different hearts. But one thing is certain--that no one who has
entered there is ever in any doubt again. He may wander far from
the walls, he may visit it but rarely, but it stands there in peace
and glory, the one true and real thing for him in mortal time and
in whatever lies beyond.






II

ON GROWING OLDER





The sun flares red behind leafless elms and battlemented towers as
I come in from a lonely walk beside the river; above the chimney-
tops hangs a thin veil of drifting smoke, blue in the golden light.
The games in the Common are just coming to an end; a stream of
long-coated spectators sets towards the town, mingled with the
parti-coloured, muddied figures of the players. I have been
strolling half the afternoon along the river bank, watching the
boats passing up and down; hearing the shrill cries of coxes, the
measured plash of oars, the rhythmical rattle of rowlocks,
intermingled at intervals with the harsh grinding of the chain-
ferries. Five-and-twenty years ago I was rowing here myself in one