Pen Pricks 



vantage of his age and size. "It begins with 

 'trans.' I thought that it was never going to 

 end." 



"Transcendentalism," I finished out pohtely. 

 Then I paused. It was as well that he should not 

 know that writers sometimes use words which 

 they too cannot explain. In any case his inter- 

 est in it was merely in its length of buzz. He 

 made it clear that he was unpleasantly impressed. 



"If I should come to call on you," he said, "I 

 could last out just fifteen minutes. I could talk 

 that long on art. Then I should have to make a 

 bolt." 



"But suppose I talked on literature." 



The bolt was an accomplished fact. 



He had gone to the piano which serves him 

 oftenest as an easel and stood looking at his 

 sketches with an appreciative eye. One was Mrs. 

 Whitman's house, prim and square, set rigidly 

 upon the pavement, a little smug in the self -con- 

 sciousness with which it toed the mark. From 

 my point of view it offered opportunity for con- 

 trast. Poe, crying out the anguish of his part- 

 ing within those spare, imyielding walls. His 



[21] 



