themselves in digging a little yellow metal out of the earth, which, when once obtained, seemed to make the owners of it mad, for they straightway forgot everything else.  As I looked, the darkness between me and my creation grew denser, and was only pierced at last by those long wide shafts of radiance caused by the innocent prayers of those who still remembered me.  And I was full of regret, for I saw my people wandering hither and thither, restless and dissatisfied, perplexed by their own errors, and caring nothing for the love I bore them.  Then some of them advanced and began to question why they had been created, forgetting completely how their lives had been originally designed by me for happiness, love and wisdom.  Then they accused me of the existence of evil, refusing to see that where there is light there is also darkness, and that darkness is the rival force of the Universe, whence cometh silently the Unnamable Oblivion of Souls.  They could not see, my self-willed children, that they had of their own desire sought the darkness and found it; and now, because it gloomed above them like a pall, they refused to believe in the light where still I was loving and striving to attract them still.  Yet it was not all darkness, and I knew that even what there was might be repelled and cleared away if only my people would turn towards me once more.  So I sent down upon them all possible blessings—­some they rejected angrily, some they snatched at and threw away again, as though they were poor and trivial—­none of them were they thankful for, and none did they desire to keep.  And the darkness above them deepened, while my anxious pity and love for them increased.  For how could I turn altogether away from them, as long as but a few remembered me?  There were some of these weak children of mine who loved and honoured me so well that they absorbed some of my light into themselves, and became heroes, poets, musicians, teachers of high and noble thought, and unselfish, devoted martyrs for the sake of the reverence they bore me.  There were women pure and sweet, who wore their existence as innocently as lilies, and who turned to me to seek protection, not for themselves, but for those they loved.  There were little children, whose asking voices were like waves of delicious music to my being, and for whom I had a surpassing tenderness.  And yet all these were a mere handful compared to the numbers who denied my existence, and who had wilfully crushed out and repelled every spark of my essence in themselves.  And as I contemplated this, the voice I had heard at the commencement of my dream rushed towards me like a mighty wind broken through by thunder: 

  “Destroy!”

A great pity and love possessed me.  In deep awe, yet solemn earnestness, I pleaded with that vast commanding voice.

“Bid me not destroy!” I implored.  “Command me not to disperse into nothingness these children of my fancy, some of whom yet love and trust to me for safety.  Let me strive once more to bring them out of their darkness into the light—­to bring them to the happiness I designed them to enjoy.  They have not all forgotten me—­let me give them more time for thought and recollection!”