To be candid, he is not worth his own discount."
"It is hardly fair," urged the Minor Poet, "to confine the
discussion to poets. A friend of mine some years ago married one of
the most charming women in New York, and that is saying a good deal.
Everybody congratulated him, and at the outset he was pleased enough
with himself. I met him two years later in Geneva, and we travelled
together as far as Rome. He and his wife scarcely spoke to one
another the whole journey, and before I left him he was good enough
to give me advice which to another man might be useful. 'Never
marry a charming woman,' he counselled me. 'Anything more
unutterably dull than "the charming woman" outside business hours
you cannot conceive.'"
"I think we must agree to regard the preacher," concluded the
Philosopher, "merely as a brother artist. The singer may be a
heavy, fleshy man with a taste for beer, but his voice stirs our
souls. The preacher holds aloft his banner of purity. He waves it
over his own head as much as over the heads of those around him. He
does not cry with the Master, 'Come to Me,' but 'Come with me, and
be saved.
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