assumed within him the dimensions of the whole. He would perhaps have called it “making up his mind.” He did not dream that this was an act of kindly reconciliation--the winning over of an un-needed minority in whose dissent lay, at the worst, a source of irritation. But mind holds the channels of our consciousness--controls the self’s publicity. And from this not inconsiderable power, it has built up a prestige for itself. It delays the announcement of any state until it has been approached; and then, it so gives out the news that its consent seems necessary, not for the mere announcement through its channels, but for the state itself. And so, the mind’s acknowledgment--often a hard-wrung effort to make it face a long accomplished fact--seems a protagonist where it is naught but a chorus, commissioned to explain and to chime in. The real decision, then, impelling Quincy homeward, was not an affair of words or of deliberation. It had been born in that deep land of him that is never heard save through its far remote ambassadors. It had been born of that will which does not argue, which makes its indomitable revelation and then subsides, while its deed runs subtly through innumerable channels to the outer lands. Here then, takes place the clash of denial and of argument. Within, there is the serenity of fate. But if Quincy’s recognition was to come only within the shadow of his goal, it was none the less acute for the delay. However wrong was his belief that, in this struggle of deliberation which held him now, lay the finality of what he was to do, by means of it he at least came to understand.