The world and my being, its life and mine, were one.

The microcosm and macrocosm were at length atoned, at length in harmony! I lived in everything; everything entered and lived in me.

To be aware of a thing, was to know its life at once and mine, to know whence we came, and where we were at home--was to know that we are all what we are, because Another is what he is! Sense after sense, hitherto asleep, awoke in me--sense after sense indescribable, because no correspondent words, no likenesses or imaginations exist, wherewithal to describe them.

Full indeed--yet ever expanding, ever making room to receive--was the conscious being where things kept entering by so many open doors! When a little breeze brushing a bush of heather set its purple bells a ringing, I was myself in the joy of the bells, myself in the joy of the breeze to which responded their sweet TIN-TINNING**, myself in the joy of the sense, and of the soul that received all the joys together.

To everything glad I lent the hall of my being wherein to revel.