he bonds of time and space?
At such a preposterous suggestion even a donkey might bow his ears
with shame. So I will hand this "progressive chain of being" over to
a deeper darkness, and pass on.

Lo! here lie the statues of broken gods, headless divinities. I
tried to believe in Greek mythology; to fancy that the world had
gone backwards, and that there were spirits of the earth and air,
that took part in the life of man. But these were poetic visions
that shifted and waved with every fleeting fancy. But _now_ this
would be a pleasant faith. What if I _could_ appeal to an invisible,
higher spiritual being, who sympathized with my nature, to lead me
out of this darkness of ignorance into a true world of light, of
truth, of definite knowledge, concerning life and its origin;
concerning God and His nature? If I were only an old Greek, how I
would pray to Minerva for help, and call upon Hercules to remove
this Augean dirt, that pollutes and lumbers all the chambers of my
mind! But when the old Greeks called, were they answered? Ah, there
is nothing to hope for!

Yet Socrates believed in these spiritual existences; he ordered a
cock to be sacrificed to Esculapius as he was drinking the hemlock.
To him, they were not mere poetic creations; he believed to the last
that he was guided and guarded by his demon. What if we all are?
What if even now, in this midnight darkness, stands a beautiful
being, veiled by my ignorance, who loves me, from a world of light;
sees the tangled web of my thoughts, and would draw it out into
form, and order, and beauty? If such there be, oh, bright and
beautiful one! pity me, love me, and enlighten me. Alas, no!--all is
yet dark. What would a being revelling in light and beauty, have to
do with this poor, faded life of mine? Alas! that was a fleeting
hope, that, like a pale, flickering ray, gilded the darkness for a
moment.

But, here is a something which gives somewhat of joy and life to the
mind. It is a beautiful thought of Plato, that there is a great
central sun in the universe, around which all other suns revolve.
What if this be an inner sun, which is the fountain of spiritual
life? That is something to believe. Yet the thought sinks appalled
from it. The heart desires a God that it may love, and trust in,
that it may speak to and be heard; and if the fountain of life be
only a sun, what is there to love in it? True, we rejoice in the
light and beauty of the sun that upholds _this_ wor