And this is the end--to escape before the time, if only partially and at intervals, into an atmosphere of vision true or false, where human feet were meant to find no road, and the trammelled minds of men no point of outlook.

That such an atmosphere exists even materialists would hesitate to deny, for it is proved by the whole history of the moral world, and especially by that of the religions of the world, their founders, their prophets and their exponents, many of whom have breathed its ether, and pronounced it the very breath of life.

Their feet have walked the difficult path; standing on those forbidden peaks they have scanned the dim plains and valleys of the unseen, and made report of the dreams and shapes that haunt them.
Then the busy hordes of men beneath for a moment pause to listen and are satisfied.
"Lo, here is Truth," they cry, "now we may cease from troubling." So for a while they rest till others answer, "Nay, _this_ is Truth; our teacher told it us from yonder mountain, the only Holy Hill." And yet others fall upon them and slay them, shouting, "Neither of these is Truth.

She dwells not among the precipices, but in the valley; there we have heard her accents." And still from cliff to cliff and along the secret vales echoes the voice of Truth; and still upon the snow-wreathed peaks and across the space of rolling ocean, and even among the populous streets of men, veiled, mysterious, and changeful, her shape is seen by those who have trained themselves or been inspired to watch and hear.

But no two see the same shape, and no two hear the same voice, since to each she wears a different countenance, and speaks with another tongue.