To think, in a merciful spirit, of the
jungle--barely to contemplate, in a temper of humanity, the
incomprehensible cane-thickets, dark and bristly, into which that bloody
_cheeta_ will drag that unoffending poodle!
But surely the least philosophic of readers, who hates philosophy 'as toad
or asp,' must yet be aware, that, where new growths are not germinating,
it is no sort of praise to be free from the throes of growth. Where
expansion is hopeless, it is little glory to have escaped distortion. Nor
is it any blame that the rich fermentation of grapes should disturb the
transparency of their golden fluids. Fox had nothing new to tell us, nor
did he hold a position amongst men that required or would even have
allowed him to tell anything new. He was helmsman to a party; what he had
to do, though seeming to _give_ orders, was simply to repeat _their_
orders--'Port your helm,' said the party; 'Port it is,' replied the
helmsman.--But Burke was no steersman; he was the Orpheus that sailed with
the Argonauts; he was their _seer_, seeing more in his visions than he
always understood himself; he was their watcher through the hours of
night; he was their astrological interpreter. Who complains of a prophet
for being a little darker of speech than a post-office directory? or of
him that reads the stars for being sometimes perplexed?
But, even as to facts, Schlosser is always blundering.
Pages:
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144