im.

13

Is there not more than one signification to the words "And I, if I be
lifted up, will draw all men unto Me?" There are times when the mind is
lifted up by a master-emotion, arising one hardly knows how, nor
whither leading; a feeling that takes charge of one, as a big wave is
said to take charge of a boat when it destroys steerageway; an emotion
so powerful that it does but batten on all which might be expected to
clash with it. These are the periods when day and night are enveloped
in one large state of mind, and life ceases to be a collection of
discrete, semi-related moods. These are the dawns of the soul, the
spring seasons of the spirit. The world is created afresh.

Everything, and nothing, is prosaic. 'Tis _all according_. But it is
startling indeed how suddenly sometimes the earth takes on a new
wonderfulness, and Saint Prosaic a new halo. What, to put it in the
plainest manner possible, am I doing here? Merely fishing and sailing
on the cheap (not so very cheaply); roughing it--pigging it, as one
would say--with people who are not my people and do not live as I have
been accustomed to do. Yet, as I know well _all_ the time, this change
from one prosaic life to another has brought about a revelation which,
like great music, sanctifies things, makes one thankful, and in a sense
very humble; incapable of fitting speech, incapable of silence.

14

[Sidenote: _UNDER TOWN_]

Astonishment at, and zest in, these Under Town lives; the discovery of
so much beauty hitherto unsuspected and, indeed, not to be caught sight
of without exceptional opportunity, sets one watching and waiting in
order to find out the real difference of their minds from the minds of
us who have been through the educational mill; also to find out where
and how they have the advantage of us. For I can feel rather than see,
here, the presence of a wisdom that I know nothing about, not even by
hearsay, and that I suspect to be largely the traditional wisdom of the
folk, gained from contact with hard fact, slowly accumulated and handed
on through centuries--the wisdom from which education cuts us off,
which education teaches us to pooh-pooh.

Such wisdom is difficult to grasp; very shy. My chance of observing it
lies precisely in this: that I am neither a sky-pilot, nor a district
visitor, nor a reformer, nor a philanthropist, nor any sort of
'worker,' useful or impertinent; but simply a sponge to absorb and, so
far as can be, an