Flushing began to wonder where they were to sleep, for they could not sleep downstairs, they could not sleep in a
doghole smelling of oil, they could not sleep on deck, they could not sleep--She yawned profoundly.
Considering the present advancement state of culture, and how the Torch of Science has now been brandished and borne about, with more or less effect, for fine thousand years and upwards; how in these times especially, not only still the Torch burns, and perhaps more fiercely than ever, but innumerably Rush-lights and Sulphur-matches, kindled thereat, are also glancing in every direction, so that not the smallest cranny or
doghole in Nature or Art can remain unilluminated....