"Still behind the steps I hear
Of my life-companion Fear,"
writes even the poet. Fear, it is the Atlas that bears the world upon its shoulders. But what world? That world that is as unreal as a child's bubble with its painted sides. And the difference between the true world of thought and the seeming is this, the true rests upon dauntless courage, the false upon fear.
Say to the false claimants upon your attention, I will not deal with you singly— send me your representative, one who embodies you all, and whom when I conquer, I conquer you all. Then forth from out the ghostly crowd they push to you the stalking giant Fear. "We fear evil" says Emerson, "but fear itself is evil."
