By The Scruff O' The Neck, And Pitched Her Flat, Foolish-Face-Foremost! Hear These Simpletons, That 'S All I Beg, Before My Work 'S Begun, Before I 've Touched Them With My Finger-Tip! Thus They Await Me (Do But Listen, Now! It 'S Reasoning, This Is, I Can't Imitate The Baby Voice, Though) 'In So Many Tales 'Must Be Some Truth, Truth Though A Pin-Point Big, 'Yet, Some: A Single Man 'S Deceived, Perhaps 'Hardly, A Thousand: To Suppose One Cheat 'Can Gull All These, Were More Miraculous Far 'Than Aught We Should Confess A Miracle' And So On. Then The Judge Sums Up (It 'S Rare) Bids You Respect The Authorities That Leap To The Judgment-Seat At Once, Why Don't You Note The Limpid Nature, The Unblemished Life, The Spotless Honour, Indisputable Sense Of The First Upstart With His Story? What Outrage A Boy On Whom You Ne'er Till Now Set Eyes, Because He Finds Raps Trouble Him? Fools, These Are: Ay, And How Of Their Opposites Who Never Did, At Bottom Of Their Hearts, Believe For A Moment? Men Emasculate, Blank Of Belief, Who Played, As Eunuchs Use, With Superstition Safely, Cold Of Blood, Who Saw What Made For Them I' The Mystery, Took Their Occasion, And Supported Sludge As Proselytes? No, Thank You, Far Too Shrewd! But Promisers Of Fair Play, Encouragers O' The Claimant; Who In Candour Needs Must Hoist Sludge Up On Mars' Hill, Get Speech Out Of Sludge To Carry Off, Criticize, And Cant About! Didn't Athens Treat Saint Paul So? At Any Rate, It 'S 'A New Thing' Philosophy Fumbles At. Then There 'S The Other Picker-Out Of Pearl From Dung-Heaps, Ay, Your Literary Man, Who Draws On His Kid Gloves To Deal With Sludge Daintily And Discreetly, Shakes A Dust O' The Doctrine, Flavours Thence, He Well Knows How, The Narrative Or The Novel, Half-Believes, All For The Book'S Sake, And The Public'S Stare, And The Cash That 'S God'S Sole Solid In This World! Look At Him! Try To Be Too Bold, Too Gross For The Master! Not You! He 'S The Man For Muck; Shovel It Forth, Full-Splash, He 'll Smooth Your Brown Into Artistic Richness, Never Fear! Find Him The Crude Stuff; When You Recognize Your Lie Again, You 'll Doff Your Hat To It, Dressed Out For Company! 'For Company,' I Say, Since There 'S The Relish Of Success: Let All Pay Due Respect, Call The Lie Truth, Save The Soft Silent Smirking Gentleman Who Ushered In The Stranger: You Must Sigh 'How Melancholy, He, The Only One 'Fails To Perceive The Bearing Of The Truth 'Himself Gave Birth To!' There 'S The Triumph'S Smack! That Man Would Choose To See The Whole World Roll I' The Slime O' The Slough, So He Might Touch The Tip Of His Brush With What I Call The Best Of Browns Tint Ghost-Tales, Spirit-Stories, Past The Power Of The Outworn Umber And Bistre! Yet I Think There 'S A More Hateful Form Of Foolery The Social Sage'S, Solomon Of Saloons And Philosophic Diner-Out, The Fribble Who Wants A Doctrine For A Chopping-Block To Try The Edge Of His Faculty Upon, Prove How Much Common Sense He 'll Hack And Hew I' The Critical Minute 'Twixt The Soup And Fish! These Were My Patrons: These, And The Like Of Them Who, Rising In My Soul Now, Sicken It, These I Have Injured! Gratitude To These? The Gratitude, Forsooth, Of A Prostitute To The Greenhorn And The Bully Friends Of Hers, From The Wag That Wants The Queer Jokes For His Club, To The Snuff-Box-Decorator, Honest Man, Who Just Was At His Wits' End Where To Find So Genial A Pasiphae! All And Each Pay, Compliment, Protect From The Police: And How She Hates Them For Their Pains, Like Me! So Much For My Remorse At Thanklessness Toward A Deserving Public! But, For God? Ay, That 'S A Question! Well, Sir, Since You Press (How You Do Tease The Whole Thing Out Of Me! I Don't Mean You, You Know, When I Say 'Them': Hate You, Indeed! But That Miss Stokes, That Judge! Enough, Enough With Sugar: Thank You, Sir!) Now For It, Then! Will You Believe Me, Though? You've Heard What I Confess; I Don't Unsay A Single Word: I Cheated When I Could, Rapped With My Toe-Joints, Set Sham Hands At Work, Wrote Down Names Weak In Sympathetic Ink, Rubbed Odic Lights With Ends Of Phosphor-Match, And All The Rest; Believe That: Believe This, By The Same Token, Though It Seem To Set The Crooked Straight Again, Unsay The Said, Stick Up What I 've Knocked Down; I Can't Help That It 'S Truth! I Somehow Vomit Truth To-Day This Trade Of Mine I Don't Know, Can't Be Sure But There Was Something In It, Tricks And All! Really, I Want To Light Up My Own Mind. They Were Tricks, True, But What I Mean To Add Is Also True. First, Don't It Strike You, Sir? Go Back To The Beginning, The First Fact We 're Taught Is, There 'S A World Beside This World, With Spirits, Not Mankind, For Tenantry; That Much Within That World Once Sojourned Here, That All Upon This World Will Visit There, And Therefore That We, Bodily Here Below, Must Have Exactly Such An Interest In Learning What May Be The Ways O' The World Above Us, As The Disembodied Folk Have (By All Analogic Likelihood) In Watching How Things Go In The Old Home With Us, Their Sons, Successors, And What Not. Oh Yes, With Added Powers Probably, Fit For The Novel State, Old Loves Grown Pure, Old Interests Understood Aright, They Watch! Eyes To See, Ears To Hear, And Hands To Help, Proportionate To Advancement: They 're Ahead, That's All Do What We Do, But Noblier Done Use Plate, Whereas We Eat Our Meals Off Delf, (To Use A Figure). Concede That, And I Ask Next What May Be The Mode Of Intercourse Between Us Men Here, And Those Once-Men There? First Comes The Bible'S Speech; Then, History With The Supernatural Element, You Know All That We Sucked In With Our Mothers' Milk, Grew Up With, Got Inside Of Us At Last, Till It's Found Bone Of Bone And Flesh Of Flesh. See Now, We Start With The Miraculous, And Know It Used To Be, At All Events: What's The First Step We Take, And Can't But Take, In Arguing From The Known To The Obscure? Why This: 'What Was Before, May Be To-Day. 'Since Samuel'S Ghost Appeared To Saul, Of Course 'My Brother'S Spirit May Appear To Me.' Go Tell Your Teacher That! What's His Reply? What Brings A Shade Of Doubt For The First Time O'Er His Brow Late So Luminous With Faith? 'Such Things Have Been,' Says He, 'And There'S No Doubt 'Such Things May Be: But I Advise Mistrust 'Of Eyes, Ears, Stomach, And, More Than All, Your Brain, 'Unless It Be Of Your Great-Grandmother, 'Whenever They Propose A Ghost To You!' The End Is, There'S A Composition Struck; 'T Is Settled, We've Some Way Of Intercourse Just As In Saul'S Time; Only, Different: How, When And Where, Precisely, Find It Out! I Want To Know, Then, What's So Natural As That A Person Born Into This World And Seized On By Such Teaching, Should Begin With Firm Expectancy And A Frank Look-Out For His Own Allotment, His Especial Share I' The Secret, His Particular Ghost, In Fine? I Mean, A Person Born To Look That Way, Since Natures Differ: Take The Painter-Sort, One Man Lives Fifty Years In Ignorance Whether Grass Be Green Or Red, 'No Kind Of Eye 'For Colour,' Say You; While Another Picks And Puts Away Even Pebbles, When A Child, Because Of Bluish Spots And Pinky Veins 'Give Him Forthwith A Paint-Box!' Just The Same Was I Born . . . 'Medium,' You Won't Let Me Say, Well, Seer Of The Supernatural Everywhen, Everyhow And Everywhere, Will That Do? I And All Such Boys Of Course Started With The Same Stock Of Bible-Truth; Only, What In The Rest You Style Their Sense, Instinct, Blind Reasoning But Imperative, This, Betimes, Taught Them The Old World Had One Law And Ours Another: 'New World, New Laws,' Cried They: 'None But Old Laws, Seen Everywhere At Work,' Cried I, And By Their Help Explained My Life The Jews' Way, Still A Working Way To Me. Ghosts Made The Noises, Fairies Waved The Lights, Or Santa Claus Slid Down On New Year'S Eve And Stuffed With Cakes The Stocking At My Bed, Changed The Worn Shoes, Rubbed Clean The Fingered Slate O' The Sum That Came To Grief The Day Before. This Could Not Last Long: Soon Enough I Found Who Had Worked Wonders Thus, And To What End: But Did I Find All Easy, Like My Mates? Henceforth No Supernatural Any More? Not A Whit: What Projects The Billiard-Balls? 'A Cue,' You Answer: 'Yes, A Cue,' Said I; 'But What Hand, Off The Cushion, Moved The Cue? 'What Unseen Agency, Outside The World, 'Prompted Its Puppets To Do This And That, 'Put Cakes And Shoes And Slates Into Their Mind, 'These Mothers And Aunts, Nay Even Schoolmasters?' Thus High I Sprang, And There Have Settled Since. Just So I Reason, In Sober Earnest Still, About The Greater Godsends, What You Call The Serious Gains And Losses Of My Life. What Do I Know Or Care About Your World Which Either Is Or Seems To Be? This Snap O' My Fingers, Sir! My Care Is For Myself; Myself Am Whole And Sole Reality Inside A Raree-Show And A Market-Mob Gathered About It: That 'S The Use Of Things. 'T Is Easy Saying They Serve Vast Purposes, Advantage Their Grand Selves: Be It True Or False, Each Thing May Have Two Uses. What 'S A Star? A World, Or A World'S Sun: Doesn'T It Serve As Taper Also, Time-Piece, Weather-Glass, And Almanac? Are Stars Not Set For Signs When We Should Shear Our Sheep, Sow Corn, Prune Trees? The Bible Says So. Well, I Add One Use To All The Acknowledged Uses, And Declare If I Spy Charles'S Wain At Twelve To-Night, It Warns Me, 'Go, Nor Lose Another Day, And Have Your Hair Cut, Sludge!' You Laugh: And Why? Were Such A Sign Too Hard For God To Give? No: But Sludge Seems Too Little For Such Grace: Thank You, Sir! So You Think, So Does Not Sludge! When You And Good Men Gape At Providence, Go Into History And Bid Us Mark Not Merely Powder-Plots Prevented, Crowns Kept On Kings' Heads By Miracle Enough, But Private Mercies Oh, You've Told Me, Sir, Of Such Interpositions! How Yourself Once, Missing On A Memorable Day Your Handkerchief Just Setting Out, You Know, You Must Return To Fetch It, Lost The Train, And Saved Your Precious Self From What Befell The Thirty-Three Whom Providence Forgot. You Tell, And Ask Me What I Think Of This? Well, Sir, I Think Then, Since You Needs Must Know, What Matter Had You And Boston City To Boot Sailed Skyward, Like Burnt Onion-Peelings? Much To You, No Doubt: For Me Undoubtedly The Cutting Of My Hair Concerns Me More, Because, However Sad The Truth May Seem, Sludge Is Of All-Importance To Himself. You Set Apart That Day In Every Year For Special Thanksgiving, Were A Heathen Else: Well, I Cannot Boast The Like Escape, Suppose I Said 'I Don't Thank Providence 'For My Part, Owing It No Gratitude'? 'Nay, But You Owe As Much' You'D Tutor Me, 'You, Every Man Alive, For Blessings Gained 'In Every Hour O' The Day, Could You But Know! 'I Saw My Crowning Mercy: All Have Such, 'Could They But See!' Well, Sir, Why Don't They See? 'Because They Won't Look, Or Perhaps, They Can't.' Then, Sir, Suppose I Can, And Will, And Do Look, Microscopically As Is Right, Into Each Hour With Its Infinitude Of Influences At Work To Profit Sludge? For That's The Case: I've Sharpened Up My Sight To Spy A Providence In The Fire'S Going Out, The Kettle'S Boiling, The Dime'S Sticking Fast Despite The Hole I' The Pocket. Call Such Facts Fancies, Too Petty A Work For Providence, And Those Same Thanks Which You Exact From Me Prove Too Prodigious Payment: Thanks For What, If Nothing Guards And Guides Us Little Men? No, No, Sir! You Must Put Away Your Pride, Resolve To Let Sludge Into Partnership! I Live By Signs And Omens: Looked At The Roof Where The Pigeons Settle 'If The Further Bird, 'The White, Takes Wing First, I'll Confess When Thrashed; 'Not, If The Blue Does' So I Said To Myself Last Week, Lest You Should Take Me By Surprise: Off Flapped The White, And I 'M Confessing, Sir! Perhaps 'T Is Providence'S Whim And Way With Only Me, I' The World: How Can You Tell? 'Because Unlikely!' Was It Likelier, Now, That This Our One Out Of All Worlds Beside, The What-D'You-Call 'Em Millions, Should Be Just Precisely Chosen To Make Adam For, And The Rest O' The Tale? Yet The Tale 'S True, You Know: Such Undeserving Clod Was Graced So Once; Why Not Graced Likewise Undeserving Sludge? Are We Merit-Mongers, Flaunt We Filthy Rags? All You Can Bring Against My Privilege Is, That Another Way Was Taken With You, Which I Don't Question. It 'S Pure Grace, My Luck: I 'M Broken To The Way Of Nods And Winks, And Need No Formal Summoning. You 've A Help; Holloa His Name Or Whistle, Clap Your Hands, Stamp With Your Foot Or Pull The Bell: All 'S One, He Understands You Want Him, Here He Comes. Just So, I Come At The Knocking: You, Sir, Wait The Tongue O' The Bell, Nor Stir Before You Catch Reason'S Clear Tingle, Nature'S Clapper Brisk, Or That Traditional Peal Was Wont To Cheer Your Mother'S Face Turned Heavenward: Short Of These There 'S No Authentic Intimation, Eh? Well, When You Hear, You 'll Answer Them, Start Up And Stride Into The Presence, Top Of Toe, And There Find Sludge Beforehand, Sludge That Sprang At Noise O' The Knuckle On The Partition-Wall! I Think Myself The More Religious Man. Religion 'S All Or Nothing; It 'S No Mere Smile O' Contentment, Sigh Of Aspiration, Sir No Quality O' The Finelier-Tempered Clay Like Its Whiteness Or Its Lightness; Rather, Stuff O' The Very Stuff, Life Of Life, And Self Of Self. I Tell You, Men Won't Notice; When They Do, They 'll Understand. I Notice Nothing Else: I 'M Eyes, Ears, Mouth Of Me, One Gaze And Gape, Nothing Eludes Me, Everything 'S A Hint, Handle And Help. It 'S All Absurd, And Yet There'S Something In It All, I Know: How Much? No Answer! What Does That Prove? Man'S Still Man. Still Meant For A Poor Blundering Piece Of Work When All'S Done; But, If Somewhat 'S Done, Like This, Or Not Done, Is The Case The Same? Suppose I Blunder In My Guess At The True Sense O' The Knuckle-Summons, Nine Times Out Of Ten, What If The Tenth Guess Happen To Be Right? If The Tenth Shovel-Load Of Powdered Quartz Yield Me The Nugget? I Gather, Crush, Sift All, Pass O'Er The Failure, Pounce On The Success. To Give You A Notion, Now (Let Who Wins, Laugh!) When First I See A Man, What Do I First? Why, Count The Letters Which Make Up His Name, And As Their Number Chances, Even Or Odd, Arrive At My Conclusion, Trim My Course: Hiram H. Horsefall Is Your Honoured Name, And Haven'T I Found A Patron, Sir, In You? 'Shall I Cheat This Stranger?' I Take Apple-Pips, Stick One In Either Canthus Of My Eye, And If The Left Drops First (Your Left, Sir, Stuck) I 'M Warned, I Let The Trick Alone This Time. Yon, Sir, Who Smile, Superior To Such Trash, You Judge Of Character By Other Rules: Don't Your Rules Sometimes Fail You? Pray, What Rule Have You Judged Sludge By Hitherto? Oh, Be Sure, You, Everybody Blunders, Just As I, In Simpler Things Than These By Far! For See: I Knew Two Farmers, One, A Wiseacre Who Studied Seasons, Rummaged Almanacs, Quoted The Dew-Point, Registered The Frost, And Then Declared, For Outcome Of His Pains, Next Summer Must Be Dampish: 'T Was A Drought. His Neighbour Prophesied Such Drought Would Fall, Saved Hay And Corn, Made Cent. Per Cent. Thereby, And Proved A Sage Indeed: How Came His Lore? Because One Brindled Heifer, Late In March, Stiffened Her Tail Of Evenings, And Somehow He Got Into His Head That Drought Was Meant! I Don't Expect All Men Can Do As Much: Such Kissing Goes By Favour. You Must Take A Certain Turn Of Mind For This, A Twist I' The Flesh, As Well. Be Lazily Alive, Open-Mouthed, Like My Friend The Ant-Eater, Letting All Nature'S Loosely-Guarded Motes Settle And, Slick, Be Swallowed! Think Yourself The One I' The World, The One For Whom The World Was Made, Expect It Tickling At Your Mouth! Then Will The Swarm Of Busy Buzzing Flies, Clouds Of Coincidence, Break Egg-Shell, Thrive, Breed, Multiply, And Bring You Food Enough. I Can't Pretend To Mind Your Smiling, Sir! Oh, What You Mean Is This! Such Intimate Way, Close Converse, Frank Exchange Of Offices, Strict Sympathy Of The Immeasurably Great With The Infinitely Small, Betokened Here By A Course Of Signs And Omens, Raps And Sparks, Flow Does It Suit The Dread Traditional Text O' The 'Great And Terrible Name'? Shall The Heaven Of Heavens Stoop To Such Child'S Play? Please, Sir, Go With Me A Moment, And I 'll Try To Answer You. The 'Magnum Et Terribile' (Is That Right?) Well, Folk Began With This In The Early Day; And All The Acts They Recognized In Proof Were Thunders, Lightnings, Earthquakes, Whirlwinds, Dealt Indisputably On Men Whose Death They Caused. There, And There Only, Folk Saw Providence At Work, And Seeing It, 'T Was Right Enough All Heads Should Tremble, Hands Wring Hands Amain, And Knees Knock Hard Together At The Breath O' The Name'S First Letter; Why, The Jews, I'M Told, Won't Write It Down, No, To This Very Hour, Nor Speak Aloud; You Know Best If 'T Be So. Each Ague-Fit Of Fear At End, They Crept (Because Somehow People Once Born Must Live) Out Of The Sound, Sight, Swing And Sway O' The Name, Into A Corner, The Dark Rest Of The World, And Safe Space Where As Yet No Fear Had Reached; 'T Was There They Looked About Them, Breathed Again, And Felt Indeed At Home, As We Might Say. The Current O' Common Things, The Daily Life, This Had Their Due Contempt; No Name Pursued Man From The Mountain-Top Where Fires Abide, To His Particular Mouse-Hole At Its Foot Where He Ate, Drank, Digested, Lived In Short: Such Was Man'S Vulgar Business, Far Too Small To Be Worth Thunder: 'Small,' Folk Kept On, 'Small,' With Much Complacency In Those Great Days! A Mote Of Sand, You Know, A Blade Of Grass What Was So Despicable As Mere Grass, Except Perhaps The Life O' The Worm Or Fly Which Fed There? These Were 'Small' And Men Were Great. Well, Sir, The Old Way'S Altered Somewhat Since, And The World Wears Another Aspect Now: Somebody Turns Our Spyglass Round, Or Else Puts A New Lens In It: Grass, Worm, Fly Grow Big: We Find Great Things Are Made Of Little Things, And Little Things Go Lessening Till At Last Comes God Behind Them. Talk Of Mountains Now? We Talk Of Mould That Heaps The Mountain, Mites That Throng The Mould, And God That Makes The Mites. The Name Comes Close Behind A Stomach-Cyst, The Simplest Of Creations, Just A Sac That's Mouth, Heart, Legs And Belly At Once, Yet Lives And Feels, And Could Do Neither, We Conclude, If Simplified Still Further One Degree: The Small Becomes The Dreadful And Immense Lightning, Forsooth? No Word More Upon That! A Tin-Foil Bottle, A Strip Of Greasy Silk, With A Bit Of Wire And Knob Of Brass, And There'S Your Dollar'S-Worth Of Lightning! But The Cyst The Life Of The Least Of The Little Things? No, No! Preachers And Teachers Try Another Tack, Come Near The Truth This Time: They Put Aside Thunder And Lightning: 'That 'S Mistake,' They Cry, 'Thunderbolts Fall For Neither Fright Nor Sport, 'But Do Appreciable Good, Like Tides, 'Changes O' The Wind, And Other Natural Facts ''Good' Meaning Good To Man, His Body Or Soul. 'Mediate, Immediate, All Things Minister 'To Man, That 'S Settled: Be Our Future Text ''We Are His Children!'' So, They Now Harangue About The Intention, The Contrivance, All That Keeps Up An Incessant Play Of Love, See The Bridgewater Book. Amen To It! Well, Sir, I Put This Question: I 'M A Child? I Lose No Time, But Take You At Your Word: How Shall I Act A Child'S Part Properly? Your Sainted Mother, Sir, Used You To Live With Such A Thought As This A-Worrying You? 'She Has It In Her Power To Throttle Me, 'Or Stab Or Poison: She May Turn Me Out, 'Or Lock Me In, Nor Stop At This To-Day, 'But Cut Me Off To-Morrow From The Estate 'I Look For' (Long May You Enjoy It, Sir!) 'In Brief, She May Unchild The Child I Am.' You Never Had Such Crotchets? Nor Have I! Who, Frank Confessing Childship From The First Cannot Both Fear And Take My Ease At Once, So, Don't Fear, Know What Might Be, Well Enough But Know Too, Child-Like, That It Will Not Be, At Least In My Case, Mine, The Son And Heir O' The Kingdom, As Yourself Proclaim My Style. But Do You Fancy I Stop Short At This? Wonder If Suit And Service, Son And Heir Needs Must Expect, I Dare Pretend To Find? If, Looking For Signs Proper To Such An One, I Straight Perceive Them Irresistible? Concede That Homage Is A Son'S Plain Right, And, Never Mind The Nods And Raps And Winks, 'T Is The Pure Obvious Supernatural Steps Forward, Does Its Duty: Why, Of Course! I Have Presentiments; My Dreams Come True: I Fancy A Friend Stands Whistling All In White Blithe As A Boblink, And He 'S Dead I Learn. I Take Dislike To A Dog My Favourite Long, And Sell Him; He Goes Mad Next Week And Snaps. I Guess That Stranger Will Turn Up To-Day I Have Not Seen These Three Years; There 'S His Knock I Wager 'Sixty Peaches On That Tree!' That I Pick Up A Dollar In My Walk, That Your Wife'S Brother'S Cousin'S Name Was George And Win On All Points. Oh, You Wince At This? You'D Fain Distinguish Between Gift And Gift, Washington'S Oracle And Sludge'S Itch O' The Elbow When At Whist He Ought To Trump? With Sludge It's Too Absurd? Fine, Draw The Line Somewhere, But, Sir, Your Somewhere Is Not Mine! Bless Us, I'M Turning Poet! It's Time To End. How You Have Drawn Me Out, Sir! All I Ask Is Am I Heir Or Not Heir? If I'M He, Then, Sir, Remember, That Same Personage (To Judge By What We Read I' The Newspaper) Requires, Beside One Nobleman In Gold To Carry Up And Down His Coronet, Another Servant, Probably A Duke, To Hold Egg-Nogg In Readiness: Why Want Attendance, Sir, When Helps In His Father'S House Abound, I 'D Like To Know? Enough Of Talk! My Fault Is That I Tell Too Plain A Truth. Why, Which Of Those Who Say They Disbelieve, Your Clever People, But Has Dreamed His Dream, Caught His Coincidence, Stumbled On His Fact He Can't Explain, (He'll Tell You Smilingly) Which He 'S Too Much Of A Philosopher To Count As Supernatural, Indeed, So Calls A Puzzle And Problem, Proud Of It Bidding You Still Be On Your Guard, You Know, Because One Fact Don't Make A System Stand, Nor Prove This An Occasional Escape Of Spirit Beneath The Matter: That's The Way! Just So Wild Indians Picked Up, Piece By Piece, The Fact In California, The Fine Gold That Underlay The Gravel Hoarded These, But Never Made A System Stand, Nor Dug! So Wise Men Hold Out In Each Hollowed Palm A Handful Of Experience, Sparkling Fact They Can't Explain; And Since Their Rest Of Life Is All Explainable, What Proof In This? Whereas I Take The Fact, The Grain Of Gold, And Fling Away The Dirty Rest Of Life, And Add This Grain To The Grain Each Fool Has Found O' The Million Other Such Philosophers, Till I See Gold, All Gold And Only Gold, Truth Questionless Though Unexplainable, And The Miraculous Proved The Commonplace! The Other Fools Believed In Mud, No Doubt Failed To Know Gold They Saw: Was That So Strange? Are All Men Born To Play Bach'S Fiddle-Fugues, 'Time' With The Foil In Carte, Jump Their Own Height, Cut The Mutton With The Broadsword, Skate A Five, Make The Red Hazard With The Cue, Clip Nails While Swimming, In Five Minutes Row A Mile, Pull Themselves Three Feet Up With The Left Arm, Do Sums Of Fifty Figures In Their Head, And So On, By The Scores Of Instances? The Sludge With Luck, Who Sees The Spiritual Facts His Fellows Strive And Fail To See, May Rank With These, And Share The Advantage. Ay, But Share The Drawback! Think It Over By Yourself; I Have Not Heart, Sir, And The Fire 'S Gone Grey. Defect Somewhere Compensates For Success, Everyone Knows That. Oh, We're Equals, Sir! The Big-Legged Fellow Has A Little Arm And A Less Brain, Though Big Legs Win The Race: Do You Suppose I 'Scape The Common Lot? Say, I Was Born With Flesh So Sensitive, Soul So Alert, That, Practice Helping Both, I Guess What 'S Going On Outside The Veil, Just As A Prisoned Crane Feels Pairing-Time In The Islands Where His Kind Are, So Must Fall To Capering By Himself Some Shiny Night, As If Your Back-Yard Were A Plot Of Spice Thus Am I 'Ware O' The Spirit World: While You, Blind As A Beetle That Way, For Amends. Why, You Can Double Fist And Floor Me, Sir! Ride That Hot Hardmouthed Horrid Horse Of Yours, Laugh While It Lightens, Play With The Great Dog, Speak Your Mind Though It Vex Some Friend To Hear, Never Brag, Never Bluster, Never Blush, In Short, You've Pluck, When I'M A Coward There! I Know It, I Can't Help It, Folly Or No, I 'M Paralyzed, My Hand'S No More A Hand, Nor My Head A Head, In Danger: You Can Smile And Change The Pipe In Your Cheek. Your Gift 'S Not Mine. Would You Swap For Mine? No! But You'D Add My Gift To Yours: I Dare Say! I Too Sigh At Times, Wish I Were Stouter, Could Tell Truth Nor Flinch, Kept Cool When Threatened, Did Not Mind So Much Being Dressed Gaily, Making Strangers Stare, Eating Nice Things; When I 'D Amuse Myself, I Shut My Eyes And Fancy In My Brain I 'M Now The President, Now Jenny Lind, Now Emerson, Now The Benicia Boy With All The Civilized World A-Wondering And Worshipping. I Know It 'S Folly And Worse; I Feel Such Tricks Sap, Honeycomb The Soul, But I Can't Cure Myself: Despond, Despair, And Then, Hey, Presto, There 'S A Turn O' The Wheel, Under Comes Uppermost, Fate Makes Full Amends; Sludge Knows And Sees And Bears A Hundred Things You All Are Blind To, I 've My Taste Of Truth, Likewise My Touch Of Falsehood, Vice No Doubt, But You 've Your Vices Also: I 'M Content. What, Sir? You Won't Shake Hands? 'Because I Cheat!' 'You've Found Me Out In Cheating!' That's Enough To Make An Apostle Swear! Why, When I Cheat, Mean To Cheat, Do Cheat, And Am Caught In The Act, Are You, Or, Rather, Am I Sure O' The Fact? (There 'S Verse Again, But I 'M Inspired Somehow.) Well Then I 'M Not Sure! I May Be, Perhaps, Free As A Babe From Cheating: How It Began, My Gift, No Matter; What 'T Is Got To Be In The End Now, That 'S The Question; Answer That! Had I Seen, Perhaps, What Hand Was Holding Mine, Leading Me Whither, I Had Died Of Fright: So, I Was Made Believe I Led Myself. If I Should Lay A Six-Inch Plank From Roof To Roof, You Would Not Cross The Street, One Step, Even At Your Mother'S Summons: But, Being Shrewd If I Paste Paper On Each Side The Plank And Swear 'T Is Solid Pavement, Why, You 'll Cross Humming A Tune The While, In Ignorance Beacon Street Stretches A Hundred Feet Below: I Walked Thus, Took The Paper-Cheat For Stone. Some Impulse Made Me Set A Thing O' The Move Which, Started Once, Ran Really By Itself; Beer Flows Thus, Suck The Siphon; Toss The Kite, It Takes The Wind And Floats Of Its Own Force. Don't Let Truth'S Lump Rot Stagnant For The Lack Of A Timely Helpful Lie To Leaven It! Put A Chalk-Egg Beneath The Clucking Hen, She 'll Lay A Real One, Laudably Deceived, Daily For Weeks To Come. I 've Told My Lie, And Seen Truth Follow, Marvels None Of Mine; All Was Not Cheating, Sir, I 'M Positive! I Don't Know If I Move Your Hand Sometimes When The Spontaneous Writing Spreads So Far, If My Knee Lifts The Table All That Height, Why The Inkstand Don't Fall Off The Desk A-Tilt, Why The Accordion Plays A Prettier Waltz Than I Can Pick Out On The Piano-Forte, Why I Speak So Much More Than I Intend, Describe So Many Things I Never Saw. I Tell You, Sir, In One Sense, I Believe Nothing At All, That Everybody Can, Will, And Does Cheat: But In Another Sense I'M Ready To Believe My Very Self That Every Cheat'S Inspired, And Every Lie Quick With A Germ Of Truth. You Ask Perhaps Why I Should Condescend To Trick At All If I Know A Way Without It? This Is Why! There'S A Strange Secret Sweet Self-Sacrifice In Any Desecration Of One'S Soul To A Worthy End, Isn'T It Herodotus (I Wish I Could Read Latin!) Who Describes The Single Gift O' The Land'S Virginity, Demanded In Those Old Egyptian Rites, (I've But A Hazy Notion Help Me, Sir!) For One Purpose In The World, One Day In A Life, One Hour In A Day Thereafter, Purity, And A Veil Thrown O'Er The Past For Evermore! Well, Now, They Understood A Many Things Down By Nile City, Or Wherever It Was! I've Always Vowed, After The Minute'S Lie, And The End'S Gain, Truth Should Be Mine Henceforth. This Goes To The Root O' The Matter, Sir, This Plain Plump Fact: Accept It And Unlock With It The Wards Of Many A Puzzle! Or, Finally, Why Should I Set So Fine A Gloss On Things? What Need I Care? I Cheat In Self-Defence, And There'S My Answer To A World Of Cheats! Cheat? To Be Sure, Sir! What 'S The World Worth Else? Who Takes It As He Finds, And Thanks His Stars? Don't It Want Trimming, Turning, Furbishing Up And Polishing Over? Your So-Styled Great Men, Do They Accept One Truth As Truth Is Found, Or Try Their Skill At Tinkering? What's Your World? Here Are You Born, Who Are, I'll Say At Once, Of The Luckiest Kind, Whether In Head And Heart, Body And Soul, Or All That Helps Them Both. Well, Now, Look Back: What Faculty Of Yours Came To Its Full, Had Ample Justice Done By Growing When Rain Fell, Biding Its Time, Solidifying Growth When Earth Was Dead, Spiring Up, Broadening Wide, In Seasons Due? Never! You Shot Up And Frost Nipped You Off, Settled To Sleep When Sunshine Bade You Sprout; One Faculty Thwarted Its Fellow: At The End, All You Boast Is 'I Had Proved A Topping Tree 'In Other Climes' Yet This Was The Right Clime Had You Foreknown The Seasons. Young, You've Force Wasted Like Well-Streams: Old, Oh, Then Indeed, Behold A Labyrinth Of Hydraulic Pipes Through Which You'D Play Off Wondrous Waterwork; Only, No Water 'S Left To Feed Their Play. Young, You 've A Hope, An Aim, A Love: It 'S Tossed And Crossed And Lost: You Struggle On, Some Spark Shut In Your Heart Against The Puffs Around, Through Cold And Pain; These In Due Time Subside, Now Then For Age'S Triumph, The Hoarded Light You Mean To Loose On The Altered Face Of Things, Up With It On The Tripod! It 'S Extinct. Spend Your Life'S Remnant Asking, Which Was Best, Light Smothered Up That Never Peeped Forth Once, Or The Cold Cresset With Full Leave To Shine? Well, Accept This Too, Seek The Fruit Of It Not In Enjoyment, Proved A Dream On Earth, But Knowledge, Useful For A Second Chance, Another Life, You 've Lost This World You 've Gained Its Knowledge For The Next. What Knowledge, Sir, Except That You Know Nothing? Nay, You Doubt Whether 'T Were Better Have Made You Man Or Brute, If Aught Be True, If Good And Evil Clash. No Foul, No Fair, No Inside, No Outside, There'S Your World! Give It Me! I Slap It Brisk With Harlequin'S Pasteboard Sceptre: What 'S It Now? Changed Like A Rock-Flat, Rough With Rusty Weed, At First Wash-Over O' The Returning Wave! All The Dry Dead Impracticable Stuff Starts Into Life And Light Again; This World Pervaded By The Influx From The Next. I Cheat, And What 'S The Happy Consequence? You Find Full Justice Straightway Dealt You Out, Each Want Supplied, Each Ignorance Set At Ease, Each Folly Fooled. No Life-Long Labour Now As The Price Of Worse Than Nothing! No Mere Film Holding You Chained In Iron, As It Seems, Against The Outstretch Of Your Very Arms And Legs I' The Sunshine Moralists Forbid! What Would You Have? Just Speak And, There, You See! You 're Supplemented, Made A Whole At Last, Bacon Advises, Shakespeare Writes You Songs, And Mary Queen Of Scots Embraces You. Thus It Goes On, Not Quite Like Life Perhaps, But So Near, That The Very Difference Piques, Shows That E'En Better Than This Best Will Be This Passing Entertainment In A Hut Whose Bare Walls Take Your Taste Since, One Stage More, And You Arrive At The Palace: All Half Real, And You, To Suit It, Less Than Real Beside, In A Dream, Lethargic Kind Of Death In Life, That Helps The Interchange Of Natures, Flesh Transfused By Souls, And Such Souls! Oh, 'T Is Choice! And If At Whiles The Bubble, Blown Too Thin, Seem Nigh On Bursting, If You Nearly See The Real World Through The False, What Do You See? Is The Old So Ruined? You Find You 're In A Flock O' The Youthful, Earnest, Passionate Genius, Beauty, Rank And Wealth Also, If You Care For These: And All Depose Their Natural Rights, Hail You, (That 'S Me, Sir) As Their Mate And Yoke-Fellow, Participate In Sludgehood Nay, Grow Mine, I Veritably Possess Them Banish Doubt, And Reticence And Modesty Alike! Why, Here 'S The Golden Age, Old Paradise Or New Eutopia! Here 'S True Life Indeed, And The World Well Won Now, Mine For The First Time! And All This Might Be, May Be, And With Good Help Of A Little Lying Shall Be: So, Sludge Lies! Why, He 'S At Worst Your Poet Who Sings How Greeks That Never Were, In Troy Which Never Was, Did This Or The Other Impossible Great Thing! He'S Lowell It 'S A World (You Smile Applause), Of His Own Invention Wondrous Longfellow, Surprising Hawthorne! Sludge Does More Than They, And Acts The Books They Write: The More His Praise! But Why Do I Mount To Poets? Take Plain Prose Dealers In Common Sense, Set These At Work, What Can They Do Without Their Helpful Lies? Each States The Law And Fact And Face