From space to the sky, from the sky to the hills, and
the sea; to every blade of grass, to every leaf, to the
smallest insect, to the million waves of ocean. Yet this
earth itself appears but a mote in that sunbeam by which
we are conscious of one narrow streak in the abyss. A beam
crosses my silent chamber from the window, and atoms are
visible in it; a beam slants between the fir-trees, and
particles rise and fall within, and cross it while the air
each side seems void. Through the heavens a beam slants,
and we are aware of the star-stratum in which our earth
moves. But what may be without that stratum? Certainly it
is not a void. This light tells us much, but I think in
the course of time yet more delicate and subtle mediums
than light may be found, and through these we shall see
into the shadows of the sky. When will it be possible to
be certain that the capacity of a single atom has been
exhausted. At any moment some fortunate incident may
reveal a fresh power. One by one the powers of light have
been unfolded.