ailway run of the Parsonage. Besides, I understood that the
dispersion of the Jews everywhere made it possible to find Jewish
types anywhere, and especially in London, to which flowed all the
streams of the Exile. But long days of hunting in the Jewish quarter
left me despairing. I could find types of all the Apostles, but never
of the Master.

Running down one week-end to Brighton to recuperate, I joined the
Church Parade on the lawns. It was a sunny morning in early November,
and I admired the three great even stretches of grass, sea, and sky,
making up a picture that was unspoiled even by the stuccoed
boarding-houses. The parasols fluttered amid the vast crowd of
promenaders like a swarm of brilliant butterflies. I noted with
amusement that the Church Parade was guarded by beadles from the
intrusion of the ill-dressed, and the spectacle of over-dressed Jews
paradoxically partaking in it reminded me of the object of my search.
In vain my eye roved among these; their figures were strangely lacking
in the dignity and beauty which I had found among the poorest.
Suddenly I came upon a sight that made my heart leap. There, squatting
oddly enough on the pavement-curb of a street opposite the lawns, sat
a frowsy, gaberdined Jew. Vividly set between the tiny green
cockle-shell hat on his head and the long uncombed black beard was the
face of my desire. The head was bowed towards the earth; it did not
even turn towards the gay crowd, as if the mere spectacle was
beadle-barred. I was about to accost this strange creature who sat
there so immovably, when a venerable Royal Academician who resides at
Hove came towards me with hearty hand outstretched, and bore me along
in the stream of his conversation and geniality. I looked back
yearningly; it was as if the Academy was dragging me away from true
Art.

'I think, if you don't mind, I'll get that old chap's address,' I
said.

He looked back and shook his head in laughing reproof.

'Another study in dirt and ugliness! Oh, you youngsters!'

My heart grew hot against his smug satisfaction with his own
conventional patterns and prettinesses.

'Behind that ugliness and dirt I see the Christ,' I retorted. 'I
certainly did not see Him in the Church Parade.'

'Have you gone on the religious lay now?' he asked, with a burst of
his bluff laughter.

'No, but I'm going,' I said, and turned back.

I stood, pretending to watch the gay parasols, but furtively studying
my Jew. Yes, in