A Learned Man Came To Me Once.

I Saw A Man Pursuing The Horizon

The Wayfarer, Perceiving The Pathway To Truth, Was Struck With Astonishment. It Was Thickly Grown With Weeds. "ha," He Said, "i See That None Has Passed Here In A Long Time." Later He Saw That Each Weed Was A Singular Knife. "well," He Mumbled At Last, "doubtless There Are Other Roads.

And It Was As If Fate Had Betrayed The Soldier. In Death It Exposed To His Enemies That Poverty Which In Life He Had Perhaps Concealed From His Friends.

I Saw A Man Pursuing The Horizon;round And Round They Sped.i Was Disturbed At This;i Accosted The Man."it Is Futile," I Said,"you Can Never-""you Lie," He Cried,and Ran On.

It Perhaps Might Be Said--if Any One Dared--that The Most Worthless Literature Of The World Has Been That Which Has Been Written By The Men Of One Nation Concerning The Men Of Another.