CHAPTER III. 
There is a world under this world, above, below, and 
all around it, of which we have no suspicion. 
Occasionally, indeed, we catch a faint murmur, a 
sound, and thereupon we say, “ It is a trifle, it is 
nothing.” But this nothing is the Infinite. 
The Infinite of the invisible life, the silent life, the 
world of night and of the inner earth, of the shadowy 
ocean,— the unseen creatures of the air which we 
breathe, or which, mingling in the fluids we drink, 
circulate within us unperceived. 
An immensely powerful world, which in its details 
we scorn, but which at intervals affrights us, when it 
stands revealed before our eyes in one of its grand 
unforeseen manifestations. 
The navigator, for example, who at night sees the 
ocean shimmering with lustre and wreathing garlands 
of fire, is at first diverted by the spectacle. He sails 
ten leagues; the garland is indefinitely prolonged; it stirs, and twists, 
and knots itself in harmony with the motions of the wave; it becomes 
