“’Charity beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.  Charity never faileth.’”

I understood the hermit though it seemed to me there was much that he left out.  Had he been a tramp instead of a hermit he would probably have thought as I do.  The world that he talked of was obviously one entirely of men and women, and he left out of account all that world which we call Nature.

It is well to receive men and shelter them and feed them, and well to understand their hearts, but when men are not near there is another beautiful world knocking at our doors and asking hospitality in our souls; it is the world of Nature.  Oh ye young of all ages, be hospitable unto Nature, open your doors to her, take her to your hearts!  She will rebuild your soul into a statelier mansion, making for herself a fitting habitation, she will make you all beautiful within.  Then, when you extend the hospitality of your hearts, your temples, to man, they will be spacious temples and rich hearts.  Nature comes first, for she heals hearts’ wounds; if you have not received her communion first you will not be so fit to receive man.  The consumptive-bodied already go to the country, and we are nearly all of us, in this era of towns, consumptive-souled.  We need whole hearts just as we need whole lungs.  But what am I saying?  I am bidding you bargain with Nature for a price, and that is wrong.  You must love her, not for anything she can give you.  What is more, you can never know what she will give you:  she may even take away.  When you see her you will love her as a bride.  Be receptive to her beauty, be always Eager Heart.  When any man receives her into himself there is born in his soul’s house the baby Christ, the most wonderful and transfiguring spirit that man has yet known upon a strange world.

II

THE STORY OF THE RICH MAN AND THE POOR MAN

On my way to Jerusalem I tramped through a rich residential region where wealthy Armenians, Turks, and Russians dwelt luxuriously in beautiful villas looking over the sea.  I had been sleeping out, for the road was high and dry and healthy, but at last, entering a malarial region, I began to seek shelter more from man than from Nature.

One cold and cloudy night I came into the village of Ugba and sought hospitality.  There were few houses and fewer lights, and some feeling of awkwardness, or perhaps simply a stray fancy, prompted me to do an unusual thing—­to beg hospitality at one of the luxurious villas.  I had nearly always gone to the poor man’s cottage rather than to the rich man’s mansion, but this night, the opportunity offering, I appealed to the rich.

I came to the house of a rich man, and as I saw him standing in the light of a front window I called out to him from a distance.  In the dusk he could not make out who I was, but judging by my voice he took me for an educated man, one of his own class.