No experience since the War has touched me more; and I believe it is
strongly symptomatic. Akin to it was the streaming of the people in
London to Buckingham Palace, just when war was declared, and again on
the day of the Armistice: both matters of pure instinct. For what do
these things show except that we are children who, when we are moved,
run to our mother to tell her all about it? What are we, when we are
stripped to the soul, but one great family? A man told me once that he
was present at a trial for murder where there were half a dozen in
the dock, men and women, principals and accessories. The verdict was
"Guilty," and the wretches stood up to receive the death-sentence.
As they did so, by one common instinct, they all joined hands, and
so remained until they were led away to the cells. A strangely moving
scene.

It is by no means a necessity of the simple alone to seek a common
expression of their hope and calling. A similar stream is carrying the
learned which at present runs parallel with our homelier brook, but
will sooner or later mingle waters. Then there will be a flood wherein
many tired swimmers will doubtless perish, but which may lead to the
sea those who keep their heads. Signs of that are on all sides of
us. "_What is the Kingdom of Heaven_?" asks Mr. Clutton-Brock, and
succeeds at his best in telling us what it is not. As for anything
more positive, he concludes very reasonably that it is a state of
mind, and leaves us to infer that the ruck of humanity need the
guidance of inspiration to induce it.

It is not at all difficult for him to show that the Church lacks
inspiration, or that there is something inherent in the essence of
a Church destructive of it. What should have been equally easy would