LECTOR. I am glad to be reminded, Scriptor, that you are a poet, for the
line of your argument had almost made me forget it. One expects other
views from a poet.

SCRIPTOR. When, my dear Lector, shall we get rid of the silly idea that
the poet should give us only the ornamental view of life, and rock us to
sleep, like babies, with pretty lullabies? Is it not possible to make
_facts_ sing as well as fancies? With all this beautiful world to sing
of--for beautiful it is, however it be marred; with this wonderful
life--and wonderful and sweet it is though it is shot through with such
bitter pain; with such _certainties_ for his theme, we yet beg him to
sing to us of shadows!

And you talk of 'faith.' 'Faith' truly is what we want, but it is faith
in the life here, not in the life hereafter. Faith in the life here! Let
our poets sing us that. And such as would deny it--I would hang them as
enemies of society.

LECTOR. But, at all events, to keep to our point--you at least _hope_
for immortality. If Edison, say, were suddenly to discover it for us as
a scientific certainty, you would welcome the news?

SCRIPTOR. Well, yes and no! Have you seen the 'penny' phonographs in the
Strand? You should go and have a pennyworth of the mysteries of time and
space! How long will Edison's latest magic toy survive this
popularisation, I wonder? For a little moment it awakens the sense of
wonder in the idly curious, who set the demon tube to their ears; but if
they make any remarks at all, it is of the cleverness of Mr. Edison,
the probable profits of the invention--and not a word of the wonder of