nd one or two of the accounts named students who had long since left
the college. I write from memory, but the facts were as arresting as
the ones I have given.

This makes one uneasy about the methods the police adopt to identify a
prisoner. If I saw a man shoot another in Piccadilly, it is a thousand
to one chance that I should not be able to identify him later. Yet
many a man has been hanged on identification.

But I meant to finish my account of the Austrian kiddies. The time
came when I had to leave them and return to London. I set out to find
my Hansi to say good-bye to her. I saw her in the distance . . . and
then I ran away, for I hate saying good-bye.

I liked those kiddies, dear wee souls, just as sweet as any English
kiddies, but then children have no nationality; they are lovable for
they all belong to the Never Never Land. Barrie proved himself a
genius when he created Peter Pan, for Peter symbolises man's highest
wish--to become a little child and never grow up. "Genius," he says,
"is the power of being a boy again at will." It is true in his case.
Yet this kind of genius is retrospective; it is a regression. The
genius who will help man to look forward instead of backward must not
return to boyhood; he must go forward to superman. To put it
psychologically, Barrie's genius comes from the unconscious, but what
the world needs is a man whose genius will come from the
superconscious, the divine.

XIII.

I have just been reading Jack London's _Michael, Brother of Jerry_, and
I am full of righteous rage. What a picture! It is the story of how
performing animals are trained, and before I had read half the book I
made a vow that never again will I sit through a performance of animals.

The tale of Ben Bolt the tiger, if known by the masses, would kill
every animal turn on the stage. Ben Bolt, fresh from the jungle, is
broken by the trainers. The method is unspeakable; he is lashed with
iron bars and stabbed with forks until in agony he falls senseless in
the arena. This treatment goes on for weeks . . . and in the end many
good, kindly people see Ben Bolt, a miserable, broken animal, sit up in
a chair like a human. And they laugh. My God!

Then there is Barney the good-natured mule that was once a family pet.
Later he becomes the celebrated bucking mule, and a prize is offered to
anyone who will keep on his back for one minute. Audiences go into
fits of laughter at his antics. B