prevalence of his good-luck, archaeology will tell him
that the best luck will change; or if, when in sore straits, he asks
whether ever a man was so unlucky, archaeology will answer him that many
millions of men have been more unfavoured than he. Archaeology provides a
precedent for almost every event or occurrence where modern inventions
are not involved; and, in this manner, one may reckon their value and
determine their trend. Thus many of the small worries which cause so
leaden a weight to lie upon the heart and mind are by the archaeologist
ignored; and many of the larger calamities by him are met with serenity.

But not only does the archaeologist learn to estimate himself and his
actions: he learns also to see the relationship in which his life stands
to the course of Time. Without archaeology a man may be disturbed lest
the world be about to come to an end: after a study of history he knows
that it has only just begun; and that gaiety which is said to have
obtained "when the world was young" is to him, therefore, a present
condition. By studying the ages the archaeologist learns to reckon in
units of a thousand years; and it is only then that that little unit of
threescore-and-ten falls into its proper proportion. "A thousand ages in
Thy sight are like an evening gone," says the hymn, but it is only the
archaeologist who knows the meaning of the words; and it is only he who
can explain that great discrepancy in the Christian faith between the
statement "Behold, I come quickly" and the actual fact. A man who knows
where he is in regard to his fellows, and realises where he stands in
regard to Time, has learnt a lesson of archaeology which is as necessary
to his peace of mind as his peace of mind is necessary to his gaiety.

It is not needful, however, to continue to point out the many ways in
which archaeology may be shown to be necessary to happiness. The reader
will have comprehended the trend of the argument, and, if he be in
sympathy with it, he will not be unwilling to develop the theme for
himself. Only one point, therefore, need here be taken up. It has been
reserved to the end of this chapter, for, by its nature, it closes all
arguments. I refer to Death.

Death, as we watch it around us, is the black menace of the heavens
which darkens every man's day; Death, coming to our neighbour, puts a
period to our merry-making; Death, seen close beside us, calls a halt in
our march of pleasure. But let those who