gear in these parts.

We all pass away, but the sea remains the same; and all our empires
and literatures, arts and towns, crumble and decay, and are proved
toys. Our consolation lies in our unconquerable souls, our glorious
after-life beyond this world. But the sea has an immortality in the
here and now. I shall never understand its secret.

A stage is reached when I cease to look at the sea, and allow the sea
to look into me, when I give it habitation in my being, and am thereby
proved, by virtue of my soul, something mightier than it.

But in vain do we try to take the sea's mystery by storm. In vain do
we search for its meaning with love. It lies beyond our mortal ken,
deeper than ever plummet sounded.

"Is not the sea the very peacock of peacocks?" asks Nietzsche. "Even
before the ugliest of all buffaloes it unfoldeth its tail and never
wearieth of its lace fan of silver and gold." But the sea is not moved
by slander. "Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll!" sings
Byron in praise, but the sea is not encouraged. It hearkeneth not,
even unto kings. It is that which changes but is itself unchanged. It
manifests itself continually in change, and yet it is itself ever
the same, ever the same. It reveals itself to man in the majesty and
terror of storm, or in the joyousness of peace; when with leaden eye
it glowers upward at the leaden clouds, or when the rain sweeps over
it in misery. But the secret of the sea lies beyond all these, hidden
in the depths, profound, sublime.

II

I

HOSPITALITY

I

I imagine that whilst the prodigal son sat at meat with his father and
their guests, there may have come to the door a weary tramp begging
food and lodging. The elder brother would probably refuse hospitality,
saying, "You are not even my sinning brother, and shall I harbour
_you_?" The father in his wine might cry a welcome--"Let him come in
for the sake of my son found this day; he also was a tramp upon the
road." The prodigal would say to his steady-going, sober elder,
"You say he is not your brother; but he is mine, he is my brother
wanderer." "Oh, come in then," the elder brother would retort; "but
you must do some work--we can't encourage laziness. You may have
shelter and food, but to-morrow you must work with us in the fields
till midday."

This counsel of the elder brother has endured, and is accounted wise.
But this type of hospitality is not of that sort that was rewarded,
say, in