The Equinox (Volume I, Number VII)

THE WOODCUTTER the scalp, and her neck darkened visibly from the chin, She had made the fortune of India in rice powder, and of China in vermilion. The extravagance of her person and attire, exaggerated even for the Cafe d‘Harcourt, the fortress whence her sallies, was in Fontainebleau a thing to make earth‘s guardian angels throw up the sponge. This was a summer’s afternoon; and the strange pair, encountering Placide Gervez as he chopped, accosted him. The philosopher, whose irrelevant name was Theophraste Goulet, drew out a cigarette and offered it to his intended victim. It is impossible in a polite nation to leave a man until you have finished the cigarette he gives you—a man, if he was a man, once gave me an Irish cigarette, but that story is a separate chequewand Placide could not have cut that knot save with his axe. However, in the first pause of the voluble ass for breath, he pointed to his work, uttered the adjective “ Hard,” and continued to chop. However, the purport of the discourse—in a highly con— densed form—was as follows. God is good, was the First Postulate of Theophrastus. Hence, all God does is good. Hence, since God made man, He meant man to do good. Hence, man should do good. Agreed. Then, what is good? The necessities of life are good, for otherwise no other good were possible without them. Food is good, shelter is good, all that tends to the health of the individual and the reproduCtion of the species is good. For if not, let food be bad, let art be good. Then, since artists need food, good is based on bad, which is absurd. Agreed, then, that necessary things are good. Yes; but are 83