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The timid Poet, avoiding the observation of the Practical and the Good comes to my side and whispers: "Sir, you are not a man made for the time of emergency-—but for the time that transcends it on all sides."

The rascal knows well how to flatter and generally wins his case with me—especially when others are too cocksure of the result of their appeal; and I jump up from my judgment seat, and, holding the Poet by the hand, dance a jig dance and sing: "I shall join you, Comrade, and be drunk and gloriously useless." Ah, my evil luck! I know why the chairmen of meetings hate me, newspaper editors revile me, the virile call me effeminate! So I try to take my shelter among children, who have the gift of being glad with things and men that have no value.

My difficulty is that when, in my environment, some intense feeling of pride or resentment concentrates its red light within a certain limited area, I Jose my true perspective of life and the world, and it deeply hurts my nature. It is not true that I do not have any special love for my own country, but when it is in its normal state it does not obstruct outside reality; on the contrary, it offers a standpoint and helps me in my natural relationship with others. But when teat standpoint itself becomes a barricade, then