THE SISYPHUS 



did example of domestic habits, and one extremely sur- 

 prising amid the general egoism. 



To this example my constant studies of the subject 

 have enabled me to add three others, all furnished by 

 the Guild of Scavengers. 



One of them is the Sisyphus, the smallest and most 

 zealous of all our pill-rollers. He is the liveliest and 

 most agile of them all, and recks nothing of awkward 

 somersaults and headlong falls on the impossible roads 

 to which his obstinacy brings him back again and again. 

 It was in reference to these wild gymnastics that La- 

 treille gave him the name of Sisyphus. 



As you know, that unhappy wretch of classical fame 

 had a terrible task. He was forced to roll a huge stone 

 uphill; and each time he succeeded in toiling to the top 

 of the mountain the stone slipped from his grasp and 

 rolled to the bottom. I like this myth. It is the his- 

 tory of a good many of us. So far as I am concerned, 

 for half a century and more I have painfully climbed the 

 steep ascent, spending my strength recklessly in the 

 struggle to hoist up to safety that crushing burden, my 

 daily bread. Hardly is the loaf balanced when it slips 

 off, slides down, and is lost in the abyss. 



The Sisyphus with whom we are now concerned knows 

 none of these bitter trials. Untroubled by the steep 

 slopes he gaily trundles his load, at one time bread for 

 himself, at another bread for his children. He is very 



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