The Winslow mail., 1914-09-19
Copyright. 1914. by II. G. Wells.

Salvation from the bitter intensities Of
self, which had been conscious reli-
gious end for thousands of years, which
men had sought in modification, i'll the
wilderness, in meditation and by innu
merable strange paths, was coming at
last with the effect of naturalness into
the talk Of mon, into the books they
read. into their unconscious gestures
into their newspapers and daily pur
poses ana everyday acts. The broad
horizons, the magic possibilities, that
the spirit Of the seeker had revealed to
them were charming them out of those
ancient and instructive prescriptions
from which the very threat of hell and
torment had failed to drive them. And
this young man, homeless and without
provision even for the immediate
hours, in the presence of social disor
ganization. distress and perpleXity, in
a blazing wilderness of thoughtless
pleasures that blOtted out the stars
could think as he tells us he thought.
Il saw life plain" he wrote. 81 saw
the gigantic task before 'us, and the
very splend0r Of it's intricate and i'm
measurable difficulty filed me with
exultation. | saw that we have still
to discover government that we have
still to discover education, which is
the necessary reciprocal of government
and that all this-in which my own
little speck of life was so manifestlv
overwhelmed-this and its yesterday
in Greece and Rome and Egypt were
nothing, the mere first dust sWirls of
the beginning, the movements and dim
murmurings Of a sleeper who will pres
emily be awake"
And then the story tells, with an en-
gaging simplicity, of his descent from
this ecstatic vision of reality
Presently l found myself again and
| was beginning to feel cold and lit
tie hungry
He bethought himself Of the John
Burns relief offices which stood upon
the Thames embankment. He made
his way through the galleries Of the
booksellers and the National gallery,
which had been open continuously day
and night to all decently dressed peo-
pie now for more than twelve years,
and across the rose gardens of Trafal-
gar square. and so by the hotel colon
made to the embankmcnt. He had long
known of these admirable Offices,
which had swept the last beggaFs
and matchsellers ana all the casual
INDECENT from the London streets, ard
he believed that he would as a matter
Of course be able to procure ticket
for food and nights lodging and
some indication Of possible employ
ment
But he had not reckoned upon the
new labor troubles, and when he got
to the embankment he found the offices
hopelessly congested and besieged by
a large and rather unruly crowd. He
hOvered for a time on the outskirts OF
the waiting multitude, perpleNed and
dismayed, and then he became aware
Of movement, a purp0Siye trickliHg
away Of people, up through the arches
Of the great buildings that had arisen
when all the railway stations were re-
moved to the south side OF the river,
and 50 to the covered ways Of the
Strand And here in the open glare of
midnight he found unemployed men
logging. and not only begging, but
begging with astonishing assurance,
from the people who were emerging
from the small theaters and other such
places of entertainment which abound
ed in that thoroughfare.
This was an altogether uneXampled
thing There had been no begging
in London streets for a quarter of a
century. But that night the police were
evidently unwilling or unable to cope
with the destitute who were invading
those we'll kept quarters Of the town.
They had become Stonily lHind 20 any
thing but manifest disorder.
Barnet walked through the crowd un-
able to bring himself to ask; indeed,
his bearing must have been more
valiant than his circumstances, for
twice he says that he was begged
from Near the Trafalgar square gar
dens. girl with reddened checks and
blackened eyebrows. who was walking
alone, spoke to him with a peculiar
friendiness.
I'm starving" he said to her alb
ruptly
"Oh, poor dear" she said, and with
the tmpuIslve generosity Of her kiud