cause has been left behind. If vibration and motion combine in my touch
for any length of time, the earth seems to run away while I stand still.
When I step off the train, the platform whirls round, and I find it
difficult to walk steadily.

Every atom of my body is a vibroscope. But my sensations are not
infallible. I reach out, and my fingers meet something furry, which
jumps about, gathers itself together as if to spring, and acts like an
animal. I pause a moment for caution. I touch it again more firmly, and
find it is a fur coat fluttering and flapping in the wind. To me, as to
you, the earth seems motionless, and the sun appears to move; for the
rays of the afternoon withdraw more and more, as they touch my face,
until the air becomes cool. From this I understand how it is that the
shore seems to recede as you sail away from it. Hence I feel no
incredulity when you say that parallel lines appear to converge, and the
earth and sky to meet. My few senses long ago revealed to me their
imperfections and deceptivity.

Not only are the senses deceptive, but numerous usages in our language
indicate that people who have five senses find it difficult to keep
their functions distinct. I understand that we hear views, see tones,
taste music. I am told that voices have colour. Tact, which I have
supposed to be a matter of nice perception, turns out to be a matter of
taste. Judging from the large use of the word, taste appears to be the
most important of all the senses. Taste governs the great and small
conventions of life. Certainly the language of the senses is full of
contradictions, and my fellows who have five doors to their house are
not more surely at home in themselves than I. May I not, then, be
excused if this account of my sensations lacks precision?

THE FINER VIBRATIONS

V

THE FINER VIBRATIONS

I HAVE spoken of the numerous jars and jolts which daily minister to my
faculties. The loftier and grander vibrations which appeal to my
emotions are varied and abundant. I listen with awe to the roll of the
thunder and the muffled avalanche of sound when the sea flings itself
upon the shore. And I love the instrument by which all the diapasons of
the ocean are caught and released in surging floods--the many-voiced
organ. If music could be seen, I could point where the organ-notes go,
as they rise and fall, climb up and up, rock and sway, now loud and
deep, now high and stormy, anon soft and solemn, wi