The man who courted
your aunt, begot hale and whole children, who sits in his pew and is
respected. That beneath my skull should lurk such monstrous things! You
are my godchild, Edmond. Actions are mere sediment, and words--froth,
froth. Let the thoughts be clean, my boy; the thoughts must be clean;
thoughts make the man. You may never at any time be of ill repute, and
yet be a blackguard. Every thought, black or white, lives for ever, and
to life there is no end."
"Look here, Uncle," said I, "it's serious, you know; you must come to
town and see Jenkinson, the brain man. A change of air, sir." "Do you
smell sulphur?" said my uncle. I tittered and was alarmed.
Anyone who reads this and knows anything of literature will understand
the feelings of a young editor in publishing such matter, especially in
publishing it in 1896. At the present time the refrain that "All can
raise the flower now, for all have got the seed" is a reality. In the
'nineties work like "The Mote" was rare. Connoisseurs of style will
recognise what I mean when I say that what endeared "Walter Ramal" to me
was that, in spite of the fact that Stevenson at that very time was at
his best, and so was Kipling, there was not a trace of either author's
influence in Mr.
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