he had seen. He played tennis, gardened and occasionally walked many miles very fast. But none of these things could absorb him. He was grateful for them, but not content with them. In thanking your country for such a life, a slight extravagance of compliment is gracious, but he would probably never have used it if she had not suddenly accepted from him the total dedication of himself; he would have felt restrained by the fact that though she kept him and his peers in clover, she was keeping far greater numbers in want.
A PETITION
All that a man might ask thou has given me, England,
Birth-right and happy childhood's long heartsease,
And love whose range is deep beyond all sounding,
And wider than all seas.
A heart to front the world and find God in it,
Eyes blind enow, but not too blind to see
The lovely things behind the dross and darkness,
And lovelier things to be.
And friends whose loyalty time nor death shall weaken,
And quenchless hope and laughter's golden store;
All that a man might ask thou has given me, England,
Yet grant thou one thing more:
That now when envious foes would spoil thy splendour,
Unversed in arms, a dreamer such as I
May in thy ranks be deemed not all unworthy,
England, for thee to die.
This chance to use himself thoroughly and to adventure greatly filled him with enthusiasm and hope. Emotion is simple-minded, and for a moment his world seemed all of one piece; as broad meadows may be run together by
