ould not
so affect it; it is Beauty that makes the difference--that attracts
spirit to matter, while spirit becomes not thereby materialised--but
matter spiritualised; and we fluctuate in the air-boat of imagination
between earth and heaven. In most and in all great instances there is
apprehension, dim and faint, or more distinct, of pervasion of a spirit
throughout that which we conceive Beautiful. Stars, the moon, the deep
bright ether, waters, the rainbow, a pure lovely flower--none of them
ever appear to us, or are believed by us to be mere physical and
unconscious dead aggregates of atoms. That is what they are; but we
could have no pleasure in them, if we knew them as such. There is
illusion, then, of some sort, and to what does it amount? We cannot well
tell. But if there is really a love in human hearts to these distant
orbs--if there is an emotion of tenderness to the fair, opening,
breathing blossom that we would not crush it--"in gentleness of heart
touch, for there is a spirit in the leaves"--it must be that we do not
see them as they are, but "create a soul under the ribs of death." We
could not be touched, or care for what has no affinity to ourselves--we
make the affinity--we animate, we vivify them, and thenceforward,

"Spiritus intus alit, totamque infusa per artus,
Mens agitat molem, et magno se corpore miscet."

Now you do believe that we do love Silence--and every other thing worthy
to be loved--you and yours--and even that romp, your shock-headed Coz,
to whom Priscilla Tomboy was an Imogen.

All our ceilings are deadened--we walk ankle-deep in carpeting--nobody
is suffered to open a door but ourselves--and they are so constructed,
that it is out of their power to _slam_. Our winter furniture is all
massy--deepening the repose. In all the large rooms two fireplaces--and
fires are kept perpetually burning day and night, in them all, which,
reflected from spacious mirrors, give the mansion quite the appearance
of a Pandemonium. _Not gas always._ Palm-oil burns scentless as
moonlight; and when motion, not rest, in a place is signified, we
accompany ourselves with a wax candle, or taper from time immemorial
green. Yet think not that there is a blaze of light. We have seen the
midnight heaven and earth nearly as bright, with but one moon and a
small scatter of stars. And places of glimmer--and places of gloom--and
places "deaf to sound and blind to light" there are in this our mansion,
known bu