"Then a horrible thing occurred."
Is it necessary to proceed? Literature nods; Science shakes her head. No, nothing but literature lies beyond the ripples which splashed musically upon the shore, terminating forever the last vibration from that immeasurable catastrophe.
Why should I go on? The newspapers of the nation have recorded the last scenes of the tragedy.
We know that tons of dynamite are being forwarded to that solitary lake. We know that it is the determination of the Government to rid the world of those gigantic minnows.
And yet, somehow, it seems to me as I sit writing here in my office, amid the verdure of Bronx Park, that the destruction of these enormous fish is a mistake.
What more splendid sarcophagus could the ladies of the lake desire than these huge, silvery, itinerant and living tombs?
What reward more sumptuous could anybody wish for than to rest at last within the interior dimness of an absolutely new species of anything?
For me, such a final repose as this would represent the highest pinnacle of sublimity, the uttermost zenith of mortal dignity.