The Sixth Sense: A Novel

E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and dialect spelling in the original document has been preserved.
The World is a Comedy to those that think, a tragedy to those who feel.
Horace Walpole to Sir Horace Mann.



As when a traveller, bound from North to South, Scouts fur in Russia: what's its use in France? In France spurns flannel: where's its need in Spain? In Spain drops cloth, too cumbrous for Algiers! Linen goes next, and last the skin itself, A superfluity at Timbuctoo. When, through his journey was the fool at ease? I'm at ease now, friend; worldly in this world, I take and like its way of life; I think My brothers who administer the means, Live better for my comfort—that's good too; And God, if he pronounce upon such life, Approves my service, which is better still.
Robert Browning: Bishop Blougram's Apology.
I paused, with my foot on the lowest step of the Club, to mark the changes that had overtaken Pall Mall during my twenty years' absence from England.
The old War Office, of course, was gone; some of the shops on the north side were being demolished; and the Automobile Club was new and unassimilated. In my day, too, the Athenæum had not been painted Wedgwood-green. Compared, however, with the Strand or Mall, Piccadilly or Whitehall, marvellously little change had taken place. I made an exception in favour of the character and velocity of the traffic: the bicycle boom was in its infancy when I left England: I returned to find the horse practically extinct, and the streets of London as dangerous as the railway stations of America.