me if it rue.’ Next st is a good novelist, and finally o believe in nothing?” she demanded.

    “Surely you could teaco believe t a man’s intellect is, and alally superior to a ed. Sened at to turn over our old minutes again. “Yes,” sics, to laug old  on reading and laug se  out, “Oorment me? Don’t you kno our belief in man’s intellect is test fallacy of t?” I exclaimed. “Ask any journalist, scer, politician or public ell you t men are muced it,” s?   t since time so t t’s all our doing!” sed upon ellect and no it. And it’s intellect,” sinued, “t’s at ttom of it.  could be more co cultivate ellect? iful to look at; ands t and literature instinctively;  enjoying eaco cultivate ellect. er, a civil servant, a general, an auto an office. Every year ains a o a room  making us all feel uncomfortable; o every  tell truto ead of rejoicing our eyes o take rue, tars of all s o console us? t ime to spend a  La t insect in Japan