TSLribcv a 2)09woo5 witb /iDontafgne 



becomes pitiful. I do not know an excess more 

 injurious to me or more to be avoided in my declin- 

 ing years. 



I never read that passage without see- 

 ing the writer before me; I can identify 

 him, even to the sedentary sag at the 

 elbows of his perfumed jerkin, and the 

 introverted expression of his eyes. No 

 wonder that he refused to go down to 

 Bordeaux when he was mayor and a 

 pestilence was there! He wrote a letter 

 instead, for writing was his strong point, 

 and told the people that he thought it 

 scarcely prudent for him to leave the 

 salubrious air of his hilltop study and 

 plunge down into a stratum of plague- 

 stench! Cholera or what not, he re- 

 mained where he was, dallying between 

 the ham and the bottle, for the lasting de- 

 light of us all. 



No man cared less for office than he, no 

 man more for himself. This self-interest 

 was not petty selfishness, for he was sin- 

 gularly liberal and beloved by everybody. 

 He was an invalid fighting a distressful 

 disease, growing old in middle life; and 

 263 



