Now in my judgment writings of the first class will be the ones to withstand the ravages of time. ‘Isms’ have their day and pass away. New necessities arise with new conditions and the emphasis has to be shifted to suit the times. No finite mind can grasp and give out the whole circle of truth. We do well if we can illuminate just the tiny arc which we occupy and should be glad that the next generation will not need the lessons we try so assiduously to hammer into this. In the evolution of society, as the great soul of humanity builds it “more lofty chambers,” the old shell and slough of didactic teaching must be left behind and forgotten. The world for instance has outgrown, I suspect, those passages of Paradise Lost in which Milton makes the Almighty Father propound the theology of a seventeenth century Presbyterian. But a passage like the one in which Eve with guileless innocence describes her first sensations on awaking into the world is as perennial as man.
“That day I oft remember, when from sleep I first awaked and found myself reposed Under a shade on flowers, much wondering where And what I was, whence thither brought and how. Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound Of waters issued from a cave, and spread Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved Pure as the expanse of Heaven; I thither went With unexperienced thought and laid me down On the green bank, to look into the clear Smooth lake that to me seemed another sky. As I bent down to look, just opposite A shape within the watery gleam appeared, Bending to look on me; I started back, It started back; but pleased I soon returned, Pleased it returned as soon with answering looks Of sympathy and love; there I had fixed Mine eyes till now,—and pined with vain desire, Had not a voice thus warned me. ‘What thou seest, What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself; With thee it came and goes; but follow me, And I will bring thee where no shadow stays Thy coming and thy soft embraces.’ What could I do but follow straight Invisibly thus led? Till I espied thee, fair indeed and tall, Under a plantain; yet methought less fair, Less winning soft, less amiably mild Than that smooth watery image; back I turned Thou following criedst aloud, ‘Return, fair Eve, Whom fliest thou? whom thou fliest, of him thou art. Part of my soul, I seek thee, and thee claim My other half.’”