For of this we may be sure, that
however harshly we may despise what we call superstition, or however
firmly we may wave away what we hold to have been all a beautiful
mistake, there is some fruitful power that dwells and lingers in places
upon which the hearts of men have so concentred their swift and
poignant emotions--for all, at least, to whom the soul is more than the
body, and whose thoughts are not bounded and confined by the mere
material shapes among which, in the days of our earthly limitations, we
move uneasily to and fro.
EPILOGUE
_A blunt and candid critic, commenting on Keats' famous axiom, "Beauty
is Truth, Truth Beauty," said: "Then what is the use of having two
words for the same thing?" And it is true that words cease to have any
real meaning when they are so loosely applied. The same mistake is
often made about happiness. It is supposed to be, not a quality, but a
condition, or rather an equipoise of qualities and conditions. It is
spoken of and thought of as if it were a sort of blend of virtue and
health and amusement and sunshiny weather, and no doubt it is often
found in combination with these things. But it is a separate quality,
for all that, and not merely a result of faculties and circumstances.
It is strangely and wilfully independent of its surroundings, and it is
not inconsistent with the gravest discomfort of body and even
affliction of mind.
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