,had
seized
her
.
She
had
gone
,
in
spite
of
her
disgust
,
to
several
houses
which
she
found
open
.
There
were
worse
cottages
there
than
even
her
father’s
;
some
tradesmen
in
a
neighbouring
town
had
been
allowed
to
run
up
a
set
of
rack
rent
hovels
.
—
Another
shudder
seized
her
when
she
spoke
of
them
;
and
from
that
point
in
her
story
all
was
fitful
,
broken
,
like
the
images
of
a
hideous
dream
.
‘Every
instant
those
foul
memories
were
defiling
her
nostrils
.
A
horrible
loathing
had
taken
possession
of
her
,
recurring
from
time
to
time
,
till
it
ended
in
delirium
and
fever
.
A
scent-fiend
was
haunting
her
night
and
day
,
’
she
said
.
‘And
now
the
curse
of
the
Lavingtons
had
truly
come
upon
her
.
To
perish
by
the
people
whom
they
made
.
Their
neglect
,
cupidity
,
oppression
,
are
avenged
on
me
!
Why
not
?
Have
I
not
wantoned
in
down
and
perfumes
,
while
they
,
by
whose
labour
my
luxuries
were
bought
,
were
pining
among
scents
and
sounds
,
—
one
day
of
which
would
have
driven
me
mad
!
And
then
they
wonder
why
men
turn
Chartists
!
There
are
those
horrible
scents
again
!
Save
me
from
them
!
Lancelot
—
darling
!
Take
me
to
the
fresh
air
!
I
choke
!
I
am
festering
away
!
The
Nun-pool
!
Take
all
the
water
,
every
drop
,
and
wash
Ashy
clean
again
!
Make
a
great
fountain
in
it
—
beautiful
marble
—
to
bubble
and
gurgle
,
and
trickle
and
foam
,
for
ever
and
ever
,
and
wash
away
the
sins
of
the
Lavingtons
,
that
the
little
rosy
children
may
play
round
it
,
and
the
poor
toil-bent
woman
may
wash
—
and
wash
—
and
drink
—
Water
!
water
!
I
am
dying
of
thirst
!
’
He
gave
her
water
,
and
then
she
lay
back
and
babbled
about
the
Nun-pool
sweeping
‘all
the
houses
of
Ashy
into
one
beautiful
palace
,
among
great
flower-gardens
,
where
the
school
children
will
sit
and
sing
such
merry
hymns
,
and
never
struggle
with
great
pails
of
water
up
the
hill
of
Ashy
any
more.’
‘You
will
do
it
!
darling
!
Strong
,
wise
,
noble-hearted
that
you
are
!
Why
do
you
look
at
me
?
You
will
be
rich
some
day
.
You
will
own
land
,
for
you
are
worthy
to
own
it
.
Oh
that
I
could
give
you
Whitford
!
No
!
It
was
mine
too
long
—
therefore
I
die
!
because
I
—
Lord
Jesus
!
have
I
not
repented
of
my
sin
?
’
Then
she
grew
calm
once
more
.
A
soft
smile
crept
over
her
face
,
as
it
grew
sharper
and
paler
every
moment
.
Faintly
she
sank
back
on
the
pillows
,
and
faintly
whispered
to
him
to
kneel
and
pray
.
He
obeyed
her
mechanically
...
.
‘No
—
not
for
me
,
for
them
—
for
them
,
and
for
yourself
—
that
you
may
save
them
whom
I
never
dreamt
that
I
was
bound
to
save
!
’
And
he
knelt
and
prayed
...
what
,
he
alone
and
those
who
heard
his
prayer
,
can
tell
...
*
*
*
*
*
When
he
lifted
up
his
head
at
last
,
he
saw
that
Argemone
lay
motionless
.
For
a
moment
he
thought
she
was
dead
,
and
frantically
sprang
to
the
bell
.
The
family
rushed
in
with
the
physician
.
She
gave
some
faint
token
of
life
,
but
none
of
consciousness
.
The
doctor
sighed
,
and
said
that
her
end
was
near
.
Lancelot
had
known
that
all
along
.
‘I
think
,
sir
,
you
had
better
leave
the
room
,
’
said
Mrs.
Lavington
;
and
followed
him
into
the
passage
.
What
she
was
about
to
say
remained
unspoken
;
for
Lancelot
seized
her
hand
in
spite
of
her
,
with
frantic
thanks
for
having
allowed
him
this
one
interview
,
and
entreaties
that
he
might
see
her
again
,
if
but
for
one
moment
.
Mrs.
Lavington
,
somewhat
more
softly
than
usual
,
said
,
—
‘That
the
result
of
this
visit
had
not
been
such
as
to
make
a
second
desirable
—
that
she
had
no
wish
to
disturb
her
daughter’s
mind
at
such
a
moment
with
earthly
regrets.’
‘Earthly
regrets
!
’
How
little
she
knew
what
had
passed
there
!
But
if
she
had
known
,
would
she
have
been
one
whit
softened
?
For
,
indeed
,
Argemone’s
spirituality
was
not
in
her
mother’s
language
.
And
yet
the
good
woman
had
prayed
,
and
prayed
,
and
wept
bitter
tears
,
by
her
daughter’s
bedside
,
day
after
day
;
but
she
had
never
heard
her
pronounce
the
talismanic
formula
of
words
,
necessary
in
her
eyes
to
ensure
salvation
;
and
so
she
was
almost
without
hope
for
her
.
Oh
,
Bigotry
!
Devil
,
who
turnest
God’s
love
into
man’s
curse
!
are
not
human
hearts
hard
and
blind
enough
of
themselves
,
without
thy
cursed
help
?
For
one
moment
a
storm
of
unutterable
pride
and
rage
convulsed
Lancelot
—
the
next
instant
love
conquered
;
and
the
strong
proud
man
threw
himself
on
his
knees
at
the
feet
of
the
woman
he
despised
,
and
with
wild
sobs
entreated
for
one
moment
more
—
one
only
!
At
that
instant
a
shriek
from
Honoria
resounded
from
the
sick
chamber
.
Lancelot
knew
what
it
meant
,
and
sprang
up
,
as
men
do
when
shot
through
the
heart
.
—
In
a
moment
he
was
himself
again
.
A
new
life
had
begun
for
him
—
alone
.
‘You
will
not
need
to
grant
my
prayer
,
madam
,
’
he
said
,
calmly
:
‘Argemone
is
dead.’
CHAPTER
XVII
:
THE
VALLEY
OF
THE
SHADOW
OF
DEATH
Let
us
pass
over
the
period
of
dull
,
stupefied
misery
that
followed
,
when
Lancelot
had
returned
to
his
lonely
lodging
,
and
the
excitement
of
his
feelings
had
died
away
.
It
is
impossible
to
describe
that
which
could
not
be
separated
into
parts
,
in
which
there
was
no
foreground
,
no
distance
,
but
only
one
dead
,
black
,
colourless
present
.
After
a
time
,
however
,
he
began
to
find
that
fancies
,
almost
ridiculously
trivial
,
arrested
and
absorbed
his
attention
;
even
as
when
our
eyes
have
become
accustomed
to
darkness
,
every
light-coloured
mote
shows
luminous
against
the
void
blackness
of
night
.
So
we
are
tempted
to
unseemly
frivolity
in
churches
,
and
at
funerals
,
and
all
most
solemn
moments
;
and
so
Lancelot
found
his
imagination
fluttering
back
,
half
amused
,
to
every
smallest
circumstance
of
the
last
few
weeks
,
as
objects
of
mere
curiosity
,
and
found
with
astonishment
that
they
had
lost
their
power
of
paining
him
.
Just
as
victims
on
the
rack
have
fallen
,
it
is
said
,
by
length
of
torture
,
into
insensibility
,
and
even
calm
repose
,
his
brain
had
been
wrought
until
all
feeling
was
benumbed
.
He
began
to
think
what
an
interesting
autobiography
his
life
might
make
;
and
the
events
of
the
last
few
years
began
to
arrange
themselves
in
a
most
attractive
dramatic
form
.
He
began
even
to
work
out
a
scene
or
two
,
and
where
‘motives’
seemed
wanting
,
to
invent
them
here
and
there
.
He
sat
thus
for
hours
silent
over
his
fire
,
playing
with
his
old
self
,
as
though
it
were
a
thing
which
did
not
belong
to
him
—
a
suit
of
clothes
which
he
had
put
off
,
and
which
,
‘For
that
it
was
too
rich
to
hang
by
the
wall
,
It
must
be
ripped
,
’
and
then
pieced
and
dizened
out
afresh
as
a
toy
.
And
then
again
he
started
away
from
his
own
thoughts
,
at
finding
himself
on
the
edge
of
that
very
gulf
,
which
,
as
Mellot
had
lately
told
him
,
Barnakill
denounced
as
the
true
hell
of
genius
,
where
Art
is
regarded
as
an
end
and
not
a
means
,
and
objects
are
interesting
,
not
in
as
far
as
they
form
our
spirits
,
but
in
proportion
as
they
can
be
shaped
into
effective
parts
of
some
beautiful
whole
.
But
whether
it
was
a
temptation
or
none
,
the
desire
recurred
to
him
again
and
again
.
He
even
attempted
to
write
,
but
sickened
at
the
sight
of
the
first
words
.
He
turned
to
his
pencil
,
and
tried
to
represent
with
it
one
scene
at
least
;
and
with
the
horrible
calmness
of
some
self-torturing
ascetic
,
he
sat
down
to
sketch
a
drawing
of
himself
and
Argemone
on
her
dying
day
,
with
her
head
upon
his
bosom
for
the
last
time
—
and
then
tossed
it
angrily
into
the
fire
,
partly
because
he
felt
just
as
he
had
in
his
attempts
to
write
,
that
there
was
something
more
in
all
these
events
than
he
could
utter
by
pen
or
pencil
,
than
he
could
even
understand
;
principally
because
he
could
not
arrange
the
attitudes
gracefully
enough
.
And
now
,
in
front
of
the
stern
realities
of
sorrow
and
death
,
he
began
to
see
a
meaning
in
another
mysterious
saying
of
Barnakill’s
,
which
Mellot
was
continually
quoting
,
that
‘Art
was
never
Art
till
it
was
more
than
Art
;
that
the
Finite
only
existed
as
a
body
of
the
Infinite
;
and
that
the
man
of
genius
must
first
know
the
Infinite
,
unless
he
wished
to
become
not
a
poet
,
but
a
maker
of
idols.’
Still
he
felt
in
himself
a
capability
,
nay
,
an
infinite
longing
to
speak
;
though
what
he
should
utter
,
or
how
—
whether
as
poet
,
social
theorist
,
preacher
,
he
could
not
yet
decide
.
Barnakill
had
forbidden
him
painting
,
and
though
he
hardly
knew
why
,
he
dared
not
disobey
him
.
But
Argemone’s
dying
words
lay
on
him
as
a
divine
command
to
labour
.
All
his
doubts
,
his
social
observations
,
his
dreams
of
the
beautiful
and
the
blissful
,
his
intense
perception
of
social
evils
,
his
new-born
hope
—
faith
it
could
not
yet
be
called
—
in
a
ruler
and
deliverer
of
the
world
,
all
urged
him
on
to
labour
:
but
at
what
?
He
felt
as
if
he
were
the
demon
in
the
legend
,
condemned
to
twine
endless
ropes
of
sand
.
The
world
,
outside
which
he
now
stood
for
good
and
evil
,
seemed
to
him
like
some
frantic
whirling
waltz
;
some
serried
struggling
crowd
,
which
rushed
past
him
in
aimless
confusion
,
without
allowing
him
time
or
opening
to
take
his
place
among
their
ranks
:
and
as
for
wings
to
rise
above
,
and
to
look
down
upon
the
uproar
,
where
were
they
?
His
melancholy
paralysed
him
more
and
more
.
He
was
too
listless
even
to
cater
for
his
daily
bread
by
writing
his
articles
for
the
magazines
.
Why
should
he
?
He
had
nothing
to
say
.
Why
should
he
pour
out
words
and
empty
sound
,
and
add
one
more
futility
to
the
herd
of
‘prophets
that
had
become
wind
,
and
had
no
truth
in
them’
?
Those
who
could
write
without
a
conscience
,
without
an
object
except
that
of
seeing
their
own
fine
words
,
and
filling
their
own
pockets
—
let
them
do
it
:
for
his
part
he
would
have
none
of
it
.
But
his
purse
was
empty
,
and
so
was
his
stomach
;
and
as
for
asking
assistance
of
his
uncle
,
it
was
returning
like
the
dog
to
his
vomit
.
So
one
day
he
settled
all
bills
with
his
last
shilling
,
tied
up
his
remaining
clothes
in
a
bundle
,
and
stoutly
stepped
forth
into
the
street
to
find
a
job
—
to
hold
a
horse
,
if
nothing
better
offered
;
when
,
behold
!
on
the
threshold
he
met
Barnakill
himself
.
‘Whither
away
?
’
said
that
strange
personage
.
‘I
was
just
going
to
call
on
you.’
‘To
earn
my
bread
by
the
labour
of
my
hands
.
So
our
fathers
all
began.’
‘And
so
their
sons
must
all
end
.
Do
you
want
work
?
’
‘Yes
,
if
you
have
any.’
‘Follow
me
,
and
carry
a
trunk
home
from
a
shop
to
my
lodgings.’
He
strode
off
,
with
Lancelot
after
him
;
entered
a
mathematical
instrument
maker’s
shop
in
the
neighbouring
street
,
and
pointed
out
a
heavy
corded
case
to
Lancelot
,
who
,
with
the
assistance
of
the
shopman
,
got
it
on
his
shoulders
;
and
trudging
forth
through
the
streets
after
his
employer
,
who
walked
before
him
silent
and
unregarding
,
felt
himself
for
the
first
time
in
his
life
in
the
same
situation
as
nine
hundred
and
ninety-nine
out
of
every
thousand
of
Adam’s
descendants
,
and
discovered
somewhat
to
his
satisfaction
that
when
he
could
once
rid
his
mind
of
its
old
superstition
that
every
one
was
looking
at
him
,
it
mattered
very
little
whether
the
burden
carried
were
a
deal
trunk
or
a
Downing
Street
despatch-box
.
His
employer’s
lodgings
were
in
St.
Paul’s
Churchyard
.
Lancelot
set
the
trunk
down
inside
the
door
.
‘What
do
you
charge
?
’
‘Sixpence.’
Barnakill
looked
him
steadily
in
the
face
,
gave
him
the
sixpence
,
went
in
,
and
shut
the
door
.
Lancelot
wandered
down
the
street
,
half
amused
at
the
simple
test
which
had
just
been
applied
to
him
,
and
yet
sickened
with
disappointment
;
for
he
had
cherished
a
mysterious
fancy
that
with
this
strange
being
all
his
hopes
of
future
activity
were
bound
up
.
Tregarva’s
month
was
nearly
over
,
and
yet
no
tidings
of
him
had
come
.
Mellot
had
left
London
on
some
mysterious
errand
of
the
prophet’s
,
and
for
the
first
time
in
his
life
he
seemed
to
stand
utterly
alone
.
He
was
at
one
pole
,
and
the
whole
universe
at
the
other
.
It
was
in
vain
to
tell
himself
that
his
own
act
had
placed
him
there
;
that
he
had
friends
to
whom
he
might
appeal
.
He
would
not
,
he
dare
not
,
accept
outward
help
,
even
outward
friendship
,
however
hearty
and
sincere
,
at
that
crisis
of
his
existence
.
It
seemed
a
desecration
of
its
awfulness
to
find
comfort
in
anything
but
the
highest
and
the
deepest
.
And
the
glimpse
of
that
which
he
had
attained
seemed
to
have
passed
away
from
him
again
,
—
seemed
to
be
something
which
,
as
it
had
arisen
with
Argemone
,
was
lost
with
her
also
,
—
one
speck
of
the
far
blue
sky
which
the
rolling
clouds
had
covered
in
again
.
As
he
passed
under
the
shadow
of
the
huge
soot-blackened
cathedral
,
and
looked
at
its
grim
spiked
railings
and
closed
doors
,
it
seemed
to
him
a
symbol
of
the
spiritual
world
,
clouded
and
barred
from
him
.
He
stopped
and
looked
up
,
and
tried
to
think
.
The
rays
of
the
setting
sun
lighted
up
in
clear
radiance
the
huge
cross
on
the
summit
.
Was
it
an
omen
?
Lancelot
thought
so
;
but
at
that
instant
he
felt
a
hand
on
his
shoulder
,
and
looked
round
.
It
was
that
strange
man
again
.
‘So
far
well
,
’
said
he
.
‘You
are
making
a
better
day’s
work
than
you
fancy
,
and
earning
more
wages
.
For
instance
,
here
is
a
packet
for
you.’
Lancelot
seized
it
,
trembling
,
and
tore
it
open
.
It
was
directed
in
Honoria’s
handwriting
.
‘Whence
had
you
this
?
’
said
he
.
‘Through
Mellot
,
through
whom
I
can
return
your
answer
,
if
one
be
needed.’
The
letter
was
significant
of
Honoria’s
character
.
It
busied
itself
entirely
about
facts
,
and
showed
the
depth
of
her
sorrow
by
making
no
allusion
to
it
.
‘Argemone
,
as
Lancelot
was
probably
aware
,
had
bequeathed
to
him
the
whole
of
her
own
fortune
at
Mrs.
Lavington’s
death
,
and
had
directed
that
various
precious
things
of
hers
should
be
delivered
over
to
him
immediately
.
Her
mother
,
however
,
kept
her
chamber
under
lock
and
key
,
and
refused
to
allow
an
article
to
be
removed
from
its
accustomed
place
.
It
was
natural
in
the
first
burst
of
her
sorrow
,
and
Lancelot
would
pardon.’
All
his
drawings
and
letters
had
been
,
by
Argemone’s
desire
,
placed
with
her
in
her
coffin
.
Honoria
had
been
only
able
to
obey
her
in
sending
a
favourite
ring
of
hers
,
and
with
it
the
last
stanzas
which
she
had
composed
before
her
death
:
—
‘Twin
stars
,
aloft
in
ether
clear
,
Around
each
other
roll
away
,
Within
one
common
atmosphere
Of
their
own
mutual
light
and
day
.
‘And
myriad
happy
eyes
are
bent
Upon
their
changeless
love
alway
;
As
,
strengthened
by
their
one
intent
,
They
pour
the
flood
of
life
and
day
,
‘So
we
,
through
this
world’s
waning
night
,
Shall
,
hand
in
hand
,
pursue
our
way
;
Shed
round
us
order
,
love
,
and
light
,
And
shine
unto
the
perfect
day.’
The
precious
relic
,
with
all
its
shattered
hopes
,
came
at
the
right
moment
to
soften
his
hard-worn
heart
.
The
sight
,
the
touch
of
it
,
shot
like
an
electric
spark
through
the
black
stifling
thunder-cloud
of
his
soul
,
and
dissolved
it
in
refreshing
showers
of
tears
.
Barnakill
led
him
gently
within
the
area
of
the
railings
,
where
he
might
conceal
his
emotion
,
and
it
was
but
a
few
seconds
before
Lancelot
had
recovered
his
self-possession
and
followed
him
up
the
steps
through
the
wicket
door
.
They
entered
.
The
afternoon
service
was
proceeding
.
The
organ
droned
sadly
in
its
iron
cage
to
a
few
musical
amateurs
.
Some
nursery
maids
and
foreign
sailors
stared
about
within
the
spiked
felon’s
dock
which
shut
off
the
body
of
the
cathedral
,
and
tried
in
vain
to
hear
what
was
going
on
inside
the
choir
.
As
a
wise
author
—
a
Protestant
,
too
—
has
lately
said
,
‘the
scanty
service
rattled
in
the
vast
building
,
like
a
dried
kernel
too
small
for
its
shell.’
The
place
breathed
imbecility
,
and
unreality
,
and
sleepy
life-in-death
,
while
the
whole
nineteenth
century
went
roaring
on
its
way
outside
.
And
as
Lancelot
thought
,
though
only
as
a
dilettante
,
of
old
St.
Paul’s
,
the
morning
star
and
focal
beacon
of
England
through
centuries
and
dynasties
,
from
old
Augustine
and
Mellitus
,
up
to
those
Paul’s
Cross
sermons
whose
thunders
shook
thrones
,
and
to
noble
Wren’s
masterpiece
of
art
,
he
asked
,
‘Whither
all
this
?
Coleridge’s
dictum
,
that
a
cathedral
is
a
petrified
religion
,
may
be
taken
to
bear
more
meanings
than
one
.
When
will
life
return
to
this
cathedral
system
?
’
‘When
was
it
ever
a
living
system
?
’
answered
the
other
.
‘When
was
it
ever
anything
but
a
transitionary
makeshift
since
the
dissolution
of
the
monasteries
?
’
‘Why
,
then
,
not
away
with
it
at
once
?
’
‘You
English
have
not
done
with
it
yet
.
At
all
events
,
it
is
keeping
your
cathedrals
rain-proof
for
you
,
till
you
can
put
them
to
some
better
use
than
now.’
‘And
in
the
meantime
?
’
‘In
the
meantime
there
is
life
enough
in
them
;
life
that
will
wake
the
dead
some
day
.
Do
you
hear
what
those
choristers
are
chanting
now
?
’
‘Not
I
,
’
said
Lancelot
;
‘nor
any
one
round
us
,
I
should
think.’
‘That
is
our
own
fault
,
after
all
;
for
we
were
not
good
churchmen
enough
to
come
in
time
for
vespers.’
‘Are
you
a
churchman
then
?
’
‘Yes
,
thank
God
.
There
may
be
other
churches
than
those
of
Europe
or
Syria
,
and
right
Catholic
ones
,
too
.
But
,
shall
I
tell
you
what
they
are
singing
?
“
He
hath
put
down
the
mighty
from
their
seat
,
and
hath
exalted
the
humble
and
meek
.
He
hath
filled
the
hungry
with
good
things
,
and
the
rich
He
hath
sent
empty
away
.
”
Is
there
no
life
,
think
you
,
in
those
words
,
spoken
here
every
afternoon
in
the
name
of
God
?
’
‘By
hirelings
,
who
neither
care
nor
understand
—
’
‘Hush
.
Be
not
hasty
with
imputations
of
evil
,
within
walls
dedicated
to
and
preserved
by
the
All-good
.
Even
should
the
speakers
forget
the
meaning
of
their
own
words
,
to
my
sense
,
perhaps
,
that
may
just
now
leave
the
words
more
entirely
God’s
.
At
all
events
,
confess
that
whatever
accidental
husks
may
have
clustered
round
it
,
here
is
a
germ
of
Eternal
Truth
.
No
,
I
dare
not
despair
of
you
English
,
as
long
as
I
hear
your
priesthood
forced
by
Providence
,
even
in
spite
of
themselves
,
thus
to
speak
God’s
words
about
an
age
in
which
the
condition
of
the
poor
,
and
the
rights
and
duties
of
man
,
are
becoming
the
rallying-point
for
all
thought
and
all
organisation.’
‘But
does
it
not
make
the
case
more
hopeless
that
such
words
have
been
spoken
for
centuries
,
and
no
man
regards
them
?
’
‘You
have
to
blame
for
that
the
people
,
rather
than
the
priest
.
As
they
are
,
so
will
he
be
,
in
every
age
and
country
.
He
is
but
the
index
which
the
changes
of
their
spiritual
state
move
up
and
down
the
scale
:
and
as
they
will
become
in
England
in
the
next
half
century
,
so
will
he
become
also.’
‘And
can
these
dry
bones
live
?
’
asked
Lancelot
,
scornfully
.
‘Who
are
you
to
ask
?
What
were
you
three
months
ago
?
for
I
know
well
your
story
.
But
do
you
remember
what
the
prophet
saw
in
the
Valley
of
Vision
?
How
first
that
those
same
dry
bones
shook
and
clashed
together
,
as
if
uneasy
because
they
were
disorganised
;
and
how
they
then
found
flesh
and
stood
upright
:
and
yet
there
was
no
life
in
them
,
till
at
last
the
Spirit
came
down
and
entered
into
them
?
Surely
there
is
shaking
enough
among
the
bones
now
!
It
is
happening
to
the
body
of
your
England
as
it
did
to
Adam’s
after
he
was
made
.
It
lay
on
earth
,
the
rabbis
say
,
forty
days
before
the
breath
of
life
was
put
into
it
,
and
the
devil
came
and
kicked
it
;
and
it
sounded
hollow
,
as
England
is
doing
now
;
but
that
did
not
prevent
the
breath
of
life
coming
in
good
time
,
nor
will
it
in
England’s
case.’
Lancelot
looked
at
him
with
a
puzzled
face
.
‘You
must
not
speak
in
such
deep
parables
to
so
young
a
learner.’
‘Is
my
parable
so
hard
,
then
?
Look
around
you
and
see
what
is
the
characteristic
of
your
country
and
of
your
generation
at
this
moment
.
What
a
yearning
,
what
an
expectation
,
amid
infinite
falsehoods
and
confusions
,
of
some
nobler
,
more
chivalrous
,
more
godlike
state
!
Your
very
costermonger
trolls
out
his
belief
that
“
there’s
a
good
time
coming
,
”
and
the
hearts
of
gamins
,
as
well
as
millenarians
,
answer
,
“
True
!
”
Is
not
that
a
clashing
among
the
dry
bones
?
And
as
for
flesh
,
what
new
materials
are
springing
up
among
you
every
month
,
spiritual
and
physical
,
for
a
state
such
as
“
eye
hath
not
seen
nor
ear
heard
?
”
—
railroads
,
electric
telegraphs
,
associate-lodging-houses
,
club-houses
,
sanitary
reforms
,
experimental
schools
,
chemical
agriculture
,
a
matchless
school
of
inductive
science
,
an
equally
matchless
school
of
naturalist
painters
,
—
and
all
this
in
the
very
workshop
of
the
world
!
Look
,
again
,
at
the
healthy
craving
after
religious
art
and
ceremonial
,
—
the
strong
desire
to
preserve
that
which
has
stood
the
test
of
time
;
and
on
the
other
hand
,
at
the
manful
resolution
of
your
middle
classes
to
stand
or
fall
by
the
Bible
alone
,
—
to
admit
no
innovations
in
worship
which
are
empty
of
instinctive
meaning
.
Look
at
the
enormous
amount
of
practical
benevolence
which
now
struggles
in
vain
against
evil
,
only
because
it
is
as
yet
private
,
desultory
,
divided
.
How
dare
you
,
young
man
,
despair
of
your
own
nation
,
while
its
nobles
can
produce
a
Carlisle
,
an
Ellesmere
,
an
Ashley
,
a
Robert
Grosvenor
,
—
while
its
middle
classes
can
beget
a
Faraday
,
a
Stephenson
,
a
Brooke
,
an
Elizabeth
Fry
?
See
,
I
say
,
what
a
chaos
of
noble
materials
is
here
,
—
all
confused
,
it
is
true
,
—
polarised
,
jarring
,
and
chaotic
,
—
here
bigotry
,
there
self-will
,
superstition
,
sheer
Atheism
often
,
but
only
waiting
for
the
one
inspiring
Spirit
to
organise
,
and
unite
,
and
consecrate
this
chaos
into
the
noblest
polity
the
world
ever
saw
realised
!
What
a
destiny
may
be
that
of
your
land
,
if
you
have
but
the
faith
to
see
your
own
honour
!
Were
I
not
of
my
own
country
,
I
would
be
an
Englishman
this
day.’
‘And
what
is
your
country
?
’
asked
Lancelot
.
‘It
should
be
a
noble
one
which
breeds
such
men
as
you.’
The
stranger
smiled
.
‘Will
you
go
thither
with
me
?
’
‘Why
not
?
I
long
for
travel
,
and
truly
I
am
sick
of
my
own
country
.
When
the
Spirit
of
which
you
speak
,
’
he
went
on
,
bitterly
,
‘shall
descend
,
I
may
return
;
till
then
England
is
no
place
for
the
penniless.’
‘How
know
you
that
the
Spirit
is
not
even
now
poured
out
?
Must
your
English
Pharisees
and
Sadducees
,
too
,
have
signs
and
wonders
ere
they
believe
?
Will
man
never
know
that
“
the
kingdom
of
God
comes
not
by
observation
”
?
that
now
,
as
ever
,
His
promise
stands
true
,
—
“
Lo
!
I
am
with
you
alway
,
even
unto
the
end
of
the
world
”
?
How
many
inspired
hearts
even
now
may
be
cherishing
in
secret
the
idea
which
shall
reform
the
age
,
and
fulfil
at
once
the
longings
of
every
sect
and
rank
?
’
‘Name
it
to
me
,
then
!
’
‘Who
can
name
it
?
Who
can
even
see
it
,
but
those
who
are
like
Him
from
whom
it
comes
?
Them
a
long
and
stern
discipline
awaits
.
Would
you
be
of
them
,
you
must
,
like
the
Highest
who
ever
trod
this
earth
,
go
fasting
into
the
wilderness
,
and
,
among
the
wild
beasts
,
stand
alone
face
to
face
with
the
powers
of
Nature.’
‘I
will
go
where
you
shall
bid
me
.
I
will
turn
shepherd
among
the
Scottish
mountains
—
live
as
an
anchorite
in
the
solitudes
of
Dartmoor
.
But
to
what
purpose
?
I
have
listened
long
to
Nature’s
voice
,
but
even
the
whispers
of
a
spiritual
presence
which
haunted
my
childhood
have
died
away
,
and
I
hear
nothing
in
her
but
the
grinding
of
the
iron
wheels
of
mechanical
necessity.’
‘Which
is
the
will
of
God
.
Henceforth
you
shall
study
,
not
Nature
,
but
Him
.
Yet
as
for
place
—
I
do
not
like
your
English
primitive
formations
,
where
earth
,
worn
out
with
struggling
,
has
fallen
wearily
asleep
.
No
,
you
shall
rather
come
to
Asia
,
the
oldest
and
yet
the
youngest
continent
,
—
to
our
volcanic
mountain
ranges
,
where
her
bosom
still
heaves
with
the
creative
energy
of
youth
,
around
the
primeval
cradle
of
the
most
ancient
race
of
men
.
Then
,
when
you
have
learnt
the
wondrous
harmony
between
man
and
his
dwelling-place
,
I
will
lead
you
to
a
land
where
you
shall
see
the
highest
spiritual
cultivation
in
triumphant
contact
with
the
fiercest
energies
of
matter
;
where
men
have
learnt
to
tame
and
use
alike
the
volcano
and
the
human
heart
,
where
the
body
and
the
spirit
,
the
beautiful
and
the
useful
,
the
human
and
the
divine
,
are
no
longer
separate
,
and
men
have
embodied
to
themselves
on
earth
an
image
of
the
“
city
not
made
with
hands
,
eternal
in
the
heavens
.
”
’
‘Where
is
this
land
?
’
said
Lancelot
eagerly
.
‘Poor
human
nature
must
have
its
name
for
everything
.
You
have
heard
of
the
country
of
Prester
John
,
that
mysterious
Christian
empire
,
rarely
visited
by
European
eye
?
’
‘There
are
legends
of
two
such
,
’
said
Lancelot
,
‘an
Ethiopian
and
an
Asiatic
one
;
and
the
Ethiopian
,
if
we
are
to
believe
Colonel
Harris’s
Journey
to
Shoa
,
is
a
sufficiently
miserable
failure.’
‘True
;
the
day
of
the
Chamitic
race
is
past
;
you
will
not
say
the
same
of
our
Caucasian
empire
.
To
our
race
the
present
belongs
,
—
to
England
,
France
,
Germany
,
America
,
—
to
us
.
Will
you
see
what
we
have
done
,
and
,
perhaps
,
bring
home
,
after
long
wanderings
,
a
message
for
your
country
which
may
help
to
unravel
the
tangled
web
of
this
strange
time
?
’
‘I
will
,
’
said
Lancelot
,
‘now
,
this
moment
.
And
yet
,
no.
There
is
one
with
whom
I
have
promised
to
share
all
future
weal
and
woe
.
Without
him
I
can
take
no
step.’
‘Tregarva
?
’
‘Yes
—
he
.
What
made
you
guess
that
I
spoke
of
him
?
’
‘Mellot
told
me
of
him
,
and
of
you
,
too
,
six
weeks
ago
.
He
is
now
gone
to
fetch
him
from
Manchester
.
I
cannot
trust
him
here
in
England
yet
.
The
country
made
him
sad
;
London
has
made
him
mad
;
Manchester
may
make
him
bad
.
It
is
too
fearful
a
trial
even
for
his
faith
.
I
must
take
him
with
us.’
‘What
interest
in
him
—
not
to
say
what
authority
over
him
—
have
you
?
’
‘The
same
which
I
have
over
you
.
You
will
come
with
me
;
so
will
he
.
It
is
my
business
,
as
my
name
signifies
,
to
save
the
children
alive
whom
European
society
leaves
carelessly
and
ignorantly
to
die
.
And
as
for
my
power
,
I
come
,
’
said
he
,
with
a
smile
,
‘from
a
country
which
sends
no
one
on
its
errands
without
first
thoroughly
satisfying
itself
as
to
his
power
of
fulfilling
them.’
‘If
he
goes
,
I
go
with
you.’
‘And
he
will
go
.
And
yet
,
think
what
you
do
.
It
is
a
fearful
journey
.
They
who
travel
it
,
even
as
they
came
naked
out
of
their
mother’s
womb
—
even
as
they
return
thither
,
and
carry
nothing
with
them
of
all
which
they
have
gotten
in
this
life
,
so
must
those
who
travel
to
my
land.’
‘What
?
Tregarva
?
Is
he
,
too
,
to
give
up
all
?
I
had
thought
that
I
saw
in
him
a
precious
possession
,
one
for
which
I
would
barter
all
my
scholarship
,
my
talents
,
—
ay
—
my
life
itself.’
‘A
possession
worth
your
life
?
What
then
?
’
‘Faith
in
an
unseen
God.’
‘Ask
him
whether
he
would
call
that
a
possession
—
his
own
in
any
sense
?
’
‘He
would
call
it
a
revelation
to
him.’
‘That
is
,
a
taking
of
the
veil
from
something
which
was
behind
the
veil
already.’
‘Yes.’
‘And
which
may
therefore
just
as
really
be
behind
the
veil
in
other
cases
without
its
presence
being
suspected.’
‘Certainly.’
‘In
what
sense
,
now
,
is
that
a
possession
?
Do
you
possess
the
sun
because
you
see
it
?
Did
Herschel
create
Uranus
by
discovering
it
;
or
even
increase
,
by
an
atom
,
its
attraction
on
one
particle
of
his
own
body
?
”
‘Whither
is
all
this
tending
?
’
‘Hither
.
Tregarva
does
not
possess
his
Father
and
his
Lord
;
he
is
possessed
by
them.’
‘But
he
would
say
—
and
I
should
believe
him
—
that
he
has
seen
and
known
them
,
not
with
his
bodily
eyes
,
but
with
his
soul
,
heart
,
imagination
—
call
it
what
you
will
.
All
I
know
is
,
that
between
him
and
me
there
is
a
great
gulf
fixed.’
‘What
!
seen
and
known
them
utterly
?
comprehended
them
?
Are
they
not
infinite
,
incomprehensible
?
Can
the
less
comprehend
the
greater
?
’
‘He
knows
,
at
least
,
enough
of
them
to
make
him
what
I
am
not.’
‘That
is
,
he
knows
something
of
them
.
And
may
not
you
know
something
of
them
also
?
—
enough
to
make
you
what
he
is
not
?
’
Lancelot
shook
his
head
in
silence
.
‘Suppose
that
you
had
met
and
spoken
with
your
father
,
and
loved
him
when
you
saw
him
,
and
yet
were
not
aware
of
the
relation
in
which
you
stood
to
him
,
still
you
would
know
him
?
’
‘Not
the
most
important
thing
of
all
—
that
he
was
my
father.’
‘Is
that
the
most
important
thing
?
Is
it
not
more
important
that
he
should
know
that
you
were
his
son
?
That
he
should
support
,
guide
,
educate
you
,
even
though
unseen
?
Do
you
not
know
that
some
one
has
been
doing
that
?
’
‘That
I
have
been
supported
,
guided
,
educated
,
I
know
full
well
;
but
by
whom
I
know
not
.
And
I
know
,
too
,
that
I
have
been
punished
.
And
therefore
—
therefore
I
cannot
free
the
thought
of
a
Him
—
of
a
Person
—
only
of
a
Destiny
,
of
Laws
and
Powers
,
which
have
no
faces
wherewith
to
frown
awful
wrath
upon
me
!
If
it
be
a
Person
who
has
been
leading
me
,
I
must
go
mad
,
or
know
that
He
has
forgiven
!
’
‘I
conceive
that
it
is
He
,
and
not
punishment
which
you
fear
?
’
Lancelot
was
silent
a
moment
...
‘Yes
.
He
,
and
not
hell
at
all
,
is
what
I
fear
.
He
can
inflict
no
punishment
on
me
worse
than
the
inner
hell
which
I
have
felt
already
,
many
and
many
a
time.’
‘Bona
verba
!
That
is
an
awful
thing
to
say
:
but
better
this
extreme
than
the
other
...
And
you
would
—
what
?
’
‘Be
pardoned.’
‘If
He
loves
you
,
He
has
pardoned
you
already.’
‘How
do
I
know
that
He
loves
me
?
’
‘How
does
Tregarva
?
’
‘He
is
a
righteous
man
,
and
I
—
’
‘Am
a
sinner
.
He
would
,
and
rightly
,
call
himself
the
same.’
‘But
he
knows
that
God
loves
him
—
that
he
is
God’s
child.’
‘So
,
then
,
God
did
not
love
him
till
he
caused
God
to
love
him
,
by
knowing
that
He
loved
him
?
He
was
not
God’s
child
till
he
made
himself
one
,
by
believing
that
he
was
one
when
as
yet
he
was
not
?
I
appeal
to
common
sense
and
logic
...
It
was
revealed
to
Tregarva
that
God
had
been
loving
him
while
he
was
yet
a
bad
man
.
If
He
loved
him
,
in
spite
of
his
sin
,
why
should
He
not
have
loved
you
?
’
‘If
He
had
loved
me
,
would
He
have
left
me
in
ignorance
of
Himself
?
For
if
He
be
,
to
know
Him
is
the
highest
good.’
‘Had
he
left
Tregarva
in
ignorance
of
Himself
?
’
‘No
...
Certainly
,
Tregarva
spoke
of
his
conversion
as
of
a
turning
to
one
of
whom
he
had
known
all
along
,
and
disregarded.’
‘Then
do
you
turn
like
him
,
to
Him
whom
you
have
known
all
along
,
and
disregarded.’
‘I
?
’
‘Yes
—
you
!
If
half
I
have
heard
and
seen
of
you
be
true
,
He
has
been
telling
you
more
,
and
not
less
,
of
Himself
than
He
does
to
most
men
.
You
,
for
aught
I
know
,
may
know
more
of
Him
than
Tregarva
does
.
The
gulf
between
you
and
him
is
this
:
he
has
obeyed
what
he
knew
—
and
you
have
not.’
...
Lancelot
paused
a
moment
,
then
—
‘No
!
—
do
not
cheat
me
!
You
said
once
that
you
were
a
churchman.’
‘So
I
am
.
A
Catholic
of
the
Catholics
.
What
then
?
’
‘Who
is
He
to
whom
you
ask
me
to
turn
?
You
talk
to
me
of
Him
as
my
Father
;
but
you
talk
of
Him
to
men
of
your
own
creed
as
The
Father
.
You
have
mysterious
dogmas
of
a
Three
in
One
.
I
know
them
...
I
have
admired
them
.
In
all
their
forms
—
in
the
Vedas
,
in
the
Neo-Platonists
,
in
Jacob
Boëhmen
,
in
your
Catholic
creeds
,
in
Coleridge
,
and
the
Germans
from
whom
he
borrowed
,
I
have
looked
at
them
,
and
found
in
them
beautiful
phantasms
of
philosophy
,
...
all
but
scientific
necessities
;
...
but
—
’
‘But
what
?
’
‘I
do
not
want
cold
abstract
necessities
of
logic
:
I
want
living
practical
facts
.
If
those
mysterious
dogmas
speak
of
real
and
necessary
properties
of
His
being
,
they
must
be
necessarily
interwoven
in
practice
with
His
revelation
of
Himself
?
’
‘Most
true
.
But
how
would
you
have
Him
unveil
Himself
?
’
‘By
unveiling
Himself.’
‘What
?
To
your
simple
intuition
?
That
was
Semele’s
ambition
...
You
recollect
the
end
of
that
myth
.
You
recollect
,
too
,
as
you
have
read
the
Neo-Platonists
,
the
result
of
their
similar
attempt.’
‘Idolatry
and
magic.’
‘True
;
and
yet
,
such
is
the
ambition
of
man
,
you
who
were
just
now
envying
Tregarva
,
are
already
longing
to
climb
even
higher
than
Saint
Theresa.’
‘I
do
not
often
indulge
in
such
an
ambition
.
But
I
have
read
in
your
Schoolmen
tales
of
a
Beatific
Vision
;
how
that
the
highest
good
for
man
was
to
see
God.’
‘And
did
you
believe
that
?
’
‘One
cannot
believe
the
impossible
—
only
regret
its
impossibility.’
‘Impossibility
?
You
can
only
see
the
Uncreate
in
the
Create
—
the
Infinite
in
the
Finite
—
the
absolute
good
in
that
which
is
like
the
good
.
Does
Tregarva
pretend
to
more
?
He
sees
God
in
His
own
thoughts
and
consciousnesses
,
and
in
the
events
of
the
world
around
him
,
imaged
in
the
mirror
of
his
own
mind
.
Is
your
mirror
,
then
,
so
much
narrower
than
his
?
’
‘I
have
none
.
I
see
but
myself
,
and
the
world
,
and
far
above
them
,
a
dim
awful
Unity
,
which
is
but
a
notion.’
‘Fool
!
—
and
slow
of
heart
to
believe
!
Where
else
would
you
see
Him
but
in
yourself
and
in
the
world
?
They
are
all
things
cognisable
to
you
.
Where
else
,
but
everywhere
,
would
you
see
Him
whom
no
man
hath
seen
,
or
can
see
?
’
‘When
He
shows
Himself
to
me
in
them
,
then
I
may
see
Him
.
But
now
—
’
‘You
have
seen
Him
;
and
because
you
do
not
know
the
name
of
what
you
see
—
or
rather
will
not
acknowledge
it
—
you
fancy
that
it
is
not
there.’
‘How
in
His
name
?
What
have
I
seen
?
’
‘Ask
yourself
.
Have
you
not
seen
,
in
your
fancy
,
at
least
,
an
ideal
of
man
,
for
which
you
spurned
(
for
Mellot
has
told
me
all
)
the
merely
negative
angelic
—
the
merely
receptive
and
indulgent
feminine-ideals
of
humanity
,
and
longed
to
be
a
man
,
like
that
ideal
and
perfect
man
?
’
‘I
have.’
‘And
what
was
your
misery
all
along
?
Was
it
not
that
you
felt
you
ought
to
be
a
person
with
a
one
inner
unity
,
a
one
practical
will
,
purpose
,
and
business
given
to
you
—
not
invented
by
yourself
—
in
the
great
order
and
harmony
of
the
universe
,
—
and
that
you
were
not
one
?
—
That
your
self-willed
fancies
,
and
self-pleasing
passions
,
had
torn
you
in
pieces
,
and
left
you
inconsistent
,
dismembered
,
helpless
,
purposeless
?
That
,
in
short
,
you
were
below
your
ideal
,
just
in
proportion
as
you
were
not
a
person
?
’
‘God
knows
you
speak
truth
!
’
‘Then
must
not
that
ideal
of
humanity
be
a
person
himself
?
—
Else
how
can
he
be
the
ideal
man
?
Where
is
your
logic
?
An
impersonal
ideal
of
a
personal
species
!
...
And
what
is
the
most
special
peculiarity
of
man
?
Is
it
not
that
he
alone
of
creation
is
a
son
,
with
a
Father
to
love
and
to
obey
?
Then
must
not
the
ideal
man
be
a
son
also
?
And
last
,
but
not
least
,
is
it
not
the
very
property
of
man
that
he
is
a
spirit
invested
with
flesh
and
blood
?
Then
must
not
the
ideal
man
have
,
once
at
least
,
taken
on
himself
flesh
and
blood
also
?
Else
,
how
could
he
fulfil
his
own
idea
?
’
‘Yes
...
Yes
...
That
thought
,
too
,
has
glanced
through
my
mind
at
moments
,
like
a
lightning-flash
;
till
I
have
envied
the
old
Greeks
their
faith
in
a
human
Zeus
,
son
of
Kronos
—
a
human
Phoibos
,
son
of
Zeus
.
But
I
could
not
rest
in
them
.
They
are
noble
.
But
are
they
—
are
any
—
perfect
ideals
?
The
one
thing
I
did
,
and
do
,
and
will
believe
,
is
the
one
which
they
do
not
fulfil
—
that
man
is
meant
to
be
the
conqueror
of
the
earth
,
matter
,
nature
,
decay
,
death
itself
,
and
to
conquer
them
,
as
Bacon
says
,
by
obeying
them.’
‘Hold
it
fast
;
—
but
follow
it
out
,
and
say
boldly
,
the
ideal
of
humanity
must
be
one
who
has
conquered
nature
—
one
who
rules
the
universe
—
one
who
has
vanquished
death
itself
;
and
conquered
them
,
as
Bacon
says
,
not
by
violating
,
but
by
submitting
to
them
.
Have
you
never
heard
of
one
who
is
said
to
have
done
this
?
How
do
you
know
that
in
this
ideal
which
you
have
seen
,
you
have
not
seen
the
Son
—
the
perfect
Man
,
who
died
and
rose
again
,
and
sits
for
ever
Healer
,
and
Lord
,
and
Ruler
of
the
universe
?
...
Stay
—
do
not
answer
me
.
Have
you
not
,
besides
,
had
dreams
of
an
all-Father
—
from
whom
,
in
some
mysterious
way
,
all
things
and
beings
must
derive
their
source
,
and
that
Son
—
if
my
theory
be
true
—
among
the
rest
,
and
above
all
the
rest
?
’
‘Who
has
not
?
But
what
more
dim
or
distant
—
more
drearily
,
hopelessly
notional
,
than
that
thought
?
’
‘Only
the
thought
that
there
is
none
.
But
the
dreariness
was
only
in
your
own
inconsistency
.
If
He
be
the
Father
of
all
,
He
must
be
the
Father
of
persons
—
He
Himself
therefore
a
Person
.
He
must
be
the
Father
of
all
in
whom
dwell
personal
qualities
,
power
,
wisdom
,
creative
energy
,
love
,
justice
,
pity
.
Can
He
be
their
Father
,
unless
all
these
very
qualities
are
infinitely
His
?
Does
He
now
look
so
terrible
to
you
?
’
‘I
have
had
this
dream
,
too
;
but
I
turned
away
from
it
in
dread.’
‘Doubtless
you
did
.
Some
day
you
will
know
why
.
Does
that
former
dream
of
a
human
Son
relieve
this
dream
of
none
of
its
awfulness
?
May
not
the
type
be
beloved
for
the
sake
of
its
Antitype
,
even
if
the
very
name
of
All-Father
is
no
guarantee
for
His
paternal
pity
!
...
But
you
have
had
this
dream
.
How
know
you
,
that
in
it
you
were
not
allowed
a
glimpse
,
however
dim
and
distant
,
of
Him
whom
the
Catholics
call
the
Father
?
’
‘It
may
be
;
but
—
’
‘Stay
again
.
Had
you
never
the
sense
of
a
Spirit
in
you
—
a
will
,
an
energy
,
an
inspiration
,
deeper
than
the
region
of
consciousness
and
reflection
,
which
,
like
the
wind
,
blew
where
it
listed
,
and
you
heard
the
sound
of
it
ringing
through
your
whole
consciousness
,
and
yet
knew
not
whence
it
came
,
or
whither
it
went
,
or
why
it
drove
you
on
to
dare
and
suffer
,
to
love
and
hate
;
to
be
a
fighter
,
a
sportsman
,
an
artist
—
’
‘And
a
drunkard
!
’
added
Lancelot
,
sadly
.
‘And
a
drunkard
.
But
did
it
never
seem
to
you
that
this
strange
wayward
spirit
,
if
anything
,
was
the
very
root
and
core
of
your
own
personality
?
And
had
you
never
a
craving
for
the
help
of
some
higher
,
mightier
spirit
,
to
guide
and
strengthen
yours
;
to
regulate
and
civilise
its
savage
and
spasmodic
self-will
;
to
teach
you
your
rightful
place
in
the
great
order
of
the
universe
around
;
to
fill
you
with
a
continuous
purpose
and
with
a
continuous
will
to
do
it
?
Have
you
never
had
a
dream
of
an
Inspirer
?
—
a
spirit
of
all
spirits
?
’
Lancelot
turned
away
with
a
shudder
.
‘Talk
of
anything
but
that
!
Little
you
know
—
and
yet
you
seem
to
know
everything
—
the
agony
of
craving
with
which
I
have
longed
for
guidance
;
the
rage
and
disgust
which
possessed
me
when
I
tried
one
pretended
teacher
after
another
,
and
found
in
myself
depths
which
their
spirits
could
not
,
or
rather
would
not
,
touch
.
I
have
been
irreverent
to
the
false
,
from
very
longing
to
worship
the
true
;
I
have
been
a
rebel
to
sham
leaders
,
for
very
desire
to
be
loyal
to
a
real
one
;
I
have
envied
my
poor
cousin
his
Jesuits
;
I
have
envied
my
own
pointers
their
slavery
to
my
whip
and
whistle
;
I
have
fled
,
as
a
last
resource
,
to
brandy
and
opium
,
for
the
inspiration
which
neither
man
nor
demon
would
bestow
...
Then
I
found
...
you
know
my
story
...
And
when
I
looked
to
her
to
guide
and
inspire
me
,
behold
!
I
found
myself
,
by
the
very
laws
of
humanity
,
compelled
to
guide
and
inspire
her
;
—
blind
,
to
lead
the
blind
!
—
Thank
God
,
for
her
sake
,
that
she
was
taken
from
me
!
’
‘Did
you
ever
mistake
these
substitutes
,
even
the
noblest
of
them
,
for
the
reality
?
Did
not
your
very
dissatisfaction
with
them
show
you
that
the
true
inspirer
ought
to
be
,
if
he
were
to
satisfy
your
cravings
,
a
person
,
truly
—
else
how
could
he
inspire
and
teach
you
,
a
person
yourself
!
—
but
an
utterly
infinite
,
omniscient
,
eternal
person
?
How
know
you
that
in
that
dream
He
was
not
unveiling
Himself
to
you
—
He
,
The
Spirit
,
who
is
the
Lord
and
Giver
of
Life
;
The
Spirit
,
who
teaches
men
their
duty
and
relation
to
those
above
,
around
,
beneath
them
;
the
Spirit
of
order
,
obedience
,
loyalty
,
brotherhood
,
mercy
,
condescension
?
’
‘But
I
never
could
distinguish
these
dreams
from
each
other
;
the
moment
that
I
essayed
to
separate
them
,
I
seemed
to
break
up
the
thought
of
an
absolute
one
ground
of
all
things
,
without
which
the
universe
would
have
seemed
a
piecemeal
chaos
;
and
they
receded
to
infinite
distance
,
and
became
transparent
,
barren
,
notional
shadows
of
my
own
brain
,
even
as
your
words
are
now.’
‘How
know
you
that
you
were
meant
to
distinguish
them
?
How
know
you
that
that
very
impossibility
was
not
the
testimony
of
fact
and
experience
to
that
old
Catholic
dogma
,
for
the
sake
of
which
you
just
now
shrank
from
my
teaching
?
I
say
that
this
is
so
.
How
do
you
know
that
it
is
not
?
’
‘But
how
do
I
know
that
it
is
?
I
want
proof.’
‘And
you
are
the
man
who
was
,
five
minutes
ago
,
crying
out
for
practical
facts
,
and
disdaining
cold
abstract
necessities
of
logic
!
Can
you
prove
that
your
body
exists
?
’
‘No.’
‘Can
you
prove
that
your
spirit
exists
?
’
‘No.’
‘And
yet
know
that
they
both
exist
.
And
how
?
’
‘Solvitur
ambulando.’
‘Exactly
.
When
you
try
to
prove
either
of
them
without
the
other
,
you
fail
.
You
arrive
,
if
at
anything
,
at
some
barren
polar
notion
.
By
action
alone
you
prove
the
mesothetic
fact
which
underlies
and
unites
them.’
‘Quorsum
hæc
?
’
‘Hither
.
I
am
not
going
to
demonstrate
the
indemonstrable
—
to
give
you
intellectual
notions
which
,
after
all
,
will
be
but
reflexes
of
my
own
peculiar
brain
,
and
so
add
the
green
of
my
spectacles
to
the
orange
of
yours
,
and
make
night
hideous
by
fresh
monsters
.
I
may
help
you
to
think
yourself
into
a
theoretical
Tritheism
,
or
a
theoretical
Sabellianism
;
I
cannot
make
you
think
yourself
into
practical
and
living
Catholicism
.
As
you
of
anthropology
,
so
I
say
of
theology
,
—
Solvitur
ambulando
.
Don’t
believe
Catholic
doctrine
unless
you
like
;
faith
is
free
.
But
see
if
you
can
reclaim
either
society
or
yourself
without
it
;
see
if
He
will
let
you
reclaim
them
.
Take
Catholic
doctrine
for
granted
;
act
on
it
;
and
see
if
you
will
not
reclaim
them
!
’
‘Take
for
granted
?
Am
I
to
come
,
after
all
,
to
implicit
faith
?
’
‘Implicit
fiddlesticks
!
Did
you
ever
read
the
Novum
Organum
?
Mellot
told
me
that
you
were
a
geologist.’
‘Well
?
’
‘You
took
for
granted
what
you
read
in
geological
books
,
and
went
to
the
mine
and
the
quarry
afterwards
,
to
verify
it
in
practice
;
and
according
as
you
found
fact
correspond
to
theory
,
you
retained
or
rejected
.
Was
that
implicit
faith
,
or
common
sense
,
common
humility
,
and
sound
induction
?
’
‘Sound
induction
,
at
least.’
‘Then
go
now
,
and
do
likewise
.
Believe
that
the
learned
,
wise
,
and
good
,
for
1800
years
,
may
possibly
have
found
out
somewhat
,
or
have
been
taught
somewhat
,
on
this
matter
,
and
test
their
theory
by
practice
.
If
a
theory
on
such
a
point
is
worth
anything
at
all
,
it
is
omnipotent
and
all-explaining
.
If
it
will
not
work
,
of
course
there
is
no
use
keeping
it
a
moment
.
Perhaps
it
will
work
.
I
say
it
will.’
‘But
I
shall
not
work
it
;
I
still
dread
my
own
spectacles
.
I
dare
not
trust
myself
alone
to
verify
a
theory
of
Murchison’s
or
Lyell’s
.
How
dare
I
trust
myself
in
this
?
’
‘Then
do
not
trust
yourself
alone
:
come
and
see
what
others
are
doing
.
Come
,
and
become
a
member
of
a
body
which
is
verifying
,
by
united
action
,
those
universal
and
eternal
truths
,
which
are
too
great
for
the
grasp
of
any
one
time-ridden
individual
.
Not
that
we
claim
the
gift
of
infallibility
,
any
more
than
I
do
that
of
perfect
utterance
of
the
little
which
we
do
know.’
‘Then
what
do
you
promise
me
in
asking
me
to
go
with
you
?
’
‘Practical
proof
that
these
my
words
are
true
,
—
practical
proof
that
they
can
make
a
nation
all
that
England
might
be
and
is
not
,
—
the
sight
of
what
a
people
might
become
who
,
knowing
thus
far
,
do
what
they
know
.
We
believe
no
more
than
you
,
but
we
believe
it
.
Come
and
see
!
—
and
yet
you
will
not
see
;
facts
,
and
the
reasons
of
them
,
will
be
as
impalpable
to
you
there
as
here
,
unless
you
can
again
obey
your
Novum
Organum.’
‘How
then
?
’
‘By
renouncing
all
your
idols
—
the
idols
of
the
race
and
of
the
market
,
of
the
study
and
of
the
theatre
.
Every
national
prejudice
,
every
vulgar
superstition
,
every
remnant
of
pedantic
system
,
every
sentimental
like
or
dislike
,
must
be
left
behind
you
,
for
the
induction
of
the
world
problem
.
You
must
empty
yourself
before
God
will
fill
you.’
‘Of
what
can
I
strip
myself
more
?
I
know
nothing
;
I
can
do
nothing
;
I
hope
nothing
;
I
fear
nothing
;
I
am
nothing.’
‘And
you
would
gain
something
.
But
for
what
purpose
?
—
for
on
that
depends
your
whole
success
.
To
be
famous
,
great
,
glorious
,
powerful
,
beneficent
?
’
‘As
I
live
,
the
height
of
my
ambition
,
small
though
it
be
,
is
only
to
find
my
place
,
though
it
were
but
as
a
sweeper
of
chimneys
.
If
I
dare
wish
—
if
I
dare
choose
,
it
would
be
only
this
—
to
regenerate
one
little
parish
in
the
whole
world
...
To
do
that
,
and
die
,
for
aught
I
care
,
without
ever
being
recognised
as
the
author
of
my
own
deeds
...
to
hear
them
,
if
need
be
,
imputed
to
another
,
and
myself
accursed
as
a
fool
,
if
I
can
but
atone
for
the
sins
of
...
He
paused
;
but
his
teacher
understood
him
.
‘It
is
enough
,
’
he
said
.
‘Come
with
me
;
Tregarva
waits
for
us
near
.
Again
I
warn
you
;
you
will
hear
nothing
new
;
you
shall
only
see
what
you
,
and
all
around
you
,
have
known
and
not
done
,
known
and
done
.
We
have
no
peculiar
doctrines
or
systems
;
the
old
creeds
are
enough
for
us
.
But
we
have
obeyed
the
teaching
which
we
received
in
each
and
every
age
,
and
allowed
ourselves
to
be
built
up
,
generation
by
generation
—
as
the
rest
of
Christendom
might
have
done
—
into
a
living
temple
,
on
the
foundation
which
is
laid
already
,
and
other
than
which
no
man
can
lay.’
‘And
what
is
that
?
’
‘Jesus
Christ
—
THE
MAN.’
He
took
Lancelot
by
the
hand
.
A
peaceful
warmth
diffused
itself
over
his
limbs
;
the
droning
of
the
organ
sounded
fainter
and
more
faint
;
the
marble
monuments
grew
dim
and
distant
;
and
,
half
unconsciously
,
he
followed
like
a
child
through
the
cathedral
door
.
EPILOGUE
I
can
foresee
many
criticisms
,
and
those
not
unreasonable
ones
,
on
this
little
book
—
let
it
be
some
excuse
at
least
for
me
,
that
I
have
foreseen
them
.
Readers
will
complain
,
I
doubt
not
,
of
the
very
mythical
and
mysterious
dénouement
of
a
story
which
began
by
things
so
gross
and
palpable
as
field-sports
and
pauperism
.
But
is
it
not
true
that
,
sooner
or
later
,
‘omnia
exeunt
in
mysterium’
?
Out
of
mystery
we
all
came
at
our
birth
,
fox-hunters
and
paupers
,
sages
and
saints
;
into
mystery
we
shall
all
return
...
at
all
events
,
when
we
die
;
probably
,
as
it
seems
to
me
,
some
of
us
will
return
thither
before
we
die
.
For
if
the
signs
of
the
times
mean
anything
,
they
portend
,
I
humbly
submit
,
a
somewhat
mysterious
and
mythical
dénouement
to
this
very
age
,
and
to
those
struggles
of
it
which
I
have
herein
attempted
,
clumsily
enough
,
to
sketch
.
We
are
entering
fast
,
I
both
hope
and
fear
,
into
the
region
of
prodigy
,
true
and
false
;
and
our
great-grandchildren
will
look
back
on
the
latter
half
of
this
century
,
and
ask
,
if
it
were
possible
that
such
things
could
happen
in
an
organised
planet
?
The
Benthamites
will
receive
this
announcement
,
if
it
ever
meets
their
eyes
,
with
shouts
of
laughter
.
Be
it
so
...
nous
verrons
...
In
the
year
1847
,
if
they
will
recollect
,
they
were
congratulating
themselves
on
the
nations
having
grown
too
wise
to
go
to
war
any
more
...
and
in
1848
?
So
it
has
been
from
the
beginning
.
What
did
philosophers
expect
in
1792
?
What
did
they
see
in
1793
?
Popery
was
to
be
eternal
:
but
the
Reformation
came
nevertheless
.
Rome
was
to
be
eternal
:
but
Alaric
came
.
Jerusalem
was
to
be
eternal
:
but
Titus
came
.
Gomorrha
was
to
be
eternal
,
I
doubt
not
;
but
the
fire-floods
came
...
‘As
it
was
in
the
days
of
Noah
,
so
shall
it
be
in
the
days
of
the
Son
of
Man
.
They
were
eating
,
drinking
,
marrying
,
and
giving
in
marriage
;
and
the
flood
came
and
swept
them
all
away.’
Of
course
they
did
not
expect
it
.
They
went
on
saying
,
‘Where
is
the
promise
of
his
coming
?
