me the peoples bowed and the secret sanctuaries were
opened that I and I alone might commune with the gods; I who in the
flesh and after it myself was worshipped as a god.

Well, of this forgotten Royalty of whom little is known save what a
few inscriptions have to tell, there remains a portrait statue in the
British Museum. Sometimes I go to look at that statue and try to recall
exactly under what circumstances I caused it to be shaped, puzzling out
the story bit by bit.

Not long ago I stood thus absorbed and did not notice that the hour of
the closing of the great gallery had come. Still I stood and gazed and
dreamt till the policeman on duty, seeing and suspecting me, came up and
roughly ordered me to begone.

The man's tone angered me. I laid my hand on the foot of the statue, for
it had just come back to me that it was a "Ka" image, a sacred thing,
any Egyptologist will know what I mean, which for ages had sat in a
chamber of my tomb. Then the Ka that clings to it eternally awoke at my
touch and knew me, or so I suppose. At least I felt myself change. A new
strength came into me; my shape, battered in this world's storms, put on
something of its ancient dignity; my eyes grew royal. I looked at that
man as Pharaoh may have looked at one who had done him insult. He saw
the change and trembled--yes, trembled. I believe he thought I was some
imperial ghost that the shadows of evening had caused him to mistake for
man; at any rate he gasped out--

"I beg your pardon, I was obeying orders. I hope your Majesty won't hurt
me. Now I think of it I have been told that things come out of these old
statues in the night."

Then turning he ran, literally ran, where to I am sure I do not know,
probably to seek the fellowship of some other policeman. In due course I
followed, and, lifting the bar at the end of the hall, departed without
further question asked. Afterwards I was very glad to think that I had
done the man no injury. At the moment I knew that I could hurt him if
I would, and what is more I had the desire to do so. It came to me, I
suppose, with that breath of the past when I was so great and absolute.
Perhaps I, or that part of me then incarnate, was a tyrant in those
days, and this is why now I must be so humble. Fate is turning my pride
to its hammer and beating it out of me.

For thus in the long history of the soul it serves all our vices.

THE GREAT WHITE ROAD

Now, as I have hinted, under the teachi