As one looks about his study and desk after an absence of many months, one is supremely doubtful of the truth of the saying that you go on a journey for the pleasure of coming back. At such a moment the awful urgencies of the present overwhelm the pleasant memories of the recent past. In fancy you see around you the whole burden of the ages. Then, with a shrug, you obey the categorical imperative and resume the rhythm of habit. Presently you realize that many of the letters before you are from the clerisy of the Archives. The scene brightens, and before you know it you are launched into talk, good humor is restored, and soon you find yourself exclaiming: " 'Tis a mad world, my masters!"
In these columns (November, 1962, and July, 1964) we discussed those two great physiological divisions of the human race—the "larks" and the "owls,"