wisely arranged, that a man may well be in a good humor.
Here rests,- ah, it makes one feel mournful to think of him!-
but here rests a man who, during sixty-seven years, was never
remembered to have said a good thing; he lived only in the hope of
having a good idea. At last he felt convinced, in his own mind, that
he really had one, and was so delighted that he positively died of joy
at the thought of having at last caught an idea. Nobody got anything
by it; indeed, no one even heard what the good thing was. Now I can