THE CHRONICLE OF CLEMENDY
young man who vehemently desires to write but has no notion as to the matter which he wants to write about. There is the fact, but like many other facts, such as Time and Space, it seems to defy the "subtlest" enquiries of the human mind. In a later book, "Things Near and Far," I have hazarded the explanation that the actualities of life are so intolerable that men will do anything and suffer anything to escape from them: some climbing Alps, some drinking methylated spirit and some writing books in their fierce effort to escape from the routine of ordinary existence. This may be the answer to the question: I do not know.
At all events, here was I, wandering about these dim streets and wondering what this famous book was to be. I learned one night. I was lying awake in my bed, and all suddenly there came upon me a magic and ecstatic glow and light and radiance; as I must think, even now, after all the long and heavy years, a faint glimpse and savour of real life and true being. But realities must have their earthly shapes and substance, as Paradise must be a garden, and so this gleam of the things that truly are took the
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