mystery of the thing called iron and of the thing called steel,
led me off half-dazed into a kind of dream. I saw into the
intrails of dim, damp wood, where the first man among all the
common stones found the strange stone. I saw a vague and violent
battle, in which stone axes broke and stone knives were splintered
against something shining and new in the hand of one desperate man.
I heard all the hammers on all the anvils of the earth.
I saw all the swords of Feudal and all the weals of Industrial war.
For the knife is only a short sword; and the pocket-knife
is a secret sword. I opened it and looked at that brilliant
and terrible tongue which we call a blade; and I thought that
perhaps it was the symbol of the oldest of the needs of man.
The next moment I knew that I was wrong; for the thing
that came next out of my pocket was a box of matches.
Then I saw fire, which is stronger even than steel, the old,
fierce female thing, the thing we all love, but dare not touch.

The next thing I found was a piece of chalk; and I saw
in it all the art and all the frescoes of the world.
The next was a coin of a very modest value; and I saw in it
not only the image and superscription of our own Caesar,
but all government and order since the world began.
But I have not space to say what were the items in the long and
splendid procession of poetical symbols that came pouring out.
I cannot tell you all the things that were in my pocket.
I can tell you one thing, however, that I could not find in my pocket.
I allude to my railway ticket.


XVI