In due time, book under arm, in trips the ruddy man with the traveling-cap, who, lightly moving to and fro, looks animatedly about him, with a yearning sort of gratulatory affinity and longing, expressive of the very soul of sociality; as much as to say, "Oh, boys, would that I were personally acquainted with each mother's son of you, since what a sweet world, to make sweet acquaintance in, is ours, my brothers; yea, and what dear, happy dogs are we all!" And just as if he had really warbled it forth, he makes fraternally up to one lounging stranger or another, exchanging with him some pleasant remark. "Pray, what have you there?" he asked of one newly accosted, a little, dried-up man, who looked as if he never dined. "A little ode, rather queer, too," was the reply, "of the same sort you see strewn on the floor here." "I did not observe them. Let me see;" picking one up and looking it over. "Well now, this is pretty; plaintive, especially the opening:-- 'Alas for man, he hath small sense Of genial trust and confidence.' --If it be so, alas for him, indeed. Runs off very smoothly, sir. Beautiful pathos. But do you think the sentiment just?" "As to that," said the little dried-up man, "I think it a kind of queer thing altogether, and yet I am almost ashamed to add, it really has set me to thinking; yes and to feeling. Just now, somehow, I feel as it were trustful and genial. I don't know that ever I felt so much so before. I am naturally numb in my sensibilities; but this ode, in its way, works on my numbness not unlike a sermon, which, by lamenting over my lying dead in trespasses and sins, thereby stirs me up to be all alive in well-doing." "Glad to hear it, and hope you will do well, as the doctors say. But who snowed the odes about here?" "I cannot say; I have not been here long." "Wasn't an angel, was it? Come, you say you feel genial, let us do as the rest, and have cards." "Thank you, I never play cards." "A bottle of wine?" "Thank you, I never drink wine." "Cigars?" "Thank you, I never smoke cigars." "Tell stories?" "To speak truly, I hardly think I know one worth telling." "Seems to me, then, this geniality you say you feel waked in you, is as water-power in a land without mills. Come, you had better take a genial hand at the cards. To begin, we will play for as small a sum as you please; just enough to make it interesting." "Indeed, you must excuse me. Somehow I distrust cards." "What, distrust cards? Genial cards? Then for once I join with our sad Philomel here:-- 'Alas for man, he hath small sense Of genial trust and confidence.' Good-bye!"