There are, I have noticed, three stages in the
career of a revolutionist: destruction, instruction, construction. He
begins the first at twenty, at forty he is teaching, at sixty he
believes in society--especially if he has money in the bank." Quell
regarded the speaker sourly.
"You are a wonder, Arved. You fly off on a wild tangent stimulated by
the mere sound of a word. Who said anything about dynamite-anarchy?
There's another sort that men of brains--madmen if you will--believe and
indirectly teach. Emerson was one, though he hardly knew it. Thoreau
realized it for him, however. Don't you remember his stern rebuke when
Emerson visited him in Concord jail: 'Henry, why art thou here?' meekly
inquired the mystic man. 'Ralph, why art thou _not_ here?' was the
counter-question. Thoreau had brave nerves. To live in peace in this
malicious swamp of a world we must all wear iron masks until we are
carted off to the _domino-park_; pious people call it the cemetery. Now,
I'm going to sleep. I'm tired of all this jabbering. We are crazy for
sure, or else we wouldn't talk so much.
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