How lonely will they be in that new, scientific, commercially-minded future, so rapidly approaching, whose eyes have kept a memory of the picture which was the past.
The scholiast of Aristophanes tells us, among other interesting things, that Timandra, who was born at Hykkara, in Sicily, was given by the Tyrant Dionysius, to Philoxenus, the poet. With Philoxenus he goes on to say, she journeyed farther. She came at length as far as Corinth. Here she lived for a considerable time and was beloved of many.
This is the kind of novel I like, one that I can expand at leisure, to suit myself, one that unfolds long, radiant, geographical vistas. In 1843, De Musset published a book called Voyage ou il vous plaira, (Travel Wherever You Wish). How I should like that! And how I now wish it were a part of life realized. In fancy I shall see the antique world. The notes of the scholiasts contain fascinating information.
“... of the wind always louder and bleaker, of the black roaring winters, of the gloom of high-lying old stone cities, imminent on the windy seaboard.”
This quotation from Stevenson’s Edinburgh, Picturesque Notes illustrates something not unworthy notice.
Its beauty, which no one will dispute, is not a spiritual question, nor one of mind wholly. It is founded upon the flesh.
Stylists play with vowels, with consonants, just as the pianist plays with black and white keys of his instrument. He, indeed, is not a dissimilar musician.
To return to the sentence in question. The underlined letters, i, a, oo, in the words wind, black and gloom mean the opening wider and wider of the back of the throat to emit sound, going from a short i, to long oo, a skillful climax, a physical emotion where muscles of the body are the instrument played upon.
The use of alternating vowels is remarkable. It is witchery. After height of stressed sound is reached in the word gloom, he glides gently down to rest, satisfied sound-completeness, in the slightly muted final s of the word cities.