the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts
upon the present; the words which express what they
understand not; the trumpets which sing to battle and feel
not what they inspire; the influence which is moved not, but
moves. Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the
world."

I have no hesitation in saying that for treating Shelley as a
philosopher, I shall be attacked with great "positivism" by the
disciples[A] of manufacturers of bran-new Brummagen philosophies dug
out of Aristotelian and other depths to which are added new thoughts,
not their own. The reason which David Masson offers in his "Recent
British Philosophy" for placing Alfred Tennyson among the same class
is equally applicable now:

[Footnote A: If Diogenes or Socrates, leaving High Olympus and sweet
converse with the immortals, were to condescend to visit New York some
Friday evening. I am sadly afraid they would be astounded at many of
their would-be brothers in philosophy. On seeing the travestie of
ancient academies and groves where the schools used to congregate, the
dialogues consisting of bald atheism under sheep's clothing to trap
the unwary, and termed "The _Religion_ of Humanity," of abuse and
personality in lieu of argument, of buffoonery called wit, of airing
pet hobbies alien to the subject instead of disputating, of shouting
vulgar claptrap instead of rhetoric, etc.--I sadly fear these stout
old Greeks, having power for the nonce, would, throwing philosophy to
the dogs in a moment of paroxysmal indignation, despite physiognomies
trained to resemble their own, have these fellows casked up in tubs
without lanterns, but with the appropriate "snuffers," fit emblems of
their faiths, and dropped far outside Sandy Hook. A proper finale to