We were the salt of the earth; we were lifted
above those grovelling instincts which we saw manifested in the
lives of others. Each contributed his share of gas to inflate the
painted balloon to which we all clung, in the expectation that it
would presently soar with us to the stars. But it only went up
over the out-houses, dodged backwards and forwards two or three
times, and finally flopped down with us into a swamp."
"And that balloon was the A. C.?" suggested Mr. Johnson.
"As President of this Chapter, I prohibit questions," said Eunice.
"And, Enos, don't send up your balloon until the proper time.
Don't anticipate the programme, or the performance will be
spoiled."
"I had almost forgotten that Ned is so much in the dark," her
obedient husband answered. "You can have but a slight notion," he
continued, turning to his friend, "of the extent to which this
sentimental, or transcendental, element in the little circle at
Shelldrake's increased after you left Norridgeport. We read the
`Dial,' and Emerson; we believed in Alcott as the `purple Plato' of
modern times; we took psychological works out of the library, and
would listen for hours to Hollins while he read Schelling or
Fichte, and then go home with a misty impression of having imbibed
infinite wisdom.
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