In appreciation of Sublime

We are as solid as most truly false things are—a dance of particles in space. Only the things no one can touch are true, as you should know by now.

Do you, I wonder, little children, who read this story? Or are you like the boy in the kindergarten to whom I was telling a fairy story and who interrupted me contemptuously with the remark: "Fairies don't exist!" "O don't they my little man!" said I. "Well you think so." Presently we read of a ball that grew, and he spoke again with great energy:

For the perplexity of life arises from there being too many interesting things in it for us to be interested properly in any of them;

It is said that they who wander in darkness, and still more they who do so in a mist, merely scribe circles across the plain.

Such were the thoughts—if to visions so imperfect and undefined as those which wandered through his enfeebled brain, the term can be applied—which

'I am afraid you have some deep scheme in your head,' said Newman, doubtfully. 'So deep,' replied his young friend, 'that even I can't fathom it.

"Go, my son, and do something worth doing,"

But, it is well known, what strikes the capricious mind of the poet is not always what affects the mass of readers. Now, while admiring, as others doubtless will admire, the details we have to relate, our main preoccupation concerned a matter to which no one before ourselves had given a thought. D'Artagnan