128 FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 



moments pay for ages of commonplace and 

 of suffering. Against those who hold that 

 the days of childhood are one s happiest 

 days, I shall always boldly contend. It is 

 not possible. Perhaps it may appear so 

 from the outside, and upon a superficial 

 view. The accumulating years bring sor 

 row in their train, pain and deep distress, 

 and desolation. But they bring also the 

 wider and fuller capacity for enjoyment, 

 and for most can I not say, for all ? 

 moments, at least, of delight compared with 

 which the pleasures of a child are as a 

 glow-worm s tiny spark to the giant search 

 light which threw its beam athwart the 

 sky from the roof of the Hall of the Liberal 

 Arts. 



I can only say that if the enjoyment of 

 these knowing ones is so much greater 

 than ours, it is impossible to understand 

 how they can endure it. It seems as if the 

 nerves must reach such a tension at a cer 

 tain point in their vibration that they must 

 of necessity give way, and the individual 

 must dissolve into his original elements, as 

 the Prince Rupert s drop, when the point is 

 broken, rlies into an impalpable powder. 



And then I thought of the stages by 

 which this sensibility has been reached, 



