our poem； your novel； who bargained with you for it？ If it is honest journeywork； yet lacks purchasers； at most you may call yourself a hapless tradesman。 If it e from on high； with what decency do you fret and fume because it is not paid for in heavy cash？ For the work of man's mind there is one test； and one alone； the judgment of generations yet unborn。 If you have written a great book； the world to e will know of it。 But you don't care for posthumous glory。 You want to enjoy fame in a fortable armchair。 Ah； that is quite another thing。 Have the courage of your desire。 Admit yourself a merchant； and protest to gods and men that the merchandise you offer is of better quality than much which sells for a high price。 You may be right； and indeed it is hard upon you that Fashion does not turn to your stall。
II
The exquisite quiet of this room！ I have been sitting in utter idleness； watching the sky； viewing the shape of golden sunlight upon the carpet； which changes as the minutes pass； letting my eye wander from one framed print to another； and along the ranks of my beloved books。 Within the house nothing stirs。 In the garden I can hear singing of birds； I can hear the rustle of their wings。 And thus； if it please me； I may sit all day long； and into the profounder quiet of the night。
My house is perfect。 By great good fortune I have found a housekeeper no less to my mind； a low…voiced； light…footed woman of discreet age； strong and deft enough to rend