as the wants and needs of the race that whipped
it into what we call civilization. When once men got a start they
went, and went in one direction alone, and completely away from
Nature, instead of keeping with her and with an unvarying result;
an endless series of common catastrophes has overtaken all civilized
nations alike, while the savage tribes have alone been perpetual. I
don't say that savage life is at all preferable, only that it alone
has been capable of perpetuating races. In going back to Nature, I
propose to take what of good we have derived from civilization."

"As historic verity," said Bart, "I am not quite prepared to admit
that savage races are perpetual. We know little of them, and what
little we do know is that tribes appear and disappear. General
savagery may reign, like perpetual night, over a given region, but
who can say how many races of savages have destroyed and devoured each
other in its darkness?"

They had reached the forest, and Sartliff placed himself in an easy
position at the foot of an old beech, extending his limbs and bare
feet over the dry leaves, in such a way as not to injure any springing
herb. "Mr. Ridgeley," said he, "I would like to know more of you.
You young men are fresher, see, and what is better, feel quicker and
clearer than the older and more hackneyed. Are you already shelled
over with accepted dogmas, and without the power of receiving new
ideas?"

"I hardly know; I fear I am not very reverent. I was born of a
question-asking time, like that Galilean boy, whose, mother, after
long search, found him in the Temple, disputing with the doctors, and
asking them questions."

"Good! good! that is it; my great mother will find me in her Temple,
asking questions of her doctors and ministers!" exclaimed Sartliff.

"And what do you ask, and what response do you get?" asked Bart.

"I lay myself on the earth's bosom in holy solitudes, with fasting and
great prayer, and send my soul forth in one great mute, hungry demand
for light. I, a man, with some of the Father God stirring the awful
mysteries of my nature, go yearningly naked, empty, and alone, and
clamor to know the way. And sometimes deep, sweet, hollow voices
answer in murmurs, which I feel rather than hear; but I cannot
interpret them, I cannot compass their sounds. And sometimes gigantic
formless shadows overcloud me. I know they have forms of wondrous
symmetry and beauty, but they are so grand that my vision does