Peter Rabbit was beginning to get very tired of sitting by Alice and of having nothing to do. Once or twice he had peeped into the book she was reading, but it had no pictures or stories in it, "and what's the use of a book," thought Peter Rabbit, "without pictures or stories."

"This is a book of philosophy," said Alice who was well aware of Peter Rabbit's trouble, "and it might do you good to read it." Now listen to what Spinoza said: "We don't want things because they are good, but they are good because we want them."

"Well I want to play," demanded Peter, "and since that makes it. . ."

Just then the Mad Hatter interrupted: "Peter Rabbit is right. Anyway, what's the good of your old physiology."

"You mean Philosophy," corrected Alice. "You musn't confuse a subject which deals with organs with philosophy which has to do with the meaning of life and modes of conduct and things like that."

"Whatever it is," said the Mad Hatter, "it makes me dizzy even to think about it, so I do wish you would come and play with us. Mock Turtle is waiting, and Tweedledum won't play unless you're there, and I know The Owl is getting impatient. And that reminds me Alice, I suppose you've heard The Owl's definition of a physiologer?"

"How many times must I tell you?" said Alice indignantly, "You mean a philosopher."

"Oh, well, even so; a philosopher, he said, is a blind man in a dark room looking for a black cat which isn't there."

"But the Cat is there," said Peter Rabbit in bewilderment. "She's waiting to play just like the rest of us."

"That's right. That's right." cried the old Owl. "The cat is there. That's what makes it philosophy!"

And poor Peter Rabbit was more confused than ever.

Tomorrow at 12 the Vagabond will journey to Emerson F to hear Professor Whitehead lecture on The Function of Reason.