Manchurian Books

It seemed to St.
George that they looked not at all upon a prospect but upon the
sudden memory of a place about which he might have dreamed often and
often and, waking, had not been able to remember, though its
familiarity had continued insistently to beat at his heart; or that
in what was spread before him lay the satisfaction of Burne-Jones'
wistful definition of a picture: "... a beautiful, romantic dream of
something that never was, never will be, in a light better than any
light that ever shone, in a land no one can define or remember, only
desire..." yet it was to St. George as if he had reached no strange
land, no alien conditions; but rather that he had come home. It was
like a home-coming in which nothing is changed, none of the little
improvements has been made which we resent because no one has
thought to tell us of them; but where everything is even more as one
remembers than one knew that one remembered.
[Illustration]
At his feet lay a pleasant valley filled with the purple of deep
twilight.


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