disastrously, and, as on the former occasion, swamped by pitiless waves of rejection and contempt.
At this point the main thread of my reflections was snapped by the inopportune defection of Darius. At first I did not realize the extent of my catastrophe, but viewed his failure to appear, not only on one morning, but on three mornings following, in the light of an opportunity. The weather had been wet, and I know not which was most in need, my shoes of blacking, or my grass of mowing. Plainly, it was my duty to undertake both tasks, and I girded myself for the dual ordeal with an idea that I was about to establish a precedent of efficiency by which it should be the difficult duty of Darius to shape his subsequent performances.
I had never tried a lawn-mower before. I think I never shall again. There is something in one of our minor poets about “the drops of dew which cling, impearled, tenacious, to the
