eem to hear the whole burden of the ages.

I think I will take another stroll down to the village. It will take me
past the smithy.

ON SLACKENING THE BOW

I was in a company the other evening in which the talk turned upon the
familiar theme of the Government and its fitness for the job in hand. The
principal assailant was what I should call a strenuous person. He seemed to
suggest that if the conduct of the war had been in the hands of
earnest-minded persons--like himself, for example--the business would have
been over long ago.

"What can you expect," he said, the veins at the side of his forehead
swelling with strenuousness, "from men who only play at war? Why, I was
told by a man who was dining with Asquith not long ago that he was talking
all the time about Georgian poetry, and that apparently he knew more about
the subject than anybody at the table. Fiddling while Rome is burning, I
call it."

"Did you want him to hold a Cabinet Council over the dinner-table?" I
asked. The strenuous person killed me with a look of scorn.

But all the same, so far from being shocked to learn that Mr. Asquith can
talk about poetry in these days, the fact, if it be a fact, increases my
confidence in his competence for his task. I should suffer no pain even if
I heard that he took a hand of cards after dinner, and I hope he takes care
to get a game of golf at the week-end. I like men who have great
responsibilities to carry their burdens easily, and to relax the bow as
often as possible. The bigger the job you have in hand the more necessary
it is to cultivate the habit of detachment. You want to walk away from the
subject sometimes, as the artist walks away from his canvas to get a better
view of his work. I never feel sure of an article until I have put it away,
forgotten it, and read it again with a fresh mind, disengaged from the
subject and seeing it objectively rather than subjectively. It is the
affliction of the journalist that he has to face the light before he has
had time to withdraw to a critical distance and to see his work with the
detachment of the public.

There is nothing more mistaken than the view that because a thing is
serious you must be thinking about it seriously all the time. If you do
that you cease to be the master of your subject: the subject becomes the
master of you. That is what is the matter with the fanatic. He is so
obsessed by his idea that he cannot relate it to other ideas, and loses