Back to your play, little brother."
Farther along in our journey he handed me the paper again, pointing to
these lines of Kipling:
How is it not good for the Christian's health
To hurry the Aryan brown,
For the Christian riles and the Aryan smiles,
And he weareth the Christian down;
And the end of the fight is a tombstone white
And the name of the late deceased:
And the epitaph drear: "A fool lies here
Who tried to hustle the East."
"I could stand any amount of that," he said, and presently: "Life is too
long and too short. Too long for the weariness of it; too short for the
work to be done. At the very most, the average mind can only master a
few languages and a little history."
I said: "Still, we need not worry. If death ends all it does not matter;
and if life is eternal there will be time enough."
"Yes," he assented, rather grimly, "that optimism of yours is always
ready to turn hell's back yard into a playground."
I said that, old as I was, I had taken up the study of French, and
mentioned Bayard Taylor's having begun Greek at fifty, expecting to need
it in heaven.
Clemens said, reflectively: "Yes--but you see that was Greek."
CCLXXXI
THE LAST SUMMER AT STORMFIELD
I was at Stormfield pretty constantly during the rest of that year. At
first I went up only for the day; but later, when his health did not
improve, and when he expressed a wish for companionship evenings, I
remained most of the nights as well.
Pages:
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740