This was John O'Loughlin's first substantial collection of essays, with one or two quite long examples of the genre that sufficed to complement, at the time, the author's commitment to narrative fiction. Although the opening essays are arguably better and more enjoyable than the concluding ones, the latter show the rudiments of an independent philosophical position, much as they are tarred by Spenglerian pessimism and a certain anti-urbanism which is more reactionary than revolutionary in scope. Nevertheless there are positive currents in this collection, even if the importance of 'love' is misplaced in relation to the soul.