arry so much as one brass knob
away with them. But no--it was--"who has most nails? I have a hundred,
and you have fifty; or, I have a thousand, and you have two. I must
have as many as you before I leave the house, or I cannot possibly go
home in peace." At last, they made so much noise that I awoke, and
thought to myself, "What a false dream that is, of _children!_" The
child is the father of the man;[232] and wiser. Children never do such
foolish things. Only men do.

But there is yet one last class of persons to be interrogated. The
wise religious men we have asked in vain; the wise contemplative men,
in vain; the wise worldly men, in vain. But there is another group
yet. In the midst of this vanity of empty religion--of tragic
contemplation--of wrathful and wretched ambition, and dispute for
dust, there is yet one great group of persons, by whom all these
disputers live--the persons who have determined, or have had it by a
beneficent Providence determined for them, that they will do something
useful; that whatever may be prepared for them hereafter, or happen to
them here, they will, at least, deserve the food that God gives them
by winning it honourably: and that, however fallen from the purity, or
far from the peace, of Eden, they will carry out the duty of human
dominion, though they have lost its felicity; and dress and keep the
wilderness,[233] though they no more can dress or keep the garden.

These,--hewers of wood, and drawers of water,[234]--these, bent under
burdens, or torn of scourges--these, that dig and weave--that plant
and build; workers in wood, and in marble, and in iron--by whom all
food, clothing, habitation, furniture, and means of delight are
produced, for themselves, and for all men beside; men, whose deeds are
good, though their words may be few; men, whose lives are serviceable,
be they never so short, and worthy of honour, be they never so
humble;--from these, surely, at least, we may receive some clear
message of teaching; and pierce, for an instant, into the mystery of
life, and of its arts.

Yes; from these, at last, we do receive a lesson. But I grieve to say,
or rather--for that is the deeper truth of the matter--I rejoice to
say--this message of theirs can only be received by joining them--not
by thinking about them.

You sent for me to talk to you of art; and I have obeyed you in
coming. But the main thing I have to tell you is,--that art must not
be talked about. The fact that