said,
it is because of it that we are able to mistake, and hence to evolve new
mental and bodily developments. Where the effort is successful, there is
illusion; where nearly successful but not quite, there is a shock and a
sense of being puzzled--more or less, as the case may be; where it so
obviously impossible as not to be pursued, there is no perception of the
effort at all.

Mr. Locke has been greatly praised for his essay upon human
understanding. An essay on human misunderstanding should be no less
interesting and important. Illusion to a small extent is one of the main
causes, if indeed it is not the main cause, of progress, but it must be
upon a small scale. All abortive speculation, whether commercial or
philosophical, is based upon it, and much as we may abuse such
speculation, we are, all of us, its debtors.

* * * * *

I know few things more touching in their way than the porch of Rossura
Church: it is dated early in the last century, and is absolutely without
ornament; the flight of steps inside it lead up to the level of the floor
of the church. One lovely summer Sunday morning passing the church
betimes, I saw the people kneeling upon these steps, the church within
being crammed. In the darker light of the porch, they told out against
the sky that showed through the open arch beyond them; far away the eye
rested on the mountains--deep blue, save where the snow still lingered. I
never saw anything more beautiful--and these forsooth are the people whom
so many of us think to better by distributing tracts about Protestantism
among them!

I liked the porch almost best under an aspect which it no longer
presents. One summer an opening was made in the west wall, which was
afterwards closed because the wind blew through it too much and made the
church too cold. While it was open, one could sit on the church steps
and look down through it on to the bottom of the Ticino valley; and
through the windows one could see the slopes about Dalpe and Cornone.
Between the two windows there is a picture of austere old S. Carlo
Borromeo with his hands joined in prayer.

It was at Rossura that I made the acquaintance of a word which I have
since found very largely used throughout North Italy. It is pronounced
"chow" pure and simple, but is written, if written at all, "ciau" or
"ciao," the "a" being kept very broad. I believe the word is derived
from "schiavo," a slave, which became corrupted into "schiao," a