The Journal of a Disappointed Man

"Your pulpit orations, my dear Barbellion, in full canonicals," he reflected, "are worthy of a larger audience.... To find you of all people preaching. I thought you were philosopher enough to see the angle of every one's vision and broadminded so as to see every point of view. Besides, you are as afraid of marriage as I am, and for the same reasons." "I confess, when in the philosophic citadel of my own armchair," I began, "I do see every one's point of view. You sit on the other side of the rug and put out the suggestion tentatively that murder may be a moral act. I examine your argument and am disposed to accept it. But when you slit up my brother's abdomen before my eyes, I am sufficiently weak and human to punch you on the nose.... You are too cold and Olympian, up above the snowline with a box of paints." "It is very beautiful among the snows." "I suppose so." (Exit.) November 23. Great physical languor, especially in the morning. It is Calvary to get out of bed and shoulder the day's burden. "What's been the matter?" they ask. "Oh! senile decay--general histolysis of the tissues," I say, fencing. To-night, I looked at myself accidentally in the glass and noticed at once the alarming extent of my dejection. Quite unconsciously I turned my head away and shook it, making the noise with my teeth and tongue which means, "Dear, dear." M---- tells me these waves of ill-health are quite unaccountable unless I were "leading a dissolute life, which you do not appear to be doing." Damn his eyes.