LETTERS FROM ABROAD
fashioners of dreams, who neither dig nor sow, bake nor boil, spin nor darn, neither move nor support resolutions?
I have often tried to imagine the banished hordes of poets establishing their own Republic in the near neighbourhood of that of Plato. Naturally, as an act of reprisal, His Excellency the poet President is sure to banish from the Rhymers’ Republic all philosophers and politicians. Just think of the endless possibilities arising from feuds and truces of these rival Republics—peace conferences, deputations of representatives, institutions with busy secretaries and permanent funds having for their object the bridging of the gulf between the two adversaries, Then think of a trivial accident, through which a hapless young man and a melancholy maiden, coming from the opposite territories, meet at the frontier, and owing to the influence of the conjunction of their respective planets fall in love with each other.
There is no harm in supposing that the young man is the son of the President of the Philosphers’ Republic while the maiden is the daughter of that of the Poets. The immediate consequence is the secret smuggling of forbidden love-lyrics by the desperate youth into the very heart of the commentaries and controversies of the two contradictory schools of Philosophy—-the one professed by the yellow turbanned sages proclaiming that one is true and two is nought, and the other,
