  I sought the trails of South and North, I wandered East and West; But pride and passion drove me forth And would not let me rest. And still I seek, as still I roam, A snug roof overhead; Four walls, my own; a quiet home. . . . "You'll have it—when you're dead." MacBean is one of Bohemia's victims. It is a country of the young. The old have no place in it. He will gradually lose his grip, go down and down. I am sorry. He is my nearest approach to a friend. I do not make them easily. I have deep reserves. I like solitude. I am never so surrounded by boon companions as when I am all alone. But though I am a solitary I realize the beauty of friendship, and on looking through my note-book I find the following: |
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