announcement of that final harmony for which all that is best in us yearns.
It may seem a hard vision to cherish to-day. But we must cherish it, or
accept the hideous alternative that this is, after all, in very truth the
madhouse of the universe. Can you live with that idea? Would it be worth
while living with that idea? If not, then the other holds the field, and it
is for all of us in our several ways, small or great, to work so that it
may possess the field.

I have wandered somewhat far from the question of the beer and the
porcelain, and yet I think you will find that the sequence is not lacking,
and that the little window commands a large landscape.




ON A CASE OF CONSCIENCE


It was raining when Victor Crummles stepped out into the street. But he did
not notice the fact. True, he put his umbrella up, but that was mere force
of habit. He was not aware that he had put it up. His mind was far too
engaged with the ordeal before him to permit any consciousness of external
things to creep into it. He was "up against it and no mistake," he observed
to himself. There was the paper in his pocket telling him the time and
place at which he was to present himself for medical examination. He put
his hand in his pocket. It was there all right. Kilburn. Twelve o'clock.

Yes, he was fairly up against it. Not, as he hastened to assure himself,
that he objected.... Not at all.... He had always been a patriot, and
always would be. He'd love to have a smack at the Huns. He'd give them what