When Once Your Point Of View Is

Conceive A Jelly-fish Such As Sails In Our Summer Seas, Bell-shaped And Of Enormous Size - Far Larger, I Should Judge, Than The Dome Of St. Paul's. It Was Of A Light Pink Colour Veined With A Delicate Green, But The Whole Huge Fabric So Tenuous That It Was But A Fairy Outline Against The Dark Blue Sky. It Pulsated With A Delicate And Regular Rhythm. From It There Depended Two Long Drooping, Green Tentacles, Which Swayed Slowly Backwards And Forwards. This Gorgeous Vision Passed Gently With Noiseless Dignity Over My Head, As Light And Fragile As A Soap-bubble, And Drifted Upon Its Stately Way.

It Is Not Really Difficult To Construct A Series Of Inferences, Each Dependent Upon Its Predecessor And Each Simple In Itself. If, After Doing So, One Simply Knocks Out All The Central Inferences And Presents One's Audience With The Starting-point And The Conclusion, One May Produce A Startling, Though Perhaps A Meretricious, Effect.

It Was In The Days When France's Power Was Already Broken Upon The Seas, And When More Of Her Three-deckers Lay Rotting In The Medway Than Were To Be Found In Brest Harbour. But Her Frigates And Corvettes Still Scoured The Ocean, Closely Followed Ever By Those Of Her Rival. At The Uttermost Ends Of The Earth These Dainty Vessels, With Sweet Names Of Girls Or Of Flowers, Mangled And Shattered Each Other For The Honour Of The Four Yards Of Bunting Which Flapped From The End Of Their Gaffs.

It Is The Small Men And Not The Great Who Hold Their Noses In The Air.

I Never Guess. It Is A Shocking Habit Destructive To The Logical Faculty.