literature of his time.) Their fantastic puns and conceits are
rather out of our fashion nowadays. But Lord! the root of the
matter was in them! How gallantly, how reverently, they tackle the
problems of life!

When God at first made man (says George Herbert) He had a "glass of
blessings standing by." So He pours on man all the blessings in His
reservoir: strength, beauty, wisdom, honour, pleasure--and then He
refrains from giving him the last of them, which is rest, i.e.,
contentment. God sees that if man is contented he will never win
his way to Him. Let man be restless, so that

"If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to My breast."

Some day I shall write a novel on that theme, and call it "The
Pulley." In this tragic, restless world there must be some
place where at last we can lay our heads and be at rest. Some
people call it death. Some call it God.

My ideal of a man is not the Omar who wants to shatter into bits
this sorry scheme of things, and then remould it nearer to the
heart's desire. Old Omar was a coward, with his silk pajamas and
his glass of wine. The real man is George Herbert's "seasoned
timber"--the fellow who does handily and well whatever comes to him.
Even if it's only shovelling coal into a furnace he can balance the
shovel neatly, swing the coal square on the fire and not spill it on
the floor. If it's only splitting kindling or running a trolley car
he can make a good, artistic job of it. If it's only writing a book
or peeling potatoes he can put into it the best he has. Even if he's