order that he may be sure you want it. I cannot quite see the reason
of this, nor analyze the cruel reticence in the breasts of wise men
which makes them always hide their deeper thought.

"They do not give it you by way of help, but of reward, and will make
themselves sure that you deserve it, before they allow you to reach
it.

"But it is the same with the physical type of wisdom, gold. There
seems, to you and me, no reason why the electric forces of the earth
should not carry whatever there is of gold within it at once to the
mountain tops, so that kings and people might know that all the gold
they could get was there, and without any trouble of digging, or
anxiety, or chance, or waste of time, cut it away, and coin as much as
they needed. But Nature does not manage it so. She puts it in little
fissures in the earth, nobody knows where. You may dig long and find
none; you must dig painfully to find any.

"And it is just the same with men's best wisdom. When you come to a
good book, you must ask yourself, 'Am I inclined to work as an
Australian miner would? Are my pickaxes and shovels in good order, and
am I in good trim myself, my sleeves well up to the elbow, and my
breath good, and my temper?' And keeping the figure a little longer...
the metal you are in search of being the author's mind or meaning, his
words are as the rock which you have to crush and smelt in order to
get at it. And your pickaxes are your own care, wit, and learning;
your smelting furnace is your own thoughtful soul. Do not hope to get
at any good author's meaning without those tools, and that fire; often
you will need sharpest, finest chiseling and patientest fussing before
you can gather one grain of the metal."[Footnote: _Sesame and Lilies_]