_But--and it is a big "but"--for you in your high vocation and for me in this of mine, for each of us, oddly enough, in his own way, there is a verse from Miss V. H. Friedlaender's_ A Friendship _which I find I cannot easily forget:_
_When we are grown We know it is for us To rend the flowery lies from worlds Foul with hypocrisy; To perish stoned and blinded in the desert-- That men unborn may see._
_And I want to set that down too, before a reader turns a page._
I. LAMBETH COURT II. CAMBRIDGE III. CHRISTMAS CAROLS IV. FATHER VASSALL V. VACATION VI. MOUNT CARMEL VII. THURLOE END VIII. JUDGMENTS IX. FORDHAM X. "THE BLIND BEGGAR" XI. URSULA XII. ZANZIBAR
Bring me my Bow of burning gold! Bring me my Arrows of desire! Bring me my Spear! O clouds, unfold! Bring me my Chariot of fire!
I will not cease from Mental Fight, Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand, Till we have built Jerusalem In England's green and pleasant land. BLAKE: Milton.
Thirsting for love and joy, Eager to mould and plan, These were the dreams of a boy.... ARTHUR C. BENSON: Peace and Other Poems.
It must be presumed that some reason underlies the nomenclature of the ways of our more modern towns, but the game of guessing will long remain an entertainment to the curious. True, we think to honour our illustrious dead by calling some business street wholly given over to modern commercialism after one of them, as also we occasionally seek satisfaction by casting forth a name now identified with our equally infamous enemies; but the process by which were named byways and courts that, after all, have not been in existence a lifetime, must remain a puzzle. Thus if, walking down the dreary monotony of Apple Orchard Road, one might conceive that at some time or another it boasted an apple-tree, the most nimble imagination baulks at that blind alley leading from it into an open irregular space entirely surrounded by the meanest houses, entitled Lambeth Court. It, at least, was surely never associated with an Archbishop. The mere sight of his gaiters there would have been the occasion for an hilarious five minutes. And if it was ever part of his property, the least said about that the better.
For all this the Borough of Claxted, now within the boundaries of Greater London, was a highly respectable town. Its citizens were mainly composed of those who go daily to the City round and about the decent hour of nine-thirty for frequently mysterious but none the less remunerative occupations, and of those who supply their households with the necessaries and pleasant superfluities of good living. A class apart, these latter nevertheless shone, in Claxted, with some of the lustre of their betters, and were, indeed, known, when Paul Kestern was young, as Superior Tradespeople. For both, at Claxted, there were miles of trim villas ascending to avenues of detached houses; churches there were, swept and garnished, or empty with an Evangelical Christian emptiness; Municipal buildings, dignified, sufficient, new and clean. There was, in short, an air about the place and its citizens, in those days, almost wholly neatly and simply Conservative. The Borough, moreover, obtained a suffragan bishop about this time, and may thus be said to have been sealed with a just measure of divine approval.