ointed
to investigate the cause of the Goodwin Sands. He met with small
success in his inquiries. At last he came upon an old man who had
lived in the district nearly a hundred years. The centenarian knew.
The secret sparkled in his eyes. Master More approached the prodigy.
'Yes, sir,' the old man answered, 'I know. Tenterden Steeple is the
cause of Goodwin Sands! I remember when they built the steeple.
Before that we never heard of sands, or flats, or shallows off this
haven. They built the steeple, and then came the sands. Yes, sir,
Tenterden Steeple is the cause of the destruction of Sandwich Harbour!'

When we wander beyond that wise word 'because' circumstances seem
malicious; they conspire to deceive us. I remember passing a window in
London in which a sewing-machine was displayed. The machine was
working. A large doll sat beside it, its hand on the wheel. The
doll's hand appeared to be turning the handle. As a matter of fact,
the machine was electrically driven, and the wheel turned the hand of
the doll. In the realm of cause and effect we are frequently the dupes
and victims of a very dexterous system of legerdemain. The resultant
quantity is invariably clear; the contributing causes are not what they
seem.

I find myself believing to-day pretty much what I believed twenty years
ago; but I find myself believing the same things for different reasons.
As life goes on, a man learns to put more and more confidence in his
conclusions, and to become more and more chary of the reasons that led
to those conclusions. If a certain course seems to him to be right, he
automatically adopts it, and he confidently persists in it even after
the reasons that first dictated it have fallen under suspicion. 'More
than once in an emergency at sea,' says Dr. Grenfell, the hero of
Labrador, 'I have swiftly decided upon a certain line of action. If I
had waited to hem my reason into a corner before adopting that course,
I should not be here to tell the tale.' We often flatter ourselves
that we base our conclusions upon our reasons. In reality, we do
nothing of the kind. The mind works so rapidly that it tricks us. It
is another case of legerdemain. Once more, it is the machine that
turns the doll, and not the doll that turns the machine. Our thinking
faculties often play at ride-a-cock-horse. We recall Browning's lines:

When I see boys ride-a-cock-horse,
I find it in my heart to embarrass them
By hin