ing round place their right hand before their mouth, and, turning
away their faces, shake their bodies to and fro, emitting a strange
crackling sound. Whether this is to be regarded as a mere expression of
their grief that the blow of their comrade should have miscarried, or
whether one may assume it to be a ceremonious appeal to their gods for
better luck next time, I have not as yet made up my mind. The striker,
meanwhile, raises both arms, the hands tightly clenched, towards the
heavens, and utters what is probably a prayer, prepared expressly for the
occasion."

The Heir of all Ages. His Inheritance.

In similar manner he, the Celestial Observer, proceeds to describe our
billiard matches, our tennis tournaments, our croquet parties. Maybe it
never occurs to him that a large section of our race surrounded by
Eternity, would devote its entire span of life to sheer killing of time.
A middle-aged friend of mine, a cultured gentleman, a M.A. of Cambridge,
assured me the other day that, notwithstanding all his experiences of
life, the thing that still gave him the greatest satisfaction was the
accomplishment of a successful drive to leg. Rather a quaint commentary
on our civilization, is it not? "The singers have sung, and the builders
have builded. The artists have fashioned their dreams of delight." The
martyrs for thought and freedom have died their death; knowledge has
sprung from the bones of ignorance; civilization for ten thousand years
has battled with brutality to this result--that a specimen gentleman of
the Twentieth Century, the heir of all the ages, finds his greatest joy
in life the striking of a ball with a chunk of wood!

Human energy, human suffering, has been wasted. Such crown of happiness
for a man might surely have been obtained earlier and at less cost. Was
it intended? Are we on the right track? The child's play is wiser. The
battered doll is a princess. Within the sand castle dwells an ogre. It
is with imagination that he plays. His games have some relation to life.
It is the man only who is content with this everlasting knocking about of
a ball. The majority of mankind is doomed to labour so constant, so
exhausting, that no opportunity is given it to cultivate its brain.
Civilization has arranged that a small privileged minority shall alone
enjoy that leisure necessary to the development of thought. And what is
the answer of this leisured class? It is:

"We will do noth