Reason only answered, “At your peril you cherish that idea, or suffer its influence to animate any writing of yours!”

“But if I feel, may I never express?”

“ Never! ” declared Reason.

I groaned under her bitter sternness. Never⁠—never⁠—oh, hard word! This hag, this Reason, would not let me look up, or smile, or hope: she could not rest unless I were altogether crushed, cowed, broken-in, and broken-down. According to her, I was born only to work for a piece of bread, to await the pains of death, and steadily through all life to despond. Reason might be right; yet no wonder we are glad at times to defy her, to rush from under her rod and give a truant hour to Imagination⁠— her soft, bright foe, our