In these last reflections, I am sensible that I have been clumsily feeling my way to the asking of a question. It is this: May we not bring the experience of the most thoughtful men of the centuries that have gone before so to bear in our daily living that it will no longer be noble, because no longer necessary, to scorn delights and live laborious days (save holidays)? May not these men have been the prophets of that mediation which will make labor and delight one thing? May it not be possible for us after their leading so to live and strive in the moment that more and more of the whole toward which it tends may be felt in it? And this whole, the while, will it not come so to be conceived that its real presence in the crumb of bread and drop of wine may make of our daily partaking a sacrament as bright as it is enduring? If so, and, as it seems to me, only if so, will these thinkers about the whole have found that for which they seemed to waste their being--the response of the man living the moment, which is everyman. Then will we the studious have brought back from our wanderings with these “souls of men outworn” something more than ineffable things and memories of dreams dreamt with them. To men bound for the most part to live the moment, that moment would not have lost its throbbing intimacy because it had lost its solitude. Now of all desirable things, one may feel and in a poor fashion of words try to tell how desirable they are, without having much hope of securing them for himself or of being able to offer them to others. But it cannot be a bad way to begin winning something for oneself at least by enriching one’s reflection with all the stored experience of history. And as history is not always easy to gather, it is at least a generous impulse to tell of what is to be found there a little more simply and compendiously than others have cared to tell it. Which done--and the doing of it has that peculiar quality of giving to the labor of the moment its sense of participation--it is time to look about one with one’s own eyes. What under such circumstances the private eye, turning from the past and peering into the future, thinks it sees there, might well be kept private for all the authority it can have and for all the interest it may have for another. Each will have his own vision of the horizon. But it has never been found that the truth is in the end better made out by each holding his own counsel as to what he timidly thinks he descries there. No, out of the confusion of many witnesses comes what little we have guessed or can hope to guess of truth, and no less of that truth which, because it deals with the tie that binds the least with the greatest of things, I venture to call religious. * * * * *