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EPILOGUE

FRIENDS, that is my book. Please read it in the spirit in which it is written, and bear with its faults. Especially forgive me if I have seemed at any place to have stepped aside from the simple telling of my story and to have preached at you. Friends, believe me, it is not at you that I have preached, but at myself, to convince myself, do you see, for I am still weak in love's service, and war and hatred still scream on every side.

All night I have been writing in a farmhouse in Cornwall. Dawn is approaching. The boles of the great trees outside darken to shapes against the withdrawing night, as though they clung to the departing darkness. The old white-washed wall takes to itself the whiteness of the oncoming light. The farm buildings begin to stand out. A pig grunts sleepily. A heifer begins to call angrily. A cow sniffs up the freshness. Between the noises of the awakening day the quietness of the departing night is quieter. Perceptibly the darkness withdraws. Leaves of trees, twigs on bushes, become visible. I can see the colour of a rose by the whitewashed wall. Quick little twitterings come and go and gather sound. The birds are waking. Here and there, too, quick little flutterings. A cock flaps his wings three times and crows with startling lustiness; a

distant cock answers. Three times each they utter their ludicrous loud salutation of the day, and the solemnity upon which their noise breaks becomes more potent and mysterious. Bats flicker in the twilight. A horse rattles his halter in a near stable. Expectation grows. And then at last, gently, rustling through the leaves of all the trees, it comes, the first breath of dawn. Day has begun, a new day. The sun has risen.

Ah, friends, that I might share the beauty with you! It overcomes me. I put my face in my arms and pray. This is my prayer :

"O Powers of Peace and Beauty, Love and Life, pour through me with your influence. Use the passion for service which lies in the heart of me and of every one of us. Help me to kill in myself selfsatisfaction, greed, sloth, indifference, fear, and the other satellites of hatred and destruction which will keep me from the kingdom of man on this earth, which is the kingdom of love. Make me worthy to be used in your service, and use me. I have been a feeble soldier of death; with your help I want to become a good soldier of life. I want to be a man. Kindle my intelligence that I may grow worthy of manhood on this wonderful earth. O Powers of Peace and Beauty, Love and Life, keep me free, keep me sensitive to your influence, keep me a lover.

THE END

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

HE following pages contain advertisements of a few

THE

of the Macmillan novels.

BY ST. JOHN G. ERVINE

Author of "Mrs. Martin's Man," "Alice and a Family," etc.

One of the most popular stories of recent times was St. John G. Ervine's "Mrs. Martin's Man." With its publication a short time ago, a new novelist of distinct power and originality was heralded. Since that book Mr. Ervine has issued "Alice and a Family," a tale strikingly different in idea and treatment and yet not a bit less masterly, and one or two volumes of plays, all of which have gone to establish him firmly in modern letters. His new book has been awaited with more than average interest. It is entitled "Changing Winds" and is as admirable a piece of work both in its character drawing and in theme as anything its author has yet done.

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York

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