The unseen rulers of human destiny are, on the whole, very kindly Fates. They appear beneficently prone to give us mortals much more than we deserve. Gifts of various grace and value are showered upon us incessantly through our life's progress,—gifts for which we are too often ungrateful, or which we fail to appreciate at their true worth. Apart from the pleasures of the material senses which we share in common with our friends and fellows of the brute creation, the more delicate and exquisite emotions of the mind are ministered to with unfailing and fostering care. Music—Poetry, Art in all its brilliant and changeful phases,—these things are offered for the delectation of our thoughts and the refinement of our tastes; but the most priceless boon of the Immortals is the talisman which alone enables us to understand the beauty of life at its highest, and the perfection of ideals at their best. I mean Imagination,—that wonderful spiritual faculty which is the source of all great creative work in Art and Literature. Some call it "Inspiration"; others, the Divine Fire; but whatever its nature or quality, there is good cause to think—and to fear—that it is gradually dwindling down and disappearing altogether from the world of to-day.
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THE VANISHING GIFT
