WHEN SOUL HELPS FLESH 



IN that castle in Spain we have dreamed of for our sun- 

 set years when leisure awaits our bidding, all clocks 

 will chime the waking hour at break of day. None of the 

 roseate loveliness of dawn will escape us, and we shall be 

 abroad to keep company with the songsters and the busy 

 folk of the feathered and winged world. They haste 

 about their business as soon as it is light; and we shall go 

 to our rest when they have ceased from their labors and 

 the twilight has lowered the purple curtains of night. 



The present scheme of the day's work is not best for 

 successful gardening, for while the gardener takes a morn- 

 ing nap all nature gets in extra stints of labor. Only yes- 

 terday weeding began, and for that unwonted season of 

 energy soul was tardy in inspiring flesh to shake off its 

 slumbers and take itself briskly out of doors. 



Memories of weed pulling weighed heavily, like the 

 burden of Atlas, stirring the sources of vexation. While 

 we had long since convinced ourselves that we had risen 

 superior to growing pains and wisdom teeth, a painful 

 reminder besets the joints, perchance an ancestral gift of 

 housemaid's knee, a crick in the back, or, that vicious 

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