green of
spring overflows the earth like a tide"? I have felt the flame of a
candle blow and flutter in the breeze. May I not, then, say: "Myriads of
fireflies flit hither and thither in the dew-wet grass like little
fluttering tapers"?

Combine the endless space of air, the sun's warmth, the clouds that are
described to my understanding spirit, the frequent breaking through the
soil of a brook or the expanse of the wind-ruffled lake, the tactual
undulation of the hills, which I recall when I am far away from them,
the towering trees upon trees as I walk by them, the bearings that I try
to keep while others tell me the directions of the various points of the
scenery, and you will begin to feel surer of my mental landscape. The
utmost bound to which my thought will go with clearness is the horizon
of my mind. From this horizon I imagine the one which the eye marks.

Touch cannot bridge distance,--it is fit only for the contact of
surfaces,--but thought leaps the chasm. For this reason I am able to use
words descriptive of objects distant from my senses. I have felt the
rondure of the infant's tender form. I can apply this perception to the
landscape and to the far-off hills.

ANALOGIES IN SENSE PERCEPTION

X

ANALOGIES IN SENSE PERCEPTION

I HAVE not touched the outline of a star nor the glory of the moon, but
I believe that God has set two lights in mind, the greater to rule by
day and the lesser by night, and by them I know that I am able to
navigate my life-bark, as certain of reaching the haven as he who steers
by the North Star. Perhaps my sun shines not as yours. The colours that
glorify my world, the blue of the sky, the green of the fields, may not
correspond exactly with those you delight in; but they are none the less
colour to me. The sun does not shine for my physical eyes, nor does the
lightning flash, nor do the trees turn green in the spring; but they
have not therefore ceased to exist, any more than the landscape is
annihilated when you turn your back on it.

I understand how scarlet can differ from crimson because I know that the
smell of an orange is not the smell of a grape-fruit. I can also
conceive that colours have shades, and guess what shades are. In smell
and taste there are varieties not broad enough to be fundamental; so I
call them shades. There are half a dozen roses near me. They all have
the unmistakable rose scent; yet my nose tells me that they are not the
same. Th