Autobiography of a Philosopher, Chapter V [pp. 474-477]

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A4 PHILOSOPHER.
existed on any known world-practicable
basis, could not well be asserted. To
begin building on the minutest fragment
of rock would have been possible, on
sand even not impossible; but on nothing!-on thin transparent air, and with
such materials as men and such a mortar as fraternity! Pass on, reader, and
drop a regretful tear, for our plans were
beautifullydrawn and proportioned; very
fair to look upon should have been the
many-mansioned houses when completed, and very suitable for the residence
of angels, shall we say?
But libertd and egalilt! Surely we
were born free and equal; surely we
were born with a right to life, liberty,
and the pursuit of happiness? Poor
conceited puppy, with my "right to life,"
shivering at every thunderbolt that crashed over my head; and my "liberty" and
my "happiness!" God mustsurelylaugh
in his place sometimes at the little blind
worms that crawl on the face of his stars,
and are driven and trodden down by the
march and the laws of his elements. The
one worm will not have the other crawl
over him, even. He is the equal of the
other, yet, wonderful to relate, can not
hinder the other: he is his equal, yet
bows the back and head to a somehow
stronger back and head, consoling himself, as he spits from his mouth the dust
wherein he has been trodden, with "declarations" and "resolutions" to the effect that worms are born free and equal
-with which, God send him much comfort!
But I was forced gradually to divert
the great attention I had thought necessary to devote to the weal of mankind to
private affairs of great pith and moment.
Miss Knox, who had been residing for a
year back with a rich uncle of hers in
Paris, and been there instructing herself
with various governesses, masters, and
a good deal of society, now returned to
her father's house. Such a change as
that year had made! Some strange spir
it had entered into her beautiful body,
I could not tell what; she was inspired
and possessed with some new god, whose
transfigured glory and grace made her
divine after the old Greek fashion.
I had heard she had returned, and
I rode out from Belfast one Sunday
morning, thinking as I set out less of
her than of my books and discussions
and the beautiful nature around me. I
branched off to a little lonely lake, tied
up my horse at a sheep-cot on the bank,
and swam for half an hour. The rising sun of the March morning was
just throwing its level beams over the
cold sparkling water, and the long reeds
on the bank moved and sounded like
rustling Memnons at the little touch of
warming air. A lark was rising into
heaven, disappearing like a musical star
before the broadening day; but it soon
grew again a reflected speck before me
in the water, falling like a swift Lucifer, Son of the Morning, cast from
heaven. A little shining grebe, as I
pushed slowly on, dived and dived again
before me, and floated at last careless of my presence. I dived myself,
down to the very black slime and long
cold weeds at the bottom and crowned
myself with them, and rowed on, and
dived again to wash the slime from my
hair, then turned my head and floated
up to the sunlight again through the
clear blackness of water. My mind
was preternaturally clear and swift in
action. I ran rapidly over all I remembered of Mary Knox, from the shapely
uncramped foot my hand had helped so
often to the stirrup, and the fair head
with its wild electric cloud of hair-gold
or bronze as the light listed-to the incomprehensible eyes, fervent with yellow light or hazel shadow, and I began
to be afraid. For a year I had lived in
peace, if not with the world, at least with
myself; but in the distance now my soul
commenced to be tormented with the
Ca ira of too possible revolution: then
1875.]
475