[Footnote 2:  Speaking of the tides, Pomponius Mela, in his treatise, ‘De Situ Orbis’, says,

  “Either the world is a great animal, or,” etc.]

[Footnote 3:  Balzac, in substance; I do not remember the words.]

[Footnote 4: 

  “Florem putares nare per liquidum aethera.”

’P.  Commire’.]

* * * * *

THE POWER OF WORDS.

‘Oinos.’

  Pardon, Agathos, the weakness of a spirit new-fledged with
  immortality!

‘Agathos.’

  You have spoken nothing, my Oinos, for which pardon is to be demanded. 
  Not even here is knowledge a thing of intuition.  For wisdom, ask of
  the angels freely, that it may be given!

‘Oinos.’

  But in this existence I dreamed that I should be at once cognizant of
  all things, and thus at once happy in being cognizant of all.

‘Agathos.’

  Ah, not in knowledge is happiness, but in the acquisition of
  knowledge!  In forever knowing, we are forever blessed; but to know
  all, were the curse of a fiend.

‘Oinos.’

  But does not The Most High know all?

‘Agathos’.

  That (since he is The Most Happy) must be still the one thing
  unknown even to HIM.

‘Oinos.’

  But, since we grow hourly in knowledge, must not at last all things
  be known?

‘Agathos.’

Look down into the abysmal distances!—­attempt to force the gaze down the multitudinous vistas of the stars, as we sweep slowly through them thus—­and thus—­and thus!  Even the spiritual vision, is it not at all points arrested by the continuous golden walls of the universe?—­the walls of the myriads of the shining bodies that mere number has appeared to blend into unity?

‘Oinos’.

  I clearly perceive that the infinity of matter is no dream.

‘Agathos’.

There are no dreams in Aidenn—­but it is here whispered that, of this infinity of matter, the sole purpose is to afford infinite springs at which the soul may allay the thirst to know which is forever unquenchable within it—­since to quench it would be to extinguish the soul’s self.  Question me then, my Oinos, freely and without fear.  Come! we will leave to the left the loud harmony of the Pleiades, and swoop outward from the throne into the starry meadows beyond Orion, where, for pansies and violets, and heart’s-ease, are the beds of the triplicate and triple-tinted suns.

‘Oinos’.

And now, Agathos, as we proceed, instruct me!—­speak to me in the earth’s familiar tones!  I understand not what you hinted to me just now of the modes or of the methods of what during mortality, we were accustomed to call Creation.  Do you mean to say that the Creator is not God?

‘Agathos’.