22 
THE HEART OF A GARDEN 
says, eat our cake and have it too ? The sun goes down 
in pomp of primrose and saffron behind the dark pines; 
and, whatever the realities may bring at their appointed 
time, we have been given at least one illicit and exquisite 
day before the phantom of false morning died. “ I am 
half convinced,” wrote Hawthorne, “ that the reflection 
is indeed the reality, the real thing which nature im¬ 
perfectly images to our grosser sense. At any rate, the 
disembodied shadow is nearest to the soul.” Never has 
the true inwardness of all life and art found more ex¬ 
plicit and illuminating expression ; who shall say, even 
when this cycle of hours has been long a memory, that 
the disembodied shadow was not nearer to the soul than 
armaments of realities. 
