ties, of this quaint book, a sort of "orientation," as
the theologians say now, has emerged at all? I feel, myself, as
though it had, though it is hard enough to put it into words. I seem to
feel that a point of view, not altogether irrelevant in our time, has
projected a certain light upon us, as we advanced together.

Let me try to catch some few filmy threads of this before it vanishes,
even though, like a dream in the waking, its outlines waver and
recede and fade, until it is lost in space. We gather, then, I fancy,
from this kind of hurried passing through enchanted gardens, a sort
of curious unwillingness to let our "fixed convictions" deprive us
any more of the spiritual adventures to which we have a right. We
begin to understand the danger of such convictions, of such opinions,
of such "constructive consistency." We grow prepared to "give
ourselves up" to "yield ourselves willingly," to whatever new
Revelation of the Evasive One chance may throw in our way. It is in
such yieldings, such surprises by the road, such new vistas and
perspectives, that life loves to embody itself. To refuse them is to
turn away from Life and dwell in the kingdom of the shadow.

"Why not?" the Demon who has presided over our wanderings
together seems to whisper--"why not for a little while try the
experiment of having no 'fixed ideas,' no 'inflexible principles,' no
'concentrated aim'? Why not simply react to one mysterious visitor
after another, as they approach us, and caress or hurt us, and go their
way? Why not, for an interlude, be Life's children, instead of her
slaves or her masters, and let Her lead us, the great crafty Mother,
whither she will?"

There will be much less harm done by such an embracing of Fate,
and such a cessation of foolish agitations, than many might suppose.
And more than anything else, this is what our generation requires!
We are over-ridden by theorists and preachers and ethical
water-carriers; we need a little rest--a little yawning and stretching and
"being ourselves"; a little quiet sitting at the feet of the Immortal
Gods. We need to forget to be troubled, for a brief interval, if the
Immortal Gods speak in strange and variable tongues, and offer us
diverse-shaped chalices. Let us drink, dear friends, let us drink, as
the most noble prophetess Bacbuc used to say! There are many
vintages in the kingdom of Beauty; and yet others--God knows!
even outside that. Let us drink, and ask no troublesome que