A JOURNEY TO NATURE 



dancer s, art. One stripped himself of superflui 

 ties, the other put on extra skirts and ribbons. 

 In nine cases out of ten health was abnegation, 

 not possession. Men could bloat themselves with 

 life, and it wasn t comfortable.&quot; I had put that 

 down, too. 



Some chill things come out of the dark to 

 warm themselves at those wood fires, and if they 

 do not grow ruddier, they are at least clearer in 

 the glow. It is difficult to say exactly what they 

 are, they dance and flicker so. Sometimes they 

 point filmy monitory fingers at you. Sometimes 

 they stretch themselves, like the yellow dog, in 

 slumbrous indifference, and sometimes they make 

 you look behind into the darker recesses of the 

 room to see if some one did not come in on tip 

 toe without opening the door. 



A wood fire is full of liquid pigments, fancy- 

 fed, and it has wondrous depths and recessions, 

 like the sunset itself. Always a beyond in its 

 soft turmoil of pictures, as if fire alone opened 

 the gates of fantasy as it opens the gate of victory, 

 and ghosts slip through. 



It was pleasant, I thought, to see the little 

 tongues of flame try to imitate Griselle with 

 melting Hogarthian curves and fluctuant poses, 

 throwing lambent halos, and dancing over beds 

 of roses that vanished and came again aggravat- 

 ingly; and if you watched long enough, sank into 

 still gray heaps of ashes with little recurrent throbs 

 of heat, as if illusions disliked to die like realities. 

 Strange what fuel the reposeful mind will heap 



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