The Vagabond

21st.--Ope'd my eyes very betimes, but lay long a humming some Oriental tune, yet I know not where I got it; thence, soft sun in my face, to muse on this fine tribute to morning and how rich are its lines:

"Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:

And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light."

So up, and not hungry, all the morning to Widener for exhibition of many fine original manuscripts; and I stopt to read Robert Browning's "Love Among The Ruins", in his own script, and I did long for Rome and my heart did leap for the:

". . girl with eager eyes and yellow hair . ." and I also see Keats', "On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer", with

". . . stout Cortez with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific. . ." and I thought how silly be my mind to think first of the slip. Vain Vagabond! Thence also to note there be a mighty fine collection of Rembrandt's prints at the Fogg Museum, and also some very belles filles to show them off; but they not to find "The Philosopher" which I did seek; but bless my soul, I did find many other things.

Thence, back to the Tower, and to read what W. L. Phepls spoke of Santayana. I much surprised Santayana has not dined out in ten years (for, I hear, he was a popular member of society while at Harvard) and that he does now cook his own breakfast: and that at the age of nine he could not speak a word of English but that now he is probably the best prose writer living and certainly the greatest philosopher that ever thumbed his nose at all that was the Harvard philosophy department.

By and by out to dinner with much talk on the coming election, and very merry to find someone for Roosevelt. Thence to see, "The Trail of the Lonesome Pine" and mighty fine it is! Anon, all a bubble, to jog along the River assigning:

"When it's two light on the trail

And I rest once more,

My ceiling is the sky

And the grass on which I lie is my floor."

So to bed--in warm four poster.