Excerpt from A Magazine of Letters, Vol. 13 Time was when poets spun The precious burden of the brain into Cocoons of song wherein their souls might live; But now, like geometric spiders, nets They weave to catch the iridescent flies That buzz ephemeral opinions. This tale was told by one who neither spun Nor wove, but, like a bard-imago, passed His life extracting nectar from all blooms That blow upon the poison-weeds that mar The sunlit garden of experience. Part I. - the screen. I knew a man some years ago, or, thought I knew him, rather; tagged him off as cold, Hard, formal, an avaricious man. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.