,,the ,,thread ,,of ,,gold ,,by ,,arthur ,,christopher ,,benson ,,fellow ,,of ,,magdalene ,,college1 ,,cambridge ,,author ,,of ,,the ,,house ,,of ,,quiet ,quem locum nsti mihi destinatum8 ,quo meos gressus regis8 ,,london ,,john ,,murray1 ,,albemarle ,,street1 ,w #aiab ,,first ,,edition1 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 ,november #aije ,reprinted1 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 ,november #aije ,reprinted1 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 ,january #aijf ,reprinted1 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 ,october #aijf ,,second ,,edition1 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 ,december #aijf ,reprinted1 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 ,january #aijg ,,third ,,edition1 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 ,october #aijg ,reprinted1 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 ,november #aijg ,,fourth ,,edition 7#a_/- net7 4 4 4 4 4 ,may #aiaj ,reprinted1 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 ,october #aiaj ,reprinted1 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 ,january #aiaa ,reprinted1 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 ,may #aiaa ,reprinted1 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 ,july #aiab ,transcriber's note3 ,the source book had no ,table of ,contents and its chapters were numbered only1 not titled4 ,however1 its pages had running headers which changed with each chapter4 ,those headers have been converted to chapter titles1 and collected here as the ,table of ,contents4 ,,contents ,preface ,introduction 7#aijf7 ,introduction ,i4 ,the ,red ,spring ,,ii4 ,the ,deserted ,shrine1 ,the ,manor ,house ,,iii4 ,leucocholy ,,iv4 ,the ,flower ,v4 ,the ,fens ,,vi4 ,the ,well and the ,chapel ,,vii4 ,the ,cuckoo ,,viii4 ,spring-time ,,ix4 ,the ,hare ,x4 ,the ,diplodocus ,,xi4 ,the ,beetle ,,xii4 ,the ,farm-yard ,,xiii4 ,the ,artist ,,xiv4 ,young ,love ,,xv4 ,a ,strange ,gathering ,,xvi4 ,the ,cripple ,,xvii4 ,oxford ,,xviii4 ,authorship ,,xix4 ,hamlet ,,xx4 ,a ,sealed ,spirit ,,xxi4 ,leisure ,,xxii4 ,the ,pleasures of ,work ,,xxiii4 ,the ,abbey ,,xxiv4 ,wordsworth ,,xxv4 ,dorsetshire ,,xxvi4 ,portland ,,xxvii4 ,canterbury ,tower ,,xxviii4 ,prayer ,,xxix4 ,the ,death-bed of ,jacob ,,xxx4 ,by the ,sea of ,galilee ,,xxxi4 ,the ,apocalypse ,,xxxii4 ,the ,statue ,,xxxiii4 ,the ,mystery of ,suffering ,,xxxiv4 ,music ,,xxxv4 ,the ,faith of ,christ ,,xxxvi4 ,the ,mystery of ,evil ,,xxxvii4 ,renewal ,,xxxviii4 ,the ,secret ,,xxxix4 ,the ,message ,,xl4 ,after ,death ,,xli4 ,the ,eternal ,will ,,xlii4 ,until the ,time ,conclusion ,,preface ,i sate to-day1 in a pleasant hour1 at a place called ,the ,seven ,springs1 high up in a green valley of the ,cotswold hills4 ,close beside the road1 seven clear rills ripple out into a small pool1 and the air is musical with the sound of running water4 ,above me1 in a little thicket1 a full-fed thrush sent out one long-drawn cadence after another1 in the joy of his heart1 while the lengthening shadows of bush and tree crept softly over the pale sward of the old pasture-lands1 in the westering light of the calm afternoon4 ,these springs are the highest head-waters of the ,thames1 and that fact is stated in a somewhat stilted ,latin hexameter carved on a stone of the wall beside the pool4 ,the so-called ,thames-head is in a meadow down below ,cirencester1 where a deliberate engine pumps up1 from a hidden well1 thousands of gallons a day of the purest water1 which begins the service of man at once by helping to swell the scanty flow of the ,thames and ,severn ,canal4 ,but ,the ,seven ,springs are the highest hill-fount of ,father ,thames for all that1 streaming as they do from the eastward ridge of the great oolite crest of the downs that overhang ,cheltenham4 ,as soon as those rills are big enough to form a stream1 the gathering of waters is known as the ,churn1 which1 speeding down by ,rendcomb with its ancient oaks1 and ,cerney1 in a green elbow of the valley1 join the ,thames at ,cricklade4 ,it was of the essence of poetry to feel that the water-drops which thus babbled out at my feet in the spring sunshine would be moving1 how many days hence1 beside the green playing-fields at ,eton1 scattered1 diminished1 travel-worn1 polluted2 but still1 under night and stars1 through the sunny river-reaches1 through hamlet and city1 by water-meadow or wharf1 the same and no other4 ,and half in fancy1 half in earnest1 ,i bound upon the heedless waters a little message of love for the fields and trees so dear to me4 ,what a strange parable it all made6 the sparkling drops so soon lost to sight and thought alike1 each with its own definite place in the limitless mind of ,god1 all numbered1 none forgotten2 each drop1--bright1 new-born1 and fresh as it appeared1 racing out so light-heartedly into the sun1--yet as old1 and older1 than the rocks from which it sprang6 ,how often had those water-drops been woven into cloud-wreaths1 through what centuries they had leapt and plunged among sea-billows1 or lain cold and dark in the ocean depths1 since the day when this mass of matter that we call the earth had been cut off and sent whirling into space1 a molten drop from the fierce vortex of its central sun6 ,and1 what is the strangest thought of all1 ,i can sit here myself1 a tiny atom spun from drift of storms1 and concourse of frail dust1 and1 however dimly and faintly1 depict the course of things1 trace1 through some subtle faculty1 the movement of the mind of ,god through the aeons2 and yet1 though ,i can send my mind into the past and the future1 though ,i can see the things that are not and the things that are1 ,i am denied the least inkling of what it all signifies1 what the slow movement of the ages is all aimed at1 and even what the swift interchange of light and darkness1 pain and pleasure1 sickness and health1 love and hate1 is meant to mean to me--whether there is a purpose and an end at all1 or whether ,i am just allowed1 for my short space of days1 to sit1 a bewildered spectator1 at some vast and unintelligible drama4 ,yet to-day the soft sunshine1 the babbling springs1 the valley brimmed with haze1 the bird's sweet song1 all seem framed to assure me that ,god means us well1 urgently1 intensely well4 ,my ,gospel1 wrote one to me the other day1 whose feet move lightly on the threshold of life1 is the ,gospel of contentment4 ,i do not see the necessity of asking myself uneasy and metaphysical questions about the ,why and the ,wherefore and the ,what4 ,the necessity8 ,ah1 no6 ,but if one is forced1 against one's will and hope1 to go astray in the wilderness out of the way1 to find oneself lonely and hungry1 one must needs pluck the bitter berries of the place for such sustenance as one can4 ,i doubt1 indeed1 whether one is able to compel oneself into and out of certain trains of thought4 ,if one dislikes and dreads introspection1 one will doubtless be happier for finding something definite to do instead4 ,but even so1 the thoughts buzz in one's ears2 and then1 too1 the very wonder about such things has produced some of the most beautiful things in the world1 such as ,hamlet1 or ,keats' ,ode to the ,nightingale1 things we could not well do without4 ,who is to decide which is the nobler1 wiser1 righter course8 ,to lose oneself in a deep wonder1 with an anxious hope that one may discern the light2 or1 on the other hand1 to mingle with the world1 to work1 to plan1 to strive1 to talk1 to do the conventional things8 ,we choose 7so we call it7 the path that suits us best1 though we disguise our motives in many ways1 because we hardly dare to confess to ourselves how frail is our faculty of choice at all4 ,but1 to speak frankly1 what we all do is to follow the path where we feel most at home1 most natural2 and the longer ,i live the more ,i feel that we do the things we are impelled to do1 the works prepared for us to walk in1 as the old collect says4 ,how often1 in real life1 do we see any one making a clean sweep of all his conditions and surroundings1 to follow the path of the soul8 ,how often do we see a man abjure wealth1 or resist ambition1 or disregard temperament1 unexpectedly8 ,not once1 ,i think1 to speak for myself1 in the whole of my experience4 ,this1 then1 is the motif of the following book3 that whether we are conquerors or conquered1 triumphant or despairing1 prosperous or pitiful1 well or ailing1 we are all these things through ,him that loves us4 ,we are here1 ,i believe1 to learn rather than to teach1 to endure rather than to act1 to be slain rather than to slay2 we are tolerated in our errors and our hardness1 in our conceit and our security1 by the great1 kindly1 smiling ,heart that bade us be4 ,we can make things a little easier for ourselves and each other2 but the end is not there3 what we are meant to become is joyful1 serene1 patient1 waiting momently upon ,god2 we are to become1 if we can1 content not to be content1 full of tenderness and loving-kindness for all the frail beings that1 like ourselves1 suffer and rejoice4 ,but though we are bound to ameliorate1 to improve1 to lessen1 so far as we can1 the brutal promptings of the animal self that cause the greatest part of our unhappiness1 we have yet to learn to hope that when things seem at their worst1 they are perhaps at their best1 for then we are1 indeed1 at work upon our hard lesson2 and perhaps the day may come when1 looking back upon the strange tangle of our lives1 we may see that the time was most wasted when we were serene1 easy1 prosperous1 and unthinking1 and most profitable when we were anxious1 overshadowed1 and suffering4 ,the ,thread of ,gold is the fibre of limitless hope that runs through our darkest dreams2 and just as the water-drop which ,i saw break to-day from the darkness of the hill1 and leap downwards in its channel1 will see and feel1 in its seaward course1 many sweet and gentle things1 as well as many hard and evil matters1 so ,i1 in a year of my pilgrimage1 have set down in this book1 a frank picture of many little experiences and thoughts1 both good and evil4 ,sometimes the water-drop glides in the sun among mossy ledges1 or lingers by the edge of the copse1 where the hazels lean together2 but sometimes it is darkened and polluted1 so that it would seem that the foul oozings that infect it could never be purged away4 ,but the turbid elements1 the scum1 the mud1 the slime--each of which1 after all1 have their place in the vast economy of things--float and sink to their destined abode2 and the crystal drop1 released and purified1 runs joyfully onwards in its appointed way4 ,a4 ,c4 ,b4 ,,cirencester1 #hth ,april #aijg4 ,,introduction 7#aijf7 ,i am glad to have the opportunity of saying a few words in my own name about this book1 because the original introduction seems to have misled some of my readers2 and as ,i have had many kind1 encouraging1 and sacred messages about the book from very unexpected quarters1 ,i should like to add a few further words of explanation4 ,one of the difficulties under which literary art seems to me to labour is that it feels bound to run in certain channels1 to adopt stereotyped and conventional media of expression4 ,what can be more conventional than the average play1 or the average novel8 ,people in real life do not behave or talk--at least1 this is my experience--in the smallest degree as they behave or talk in novels or plays2 life as a rule has no plot1 and very few dramatic situations4 ,in real life the adventures are scanty1 and for most of us existence moves on in a commonplace and inconsequent way4 ,misunderstandings are not cleared up1 complexities are not unravelled4 ,i think it is time that more unconventional forms of expression should be discovered and used2 and at least1 we can try experiments2 the experiment that ,i have here tried1 is to present a sort of liber studiorum1 a portfolio of sketches and impressions4 ,the only coherence they possess is that1 at the time when they were written1 ,i was much preoccupied with the wonder as to whether an optimistic view of life was justified4 ,the world is a very mysterious place1 and at first sight it presents a sad scene of confusion4 ,the wrong people often seem to be punished2 blessings1 such as those heaped upon the head of the patriarch ,job1 do not seem to be accumulated upon the righteous4 ,in fact1 the old epigram that prosperity is the blessing of the ,old ,testament1 adversity the blessing of the ,new1 seems frequently justified4 ,but1 after all1 the only soul-history that one knows well enough to say whether or not the experience of life is adapted to the qualities of the particular soul1 is one's own history2 and1 speaking for myself1 ,i can but say1 looking back upon my life1 that it does seem to have been regulated hitherto by a very tender and intimate kind of guidance1 though ,i did not always see how delicate the adaptation of it was at the time4 ,the idea of this book1 that there is a certain golden thread of hope and love interwoven with all our lives1 running consistently through the coarsest and darkest fabric1 was what ,i set out to illustrate rather than to prove4 ,everything that bore upon this fact1 while the book was being written1 ,i tried to express as simply and as lucidly as ,i could4 ,the people who have thought the book formless or lacking in structure1 are perfectly right4 ,it is not1 and it did not set out to be1 a finished picture1 with a due subordination of groups and backgrounds4 ,to me personally1 though a finished picture is a beautiful and an admirable thing1 the loose1 unconsidered sketches and studies of an artist have a special charm4 ,of an artist1 ,i say2 have ,i then a claim to be considered an artist8 ,i cannot answer that question1 but ,i will go further and say that the sketches of the humblest amateur have an interest for me1 which their finished pictures often lack4 ,one sees a revelation of personality1 one sees what sort of things strike an individual mind as beautiful1 one sees the method with which it deals with artistic difficulties4 ,the most interesting things of the kind ,i have ever seen are the portfolios of sketches by ,leonardo da ,vinci in the ,royal library at ,windsor2 outlines of heads1 features1 flowers1 backgrounds1 strange engines of war1 wings of birds--the dbris1 almost1 of the studio--are there piled up in confusion4 ,and in a lesser degree the same is true of all such collections1 though perhaps this shows that one is more interested in personality than in artistic performance4 ,a good many people1 too1 have a gift for presenting a simple impression of a beautiful thing1 who have not the patience or the power of combination necessary for working out a finished design2 and surely it is foolish to let the convention of art overrule a man's capacities8 ,to allow that1 to acquiesce in silence1 to say that because one cannot express a thing in a certain way1 one will not express it at all1 seems to me to be making an instinct into a moral sanction4 ,one must express whatever one desires to express1 as clearly and as beautifully as possible1 and one must take one's chance as to whether it is a work of art4 ,to hold one's tongue1 if anything appears to be worth saying1 because one does not know the exact code of the professionals1 is as foolish as if a man born in a certain class of society were to say that he would never go to any social gathering except those of his precise social equals1 because he was afraid of making mistakes of etiquette4 ,etiquette is not a matter of principle2 it was not one of the things of which ,moses saw the pattern in the ,mount6 ,the only rule is not to be pretentious or assuming1 not to claim that one's efforts are necessarily worthy of admiration and attention4 ,there is a better reason too4 ,orthodoxy in art is merely compliance with the instinctive methods of great artists1 and no one ever succeeded in art who did not make a method of his own4 ,originality is like a fountain-head of fresh water2 orthodoxy is too often only the unimpeachable fluid of the water company4 ,the best hope for the art and literature of a nation is that men should try to represent and express things that they have thought beautiful in an individual way4 ,they do not always succeed1 it is true2 sometimes they fail for lack of force1 sometimes for lack of a sympathetic audience4 ,i have found1 in the case of this book1 a good deal of sincere sympathy2 and where it fails1 it fails through lack of force to express thoughts that ,i have felt with a profound intensity4 ,i have had critics who have frankly disliked the book1 and ,i do not in the least quarrel with them for expressing their opinion2 but one does not write solely for the critics2 and on the other hand1 ,i can humbly and gratefully say that ,i have received many messages1 of pleasure in1 and even gratitude for1 the book which leave me in no sort of doubt that it was worth writing2 though ,i wish with all my heart that it had been worthier of its motive1 and had been better able to communicate the delight of my visions and dreams4 ,,arthur ,,christopher ,,benson4 ,,magdalene ,,college1 ,,cambridge1 #bdth ,november #aijf4 ,,the ,,thread ,,of ,,gold ,,introduction ,i have for a great part of my life desired1 perhaps more than ,i have desired anything else1 to make a beautiful book2 and ,i have tried1 perhaps too hard and too often1 to do this1 without ever quite succeeding2 by that ,i mean that my little books1 when finished1 were not worthy to be compared with the hope that ,i had had of them4 ,i think now that ,i tried to do too many things in my books1 to amuse1 to interest1 to please persons who might read them2 and ,i fear1 too1 that in the back of my mind there lay a thought1 like a snake in its hole--the desire to show others how fine ,i could be4 ,i tried honestly not to let this thought rule me2 whenever it put its head out1 ,i drove it back2 but of course ,i ought to have waited till it came out1 and then killed it1 if ,i had only known how to do that2 but ,i suppose ,i had a secret tenderness for the little creature as being indeed a part of myself4 ,but now ,i have hit upon a plan which ,i hope may succeed4 ,i do not intend to try to be interesting and amusing1 or even fine4 ,i mean to put into my book only the things that appear to me deep and strange and beautiful2 and ,i can happily say that things seem to me to be more and more beautiful every day4 ,as when a man goes on a journey1 and sees1 in far-off lands1 things that please him1 things curious and rare1 and buys them1 not for himself or for his own delight1 but for the delight of one that sits at home1 whom he loves and thinks of1 and wishes every day that he could see2--well1 ,i will try to be like that4 ,i will keep the thought of those whom ,i love best in my mind--and ,god has been very good in sending me many1 both old and young1 whom ,i love--and ,i will try to put down in the best words that ,i can find the things that delight me1 not for my sake but for theirs4 ,for one of the strangest things of all about beauty is1 that it is often more clearly perceived when expressed by another1 than when we see it for ourselves4 ,the only difficulty that ,i see ahead is that many of the things that ,i love best and that give me the best joy1 are things that cannot be told1 cannot be translated into words3 deep and gracious mysteries1 rays of light1 delicate sounds4 ,but ,i will keep out of my book all the things1 so far as ,i can1 which bring me mere trouble and heaviness2 cares and anxieties and bodily pains and dreariness and unkind thoughts and anger1 and all uncleanness4 ,i cannot tell why our life should be so sadly bound up with these matters2 the only comfort is that even out of this dark and heavy soil beautiful flowers sometimes spring4 ,for instance1 the pressure of a care1 an anxiety1 a bodily pain1 has sometimes brought with it a perception which ,i have lacked when ,i have been bold and joyful and robust4 ,a fit of anger too1 by clearing away little clouds of mistrust and suspicion1 has more than once given me a friendship that endures and blesses me4 ,but beauty1 innocent beauty of thought1 of sound1 of sight1 seems to me to be perhaps the most precious thing in the world1 and to hold within it a hope which stretches away even beyond the grave4 ,out of silence and nothingness we arise2 we have our short space of sight and hearing2 and then into the silence we depart4 ,but in that interval we are surrounded by much joy4 ,sometimes the path is hard and lonely1 and we stumble in miry ways2 but sometimes our way is through fields and thickets1 and the valley is full of sunset light4 ,if we could be more calm and quiet1 less anxious about the impression we produce1 more quick to welcome what is glad and sweet1 more simple1 more contented1 what a gain would be there6 ,i wonder more and more every day that ,i live that we do not value better the thought of these calmer things1 because the least effort to reach them seems to pull down about us a whole cluster of wholesome fruits1 grapes of ,eschol1 apples of ,paradise4 ,we are kept back1 it seems to me1 by a kind of silly fear of ridicule1 from speaking more sincerely and instantly of these delights4 ,i read the ,life of a great artist the other day who received a title of honour from the ,state4 ,i do not think he cared much for the title itself1 but he did care very much for the generous praise of his friends that the little piece of honour called forth4 ,i will not quote his exact words1 but he said in effect that he wondered why friends should think it necessary to wait for such an occasion to indulge in the noble pleasure of praising1 and why they should not rather have a day in the year when they could dare to write to the friends whom they admired and loved1 and praise them for being what they were4 ,of course if such a custom were to become general1 it would be clumsily spoilt by foolish persons1 as all things are spoilt which become conventional4 ,but the fact remains that the sweet pleasure of praising1 of encouraging1 of admiring and telling our admiration1 is one that we ,english people are sparing of1 to our own loss and hurt4 ,it is just as false to refrain from saying a generous thing for fear of being thought insincere and what is horribly called gushing1 as it is to say a hard thing for the sake of being thought straightforward4 ,if a hard thing must be said1 let us say it with pain and tenderness1 but faithfully4 ,and if a pleasant thing can be said1 let us say it with joy1 and with no less faithfulness4 ,now ,i must return to my earlier purpose1 and say that ,i mean that this little book shall go about with me1 and that ,i will write in it only strange and beautiful things4 ,i have many businesses in the world1 and take delight in many of them2 but we cannot always be busy4 ,so when ,i have seen or heard something that gives me joy1 whether it be a new place1 or1 what is better still1 an old familiar place transfigured by some happy accident of sun or moon into a mystery2 or if ,i have been told of a generous and beautiful deed1 or heard even a sad story that has some seed of hope within it2 or if ,i have met a gracious and kindly person2 or if ,i have read a noble book1 or seen a rare picture or a curious flower2 or if ,i have heard a delightful music2 or if ,i have been visited by one of those joyful and tender thoughts that set my feet the right way1 ,i will try to put it down1 ,god prospering me4 ,for thus ,i think that ,i shall be truly interpreting his loving care for the little souls of men4 ,and ,i call my book ,the ,thread of ,gold1 because this beauty of which ,i have spoken seems to me a thing which runs like a fine and precious clue through the dark and sunless labyrinths of the world4 ,and1 lastly1 ,i pray ,god with all my heart1 that he may1 in this matter1 let me help and not hinder his will4 ,i often cannot divine what his will is1 but ,i have seen and heard enough to be sure that it is high and holy1 even when it seems to me hard to discern1 and harder still to follow4 ,nothing shall here be set down that does not seem to me to be perfectly pure and honest2 nothing that is not wise and true4 ,it may be a vain hope that ,i nourish1 but ,i think that ,god has put it into my heart to write this book1 and ,i hope that he will allow me to persevere4 ,and yet indeed ,i know that ,i am not fit for so holy a task1 but perhaps he will give me fitness1 and cleanse my tongue with a coal from his altar fire4 ,i ,the ,red ,spring ,very deep in this enchanted land of green hills in which ,i live1 lies a still and quiet valley4 ,no road runs along it2 but a stream with many curves and loops1 deep-set in hazels and alders1 moves brimming down4 ,there is no house to be seen2 nothing but pastures and little woods which clothe the hill-sides on either hand4 ,in one of these fields1 not far from the stream1 lies a secluded spot that ,i visit duly from time to time4 ,it is hard enough to find the place2 and ,i have sometimes directed strangers to it1 who have returned without discovering it4 ,some twenty yards away from the stream1 with a ring of low alders growing round it1 there is a pool2 not like any other pool ,i know4 ,the basin in which it lies is roughly circular1 some ten feet across4 ,i suppose it is four or five feet deep4 ,from the centre of the pool rises an even gush of very pure water1 with a certain hue of green1 like a faintly-tinted gem4 ,the water in its flow makes a perpetual dimpling on the surface2 ,i have never known it to fail even in the longest droughts2 and in sharp frosty days there hangs a little smoke above it1 for the water is of a noticeable warmth4 ,this spring is strongly impregnated with iron1 so strongly that it has a sharp and medical taste2 from what secret bed of metal it comes ,i do not know1 but it must be a bed of great extent1 for1 though the spring runs thus1 day by day and year by year1 feeding its waters with the bitter mineral over which it passes1 it never loses its tinge2 and the oldest tradition of the place is that it was even so centuries ago4 ,all the rest of the pool is full of strange billowy cloudlike growths1 like cotton-wool or clotted honey1 all reddened with the iron of the spring2 for it rusts on thus coming to the air4 ,but the orifice you can always see1 and that is of a dark blueness2 out of which the pure green water rises among the vaporous and filmy folds1 runs away briskly out of the pool in a little channel among alders1 all stained with the same orange tints1 and falls into the greater stream at a loop1 tinging its waters for a mile4 ,it is said to have strange health-giving qualities2 and the water is drunk beneath the moon by old country folk for wasting and weakening complaints4 ,its strength and potency have no enmity to animal life1 for the water-voles burrow in the banks and plunge with a splash in the stream2 but it seems that no vegetable thing can grow within it1 for the pool and channel are always free of weeds4 ,i like to stand upon the bank and watch the green water rise and dimple to the top of the pool1 and to hear it bickering away in its rusty channel4 ,but the beauty of the place is not a simple beauty2 there is something strange and almost fierce about the red-stained water-course2 something uncanny and terrifying about the filmy orange clouds that stir and sway in the pool2 and there sleeps1 too1 round the edges of the basin a bright and viscous scum1 with a certain ugly radiance1 shot with colours that are almost too sharp and fervid for nature4 ,it seems as though some diligent alchemy was at work1 pouring out from moment to moment this strangely tempered potion4 ,in summer it is more bearable to look upon1 when the grass is bright and soft1 when the tapestry of leaves and climbing plants is woven over the skirts of the thicket1 when the trees are in joyful leaf4 ,but in the winter1 when all tints are low and spare1 when the pastures are yellowed with age1 and the hillside wrinkled with cold1 when the alder-rods stand up stiff and black1 and the leafless tangled boughs are smooth like wire2 then the pool has a certain horror1 as it pours out its rich juice1 all overhung with thin steam4 ,but ,i doubt not that ,i read into it some thoughts of my own2 for it was on such a day of winter1 when the sky was full of inky clouds1 and the wood murmured like a falling sea in the buffeting wind1 that ,i made a grave and sad decision beside the red pool1 that has since tinged my life1 as the orange waters tinge the pale stream into which they fall4 ,the shadow of that severe resolve still broods about the place for me4 ,how often since in thought have ,i threaded the meadows1 and looked with the inward eye upon the green water rising1 rising1 and the crowded orange fleeces of the pool6 ,but stern though the resolve was1 it was not an unhappy one2 and it has brought into my life a firm and tonic quality1 which seems to me to hold within it something of the astringent savour of the medicated waters1 and perhaps something of their health-giving powers as well4 ,,ii ,the ,deserted ,shrine1 ,the ,manor ,house ,i was making a vague pilgrimage to-day in a distant and unfamiliar part of the country1 a region that few people ever visit1 and saw two things that moved me strangely4 ,i left the high-road to explore a hamlet that lay down in a broad valley to the left2 and again diverged from the beaten track to survey an old grange that lay at a little distance among the fields4 ,turning a corner by some cottages1 ,i saw a small ancient chapel1 of brown weathered stone1 covered with orange lichen1 the roof of rough stone tiles4 ,in the narrow graveyard round it1 the grass grew long and rank2 the gateway was choked by briars4 ,i could see that the windows of the tiny building were broken4 ,i have never before in ,england seen a derelict church1 and ,i clambered over the wall to examine it more closely4 ,it stood very beautifully2 from the low wall of the graveyard1 on the further side1 you could look over a wide extent of rich water-meadows1 fed by full streams2 there was much ranunculus in flower on the edges of the water-courses1 and a few cattle moved leisurely about with a peaceful air4 ,far over the meadows1 out of a small grove of trees1 a manor-house held up its enquiring chimneys4 ,the door of the chapel was open1 and ,i have seldom seen a more pitiful sight than it revealed4 ,the roof within was of a plain and beautiful design1 with carved bosses1 and beams of some dark wood4 ,the chapel was fitted with oak ,jacobean woodwork1 pews1 a reading-desk1 and a little screen4 ,at the west was a tiny balustraded gallery4 ,but the whole was a scene of wretched confusion4 ,the woodwork was mouldering1 the red cloth of the pulpit hung raggedly down1 the leaves of the great prayer-book fluttered about the pavement1 in the draught from the door4 ,the whole place was gnawed by rats and shockingly befouled by birds2 there was a litter of rotting nests upon the altar itself4 ,yet in the walls were old memorial tablets1 and the passage of the nave was paved with lettered graves4 ,it brought back to me the beautiful lines-- ,en ara1 ramis ilicis obsita1 ,quae sacra ,chryses nomina fert deae1 ,neglecta2 jamdudum sepultus ,aedituus jacet et sacerdos4 ,outside the sun fell peacefully on the mellow walls1 and the starlings twittered in the roof2 but inside the deserted shrine there was a sense of broken trust1 of old memories despised1 of the altar of ,god shamed and dishonoured4 ,it was a pious design to build the little chapel there for the secluded hamlet2 and loving thought and care had gone to making the place seemly and beautiful4 ,the very stone of the wall1 and the beam of the roof cried out against the hard and untender usage that had laid the sanctuary low4 ,here children had been baptized1 tender marriage vows plighted1 and the dead laid to rest2 and this was the end4 ,i turned away with a sense of deep sadness2 the very sunshine seemed blurred with a shadow of dreariness and shame4 ,then ,i made my way1 by a stony road1 towards the manor-house2 and presently could see its gables at the end of a pleasant avenue of limes2 but no track led thither4 ,the gate was wired up1 and the drive overgrown with grass4 ,soon1 however1 ,i found a farm-road which led up to the house from the village4 ,on the left of the manor lay prosperous barns and byres1 full of sleek pigs and busy crested fowls4 ,the teams came clanking home across the water-meadows4 ,the house itself became more and more beautiful as ,i approached4 ,it was surrounded by a moat1 and here1 close at hand1 stood another ancient chapel1 in seemly repair4 ,all round the house grew dense thickets of sprawling laurels1 which rose in luxuriance from the edge of the water4 ,then ,i crossed a little bridge with a broken parapet2 and in front of me stood the house itself4 ,i have seldom seen a more perfectly proportioned or exquisitely coloured building4 ,there were three gables in the front1 the central one holding a beautiful oriel window1 with a fine oak door below4 ,the whole was built of a pale red brick1 covered with a grey lichen that cast a shimmering light over the front4 ,tall chimneys of solid grace rose from a stone-shingled roof4 ,the coigns1 parapets and mullions were all of a delicately-tinted orange stone4 ,to the right lay a big walled garden1 full of flowers growing with careless richness1 the whole bounded by the moat1 and looking out across the broad green water-meadows1 beyond which the low hills rose softly in gentle curves and dingles4 ,a whole company of amiable dogs1 spaniels and terriers1 came out with an effusive welcome2 a big black yard-dog1 after a loud protesting bark1 joined in the civilities4 ,and there ,i sat down in the warm sun1 to drink in the beauty of the scene1 while the moor-hens cried plaintively in the moat1 and the dogs disposed themselves at my feet4 ,the man who designed this old place must have had a wonderful sense of the beauty of proportion1 the charm of austere simplicity4 ,generation after generation must have loved the gentle dignified house1 with its narrow casements1 its high rooms4 ,though the name of the house1 though the tale of its dwellers was unknown to me1 ,i felt the appeal of the old associations that must have centred about it4 ,the whole air1 that quiet afternoon1 seemed full of the calling of forgotten voices1 and dead faces looked out from the closed lattices4 ,so near to my heart came the spirit of the ancient house1 that1 as ,i mused1 ,i felt as though even ,i myself had made a part of its past1 and as though ,i were returning from battling with the far-off world to the home of childhood4 ,the house seemed to regard me with a mournful and tender gaze1 as though it knew that ,i loved it1 and would fain utter its secrets in a friendly ear4 ,is it strange that a thing of man's construction should have so wistful yet so direct a message for the spirit8 ,well1 ,i hardly know what it was that it spoke of2 but ,i felt the care and love that had gone to the making of it1 and the dignity that it had won from rain and sun and the kindly hand of ,nature2 it spoke of hope and brightness1 of youth and joy2 and told me1 too1 that all things were passing away1 that even the house itself1 though it could outlive a few restless generations1 was indeed debita morti1 and bowed itself to its fall4 ,and then ,i too1 like a bird of passage that has alighted for a moment in some sheltered garden-ground1 must needs go on my way4 ,but the old house had spoken with me1 had left its mark upon my spirit4 ,and ,i know that in weary hours1 far hence1 ,i shall remember how it stood1 peering out of its tangled groves1 gazing at the sunrise and the sunset over the green flats1 waiting for what may be1 and dreaming of the days that are no more4 ,,iii ,leucocholy ,i have had to taste1 during the last few days1 ,i know not why1 of the cup of what ,gray called ,leucocholy2 it is not ,melancholy1 only the pale shadow of it4 ,that dark giant is1 doubtless1 stalking somewhere in the background1 and the shadow cast by his misshapen head passes over my little garden ground4 ,i do not readily submit to this mood1 and ,i would wish it away4 ,i would rather feel joyful and free from blame2 but ,gray called it a good easy state1 and it certainly has its compensations4 ,it does not1 like ,melancholy1 lay a dark hand on duties and pleasures alike2 it is possible to work1 to read1 to talk1 to laugh when it is by4 ,but it sends flowing through the mind a gentle current of sad and weary images and thoughts1 which still have a beauty of their own2 it tinges one's life with a sober greyness of hue2 it heightens perception1 though it prevents enjoyment4 ,in such a mood one can sit silent a long time1 with one's eyes cast upon the grass2 one sees the delicate forms of the tender things that spring softly out of the dark ground2 one hears with a poignant delight the clear notes of birds2 something of the spring languors move within the soul4 ,there is a sense1 too1 of reaching out to light and joy1 a stirring of the vague desires of the heart1 a tender hope1 an upward-climbing faith2 the heart sighs for a peace that it cannot attain4 ,to-day ,i walked slowly and pensively by little woods and pastures1 taking delight in all the quiet life ,i saw1 the bush pricked with points of green1 the boughs thickened with small reddening buds1 the slow stream moving through the pasture2 all the tints faint1 airy1 and delicate2 the life of the world seemed to hang suspended1 waiting for the forward leap4 ,in a little village ,i stood awhile to watch the gables of an ancient house1 the wing of a ruined grange1 peer solemnly over the mellow brick wall that guarded a close of orchard trees4 ,a little way behind1 the blunt pinnacles of the old church-tower stood up1 blue and dim1 over the branching elms2 beyond all ran the long1 pure line of the rising wold4 ,everything seemed so still1 so serene1 as a long1 pale ray of the falling sun1 which laboured among flying clouds1 touched the westward gables with gold--and mine the only troubled1 unquiet spirit4 ,hard by there was an old man tottering about in a little garden1 fumbling with some plants1 like ,laertes on the upland farm4 ,his worn face1 his ragged beard1 his pitifully-patched and creased garments made him a very type of an ineffectual sadness4 ,perhaps his thoughts ran as sadly as my own1 but ,i do not think it was so1 because the minds of many country-people1 and of almost all the old1 of whatever degree1 seem to me free from what is the curse of delicately-trained and highly-strung temperaments--namely1 the temptation to be always reverting to the past1 or forecasting the future4 ,simple people and aged people put that aside1 and live quite serenely in the moment2 and that is what ,i believe we ought all to attempt1 for most moments are bearable1 if one only does not import into them the weight of the future and the regret of the past4 ,to seize the moment with all its conditions1 to press the quality out of it1 that is the best victory4 ,but1 alas6 we are so made that though we may know that a course is the wise1 the happy1 the true course1 we cannot always pursue it4 ,i remember a story of a public man who bore his responsibilities very hardly1 worried and agonised over them1 saying to ,mr ,gladstone1 who was at that time in the very thick of a fierce political crisis3 ,but don't you find you lie awake at night1 thinking how you ought to act1 and how you ought to have acted8 ,mr ,gladstone turned his great1 flashing eyes upon his interlocutor1 and said1 with a look of wonder3 ,no1 ,i don't2 where would be the use of that8 ,and again ,i remember that old ,canon ,beadon--who lived1 ,i think1 to his #ajdth year--said to a friend that the secret of long life in his own case was that he had never thought of anything unpleasant after ten o'clock at night4 ,of course1 if you have a series of compartments in your brain1 and at ten o'clock can turn the key quietly upon the room that holds the skeletons and nightmares1 you are a very fortunate man4 ,but still1 we can all of us do something4 ,if one has the courage and good sense1 when in a melancholy mood1 to engage in some piece of practical work1 it is wonderful how one can distract the great beast that1 left to himself1 crops and munches the tender herbage of the spirit4 ,for myself ,i have generally a certain number of dull tasks to perform1 not in themselves interesting1 and out of which little pleasure can be extracted1 except the pleasure which always results from finishing a piece of necessary work4 ,when ,i am wise1 ,i seize upon a day in which ,i am overhung with a shadow of sadness to clear off work of this kind4 ,it is in itself a distraction1 and then one has the pleasure both of having fought the mood and also of having left the field clear for the mind1 when it has recovered its tone1 to settle down firmly and joyfully to more congenial labours4 ,to-day1 little by little1 the cloudy mood drew off and left me smiling4 ,the love of the peaceful and patient earth came to comfort me4 ,how pure and free were the long lines of ploughland1 the broad back of the gently-swelling down6 ,how clear and delicate were the ,february tints1 the aged grass1 the leafless trees6 ,what a sense of coolness and repose6 ,i stopped a long time upon a rustic-timbered bridge to look at a little stream that ran beneath the road1 winding down through a rough pasture-field1 with many thorn-thickets4 ,the water1 lapsing slowly through withered flags1 had the pure1 gem-like quality of the winter stream2 in summer it will become dim and turbid with infusorial life1 but now it is like a pale jewel4 ,how strange1 ,i thought1 to think of this liquid gaseous juice1 which we call water1 trickling in the cracks of the earth6 ,and just as the fish that live in it think of it as their world1 and have little cognisance of what happens in the acid1 unsubstantial air above1 except the occasional terror of the dim1 looming forms which come past1 making the soft banks quiver and stir1 so it may be with us2 there may be a great mysterious world outside of us1 of which we sometimes see the dark manifestations1 and yet of the conditions of which we are wholly unaware4 ,and now it grew dark2 the horizon began to redden and smoulder2 the stream gleamed like a wan thread among the distant fields4 ,it was time to hurry home1 to dip in the busy tide of life again4 ,where was my sad mood gone8 ,the clear air seemed to have blown through my mind1 hands had been waved to me from leafless woods1 quiet voices of field and stream had whispered me their secrets2 ,we would tell1 if we could1 they seemed to say4 ,and ,i1 listening1 had learnt patience1 too--for awhile4 ,,iv ,the ,flower ,i have made friends with a new flower4 ,if it had a simple and wholesome ,english name1 ,i would like to know it1 though ,i do not care to know what ugly and clumsy title the botany books may give it2 but it lives in my mind1 a perfect and complete memory of brightness and beauty1 and1 as ,i have said1 a friend4 ,it was in a steep sea-cove that ,i saw it4 ,round a small circular basin of blue sea ran up gigantic cliffs1 grey limestone bluffs2 here and there1 where they were precipitous1 slanted the monstrous wavy lines of distorted strata1 thrust up1 ,god alone knows how many ages ago1 by some sharp and horrible shiver of the boiling earth4 ,little waves broke on the pebbly beach at our feet1 and all the air was full of pleasant sharp briny savours4 ,a few boats were drawn up on the shingle2 lobster-pots1 nets1 strings of cork1 spars1 oars1 lay in pleasant confusion1 by the sandy road that led up to the tiny hamlet above4 ,we had travelled far that day and were comfortably weary2 we found a sloping ledge of turf upon which we sat1 and presently became aware that on the little space of grass between us and the cliff must once have stood a cottage and a cottage garden4 ,there was a broken wall behind us1 and the little platform still held some garden flowers sprawling wildly1 a stunted fruitbush or two1 a knotted apple-tree4 ,my own flower1 or the bushes on which it grew1 had once1 ,i think1 formed part of the cottage hedge2 but it had found a wider place to its liking1 for it ran riot everywhere2 it scaled the cliff1 where1 too1 the golden wall-flowers of the garden had gained a footing2 it fringed the sand-patches beyond us1 it rooted itself firmly in the shingle4 ,the plant had rough light-brown branches1 which were now all starred with the greenest tufts imaginable2 but the flower itself6 ,on many of the bushes it was not yet fully out1 and showed only in an abundance of small lilac balls1 carefully folded2 but just below me a cluster had found the sun and the air too sweet to resist1 and had opened to the light4 ,the flower was of a delicate veined purple1 a five-pointed star1 with a soft golden heart4 ,all the open blossoms stared at me with a tranquil gaze1 knowing ,i would not hurt them4 ,below1 two fishermen rowed a boat quietly out to sea1 the sharp creaking of the rowlocks coming lazily to our ears in the pauses of the wind4 ,the little waves fell with a soft thud1 followed by the crisp echo of the surf1 feeling all round the shingly cove4 ,the whole place1 in that fresh spring day1 was unutterably peaceful and content4 ,and ,i too forgot all my busy schemes and hopes and aims1 the tiny part ,i play in the world1 with so much petty energy1 such anxious responsibility4 ,my purple-starred flower approved of my acquiescence1 smiling trustfully upon me4 ,here1 it seemed to say1 ,i bloom and brighten1 spring after spring4 ,no one regards me1 no one cares for me2 no one praises my beauty2 no one sorrows when these leaves grow pale1 when ,i fall from my stem1 when my dry stalks whisper together in the winter wind4 ,but to you1 because you have seen and loved me1 ,i whisper my secret4 ,and then the flower told me something that ,i cannot write even if ,i would1 because it is in the language unspeakable1 of which ,st ,paul wrote that such words are not lawful for a man to utter2 but they are heard in the third heaven of ,god4 ,then ,i felt that if ,i could but remember what the flower said ,i should never grieve or strive or be sorrowful any more2 but1 as the wise ,psalmist said1 be content to tarry the ,lord's leisure4 ,yet1 even when ,i thought that ,i had the words by heart1 they ceased like a sweet music that comes to an end1 and which the mind cannot recover4 ,i saw many other things that day1 things beautiful and wonderful1 no doubt2 but they had no voice for me1 like the purple flower2 or if they had1 the sea wind drowned them in the utterance1 for their voices were of the earth2 but the flower's voice came1 as ,i have said1 from the innermost heaven4 ,i like well to go on pilgrimage2 and in spite of weariness and rainy weather1 and the stupid chatter of the men and women who congregate like fowls in inn-parlours1 ,i pile a little treasure of sights and sounds in my guarded heart1 memories of old buildings1 spring woods1 secluded valleys4 ,all these are things seen1 impressions registered and gratefully recorded4 ,but my flower is somehow different from all these2 and ,i shall never again hear the name of the place mentioned1 or even see a map of that grey coast1 without a quiet thrill of gladness at the thought that there1 spring by spring1 blooms my little friend1 whose heart ,i read1 who told me its secret2 who will wait for me to return1 and indeed will be faithfully and eternally mine1 whether ,i return or no4 ,v ,the ,fens ,i have lately become convinced--and ,i do not say it either sophistically1 to plead a bad cause with dexterity1 or resignedly1 to make the best out of a poor business2 but with a true and hearty conviction--that the most beautiful country in ,england is the flat fenland4 ,i do not here mean moderately flat country1 low sweeps of land1 like the heaving of a dying groundswell2 that has a miniature beauty1 a stippled delicacy of its own1 but it is not a fine quality of charm4 ,the country that ,i would praise is the rigidly and mathematically flat country of ,eastern ,england1 lying but a few feet above the sea1 plains which were once the bottoms of huge and ancient swamps4 ,in the first place1 such country gives a wonderful sense of expanse and space2 from an eminence of a few feet you can see what in other parts of ,england you have to climb a considerable hill to discern4 ,i love to feast my eyes on the interminable rich level plain1 with its black and crumbling soil2 the long simple lines of dykes and water-courses carry the eye peacefully out to a great distance2 then1 too1 by having all the landscape compressed into so narrow a space1 into a belt of what is1 to the eye1 only a few inches in depth1 you get an incomparable richness of colour4 ,the solitary distant clumps of trees surrounding a lonely farm gain a deep intensity of tint from the vast green level all about them2 and the line of the low far-off wolds1 that close the view many miles away1 is of a peculiar delicacy and softness2 the eye1 too1 is provided with a foreground of which the elements are of the simplest2 a reedy pool enclosed by willows1 the clustered buildings of a farmstead2 a grey church-tower peering out over churchyard elms2 and thus1 instead of being checked by near objects1 and hemmed in by the limited landscape1 the eye travels out across the plain with a sense of freedom and grateful repose4 ,then1 too1 there is the huge perspective of the sky2 nowhere else is it possible to see1 so widely1 the slow march of clouds from horizon to horizon2 it all gives a sense of largeness and tranquillity such as you receive upon the sea1 with the additional advantage of having the solid earth beneath you1 green and fertile1 instead of the steely waste of waters4 ,a day or two ago ,i found myself beside the lower waters of the ,cam1 in flat pastures1 full of ancient thorn-trees just bursting into bloom4 ,i gained the towing-path1 which led me out gradually into the heart of the fen2 the river ran1 or rather moved1 a sapphire streak1 between its high green flood-banks2 the wide spaces between the embanked path and the stream were full of juicy herbage1 great tracts of white cow-parsley1 with here and there a reed-bed4 ,i stood long to listen to the sharp song of the reed-warbler1 slipping from spray to spray of a willow-patch4 ,far to the north the great tower of ,ely rose blue and dim above the low lines of trees2 in the centre of the pastures lay the long brown line of the sedge-beds of ,wicken ,mere1 almost the only untouched tract of fenland2 slow herds of cattle grazed1 more and more minute1 in the unhedged pasture-land1 and the solitary figure of a labourer moving homeward on the top of the green dyke1 seemed in the long afternoon to draw no nearer4 ,here and there were the floodgates of a lode1 with the clear water slowly spilling itself over the rim of the sluice1 full of floating weed4 ,there was something infinitely reposeful in the solitude1 the width of the landscape2 there was no sense of crowded life1 no busy figures1 intent on their small aims1 to cross one's path1 no conflict1 no strife1 no bitterness1 no insistent voice2 yet there was no sense of desolation1 but rather the spectacle of glad and simple lives of plants and birds in the free air1 their wildness tamed by the far-off and controlling hand of man1 the calm earth patiently serving his ends4 ,i seemed to have passed out of modern life into a quieter and older world1 before men congregated into cities1 but lived the quiet and sequestered life of the country side2 and little by little there stole into my heart something of a dreamful tranquillity1 the calm of the slow brimming stream1 the leisurely herds1 the growing grass4 ,all seemed to be moving together1 neither lingering nor making haste1 to some far-off end within the quiet mind of ,god4 ,everything seemed to be waiting1 musing1 living the untroubled life of nature1 with no thought of death or care or sorrow4 ,i passed a trench of still water that ran as far as the eye could follow it across the flat2 it was full from end to end of the beautiful water violet1 the pale lilac flowers1 with their faint ethereal scent1 clustered on the head of a cool emerald spike1 with the rich foliage of the plant1 like fine green hair1 filling the water4 ,the rising of these beautiful forms1 by some secret consent1 in their appointed place and time1 out of the fresh clear water1 brought me a wistful sense of peace and order1 a desire for ,i hardly know what--a poised stateliness of life1 a tender beauty--if ,i could but win it for myself6 ,on and on1 hour by hour1 that still bright afternoon1 ,i made my slow way over the fen2 insensibly and softly the far-off villages fell behind2 and yet ,i seemed to draw no nearer to the hills of the horizon4 ,now and then ,i passed a lonely grange2 once or twice ,i came near to a tall shuttered engine-house of pale brick1 and heard the slow beat of the pumps within1 like the pulse of a hidden heart1 which drew the marsh-water from a hundred runlets1 and poured it slowly seawards4 ,field after field slid past me1 some golden from end to end with buttercups1 some waving with young wheat1 till at last ,i reached a solitary inn beside a ferry1 with the quaint title3 ,no hurry6 five miles from anywhere4 ,and here ,i met with a grave and kindly welcome1 such as warms the heart of one who goes on pilgrimage3 as though ,i was certainly expected1 and as if the lord of the place had given charge concerning me4 ,it would indeed hardly have surprised me if ,i had been had into a room1 and shown strange symbols of good and evil2 or if ,i had been given a roll and a bottle1 and a note of the way4 ,but no such presents were made to me1 and it was not until after ,i had left the little house1 and had been ferried in an old blackened boat across the stream1 that ,i found that ,i had the gifts in my bosom all the while4 ,the roll was the fair sight that ,i had seen1 in this world where it is so sweet to live4 ,my cordial was the peace within my spirit4 ,and as for the way1 it seemed plain enough that day1 easy to discern and follow2 and the heavenly city itself as near and visible as the blue towers that rose so solemnly upon the green horizon4 ,,vi ,the ,well and the ,chapel ,it is not often that one is fortunate enough to see two perfectly beautiful things in one day4 ,but such was my fortune in the late summer1 on a day that was in itself perfect enough to show what ,september can do1 if he only has a mind to plan hours of delight for man4 ,the distance was very blue and marvellously clear4 ,the trees had the bronzed look of the summer's end1 with deep azure shadows4 ,the cattle moved slowly about the fields1 and there was harvesting going on1 so that the villages we passed seemed almost deserted4 ,i will not say whence we started or where we went1 and ,i shall mention no names at all1 except one1 which is of the nature of a symbol or incantation2 for ,i do not desire that others should go where ,i went1 unless ,i could be sure that they went with the same peace in their hearts that ,i bore with me that day4 ,one of the places we visited on purpose2 the other we saw by accident4 ,on the small map we carried was marked1 at the corner of a little wood that seemed to have no way to it1 a well with the name of a saint1 of whom ,i never heard1 though ,i doubt not she is written in the book of ,god4 ,we reached the nearest point to the well upon the road1 and we struck into the fields2 that was a sweet place where we found ourselves6 ,in ancient days it had been a marsh1 ,i think4 ,for great ditches ran everywhere1 choked with loose-strife and water-dock1 and the ground quaked as we walked1 a pleasant springy black mould1 the dust of endless centuries of the rich water plants4 ,to the left1 the ground ran up sharply in a minute bluff1 with the soft outline of underlying chalk1 covered with small thorn-thickets2 and it was all encircled with small1 close woods1 where we heard the pheasants scamper4 ,we found an old1 slow1 bovine man1 with a cheerful face1 who readily threw aside some fumbling work he was doing1 and guided us2 and we should never have found the spot without him4 ,he led us to a stream1 crossed by a single plank with a handrail1 on which some children had put a trap1 baited with nuts for the poor squirrels1 that love to run chattering across the rail from wood to wood4 ,then we entered a little covert2 it was very pleasant in there1 all dark and green and still2 and here all at once we came to the place2 in the covert were half a dozen little steep pits1 each a few yards across1 dug out of the chalk4 ,from each of the pits1 which lay side by side1 a channel ran down to the stream1 and in each channel flowed a small bickering rivulet of infinite clearness4 ,the pits themselves were a few feet deep2 at the bottom of each was a shallow pool1 choked with leaves2 and here lay the rare beauty of the place4 ,the water rose in each pit out of secret ways1 but in no place that we could see4 ,the first pit was still when we looked upon it2 then suddenly the water rose in a tiny eddy1 in one corner1 among the leaves1 sending a little ripple glancing across the pool4 ,it was as though something1 branch or insect1 had fallen from above1 the water leapt so suddenly4 ,then it rose again in another place1 then in another2 then five or six little freshets rose all at once1 the rings crossing and recrossing4 ,and it was the same in all the pits1 which we visited one by one2 we descended and drank1 and found the water as cold as ice1 and not less pure2 while the old man babbled on about the waste of so much fine water1 and of its virtues for weak eyes3 ,ain't it cold1 now8 ,ain't it1 then8 ,my ,god1 ain't it8--he was a man with a rich store of simple asseverations1--,and ain't it good for weak eyes neither6 ,you must just come to the place the first thing in the morning1 and wash your eyes in the water1 and ain't it strengthening then6 ,so he chirped on1 saying everything over and over1 like a bird among the thickets4 ,we paid him for his trouble1 with a coin that made him so gratefully bewildered that he said to us3 ,now1 gentlemen1 if there's anything else that you want1 give it a name2 and if you meet any one as you go away1 say ',perrett told me' 7,perrett's my name71 and then you'll see6 ,what the precise virtue of this invocation was1 we did not have an opportunity of testing1 but that it was a talisman to unlock hidden doors1 ,i make no doubt4 ,we went back silently over the fields1 with the wonder of the thing still in our minds4 ,to think of the pure wells bubbling and flashing1 by day and by night1 in the hot summer weather1 when the smell of the wood lies warm in the sun2 on cold winter nights under moon and stars1 for ever casting up the bright elastic jewel1 that men call water1 and feeding the flowing stream that wanders to the sea4 ,i was very full of gratitude to the pure maiden saint that lent her name to the well and ,i am sure she never had a more devout pair of worshippers4 ,so we sped on in silence1 thinking--at least ,i thought--how the water leaped and winked in the sacred wells1 and how clear showed the chalk1 and the leaves that lay at the bottom3 till at last we drew to our other goal4 ,here is the gate1 said my companion at last4 ,on one side of the road stood a big substantial farm2 on the other1 by a gate1 was a little lodge4 ,here a key was given us by an old hearty man1 with plenty of advice of a simple and sententious kind1 until ,i felt as though ,i were enacting a part in some little ,pilgrim's ,progress1 and as if ,mr ,interpreter himself1 with a very grave smile1 would come out and have me into a room by myself1 to see some odd pleasant show that he had provided4 ,but it was perhaps more in the manner of ,evangelist1 for our guide pointed with his finger across a very wide field1 and showed us a wicket to enter in at4 ,here was a great flat grassy pasture1 the water again very near the surface1 as the long-leaved water-plants1 that sprawled in all the ditches1 showed4 ,but when we reached the wicket we seemed to be as far removed from humanity as dwellers in a lonely isle4 ,a few cattle grazed drowsily1 and the crisp tearing of the grass by their big lips came softly across the pasture4 ,inside the wicket stood a single ancient house1 uninhabited1 and festooned with ivy into a thing more bush than house2 though a small ,tudor window peeped from the leaves1 like the little suspicious eye of some shaggy beast4 ,a stone's throw away lay a large square moat1 full of water1 all fringed with ancient gnarled trees2 the island which it enclosed was overgrown with tiny thickets of dishevelled box-trees1 and huge sprawling laurels2 we walked softly round it1 and there was our goal3 a small church of a whitish stone1 in the middle of a little close of old sycamores in stiff summer leaf4 ,it stood so remote1 so quietly holy1 so ancient1 that ,i could think of nothing but the old febel chapel of the ,morte d',arthur4 ,it had1 ,i know not why1 the mysterious air of romance all about it4 ,it seemed to sit1 musing upon what had been and what should be1 smilingly guarding some tender secret for the pure-hearted1 full of the peace the world cannot give4 ,within it was cool and dark1 and had an ancient holy smell2 it was furnished sparely with seat and screen1 and held monuments of old knights and ladies1 sleeping peacefully side by side1 heads pillowed on hands1 looking out with quiet eyes1 as though content to wait4 ,upon the island in the moat1 we learned1 had stood once a flourishing manor1 but through what sad vicissitudes it had fallen into dust ,i care not4 ,enough that peaceful lives had been lived there2 children had been born1 had played on the moat-edge1 had passed away to bear children of their own1 had returned with love in their hearts for the old house4 ,from the house to the church children had been borne for baptism2 merry wedding processions had gone to and fro1 happy ,christmas groups had hurried backwards and forwards2 and the slow funeral pomp had passed thither1 under the beating of the slow bell1 bearing one that should not return4 ,something of the love and life and sorrow of the good days passed into my mind1 and ,i gave a tender thought to men and women whom ,i had never known1 who had tasted of life1 and of joyful things that have an end2 and who now know the secret of the dark house to which we all are bound4 ,when we at last rose unwillingly to go1 the sun was setting1 and flamed red and brave through the gnarled trunks of the little wood2 the mist crept over the pasture1 and far away the lights of the lonely farm began to wink through the gathering dark4 ,but ,i had seen6 ,something of the joy of the two sweet places had settled in my mind2 and now1 in fretful1 weary1 wakeful hours1 it is good to think of the clear wells that sparkle so patiently in the dark wood2 and1 better still1 to wander in mind about the moat and the little silent church2 and to wonder what it all means2 what the love is that creeps over the soul at the sight of these places1 so full of a remote and delicate beauty2 and whether the hunger of the heart for peace and permanence1 which visits us so often in our short and difficult pilgrimage1 has a counterpart in the land that is very far off4 ,,vii ,the ,cuckoo ,i have been much haunted1 indeed infested1 if the word may be pardoned1 by cuckoos lately4 ,when ,i was a child1 acute though my observation of birds and beasts and natural things was1 ,i do not recollect that ,i ever saw a cuckoo1 though ,i often tried to stalk one by the ear1 following the sweet siren melody1 as it dropped into the expectant silence from a hedgerow tree2 and ,i remember to have heard the notes of two1 that seemed to answer each other1 draw closer each time they called4 ,but of late ,i have become familiar with the silvery grey body and the gliding flight2 and this year ,i have been almost dogged by them4 ,one flew beside me1 as ,i rode the other day1 for nearly a quarter of a mile along a hedgerow1 taking short gliding flights1 and settling till ,i came up2 ,i could see his shimmering wings and his long barred tail4 ,i dismounted at last1 and he let me watch him for a long time1 noting his small active head1 his decent sober coat4 ,then1 when he thought ,i had seen enough1 he gave one rich bell-like call1 with the full force of his soft throat1 and floated off4 ,he seemed loath to leave me4 ,but what word or gift1 ,i thought1 did he bring with him1 false and pretty bird8 ,do ,i too desire that others should hatch my eggs1 content with flute-like notes of pleasure8 ,and yet how strange and marvellous a thing this instinct is2 that one bird1 by an absolute and unvarying instinct1 should forego the dear business of nesting and feeding1 and should take shrewd advantage of the labours of other birds6 ,it cannot be a deliberately reasoned or calculated thing2 at least we say that it cannot2 and yet not ,darwin and all his followers have brought us any nearer to the method by which such an instinct is developed and trained1 till it has become an absolute law of the tribe2 making it as natural a thing for the cuckoo to search for a built nest1 and to cast away its foundling egg there1 as it is for other birds to welcome and feed the intruder4 ,it seems so satanically clever a thing to do2 such a strange fantastic whim of the ,creator to take thought in originating it6 ,it is this whimsicality1 the bizarre humour in ,nature1 that puzzles me more than anything in the world1 because it seems like the sport of a child with odd inconsequent fancies1 and with omnipotence behind it all the time4 ,it seems strange enough to think of the laws that govern the breeding1 nesting1 and nurture of birds at all1 especially when one considers all the accidents that so often make the toil futile1 like the stealing of eggs by other birds1 and the predatory incursions of foes4 ,one would expect a law1 framed by omnipotence1 to be invariable1 not hampered by all kinds of difficulties that omnipotence1 one might have thought1 could have provided against4 ,and then comes this further strange variation in the law1 in the case of this single family of birds1 and the mystery thickens and deepens4 ,and stranger than all is the existence of the questioning and unsatisfied human spirit1 that observes these things and classifies them1 and that yet gets no nearer to the solution of the huge1 fantastic1 patient plan6 ,to make a law1 as the ,creator seems to have done2 and then to make a hundred other laws that seem to make the first law inoperative2 to play this gigantic game century after century2 and then to put into the hearts of our inquisitive race the desire to discover what it is all about2 and to leave the desire unsatisfied4 ,what a labyrinthine mystery6 ,depth beyond depth1 and circle beyond circle6 ,it is a dark and bewildering region that thus opens to the view4 ,but one conclusion is to beware of seeming certainties1 to keep the windows of the mind open to the light2 not to be over-anxious about the little part we have to play in the great pageant1 but to advance1 step by step1 in utter trustfulness4 ,perhaps that is your message to me1 graceful bird1 with the rich joyful note6 ,with what a thrill1 too1 do you bring back to me the brightness of old forgotten springs1 the childish rapture at the sweet tunable cry6 ,then1 in those far-off days1 it was but the herald of the glowing summer days1 the time of play and flowers and scents4 ,but now the soft note1 it seems1 opens a door into the formless and uneasy world of speculation1 of questions that have no answer1 convincing me of ignorance and doubt1 bidding me beat in vain against the bars that hem me in4 ,why should ,i crave thus for certainty1 for strength8 ,answer me1 happy bird6 ,nay1 you guard your secret4 ,softer and more distant sound the sweet notes1 warning me to rest and believe1 telling me to wait and hope4 ,but one further thought6 ,one is expected1 by people of conventional and orthodox minds1 to base one's conceptions of ,god on the writings of frail and fallible men1 and to accept their slender and eager testimony to the occurrence of abnormal events as the best revelation of ,god that the world contains4 ,and all the while we disregard his own patient writing upon the wall4 ,every day and every hour we are confronted with strange marvels1 which we dismiss from our minds because1 ,god forgive us1 we call them natural2 and yet they take us back1 by a ladder of immeasurable antiquity1 to ages before man had emerged from a savage state4 ,centuries before our rude forefathers had learned even to scratch a few hillocks into earthworks1 while they lived a brutish life1 herding in dens and caves1 the cuckoo1 with her traditions faultlessly defined1 was paying her annual visits1 fluting about the forest glades1 and searching for nests into which to intrude her speckled egg4 ,the patient witness of ,god6 ,she is as direct a revelation of the ,creator's mind1 could we but interpret the mystery of her instincts1 as ,augustine himself with his scheme of salvation logically defined4 ,each of these missions1 whether of bird or man1 a wonder and a marvel6 ,but do we not tend to accept the eager and childish hopes of humanity1 arrayed with blithe certainty1 as a nearer evidence of the mind of ,god than the bird that at his bidding pursues her annual quest1 unaffected by our hasty conclusions1 unmoved by our glorified visions8 ,i have sometimes thought that ,christ probably spoke more than is recorded about the observation of ,nature2 the hearts of those that heard him were so set on temporal ends and human applications1 that they had not perhaps leisure or capacity to recollect aught but those few scattered words1 that seem to speak of a deep love for and insight into the things of earth4 ,they remembered better that ,christ blasted a fig-tree for doing what the ,father bade the poor plant do1 than his tender dwelling upon grasses and lilies1 sparrow and sheep4 ,the withering of the tree made an allegory3 while the love of flowers and streams was to those simple hearts perhaps an unaccountable1 almost an eccentric thing4 ,but had ,christ drawn human breath in our bleaker ,northern air1 he would have perhaps1 if those that surrounded him had had leisure and grace to listen1 drawn as grave and comforting a soul-music from our homely cuckoo1 with her punctual obedience1 her unquestioning faith1 as he did from the birds and flowers of the hot hillsides1 the pastoral valleys of ,palestine4 ,i am sure he would have loved the cuckoo1 and forgiven her her heartless customs4 ,those that sing so delicately would not have leisure and courage to make their music so soft and sweet1 if they had not a hard heart to turn to the sorrows of the world4 ,yet still ,i am no nearer the secret4 ,god sends me1 here the frozen peak1 there the blue sea2 here the tiger1 there the cuckoo2 here ,virgil1 there ,jeremiah2 here ,st ,francis of ,assisi1 there ,napoleon4 ,and all the while1 as he pushes his fair or hurtful toys upon the stage1 not a whisper1 not a smile1 not a glance escapes him2 he thrusts them on1 he lays them by2 but the interpretation he leaves with us1 and there is never a word out of the silence to show us whether we have guessed aright4 ,,viii ,spring-time ,yesterday was a day of brisk airs4 ,the wind was at work brushing great inky clouds out of the sky4 ,they came sailing up1 those great rounded masses of dark vapour1 like huge galleons driving to the ,west1 spilling their freight as they came4 ,the air would be suddenly full of tall twisted rain-streaks1 and then would come a bright burst of the sun4 ,but a secret change came in the night2 some silent power filled the air with warmth and balm4 ,and to-day1 when ,i walked out of the town with an old and familiar friend1 the spring had come4 ,a maple had broken into bloom and leaf2 a chestnut was unfolding his gummy buds2 the cottage gardens were full of squills and hepatica2 and the mezereons were all thick with damask buds4 ,in green and sheltered underwoods there were bursts of daffodils2 hedges were pricked with green points2 and a delicate green tapestry was beginning to weave itself over the roadside ditches4 ,the air seemed full of a deep content4 ,birds fluted softly1 and the high elms which stirred in the wandering breezes were all thick with their red buds4 ,there was so much to look at and to point out that we talked but fitfully2 and there was1 too1 a gentle languor abroad which made us content to be silent4 ,in one village which we passed1 a music-loving squire had made a concert for his friends and neighbours1 and doubtless1 too1 for our vagrant delight2 we stood uninvited to listen to a tuneful stir of violins1 which with a violoncello booming beneath1 broke out very pleasantly from the windows of a village school-room4 ,when body and mind are fresh and vigorous1 these outside impressions often lose1 ,i think1 their sharp savours4 ,one is preoccupied with one's own happy schemes and merry visions2 the bird sings shrill within its cage1 and claps its golden wings4 ,but on such soft and languorous days as these days of early spring1 when the body is unstrung1 and the bonds and ties that fasten the soul to its prison are loosened and unbound1 the spirit1 striving to be glad1 draws in through the passages of sense these swift impressions of beauty1 as a thirsty child drains a cup of spring-water on a sun-scorched day1 lingering over the limpid freshness of the gliding element4 ,the airy voices of the strings being stilled1 with a sort of pity for those penned in the crowded room1 interchanging the worn coinage of civility1 we stood a while looking in at a gate1 through which we could see the cool front of a ,georgian manor-house1 built of dusky bricks1 with coigns and dressings of grey stone4 ,the dark windows with their thick white casements1 the round-topped dormers1 the steps up to the door1 and a prim circle of grass which seemed to lie like a carpet on the pale gravel1 gave the feeling of a picture2 the whole being framed in the sombre yews of shrubberies which bordered the drive4 ,it was hard to feel that the quiet house was the scene of a real and active life2 it seemed so full of a slumberous peace1 and to be tenanted only by soft shadows of the past4 ,and so we went slowly on by the huge white-boarded mill1 its cracks streaming with congealed dust of wheat1 where the water thundered through the sluices and the gear rattled within4 ,we crossed the bridge1 and walked on by a field-track that skirted the edge of the wold4 ,how thin and clean were the tints of the dry ploughlands and the long sweep of pasture6 ,presently we were at the foot of a green drift-road1 an old ,roman highway that ran straight up into the downs4 ,on such a day as this1 one follows a spirit in one's feet1 as ,shelley said2 and we struck up into the wold1 on the green road1 with its thorn-thickets1 until the chalk began to show white among the ruts2 and we were soon at the top4 ,a little to the left of us appeared1 in the middle of the pasture1 a tiny round-topped tumulus that ,i had often seen from a lower road1 but never visited4 ,it was fresher and cooler up here4 ,on arriving at the place we found that it was not a tumulus at all1 but a little outcrop of the pure chalk4 ,it had steep1 scarped sides with traces of caves scooped in them4 ,the grassy top commanded a wide view of wold and plain4 ,our talk wandered over many things1 but here1 ,i do not know why1 we were speaking of the taking up of old friendships1 and the comfort and delight of those serene and undisturbed relations which one sometimes establishes with a congenial person1 which no lapse of time or lack of communication seems to interrupt--the best kind of friendship4 ,there is here no blaming of conditions that may keep the two lives apart2 no feverish attempt to keep up the relation1 no resentment if mutual intercourse dies away4 ,and then1 perhaps1 in the shifting of conditions1 one's life is again brought near to the life of one's friend1 and the old easy intercourse is quietly resumed4 ,my companion said that such a relation seemed to him to lie as near to the solution of the question of the preservation of identity after death as any other phenomenon of life4 ,supposing1 he said1 that such a friendship as that of which we have spoken is resumed after a break of twenty years4 ,one is in no respect the same person2 one looks different1 one's views of life have altered1 and physiologists tell us that one's body has changed perhaps three times over1 in the time1 so that there is not a particle of our frame that is the same2 and yet the emotion1 the feeling of the friendship remains1 and remains unaltered4 ,if the stuff of our thoughts were to alter as the materials of our body alter1 the continuity of such an emotion would be impossible4 ,of course it is difficult to see how1 divested of the body1 our perceptions can continue2 but almost the only thing we are really conscious of is our own identity1 our sharp separation from the mass of phenomena that are not ourselves4 ,and1 if an emotion can survive the transmutation of the entire frame1 may it not also survive the dissolution of that frame8 ,could it be thus8 ,i said4 ,a ray of light falls through a chink in a shutter2 through the ray1 as we watch it1 floats an infinite array of tiny motes1 and it is through the striking of the light upon them that we are aware of the light2 but they are never the same4 ,yet the ray has a seeming identity1 though even the very ripples of light that cause it are themselves ever changing1 ever renewed4 ,could not the soul be such a ray1 illuminating the atoms that pass through it1 and itself a perpetual motion1 a constant renewal8 ,but the day warned us to descend4 ,the shadows grew longer1 and a great pale light of sunset began to gather in the ,west4 ,we came slowly down through the pastures1 till we joined the familiar road again4 ,and at last we parted1 in that wistful silence that falls upon the mood when two spirits have achieved a certain nearness of thought1 have drawn as close as the strange fence of identity allows4 ,but as ,i went home1 ,i stood for a moment at the edge of a pleasant grove1 an outlying pleasaunce of a great house on the verge of the town4 ,the trees grew straight and tall within it1 and all the underwood was full of spring flowers and green ground-plants1 expanding to light and warmth2 the sky was all full of light1 dying away to a calm and liquid green1 the colour of peace4 ,here ,i encountered another friend1 a retiring man of letters1 who lives apart from the world in dreams of his own4 ,he is a bright-eyed1 eager creature1 tall and shadowy1 who has but a slight hold upon the world4 ,we talked for a few moments of trivial things1 till a chance question of mine drew from him a sad statement of his own health4 ,he had been lately1 he said1 to a physician1 and had been warned that he was in a somewhat precarious condition4 ,i tried to comfort him1 but he shook his head2 and though he tried to speak lightly and cheerfully1 ,i could see that there was a shadow of doom upon him4 ,as ,i turned to go1 he held up his hand1 ,listen to the birds6 he said4 ,we were silent1 and could hear the clear flute-like notes of thrushes hidden in the tall trees1 and the soft cooing of a dove4 ,that gives one1 he said1 some sense of the happiness which one cannot capture for oneself6 ,he smiled mournfully1 and in a moment ,i saw his light figure receding among the trees4 ,what a world it is for sorrow6 ,my friend was going1 bearing the burden of a lonely grief1 which ,i could not lighten for him2 and yet the whole scene was full of so sweet a content1 the birds full of hope and delight1 the flowers and leaves glad to feel themselves alive4 ,what was one to make of it all8 ,where to turn for light8 ,what conceivable benefit could result from thus perpetually desiring to know and perpetually being baffled8 ,yet1 after all1 to-day has been one of those rare days1 like the gold sifted from the dbris of the mine1 which has had for me1 by some subtle alchemy of the spirit1 the permanent quality which is often denied to more stirring incidents and livelier experiences4 ,i had seen the mysteries of life and death1 of joy and sorrow1 sharply and sadly contrasted4 ,i had been one with ,nature1 with all her ardent ecstasies1 her vital impulses2 and then ,i had seen too the other side of the picture1 a soul confronted with the mystery of death1 alone in the shapeless gloom2 the very cries and stirrings and joyful dreams of ,nature bringing no help1 but only deepening the shadow4 ,and there came too the thought of how little such easy speculations as we had indulged in on the grassy mound1 thoughts which seemed so radiant with beauty and mystery1 how little they could sustain or comfort the sad spirit which had entered into the cloud4 ,so that bright first day of spring shaped itself for me into a day when not only the innocent and beautiful flowers of the world rose into life and sunshine2 but a day when sadder thoughts raised their head too1 red flowers of suffering1 and pale blooms of sadness2 and yet these too can be woven into the spirit's coronal1 ,i doubt not1 if one can but find heart to do it1 and patience for the sorrowful task4 ,,ix ,the ,hare ,i have just read a story that has moved me strangely1 with a helpless bewilderment and a sad anger of mind4 ,when the doors of a factory1 in the heart of a northern town1 were opened one morning1 a workman1 going to move a barrel that stood in a corner1 saw something crouching behind it that he believed to be a dog or cat4 ,he pushed it with his foot1 and a large hare sprang out4 ,i suppose that the poor creature had been probably startled by some dog the evening before1 in a field close to the town1 had fled in the twilight along the streets1 frightened and bewildered1 and had slipped into the first place of refuge it had found2 had perhaps explored its prison in vain1 when the doors were shut1 with many dreary perambulations1 and had then sunk into an uneasy sleep1 with frequent timid awakenings1 in the terrifying unfamiliar place4 ,the man who had disturbed it shouted aloud to the other workmen who were entering2 the doors were shut1 and the hare was chased by an eager and excited throng from corner to corner2 it fled behind some planks2 the planks were taken up2 it made1 in its agony of fear1 a great leap over the men who were bending down to catch it2 it rushed into a corner behind some tanks1 from which it was dislodged with a stick4 ,for half an hour the chase continued1 until at last it was headed into a work-room1 where it relinquished hope2 it crouched panting1 with its long ears laid back1 its pretty brown eyes wide open1 as though wondering desperately what it had done to deserve such usage2 until it was despatched with a shower of blows1 and the limp1 bleeding body handed over to its original discoverer4 ,not a soul there had a single thought of pity for the creature2 they went back to work pleased1 excited1 amused4 ,it was a good story to tell for a week1 and the man who had struck the last blows became a little hero for his deftness4 ,the old savage instinct for prey had swept fiercely up from the bottom of these rough hearts--hearts capable1 too1 of tenderness and grief1 of compassion for suffering1 gentle with women and children4 ,it seems to be impossible to blame them1 and such blame would have been looked upon as silly and misplaced sentiment4 ,probably not even an offer of money1 far in excess of the market value of the dead body1 if the hare could be caught unharmed1 would have prevailed at the moment over the instinct for blood4 ,there are many hares in the world1 no doubt1 and nous sommes tous condamns4 ,but that the power which could call into being so harmless1 pretty1 and delicately organised a creature does not care or is unable to protect it better1 is a strange mystery4 ,it cannot be supposed that the hare's innocent life deserved such chastisement2 and it is difficult to believe that suffering1 helplessly endured at one point of the creation1 can be remedial at another4 ,yet one cannot bear to think that the extremity of terror and pain1 thus borne by a sensitive creature1 either comes of neglect1 or of cruel purpose1 or is merely wasted4 ,and yet the chase and the slaughter of the unhappy thing cannot be anything but debasing to those who took part in it4 ,and at the same time1 to be angry and sorry over so wretched an episode seems like trying to be wiser than the mind that made us4 ,what single gleam of brightness is it possible to extract from the pitiful little story8 ,only this3 that there must lie some tender secret1 not only behind what seems a deed of unnecessary cruelty1 but in the implanting in us of the instinct to grieve with a miserable indignation over a thing we cannot cure1 and even in the withholding from us any hope that might hint at the solution of the mystery4 ,but the thought of the seemly fur stained and bedabbled1 the bright hazel eyes troubled with the fear of death1 the silky ears1 in which rang the horrid din of pursuit1 rises before me as ,i write1 and casts me back into the sad mood1 that makes one feel that the closer that one gazes into the sorrowful texture of the world1 the more glad we may well be to depart4 ,x ,the ,diplodocus ,i have had my imagination deeply thrilled lately by reading about the discovery in ,america of the bones of a fossil animal called the ,diplodocus4 ,i hardly know what the word is derived from1 but it might possibly mean an animal which takes twice as much1 of nourishment1 perhaps1 or room2 either twice as much as is good for it1 or twice as much as any other animal4 ,in either case it seems a felicitous description4 ,the creature was a reptile1 a gigantic toad or lizard that lived1 it is calculated1 about three million years ago4 ,it was in ,canada that this particular creature lived4 ,the earth was then a far hotter place than now2 a terrible steaming swamp1 full of rank and luxuriant vegetation1 gigantic palms1 ferns as big as trees4 ,the diplodocus was upwards of a hundred feet long1 a vast inert creature1 with a tough black hide4 ,in spite of its enormous bulk its brain was only the size of a pigeon's egg1 so that its mental processes must have been of the simplest4 ,it had a big mouth full of rudimentary teeth1 of no use to masticate its food1 but just sufficing to crop the luxuriant juicy vegetable stalks on which it lived1 and of which it ate in the course of the day as much as a small hayrick would contain4 ,the poisonous swamps in which it crept can seldom have seen the light of day2 perpetual and appalling torrents of rain must have raged there1 steaming and dripping through the dim and monstrous forests1 with their fallen day1 varied by long periods of fiery tropical sunshine4 ,in this hot gloom the diplodocus trailed itself about1 eating1 eating2 living a century or so2 loving1 as far as a brain the size of a pigeon's egg can love1 and no doubt with a maternal tenderness for its loathly offspring4 ,it had but few foes1 though1 in the course of endless generations1 there sprang up a carnivorous race of creatures which seem to have found the diplodocus tender eating4 ,the particular diplodocus of which ,i speak probably died of old age in the act of drinking1 and was engulfed in a pool of the great curdling1 reedy river that ran lazily through the forest4 ,the imagination sickens before the thought of the speedy putrefaction of such a beast under such conditions2 but this process over1 the creature's bones lay deep in the pool4 ,another feature of the earth at that date must have been the vast volcanic agencies at work2 whole continents were at intervals submerged or uplifted4 ,in this case the whole of the forest country1 where the diplodocus lay1 was submerged beneath the sea1 and sank to a depth of several leagues2 for1 in the course of countless ages1 sea-ooze1 to a depth of at least three miles1 was deposited over the forest1 preserving the trunks and even the very sprays of the tropical vegetation4 ,who would suppose that the secret history of this great beast would ever be revealed1 as it lay century after century beneath the sea-floor8 ,but another convulsion took place1 and a huge ridge of country1 forming the rocky backbone of ,north and ,south ,america1 was thrust up again by a volcanic convulsion1 so that the diplodocus now lay a mile above the sea1 with a vast pile of downs over his head which became a huge range of snow mountains4 ,then the rain and the sun began their work2 and the whole of the immense bed of uplifted ocean-silt1 now become chalk1 was carried eastward by mighty rivers1 forming the whole continent of ,north ,america1 between these mountains and the eastern sea4 ,at last the tropic forest was revealed again1 a wide tract of petrified tree-trunks and fossil wood4 ,and then out of an excavation1 made where one of the last patches of the chalk still lay in a rift of the hills1 where the old river-pool had been into which the great beast had sunk1 was dug the neck-bone of the creature4 ,curiosity was aroused by the sight of this fragment of an unknown animal1 and bit by bit the great bones came to light2 some portions were missing1 but further search revealed the remains of three other specimens of the great lizard1 and a complete skeleton was put together4 ,the mind positively reels before the story that is here revealed2 we1 who are feebly accustomed to regard the course of recorded history as the crucial and critical period of the life of the world1 must be sobered by the reflection that the whole of the known history of the human race is not the thousandth1 not the ten-thousandth part of the history of the planet4 ,what does this vast and incredible panorama mean to us8 ,what is it all about8 ,this ghastly force at work1 dealing with life and death on so incredible a scale1 and yet guarding its secret so close8 ,the diplodocus1 ,i imagine1 seldom indulged in reveries as to how it came to be there2 it awoke to life2 its business was to crawl about in the hot gloom1 to eat1 and drink1 and sleep1 to propagate its kind2 and not the least amazing part of the history is that at length should have arisen a race of creatures1 human beings1 that should be able to reconstruct1 however faintly1 by investigation1 imagination1 and deduction1 a picture of the dead life of the world4 ,it is this capacity for arriving at what has been1 for tracing out the huge mystery of the work of ,god1 that appears to me the most wonderful thing of all4 ,and yet we seem no nearer to the solution of the secret2 we come into the world with this incredible gift of placing ourselves1 so to speak1 on the side of the ,creator1 of surveying his work2 and yet we cannot guess what is in his heart2 the stern and majestic eyes of ,nature behold us stonily1 permitting us to make question1 to explore1 to investigate1 but withholding the secret4 ,and in the light of those inscrutable eyes1 how weak and arrogant appear our dogmatic systems of religion1 that would profess to define and read the very purposes of ,god2 our dearest conceptions of morality1 our pathetic principles1 pale and fade before these gigantic indications of mysterious1 indifferent energy4 ,yet even here1 ,i think1 the golden thread gleams out in the darkness2 for slight and frail as our so-called knowledge1 our beliefs1 appear1 before that awful1 accumulated testimony of the past1 yet the latest development is none the less the instant guiding of ,god2 it is all as much a gift from him as the blind impulses of the great lizard in the dark forest2 and again there emerges the mighty thought1 the only thought that can give us the peace we seek1 that we are all in his hand1 that nothing is forgotten1 nothing is small or great in his sight2 and that each of our frail1 trembling spirits has its place in the prodigious scheme1 as much as the vast and fiery globe of the sun on the one hand1 and1 on the other1 the smallest atom of dust that welters deep beneath the sea4 ,all that is1 exists2 indestructible1 august1 divine1 capable of endless rearrangement1 infinite modifications1 but undeniably there4 ,this truth1 however dimly apprehended1 however fitfully followed1 ought to give us a certain confidence1 a certain patience4 ,in careless moods we may neglect it2 in days of grief and pain we may feel that it cannot help us2 but it is the truth2 and the more we can make it our own1 the deeper that we can set it in our trivial spirits1 the better are we prepared to learn the lesson which the deepest instinct of our nature bids us believe1 that the ,father is trying to teach us1 or is at least willing that we should learn if we can4 ,,xi ,the ,beetle ,how strange it is that sometimes the smallest and commonest incident1 that has befallen one a hundred times before1 will suddenly open the door into that shapeless land of fruitless speculation2 the land on to which1 ,i think1 the ,star ,wormwood fell1 burning it up and making it bitter2 the land in which we most of us sometimes have to wander1 and always alone4 ,it was such a trifling thing after all4 ,i was bicycling very pleasantly down a country road to-day1 when one of those small pungent beetles1 a tiny thing1 in black plate-armour1 for all the world like a minute torpedo1 sailed straight into my eye4 ,the eyelid1 quicker even than my own thought1 shut itself down1 but too late4 ,the little fellow was engulphed in what ,walt ,whitman would call the liquid rims4 ,these small1 hard creatures are tenacious of life1 and they have1 moreover1 the power of exuding a noxious secretion--an acrid oil1 with a strong scent1 and even taste1 of saffron4 ,it was all over in a moment4 ,i rubbed my eye1 and ,i suppose crushed him to death2 but ,i could not get him out1 and ,i had no companion to extract him2 the result was that my eye was painful and inflamed for an hour or two1 till the tiny1 black1 flattened corpse worked its way out for itself4 ,now1 that is not a very marvellous incident2 but it set me wondering4 ,in the first place1 what a horrible experience for the creature2 in a moment1 as he sailed joyfully along1 saying1 ,aha1 perhaps1 like the war-horse among the trumpets1 on the scented summer breeze1 with the sun warm on his mail1 to find himself stuck fast in a hot and oozy crevice1 and presently to be crushed to death4 ,his little taste of the pleasant world so soon over1 and for me an agreeable hour spoilt1 so far as ,i could see1 to no particular purpose4 ,now1 one is inclined to believe that such an incident is what we call fortuitous2 but the only hope we have in the world is to believe that things do not happen by chance4 ,one believes1 or tries to believe1 that the ,father of all has room in his mind for the smallest of his creatures2 that not a sparrow1 as ,christ said1 falls to the ground without his tender care4 ,theologians tell us that death entered into the world by sin2 but it is not consistent to believe that1 whereas both men and animals suffer and die1 the sufferings and death of men are caused by their sins1 or by the sins of their ancestors1 while animals suffer and die without sin being the cause4 ,surely the cause must be the same for all the creation8 and still less is it possible to believe that the suffering and death of creatures is caused by the sin of man1 because they suffered and died for thousands of centuries before man came upon the scene4 ,if ,god is omnipotent and all-loving1 we are bound to believe that suffering and death are sent by him deliberately1 and not cruelly4 ,one single instance1 however minute1 that established the reverse1 would vitiate the whole theory2 and if so1 then we are the sport of a power that is sometimes kind and sometimes malignant4 ,an insupportable thought6 ,is it possible to conceive that the law of sin works in the lower creation1 and that they1 too1 are punished1 or even wisely corrected1 for sinning against such light as they have8 ,had the little beetle that sailed across my path acted in such a way that he had deserved his fate8 ,or was his death meant to make him a better1 a larger-minded beetle8 ,i cannot bring myself to believe that4 ,perhaps a philosophical theologian would say that creation was all one1 and that suffering at one point was remedial at some other point4 ,i am not in a position to deny the possibility of that1 but ,i am equally unable to affirm that it is so4 ,there is no evidence which would lead me to think it4 ,it only seems to me necessary to affirm it1 in order to confirm the axiom that ,god is omnipotent and all-loving4 ,much in nature and in human life would seem to be at variance with that4 ,it may be said that one is making too much of a minute incident2 but such incidents are of hourly occurrence all the world over2 and the only possible method for arriving at truth is the scientific method of cumulative evidence4 ,the beetle was small1 indeed1 and infinitely unimportant in the scheme of things4 ,but he was all in all to himself4 ,the world only existed so far as he was concerned1 through his tiny consciousness4 ,the old-fashioned religious philosophers held that man was the crown and centre of creation1 and that ,god was mainly preoccupied with man's destiny4 ,they maintained that all creatures were given us for our use and enjoyment4 ,the enjoyment that ,i derived from the beetle1 in this case1 was not conspicuous4 ,but ,i suppose that such cheerful optimists would say that the beetle was sent to give me a little lesson in patience1 to teach me not to think so much about myself4 ,but1 as a matter of fact1 the little pain ,i suffered made me think more of myself than ,i had previously been doing2 it turned me for the time from a bland and hedonistic philosopher into a petulant pessimist1 because it seemed that no one was the better for the incident2 certainly1 if life is worth having at all1 the beetle was no better off1 and in my own case ,i could trace no moral improvement4 ,i had been harmlessly enough employed in getting air and exercise in the middle of hard work4 ,it was no vicious enjoyment that was temporarily suspended4 ,again1 there are people who would say that to indulge in such reveries is morbid2 that one must take the rough with the smooth1 and not trouble about beetles or inflamed eyes4 ,but if one is haunted by the hopeless desire to search out the causes of things1 such arguments do not assist one4 ,such people would say1 ,oh1 you must take a larger or wider view of it all1 and not strain at gnats6 ,but the essence of ,god's omnipotence is1 that while he can take the infinitely wide view of all created things1 he can also take1 ,i would fain believe1 the infinitely just and minute point of view1 and see the case from the standpoint of the smallest of his creatures6 ,what1 then1 is my solution8 ,that is the melancholy part of it2 ,i am not prepared to offer one4 ,i am met on every side by hopeless difficulties4 ,i am tempted to think that ,god is not at all what we imagine him to be2 that our conceptions of benevolence and justice and love are not necessarily true of him at all4 ,that he is not in the least like our conceptions of him2 that he has no particular tenderness about suffering1 no particular care for animal life4 ,nature would seem to prove that at every turn2 and yet1 if it be true1 it leaves me struggling in a sad abyss of thought2 it substitutes for our grave1 beautiful1 and hopeful conceptions of ,god a kind of black mystery which1 ,i confess1 lies very heavy on the heart1 and seems to make effort vain4 ,and thus ,i fall back again upon faith and hope4 ,i know that ,i wish all things well1 that ,i desire with all my heart that everything that breathes and moves should be happy and joyful2 and ,i cannot believe in my heart that it is different with ,god4 ,and thus ,i rest in the trust that there is somewhere1 far-off1 a beauty and a joy in suffering2 and that1 perhaps1 death itself is a fair and a desirable thing4 ,as ,i rode to-day in the summer sun1 far off1 through the haze1 ,i could see the huge ,cathedral towers and portals looming up over the trees4 ,even so might be the gate of death6 ,as we fare upon our pilgrimage1 that shadowy doorway waits1 silent and sombre1 to receive us4 ,that gate1 the gate of death1 seems to me1 as in strength and health ,i sweep along the pleasant road of life1 a terrible1 an appalling place4 ,but shall ,i feel so1 when indeed ,i tread the threshold1 and see the dark arches1 the mysterious windows to left and right8 ,it may prove a cool and secure haven of beauty and refreshment1 rich in memory1 echoing with melodious song4 ,the poor beetle knows about it now1 whatever it is2 he is wise with the eternal wisdom of all that have entered in1 leaving behind them the frail and delicate tabernacle1 in which the spirit dwelt1 and which is so soon to moulder into dust4 ,,xii ,the ,farm-yard ,there is a big farm-yard close to the house where ,i am staying just now2 it is a constant pleasure1 as ,i pass that way1 to stop and watch the manners and customs of the beasts and birds that inhabit it2 ,i am ashamed to think how much time ,i spend in hanging over a gate1 to watch the little dramas of the byre4 ,i am not sure that pigs are an altogether satisfactory subject of contemplation4 ,they always seem to me like a fallen race that has seen better days4 ,they are able1 intellectual1 inquisitive creatures4 ,when they are driven from place to place1 they are not gentle or meek1 like cows and sheep1 who follow the line of least resistance4 ,the pig is suspicious and cautious2 he is sure that there is some uncomfortable plot on foot1 not wholly for his good1 which he must try to thwart if he can4 ,then1 too1 he never seems quite at home in his deplorably filthy surroundings2 he looks at you1 up to the knees in ooze1 out of his little eyes1 as if he would live in a more cleanly way1 if he were permitted4 ,pigs always remind me of the mariners of ,homer1 who were transformed by ,circe2 there is a dreadful humanity about them1 as if they were trying to endure their base conditions philosophically1 waiting for their release4 ,but cows bring a deep tranquillity into the spirit2 their glossy skins1 their fragrant breath1 their contented ease1 their mild gaze1 their ,epicurean rumination tend to restore the balance of the mind1 and make one feel that vegetarianism must be a desirable thing4 ,there is the dignity of innocence about the cow1 and ,i often wish that she did not bear so poor a name1 a word so unsuitable for poetry2 it is lamentable that one has to take refuge in the archaism of kine1 when the thing itself is so gentle and pleasant4 ,but the true joy of the farm-yard is1 undoubtedly1 in the domestic fowls4 ,it is long since ,i was frightened of turkeys2 but ,i confess that there is still something awe-inspiring about an old turkey-cock1 with a proud and angry eye1 holding his breath till his wattles are blue and swollen1 with his fan extended1 like a galleon in full sail1 his wings held stiffly down1 strutting a few rapid steps1 and then slowly revolving1 like a king in royal robes4 ,there is something tremendous about his supremacy1 his almost intolerable pride and glory4 ,and then we come to cocks and hens4 ,the farm-yard cock is an incredibly grotesque creature4 ,his furious eye1 his blood-red crest1 make him look as if he were seeking whom he might devour4 ,but he is the most craven of creatures4 ,in spite of his air of just anger1 he has no dignity whatever4 ,to hear him raise his voice1 you would think that he was challenging the whole world to combat4 ,he screams defiance1 and when he has done1 he looks round with an air of satisfaction4 ,there6 that is what you have to expect if you interfere with me6 he seems to say4 ,but an alarm is given2 the poultry seek refuge in a hurried flight4 ,where is the champion8 ,you would expect to see him guarding the rear1 menacing his pursuer2 but no1 he has headed the flight1 he is far away1 leading the van with a desperate intentness4 ,this morning ,i was watching the behaviour of a party of fowls1 who were sitting together on a dusty ledge above the road1 sheltering from the wind4 ,i do not know whether they meant to be as humorous as they were1 but ,i can hardly think they were not amused at each other4 ,they stood and lay very close together1 with fierce glances1 and quick1 jerky motions of the head4 ,now and then one1 tired of inaction1 raised a deliberate claw1 bowed its head1 scratched with incredible rapidity1 shook its tumbled feathers1 and looked round with angry self-consciousness1 as though to say3 ,i will ask any one to think me absurd at his peril4 ,now and then one of them kicked diligently at the soil1 and then1 turning round1 scrutinised the place intently1 and picked delicately at some minute object4 ,one examined the neck of her neighbour with a fixed stare1 and then pecked the spot sharply4 ,one settled down on the dust1 and gave a few vigorous strokes with her legs to make herself more comfortable4 ,occasionally they all crooned and wailed together1 and at the passing of a cart all stood up defiantly1 as if intending to hold their fort at all hazards4 ,presently a woman came out of a house-door opposite1 at which the whole party ran furiously and breathlessly across the road1 as if their lives depended upon arriving in time4 ,there was not a gesture or a motion that was not admirably conceived1 intensely dramatic4 ,again1 what is more delightfully absurd than to see a hen find a large morsel which she cannot deal with at one gulp8 ,she has no sense of diplomacy or cunning2 her friends1 attracted by her motions1 close in about her2 she picks up the treasured provender1 she runs1 bewildered with anxiety1 till she has distanced her pursuers2 she puts the object down and takes a couple of desperate pecks2 but her kin are at her heels2 another flight follows1 another wild attempt2 for half an hour the same tactics are pursued4 ,at last she is at bay2 she makes one prodigious effort1 and gets the treasure down with a convulsive swallow2 you see her neck bulge with the moving object2 while she looks at her baffled companions with an air of meek triumph4 ,ducks1 too1 afford many simple joys to the contemplative mind4 ,a slow procession of white ducks1 walking delicately1 with heads lifted high and timid eyes1 in a long line1 has the air of an ecclesiastical procession4 ,the singers go before1 the minstrels follow after4 ,there is something liturgical1 too1 in the way in which1 as if by a preconcerted signal1 they all cry out together1 standing in a group1 with a burst of hoarse cheering1 cut off suddenly by an intolerable silence4 ,the arrival of ducks upon the scene1 when the fowls are fed1 is an impressive sight4 ,they stamp wildly over the pasture1 falling1 stumbling1 rising again1 arrive on the scene with a desperate intentness1 and eat as though they had not seen food for months4 ,the pleasure of these farm-yard sights is two-fold4 ,it is partly the sense of grave1 unconscious importance about the whole business1 serious lives lived with such whole-hearted zeal4 ,there is no sense of divided endeavour2 the discovery of food is the one thing in the world1 and the sense of repletion is also the sense of virtue4 ,but there is something pathetic1 too1 about the taming to our own ends of these forest beasts1 these woodland birds2 they are so unconscious of the sad reasons for which we desire their company1 so unsuspicious1 so serene6 ,instead of learning by the sorrowful experience of generations what our dark purposes are1 they become more and more fraternal1 more and more dependent4 ,and yet how little we really know what their thoughts are4 ,they are so unintelligent in some regions1 so subtly wise in others4 ,we cannot share our thoughts with them2 we cannot explain anything to them4 ,we can sympathise with them in their troubles1 but cannot convey our sympathy to them4 ,there is a little bantam hen here1 a great pet1 who comes up to the front door with the other bantams to be fed4 ,she has been suffering for some time from an obscure illness4 ,she arrives with the others1 full of excitement1 and begins to pick at the grain thrown them2 but the effort soon exhausts her2 she goes sadly apart1 and sits with dim eye and ruffled plumage1 in silent suffering1 wondering1 perhaps1 why she is not as brisk and joyful as ever1 what is the sad thing that has befallen her4 ,and one can do nothing1 express nothing of the pathetic sorrow that fills one's mind4 ,but1 none the less1 one tries to believe1 to feel1 that this suffering is not fortuitous1 is not wasted--how could one endure the thought otherwise1 if one did not hope that the earnest expectation of the creature waiteth for the manifestation of the sons of ,god6 ,,xiii ,the ,artist ,i have been reading with much emotion the life of a great artist4 ,it is a tender1 devoted record2 and there is an atmosphere of delicate beauty about the style4 ,it is as though his wife1 who wrote the book1 had gained through the years of companionship1 a pale1 pure reflection of her husband's simple and impassioned style1 just as the moon's clear1 cold light is drawn from the hot fountains of the sun4 ,and yet1 there is an individuality about the style1 and the reflection is rather of the same nature as the patient likeness of expression which is to be seen in the faces of an aged pair1 who have travelled in love and unity down the vale of years together4 ,in this artist's own writing1 which has a pure and almost childlike navet of phrasing1 there is a glow1 not of rhetoric or language1 but of emotion1 an almost lover-like attitude towards his friends1 which is yet saved from sentimentality by an obvious sincerity of feeling4 ,in this he seems to me to be different from the majority of artistic natures and temperaments4 ,it is impossible not to feel1 as a rule1 when one is brought into contact with an artistic temperament1 that the basis of it is a kind of hardness1 a fanaticism of spirit4 ,there is1 of course1 in the artistic temperament1 an abundance of sensitiveness which is often mistaken for feeling4 ,but it is not generally an unselfish devotion1 which desires to give1 to lavish1 to make sacrifices for the sake of the beloved4 ,it is1 after all1 impossible to serve two masters2 and in the highly developed artist1 the central passion is the devotion to art1 and sins against art are the cardinal and unpardonable sins4 ,the artist has an eager thirst for beautiful impressions1 and his deepest concern is how to translate these impressions into the medium in which he works4 ,many an artist has desired and craved for love4 ,but even love in the artist is not the end2 love only ministers to the sacred fire of art1 and is treated by him as a costly and precious fuel1 which he is bound to use to feed the central flame4 ,if one examines the records of great artistic careers1 this will1 ,i think1 be found to be a true principle2 and it is1 after all1 inevitable that it should be so1 in the case of a nature which has the absorbing desire for self-expression4 ,perhaps1 it is not always consciously recognised by the artist1 but the fact is there2 he tends to regard the deepest and highest experiences of life as ministering to the fulness of his nature4 ,i remember hearing a great master of musical art discussing the music of a young man of extraordinary promise2 he said3 ,yes1 it is very beautiful1 very pure2 he is perfect in technique and expression1 as far as it goes2 but it is incomplete and undeveloped4 ,what he wants is to fall in love4 ,a man who is not bound by the noble thraldom of art1 who is full of vitality and emotion1 but yet without the imperative desire for self-expression1 regards life in a different mood4 ,he may be fully as eager to absorb beautiful impressions1 he may love the face of the earth1 the glories of hill and plain1 the sweet dreams of art1 the lingering cadences of music2 but he takes them as a child takes food1 with a direct and eager appetite1 without any impulse to dip them in his own personality1 or to find an expression for them4 ,the point for him is not how they strike him and affect him1 but that they are there4 ,such a man will perhaps find his deepest experience in the mysteries of human relationship2 and he will so desire the happiness of those he loves1 that he will lose himself in efforts to remove obstacles1 to lighten burdens1 to give rather than to receive joy4 ,and this1 ,i think1 is probably the reason why so few women1 even those possessed of the most sensitive perception and apprehension1 achieve the highest triumphs of art2 because they cannot so subordinate life to art1 because they have a passionate desire for the happiness of others1 and find their deepest satisfaction in helping to further it4 ,who does not know instances of women of high possibilities1 who have quietly sacrificed the pursuit of their own accomplishments to the tendance of some brilliant self-absorbed artist8 ,with such love is often mingled a tender compassionateness1 as of a mother for a high-spirited and eager child1 who throws herself with perfect sympathy into his aims and tastes1 while all the time there sits a gentle knowledge in the background of her heart1 of the essential unimportance of the things that the child desires so eagerly1 and which she yet desires so whole-heartedly for him4 ,women who have made such a sacrifice do it with no feeling that they are resigning the best for the second best1 but because they have a knowledge of mysteries that are even higher than the mysteries of art2 and they have their reward1 not in the contemplation of the sacrifice that they have made1 but in having desired and attained something that is more beautiful still than any dream that the artist cherishes and follows4 ,yet the fact remains that it is useless to preach to the artist the mystery that there is a higher region than the region of art4 ,a man must aim at the best 'that he can conceive2 and it is not possible to give men higher motives1 by removing the lower motives that they can comprehend4 ,such an attempt is like building without foundations2 and those who have relations with artists should do all they can to encourage them to aim at what they feel to be the highest4 ,but1 on the other hand1 it is a duty for the artist to keep his heart open1 if he can1 to the higher influences4 ,he must remember1 that though the eye can see certain colours1 and hear certain vibrations of sound1 yet there is an infinite scale of colour1 and an infinite gradation of sound1 both above and below what the eye and the ear can apprehend1 and that mortal apprehension can only appropriate to itself but a tiny fragment of the huge gamut4 ,he ought to believe that if he is faithful to the best that he can apprehend1 a door may be opened to him which may lead him into regions which are at present closed to him4 ,to accept the artistic conscience1 the artistic aim1 as the highest ideal of which the spirit is capable1 is to be a ,pharisee in art1 to be self-sufficient1 arrogant1 limited4 ,it is a kind of spiritual pride1 a wilful deafness to more remote voices2 and it is thus of all sins1 the one which the artist1 who lives the life of perception1 whose mind must1 above all things1 be open and transparent1 should be loth to commit4 ,he should rather keep his inner eye--for the artist is like the great creatures that1 in the prophet's vision1 stood nearest to the presence1 who were full of eyes1 without and within--open to the unwonted apparition which may1 suddenly1 like a meteor of the night1 sail across the silent heaven4 ,it may be that1 in some moment of fuller perception1 he may even have to divorce the sweeter and more subtle mistress in exchange for one who comes in a homelier guise1 and take the beggar girl for his queen4 ,but the abnegation will be no sacrifice2 rather a richer and livelier hope4 ,,xiv ,young ,love ,we had a charming idyll here to-day4 ,a young husband and wife came to stay with us in all the first flush of married happiness4 ,one realised all day long that other people merely made a pleasant background for their love1 and that for each there was but one real figure on the scene4 ,this was borne witness to by a whole armoury of gentle looks1 swift glances1 silent gestures4 ,they were both full to the brim of a delicate laughter1 of over-brimming wonder1 of tranquil desire4 ,and we all took part in their gracious happiness4 ,in the evening they sang and played to us1 the wife being an accomplished pianist1 the husband a fine singer4 ,but though the glory of their art fell in rainbow showers on the audience1 it was for each other that they sang and played4 ,we sat in the dim light of a little panelled room1 the lamps making a circle of light about the happy pair2 seldom have ,i felt the revelation of personality more4 ,the wife played to us a handful of beautiful things2 but ,i noticed that she could not interpret the sadder and darker strains1 into which the shadow and malady of a suffering spirit had passed2 but into little tripping minuets full of laughter and light1 and into melodies that spoke of a pure passion of sweetness and human delight1 her soul passed1 till the room felt as though flooded with the warmth of the sun4 ,and he1 too1 sang with all his might some joyful and brave utterances1 with the lusty pride of manhood2 and in a gentler love-song too1 that seemed to linger in a dream of delight by crystal streams1 the sweet passion of the heart rose clear and true4 ,but when he too essayed a song of sorrow and reluctant sadness1 there was no spirit in it2 it seemed to him1 ,i suppose1 so unlike life1 and the joy of life1--so fantastic and unreal an outpouring of the heart4 ,we sat long in the panelled room1 till it seemed all alive with soft dreams and radiant shapes1 that floated in a golden air4 ,all that was dark and difficult seemed cast out and exercised4 ,but it was all so sincere and contented a peace that the darker and more sombre shadows had no jealous awakening2 for the two were living to each other1 not in a selfish seclusion1 but as though they gave of their joy in handfuls to the whole world4 ,the raptures of lovers sometimes take them back so far into a kind of unashamed childishness that the spectacle rouses the contempt and even the indignation of world-worn and cynical people4 ,but here it never deviated from dignity and seemliness2 it only seemed new and true1 and the best gift of ,god4 ,these two spirits seemed1 with hands intertwined1 to have ascended gladly into the mountain1 and to have seen a transfiguration of life3 which left them not in a blissful eminence of isolation1 but rather1 as it were1 beckoning others upwards1 and saying that the road was indeed easy and plain4 ,and so the sweet hour passed1 and left a fragrance behind it2 whatever might befall1 they had tasted of the holy wine of joy2 they had blessed the cup1 and bidden us too to set our lips to it4 ,,xv ,a ,strange ,gathering ,i was walking one summer day in the pleasant hilly country near my home4 ,there is a road which ,i often traverse1 partly because it is a very lonely one1 partly because it leads out on a high brow or shoulder of the uplands1 and commands a wide view of the plain4 ,moreover1 the road is so deeply sunken between steep banks1 overgrown with hazels1 that one is hardly aware how much one climbs1 and the wide clear view at the top always breaks upon the eye with a certain shock of agreeable surprise4 ,a little before the top of the hill a road turns off1 leading into a long disused quarry1 surrounded by miniature cliffs1 full of grassy mounds and broken ground1 overgrown with thickets and floored with rough turf4 ,it is a very enchanting place in spring1 and indeed at all times of the year2 many flowers grow there1 and the birds sing securely among the bushes4 ,i have always imagined that the ,red ,deeps1 in ,the ,mill on the ,floss1 was just such a place1 and the scenes described as taking place there have always enacted themselves for me in the quarry4 ,i have always had a fancy too that if there are any fairies hereabouts1 which ,i very much doubt1 for ,i fear that the new villas which begin to be sprinkled about the countryside have scared them all away1 they would be found here4 ,i visited the place one moonlight night1 and ,i am sure that the whole dingle was full of a bright alert life which mocked my clumsy eyes and ears4 ,if ,i could have stolen upon the place unawares1 ,i felt that ,i might have seen strange businesses go forward1 and tiny revels held4 ,that afternoon1 as ,i drew near1 ,i was displeased to see that my little retreat was being profaned by company4 ,some brakes were drawn up in the road1 and ,i heard loud voices raised in untuneful mirth4 ,as ,i came nearer ,i was much bewildered to divine who the visitors were4 ,they seemed on the point of departing2 two of the brakes were full1 and into another some men were clambering4 ,as ,i came close to them ,i was still more puzzled4 ,the majority of the party were dressed all alike1 in rough brown clothes1 with soft black felt hats2 but in each of the brakes that were tenanted sat a man as well1 with a braided cap1 in a sort of uniform4 ,most of the other men were old or elderly2 some had white beards or whiskers1 almost all were grizzled4 ,they were talking1 too1 in an odd1 inconsequent1 chirping kind of way1 not listening to each other2 and moreover they were strangely adorned4 ,some had their hats stuck full of flowers1 others were wreathed with leaves4 ,a few had chains of daisies round their necks4 ,they seemed as merry and as obedient as children4 ,inside the gate1 in the centre of the quarry1 was a still stranger scene4 ,here was a ring of elderly and aged men1 their hats wreathed with garlands1 hand-in-hand1 executing a slow and solemn dance in a circle4 ,one1 who seemed the moving spirit1 a small wiry man with a fresh-coloured face and a long chin-beard1 was leaping high in the air1 singing some rustic song1 and dragging his less active companions round and round4 ,the others all entered into the spirit of the dance4 ,one very old and feeble man1 with a smile on his face1 was executing little clumsy hops1 deeply intent on the performance4 ,a few others stood round admiring the sport2 a little apart was a tall grave man1 talking loudly to himself1 with flowers stuck all over him1 who was spinning round and round in an ecstasy of delight4 ,becoming giddy1 he took a few rapid steps to the left1 but fell to the ground1 where he lay laughing softly1 and moving his hands in the air4 ,presently one of the officials said a word to the leader of the dance2 the ring broke up1 and the performers scattered1 gathering up little bundles of leaves and flowers that lay all about in some confusion1 and then trooping out to the brakes4 ,the quarry was deserted4 ,several of the group waved their hands to me1 uttering unintelligible words1 and holding out flowers4 ,i was so much surprised at the odd scene that ,i asked one of the officials what it all meant4 ,he said politely that it was a picnic party from the ,pauper ,lunatic ,asylum at ,h----4 ,the mystery was explained4 ,i said3 ,they seem to be enjoying themselves4 ,yes1 indeed1 sir1 he said1 they are like children2 they look forward to this all the year2 there is no greater punishment than to deprive a man of his outing4 ,he entered the last brake as he said these words1 and the carriages moved off1 a shrill and aged cheer rising from thin and piping voices on the air4 ,the whole thing did not strike me as grotesque1 but as infinitely pathetic and even beautiful4 ,here were these old pitiful creatures1 so deeply afflicted1 condemned most of them to a lifelong seclusion1 who were recalling and living over again their childish sports and delights4 ,what dim memories of old spring days1 before their sad disabilities had settled upon them1 were working in those aged and feeble brains6 ,what pleased me best was the obvious and light-hearted happiness of the whole party1 a compensation for days of starved monotony4 ,no party of school-children on a holiday could have been more thoughtlessly1 more intently gay4 ,here was a desolate company1 one would have thought1 of life's failures1 facing one of the saddest and least hopeful prospects that the world can afford2 yet on this day at least they were full to the brim of irresponsible and complete happiness and delight1 tasting an enjoyment1 it seemed1 more vivid than often falls to my own lot4 ,in the presence of such happiness it seemed so useless1 so unnecessary to ask why so heavy a burden was bound on their backs1 because here at all events was a scene of the purest and most innocent rapture4 ,i went on my way full of wonder and even of hope4 ,i could not fathom the deep mystery of the failure1 the suffering1 the weakness that runs across the world like an ugly crack across the face of a fair building4 ,but then how tenderly and wisely does the great ,artificer lend consolation and healing1 repairing and filling so far as he may1 the sad fracture2 he seems to know better than we can divine the things that belong to our peace2 so that as ,i looked across the purple rolling plain1 with all its wooded ridges1 its rich pastures1 the smoke going up from a hundred hamlets1 a confidence1 a quiet trust seemed to rise in my mind1 filling me with a strange yearning to know what were the thoughts of the vast ,mind that makes us and sustains us1 mingled with a faith in some large and far-off issue that shall receive and enfold our little fretful spirits1 as the sea receives the troubled leaping streams1 to move in slow unison with the wide and secret tides4 ,,xvi ,the ,cripple ,i went to-day to see an old friend whom ,i had not met for ten years4 ,some time ago he had a bad fall which for a time crippled him1 but from which it was hoped he would recover2 but he must have received some obscure and deep-seated injury1 because after improving for a time1 he began to go backwards1 and has now to a great extent lost the use of his limbs4 ,he was formerly a very active man1 both intellectually and physically4 ,he had a prosperous business in the country town on the outskirts of which he lives4 ,he was one of those tall spare men1 black-haired and black-eyed1 capable of bearing great fatigue1 full to the brim of vitality4 ,he was a great reader1 fond of music and art2 married to a no less cultivated and active wife1 but childless4 ,there never was a man who had a keener enjoyment of existence in all its aspects4 ,it used to be a marvel to me to see at how many points a man could touch life1 and the almost child-like zest which he threw into everything which he did4 ,on arriving at the house1 a pleasant old-fashioned place with a big shady garden1 ,i was shown into a large book-lined study1 and there presently crept and tottered into the room1 leaning on two sticks1 a figure which ,i can only say in no respect recalled to me the recollection of my friend4 ,he was bent and wasted1 his hair was white2 and there was that sunken look about the temples1 that tracery of lines about the eyes that tells of constant suffering4 ,but the voice was unaltered1 full1 resonant1 and distinct as ever4 ,he sat down and was silent for a moment4 ,i think that the motion even from one room into another caused him great pain4 ,then he began to talk2 first he told me of the accident1 and his journeys in search of health4 ,but the comfort is1 he added1 that the doctors have now decided that they can do no more for me1 and ,i need leave home no more4 ,he told me that he still went to his business every day--and ,i found that it was prospering greatly--and that though he could not drive1 he could get out in a wheeled chair2 he said nothing of his sufferings1 and presently began to talk of books and politics4 ,gradually ,i realised that ,i was in the company of a thoroughly cheerful man4 ,it was not the cheerfulness that comes of effort1 of a determined attempt to be interested in old pursuits1 but the abundant and overflowing cheerfulness of a man who has still a firm grasp on life4 ,he argued1 he discussed with the same eager liveliness2 and his laugh had the careless and good-humoured ring of a man whose mind was entirely content4 ,his wife soon entered2 and we sat for a long time talking4 ,i was keenly moved by the relations between them2 she displayed none of that minute attention to his needs1 none of that watchful anxiety which ,i have often thought1 tenderly lavished as it is upon invalids1 must bring home to them a painful sense of their dependence and helplessness2 and he too showed no trace of that fretful exigence which is too often the characteristic of those who cannot assist themselves1 and which almost invariably arises in the case of eager and active temperaments thus afflicted1 those whose minds range quickly from subject to subject1 and who feel their disabilities at every turn4 ,at one moment he wanted his glasses to read something from a book that lay beside him4 ,he asked his wife with a gentle courtesy to find them4 ,they were discovered in his own breast-pocket1 into which he could not even put his feeble hand1 and he apologised for his stupidity with an affectionate humility which made me feel inclined to tears1 especially when ,i saw the pleasure which the performance of this trifling service obviously caused her4 ,it was just the same1 ,i afterwards noticed1 with a young attendant who waited on him at luncheon1 an occasion which revealed to me the full extent of his helplessness4 ,i gathered from his wife in the course of the afternoon that though his life was not threatened1 yet that there was no doubt that his helplessness was increasing4 ,he could still hold a book and turn the pages2 but it was improbable that he could do so for long1 and he was amusing himself by inventing a mechanical device for doing this4 ,but she too talked of the prospect with a quiet tranquillity4 ,she said that he was making arrangements to direct his business from his house1 as it was becoming difficult for him to enter the office4 ,he himself showed the same unabated cheerfulness during the whole of my visit1 and spoke of the enjoyment it had brought him4 ,there was not the slightest touch of self-pity about his talk4 ,i should have admired and wondered at the fortitude of this gallant pair1 if ,i had seen signs of repression and self-conquest about them2 if they had relapsed even momentarily into repining1 if they had shown signs of a faithful determination to make the best of a bad business4 ,but ,i could discern no trace of such a mood about either of them4 ,whether this kindly and sweet patience has been acquired1 after hard and miserable wrestlings with despair and wretchedness1 ,i cannot say1 but ,i am inclined to think that it is not so4 ,it seems to me rather to be the display of perfect manliness and womanliness in the presence of an irreparable calamity1 a wonderful and amazing compensation1 sent quietly from the deepest fortress of ,love to these simple and generous natures1 who live in each other's lives4 ,i tried to picture to myself what my own thoughts would be if condemned to this sad condition2 ,i could only foresee a fretful irritability1 a wild anguish1 alternating with a torpid stupefaction4 ,i seem to love the old books better than ever1 my friend had said1 smiling softly1 in the course of the afternoon2 ,i used to read them hurriedly and greedily in the old days1 but now ,i have time to think over them--to reflect--,i never knew what a pleasure reflection was4 ,i could not help feeling as he said the words that with me such a stroke as he had suffered would have dashed the life1 the colour1 out of books1 and left them faded and withered husks4 ,half the charm of books1 ,i have always thought1 is the inter-play of the commentary of life and experience4 ,i ventured to ask him if this was not the case4 ,no1 he said1 ,i don't think it is--,i seem more interested in people1 in events1 in thoughts than ever2 and one gets them from a purer spring--,i don't know if ,i can explain1 he added1 but ,i think that one sees it all from a different perspective1 in a truer light1 when one's own desires and possibilities are so much more limited4 ,when ,i said good-bye to him1 he smiled at me and hoped that ,i should repeat my visit4 ,don't think of me as unhappy1 he added1 and his wife1 who was standing by him1 said1 ,indeed you need not2 and the two smiled at each other in a way which made me feel that they were speaking the simple truth1 and that they had found an interpretation of life1 a serene region to abide in1 which ,i1 with all my activities1 hopes1 fears1 businesses1 had somehow missed4 ,the pity of it6 and yet the beauty of it6 as ,i went away ,i felt that ,i had indeed trodden on holy ground1 and seen the transfiguration of humanity and pain into something august1 tranquil1 and divine4 ,,xvii ,oxford ,there are certain things in the world that are so praiseworthy that it seems a needless1 indeed an almost laughable thing to praise them2 such things are love and friendship1 food and sleep1 spring and summer2 such things1 too1 are the wisest books1 the greatest pictures1 the noblest cities4 ,but for all that ,i mean to try and make a little hymn in prose in honour of ,oxford1 a city ,i have seen but seldom1 and which yet appears to me one of the most beautiful things in the world4 ,i do not wish to single out particular buildings1 but to praise the whole effect of the place1 such as it seemed to me on a day of bright sun and cool air1 when ,i wandered hour after hour among the streets1 bewildered and almost intoxicated with beauty1 feeling as a poor man might who has pinched all his life1 and made the most of single coins1 and who is brought into the presence of a heap of piled-up gold1 and told that it is all his own4 ,i have seen it said in foolish books that it is a misfortune to ,oxford that so many of the buildings have been built out of so perishable a vein of stone4 ,it is indeed a misfortune in one respect1 that it tempts men of dull and precise minds to restore and replace buildings of incomparable grace1 because their outline is so exquisitely blurred by time and decay4 ,i remember myself1 as a child1 visiting ,oxford1 and thinking that some of the buildings were almost shamefully ruinous of aspect2 now that ,i am wiser ,i know that we have in these battered and fretted palace-fronts a kind of beauty that fills the mind with an almost despairing sense of loveliness1 till the heart aches with gratitude1 and thrills with the desire to proclaim the glory of the sight aloud4 ,these black-fronted blistered facades1 so threatening1 so sombre1 yet screening so bright and clear a current of life2 with the tender green of budding spring trees1 chestnuts full of silvery spires1 glossy-leaved creepers clinging1 with tiny hands1 to cornice and parapet1 give surely the sharpest and most delicate sense that it is possible to conceive of the contrast on which the essence of so much beauty depends4 ,to pass through one of these dark and smoke-stained courts1 with every line mellowed and harmonised1 as if it had grown up so out of the earth2 to find oneself in a sunny pleasaunce1 carpeted with velvet turf1 and set thick with flowers1 makes the spirit sigh with delight4 ,nowhere in the world can one see such a thing as those great gate-piers1 with a cognisance a-top1 with a grille of iron-work between them1 all sweetly entwined with some slim vagrant creeper1 that give a glimpse and a hint--no more--of a fairy-land of shelter and fountains within4 ,i have seen such palaces stand in quiet and stately parks1 as old1 as majestic1 as finely proportioned as the buildings of ,oxford2 but the very blackness of the city air1 and the drifting smoke of the town1 gives that added touch of grimness and mystery that the country airs cannot communicate4 ,and even fairer sights are contained within2 those panelled1 dark-roofed halls1 with their array of portraits gravely and intently regarding the stranger2 the chapels1 with their splendid classical screens and stalls1 rich and dim with ancient glass4 ,the towers1 domes1 and steeples2 and all set not in a mere paradise of lawns and glades1 but in the very heart of a city1 itself full of quaint and ancient houses1 but busy with all the activity of a brisk and prosperous town2 thereby again giving the strong and satisfying sense of contrast1 the sense of eager and every-day cares and pleasures1 side by side with these secluded havens of peace1 the courts and cloister1 where men may yet live a life of gentle thought and quiet contemplation1 untroubled1 nay1 even stimulated1 by the presence of a bustling life so near at hand1 which yet may not intrude upon the older dream4 ,i do not know whether my taste is entirely trustworthy1 but ,i confess that ,i find the ,italianate and classical buildings of ,oxford finer than the ,gothic buildings4 ,the ,gothic buildings are quainter1 perhaps1 more picturesque1 but there is an air of solemn pomp and sober dignity about the classical buildings that harmonises better with the sense of wealth and grave security that is so characteristic of the place4 ,the ,gothic buildings seem a survival1 and have thus a more romantic interest1 a more poetical kind of association4 ,but the classical porticos and facades seem to possess a nobler dignity1 and to provide a more appropriate setting for modern ,oxford2 because the spirit of ,oxford is more the spirit of the ,renaissance than the spirit of the ,schoolmen2 and personally ,i prefer that ecclesiasticism should be more of a flavour than a temper2 ,i mean that though ,i rejoice to think that sober ecclesiastical influences contribute a serious grace to the life of ,oxford1 yet ,i am glad to feel that the spirit of the place is liberal rather than ecclesiastical4 ,such traces as one sees in the chapels of the ,oxford ,movement1 in the shape of paltry stained glass1 starved reredoses1 modern ,gothic woodwork1 would be purely deplorable from the artistic point of view1 if they did not possess a historical interest4 ,they speak of interrupted development1 an attempt to put back the shadow on the dial1 to return to a narrower and more rigid tone1 to put old wine into new bottles1 which betrays a want of confidence in the expansive power of ,god4 ,i hate with a deep-seated hatred all such attempts to bind and confine the rising tide of thought4 ,i want to see religion vital and not formal1 elastic and not cramped by precedent and tradition4 ,and thus ,i love to see worship enshrined in noble classical buildings1 which seem to me to speak of a desire to infuse the intellectual spirit of ,greece1 the dignified imperialism of ,rome into the more timid and secluded ecclesiastical life1 making it fuller1 larger1 more free1 more deliberate4 ,but even apart from the buildings1 which are after all but the body of the place1 the soul of ,oxford1 its inner spirit1 is what lends it its satisfying charm4 ,on the one hand1 it gives the sense of the dignity of the intellect2 one reflects that here can be lived lives of stately simplicity1 of high enthusiasm1 apart from personal wealth1 and yet surrounded by enough of seemly dignity to give life the charm of grave order and quiet solemnity4 ,here are opportunities for peaceful and congenial work1 to the sound of mellodious bells2 uninterrupted hours1 as much society of a simple kind as a man can desire1 and the whole with a background of exquisite buildings and rich gardens4 ,and then1 too1 there is the tide of youthful life that floods every corner of the place4 ,it is an endless pleasure to see the troops of slim and alert young figures1 full of enjoyment and life1 with all the best gifts of life1 health1 work1 amusement1 society1 friendship1 lying ready to their hand4 ,the sense of this beating and thrilling pulse of life circulating through these sombre and splendid buildings is what gives the place its inner glow2 this life full of hope1 of sensation1 of emotion1 not yet shadowed or disillusioned or weary1 seems to be as the fire on the altar1 throwing up its sharp darting tongues of flame1 its clouds of fragrant smoke1 giving warmth and significance and a fiery heart to a sombre shrine4 ,and so it is that ,oxford is in a sort a magnetic pole for ,england2 a pole not1 perhaps1 of intellectual energy1 or strenuous liberalism1 or clamorous aims1 or political ideas2 few1 perhaps1 of the sturdy forces that make ,england potently great1 centre there4 ,the greatness of ,england is1 ,i suppose1 made up by her breezy1 loud-voiced sailors1 her lively1 plucky soldiers1 her ardent1 undefeated merchants1 her tranquil administrators2 by the stubborn adventurous spirit that makes itself at home everywhere1 and finds it natural to assume responsibilities4 ,but to ,oxford set the currents of what may be called intellectual emotion1 the ideals that may not make for immediate national greatness1 but which1 if delicately and faithfully nurtured1 hold out at least a hope of affecting the intellectual and spiritual life of the world4 ,there is something about ,oxford which is not in the least typical of ,england1 but typical of the larger brotherhood that is independent of nationalities2 that is akin to the spirit which in any land and in every age has produced imperishable monuments of the ardent human soul4 ,the tribe of ,oxford is the tribe from whose heart sprang the ,psalms of ,david2 ,homer and ,sophocles1 ,plato and ,virgil1 ,dante and ,goethe are all of the same divine company4 ,it may be said that ,john ,bull1 the sturdy angel of ,england1 turns his back slightingly upon such influences2 that he regards ,oxford as an incidental ornament of his person1 like a seal that jingles at his fob4 ,but all generous and delicate spirits do her a secret homage1 as a place where the seeds of beauty and emotion1 of wisdom and understanding1 are sown1 as in a secret garden4 ,hearts such as these1 even whirling past that celestial city1 among her poor suburbs1 feel an inexpressible thrill at the sight of her towers and domes1 her walls and groves4 ,quam dilecta sunt tabernacula1 they will say2 and they will breathe a reverent prayer that there may be no leading into captivity and no complaining in her streets4 ,,xviii ,authorship ,i found myself at dinner the other day next to an old friend1 whom ,i see but seldom2 a quiet1 laborious1 able man1 with the charm of perfect modesty and candour1 who1 moreover1 writes a very beautiful and lucid style4 ,i said to him that ,i conceived it to be my mission1 whenever ,i met him1 to enquire what he was writing1 and to beg him to write more4 ,he said smilingly that he was very much occupied in his work1 which is teaching1 and found little time to write2 besides1 he said1 ,i think that one writes too much4 ,he went on to say that though he loved writing well enough when he was in the mood for it1 yet that the labour of shaping sentences1 and lifting them to their places1 was very severe4 ,i felt myself a little rebuked by this1 for ,i will here confess that writing is the one pleasure and preoccupation of my own life1 though ,i do not publish a half of what ,i write4 ,it set me wondering whether ,i did indeed write too much2 and so ,i said to him3 ,you mean1 ,i suppose1 that one gets into the habit of serving up the same ideas over and over again1 with a different sauce1 perhaps2 but still the same ideas8 ,yes1 he said1 that is what ,i mean4 ,when ,i have written anything that ,i care about1 ,i feel that ,i must wait a long time before the cistern fills again4 ,we went on to talk of other things2 but ,i have since been reflecting whether there is truth in what my friend said4 ,if his view is true of writing1 then it is surely the only art that is so hampered4 ,we should never think that an artist worked too much2 we might feel that he did not perhaps finish his big pictures sufficiently2 but if he did not spare labour in finishing his pictures1 we should never find fault with him for doing1 say1 as ,turner did1 and making endless studies and sketches1 day after day1 of all that struck him as being beautiful4 ,we should feel indeed that some of these unconsidered and rapid sketches had a charm and a grace that the more elaborate pictures might miss2 and in any case we should feel that the more that he worked1 the firmer and easier would become his sweep of hand1 the more deft his power of indicating a large effect by an economy of resource4 ,the musician1 too3 no one would think of finding fault with him for working every day at his art2 and it is the same with all craftsmen2 the more they worked1 the surer would their touch be4 ,now ,i am inclined to believe that what makes writing good is not so much the pains taken with a particular piece of work1 the retouching1 the corrections1 the dear delays4 ,still more fruitful than this labour is the labour spent on work that is never used1 that never sees the light4 ,writing is to me the simplest and best pleasure in the world2 the mere shaping of an idea in words is the occupation of all others ,i most love2 indeed1 to speak frankly1 ,i plan and arrange all my days that ,i may secure a space for writing1 not from a sense of duty1 but merely from a sense of delight4 ,the whole world teems with subjects and thoughts1 sights of beauty and images of joy and sorrow1 that ,i desire to put into words2 and to forbid myself to write would be to exercise the strongest self-denial of which ,i am capable4 ,of course ,i do not mean that ,i can always please myself4 ,i have piles of manuscripts laid aside which fail either in conception or expression1 or in both4 ,but there are a dozen books ,i would like to write if ,i had the time4 ,to be honest1 ,i do not believe in fretting too much over a piece of writing4 ,writing1 laboriously constructed1 painfully ornamented1 is often1 ,i think1 both laborious and painful to read2 there is a sense of strain about it4 ,it is like those uneasy figures that one sees in the carved gargoyles of old churches1 crushed and writhing for ever under a sense of weight painfully sustained1 or holding a gaping mouth open1 for the water-pipe to discharge its contents therethrough4 ,however ingenious these carvings are1 they always give a sense of tension and oppression to the mind2 and it is the same with laboured writers2 my theory of writing rather is that the conception should be as clear as possible1 and then that the words should flow like a transparent stream1 following as simply as possible the shape and outline of the thought within1 like a waterbreak over a boulder in a stream's bed4 ,this1 ,i think1 is best attained by infinite practice4 ,if a piece of work seems to be heavy and muddy1 let it be thrown aside ungrudgingly2 but the attempt1 even though it be a failure1 makes the next attempt easier4 ,i do not think that one can write for very long at a time to much purpose2 ,i take the two or three hours when the mind is clearest and freshest1 and write as rapidly as ,i can2 this secures1 it seems to me1 a clearness and a unity which cannot be attained by fretful labour1 by poking and pinching at one's work4 ,one avoids by rapidity and ardour the dangerous defect of repetition2 a big task must be divided into small sharp episodes to be thus swiftly treated4 ,the thought of such a writer as ,flaubert lying on his couch or pacing his room1 the racked and tortured medium of his art1 spending hours in selecting the one perfect word for his purpose1 is a noble and inspiring picture2 but such a process does not1 ,i fear1 always end in producing the effect at which it aims2 it improves the texture at a minute point2 it sacrifices width and freedom4 ,together with clearness of conception and resource of vocabulary must come a certain eagerness of mood4 ,when all three qualities are present1 the result is good work1 however rapidly it may be produced4 ,if one of the three is lacking1 the work sticks1 hangs1 and grates2 and thus what ,i feel that the word-artist ought to do is to aim at working on these lines1 but to be very strict and severe about the ultimate selection of his work4 ,if1 for instance1 in a big task1 a section has been dully and impotently written1 let him put the manuscript aside1 and think no more of it for a while2 let him not spend labour in attempting to mend bad work2 then1 on some later occasion1 let him again get his conception clear1 and write the whole section again2 if he loves writing for itself he will not care how often this process is repeated4 ,i am speaking here very frankly2 and ,i will own that for myself1 when the day has rolled past and when the sacred hour comes1 ,i sit down to write with an appetite1 a keen rapture1 such as a hungry man may feel when he sits down to a savoury meal4 ,there is a real physical emotion that accompanies the process2 and it is a deep and lively distress that ,i feel when ,i am living under conditions that do not allow me to exercise my craft1 at being compelled to waste the appropriate hours in other occupations4 ,it may be fairly urged that with this intense impulse to write1 ,i ought to have contrived to make myself into a better writer2 and it might be thought that there is something either grotesque or pathetic in so much emotional enjoyment issuing in so slender a performance4 ,but the essence of the happiness is that the joy resides in the doing of the work and not in the giving it to the world2 and though ,i do not pretend not to be fully alive to the delight of having my work praised and appreciated1 that is altogether a secondary pleasure which in no way competes with the luxury of expression4 ,i am not ungrateful for this delight2 it may1 ,i know1 be withdrawn from me2 but meanwhile the world seems to be full to the brim of expressive and significant things4 ,there is a beautiful old story of a saint who saw in a vision a shining figure approaching him1 holding in his hand a dark and cloudy globe4 ,he held it out1 and the saint looking attentively upon it1 saw that it appeared to represent the earth in miniature2 there were the continents and seas1 with clouds sweeping over them2 and1 for all that it was so minute1 he could see cities and plains1 and little figures moving to and fro4 ,the angel laid his finger on a part of the globe1 and detached from it a small cluster of islands1 drawing them out of the sea2 and the saint saw that they were peopled by a folk1 whom he knew1 in some way that he could not wholly understand1 to be dreary and uncomforted4 ,he heard a voice saying1 ,he taketh up the isles as a very small thing2 and it darted into his mind that his work lay with the people of those sad islands2 that he was to go thither1 and speak to them a message of hope4 ,it is a beautiful story2 and it has always seemed to me that the work of the artist is like that4 ,he is to detach from the great peopled globe what little portion seems to appeal to him most2 and he must then say what he can to encourage and sustain men1 whatever thoughts of joy and hope come most home to him in his long and eager pilgrimage4 ,,xix ,hamlet ,we were talking yesterday about the stage1 a subject in which ,i am ashamed to confess ,i take but a feeble interest1 though ,i fully recognise the appeal of the drama to certain minds1 and its possibilities4 ,one of the party1 who had all his life been a great frequenter of theatres1 turned to me and said3 ,after all1 there is one play which seems to be always popular1 and to affect all audiences1 the poor1 the middle-class1 the cultivated1 alike--,hamlet4 ,yes1 ,i said1 and ,i wonder why that is8 ,well1 he said1 it is this1 ,i think3 that beneath all its subtleties1 all its intellectual force1 it has an emotional appeal to every one who has lived in the world2 every one sees himself more or less in ,hamlet2 every one has been in a situation in which he felt that circumstances were too strong for him2 and then1 too1 he added1 there is always a deep and romantic interest about the case of a man who has every possible external advantage1 youth1 health1 wealth1 rank1 love1 ardour1 and zest1 who is yet utterly miserable1 and moves to a dark end under a shadow of doom4 ,i thought1 and think this a profound and delicate criticism4 ,there is1 of course1 a great deal more in ,hamlet2 there is its high poetry1 its mournful dwelling upon deep mysteries1 its supernatural terrors1 its worldly wisdom1 its penetrating insight2 but these are all accessories to the central thought2 the conception is absolutely firm throughout4 ,the hunted soul of ,hamlet1 after a pleasant and easy drifting upon the stream of happy events1 finds a sombre curtain suddenly twitched aside1 and is confronted with a tragedy so dark1 a choice so desperate1 that the reeling brain staggers1 and can hardly keep its hold upon the events and habits of life4 ,day by day the shadow flits beside him2 morning after morning he uncloses his sad eyes upon a world1 which he had found so sweet1 and which he now sees to be so terrible2 the insistent horror breeds a whole troop of spectres1 so that all the quiet experiences of life1 friendship1 love1 nature1 art1 become big with uneasy speculations and surmises2 from the rampart-platform by the sea until the peal of ordnance is shot off1 as the poor bodies are carried out1 every moment brings with it some shocking or brooding experience4 ,hamlet is not strong enough to close his eyes to these things2 if for a moment he attempts this1 some tragic thought plucks at his shoulder1 and bids the awakened sleeper look out into the struggling light4 ,neither is he strong enough to face the situation with resolution and courage4 ,he turns and doubles before the pursuing ,fury2 he hopes against hope that a door of escape may be opened4 ,he poisons the air with gloom and suspicion2 he feeds with wilful sadness upon the most melancholy images of death and despair4 ,and though the great creator of this mournful labyrinth1 this atrocious dilemma1 can involve the sad spirit with an art that thrills all the most delicate fibres of the human spirit1 he cannot stammer out even the most faltering solution1 the smallest word of comfort or hope4 ,he leaves the problem1 where he took it up1 in the mighty hands of ,god4 ,and thus the play stands as the supreme memorial of the tortured spirit4 ,the sad soul of the prince seems like an orange-banded bee1 buzzing against the glass of some closed chamber-window1 wondering heavily what is the clear yet palpable medium that keeps it1 in spite of all its efforts1 from re-entering the sunny paradise of tree and flower1 that lies so close at hand1 and that is yet unattainable2 until one wonders why the supreme ,lord of the place cannot put forth a finger1 and release the ineffectual spirit from its fruitless pain4 ,as the play gathers and thickens to its crisis1 one experiences--and this is surely a test of the highest art--the poignant desire to explain1 to reason1 to comfort1 to relieve2 even if one cannot help1 one longs at least to utter the yearning of the heart1 the intense sympathy that one feels for the multitude of sorrows that oppress this laden spirit2 to assuage if only for a moment1 by an answering glance of love1 the fire that burns in those stricken eyes4 ,and one must bear away from the story not only the intellectual satisfaction1 the emotional excitement1 but a deep desire to help1 as far as a man can1 the woes of spirits who1 all the world over1 are in the grip of these dreary agonies4 ,and that1 after all1 is the secret of the art that deals with the presentment of sorrow2 with the art that deals with pure beauty the end is plain enough2 we may stay our hearts upon it1 plunge with gratitude into the pure stream1 and recognise it for a sweet and wholesome gift of ,god2 but the art that makes sorrow beautiful1 what are we to do with that8 ,we may learn to bear1 we may learn to hope that there is1 in the mind of ,god1 if we could but read it1 a region where both beauty and sadness are one2 and meanwhile it may teach us to let our heart go out1 in love and pity1 to all who are bound upon their pilgrimage in heaviness1 and passing uncomforted through the dark valley4 ,,xx ,a ,sealed ,spirit ,a few weeks ago ,i was staying with a friend of mine1 a clergyman in the country4 ,he told me one evening a very sad story about one of his parishioners4 ,this was a man who had been a clerk in a ,london ,bank1 whose eyesight had failed1 and who had at last become totally blind4 ,he was1 at the time when this calamity fell upon him1 about forty years of age4 ,the ,directors of the ,bank gave him a small pension1 and he had a very small income of his own2 he was married1 with one son1 who was shortly after taken into the ,bank as a clerk4 ,the man and his wife came into the parish1 and took a tiny cottage1 where they lived very simply and frugally4 ,but within a year or two his hearing had also failed1 and he had since become totally deaf4 ,it is almost appalling to reflect upon the condition of helplessness to which this double calamity can reduce a man4 ,to be cut off from the sights and sounds of the world1 with these two avenues of perception closed1 so as to be able to take cognisance of external things only through scent and touch6 ,it would seem to be well-nigh unendurable6 ,he had learnt to read raised type with his fingers1 and had been presented by some friends with two or three books of this kind4 ,his speech was1 as is always the case1 affected1 but still intelligible4 ,only the simplest facts could be communicated to him1 by means of a set of cards1 with words in raised type1 out of which a few sentences could be arranged4 ,but he and his wife had invented a code of touch1 by means of which she was able to a certain extent1 though of course very inadequately1 to communicate with him4 ,i asked how he employed himself1 and ,i was told that he wrote a good deal1--curious1 rhapsodical compositions1 dwelling much on his own thoughts and fancies4 ,he sits1 said the ,vicar1 for hours together on a bench in his garden1 and walks about1 guided by his wife4 ,his sense of both smell and touch have become extraordinarily acute2 and1 afflicted as he is1 ,i am sure he is not at all an unhappy man4 ,he produced some of the writings of which he had spoken4 ,they were written in a big1 clear hand4 ,i read them with intense interest4 ,some of them were recollections of his childish days1 set in a somewhat antique and biblical phraseology4 ,some of them were curious reveries1 dwelling much upon the perception of natural things through scent4 ,he complained1 ,i remember1 that life was so much less interesting in winter because scents were so much less sweet and less complex than in summer4 ,but the whole of the writings showed a serene exaltation of mind4 ,there was not a touch of repining or resignation about them4 ,he spoke much of the aesthetic pleasure that he received from an increased power of disentangling the component elements of a scent1 such as came from his garden on a warm summer day4 ,some of the writings that were shown me were religious in character1 in which the man spoke of a constant sense of the nearness of ,god's presence1 and of a strange joy that filled his heart4 ,on the following day the ,vicar suggested that we should go to see him2 we turned out of a lane1 and found a little cottage with a thatched roof1 standing in a small orchard1 bright with flowers4 ,on a bench we saw the man sitting1 entirely unconscious of our presence4 ,he was a tall1 strongly-built fellow with a beard1 bronzed and healthy in appearance4 ,his eyes were wide open1 and1 but for a curious fixity of gaze1 ,i should not have suspected that he was blind4 ,his hands were folded on his knee1 and he was smiling2 once or twice ,i saw his lips move as if he was talking to himself4 ,we won't go up to him1 said the ,vicar1 as it might startle him2 we will find his wife4 ,so we went up to the cottage door1 and knocked4 ,it was opened to us by a small elderly woman1 with a grave1 simple look1 and a very pleasant smile4 ,the little place was wonderfully clean and neat4 ,the ,vicar introduced me1 saying that ,i had been much interested in her husband's writings1 and had come to call on him4 ,she smiled briskly1 and said that he would be much pleased4 ,we walked down the path2 when we were within a few feet of him1 he became aware of our presence1 and turned his head with a quiet1 expectant air4 ,his wife went up to him1 took his hand1 and seemed to beat on it softly with her fingers2 he smiled1 and presently raised his hat1 as if to greet us1 and then took up a little writing-pad which lay beside him1 and began to write4 ,a little conversation followed1 his wife reading out what he had written1 and then interpreting our remarks to him4 ,what struck me most was the absence of egotism in what he wrote4 ,he asked the ,vicar one or two questions1 and desired to know who ,i was4 ,i went and sate down beside him2 he wrote in his book that it was a pleasure to him to meet a stranger4 ,might he take the liberty of seeing him in his own way8 ,he means1 said the wife1 smiling1 might he put his hand on your face--some people do not like it1 she added apologetically1 and he will quite understand if you do not4 ,i said that ,i was delighted2 and the blind man thereupon laid his hand upon my sleeve1 and with an incredible deftness and lightness of touch1 so that ,i hardly felt it1 passed his finger-tips over my coat and waistcoat1 lingered for a moment over my watch-chain1 then over my tie and collar1 and then very gently over my face and hair2 it did not last half a minute1 and there was something curiously magnetic in the touch of the slim firm fingers4 ,now ,i see him1 he wrote2 please thank him4 ,it will please him1 said the ,vicar1 if we ask him to describe you4 ,in a moment1 after a few touches of his wife's hand1 he smiled1 and wrote down a really remarkably accurate picture of my appearance4 ,we then asked him a few questions about himself4 ,very well and very happy1 he wrote1 full of the love of ,god2 and then added1 ,you will perhaps think that ,i get tired of doing nothing1 but the time is too short for all ,i want to do4 ,it is quite true1 said his wife1 smiling as she read it4 ,he is as pleased as a child with everything1 and every one is so good to him4 ,presently she asked him to read aloud to us2 and in a voice of great distinctness1 he read a few verses of the ,book of ,job from a big volume4 ,the voice was high and resonant1 but varied strangely in pitch4 ,he asked at the end whether we had heard every word1 and being told that we had1 smiled very sweetly and frankly1 like a boy who has performed a task well4 ,the ,vicar suggested that he should come for a turn with us1 at which he visibly brightened1 and said he would like to walk through the village4 ,he took our arms1 walking between us2 and with a delicate courtesy1 knowing that we could not communicate with him1 talked himself1 very quietly and simply1 almost all the way1 partly of what he was convinced we were passing1--guessing1 ,i imagine1 mainly by a sense of smell1 and interpreting it all with astonishing accuracy1 though ,i confess ,i was often unable even to detect the scents which guided him4 ,we walked thus for half an hour1 listening to his quiet talk4 ,two or three people came up to us4 ,each time the ,vicar checked him1 and he held out his hand to be shaken2 in each case he recognised the person by the mere touch of the hand4 ,mrs ,purvis1 isn't it8 ,well1 you see me in very good company this morning1 don't you8 ,it is so kind of the ,vicar and his friend to take me out1 and it is pleasant to meet friends in the village4 ,he seemed to know all about the affairs of the place1 and made enquiries after various people4 ,it was a very strange experience to walk thus with a fellow-creature suffering from these sad limitations1 and yet to be conscious of being in the presence of so perfectly contented and cheerful a spirit4 ,before we parted1 he wrote on his pad that he was working hard4 ,i am trying to write a little book2 of course ,i know that ,i can never see it1 but ,i should like to tell people that it is possible to live a life like mine1 and to be full of happiness2 that ,god sends me abundance of joy1 so that ,i can say with truth that ,i am happier now than ever ,i was in the old days4 ,such peace and joy1 with so many to love me2 so little that ,i can do for others1 except to speak of the marvellous goodness of ,god1 and of the beautiful thoughts he gives me4 ,yes1 he has written some chapters1 said the faithful wife2 but he does not want any one to see them till they are done4 ,i shall never forget the sight of the two as we went away3 he stood1 smiling and waving his hand1 under an apple-tree in full bloom1 with the sun shining on the flowers4 ,it gave me the sense of a pure and simple content such as ,i have rarely experienced4 ,the beauty and strength of the picture have dwelt with me ever since1 showing me that a soul can be thus shut up in what would seem to be so dark a prison1 with the windows1 through which most of us look upon the world1 closed and shuttered2 and yet not only not losing the joy of life1 but seeming to taste it in fullest measure4 ,if one could but accept thus one's own limitations1 viewing them not as sources of pleasure closed1 but as opening the door more wide to what remains2 the very simplicity and rarity of the perceptions that are left1 gaining in depth and quality from their isolation4 ,but beyond all this lies that well-spring of inner joy1 which seems to be withheld from so many of us4 ,is it indeed withheld8 ,is it conferred upon this poor soul simply as a tender compensation8 ,can we not by quiet passivity1 rather than by resolute effort1 learn the secret of it8 ,i believe myself that the source is there in many hearts1 but that we visit it too rarely1 and forget it in the multitude of little cares and businesses1 which seem so important1 so absorbing4 ,it is like a hidden treasure1 which we go so far abroad to seek1 and for which we endure much weariness of wandering2 while all the while it is buried in our own garden-ground2 we have paced to and fro above it many times1 never dreaming that the bright thing lay beneath our feet1 and within reach of our forgetful hand4 ,,xxi ,leisure ,it was a bright day in early spring2 large1 fleecy clouds floated in a blue sky2 the wind was cool1 but the sun lay hot in sheltered places4 ,i was spending a few days with an old friend1 at a little house he calls his ,hermitage1 in a ,western valley2 we had walked out1 had passed the bridge1 and had stood awhile to see the clear stream flowing1 a vein of reflected sapphire1 among the green water-meadows2 we had climbed up among the beech-woods1 through copses full of primroses1 to a large heathery hill1 where a clump of old pines stood inside an ancient earth-work4 ,the forest lay at our feet1 and the doves cooed lazily among the tree-tops2 beyond lay the plain1 with a long range of smooth downs behind1 where the river broadened to the sea-pool1 which narrowed again to the little harbour2 and1 across the clustered house-roofs and the lonely church tower of the port1 we could see a glint of the sea4 ,we sat awhile in silence2 then ,come1 ,i said1 ,i am going to be impertinent6 ,i am in a mood to ask questions1 and to have full answers4 ,and ,i1 said my host placidly1 am always in the mood to answer questions4 ,i would call my friend a poet1 because he is sealed of the tribe1 if ever man was2 yet he has never written verses to my knowledge4 ,he is a big1 burly1 quiet man1 gentle and meditative of aspect2 shy before company1 voluble in private4 ,half-humorous1 half melancholy4 ,he has been a man of affairs1 prosperous1 too1 and shrewd4 ,but nothing in his life was ever so poetical as the way in which1 to the surprise and even consternation of all his friends1 he announced one day1 when he was turned of forty1 that he had had enough of work1 and that he would do no more4 ,well1 he had no one to say him nay2 he has but few relations1 none in any way dependent on him2 he has a modest competence2 and1 being fond of all leisurely things--books1 music1 the open air1 the country1 flowers1 and the like--he has no need to fear that his time will be unoccupied4 ,he looked lazily at me1 biting a straw4 ,come1 said ,i again1 here is the time for a catechism4 ,i have reason to think you are over forty8 ,yes1 said he1 the more's the pity6 ,and you have given up regular work1 ,i said1 for over a year2 and how do you like that8 ,like it8 he said4 ,well1 so much that ,i can never work again2 and what is stranger still is that ,i never knew what it was to be really busy till ,i gave up work4 ,before1 ,i was often bored2 now1 the day is never long enough for all ,i have to do4 ,but that is a dreadful confession1 ,i said2 and how do you justify yourself for this miserable indifference to all that is held to be of importance8 ,listen6 he said1 smiling and holding up his hand4 ,there floated up out of the wood the soft crooning of a dove1 like the over-brimming of a tide of content4 ,there's the answer1 he added4 ,how does that dove justify his existence8 and yet he has not much on his mind4 ,i have no answer ready1 ,i said1 though there is one1 ,i am sure1 if you will only give me time2 but let that come later3 more questions first1 and then ,i will deliver judgment4 ,now1 attend to this seriously1 ,i said4 ,how do you justify it that you are alone in the world1 not mated1 not a good husband and father8 ,the dove has not got that on his conscience4 ,ah6 said my friend1 ,i have often asked myself that4 ,but for many years ,i had not the time to fall in love2 if ,i had been an idle man it would have been different1 and now that ,i am free--well1 ,i regard it as1 on the whole1 a wise dispensation4 ,i have no domestic virtues2 ,i am a pretty commonplace person1 and ,i think there is no reason why ,i should perpetuate my own feeble qualities1 bind my dull qualities up closer with the life of the world4 ,besides1 ,i have a theory that the world is made now very much as it was in the ,middle ,ages4 ,there was but one choice then--a soldier or a monk4 ,now1 ,i have no combative blood in me2 ,i hate a row2 ,i am a monk to the marrow of my bones1 and the monks are the failures from the point of view of race4 ,no monk should breed monks2 there are enough of his kind in the hive already4 ,you a monk8 said ,i1 laughing4 ,why1 you are nothing of the kind2 you are just the sort of man for an adoring wife and a handful of big children4 ,i must have a better answer4 ,well1 then1 said he1 rather seriously1 ,i will give you a better answer4 ,there are some people whose affections are made to run1 strong and straight1 in a narrow channel4 ,the world holds but one woman for a man of that type1 and it is his business to find her2 but there are others1 and ,i am one1 who dribble away their love in a hundred channels--in art1 in nature1 among friends4 ,to speak frankly1 ,i have had a hundred such passions4 ,i made friends as a boy1 quickly and romantically1 with all kinds of people--some old1 some young4 ,then ,i have loved books1 and music1 and1 above all1 the earth and the things of the earth4 ,to the wholesome1 normal man these things are but an agreeable background1 and the real business of life lies with wife and child and work4 ,but to me the real things have been the beautiful things--sunrise and sunset1 streams and woods1 old houses1 talk1 poetry1 pictures1 ideas4 ,and ,i always liked my work1 too4 ,and you did it well8 ,i said4 ,oh1 yes1 well enough1 he replied4 ,i have a clear head1 and ,i am conscientious2 and then there was some fun to be got out of it at times4 ,but it was never a part of myself for all that4 ,and the reason why ,i gave it up was not because ,i was tired of it1 but because ,i was getting to depend too much upon it4 ,i should very soon have been unable to do without it4 ,but what is your programme8 ,i said1 rather urgently4 ,don't you want to be of some use in the world8 ,to make other people better and happier1 for instance4 ,my dear boy1 said my companion1 with a smile1 do you know that you are talking in a very conventional way8 ,of course1 ,i desire that people should be better and happier1 myself among the number2 but how am ,i to set about it8 ,most people's idea of being better and happier is to make other people subscribe to make them richer4 ,they want more things to eat and drink and wear2 they want success and respectability1 to be sidesmen and town councillors1 and even ,members of ,parliament4 ,nothing is more hopelessly unimaginative than ordinary people's aims and ideas1 and the aims and ideas1 too1 that are propounded from pulpits4 ,i don't want people to be richer and more prosperous2 ,i want them to be poorer and simpler4 ,which is the better man1 the shepherd there on the down1 out all day in the air1 seeing a thousand pretty things1 or the grocer behind his counter1 living in an odour of lard and cheese1 bowing and fussing1 and drinking spirits in the evening8 ,of course1 a wholesome-minded man may be wholesome-minded everywhere and anywhere2 but prosperity1 which is the ,englishman's idea of righteousness1 is a very dangerous thing1 and has very little of what is divine about it4 ,if ,i had stuck to my work1 as all my friends advised me1 what would have been the result8 ,i should have had more money than ,i want1 and nothing in the world to live for but my work4 ,of course1 ,i know that ,i run the risk of being thought indolent and unpractical4 ,if ,i were a prophet1 ,i should find it easy enough to scold everybody1 and find fault with the poor1 peaceful world4 ,but as ,i am not1 ,i can only follow my own line of life1 and try to see and love as many as ,i can of the beautiful things that ,god flings down all round us4 ,i am not a philanthropist1 ,i suppose2 but most of the philanthropists ,i have known have seemed to me tiresome1 self-seeking people1 with a taste for trying to take everything out of ,god's hands4 ,i am an individualist1 ,i imagine4 ,i think that most of us have to find our way1 and to find it alone4 ,i do try to help a few quiet people at the right moment2 but ,i believe that every one has his own circle--some larger1 some smaller--and that one does little good outside it4 ,if every one would be content with that1 the world would be mended in a trice4 ,i am glad that you1 at least1 admit that there is something to be mended1 ,i said4 ,oh1 yes1 said he1 the general conditions seem to me to want mending2 but that1 ,i humbly think1 is ,god's matter1 and not mine4 ,the world is slowly broadening and improving1 ,i believe4 ,in these days1 when we shoot our enemies and then nurse them1 we are coming1 ,i believe1 to see even the gigantic absurdity of war2 but all that side of it is too big for me4 ,i am no philosopher6 ,what ,i believe we ought to do is to be patient1 kind1 and courageous in a corner4 ,now1 ,i will give you an instance4 ,i had a friend who was a good1 hard-working clergyman2 a brave1 genial1 courageous creature2 he had a town parish not far from here2 he liked his work1 and he did it well4 ,he was the friend of all the boys and girls in the parish2 he worked a hundred useful1 humble institutions4 ,he was nothing of a preacher1 and a poor speaker2 but something generous1 honest1 happy seemed to radiate from the man4 ,of course1 they could not let him alone4 ,they offered him a ,bishopric4 ,all his friends said he was bound to take it2 the poor fellow wrote to me1 and said that he dared not refuse a sphere of wider influence1 and all that4 ,i wrote and told him my mind--namely1 that he was doing a splendid piece of quiet1 sober work1 and that he had better stick to it4 ,but1 of course1 he didn't4 ,well1 what is the result8 ,he is worried to death4 ,he has a big house and a big household2 he is a welcome guest in country-houses and vicarages2 he opens churches1 he confirms2 he makes endless poor speeches1 and preaches weak sermons4 ,his time is all frittered away in directing the elaborate machinery of a diocese2 and all his personal work is gone4 ,i don't say he doesn't impress people4 ,but his strength lay in his personal work1 his work as a neighbour and a friend4 ,he is not a clever man2 he never says a suggestive thing--he is not a sower of thoughts1 but a simple pastor4 ,well1 ,i regard it as a huge and lamentable mistake that he should ever have changed his course2 and the motive that made him do it was a bad one1 only disguised as an angel of light4 ,instead of being the stoker of the train1 he is now a distinguished passenger in a first-class carriage4 ,well1 ,i said1 ,i admit that there is a good deal in what you say4 ,but if such a summons comes to a man1 is it not more simple-minded to follow it dutifully8 ,is it not1 after all1 part of the guiding of ,god8 ,ah6 said my host1 that is a hard question1 ,i admit4 ,but a man must look deep into his heart1 and face a situation of the kind bravely and simply4 ,he must be quite sure that it is a summons from ,god1 and not a temptation from the world4 ,i admit that it may be the former4 ,but in the case of which ,i have just spoken1 my friend ought to have seen that it was the latter4 ,he was made for the work he was doing2 he was obviously not made for the other4 ,and to sum it up1 ,i think that ,god puts us into the world to live1 not necessarily to get influence over other people4 ,if a man is worth anything1 the influence comes2 and ,i don't call it living to attend public luncheons1 and to write unnecessary letters1 because public luncheons are things which need not exist1 and are only amusements invented by fussy and idle people4 ,i am not at all against people amusing themselves4 ,but they ought to do it quietly and inexpensively1 and not elaborately and noisily4 ,the only thing that is certain is that men must work and eat and sleep and die4 ,well1 ,i want them to enjoy their work1 their food1 their rest2 and then ,i should like them to enjoy their leisure hours peacefully and quietly4 ,i have done as much in my twenty years of business as a man in a well-regulated state ought to do in the whole of his life2 and the rest ,i shall give1 ,god willing1 to leisure--not eating my cake in a corner1 but in quiet good fellowship1 with an eye and an ear for this wonderful and beautiful world4 ,and my companion smiled upon me a large1 gentle1 engaging smile4 ,yes1 ,i said1 you have answered well1 and you have given me plenty to think about4 ,and at all events you have a point of view1 and that is a great thing4 ,yes1 said he1 a great thing1 as long as one is not sure one is right1 but ready to learn1 and not desirous to teach4 ,that is the mistake4 ,we are children at school--we ought not to forget that2 but many of us want to sit in the master's chair1 and rap the desk1 and cane the other children4 ,and so our talk wandered to other things2 then we were silent for a little1 while the birds came home to their roosts1 and the trees shivered in the breeze of sunset2 till at last the golden glow gathered in the west1 and the sun went down in state behind the crimson line of sea4 ,,xxii ,the ,pleasures of ,work ,i desire to do a very sacred thing to-day3 to enunciate a couple of platitudes and attest them4 ,it is always a solemn moment in life when one can sincerely subscribe to a platitude4 ,platitudes are the things which people of plain minds shout from the steps of the staircase of life as they ascend2 and to discover the truth of a platitude by experience means that you have climbed a step higher4 ,the first enunciation is1 that in this world we most of us do what we like4 ,and the corollary to that is1 that we most of us like what we do4 ,of course1 we must begin by taking for granted that we most of us are obliged to do something4 ,but that granted1 it seems to me that it is very rare to find people who do not take a certain pleasure in their work1 and even secretly congratulate themselves on doing it with a certain style and efficiency4 ,to find a person who has not some species of pride of this nature is very rare4 ,other people may not share our opinion of our own work4 ,but even in the case of those whose work is most open to criticism1 it is almost invariable to find that they resent criticism1 and are very ready to appropriate praise4 ,i had a curiously complete instance of this the other day4 ,in a parish which ,i often visit1 the organ in the church is what is called presided over by the most infamous executant ,i have ever heard--an elderly man1 who seldom plays a single chord correctly1 and whose attempts to use the pedals are of the nature of tentative and unsuccessful experiments4 ,his performance has lately caused a considerable amount of indignation in the parish1 for a new organ has been placed in the church1 of far louder tone than the old instrument1 and my friend the organist is hopelessly adrift upon it4 ,the residents in the place have almost made up their minds to send a round-robin to the ,vicar to ask that the pulsator organorum1 the beater of the organ1 as old ,cathedral statutes term him1 may be deposed4 ,the last time ,i attended service1 one of those strangely appropriate verses came up in the course of the ,psalms1 which make troubled spirits feel that the ,psalter does indeed utter a message to faithful individual hearts4 ,i have desired that they1 even my enemies1 ran the verse1 should not triumph over me2 for when my foot slipped1 they rejoiced greatly against me4 ,in the course of the verse the unhappy performer executed a perfect fandango on the pedals4 ,i looked guiltily at the senior churchwarden1 and saw his mouth twitch4 ,in the same afternoon ,i fell in with the organist1 in the course of a stroll1 and discoursed to him in a tone of gentle condolence about the difficulties of a new instrument4 ,he looked blankly at me1 and then said that he supposed that some people might find a change of instrument bewildering1 but that for himself he felt equally at home on any instrument4 ,he went on to relate a series of compliments that well-known musicians had paid him1 which ,i felt must either have been imperfectly recollected1 or else must have been of a consolatory or even ironical nature4 ,in five minutes1 ,i discovered that my friend was the victim of an abundant vanity1 and that he believed that his vocation in life was organ-playing4 ,again1 ,i remember that1 when ,i was a schoolmaster1 one of my colleagues was a perfect byword for the disorder and noise that prevailed in his form4 ,i happened once to hold a conversation with him on disciplinary difficulties1 thinking that he might have the relief of confiding his troubles to a sympathising friend4 ,what was my amazement when ,i discovered that his view of the situation was1 that every one was confronted with the same difficulties as himself1 and that he obviously believed that he was rather more successful than most of us in dealing with them tactfully and strictly4 ,i believe my principle to be of almost universal application2 and that if one could see into the heart of the people who are accounted1 and rightly accounted1 to be gross and conspicuous failures1 we should find that they were not free from a certain pleasant vanity about their own qualifications and efficiency4 ,the few people whom ,i have met who are apt to despond over their work are generally people who do it remarkably well1 and whose ideal of efficiency is so high that they criticise severely in themselves any deviation from their standard4 ,moreover1 if one goes a little deeper--if1 for instance1 one cordially re-echoes their own criticisms upon their work--such criticisms are apt to be deeply resented4 ,i will go further1 and say that only once in the course of my life have ,i found a man who did his work really well1 without any particular pride and pleasure in it4 ,to do that implies an extraordinary degree of will-power and self-command4 ,i do not mean to say that1 if any professional person found himself suddenly placed in the possession of an independent income1 greater than he had ever derived from his professional work1 his pleasure in his work would be sufficient to retain him in the exercise of it4 ,we have most of us an unhappy belief in our power of living a pleasurable and virtuous life of leisure2 and the desire to live what is called the life of a gentleman1 which character has lately been defined as a person who has no professional occupation1 is very strong in the hearts of most of us4 ,but1 for all that1 we most of us enjoy our work2 the mere fact that one gains facility1 and improves from day to day1 is a source of sincere pleasure1 however far short of perfection our attempts may fall2 and1 generally speaking1 our choice of a profession is mainly dictated by a certain feeling of aptitude for and interest in what we propose to undertake4 ,it is1 then1 a happy and merciful delusion by which we are bound4 ,we grow1 ,i think1 to love our work1 and we grow1 too1 to believe in our method of doing it4 ,we cannot1 a great preacher once said1 all delude ourselves into believing that we are richer1 handsomer1 braver1 more distinguished than others2 but there are few of us who do not cherish a secret belief that1 if only the truth were known1 we should prove to be more interesting than others4 ,to leave our work for a moment1 and to turn to ordinary social intercourse4 ,i am convinced that the only thing that can account for the large number of bad talkers in the world is the wide-spread belief that prevails among individuals as to their power of contributing interest and amusement to a circle4 ,one ought to keep this in mind1 and bear faithfully and patiently the stream of tiresome talk that pours1 as from a hose1 from the lips of diffuse and lengthy conversationalists4 ,i once made a terrible mistake4 ,i complimented1 from the mere desire of saying something agreeable1 and finding my choice of praiseworthy qualities limited1 an elderly1 garrulous acquaintance on his geniality1 on an evening when ,i had writhed uneasily under a steady downpour of talk4 ,i have bitterly rued my insincerity4 ,not only have ,i received innumerable invitations from the man whom the ,americans would call my complimentee1 but when ,i am in his company ,i see him making heroic attempts to make his conversation practically continuous4 ,how often since that day have ,i sympathised with ,st ,james in his eloquent description of the deadly and poisonous power of the tongue6 ,a bore is not1 as is often believed1 a merely selfish and uninteresting person4 ,he is often a man who labours conscientiously and faithfully at an accomplishment1 the exercise of which has become pleasurable to him4 ,and thus a bore is the hardest of all people to convert1 because he is1 as a rule1 conscious of virtue and beneficence4 ,on the whole1 it is better not to disturb the amiable delusions of our fellow-men1 unless we are certain that we can improve them4 ,to break the spring of happiness in a virtuous bore is a serious responsibility4 ,it is better1 perhaps1 both in matters of work and in matters of social life1 to encourage our friends to believe in themselves4 ,we must not1 of course1 encourage them in vicious and hurtful enjoyment1 and there are1 of course1 bores whose tediousness is not only not harmless1 but a positively noxious and injurious quality4 ,there are bores who have but to lay a finger upon a subject of universal or special interest1 to make one feel that under no circumstances will one ever be able to allow one's thoughts to dwell on the subject again2 and such a person should be1 as far as possible1 isolated from human intercourse1 like a sufferer from a contagious malady4 ,but this extremity of noxiousness is rare4 ,and it may be said that1 as a rule1 one does more to increase happiness by a due amount of recognition and praise1 even when one is recognising rather the spirit of a performance than the actual result2 and such a course of action has the additional advantage of making one into a person who is eagerly welcomed and sought after in all kinds of society4 ,,xxiii ,the ,abbey ,the fresh wind blew cheerily as we raced1 my friend and ,i1 across a long stretch of rich fen-land4 ,the sunlight1 falling somewhat dimly through a golden haze1 lay very pleasantly on the large pasture-fields4 ,there are few things more beautiful1 ,i think1 than these great level plains2 they give one a delightful sense of space and repose4 ,the distant lines of trees1 the far-off church towers1 the long dykes1 the hamlets half-hidden in orchards1 the sky-space and field-silence1 give one a feeling of quiet rustic life lived on a large and simple scale1 which seems the natural life of the world4 ,our goal was the remains of an old religious house1 now a farm4 ,we were soon at the place2 it stood on a very gentle rising ground1 once an island above the fen4 ,two great columns of the ,abbey ,church served as gate-posts4 ,the house itself lay a little back from the road1 a comfortable cluster of big barns and outhouses1 with great walnut trees all about1 in the middle of an ancient tract of pasture1 full of dimpled excavations1 in which the turf grew greener and more compact4 ,the farm-house itself1 a large irregular ,georgian building covered with rough orange plaster1 showed a pleasant tiled roof among the barns1 over a garden set with venerable sprawling box-trees4 ,we found a friendly old labourer1 full of simple talk1 who showed us the orchard1 with its mouldering wall of stone1 pierced with niches1 the line of dry stew-ponds1 the refectory1 now a great barn1 piled high with heaps of grain and straw4 ,we walked through byres tenanted by comfortable pigs routing in the dirt4 ,we hung over a paling to watch the creased and discontented face of an old hog1 grunting in shrill anticipation of a meal4 ,our guide took us to the house1 where we found a transept of the church1 now used as a brew-house1 with the line of the staircase still visible1 rising up to a door in the wall that led once to the dormitory1 down the steps of which1 night after night1 the shivering and sleepy monks must have stumbled into their chilly church for prayers4 ,the hall of the house was magnificent with great ,norman arches1 once the aisle of the nave4 ,the whole scene had the busy1 comfortable air of a place full of patriarchal life1 the dignity of a thing existing for use and not for show1 of quiet prosperity1 of garnered provender and well-fed stock4 ,though it made no deliberate attempt at beauty1 it was full of a seemly and homely charm4 ,the face of the old fellow that led us about1 chirping fragments of local tradition1 with a mild pride in the fact that strangers cared to come and see the place1 wore the contented1 weather-beaten look that comes of a life of easy labour spent in the open air4 ,his patched gaiters1 the sacking tied round him with a cord to serve as an apron1 had the same simple appropriateness4 ,we walked leisurely about1 gathering a hundred pretty impressions1--as the old filbert-trees that fringed the orchard1 the wall-flowers1 which our guide called the blood-warriors1 on the ruined coping1 a flight of pigeons turning with a sharp clatter in the air4 ,at last he left us to go about his little business2 and we1 sitting on a broken mounting-block in the sunshine1 gazed lazily and contentedly at the scene4 ,we attempted to picture something of the life of the ,benedictines who built the house4 ,it must have been a life of much quiet happiness4 ,we tried to see in imagination the quaint clustered fabrics1 the ancient church1 the cloister1 the barns1 the out-buildings4 ,the brethren must have suffered much from cold in winter4 ,the day divided by services1 the nights broken by prayers2 probably the time was dull enough1 but passed quickly1 like all lives full of monotonous engagements4 ,they were not particularly ascetic1 these ,benedictines1 and insisted much on manual labour in the open air4 ,probably at first the monks did their farm-work as well2 but as they grew richer1 they employed labourers1 and themselves fell back on simpler and easier garden-work4 ,perhaps some few were truly devotional spirits1 with a fire of prayer and aspiration burning in their hearts2 but the majority would be quiet men1 full of little gossip about possible promotions1 about lands and crops1 about wayfarers and ecclesiastics who passed that way and were entertained4 ,very few1 except certain officials like the ,cellarer1 who would have to ride to market1 ever left the precincts of the place1 but laid their bones in the little graveyard east of the church4 ,we make a mistake in regarding the life and the buildings as having been so picturesque1 as they now appear after the long lapse of time4 ,the church was more venerable than the rest2 but the refectory1 at the time of the dissolution1 cannot have been long built2 still1 the old tiled place1 with its rough stone walls1 must have always had a quaint and irregular air4 ,probably it was as a rule a contented and amiable society4 ,the regular hours1 the wholesome fatigue which the rule entailed1 must have tended to keep the inmates in health and good-humour4 ,but probably there was much tittle-tattle2 and a disagreeable1 jealous1 or scheming inmate must have been able to stir up a good deal of strife in a society living at such close quarters4 ,one thinks loosely that it must have resembled the life of a college at the ,university1 but that is an entire misapprehension2 for the idea of a college is liberty with just enough discipline to hold it together1 while the idea of a monastery was discipline with just enough liberty to make life tolerable4 ,well1 it is all over now6 the idea of the monastic life1 which was to make a bulwark for quiet-minded people against the rougher world1 is no longer needed4 ,the work of the monks is done4 ,yet ,i gave an affectionate thought across the ages to the old inmates of the place1 whose bones have mouldered into the dust of the yard where we sat4 ,it seemed half-pleasant1 half-pathetic to think of them as they went about their work1 sturdy1 cheerful figures1 looking out over the wide fen with all its clear pools and reed-beds1 growing old in the familiar scene1 passing from the dormitory to the infirmary1 and from the infirmary to the graveyard1 in a sure and certain hope4 ,they too enjoyed the first breaking of spring1 the return of balmy winds1 the pushing up of the delicate flowers in orchard and close1 with something of the same pleasure that ,i experience to-day4 ,the same wonder that ,i feel1 the same gentle thrill speaking of an unattainable peace1 an unruffled serenity that lies so near me in the spring sunshine1 flashed1 no doubt1 into those elder spirits4 ,perhaps1 indeed1 their heart went out to the unborn that should come after them1 as my heart goes out to the dead to-day4 ,and even the slow change that has dismantled that busy place1 and established it as the quiet farmstead that ,i see1 holds a hope within it4 ,there must indeed have been a sad time when the buildings were slipping into decay1 and the church stood ruined and roofless4 ,but how soon the scars are healed6 ,how calmly nature smiles at the eager schemes of men1 breaks them short1 and then sets herself to harmonise and adorn the ruin1 till she makes it fairer than before1 writing her patient lesson of beauty on broken choir and tottering wall1 flinging her tide of fresh life over the rents1 and tenderly drawing back the broken fragments into her bosom4 ,if we could but learn from her not to fret or grieve1 to gather up what remains1 to wait patiently and wisely for our change6 ,so ,i reasoned softly to myself in a train of gentle thought1 till the plough-horses came clattering in1 and the labourers plodded gratefully home2 and the sun went down over the flats in a great glory of orange light4 ,,xxiv ,wordsworth ,i believe that ,i was once taken to ,rydal ,mount as a small boy1 led there meekly1 no doubt1 in a sort of dream2 but ,i retain not the remotest recollection of the place1 except of a small flight of stone steps1 which struck me as possessing some attractive quality or other4 ,and ,i have since read1 ,i suppose1 a good many descriptions of the place2 but on visiting it1 as ,i recently did1 ,i discovered that ,i had not the least idea of what it was like4 ,and ,i would here shortly speak of the extraordinary kindness which ,i received from the present tenants1 who are indeed of the hallowed dynasty2 it may suffice to say that ,i could only admire the delicate courtesy which enabled people1 who must have done the same thing a hundred times before1 to show me the house with as much zest and interest1 as if ,i was the first pilgrim that had ever visited the place4 ,in the first place1 the great simplicity of the whole struck me4 ,it is like a little grange or farm4 ,the rooms are small and low1 and of a pleasant domesticity2 it is a place apt for a patriarchal life1 where simple people might live at close quarters with each other4 ,the house is hardly visible from the gate4 ,you turn out of a steep lane1 embowered by trees1 into a little gravel sweep1 approaching the house from the side4 ,but its position is selected with admirable art2 the ground falls steeply in front of it1 and you look out over a wide valley1 at the end of which ,windermere lies1 a tract of sapphire blue1 among wooded hills and dark ranges4 ,behind1 the ground rises still more steeply1 to the rocky1 grassy heights of ,nab ,scar2 and the road leads on to a high green valley among the hills1 a place of unutterable peace4 ,in this warm1 sheltered nook1 hidden in woods1 with its southerly aspect1 the vegetation grows with an almost tropical luxuriance1 so that the general impression of the place is by no means typically ,english4 ,laurels and rhododendrons grow in dense shrubberies2 the trees are full of leaf2 flowers blossom profusely4 ,there is a little orchard beneath the house1 and everywhere there is the fragrant and pungent smell of sun-warmed garden-walks and box-hedges4 ,there are little terraces everywhere1 banked up with stone walls built into the steep ground1 where stonecrops grow richly4 ,one of these leads to a little thatched arbour1 where the poet often sat2 below it1 the ground falls very rapidly1 among rocks and copse and fern1 so that you look out on to the tree-tops below1 and catch a glimpse of the steely waters of the hidden lake of ,rydal4 ,wordsworth lived there for more than thirty years2 and half a century has passed since he died4 ,he was a skilful landscape gardener2 and ,i suppose that in his lifetime1 when the walks were being constructed and the place laid out1 it must have had a certain air of newness1 of interference with the old wild peace of the hillside1 which it has since parted with4 ,now it is all as full of a quiet and settled order1 as if it had been thus for ever4 ,one little detail deserves a special mention2 just below the house1 there is an odd1 circular1 low1 grassy mound1 said to be the old meeting-place for the village council1 in primitive and patriarchal days1--the ,mount1 from which the place has its name4 ,i thought much of the stately1 simple1 self-absorbed poet1 whom somehow one never thinks of as having been young2 the lines of ,milton haunted me1 as ,i moved about the rooms1 the garden-terraces3-- ,in this mount he appeared2 under this tree ,stood visible2 among these pines his voice ,i heard2 here with him at this fountain talked4 ,the place is all permeated with the thought of him1 his deep and tranquil worship of natural beauty1 his love of the kindly earth4 ,i do not think that ,wordsworth is one whose memory evokes a deep personal attachment4 ,i doubt if any figures of bygone days do that1 unless there is a certain wistful pathos about them2 unless something of compassion1 some wish to proffer sympathy or consolation1 mingles with one's reverence4 ,i have often1 for instance1 stayed at a house where ,shelley spent a few half-rapturous1 half-miserable months4 ,there1 meditating about him1 striving to reconstruct the picture of his life1 one felt that he suffered much and needlessly2 one would have wished to shelter1 to protect him if it had been possible1 or at least to have proffered sympathy to that inconsolable spirit4 ,one's heart goes out to those who suffered long years ago1 whose love of the earth1 of life1 of beauty1 was perpetually overshadowed by the pain that comes from realising transitoriness and decay4 ,but ,wordsworth is touched by no such pathos4 ,he was extraordinarily prosperous and equable2 he was undeniably self-sufficient4 ,even the sorrows and bereavements that he had to bear were borne gently and philosophically4 ,he knew exactly what he wanted to do1 and did it4 ,those sturdy1 useful legs of his bore him many a pleasant mile4 ,he always had exactly as much money as he needed1 in order to live his life as he desired4 ,he chose precisely the abode he preferred2 his fame grew slowly and solidly4 ,he became a great personage2 he was treated with immense deference and respect4 ,he neither claimed nor desired sympathy2 he was as strong and self-reliant as the old yeomen of the hills1 of whom he indeed was one2 his vocation was poetry1 just as their vocation was agriculture2 and this vocation he pursued in as business-like and intent a spirit as they pursued their farming4 ,wordsworth1 indeed1 was armed at all points by a strong and simple pride1 too strong to be vanity1 too simple to be egotism4 ,he is one of the few supremely fortunate men in the history of literature1 because he had none of the sensitiveness or indecision that are so often the curse of the artistic temperament4 ,he never had the least misgivings about the usefulness of his life2 he wrote because he enjoyed it2 he ate and drank1 he strolled and talked1 with the same enjoyment4 ,he had a perfect balance of physical health4 ,his dreams never left him cold2 his exaltations never plunged him into depression4 ,he felt the mysteries of the world with a solemn awe1 but he had no uneasy questionings1 no remorse1 no bewilderment1 no fruitless melancholy4 ,he bore himself with the same homely dignity in all companies alike2 he was never particularly interested in any one2 he never had any fear of being thought ridiculous or pompous4 ,his favourite reading was his own poetry2 he wished every one to be interested in his work1 because he was conscious of its supreme importance4 ,he probably made the mistake of thinking that it was his sense of poetry and beauty that made him simple and tranquil4 ,as a matter of fact1 it was the simplicity and tranquillity of his temperament that gave him the power of enjoyment in so large a measure4 ,there is no growth or expansion about his life2 he did not learn his serene and impassioned attitude through failures and mistakes3 it was his all along4 ,and yet what a fine1 pure1 noble1 gentle life it was6 ,the very thought of him1 faring quietly about among his hills and lakes1 murmuring his calm verse1 in a sober and temperate joy1 looking everywhere for the same grave qualities among quiet homekeeping folk1 brings with it a high inspiration4 ,but we tend to think of ,wordsworth as a father and a priest1 rather than as a brother and a friend4 ,he is a leader and a guide1 not a comrade4 ,we must learn that1 though he can perhaps turn our heart the right way1 towards the right things1 we cannot necessarily acquire that pure peace1 that solemn serenity1 by obeying his precepts1 unless we too have something of the same strong calmness of soul4 ,in some moods1 far from sustaining and encouraging us1 the thought of his equable1 impassioned life may only fill us with unutterable envy4 ,but still to have sat in his homely rooms1 to have paced his little terraces1 does bring a certain imagined peace into the mind1 a noble shame for all that is sordid or mean1 a hatred for the conventional aims1 the pitiful ambitions of the world4 ,alas1 that the only sound from the little hill-platform1 the embowered walks1 should be the dull rolling of wheels--motors1 coaches1 omnibuses--in the road below6 ,that is the shadow of his greatness4 ,it is a pitiable thought that one of the fruits of his genius is that it has made his holy retreat fashionable4 ,the villas rise in rows along the edges of the clear lakes1 under the craggy fell-sides1 where the feathery ashes root among the mimic precipices4 ,a stream of chattering1 vacuous1 indifferent tourists pours listlessly along the road from table-d'hte to table-d'hte4 ,the turbid outflow of the vulgar world seems a profanation of these august haunts4 ,one hopes despairingly that something of the spirit of lonely beauty speaks to these trivial heads and hearts4 ,but is there consolation in this8 ,what would the poet himself have felt if he could have foreseen it all8 ,i descended the hill-road and crossed the valley highway2 it was full of dust2 the vehicles rolled along1 crowded with men smoking cigars and reading newspapers1 tired women1 children whose idea of pleasure had been to fill their hands with ferns and flowers torn from cranny and covert4 ,i climbed the little hill opposite the great ,scar2 its green towering head1 with its feet buried in wood1 the hardy trees straggling up the front wherever they could get a hold among the grey crags1 rose in sweet grandeur opposite to me4 ,i threaded tracks of shimmering fern1 out of which the buzzing flies rose round me2 ,i went by silent1 solitary places where the springs soak out of the moorland1 while ,i pondered over the bewildering ways of the world4 ,the life1 the ideals of the great poet1 set in the splendid framework of the great hills1 seemed so majestic and admirable a thing4 ,but the visible results--the humming of silly strangers round his sacred solitudes1 the contaminating influence of commercial exploitation--made one fruitlessly and hopelessly melancholy4 ,but even so the hills were silent2 the sun went down in a great glory of golden haze among the shadowy ridges4 ,the valleys lay out at my feet1 the rolling woodland1 the dark fells4 ,there fell a mood of strange yearning upon me1 a yearning for the peaceful secret that1 as the orange sunset slowly waned1 the great hills seemed to guard and hold4 ,what was it that was going on there1 what solemn pageant1 what sweet mystery1 that ,i could only desire to behold and apprehend8 ,i know not6 ,i only know that if ,i could discern it1 if ,i could tell it1 the world would stand to listen2 its littleness1 its meanness1 would fade in that august light2 the peace of ,god would go swiftly and secretly abroad4 ,,xxv ,dorsetshire ,i am travelling just now1 and am this week at ,dorchester1 in the company of my oldest and best friend4 ,we like the same things2 and ,i can be silent if ,i will1 while ,i can also say anything1 however whimsical1 that comes into my mind2 there are few things better than that in the world1 and ,i count the precious hours very gratefully2 appono lucro4 ,dorsetshire gives me the feeling of being a very old country4 ,the big downs seem like the bases of great rocky hills which have through long ages been smoothed and worn away1 softened and mellowed1 the rocks1 grain by grain1 carried downwards into the flat alluvial meadowlands beneath4 ,in these rich pastures1 all intersected with clear streams1 runnels and water-courses1 full at this season of rich water-plants1 the cattle graze peacefully4 ,the downs have been ploughed and sown up to the sky-line4 ,then there are fine tracts of heather and pines in places4 ,and then1 too1 there is a sense of old humanity1 of ancient wars about the land4 ,there are great camps and earthworks everywhere1 with ramparts and ditches1 both ,british and ,roman4 ,the wolds from which the sea is visible are thickly covered with barrows1 each holding the mouldering bones of some forgotten chieftain1 laid to rest1 how many centuries ago1 with the rude mourning of a savage clan4 ,i stood on one of the highest of these the other day1 on a great gorse-clad headland1 and sent my spirit out in quest of the old warrior that lay below--,audisne haec1 ,amphiare1 sub terram condite8 ,but there was no answer from the air2 though in my sleep one night ,i saw a wild1 red-bearded man1 in a coat of skins1 with rude gaiters1 and a hat of foxes' fur on his head2 he carried a long staff in his hand1 pointed with iron1 and looked mutely and sorrowfully upon me4 ,who knows if it was he8 ,and then of later date are many ruinous strongholds1 with ,cyclopean walls1 like the huge shattered bulk of ,corfe1 upon its green hill1 between the shoulders of great downs4 ,there are broken abbeys1 pinnacled church-towers in village after village4 ,and then1 too1 in hamlet after hamlet1 rise quaint stone manors1 high-gabled1 many-mullioned1 in the midst of barns and byres4 ,one of the sweetest places ,i have seen is ,cerne ,abbas4 ,the road to it winds gently up among steep downs1 a full stream gliding through flat pastures at the bottom4 ,the hamlet has a forgotten1 wistful air2 there are many houses in ruins4 ,close to the street rises the church-tower1 of rich and beautiful design1 with gurgoyles and pinnacles1 cut out of a soft orange stone and delicately weathered4 ,at the end of the village stands a big farm-house1 built out of the abbey ruins1 with a fine oriel in one of the granaries4 ,in a little wilderness of trees1 the ground covered with primroses1 stands the exquisite old gatehouse with mullioned windows4 ,i have had for years a poor little engraving of the place1 and it seemed to greet me like an old friend4 ,then1 in the pasture above1 you can see the old terraces and mounds of the monastic garden1 where the busy ,benedictines worked day by day2 further still1 on the side of the down itself1 is cut a very strange and ancient monument4 ,it is the rude and barbarous figure of a naked man1 sixty yards long1 as though moving northwards1 and brandishing a huge knotted club4 ,it is carved deep into the turf1 and is overgrown with rough grass4 ,no one can even guess at the antiquity of the figure1 but it is probably not less than three thousand years old4 ,some say that it records the death of a monstrous giant of the valley4 ,the good monks ,christianised it1 and named it ,augustine4 ,but it seems to be certainly one of the frightful figures of which ,caesar speaks1 on which captives were bound with twisted osiers1 and burnt to death for a ,druidical sacrifice4 ,the thing is grotesque1 vile1 horrible2 the very stones of the place seemed soaked with terror1 cruelty and death4 ,even recently foul and barbarous traditions were practised there1 it is said1 by villagers1 who were ,christian only in name4 ,yet it lay peacefully enough to-day1 the shadows of the clouds racing over it1 the wind rustling in the grass1 with nothing to break the silence but the twitter of birds1 the bleat of sheep on the down1 and the crying of cocks in the straw-thatched village below4 ,what a strange fabric of history1 memory1 and tradition is here unrolled1 of old unhappy far-off things6 ,how bewildering to think of the horrible agonies of fear1 the helpless1 stupefied creatures lying bound there1 the smoke sweeping over them and the flames crackling nearer1 while their victorious foes laughed and exulted round them1 and the priests performed the last hideous rites4 ,and all the while ,god watched the slow march of days from the silent heaven1 and worked out his mysterious purposes6 ,and yet1 surveying the quiet valley to-day1 it seems as though there were no memory of suffering or sorrow in it at all4 ,we climbed the down2 and there at our feet the world lay like a map1 with its fields1 woods1 hamlets and church-towers1 the great rich plain rolling to the horizon1 till it was lost in haze4 ,how infinitely minute and unimportant seemed one's own life1 one's own thoughts1 the schemes of one tiny moving atom on the broad back of the hills4 ,and yet my own small restless identity is almost the only thing in the world of which ,i am assured6 ,there came to me at that moment a thrill of the spirit which comes but rarely2 a deep hope1 the sense of a secret lying very near1 if one could only grasp it2 an assurance that we are safe and secure in the hand of ,god1 and a certainty that there is a vast reality behind1 veiled from us only by the shadows of fears1 ambitions1 and desires4 ,and the thought1 too1 came that all the tiny human beings that move about their tasks in the plain beneath--nay1 the animals1 the trees1 the flowers1 every blade of grass1 every pebble--each has its place in the great and awful mystery4 ,then came the sense of the vast fellowship of created things1 the tender ,fatherhood of the ,god who made us all4 ,i can hardly put the thought into words2 but it was one of those sudden intuitions that seem to lie deeper even than the mind and the soul1 a message from the heart of the world1 bidding one wait and wonder1 rest and be still4 ,,xxvi ,portland ,i will put another little sketch side by side with the last1 for the sake of contrast2 ,i think it is hardly possible within the compass of a few days to have seen two scenes of such minute and essential difference4 ,at ,cerne ,i had the tranquil loneliness of the countryside1 the silent valley1 the long faintly-tinted lines of pasture1 space and stillness2 the hamlets nestled among trees in the dingles of the down4 ,to-day ,i went south along a dusty road2 at first there were quiet ancient sights enough1 such as the huge grass-grown encampment of ,maiden ,castle1 now a space of pasture1 but still guarded by vast ramparts and ditches1 dug in the chalk1 and for a thousand years or more deserted4 ,the downs1 where they faced the sea1 were dotted with grassy barrows1 air-swept and silent4 ,we topped the hill1 and in a moment there was a change2 through the haze we saw the roofs of ,weymouth laid out like a map before us1 with the smoke drifting west from innumerable chimneys2 in the harbour1 guarded by the slender breakwaters1 floated great ironclads1 black and sinister bulks2 and beyond them frowned the dark front of ,portland4 ,very soon the houses began to close in upon the road1--brick-built1 pretentious1 bow-windowed villas2 then we were in the streets1 showing a wholesome antiquity in the broad-windowed mansions of mellow brick1 which sprang into life when the honest king ,george ,,iii4 made the quiet port fashionable by spending his simple summers there4 ,there was the king's lodging itself1 ,gloucester ,house1 now embedded in a hotel1 with the big pilastered windows of its saloons giving it a faded courtly air4 ,soon we were by the quays1 with black red-funnelled steamers unloading1 and all the quaint and pretty bustle of a port4 ,we went out to a promontory guarded by an old stone fort1 and watched a red merchant steamer roll merrily in1 blowing a loud sea-horn4 ,then over a low-shouldered ridge1 and we were by the great inner roads1 full of shipping2 we sat for a while by the melancholy walls of an ancient ,tudor castle1 now crumbling into the sea2 and then across the narrow causeway that leads on to ,portland4 ,on our right rose the ,chesil ,bank1 that mysterious mole of orange shingle1 which the sea1 for some strange purpose of its own1 has piled up1 century after century1 for eighteen miles along the western coast4 ,and then the grim front of ,portland ,island itself loomed out above us4 ,the road ran up steeply among the bluffs1 through line upon line of grey-slated houses2 to the left1 at the top of the cliff1 were the sunken lines of the huge fort1 with the long slopes of its earthworks1 the glacis overgrown with grass1 and the guns peeping from their embrasures2 to the left1 dipping to the south1 the steep grey crags1 curve after curve4 ,the streets were alive with an abundance of merry young sailors and soldiers1 brisk1 handsome boys1 with the quiet air of discipline that converts a country lout into a self-respecting citizen4 ,an old bronzed sergeant led a child with one hand1 and with the other tried to obey her shrill directions about whirling a skipping-rope1 so that she might skip beside him2 he looked at us with a half-proud1 half-shamefaced smile1 calling down a rebuke for his inattention from the girl4 ,we wound slowly up the steep roads smothered in dust2 landwards the view was all drowned in a pale haze1 but the steep grey cliffs by ,lulworth gleamed with a tinge of gold across the sea4 ,at the top1 one of the dreariest landscapes ,i have ever seen met the sight4 ,the island lies1 so to speak1 like a stranded whale1 the great head and shoulders northwards to the land4 ,the moment you surmount the top1 the huge1 flat side of the monster is extended before you1 shelving to the sea4 ,hardly a tree grows there2 there is nothing but a long perspective of fields1 divided here and there by stone walls1 with scattered grey houses at intervals4 ,there is not a feature of any kind on which the eye can rest4 ,in the foreground the earth is all tunnelled and tumbled2 quarries stretch in every direction1 with huge1 gaunt1 straddling1 gallows-like structures emerging1 a wheel spinning at the top1 and ropes travelling into the abyss2 heaps of grey dbris1 interspersed with stunted grass1 huge excavations1 ugly ravines with a spout of grim stone at the seaward opening1 like the burrowings of some huge mole4 ,the placid green slopes of the fort give an impression of secret strength1 even grandeur4 ,otherwise it is but a ragged1 splashed aquarelle of grey and green4 ,over the dbris appear at a distance the blunt ominous chimneys of the convict prison1 which seems to put the finishing touch on the forbidding character of the scene4 ,to-day the landward view was all veiled in haze1 which seemed to shut off the sad island from the world4 ,on a clear day1 no doubt1 the view must be full of grandeur1 the inland downs1 edged everywhere with the tall scarped cliffs1 headland after headland1 with the long soft line of the ,chesil ,bank below them4 ,but on a day of sea mist1 it must be1 ,i felt1 one of the saddest and most mournful regions in the world1 with no sound but the wail of gulls1 and the chafing of the surge below4 ,,xxvii ,canterbury ,tower ,to-day ,i had a singular pleasure heightened by an intermingled strangeness and even terror--qualities which bring out the quality of pleasure in the same way that a bourdon in a pedal-point passage brings out the quality of what a ,german would1 ,i think1 call the over-work4 ,i was at ,canterbury1 where the great central tower is wreathed with scaffolding1 and has a dim1 blurred outline from a distance1 as though it were being rapidly shaken to and fro4 ,i found a friendly and communicable man who offered to take me over it2 we climbed a dizzy little winding stair1 with bright glimpses at intervals1 through loop-holes1 of sunlight and wheeling birds2 then we crept along the top of a vaulted space with great pockets of darkness to right and left4 ,soon we were in the gallery of the lantern1 from which we could see the little people crawling on the floor beneath1 like slow insects4 ,and then we mounted a short ladder which took us out of one of the great belfry windows1 on to the lowest of the planked galleries4 ,what a frail and precarious structure it seemed3 the planks bent beneath our feet4 ,and here came the first exquisite delight--that of being close to the precipitous face of the tower1 of seeing the carved work which had never been seen close at hand since its erection except by the jackdaws and pigeons4 ,i was moved and touched by observing how fine and delicate all the sculpture was4 ,there were rows and rows of little heraldic devices1 which from below could appear only as tiny fretted points2 yet every petal of rose or fleur-de-lys was as scrupulously and cleanly cut as if it had been meant to be seen close at hand2 a waste of power1 ,i suppose2 but what a pretty and delicate waste6 and done1 ,i felt1 in faithful days1 when the carving was done as much to delight1 if possible1 the eye of ,god1 as to please the eye of man4 ,higher and higher we went1 till at last we reached the parapet4 ,and then by a dizzy perpendicular ladder to which ,i committed myself in faith1 we reached a little platform on the very top of one of the pinnacles4 ,the vane had just been fixed1 and the stone was splashed with the oozing solder4 ,and now came the delight of the huge view all round3 the wooden heights1 the rolling hills2 old church towers rose from flowering orchards2 a mansion peeped through immemorial trees2 and far to the north-east we could see the white cliff of ,pegwell ,bay2 endeared to me through the beautiful picture by ,dyce1 where the pale crags rise from the reefs green with untorn weeds4 ,there on the horizon ,i could see shadowy sails on the steely sea-line4 ,near at hand there were the streets1 and then the ,close1 with its comfortable canonical houses1 in green trim gardens1 spread out like a map at my feet4 ,we looked down on to the tops of tall elm-trees1 and saw the rooks walking and sitting on the grey-splashed platforms of twigs1 that swayed horribly in the breeze4 ,it was pleasant to see1 as ,i did1 the tiny figure of my reverend host walking1 a dot of black1 in his garden beneath1 reading in a book4 ,the long grey-leaded roof ran broad and straight1 a hundred feet below4 ,one felt for a moment as a ,god might feel1 looking on a corner of his created world1 and seeing that it was good4 ,one seemed to have surmounted the earth1 and to watch the little creeping orbits of men with a benevolent compassion1 perceiving how strait they were4 ,the large air hissed briskly in the pinnacles1 and roared through the belfry windows beneath4 ,i cannot describe the eager exhilaration which filled me2 but ,i guessed that the impulse which bids men fling themselves from such heights is not a morbid prepossession1 not a physical dizziness1 but an intemperate and overwhelming joy4 ,it seems at such a moment so easy to float and swim through the viewless air1 as if one would be borne up on the wings of angels4 ,but1 alas6 the hour warned us to return4 ,on our way down we disturbed a peevish jackdaw from her nest2 she had dragged up to that intolerable height a pile of boughs that would have made a dozen nests2 she had interwoven for the cup to hold her eggs a number of strips of purloined canvas4 ,there lay the three speckled eggs1 the hope of the race1 while the chiding mother stood on a pinnacle hard by1 waiting for the intruder to begone4 ,a strange sense of humiliation and smallness came upon me as we emerged at last into the nave2 the people that had seemed so small and insignificant1 were1 alas6 as big and as important as myself2 ,i felt as an exile from the porches of heaven1 a fallen spirit4 ,,xxviii ,prayer ,i am often baffled when ,i try to think what prayer is2 if our thoughts do indeed lie open before the eyes of the ,father1 like a little clear globe of water which a man may hold in his hand--and ,i am sure they do--it certainly seems hardly worth while to put those desires into words4 ,many good ,christians seem to me to conceive of prayers partly as a kind of tribute they are bound to pay1 and partly as requests that are almost certain to be refused4 ,with such people religion1 then1 means the effort which they make to trust a ,father who hears prayers1 and very seldom answers them4 ,but this does not seem to be a very reasonable attitude4 ,i confess that liturgical prayer does not very much appeal to me4 ,it does not seem to me to correspond to any particular need in my mind4 ,it seems to me to sacrifice almost all the things that ,i mean by prayer--the sustained intention of soul1 the laying of one's own problems before the ,father1 the expression of one's hopes for others1 the desire that the sorrows of the world should be lightened4 ,of course1 a liturgy touches these thoughts at many points2 but the exercise of one's own liberty of aspiration and wonder1 the pursuing of a train of thought1 the quiet dwelling upon mysteries1 are all lost if one has to stumble and run in a prescribed track4 ,to follow a service with uplifted attention requires more mental agility than ,i possess2 point after point is raised1 and yet1 if one pauses to meditate1 to wonder1 to aspire1 one is lost1 and misses the thread of the service4 ,i suppose that there is or ought to be something in the united act of intercession4 ,but ,i dislike all public meetings1 and think them a waste of time4 ,i should make an exception in favour of the ,sacrament1 but the rapid disappearance of the majority of a congregation before the solemn act seems to me to destroy the sense of unity with singular rapidity4 ,as to the old theory that ,god requires of his followers that they should unite at intervals in presenting him with a certain amount of complimentary effusion1 ,i cannot even approach the idea4 ,the holiest1 simplest1 most benevolent being of whom ,i can conceive would be inexpressibly pained and distressed by such an intention on the part of the objects of his care2 and to conceive of ,god as greedy of recognition seems to me to be one of the conceptions which insult the dignity of the soul4 ,i have heard lately one or two mediaeval stories which illustrate what ,i mean4 ,there is a story of a pious monk1 who1 worn out by long vigils1 fell asleep1 as he was saying his prayers before a crucifix4 ,he was awakened by a buffet on the head1 and heard a stern voice saying1 ,is this an oratory or a dormitory8 ,i cannot conceive of any story more grotesquely human than the above1 or more out of keeping with one's best thoughts about ,god4 ,again1 there is a story which is told1 ,i think1 of one of the first monasteries of the ,benedictine order4 ,one of the monks was a lay brother1 who had many little menial tasks to fulfil2 he was a well-meaning man1 but extremely forgetful1 and he was often forced to retire from some service in which he was taking part1 because he had forgotten to put the vegetables on to boil1 or omitted other duties which would lead to the discomfort of the brethren4 ,another monk1 who was fond of more secular occupations1 such as wood-carving and garden-work1 and not at all attached to habits of prayer1 seeing this1 thought that he would do the same2 and he too used to slip away from a service1 in order to return to the business that he loved better4 ,the ,prior of the monastery1 an anxious1 humble man1 was at a loss how to act2 so he called in a very holy hermit1 who lived in a cell hard by1 that he might have the benefit of his advice4 ,the hermit came and attended an ,office4 ,presently the lay brother rose from his knees and slipped out4 ,the hermit looked up1 followed him with his eyes1 and appeared to be greatly moved4 ,but he took no action1 and only addressed himself more assiduously to his prayers4 ,shortly after1 the other brother rose and went out4 ,the hermit looked up1 and seeing him go1 rose too1 and followed him to the door1 where he fetched him a great blow upon the head that nearly brought him to the ground4 ,thereupon the stricken man went humbly back to his place and addressed himself to his prayers2 and the hermit did the same4 ,the ,office was soon over1 and the hermit went to the ,prior's room to talk the matter over4 ,the hermit said3 ,i bore in my mind what you told me1 dear ,father1 and when ,i saw one of the brethren rise from his prayers1 ,i asked ,god to show me what ,i should do2 but ,i saw a wonderful thing2 there was a shining figure with our brother1 his hand upon the other's sleeve2 and this fair comrade1 ,i have no doubt1 was an angel of ,god1 that led the brother forth1 that he might be about his ,father's business4 ,so ,i prayed the more earnestly4 ,but when our other brother rose1 ,i looked up2 and ,i saw that he had been plucked by the sleeve by a little naked1 comely boy1 very swarthy of hue1 that ,i saw had no business among our holy prayers2 he wore a mocking smile on his face1 as though he prevailed in evil4 ,so ,i rose and followed2 and just as they came to the door1 ,i aimed a shrewd blow1 for it was told me what to do1 at the boy1 and struck him on the head1 so that he fell to the ground1 and presently went to his own place2 and then our brother came back to his prayers4 ,the ,prior mused a little over this wonder1 and then he said1 smiling3 ,it seemed to me that it was our brother that was smitten4 ,very like1 said the hermit1 for the two were close together1 and ,i think the boy was whispering in the brother's ear2 but give ,god the glory2 for the dear brother will not offend again4 ,there is an abundance of truth in this wholesome ancient tale2 but ,i will not draw the morals out here4 ,all ,i will say is that the old theory of prayer1 simple and childlike as it is1 seems to have a curious vitality even nowadays4 ,it presupposes that the act of prayer is in itself pleasing to ,god2 and that is what ,i am not satisfied of4 ,that theory seems to prevail even more strongly in the ,roman ,church of to-day than in our own4 ,the ,roman priest is not a man occupied primarily with pastoral duties2 his business is the business of prayer4 ,to neglect his daily offices is a mortal sin1 and when he has said them1 his priestly duty is at an end4 ,this does not seem to me to bear any relation to the theory of prayer as enunciated in the ,gospel4 ,there the practice of constant and secret prayer1 of a direct and informal kind1 is enjoined upon all followers of ,christ2 but ,our ,lord seems to be very hard upon the lengthy and public prayers of the ,pharisees1 and indeed against all formality in the matter at all4 ,the only united service that he enjoined upon his followers was the ,sacrament of the common meal2 and ,i confess that the saying of formal liturgies in an ornate building seems to me to be a practice which has drifted very far away from the simplicity of individual religion which ,christ appears to have aimed at4 ,my own feeling about prayer is that it should not be relegated to certain seasons1 or attended by certain postures1 or even couched in definite language2 it should rather be a constant uplifting of the heart1 a stretching out of the hands to ,god4 ,i do not think we should ask for definite things that we desire2 ,i am sure that our definite desires1 our fears1 our plans1 our schemes1 the hope that visits one a hundred times a day1 our cravings for wealth or success or influence1 are as easily read by ,god1 as a man can discern the tiny atoms and filaments that swim in his crystal globe4 ,but ,i think we may ask to be led1 to be guided1 to be helped2 we may put our anxious little decisions before ,god2 we may ask for strength to fulfil hard duties2 we may put our desires for others' happiness1 our hopes for our country1 our compassion for sorrowing or afflicted persons1 our horror of cruelty and tyranny before him2 and here ,i believe lies the force of prayer2 that by practising this sense of aspiration in his presence1 we gain a strength to do our own part4 ,if we abstain from prayer1 if we limit our prayers to our own small desires1 we grow1 ,i know1 petty and self-absorbed and feeble4 ,we can leave the fulfilment of our concrete aims to ,god2 but we ought to be always stretching out our hands and opening our hearts to the high and gracious mysteries that lie all about us4 ,a friend of mine told me that a little ,russian peasant1 whom he had visited often in a military hospital1 told him1 at their last interview1 that he would tell him a prayer that was always effective1 and had never failed of being answered4 ,but you must not use it1 he said1 unless you are in a great difficulty1 and there seems no way out4 ,the prayer which he then repeated was this3 ,lord1 remember ,king ,david1 and all his grace4 ,i have never tested the efficacy of this prayer1 but ,i have a thousand times tested the efficacy of sudden prayer in moments of difficulty1 when confronted with a little temptation1 when overwhelmed with irritation1 before an anxious interview1 before writing a difficult passage4 ,how often has the temptation floated away1 the irritation mastered itself1 the right word been said1 the right sentence written6 ,to do all we are capable of1 and then to commit the matter to the hand of the ,father1 that is the best that we can do4 ,of course1 ,i am well aware that there are many who find this kind of help in liturgical prayer2 and ,i am thankful that it is so4 ,but for myself1 ,i can only say that as long as ,i pursued the customary path1 and confined myself to fixed moments of prayer1 ,i gained very little benefit4 ,i do not forego the practice of liturgical attendance even now2 for a solemn service1 with all the majesty of an old and beautiful building full of countless associations1 with all the resources of musical sound and ceremonial movement1 does uplift and rejoice the soul4 ,and even with simpler services1 there is often something vaguely sustaining and tranquillising in the act4 ,but the deeper secret lies in the fact that prayer is an attitude of soul1 and not a ceremony2 that it is an individual mystery1 and not a piece of venerable pomp4 ,i would have every one adopt his own method in the matter4 ,i would not for an instant discourage those who find that liturgical usage uplifts them2 but neither would ,i have those to be discouraged who find that it has no meaning for them4 ,the secret lies in the fact that our aim should be a relation with the ,father1 a frank and reverent confidence1 a humble waiting upon ,god4 ,that the ,father loves all his children with an equal love ,i doubt not4 ,but he is nearest to those who turn to him at every moment1 and speak to him with a quiet trustfulness4 ,he alone knows why he has set us in the middle of such a bewildering world1 where joy and sorrow1 darkness and light1 are so strangely intermingled2 and all that we can do is to follow wisely and patiently such clues as he gives us1 into the cloudy darkness in which he seems to dwell4 ,,xxix ,the ,death-bed of ,jacob ,i heard read the other morning1 in a quiet house-chapel1 a chapter which has always seemed to me one of the most perfectly beautiful things in the ,bible4 ,and as it was read1 ,i felt1 what is always a test of the highest kind of beauty1 that ,i had never known before how perfect it was4 ,it was the #dhth chapter of ,genesis1 the blessing of ,ephraim and ,manasses4 ,jacob1 feeble and spent1 is lying in the quiet1 tranquil passiveness of old age1 with bygone things passing like dreams before the inner eye of the spirit--in that mood1 ,i think1 when one hardly knows where the imagined begins or the real ends4 ,he is told that his son ,joseph is coming1 and he strengthens himself for an effort4 ,joseph enters1 and1 in a strain of high solemnity1 ,jacob speaks of the promise made long before on the stone-strewn hills of ,bethel1 and its fulfilment2 but even so he seems to wander in his thought1 the recollection of his ,rachel comes over him1 and he cannot forbear to speak of her3 ,and as for me1 when ,i came from ,padan1 ,rachel died by me in the land of ,canaan1 in the way1 and when yet there was but a little way to come unto ,ephrath2 and ,i buried her there in the way of ,ephrath2 the same is ,bethlehem4 ,could there be anything more human1 more tender than that8 ,the memory of the sad day of loss and mourning1 and then the gentle1 aged precision about names and places1 the details that add nothing1 and yet are so natural1 so sweet an echo of the old tale1 the symbols of the story1 that stand for so much and mean so little1--the same is ,bethlehem4 ,who has not heard an old man thus tracing out the particulars of some remote recollected incident1 dwelling for the hundredth time on the unimportant detail1 the side-issue1 so needlessly anxious to avoid confusion1 so bent on useless accuracy4 ,then1 as he wanders thus1 he becomes aware of the two boys1 standing in wonder and awe beside him2 and even so he cannot at once piece together the facts1 but asks1 with a sudden curiosity1 ,who are these8 ,then it is explained very gently by the dear son whom he had lost1 and who stands for a parable of tranquil wisdom and loyal love4 ,the old man kisses and embraces the boys1 and with a full heart says1 ,i had not thought to see thy face2 and lo1 ,god hath showed me also thy seed4 ,and at this ,joseph can bear it no more1 puts the boys forward1 who seem to be clinging shyly to him1 and bows himself down with his face to the earth1 in a passion of grief and awe4 ,and then the old man will not bless them as intended1 but gives the richer blessing to the younger2 with those words which haunt the memory and sink into the heart3 ,the angel which redeemed me from all evil1 bless the lads4 ,and ,joseph is moved by what he thinks to be a mistake1 and would correct it1 so as to give the larger blessing to his firstborn4 ,but ,jacob refuses4 ,i know it1 my son1 ,i know it 444 he also shall be great1 but truly his younger brother shall be greater than he4 ,and so he adds a further blessing2 and even then1 at that deep moment1 the old man cannot refrain from one flash of pride in his old prowess1 and speaks1 in his closing words1 of the inheritance he won from the ,amorite with his sword and bow2 and this is all the more human because there is no trace in the records of his ever having done anything of the kind4 ,he seems to have been always a man of peace4 ,and so the sweet story remains human to the very end4 ,i care very little what the critics may have to say on the matter4 ,they may call it legendary if they will1 they may say that it is the work of an ,ephraimite scribe1 bent on consecrating the ,ephraimite supremacy by the aid of tradition4 ,but the incident appears to me to be of a reality1 a force1 a tenderness1 that is above historical criticism4 ,whatever else may be true1 there is a breathing reality in the picture of the old weak patriarch making his last conscious effort2 ,joseph1 that wise and prudent servant1 whose activities have never clouded his clear natural affections2 the boys1 the mute and awed actors in the scene1 not made to utter any precocious phrases1 and yet centring the tenderness of hope and joy upon themselves4 ,if it is art1 it is the perfection of art1 which touches the very heart-strings into a passion of sweetness and wonder4 ,compare this ancient story with other achievements of the human mind and soul3 with ,homer1 with ,virgil1 with ,shakespeare4 ,i think they pale beside it1 because with no sense of effort or construction1 with all the homely air of a simple record1 the perfectly natural1 the perfectly pathetic1 the perfectly beautiful1 is here achieved4 ,there is no painting of effects1 no dwelling on accessories1 no consciousness of beauty2 and yet the heart is fed1 the imagination touched1 the spirit satisfied4 ,for here one has set foot in the very shrine of truth and beauty1 and the wise hand that wrote it has just opened the door of the heart1 and stands back1 claiming no reward1 desiring no praise4 ,,xxx ,by the ,sea of ,galilee ,i have often thought that the last chapter of ,st ,john's ,gospel is one of the most bewildering and enchanting pieces of literature ,i know4 ,i suppose ,robert ,browning must have thought so1 because he makes the reading of it1 in that odd rich poem1 ,bishop ,blougram's ,apology1 the sign1 together with testing a plough1 of a man's conversion1 from the unreal life of talk and words1 to the realities of life2 though ,i have never divined why he used this particular chapter as a symbol2 and indeed ,i hope no one will ever make it clear to me1 though ,i daresay the connection is plain enough4 ,it is bewildering1 because it is a postscript1 added1 with a singular artlessness1 after the ,gospel has come to a full close4 ,perhaps ,st ,john did not even write it1 though the pretty childlike conclusion about the world itself not being able to contain the books that might be written about ,christ has always seemed to me to be in his spirit1 the words of a very simple-minded and aged man4 ,it is enchanting1 because it contains two of the most beautiful episodes in the whole of the ,gospel ,history1 the charge to ,st ,peter to feed the lambs and sheep of the fold1 where one of the most delicate nuances of language is lost in the ,english translation1 and the appearance of ,jesus beside the sea of ,galilee4 ,i must not here discuss the story of the charge to ,st ,peter1 though ,i once heard it read1 with exquisite pathos1 when an archbishop of ,canterbury was being enthroned with all the pomp and circumstance of ecclesiastical ceremony1 in such a way that it brought out1 by a flash of revelation1 the true spirit of the scene we were attending2 we were simple ,christians1 it seemed1 assembled only to set a shepherd over a fold1 that he might lead a flock in green pastures and by waters of comfort4 ,but a man must not tell two tales at once1 or he loses the savour of both4 ,let us take the other story4 ,the dreadful incidents of the ,passion are over2 the shame1 the horror1 the humiliation1 the disappointment4 ,the hearts of the ,apostles must have been sore indeed at the thought that they had deserted their friend and ,master4 ,then followed the mysterious incidents of the ,resurrection1 about which ,i will only say that it is plain from the documents1 if they are accepted as a record at all1 from the astonishing change which seems to have passed over the ,apostles1 converting their timid faithfulness into a tranquil boldness1 that they1 at all events1 believed that some incredibly momentous thing had happened1 and that their ,master was among them again1 returning through the gates of ,death4 ,they go back1 like men wearied of inaction1 tired of agitated thought1 to their homely trade4 ,all night the boat sways in the quiet tide1 but they catch nothing4 ,then1 as the morning begins to come in about the promontories and shores of the lake1 they see the figure of one moving on the bank1 who hails them with a familiar heartiness1 as a man might do who had to provide for unexpected guests1 and had nothing to give them to eat4 ,i fancy1 ,i know not whether rightly1 that they see in him a purchaser1 and answer sullenly that they have nothing to sell4 ,then follows a direction1 which they obey1 to cast the net on the right side of the boat4 ,perhaps they thought the stranger--for it is clear that as yet they had no suspicion of his identity--had seen some sign of a moving shoal which had escaped them4 ,they secure a great haul of fish4 ,then ,john has an inkling of the truth2 and ,i know no words which thrill me more strangely than the simple expression that bursts from his lips3 ,it is the ,lord6 ,with characteristic impetuosity ,peter leaps into the water1 and wades or swims ashore4 ,and then comes another of the surprising touches of the story4 ,as a mother might tenderly provide a meal for her husband and sons who have been out all night1 they find that their visitant has made and lit a little fire1 and is broiling fish1 how obtained one knows not2 then the haul is dragged ashore1 the big shoal leaping in the net2 and then follows the simple invitation and the distribution of the food4 ,it seems as though that memorable meal1 by the shore of the lake1 with the fresh brightness of the morning breaking all about them1 must have been partaken of in silence2 one can almost hear the soft crackling of the fire1 and the waves breaking on the shingle4 ,they dared not ask him who he was3 they knew2 and yet1 considering that they had only parted from him a few days before1 the narrative implies that some mysterious change must have passed over him4 ,perhaps they were wondering1 as we may wonder1 how he was spending those days4 ,he was seen only in sudden and unexpected glimpses2 where was he living1 what was he doing through those long nights and days in which they saw him not8 ,i can only say that for me a deep mystery broods over the record4 ,the glimpses of him1 and even more his absences1 seem to me to transcend the powers of human invention4 ,that these men lived1 that they believed they saw the ,lord1 seems to me the only possible explanation1 though ,i admit to the full the baffling mystery of it all4 ,and then the scene closes with absolute suddenness2 there is no attempt to describe1 to amplify1 to analyse4 ,there follows the charge to ,peter1 the strange prophecy of his death1 and the still stranger repression of curiosity as to what should be the fate of ,st ,john4 ,but the whole incident1 coming to us as it does out of the hidden ancient world1 defying investigation1 provoking the deepest wonder1 remains as faint and sweet as the incense of the morning1 as the cool breeze that played about the weary brows of the sleepless fishermen1 and stirred the long ripple of the clear lake4 ,,xxxi ,the ,apocalypse ,i think that there are few verses of the ,bible that give one a more sudden and startling thrill than the verse at the beginning of the viiith chapter of the ,revelation4 ,and when he had opened the seventh seal there was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour4 ,the very simplicity of the words1 the homely note of specified time1 is in itself deeply impressive4 ,but further1 it gives the dim sense of some awful and unseen preparation going forward1 a period allowed in which those that stood by1 august and majestic as they were1 should collect their courage1 should make themselves ready with bated breath for some dire pageant4 ,up to that moment the vision had followed hard on the opening of each seal4 ,upon the opening of the first1 had resounded a peal of thunder1 and the voice of the first beast had called the awestruck eyes and the failing heart to look upon the sight3 ,come and see6 ,then the white horse with the crowned conqueror had ridden joyfully forth4 ,at the opening of the second seal1 had sprung forth the red horse1 and the rider with the great sword4 ,when the third was opened1 the black horse had gone forth1 the rider bearing the balances2 and then had followed the strange and nave charge by the unknown voice1 which gives one so strong a sense that the vision was being faithfully recorded rather than originated1 the voice that quoted a price for the grain of wheat and barley1 and directed the protection of the vineyard and olive-yard4 ,this homely reference to the simple food of earth keeps the mind intent upon the actual realities and needs of life in the midst of these bewildering sights4 ,then at the fourth opening1 the pale horse1 bestridden by ,death1 went mournfully abroad4 ,at the fifth seal1 the crowded souls beneath the altar cry out for restlessness2 they are clothed in white robes1 and bidden to be patient for a while4 ,then1 at the sixth seal1 falls the earthquake1 the confusion of nature1 the dismay of men1 before the terror of the anger of ,god2 and the very words the wrath of the ,lamb1 have a marvellous significance2 the wrath of the ,most ,merciful1 the wrath of one whose very symbol is that of a blithe and meek innocence4 ,then the earth is guarded from harm1 and the faithful are sealed2 and in words of the sublimest pathos1 the end of pain and sorrow is proclaimed1 and the promise that the redeemed shall be fed and led forth by fountains of living waters4 ,and then1 at the very moment of calm and peace1 the seventh seal is opened1--and nothing follows6 the very angels of heaven seem to stand with closed eyes1 compressed lips1 and beating heart1 waiting for what shall be4 ,and then at last the visions come crowding before the gaze again--the seven trumpets are sounded1 the bitter1 burning stars fall1 the locusts swarm out from the smoking pit1 and death and woe begin their work2 till at last the book is delivered to the prophet1 and his heart is filled with the sweetness of the truth4 ,i have no desire to trace the precise significance of these things4 ,i do not wish that these tapestries of wrought mysteries should be suspended upon the walls of history4 ,i do not think that they can be so suspended2 nor have ,i the least hope that these strange sights1 so full both of brightness and of horror1 should ever be seen by mortal eye4 ,but that a human soul should have lost itself in these august dreams1 that the book of visions should have been thus strangely guarded through the ages1 and at last1 clothed in the sweet cadences of our ,english tongue1 should be read in our ears1 till the words are soaked through and through with rich wonder and tender associations--that is1 ,i think1 a very wonderful and divine thing4 ,the lives of all men that have an inner eye for beauty are full of such mysteries1 and surely there is no one1 of those that strive to pierce below the dark experiences of life1 who is not aware1 as he reckons back the days of his life1 of hours when the seals of the book have been opened4 ,it has been so1 ,i know1 in my own life4 ,sometimes1 at the rending of the seal1 a gracious thing has gone forth1 bearing victory and prosperity4 ,sometimes a dark figure has ridden away1 changing the very face of the earth for a season4 ,sometimes a thunder of dismay has followed1 or a vision of sweet peace and comfort2 and sometimes one has assuredly known that a seal has been broken1 to be followed by a silence in heaven and earth4 ,and thus these solemn and mournful visions retain a great hold over the mind2 it is1 with myself1 partly the childish associations of wonder and delight4 ,one recurred so eagerly to the book1 because1 instead of mere thought and argument1 earthly events1 wars and dynasties1 here was a gallery of mysterious pictures1 things seen out of the body1 scenes of bright colour and monstrous forms1 enacted on the stage of heaven4 ,that is entrancing still2 but beyond and above these strange forms and pictured fancies1 ,i now discern a deeper mystery of thought2 not pure and abstract thought1 flashes of insight1 comforting grace1 kindled desires1 but rather that more complex thought that1 through a perception of strange forms1 a waving robe of scarlet1 a pavement bright with jewels1 a burning star1 a bird of sombre plumage1 a dark grove1 breathes a subtle insight1 like a strain of unearthly music1 interpreting the hopes and fears of the heart by haunted glimpses and obscure signs4 ,i do not know in what shadowy region of the soul these things draw near1 but it is in a region which is distinct and apart1 a region where the dreaming mind projects upon the dark its dimly-woven visions2 a region where it is not wise to wander too eagerly and carelessly1 but into which one may look warily and intently at seasons1 standing upon the dizzy edge of time1 and gazing out beyond the flaming ramparts of the world4 ,,xxxii ,the ,statue ,i saw a strange and moving thing to-day4 ,i went with a friend to visit a great house in the neighbourhood4 ,the owner was away1 but my friend enjoyed the right of leisurely access to the place1 and we thought we would take the opportunity of seeing it4 ,we entered at the lodge1 and walked through the old deer-park with its huge knotted oaks1 its wide expanse of grass4 ,the deer were feeding quietly in a long herd4 ,the great house itself came in sight1 with its portico and pavilions staring at us1 so it seemed1 blankly and seriously1 with shuttered eyes4 ,the whole place unutterably still and deserted1 like a house seen in a dream4 ,there was one particular thing that we came to visit2 we left the house on the left1 and turned through a little iron gate into a thick grove of trees4 ,we soon became aware that there was open ground before us1 and presently we came to a space in the heart of the wood1 where there was a silent pool all overgrown with water-lilies2 the bushes grew thickly round the edge4 ,the pool was full of water-birds1 coots1 and moor-hens1 sailing aimlessly about1 and uttering strange1 melancholy cries at intervals4 ,on the edge of the water stood a small marble temple1 streaked and stained by the weather4 ,as we approached it1 my friend told me something of the builder of the little shrine4 ,he was a former owner of the place1 a singular man1 who in his later days had lived a very solitary life here4 ,he was a man of wild and wayward impulses1 who had drunk deeply in youth of pleasure and excitement4 ,he had married a beautiful young wife1 who had died childless in the first year of their marriage1 and he had abandoned himself after this event to a despairing seclusion1 devoted to art and music4 ,he had filled the great house with fine pictures1 he had written a book of poems1 and some curious stilted volumes of autobiographical prose2 but he had no art of expression1 and his books had seemed like a powerless attempt to give utterance to wild and melancholy musings2 they were written in a pompous and elaborate style1 which divested the thoughts of such charm as they might have possessed4 ,he had lived thus to a considerable age in a wilful sadness1 unloving and unloved4 ,he had cared nothing for the people of the place1 entertained no visitors2 rambling1 a proud solitary figure1 about the demesne1 or immured for days together in his library4 ,had the story not been true1 it would have appeared like some elaborate fiction4 ,he built this little temple in memory of the wife whom he had lost1 and often visited it1 spending hours on hot summer days wandering about the little lake1 or sitting silent in the portico4 ,we went up to the building4 ,it was a mere alcove1 open to the air4 ,but what arrested my attention was a marble figure of a young man1 in a sitting position1 lightly clad in a tunic1 the neck1 arms1 and knees bare2 one knee was flung over the other1 and the chin was propped on an arm1 the elbow of which rested on the knee4 ,the face was a wonderful and expressive piece of work4 ,the boy seemed to be staring out1 not seeing what he looked upon1 but lost in a deep agony of thought4 ,the face was wonderfully pure and beautiful2 and the anguish seemed not the anguish of remorse1 but the pain of looking upon things both sweet and beautiful1 and of yet being unable to take a share in them4 ,the whole figure denoted a listless melancholy4 ,it was the work of a famous ,french sculptor1 who seemed to have worked under close and minute direction2 and my friend told me that no less than three statues had been completed before the owner was satisfied4 ,on the pedestal were sculptured the pathetic words1 ,omoi mal authis4 ,there was a look of revolt of dumb anger upon the face that lay behind its utter and hopeless sadness4 ,i knew too well1 by a swift instinct1 what the statue stood for4 ,here was one1 made for life1 activity1 and joy1 who yet found himself baffled1 thwarted1 shut out from the paradise that seemed to open all about him2 it was the face of one who had found satiety in pleasure1 and sorrow in the very heart of joy4 ,there was no taint of grossness or of luxury in the face1 but rather a strength1 an intellectual force1 a firm lucidity of thought4 ,i confess that the sight moved me very strangely4 ,i felt a thrill of the deepest compassion1 a desire to do something that might help or comfort1 a yearning wish to aid1 to explain1 to cheer4 ,the silence1 the stillness1 the hopelessness of the pathetic figure woke in me the intensest desire to give ,i knew not what--an overwhelming impulse of pity4 ,it seemed a parable of all the joy that is so sternly checked1 all the hopes made vain1 the promise disappointed1 the very death of the soul4 ,it seemed infinitely pathetic that ,god should have made so fair a thing1 and then withheld joy4 ,and it seemed as though ,i had looked into the very soul of the unhappy man who had set up so strange and pathetic an allegory of his sufferings4 ,the boy seemed as though he would have welcomed death--anything that brought an end2 yet the health and suppleness of the bright figure held out no hope of that4 ,it was the very type of unutterable sorrow1 and that not in an outworn body1 and reflected in a face dim with sad experience1 but in a perfectly fresh and strong frame1 built for action and life4 ,i cannot say what remote thoughts1 what dark communings1 visited me at the sight4 ,i seemed confronted all at once with the deepest sadness of the world1 as though an unerring arrow had pierced my very heart--an arrow winged by beauty1 and shot on a summer day of sunshine and song4 ,is there any faith that is strong enough and deep enough to overcome such questionings8 ,it seemed to bring me near to all those pale and hopeless agonies of the world2 all the snapping short of joy1 the confronting of life with death--those dreadful moments when the heart asks itself1 in a kind of furious horror1 ,how can it be that ,i am filled so full of all the instinct of joy and life1 and yet bidden to suffer and to die8 ,the only hope is in an utter and silent resignation2 in the belief that1 if there is a purpose in the gift of joy1 there is a purpose in the gift of suffering4 ,and as thus1 in that calm afternoon1 in the silent wood1 by the shining pool1 ,i lifted up my heart to ,god to be consoled1 ,i felt a great hope draw near1 as when the vast tide flows landward1 and fills the dry1 solitary sand-pools with the leaping brine4 ,only wait1 said the deep and tender voice1 only endure1 only believe2 and a sweetness1 a beauty1 a truth beyond your utmost dreams shall be revealed4 ,,xxxiii ,the ,mystery of ,suffering ,here is a story which has much occupied my thoughts lately4 ,a man in middle life1 with a widowed sister and her children depending on him1 living by professional exertions1 is suddenly attacked by a painful1 horrible1 and fatal complaint4 ,he goes through a terrible operation1 and then struggles back to his work again1 with the utmost courage and gallantry4 ,again the complaint returns1 and the operation is repeated4 ,after this he returns again to his work1 but at last1 after enduring untold agonies1 he is forced to retire into an invalid life1 after a few months of which he dies in terrible suffering1 and leaves his sister and the children nearly penniless4 ,the man was a quiet1 simple-minded person1 fond of his work1 fond of his home1 conventional and not remarkable except for the simply heroic quality he displayed1 smiling and joking up to the moment of the administering of anaesthetics for his operations1 and bearing his sufferings with perfect patience and fortitude1 never saying an impatient word1 grateful for the smallest services4 ,his sister1 a simple1 active woman1 with much tender affection and considerable shrewdness1 finding that the fear of incurring needless expense distressed her brother1 devoted herself to the ghastly and terrible task of nursing him through his illnesses4 ,the children behaved with the same straightforward affection and goodness4 ,none of the circle ever complained1 ever said a word which would lead one to suppose that they had any feeling of resentment or cowardice4 ,they simply received the blows of fate humbly1 resignedly1 and cheerfully1 and made the best of the situation4 ,now1 let us look this sad story in the face1 and see if we can derive any hope or comfort from it4 ,in the first place1 there was nothing in the man's life which would lead one to suppose that he deserved or needed this special chastening1 this crucifixion of the body4 ,he was by instinct humble1 laborious1 unselfish1 and good1 all of which qualities came out in his illness4 ,neither was there anything in the life or character of the sister which seemed to need this stern and severe trial4 ,the household had lived a very quiet1 active1 useful life1 models of good citizens--religious1 contented1 drawing great happiness from very simple resources4 ,one's belief in the goodness1 the justice1 the patience of the ,father and ,maker of men forbids one to believe that he can ever be wantonly cruel1 unjust1 or unloving4 ,yet it is impossible to see the mercy or justice of his actions in this case4 ,and the misery is that1 if it could be proved that in one single case1 however small1 ,god's goodness had1 so to speak1 broken down2 if there were evidence of neglect or carelessness or indifference1 in the case of one single child of his1 one single sentient thing that he has created1 it would be impossible to believe in his omnipotence any more4 ,either one would feel that he was unjust and cruel1 or that there was some evil power at work in the world which he could not overcome4 ,for there is nothing remedial in this suffering4 ,the man's useful1 gentle life is over1 the sister is broken down1 unhappy1 a second time made desolate2 the children's education has suffered1 their home is made miserable4 ,the only thing that one can see1 that is in any degree a compensation1 is the extraordinary kindness displayed by friends1 relations1 and employers in making things easy for the afflicted household4 ,and then1 too1 there is the heroic quality of soul displayed by the sufferer himself and his sister--a heroism which is ennobling to think of1 and yet humiliating too1 because it seems to be so far out of one's own reach4 ,this is a very dark abyss of the world into which we are looking4 ,the case is an extreme one perhaps1 but similar things happen every day1 in this sad and wonderful and bewildering world4 ,of course1 one may take refuge in a gloomy acquiescence1 saying that such things seem to be part of the world as it is made1 and we cannot explain them1 while we dumbly hope that we may be spared such woes4 ,but that is a dark and despairing attitude1 and1 for one1 ,i cannot live at all1 unless ,i feel that ,god is indeed more upon our side than that4 ,i cannot live at all1 ,i say4 ,and yet ,i must live2 ,i must endure the ,will of ,god in whatever form it is laid upon me--in joy or in pain1 in contentment or sick despair4 ,why am ,i at one with the ,will of ,god when it gives me strength1 and hope1 and delight8 ,why am ,i so averse to it when it brings me languor1 and sorrow1 and despair8 ,that ,i cannot tell2 and that is the enigma which has confronted men from generation to generation4 ,but ,i still believe that there is a ,will of ,god2 and1 more than that1 ,i can still believe that a day comes for all of us1 however far off it may be1 when we shall understand2 when these tragedies1 that now blacken and darken the very air of ,heaven for us1 will sink into their places in a scheme so august1 so magnificent1 so joyful1 that we shall laugh for wonder and delight2 when we shall think not more sorrowfully over these sufferings1 these agonies1 than we think now of the sad days in our childhood when we sat with a passion of tears over a broken toy or a dead bird1 feeling that we could not be comforted4 ,we smile as we remember such things--we smile at our blindness1 our limitations4 ,we smile to reflect at the great range and panorama of the world that has opened upon us since1 and of which1 in our childish grief1 we were so ignorant4 ,under what conditions the glory will be revealed to us ,i cannot guess4 ,but ,i do not doubt that it will be revealed2 for we forget sorrow1 but we do not forget joy4 ,,xxxiv ,music ,i have just come back from hearing a great violinist1 who played1 with three other professors1 in two quartettes1 ,mozart and ,beethoven4 ,i know little of the technicalities of music1 but ,i know that the ,mozart was full to me of air and sunlight1 and a joy which was not the light-hearted gaiety of earth1 but the untainted and unwearying joy of heaven2 the ,beethoven ,i do not think ,i understood1 but there was a grave minor movement1 with pizzicato passages for the violoncello1 which seemed to consecrate and dignify the sorrow of the heart4 ,but apart from the technical merits of the music--and the performance1 indeed1 seemed to me to lie as near the thought and the conception as the translation of music into sound can go--the sight of these four big men1 serious and grave1 as though neither pursuing nor creating pleasure1 but as though interpreting and giving expression to some weighty secret1 had an inspiring and solemnising effect4 ,the sight of the great violinist himself was full of awe2 his big head1 the full grey beard which lay over the top of the violin1 his calm1 set brows1 his weary eyes with their heavy lids1 had a profound dignity and seriousness2 and to see his wonderful hands1 not delicate or slender1 but full1 strong1 and muscular1 moving neither lingeringly nor hastily1 but with a firm and easy deliberation upon the strings1 was deeply impressive4 ,it all seemed so easy1 so inevitable1 so utterly without display1 so simple and great4 ,it gave one a sense of mingled fire and quietude1 which is the end of art1--one may almost say the end of life2 it was no leaping and fitful flame1 but a calm and steady glow2 not a consuming fire1 but like the strength of a mighty furnace2 and then the peace of it6 ,the great man did not stand before us as a performer2 he seemed utterly indifferent to praise or applause1 and he had rather a grave1 pontifical air1 as of a priest1 divinely called to minister1 celebrating a divine mystery1 calling down the strength of heaven to earth4 ,neither was there the least sense of one conferring a favour2 he rather appeared to recognise that we were there in the same spirit as himself1 the worshippers in some high solemnity1 and his own skill not a thing to be shown or gloried in1 but a mere ministering of a sacred gift4 ,he seemed1 indeed1 to be like one who distributed a sacramental meat to an intent throng2 not a giver of pleasure1 but a channel of secret grace4 ,from such art as this one comes away not only with a thrill of mortal rapture1 but with a real and deep faith in art1 having bowed the head before a shrine1 and having tasted the food of the spirit4 ,when1 at the end of a sweet and profound movement1 the player raised his great head and looked round tenderly and gently on the crowd1 one felt as though1 like ,moses1 he had struck the rock1 and the streams had gushed out1 ut bibat populus4 ,and there fell an even deeper awe1 which seemed to say1 ,god was in this place 444 and ,i knew it not4 ,the world of movement1 of talk1 of work1 of conflicting interests1 into which one must return1 seemed all a fantastic noise1 a shadowy striving2 the only real thing seemed the presence-chamber from which we had gone out1 the chamber in which music had uttered its voice at the bidding of some sacred spell1 the voice of an infinite ,spirit1 the ,spirit that had brooded upon the deep1 evoking order out of chaos and light out of darkness2 with no eager and dusty manoeuvrings1 no clink and clatter of human toil1 but gliding resistlessly and largely upon the world1 as the sun by silent degrees detaches himself from the dark rim of the world1 and climbs in stately progress into the unclouded heaven4 ,,xxxv ,the ,faith of ,christ ,i read a terrible letter in the newspaper this morning1 a letter from a clergyman of high position1 finding fault with a manifesto put out by certain other clergymen2 the letter had a certain volubility about it1 and the writer seemed to me to pull out rather adroitly one or two loose sticks in his opponents' bundle1 and to lay them vehemently about their backs4 ,but1 alas6 the acrimony1 the positiveness1 the arrogance of it6 ,i do not know that ,i admired the manifesto very much myself2 it was a timid and half-hearted document1 but it was at least sympathetic and tender4 ,the purport of it was to say that1 just as historical criticism has shown that some of the ,old ,testament must be regarded as fabulous1 so we must be prepared for a possible loss of certitude in some of the details of the ,new ,testament4 ,it is conceivable1 for instance1 that without sacrificing the least portion of the essential teaching of ,christ1 men may come to feel justified in a certain suspension of judgment with regard to some of the miraculous occurrences there related2 may even grow to believe that an element of exaggeration is there1 that element of exaggeration which is never absent from the writings of any age in which scientific historical methods had no existence4 ,a suspension of judgment1 say3 because in the absence of any converging historical testimony to the events of the ,new ,testament1 it will never be possible either to affirm or to deny historically that the facts took place exactly as related2 though1 indeed1 the probability of their having so occurred may seem to be diminished4 ,the controversialist1 whose letter ,i read with bewilderment and pain1 involved his real belief in ingenious sentences1 so that one would think that he accepted the statements of the ,old ,testament1 such as the account of the ,creation and the ,fall1 the speaking of ,balaam's ,ass1 the swallowing of ,jonah by the whale1 as historical facts4 ,he went on to say that the miraculous element of the ,new ,testament is accredited by the ,revelation of ,god1 as though some definite revelation of truth had taken place at some time or other1 which all rational men recognised4 ,but the only objective process which has ever taken place is1 that at certain ,councils of the ,church1 certain books of ,scripture were selected as essential documents1 and the previous selection of the ,old ,testament books was confirmed4 ,but would the controversialist say that these ,councils were infallible8 ,it must surely be clear to all rational people that the members of these ,councils were merely doing their best1 under the conditions that then prevailed1 to select the books that seemed to them to contain the truth4 ,it is impossible to believe that if the majority at these ,councils had supposed that such an account as the account in ,genesis of the ,creation was mythological1 they would thus have attested its literal truth4 ,it never occurred to them to doubt it1 because they did not understand the principle that1 while a normal event can be accepted1 if it is fairly well confirmed1 an abnormal event requires a far greater amount of converging testimony to confirm it4 ,if only the clergy could realise that what ordinary laymen like myself want is a greater elasticity instead of an irrational certainty6 if only instead of feebly trying to save the outworks1 which are already in the hands of the enemy1 they would man the walls of the central fortress6 ,if only they would say plainly that a man could remain a convinced ,christian1 and yet not be bound to hold to the literal accuracy of the account of miraculous incidents recorded in the ,bible1 it would be a great relief4 ,i am myself in the position of thousands of other laymen4 ,i am a sincere ,christian2 and yet ,i regard the ,old ,testament and the ,new ,testament alike as the work of fallible men and of poetical minds4 ,i regard the ,old ,testament as a noble collection of ancient writings1 containing myths1 chronicles1 fables1 poems1 and dramas1 the value of which consists in the intense faith in a personal ,god and ,father with which it is penetrated4 ,when ,i come to the ,new ,testament1 ,i feel myself1 in the ,gospels1 confronted by the most wonderful personality which has ever drawn breath upon the earth4 ,i am not in a position to affirm or to deny the exact truth of the miraculous occurrences there related2 but the more conscious ,i am of the fallibility1 the lack of subtlety1 the absence of trained historical method that the writers display1 the more convinced ,i am of the essential truth of the ,person and teaching of ,christ1 because he seems to me a figure so infinitely beyond the intellectual power of those who described him to have invented or created4 ,if the authors of the ,gospels had been men of delicate literary skill1 of acute philosophical or poetical insight1 like ,plato or ,shakespeare1 then ,i should be far less convinced of the integral truth of the record4 ,but the words and sayings of ,christ1 the ideas which he disseminated1 seem to me so infinitely above the highest achievements of the human spirit1 that ,i have no difficulty in confessing1 humbly and reverently1 that ,i am in the presence of one who seems to me to be above humanity1 and not only of it4 ,if all the miraculous events of the ,gospels could be proved never to have occurred1 it would not disturb my faith in ,christ for an instant4 ,but ,i am content1 as it is1 to believe in the possibility of so abnormal a personality being surrounded by abnormal events1 though ,i am not in a position to disentangle the actual truth from the possibilities of misrepresentation and exaggeration4 ,dealing with the rest of the ,new ,testament1 ,i see in the ,acts of the ,apostles a deeply interesting record of the first ripples of the faith in the world4 ,in the ,pauline and other epistles ,i see the words of fervent primitive ,christians1 men of real and untutored genius1 in which one has amazing instances of the effect produced1 on contemporary or nearly contemporary persons1 of the same overwhelming personality1 the personality of ,christ4 ,in the ,apocalypse ,i see a vision of deep poetical force and insight4 ,but in none of these compositions1 though they reveal a glow and fervour of conviction that places them high among the memorials of the human spirit1 do ,i recognise anything which is beyond human possibilities4 ,i observe1 indeed1 that ,st ,paul's method of argument is not always perfectly consistent1 nor his conclusions absolutely cogent4 ,such inspiration as they contain they draw from their nearness to and their close apprehension of the dim and awe-inspiring presence of ,christ ,himself4 ,if1 as ,i say1 the ,church would concentrate her forces in this inner fortress1 the personality of ,christ1 and quit the debatable ground of historical enquiry1 it would be to me and to many an unfeigned relief2 but meanwhile1 neither scientific critics nor irrational pedants shall invalidate my claim to be of the number of believing ,christians4 ,i claim a ,christian liberty of thought1 while ,i acknowledge1 with bowed head1 my belief in ,god the ,father of men1 in a ,divine ,christ1 the ,redeemer and ,saviour1 and in the presence in the hearts of men of a ,divine spirit1 leading humanity tenderly forward4 ,i can neither affirm nor deny the literal accuracy of ,scripture records2 ,i am not in a position to deny the superstructure of definite dogma raised by the tradition of the ,church about the central truths of its teaching1 but neither can ,i deny the possibility of an admixture of human error in the fabric4 ,i claim my right to receive the ,sacraments of my ,church1 believing as ,i do that they invigorate the soul1 bring the presence of its ,redeemer near1 and constitute a bond of ,christian unity4 ,but ,i have no reason to believe that any human pronouncement whatever1 the pronouncements of men of science as well as the pronouncements of theologians1 are not liable to error4 ,there is indeed no fact in the world except the fact of my own existence of which ,i am absolutely certain4 ,and thus ,i can accept no system of religion which is based upon deductions1 however subtle1 from isolated texts1 because ,i cannot be sure of the infallibility of any form of human expression4 ,yet1 on the other hand1 ,i seem to discern with as much certainty as ,i can discern anything in this world1 where all is so dark1 the presence upon earth at a certain date of a personality which commands my homage and allegiance4 ,and upon this ,i build my trust4 ,,xxxvi ,the ,mystery of ,evil ,i was staying the other day in a large old country-house4 ,one morning1 my host came to me and said3 ,i should like to show you a curious thing4 ,we have just discovered a cellar here that seems never to have been visited or used since the house was built1 and there is the strangest fungoid growth in it ,i have ever seen4 ,he took a big bunch of keys1 rang the bell1 gave an order for lights to be brought1 and we went together to the place4 ,there were ranges of brick-built1 vaulted chambers1 through which we passed1 pleasant1 cool places1 with no plaster to conceal the native brick1 with great wine-bins on either hand4 ,it all gave one an inkling of the change in material conditions which must have taken place since they were built2 the quantity of wine consumed in eighteenth-century days must have been so enormous1 and the difficulty of conveyance so great1 that every great householder must have felt like the ,rich ,fool of the parable1 with much goods laid up for many years4 ,in the corner of one of the great vaults was a low arched door1 and my friend explained that some panelling which had been taken out of an older house1 demolished to make room for the present mansion1 had been piled up here1 and thus the entrance had been hidden4 ,he unlocked the door1 and a strange scent came out4 ,an abundance of lights were lit1 and we went into the vault4 ,it was the strangest scene ,i have ever beheld2 the end of the vault seemed like a great bed1 hung with brown velvet curtains1 through the gaps of which were visible what seemed like white velvet pillows1 strange humped conglomerations4 ,my friend explained to me that there had been a bin at the end of the vault1 out of the wood of which these singular fungi had sprouted4 ,the whole place was uncanny and horrible4 ,the great velvet curtains swayed in the current of air1 and it seemed as though at any moment some mysterious sleeper might be awakened1 might peer forth from his dark curtains1 with a fretful enquiry as to why he was disturbed4 ,the scene dwelt in my mind for many days1 and aroused in me a strange train of thought2 these dim vegetable forms1 with their rich luxuriance1 their sinister beauty1 awoke a curious repugnance in the mind4 ,they seemed unholy and evil4 ,and yet it is all part of the life of nature2 it is just as natural1 just as beautiful to find life at work in this gloomy and unvisited place1 wreathing the bare walls with these dark1 soft fabrics4 ,it was impossible not to feel that there was a certain joy of life in these growths1 sprouting with such security and luxuriance in a place so precisely adapted to their well-being2 and yet there was the shadow of death and darkness about them1 to us whose home is the free air and the sun4 ,it seemed to me to make a curious parable of the baffling mystery of evil1 the luxuriant growth of sin in the dark soul4 ,i have always felt that the reason why the mystery of evil is so baffling is because we so resolutely think of evil as of something inimical to the nature of ,god2 and yet evil must derive its vitality from him4 ,the one thing that it is impossible to believe is that1 in a world ruled by an all-powerful ,god1 anything should come into existence which is in opposition to his ,will4 ,it is impossible to arrive at any solution of the difficulty1 unless we either adopt the belief that ,god is not all-powerful1 and that there is a real dualism in nature1 two powers in eternal opposition2 or else realise that evil is in some way a manifestation of ,god4 ,if we adopt the first theory1 we may conceive of the stationary tendency in nature1 its inertness1 the force that tends to bring motion to a standstill1 as one power1 the power of ,death2 and we may conceive of all motion and force as the other power1 the quickening spirit1 the power of life4 ,but even here we are met with a difficulty1 for when we try to transfer this dualism to the region of humanity1 we see that in the phenomena of disease we are confronted1 not with inertness fighting against motion1 but with one kind of life1 which is inimical to human life1 fighting with another kind of life which is favourable to health4 ,i mean that when a fever or a cancer lays hold of a human frame1 it is nothing but the lodging inside the body of a bacterial and an infusorial life which fights against the healthy native life of the human organism4 ,there must be1 ,i will not say a consciousness1 but a sense of triumphant life1 in the cancer which feeds upon the limb1 in spite of all efforts to dislodge it2 and it is impossible to me to believe that the vitality of those parasitical organisms1 which prey upon the human frame1 is not derived from the vital impulse of ,god4 ,we1 who live in the free air and the sun1 have a way of thinking and speaking as if the plants and animals which develop under the same conditions were of a healthy type1 while the organisms which flourish in decay and darkness1 such as the fungi of which ,i saw so strange an example1 the larva2 which prey on decaying matter1 the soft and pallid worm-like forms that tunnel in vegetable ooze1 were of an unhealthy type4 ,but yet these creatures are as much the work of ,god as the flowers and trees1 the brisk animals which we love to see about us4 ,we are obliged in self-defence to do battle with the creatures which menace our health2 we do not question our right to deprive them of life for our own comfort2 but surely with this analogy before us1 we are equally compelled to think of the forms of moral evil1 with all their dark vitality1 as the work of ,god's hand4 ,it is a sad conclusion to be obliged to draw1 but ,i can have no doubt that no comprehensive system of philosophy can ever be framed1 which does not trace the vitality of what we call evil to the same hand as the vitality of what we call good4 ,i have no doubt myself of the supremacy of a single power2 but the explanation that evil came into the world by the institution of free-will1 and that suffering is the result of sin1 seems to me to be wholly inadequate1 because the mystery of strife and pain and death is far older than any history which is written in any book4 ,the mistake that we make is to count up all the qualities which seem to promote our health and happiness1 and to invent an anthropomorphic figure of ,god1 whom we array upon the side which we wish to prevail4 ,the truth is far darker1 far sterner1 far more mysterious4 ,the darkness is his not less than the light2 selfishness and sin are the work of his hand1 as much as unselfishness and holiness4 ,to call this attitude of mind pessimism1 and to say that it can only end in acquiescence or despair1 is a sin against truth4 ,a creed that does not take this thought into account is nothing but a delusion1 with which we try to beguile the seriousness of the truth which we dread2 but such a stern belief does not forbid us to struggle and to strive2 it rather bids us believe that effort is a law of our natures1 that we are bound to be enlisted for the fight1 and that the only natures that fail are those that refuse to take a side at all4 ,there is no indecision in nature1 though there is some illusion4 ,the very star that rises1 pale and serene1 above the darkening thicket1 is in reality a globe wreathed in fiery vapour1 the centre of a throng of whirling planets4 ,what we have to do is to see as deep as we can into the truth of things1 not to invent paradises of thought1 sheltered gardens1 from which grief and suffering shall tear us1 naked and protesting2 but to gaze into the heart of ,god1 and then to follow as faithfully as we can the imperative voice that speaks within the soul4 ,,xxxvii ,renewal ,there sometimes falls upon me a great hunger of heart1 a sad desire to build up and renew something--a broken building it may be1 a fading flower1 a failing institution1 a ruinous character4 ,i feel a great and vivid pity for a thing which sets out to be so bright and beautiful1 and lapses into shapeless and uncomely neglect4 ,sometimes1 indeed1 it must be a desolate grief1 a fruitless sorrow3 as when a flower that has stood on one's table1 and cheered the air with its freshness and fragrance1 begins to droop1 and to grow stained and sordid4 ,or ,i see some dying creature1 a wounded animal2 or even some well-loved friend under the shadow of death1 with the hue of health fading1 the dear features sharpening for the last change2 and then one can only bow1 with such resignation as one can muster1 before the dreadful law of death1 pray that the passage may not be long or dark1 and try to dream of the bright secrets that may be waiting on the other side4 ,but sometimes it is a more fruitful sadness1 when one feels that decay can be arrested1 that new life can be infused2 that a fresh start may be taken1 and a life may be beautifully renewed1 and be even the brighter1 one dares to hope1 for a lapse into the dreary ways of bitterness4 ,this sadness is most apt to beset those who have anything to do with the work of education4 ,one feels sometimes1 with a sudden shiver1 as when the shadow of a cloud passes over a sunlit garden1 that many elements are at work in a small society2 that an evil secret is spreading over lives that were peaceful and contented1 that suspicion and disunion and misunderstanding are springing up1 like poisonous weeds1 in the quiet corner that ,god has given one to dress and keep4 ,then perhaps one tries to put one's hand on what is amiss2 sometimes one does too much1 and in the wrong way2 one has not enough faith1 one dares not leave enough to ,god4 ,or from timidity or diffidence1 or from the base desire not to be troubled1 from the poor hope that perhaps things will straighten themselves out1 one does too little2 and that is the worst shadow of all1 the shadow of cowardice or sloth4 ,sometimes1 too1 one has the grief of seeing a slow and subtle change passing over the manner and face of one for whom one cares--not the change of languor or physical weakness2 that can be pityingly borne2 but one sees innocence withering1 indifference to things wholesome and fair creeping on1 even sometimes a ripe and evil sort of beauty maturing1 such as comes of looking at evil unashamed1 and seeing its strong seductiveness4 ,one feels instinctively that the door which had been open before between such a soul and one's own spirit is being slowly and firmly closed1 or even1 if one attempts to open it1 pulled to with a swift motion2 and then one may hear sounds within1 and even see1 in that moment1 a rush of gliding forms1 that makes one sure that a visitant is there1 who has brought with him a wicked company2 and then one has to wait in sadness1 with now and then a timid knocking1 even happy1 it may be1 if the soul sometimes call fretfully within1 to say that it is occupied and cannot come forth4 ,but sometimes1 ,god be praised1 it is the other way4 ,a year ago a man came at his own request to see me4 ,i hardly knew him2 but ,i could see at once that he was in the grip of some hard conflict1 which withered his natural bloom4 ,i do not know how all came to be revealed2 but in a little while he was speaking with simple frankness and naturalness of all his troubles1 and they were many4 ,what was the most touching thing of all was that he spoke as if he were quite alone in his experience1 isolated and shut off from his kind1 in a peculiar horror of darkness and doubt2 as if the thoughts and difficulties at which he stumbled had never strewn a human path before4 ,i said but little to him2 and1 indeed1 there was but little to say4 ,it was enough that he should cleanse the stuff'd bosom of the perilous stuff that weighs upon the heart4 ,i tried to make him feel that he was not alone in the matter1 and that other feet had trodden the dark path before him4 ,no advice is possible in such cases2 therein the patient must minister to himself2 the solution lies in the mind of the sufferer4 ,he knows what he ought to do2 the difficulty is for him sufficiently to desire to do it2 yet even to speak frankly of cares and troubles is very often to melt and disperse the morbid mist that gathers round them1 which grows in solitude4 ,to state them makes them plain and simple2 and1 indeed1 it is more than that2 for ,i have often noticed that the mere act of formulating one's difficulties in the hearing of one who sympathises and feels1 often brings the solution with it4 ,one finds1 like ,christian in ,doubting ,castle1 the key which has lain in one's bosom all the time--the key of ,promise2 and when one has finished the recital1 one is lost in bewilderment that one ever was in any doubt at all4 ,a year has passed since that date1 and ,i have had the happiness of seeing health and contentment stream back into the man's face4 ,he has not overcome1 he has not won an easy triumph2 but he is in the way now1 not wandering on trackless hills4 ,so1 in the mood of which ,i spoke at first--the mood in which one desires to build up and renew--one must not yield oneself to luxurious and pathetic reveries1 or allow oneself to muse and wonder in the half-lit region in which one may beat one's wings in vain--the region1 ,i mean1 of sad stupefaction as to why the world is so full of broken dreams1 shattered hopes1 and unfulfilled possibilities4 ,one must rather look round for some little definite failure that is within the circle of one's vision4 ,and even so1 there sometimes comes what is the most evil and subtle temptation of all1 which creeps upon the mind in lowly guise1 and preaches inaction4 ,what concern have you1 says the tempting voice1 to meddle with the lives and characters of others--to guide1 to direct1 to help--when there is so much that is bitterly amiss with your own heart and life8 ,how will you dare to preach what you do not practice8 ,the answer of the brave heart is that1 if one is aware of failure1 if one has suffered1 if one has gathered experience1 one must be ready to share it4 ,if ,i falter and stumble under my own heavy load1 which ,i have borne so querulously1 so clumsily1 shall not ,i say a word which can help a fellow-sufferer to bear his load more easily1 help him to avoid the mistakes1 the falls into which my own perversity has betrayed me8 ,to make another's burden lighter is to lighten one's own burden2 and1 sinful as it may be to err1 it is still more sinful to see another err1 and be silent1 to withhold the word that might save him4 ,perhaps no one can help so much as one that has suffered himself1 who knows the turns of the sad road1 and the trenches which beset the way4 ,for thus comes most truly the joy of repentance2 it is joy to feel that one's own lesson is learnt1 and that the feeble feet are a little stronger2 but if one may also feel that another has taken heed1 has been saved the fall that must have come if he had not been warned1 one does not grudge one's own pain1 that has brought a blessing with it1 that is outside of one's own blessing2 one hardly even grudges the sin4 ,,xxxviii ,the ,secret ,i have been away from my books lately1 in a land of downs and valleys2 ,i have walked much alone1 or with a silent companion--that greatest of all luxuries4 ,and1 as is always the case when ,i get out of the reach of books1 ,i feel that ,i read a great deal too much1 and do not meditate enough4 ,it sounds indolent advice to say that one ought to meditate2 but ,i cannot help feeling that reading is often a still more indolent affair4 ,when ,i am alone1 or at leisure among my books1 ,i take a volume down2 and the result is that another man does my thinking for me4 ,it is like putting oneself in a comfortable railway carriage2 one runs smoothly along the iron track1 one stops at specified stations1 one sees a certain range of country1 and an abundance of pretty things in flashes--too many1 indeed1 for the mind to digest2 and that is the reason1 ,i think1 why a modern journey1 even with all the luxuries that surround it1 is so tiring a thing4 ,but to meditate is to take one's own path among the hills2 one turns off the track to examine anything that attracts the attention2 one makes the most of the few things that one sees4 ,reading is often a mere saving of trouble1 a soporific for a restless brain4 ,this last week1 as ,i say1 ,i have had very few books with me4 ,one of the few has been ,milton's ,paradise ,lost1 and ,i have read it from end to end4 ,i want to say a few words about the book first1 and then to diverge1 to a larger question4 ,i have read the poem with a certain admiration2 it is a large1 strong1 rugged1 violent thing4 ,i have1 however1 read it without emotion1 except that a few of the similes in it1 which lie like shells on a beach of sand1 have pleased me4 ,yet it is not true to say that ,i have read it without emotion1 because ,i have read it with anger and indignation4 ,i have come to the conclusion that the book has done a great deal of harm4 ,it is responsible1 ,i think1 for a great many of the harsh1 business-like1 dismal views of religion that prevail among us4 ,milton treated ,god1 the ,saviour1 and the angels1 from the point of view of a scholar who had read the ,iliad4 ,i declare that ,i think that the passages where ,god the ,father speaks1 discusses the situation of affairs1 and arranges matters with the ,saviour1 are some of the most profane and vicious passages in ,english literature4 ,i do not want to be profane myself1 because it is a disgusting fault2 but the passage where the scheme of ,redemption is arranged1 where ,god enquires whether any of the angels will undergo death in order to satisfy his sense of injured justice1 is a passage of what ,i can only call stupid brutality1 disguised1 alas1 in the solemn and majestic robe of sonorous language4 ,the angels timidly decline1 and the ,saviour volunteers1 which saves the shameful situation4 ,the character of ,god1 as displayed by ,milton1 is that of a commercial1 complacent1 irritable ,puritan4 ,there is no largeness or graciousness about it1 no wistful love4 ,he keeps his purposes to himself1 and when his arrangements break down1 as indeed they deserve to do1 some one has got to be punished4 ,if the guilty ones cannot1 so much the worse2 an innocent victim will do1 but a victim there must be4 ,it is a wicked1 an abominable passage1 and ,i would no more allow an intelligent child to read it than ,i would allow him to read an obscene book4 ,then1 again1 the passage where the rebel angels cast cannon1 make gunpowder1 and mow the good angels down in rows1 is incredibly puerile and ridiculous4 ,the hateful materialism of the whole thing is patent4 ,i wish that the ,english ,church could have an ,index1 and put ,paradise ,lost upon it1 and allow no one to read it until he had reached years of discretion1 and then only with a certificate1 and for purely literary purposes4 ,it is a terrible instance how strong a thing ,art is2 the grim old author1 master of every form of ugly vituperation1 had drifted miserably away from his beautiful youth1 when he wrote the sweet poems and sonnets that make the pedestal for his fame2 and on that delicate pedestal stands this hideous iron figure1 with its angry gestures1 its sickening strength4 ,i could pile up indignant instances of the further harm the book has done4 ,who but ,milton is responsible for the hard and shameful view of the position of women8 ,he represents her as a clinging1 soft1 compliant creature1 whose only ideal is to be to make things comfortable for her husband1 and to submit to his embraces4 ,milton spoilt the lives of all the women he had to do with1 by making them into slaves1 with the same consciousness of rectitude with which he whipped his nephews1 the sound of whose cries made his poor girl-wife so miserable4 ,but ,i do not want to go further into the question of ,milton himself4 ,i want to follow out a wider thought which came to me among the downs to-day4 ,there seems to me to be in art1 to take the metaphor of the temple at ,jerusalem1 three gradations or regions1 which may be typified by the ,court1 the ,holy ,place1 and the ,holy of ,holies4 ,into the ,court many have admittance1 both writers and readers2 it is just shut off from the world1 but admittance is easy and common4 ,all who are moved and stirred by ideas and images can enter here4 ,then there is the ,holy ,place1 dark and glorious1 where the candlestick glimmers and the altar gleams4 ,and to this place the priests of art have access4 ,here are to be found all delicate and strenuous craftsmen1 all who understand that there are secrets and mysteries in art4 ,they can please and thrill the mind and ear2 they can offer up a fragrant incense2 but the full mystery is not revealed to them4 ,here are to be found many graceful and soulless poets1 many writers of moving tales1 and discriminating critics1 who are satisfied1 but cannot satisfy4 ,those who frequent this place are generally of opinion that they know all that is to be known2 they talk much of form and colour1 of values and order4 ,they can make the most of their materials2 and indeed their skill outruns their emotion4 ,but there is the inmost shrine of all within1 where the darkness broods1 lit at intervals by the shining of a divine light1 that glimmers on the ark and touches the taper wings of the adoring angels4 ,the contents indeed of the sacred chest are of the simplest2 a withered branch1 a pot of food1 two slabs of grey stone1 obscurely engraved4 ,nothing rich or rare4 ,but those who have access to the inner shrine are face to face with the mystery4 ,some have the skill to hint it1 none to describe it4 ,and there are some1 too1 who have no skill to express themselves1 but who have visited the place1 and bring back some touch of radiance gushing from their brows4 ,milton1 in his youth1 had looked within the shrine1 but he forgot1 in the clamorous and sordid world1 what he had seen4 ,only those who have visited the ,holiest place know those others who have set foot there1 and they cannot err4 ,i cannot define exactly what it is that makes the difference4 ,it cannot be seen in performance2 for here ,i will humbly and sincerely make the avowal that ,i have been within the veil myself1 though ,i know not when or how4 ,i learnt there no perfection of skill1 no methods of expression4 ,but ever since1 ,i have looked out for the signs that tell me whether another has set foot there or no4 ,i sometimes see the sign in a book1 or a picture2 sometimes it comes out in talk2 and sometimes ,i discern it in the glance of an eye1 for all the silence of the lips4 ,it is not knowledge1 it is not pride that the access confers4 ,indeed it is often a sweet humility of soul4 ,it is nothing definite2 but it is a certain attitude of mind1 a certain quality of thought4 ,some of those who have been within are very sinful persons1 very unhappy1 very unsatisfactory1 as the world would say4 ,but they are never perverse or wilful natures2 they are never cold or mean4 ,those in whom coldness and meanness are found are of necessity excluded from the ,presence4 ,but though the power to step behind the veil seldom brings serenity1 or strength1 or confidence1 yet it is the best thing that can happen to a man in the world4 ,some perhaps of those who read these words will think that it is all a vain shadow1 and that ,i am but wrapping up an empty thought in veils of words4 ,but though ,i cannot explain1 though ,i cannot say what the secret is1 ,i can claim to be able to say almost without hesitation whether a human spirit has passed within2 and more than that4 ,as ,i write these words1 ,i know that if any who have set foot in the secret shrine reads them1 they will understand1 and recognise that ,i am speaking a simple truth4 ,some1 indeed1 find their way thither through religion2 but none whose religion is like ,milton's4 ,indeed1 part of the wonder of the secret is the infinite number of paths that lead there2 they are all lonely2 the moment is unexpected2 indeed1 as was the case with myself1 it is possible to set foot within1 and yet not to know it at the time4 ,it is this secret which constitutes the innermost brotherhood of the world4 ,the innermost1 ,i say1 because neither creed1 nor nationality1 nor occupation1 nor age1 nor sex affects the matter4 ,it is difficult1 or shall ,i say unusual1 for the old to enter2 and most find the way there in youth1 before habit and convention have become tyrannous1 and have fenced the path of life with hedges and walls4 ,again it is the most secret brotherhood of the world2 no one can dare to make public proclamation of it1 no one can gather the saints together1 for the essence of the brotherhood is its isolation4 ,one may indeed recognise a brother or a sister1 and that is a blessed moment2 but one must not speak of it in words2 and indeed there is no need of words1 where all that matters is known4 ,it may be asked what are the benefits which this secret brings4 ,it does not bring laughter1 or prosperity1 or success1 or even cheerfulness2 but it brings a high1 though fitful1 joy--a joy that can be captured1 practised1 retained4 ,no one can1 ,i think1 of set purpose1 capture the secret4 ,no one can find the way by desiring it4 ,and yet the desire to do so is the seed of hope4 ,and if it be asked1 why ,i write and print these veiled words about so deep and intimate a mystery1 ,i would reply that it is because not all who have found the way1 know that they have found it2 and my hope is that these words of mine may show some restless hearts that they have found it4 ,for one may find the shrine in youth1 and for want of knowing that one has found it1 may forget it in middle age2 and that is what ,i sorrowfully think that not a few of my brothers do4 ,and the sign of such a loss is that such persons speak contemptuously and disdainfully of their visions1 and try to laugh and deride the young and gracious out of such hopes2 which is a sin that is hateful to ,god1 a kind of murder of souls4 ,and now ,i have travelled a long way from where ,i began1 but the path was none of my own making4 ,it was ,milton1 that fierce and childish poet1 that held open the door1 and within ,i saw the ladder1 at the fiery head of which is ,god ,himself4 ,and like ,jacob 7who was indeed of our company7 ,i made a pillow for my head of the stones of the place1 that ,i might dream more abundantly4 ,and so1 as ,i walked to-day among the green places of the down1 ,i made a prayer in my heart to ,god1 the matter of which ,i will now set down2 and it was that all of us who have visited that most ,holy ,place may be true to the vision2 and that ,god may reveal us to each other1 as we go on pilgrimage2 and that as the world goes forward1 he may lead more and more souls to visit it1 that bare and secret place1 which yet holds more beauty than the richest palace of the world4 ,for palaces but hold the outer beauty1 in types and glimpses and similitudes4 ,while in the secret shrine we visit the central fountainhead1 from which the water of life1 clear as crystal1 breaks in innumerable channels1 and flows out from beneath the temple door1 as ,ezekiel saw it flow1 lingering and delaying1 but surely coming to gladden the earth4 ,i could indeed go further1 and speak many things out of a full heart about the matter4 ,i could quote the names of many poets and artists1 great and small2 and ,i could say which of them belongs to the inner company1 and which of them is outside4 ,but ,i will not do this1 because it would but set inquisitive people puzzling and wondering1 and trying to guess the secret2 and that ,i have no desire to do2 because these words are not written to make those who do not understand to be curious2 but they are written to those who know1 and1 most of all1 to those who know1 but have forgotten4 ,no one may traffic in these things2 and indeed there is no opportunity to do so4 ,i could learn in a moment1 from a sentence or a smile1 if one had the secret2 and ,i could spend a long summer day trying to explain it to a learned and intelligent person1 and yet give no hint of what ,i meant4 ,for the thing is not an intelligible process1 a matter of reasoning and logic2 it is an intuition4 ,and therefore it is that those who cannot believe in anything that they do not understand1 will think these words of mine to be folly and vanity4 ,the only case where ,i have found a difficulty in deciding1 is when ,i talk to one who has lived much with those who had the secret1 and has caught1 by a kind of natural imitation1 some of the accent and cadence of the truth4 ,an old friend of mine1 a pious woman1 used in her last days to have prayers and hymns read much in her room2 there was a parrot that sat there in his cage1 very silent and attentive2 and not long after1 when the parrot was ill1 he used to mutter prayers and hymns aloud1 with a devotion that would have deceived the very elect4 ,and it is even so with the people of whom ,i have spoken4 ,not long ago ,i had a long conversation with one1 a clever woman1 who had lived much in the house of a man who had seen the truth2 and ,i was for a little deceived1 and thought that she also knew the truth4 ,but suddenly she made a hard judgment of her own1 and ,i knew in a moment that she had never seen the shrine4 ,and now ,i have said enough1 and must make an end4 ,i remember that long ago1 when ,i was a boy1 ,i painted a picture on a panel1 and set it in my room4 ,it was the figure of a kneeling youth on a hillock1 looking upwards2 and beyond the hillock came a burst of rays from a hidden sun4 ,underneath it1 for no reason that ,i can well explain1 ,i painted the words phs etheasamen kai emphobos en--,i beheld a light and was afraid4 ,i was then very far indeed from the sight of the truth2 but ,i know now that ,i was prophesying of what should be2 for the secret sign of the mystery is a fear1 not a timid and shrinking fear1 but a holy and transfiguring awe4 ,i little guessed what would some day befall me2 but now that ,i have seen1 ,i can only say with all my heart that it is better to remember and be sad1 than to forget and smile4 ,,xxxix ,the ,message ,i was awakened this morning1 at the old house where ,i am staying1 by low and sweet singing4 ,the soft murmur of an organ was audible1 on which some clear trebles seemed to swim and float--one voice of great richness and force seeming to utter the words1 and to draw into itself the other voices1 appropriating their tone but lending them personality4 ,these were the words ,i heard-- ,the ,high ,priest once a year ,went in the ,holy ,place ,with garments white and clear2 ,it was the day of ,grace4 ,without the people stood ,while unseen and alone ,with incense and with blood ,he did for them atone4 ,so we without abide ,a few short passing years1 ,while ,christ who for us died ,before our ,god appears4 ,before ,his ,father there ,his ,sacrifice ,he pleads1 ,and with unceasing prayer ,for us ,he intercedes4 ,the sweet sounds ceased2 the organ lingered for an instant in a low chord of infinite sweetness1 and then a voice was heard in prayer4 ,that there was a chapel in the house ,i knew1 and that a brief morning prayer was read there4 ,but ,i could not help wondering at the remarkable distinctness with which ,i heard the words--they seemed close to my ear in the air beside me4 ,i got up1 and drawing my curtains found that it was day2 and then ,i saw that a tiny window in the corner of my room1 that gave on the gallery of the chapel1 had been left open1 by accident or design1 and that thus ,i had been an auditor of the service4 ,i found myself pondering over the words of the hymn1 which was familiar to me1 though strangely enough is to be found in but few collections4 ,it is a perfect lyric1 both in its grave language and its beautiful balance2 and it is too1 so far as such a composition can be1 or ought to be1 intensely dramatic4 ,the thought is just touched1 and stated with exquisite brevity and restraint2 there is not a word too much or too little2 the image is swiftly presented1 the inner meaning flashed upon the mind4 ,it seemed to me1 too1 a beautiful and desirable thing to begin the day thus1 with a delicate hallowing of the hours2 to put one gentle thought into the heart1 perfumed by the sweet music4 ,but then my reflections took a further drift2 beautiful as the little ceremony was1 noble and refined as the thought of the tender hymn was1 ,i began to wonder whether we do well to confine our religious life to so restricted a range of ideas4 ,it seemed almost ungrateful to entertain the thought1 but ,i felt a certain bewilderment as to whether this remote image1 drawn from the ancient sacrificial ceremony1 was not even too definite a thought to feed the heart upon4 ,for strip the idea of its fair accessories1 its delicate art1 and what have we but the sad belief1 drawn from the dark ages of the world1 that the wrathful ,creator of men1 full of gloomy indignation at their perverseness and wilfulness1 needs the constant intercession of the ,eternal ,son1 who is too1 in a sense1 ,himself1 to appease the anger with which he regards the sheep of his hand4 ,i cannot really in the depths of my heart echo that dark belief4 ,i do not indeed know why ,god permits such blindness and sinfulness among men1 and why he allows suffering to cloud and darken the world4 ,but it would cause me to despair of ,god and man alike1 if ,i felt that he had flung our pitiful race into the world1 surrounded by temptation both within and without1 and then abandoned himself to anger at their miserable dalliance with evil4 ,i rather believe that we are rising and struggling to the light1 and that his heart is with us1 not against us in the battle4 ,it may of course be said that all that kind of ,calvinism has disappeared2 that no rational ,christians believe it1 but hold a larger and a wider faith4 ,i think that this is true of a few intelligent ,christians1 as far as the dropping of ,calvinism goes1 though it seems to me that they find it somewhat difficult to define their faith2 but as to ,calvinism having died out in ,england1 ,i do not think that there is any reason to suppose that it has done so2 ,i believe that a large majority of ,english ,christians would believe the above-quoted hymn to be absolutely justified in its statements both by ,scripture and reason1 and that a considerable minority would hardly consider it definite enough4 ,but then came a larger and a wider thought4 ,we talk and think so carelessly of the divine revelation2 we1 who have had a religious bringing up1 who have been nurtured upon ,israelite chronicles and prophecies1 are inclined1 or at least predisposed1 to think that the knowledge of ,god is written larger and more directly in these records1 the words of anxious and troubled persons1 than in the world which we see about us4 ,yet surely in field and wood1 in sea and sky1 we have a far nearer and more instant revelation of ,god4 ,in these ancient records we have the thoughts of men1 intent upon their own schemes and struggles1 and looking for the message of ,god1 with a fixed belief that the history of one family of the human race was his special and particular prepossession4 ,yet all the while his immediate ,will was round them1 written in a thousand forms1 in bird and beast1 in flower and tree4 ,he permits and tolerates life4 ,he deals out joy and sorrow1 life and death4 ,science has at least revealed a far more vast and inscrutable force at work in the world1 than the men of ancient days ever dreamed of4 ,do we do well to confine our religious life to these ancient conceptions8 ,they have no doubt a certain shadow of truth in them2 but while ,i know for certain that the huge ,will of ,god is indeed at work around me1 in every field and wood1 in every stream and pool1 do ,i really know1 do ,i honestly believe that any such process as the hymn indicates1 is going on in some distant region of heaven8 ,the hymn practically presupposes that our little planet is the only one in which the work of ,god is going forward4 ,science hints to me that probably every star that hangs in the sky has its own ring of planets1 and that in every one of these some strange drama of life and death is proceeding4 ,it is a dizzy thought6 ,but if it be true1 is it not better to face it8 ,the mind shudders1 appalled at the immensity of the prospect4 ,but do not such thoughts as these give us a truer picture of ourselves1 and of our own humble place in the vast complexity of things1 than the excessive dwelling upon the wistful dreams of ancient law-givers and prophets8 ,or is it better to delude ourselves8 ,deliberately to limit our view to the history of a single race1 to a few centuries of records8 ,perhaps that may be a more practical1 a more effective view2 but when once the larger thought has flashed into the mind1 it is useless to try and drown it4 ,everything around me seems to cry aloud the warning1 not to aim at a conceit of knowledge about these deep secrets1 but to wait1 to leave the windows of the soul open for any glimpse of truth from without4 ,to beguile the time ,i took up a volume near me1 the work of a much decried poet1 ,walt ,whitman4 ,apart from the exquisite power of expression that he possesses1 he always seems to me to enter1 more than most poets1 into the largeness of the world1 to keep his heart fixed on the vast wonder and joy of life4 ,i read that poem full of tender pathos and suggestiveness1 ,a ,word out of the ,sea1 where the child1 with the wind in his hair1 listens to the lament of the bird that has lost his mate1 and tries to guide her wandering wings back to the deserted nest4 ,while the bird sings1 with ever fainter hope1 its little heart aching with the pain of loss1 the child hears the sea1 with its liquid rims and wet sands breathing out the low and delicious word death4 ,the poet seems to think of death as the loving answer to the yearning of all hearts1 the sleep that closes the weary eyes4 ,but ,i cannot rise to this thought1 tender and gentle as it is4 ,if indeed there be another life beyond death1 ,i can well believe that death is in truth an easier and simpler thing than one fears2 only a cloud on the hill1 a little darkness upon ,nature4 ,but ,god has put it into my heart to dread it2 and he hides from me the knowledge of whether indeed there be another side to it4 ,and while ,i do not even know that1 ,i can but love life1 and be fain of the good days4 ,all the religion in the world depends upon the belief that1 set free from the bonds of the flesh1 the spirit will rest and recollect4 ,but is that more than a hope8 ,is it more than the passionate instinct of the heart that cannot bear the thought that it may cease to be8 ,i seem to have travelled far away from the hymn that sounded so sweetly in my ears2 but ,i return to the thought2 is not1 ,i will ask1 the poet's reverie--the child with his wet hair floating in the sea-breeze1 the wailing of the deserted bird1 the waves that murmur that death is beautiful--is not this all more truly and deeply religious than the hymn which speaks of things1 that not only ,i cannot affirm to be true1 but which1 if true1 would plunge me into a deeper and darker hopelessness even than that in which my ignorance condemns me to live8 ,ought we not1 in fact1 to try and make our religion a much wider1 quieter thing8 ,are we not exchanging the melodies of the free birds that sing in the forest glade1 for the melancholy chirping of the caged linnet8 ,it seems to me often as though we had captured our religion from a multitude of fair hovering presences1 that would speak to us of the things of ,god1 caged it in a tiny prison1 and closed our ears to the larger and wider voices8 ,i walked to-day in sheltered wooded valleys2 and at one point1 in a very lonely and secluded lane1 leant long upon a gate that led into a little forest clearing1 to watch the busy and intent life of the wood4 ,there were the trees extending their fresh leaves to the rain2 the birds slipped from tree to tree2 a mouse frisked about the grassy road2 a hundred flowers raised their bright heads4 ,none of these little lives have1 ,i suppose1 any conception of the extent of life that lies about them2 each of them knows the secrets and instincts of its own tiny brain1 and guesses perhaps at the thoughts of the little lives akin to it4 ,yet every tiniest1 shortest1 most insignificant life has its place in the mind of ,god4 ,it seemed to me then such an amazing1 such an arrogant thing to define1 to describe1 to limit the awful mystery of the ,creator and his purpose4 ,even to think of him1 as he is spoken of in the ,old ,testament1 with fierce and vindictive schemes1 with flagrant partialities1 seemed to me nothing but a dreadful profanation4 ,and yet these old writings do1 in a degree1 from old association1 colour my thoughts about him4 ,and then all these anxious visions left me2 and ,i felt for awhile like a tiny spray of sea-weed floating on an infinite sea1 with the brightness of the morning overhead4 ,i felt that ,i was indeed set where ,i found myself to be1 and that if now my little heart and brain are too small to hold the truth1 yet ,i thanked ,god for making even the conception of the mystery1 the width1 the depth1 possible to me2 and ,i prayed to him that he would give me as much of the truth as ,i could bear4 ,and ,i do not doubt that he gave me that2 for ,i felt for an instant that whatever befell me1 ,i was indeed a part of ,himself2 not a thing outside and separate2 not even his son and his child3 but ,himself4 ,,xl ,after ,death ,i had so strange a dream or vision the other night1 that ,i cannot refrain from setting it down2 because the strangeness and the wonder of it seem to make it impossible for me to have conceived of it myself2 it was suggested by nothing1 originated by nothing that ,i can trace2 it merely came to me out of the void4 ,after confused and troubled dreams of terror and bewilderment1 enacted in blind passages and stifling glooms1 with crowds of unknown figures passing rapidly to and fro1 ,i seemed to grow suddenly light-hearted and joyful4 ,i next appeared to myself to be sitting or reclining on the grassy top of a cliff1 in bright sunlight4 ,the ground fell precipitously in front of me1 and ,i saw to left and right the sharp crags and horns of the rock-face below me2 behind me was a wide space of grassy down1 with a fresh wind racing over it4 ,the sky was cloudless4 ,far below ,i could see yellow sands1 on which a blue sea broke in crisp waves4 ,to the left a river flowed through a little hamlet1 clustered round a church2 ,i looked down on the roofs of the small houses1 and saw people passing to and fro1 like ants4 ,the river spread itself out in shallow shining channels over the sand1 to join the sea4 ,further to the left rose shadowy headland after headland1 and to the right lay a broad well-watered plain1 full of trees and villages1 bounded by a range of blue hills4 ,on the sea moved ships1 the wind filling their sails1 and the sun shining on them with a peculiar brightness4 ,the only sound in my ears was that of the whisper of the wind in the grass and stone crags4 ,but ,i soon became aware with a shock of pleasant surprise that my perception of the whole scene was of a different quality to any perception ,i had before experienced4 ,i have spoken of seeing and hearing3 but ,i became aware that ,i was doing neither2 the perceptions1 so to speak1 both of seeing and hearing were not distinct1 but the same4 ,i was aware1 for instance1 at the same moment1 of the whole scene1 both of what was behind me and what was in front of me4 ,i have described what ,i saw successively1 because there is no other way of describing it2 but it was all present at once in my mind1 and ,i had no need to turn my attention to one point or another1 but everything was there before me1 in a unity at which ,i cannot even hint in words4 ,i then became aware too1 that1 though ,i have spoken of myself as seated or reclined1 ,i had no body1 but was merely1 as it were1 a sentient point4 ,in a moment ,i became aware that to transfer that sentience to another point was merely an act of will4 ,i was able to test this2 in an instant ,i was close above the village1 which a moment before was far below me1 and ,i perceived the houses1 the very faces of the people close at hand2 at another moment ,i was buried deep in the cliff1 and felt the rock with its fissures all about me2 at another moment1 following my wish1 ,i was beneath the sea1 and saw the untrodden sands about me1 with the blue sunlit water over my head4 ,i saw the fish dart and poise above me1 the ribbons of sea-weed floating up1 just swayed by the currents1 shells crawling like great snails on the ooze1 crabs hurrying about among piles of boulders4 ,but something drew me back to my first station1 ,i know not why2 and there ,i poised1 as a bird might have poised1 and lost myself in a blissful dream4 ,then it darted into my mind that ,i was what ,i had been accustomed to call dead4 ,so this was what lay on the other side of the dark passage1 this lightness1 this perfect freedom1 this undreamed-of peace6 ,i had not a single care or anxiety4 ,it seemed as if nothing could trouble my repose and happiness4 ,i could only think with a deep compassion of those who were still pent in uneasy bodies1 under strait and sad conditions1 anxious1 sad1 troubled1 and blind1 not knowing that the shadow of death which encompassed them was but the cloud which veiled the gate of perfect and unutterable happiness4 ,i felt rising in my mind a sense of all that lay before me1 of all the mysteries that ,i would penetrate1 all the unvisited places that ,i would see4 ,but at present ,i was too full of peace and quiet happiness to do anything but stay in an infinite content where ,i was4 ,all sense of ennui or restlessness had left me4 ,i was utterly free1 utterly blest4 ,i did1 indeed1 once send my thought to the home which ,i loved1 and saw a darkened house1 and my dear ones moving about with grief written legibly on their faces4 ,i saw my mother sitting looking at some letters which ,i perceived to be my own1 and was aware that she wept4 ,but ,i could not even bring myself to grieve at that1 because ,i knew that the same peace and joy that filled me was also surely awaiting them1 and the darkest passage1 the sharpest human suffering1 seemed so utterly little and trifling in the light of my new knowledge2 and ,i was soon back on my cliff-top again1 content to wait1 to rest1 to luxuriate in a happiness which seemed to have nothing selfish about it1 because the satisfaction was so perfectly pure and natural4 ,while ,i thus waited ,i became aware1 with the same sort of sudden perception1 of a presence beside me4 ,it had no outward form2 but ,i knew that it was a spirit full of love and kindness3 it seemed to me to be old2 it was not divine1 for it brought no awe with it2 and yet it was not quite human2 it was a spirit that seemed to me to have been human1 but to have risen into a higher sphere of perception4 ,i simply felt a sense of deep and pure companionship4 ,and presently ,i became aware that some communication was passing between my consciousness and the consciousness of the newly-arrived spirit4 ,it did not take place in words1 but in thought2 though only by words can ,i now represent it4 ,yes1 said the other1 you do well to rest and to be happy3 is it not a wonderful experience8 and yet you have been through it many times already1 and will pass through it many times again4 ,i suppose that ,i did not wholly understand this1 for ,i said3 ,i do not grasp that thought1 though ,i am certain it is true3 have ,i then died before8 ,yes1 said the other1 many times4 ,it is a long progress2 you will remember soon1 when you have had time to reflect1 and when the sweet novelty of the change has become more customary4 ,you have but returned to us again for a little2 one needs that1 you know1 at first2 one needs some refreshment and repose after each one of our lives1 to be renewed1 to be strengthened for what comes after4 ,all at once ,i understood4 ,i knew that my last life had been one of many lives lived at all sorts of times and dates1 and under various conditions2 that at the end of each ,i had returned to this joyful freedom4 ,it was the first cloud that passed over my thought4 ,must ,i return again to life8 ,i said4 ,oh yes1 said the other2 you see that2 you will soon return again--but never mind that now2 you are here to drink your fill of the beautiful things which you will only remember by glimpses and visions when you are back in the little life again4 ,and then ,i had a sudden intuition4 ,i seemed to be suddenly in a small and ugly street of a dark town4 ,i saw slatternly women run in and out of the houses2 ,i saw smoke-stained grimy children playing in the gutter4 ,above the poor1 ill-kept houses a factory poured its black smoke into the air1 and hummed behind its shuttered windows4 ,i knew in a sad flash of thought that ,i was to be born there1 to be brought up as a wailing child1 under sad and sordid conditions1 to struggle into a life of hard and hopeless labour1 in the midst of vice1 and poverty1 and drunkenness1 and hard usage4 ,it filled me for a moment with a sort of nauseous dread1 remembering the free and liberal conditions of my last life1 the wealth and comfort ,i had enjoyed4 ,no1 said the other2 for in a moment ,i was back again1 that is an unworthy thought--it is but for a moment2 and you will return to this peace again4 ,but the sad thought came down upon me like a cloud4 ,is there no escape8 ,i said2 and at that1 in a moment1 the other spirit seemed to chide me1 not angrily1 but patiently and compassionately4 ,one suffers1 he said1 but one gains experience2 one rises1 adding more gently3 ,we do not know why it must be1 of course--but it is the ,will2 and however much one may doubt and suffer in the dark world there1 one does not doubt of the wisdom or the love of it here4 ,and ,i knew in a moment that ,i did not doubt1 but that ,i would go willingly wherever ,i should be sent4 ,and then my thought became concerned with the spirit that spoke with me1 and ,i said1 ,and what is your place and work8 for ,i think you are like me and yet unlike4 ,and he said3 ,yes1 it is true2 ,i have to return thither no more2 that is finished for me1 and ,i grudge no single step of the dark road3 ,i cannot explain to you what my work or place is2 but ,i am old1 and have seen many things2 each of us has to return and return1 not indeed till we are made perfect1 but till we have finished that part of our course2 but the blessedness of this peace grows and grows1 while it becomes easier to bear what happens in that other place1 for we grow strong and simple and sincere1 and then the world can hurt us but little4 ,we learn that we must not judge men2 but we know that when we see them cruel and vicious and selfish1 they are then but children learning their first lessons2 and on each of our visits to this place we see that the evil matters less and less1 and the hope becomes brighter and brighter2 till at last we see4 ,and ,i then seemed to turn to him in thought1 for he said with a grave joy3 ,yes1 ,i have seen4 ,and presently ,i was left alone to my happiness4 ,how long it lasted ,i cannot tell2 but presently ,i seemed less free1 less light of heart2 and soon ,i knew that ,i was bound2 and after a space ,i woke into the world again1 and took up my burden of cares4 ,but for all that ,i have a sense of hopefulness left which ,i think will not quite desert me4 ,from what dim cell of the brain my vision rose1 ,i know not1 but though it came to me in so precise and clear a form1 yet ,i cannot help feeling that something deep and true has been revealed to me1 some glimpse of pure heaven and bright air1 that lies outside our little fretted lives4 ,,xli ,the ,eternal ,will ,i have spoken above1 ,i know well1 of things in which ,i have no skill to speak2 ,i know no philosophy or metaphysics2 to look into a philosophical book is to me like looking into a room piled up with bricks1 the pure materials of thought2 they have no meaning for me1 until the beautiful mind of some literary architect has built them into a house of life2 but just as a shallow pool can reflect the dark and infinite spaces of night1 pierced with stars1 so in my own shallow mind these perennial difficulties1 which lie behind all that we do and say1 can be for a moment mirrored4 ,the only value that such thoughts can have in life is that they should teach us to live in a frank and sincere mood1 waiting patiently for the ,lord1 as the old ,psalmist said4 ,my own philosophy is a very simple one1 and1 if ,i could only be truer to it1 it would bring me the strength which ,i lack4 ,it is this2 that being what we are1 such frail1 mysterious1 inexplicable beings1 we should wait humbly and hopefully upon ,god1 not attempting1 nor even wishing1 to make up our minds upon these deep secrets1 only determined that we will be true to the inner light1 and that we will not accept any solution which depends for its success upon neglecting or overlooking any of the phenomena with which we are confronted4 ,we find ourselves placed in the world1 in definite relations with certain people1 endowed with certain qualities1 with faults and fears1 with hopes and joys1 with likes and dislikes4 ,evil haunts us like a shadow1 and though it menaces our happiness1 we fall again and again under its dominion2 in the depths of our spirit a voice speaks1 which assures us again and again that truth and purity and love are the best and dearest things that we can desire2 and that voice1 however imperfectly1 ,i try to obey1 because it seems the strongest and clearest of all the voices that call to me4 ,i try to regard all experience1 whether sweet or bitter1 fair or foul1 as sent me by the great and awful power that put me where ,i am4 ,the strongest and best things in the world seem to me to be peace and tranquillity1 and the same hidden power seems to be leading me thither2 and to lead me all the faster whenever ,i try not to fret1 not to grieve1 not to despair4 ,casting all your care upon him1 for he careth for you1 says the ,divine ,word2 and the more that ,i follow intuition rather than reason1 the nearer ,i seem to come to the truth4 ,i have lately wasted much fruitless thought over an anxious decision1 weighing motives1 forecasting possibilities4 ,i knew at the time how useless it all was1 and that my course would be made clear at the right moment2 and ,i will tell the story of how it was made clear1 as testimony to the perfect guidance of the divine hand4 ,i was taking a journey1 and the weary process was going on in my mind2 every possible argument for and against the step was being reviewed and tested2 ,i could not read1 ,i could not even look abroad upon the world4 ,the train drew up at a dull suburban station1 where our tickets were collected4 ,the signal was given1 and we started4 ,it was at this moment that the conviction came1 and ,i saw how ,i must act1 with a certainty which ,i could not gainsay or resist4 ,my reason had anticipated the opposite decision1 but ,i had no longer any doubt or hesitation4 ,the only question was how and when to announce the result2 but when ,i returned home the same evening there was the letter waiting for me which gave the very opportunity ,i desired2 and ,i have since learnt without surprise that the letter was being penned at the very moment when the conviction came to me4 ,i have told this experience in detail1 because it seems to me to be a very perfect example of the suddenness with which conviction comes4 ,but neither do ,i grudge the anxious reveries which for many days had preceded that conviction1 because through them ,i learnt something of the inner weakness of my nature4 ,but the true secret of it all is that we ought to live as far as we can in the day1 the hour1 the minute2 to waste no time in anxious forecasting and miserable regrets1 but just do what lies before us as faithfully as possible4 ,gradually1 too1 one learns that the restricting of what is called religion to certain times of prayer and definite solemnities is the most pitiful of all mistakes2 life lived with the intuition that ,i have indicated is all religion4 ,the most trivial incident has to be interpreted2 every word and deed and thought becomes full of a deep significance4 ,one has no longer any anxious sense of duty2 one desires no longer either to impress or influence2 one aims only at guarding the quality of all one does or says--or rather the very word aims is a wrong one2 there is no longer any aim or effort1 except the effort to feel which way the gentle guiding hand would have us to go2 the only sorrow that is possible is when we rather perversely follow our own will and pleasure4 ,the reason why ,i desire this book to say its few words to my brothers and sisters of this life1 without any intrusion of personality1 is that ,i am so sure of the truth of what ,i say1 that ,i would not have any one distracted from the principles ,i have tried to put into words1 by being able to compare it with my own weak practice4 ,i am so far from having attained2 ,i have1 ,i know1 so many weary leagues to traverse yet1 that ,i would not have my faithless and perverse wanderings known4 ,but the secret waits for all who can throw aside convention and insincerity1 who can make the sacrifice with a humble heart1 and throw themselves utterly and fearlessly into the hands of ,god4 ,societies1 organisations1 ceremonies1 forms1 authority1 dogma--they are all outside2 silently and secretly1 in the solitude of one's heart1 must the lonely path be found2 but the slender track once beneath our feet1 all the complicated relations of the world become clear and simple4 ,we have no need to change our path in life1 to seek for any human guide1 to desire new conditions1 because we have the one ,guide close to us1 closer than friend or brother or lover1 and we know that we are set where he would have us to be4 ,such a belief destroys in a flash all our embarrassment in dealing with others1 all our anxieties in dealing with ourselves4 ,in dealing with ourselves we shall only desire to be faithful1 fearless and sincere2 in dealing with others we shall try to be patient1 tender1 appreciative1 and hopeful4 ,if we have to blame1 we shall blame without bitterness1 without the outraged sense of personal vanity that brings anger with it4 ,if we can praise1 we shall praise with generous prodigality2 we shall not think of ourselves as a centre of influence1 as radiating example and precept2 but we shall know our own failures and difficulties1 and shall realise as strongly that others are led likewise1 and that each is the ,father's peculiar care1 as we realise it about ourselves4 ,there will be no thrusting of ourselves to the front1 nor an uneasy lingering upon the outskirts of the crowd1 because we shall know that our place and our course are defined4 ,we may crave for happiness1 but we shall not resent sorrow4 ,the dreariest and saddest day becomes the inevitable1 the true setting for our soul2 we must drink the draught1 and not fear to taste its bitterest savour2 it is the ,father's cup4 ,that a ,christian1 in such a mood1 can concern himself with what is called the historical basis of the ,gospels1 is a thought which can only be met by a smile2 for there stands the record of perhaps the only life ever lived upon earth that conformed itself1 at every moment1 in the darkest experiences that life could bring1 entirely and utterly to the ,divine ,will4 ,one who walks in the light that ,i have spoken of is as inevitably a ,christian as he is a human being1 and is as true to the spirit of ,christ as he is indifferent to the human accretions that have gathered round the august message4 ,the possession of such a secret involves no retirement from the world1 no breaking of ties1 no ecclesiastical exercises1 no endeavour to penetrate obscure ideas4 ,it is as simple as the sunlight and the air4 ,it involves no protest1 no phrase1 no renunciation4 ,its protest will be an unconcerned example1 its phrase will be a perfect sincerity of speech1 its renunciation will be what it does1 not what it abstains from doing4 ,it will go or stay as the inner voice bids it4 ,it will not attempt the impossible nor the novel4 ,very clearly1 from hour to hour1 the path will be made plain1 the weakness fortified1 the sin purged away4 ,it will judge no other life1 it will seek no goal2 it will sometimes strive and cry1 it will sometimes rest2 it will move as gently and simply in unison with the one supreme will1 as the tide moves beneath the moon1 piled in the central deep with all its noises1 flooding the mud-stained waterway1 where the ships ride together1 or creeping softly upon the pale sands of some sequestered bay4 ,,xlii ,until the ,evening ,i stop sometimes on a landing in an old house1 where ,i often stay1 to look at a dusky1 faded water-colour that hangs upon the wall4 ,i do not think its technical merit is great1 but it somehow has the poetical quality4 ,it represents1 or seems to represent1 a piece of high open ground1 down-land or heath1 with a few low bushes growing there1 sprawling and wind-brushed2 a road crosses the fore-ground1 and dips over to the plain beyond1 a forest tract full of dark woodland1 dappled by open spaces4 ,there is a long faint distant line of hills on the horizon4 ,the time appears to be just after sunset1 when the sky is still full of a pale liquid light1 before objects have lost their colour1 but are just beginning to be tinged with dusk4 ,in the road stands the figure of a man1 with his back turned1 his hand shading his eyes as he gazes out across the plain4 ,he appears to be a wayfarer1 and to be weary but not dispirited4 ,there is a look of serene and sober content about him1 how communicated ,i know not4 ,he would seem to have far to go1 but yet to be certainly drawing nearer to his home1 which indeed he seems to discern afar off4 ,the picture bears the simple legend1 ,until the evening4 ,this design seems always to be charged for me with a beautiful and grave meaning4 ,just so would ,i draw near to the end of my pilgrimage1 wearied but tranquil1 assured of rest and welcome4 ,the freshness and blithe eagerness of the morning are over1 the solid hours of sturdy progress are gone1 the heat of the day is past1 and only the gentle descent among the shadows remains1 with cool airs blowing from darkling thickets1 laden with woodland scents1 and the rich fragrance of rushy dingles4 ,ere the night falls the wayfarer will push the familiar gate open1 and see the lamplit windows of home1 with the dark chimneys and gables outlined against the green sky4 ,those that love him are awaiting him1 listening for the footfall to draw near4 ,is it not possible to attain this8 ,and yet how often does it seem to be the fate of a human soul to stumble1 like one chased and hunted1 with dazed and terrified air1 and hurried piteous phrase1 down the darkening track4 ,yet one should rather approach ,god1 bearing in careful hands the priceless and precious gift of life1 ready to restore it if it be his will4 ,god grant us so to live1 in courage and trust1 that1 when he calls us1 we may pass willingly and with a quiet confidence to the gate that opens into tracts unknown6 ,,conclusion ,and now ,i will try if ,i can in a few words to sum up what the purpose of this little volume has been1 these pages torn from my book of life1 though ,i hope that some of my readers may1 before now1 have discerned it for themselves4 ,the ,thread of ,gold has two chief qualities4 ,it is bright1 and it is strong2 it gleams with a still and precious light in the darkness1 glowing with the reflected radiance of the little lamp that we carry to guide our feet1 and adding to the ray some rich tinge from its own goodly heart2 and it is strong too2 it cannot easily be broken2 it leads a man faithfully through the dim passages of the cave in which he wanders1 with the dark earth piled above his head4 ,the two qualities that we should keep with us in our journey through a world where it seems that so much must be dark1 are a certain rich fiery essence1 a glowing ardour of spirit1 a mind of lofty temper1 athirst for all that is noble and beautiful4 ,that first2 and to that we must add a certain soberness and sedateness of mood1 a smiling tranquillity1 a true directness of aim1 that should lead us not to form our ideas and opinions too swiftly and too firmly2 for then we suffer from an anxious vexation when experience contradicts hope1 when things turn out different from what we had desired and supposed4 ,we should deal with life in a generous and high-hearted mood1 giving men credit for lofty aims and noble imaginings1 and not be cast down if we do not see these purposes blazing and glowing on the surface of things2 we should believe that such great motives are there even if we cannot see them2 and then we should sustain our lively expectations with a deep and faithful confidence1 assured that we are being tenderly and wisely led1 and that the things which the ,father shows us by the way1 if they bewilder1 and disappoint1 and even terrify us1 have yet some great and wonderful meaning1 if we can but interpret them rightly4 ,nay1 that the very delaying of these secrets to draw near to our souls1 holds within it a strong and temperate virtue for our spirits4 ,neither of these great qualities1 ardour and tranquillity1 can stand alone2 if we aim merely at enthusiasm1 the fire grows cold1 the world grows dreary1 and we lapse into a cynical mood of bitterness1 as the mortal flame turns low4 ,nor must we aim at mere tranquillity2 for so we may fall into a mere placid acquiescence1 a selfish inaction2 our peace must be heartened by eagerness1 our zest calmed by serenity4 ,if we follow the fire alone1 we become restless and dissatisfied2 if we seek only for peace1 we become like the patient beasts of the field4 ,i would wish1 though ,i grow old and grey-haired1 a hundred times a day to ask why things are as they are1 and to desire that they were otherwise2 and again a hundred times a day ,i would thank ,god that they are as they are1 and praise him for showing me his will rather than my own4 ,for the secret lies in this2 that we must not follow our own impulses1 and thus grow pettish and self-willed3 neither must we float feebly upon the will of ,god1 like a branch that spins in an eddy2 rather we must try to put our utmost energy in line with the will of ,god1 hasten with all our might where he calls us1 and turn our back as resolutely as we can when he bids us go no further2 as an eager dog will intently await his master's choice1 as to which of two paths he may desire to take2 but the way once indicated1 he springs forward1 elate and glad1 rejoicing with all his might4 ,he leads me4 ,he leads me2 but ,he has also given me this wild and restless heart1 these untamed desires3 not that ,i may follow them and obey them1 but that ,i may patiently discern ,his will1 and do it to the uttermost4 ,father1 be patient with me1 for ,i yield myself to ,thee2 ,thou hast given me a desirous heart1 and ,i have a thousand times gone astray after vain shadows1 and found no abiding joy4 ,i have been weary many times1 and sad often2 and ,i have been light of heart and very glad2 but my sadness and my weariness1 my lightness and my joy have only blessed me1 whenever ,i have shared them with ,thee4 ,i have shut myself up in a perverse loneliness1 ,i have closed the door of my heart1 miserable that ,i am1 even upon ,thee4 ,and ,thou hast waited smiling1 till ,i knew that ,i had no joy apart from ,thee4 ,only uphold me1 only enfold me in ,thy arms1 and ,i shall be safe2 for ,i know that nothing can divide us1 except my own wilful heart2 we forget and are forgotten1 but ,thou alone rememberest2 and if ,i forget ,thee1 at least ,i know that ,thou forgettest not me4