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thing is quite distinct from another； that there is no logical
connection between flying and laying eggs。 It is the man who
talks about 〃a law〃 that he has never seen who is the mystic。
Nay； the ordinary scientific man is strictly a sentimentalist。
He is a sentimentalist in this essential sense； that he is soaked
and swept away by mere associations。 He has so often seen birds
fly and lay eggs that he feels as if there must be some dreamy；
tender connection between the two ideas； whereas there is none。
A forlorn lover might be unable to dissociate the moon from lost love；
so the materialist is unable to dissociate the moon from the tide。
In both cases there is no connection； except that one has seen
them together。 A sentimentalist might shed tears at the smell
of apple…blossom； because； by a dark association of his own；
it reminded him of his boyhood。 So the materialist professor （though
he conceals his tears） is yet a sentimentalist； because； by a dark
association of his own； apple…blossoms remind him of apples。 But the
cool rationalist from fairyland does not see why； in the abstract；
the apple tree should not grow crimson tulips； it sometimes does in
his country。
This elementary wonder； however； is not a mere fancy derived
from the fairy tales； on the contrary； all the fire of the fairy
tales is derived from this。 Just as we all like love tales because
there is an instinct of sex； we all like astonishing tales because
they touch the nerve of the ancient instinct of astonishment。
This is proved by the fact that when we are very young children
we do not need fairy tales： we only need tales。 Mere life is
interesting enough。 A child of seven is excited by being told that
Tommy opened a door and saw a dragon。 But a child of three is excited
by being told that Tommy opened a door。 Boys like romantic tales；
but babies like realistic talesbecause they find them romantic。
In fact； a baby is about the only person； I should think； to whom
a modern realistic novel could be read without boring him。
This proves that even nursery tales only echo an almost pre…natal
leap of interest and amazement。 These tales say that apples were
golden only to refresh the forgotten moment when we found that they
were green。 They make rivers run with wine only to make us remember；
for one wild moment； that they run with water。 I have said that this
is wholly reasonable and even agnostic。 And； indeed； on this point
I am all for the higher agnosticism； its better name is Ignorance。
We have all read in scientific books； and； indeed； in all romances；
the story of the man who has forgotten his name。 This man walks
about the streets and can see and appreciate everything； only he
cannot remember who he is。 Well； every man is that man in the story。
Every man has forgotten who he is。 One may understand the cosmos；
but never the ego； the self is more distant than any star。
Thou shalt love the Lord thy God； but thou shalt not know thyself。
We are all under the same mental calamity； we have all forgotten
our names。 We have all forgotten what we really are。 All that we
call common sense and rationality and practicality and positivism
only means that for certain dead levels of our life we forget
that we have forgotten。 All that we call spirit and art and
ecstasy only means that for one awful instant we remember that
we forget。
But though （like the man without memory in the novel） we walk the
streets with a sort of half…witted admiration； still it is admiration。
It is admiration in English and not only admiration in Latin。
The wonder has a positive element of praise。 This is the next
milestone to be definitely marked on our road through fairyland。
I shall speak in the next chapter about optimists and pessimists
in their intellectual aspect； so far as they have one。 Here I am only
trying to describe the enormous emotions which cannot be described。
And the strongest emotion was that life was as precious as it
was puzzling。 It was an ecstasy because it was an adventure；
it was an adventure because it was an opportunity。 The goodness
of the fairy tale was not affected by the fact that there might be
more dragons than princesses； it was good to be in a fairy tale。
The test of all happiness is gratitude； and I felt grateful；
though I hardly knew to whom。 Children are grateful when Santa
Claus puts in their stockings gifts of toys or sweets。 Could I
not be grateful to Santa Claus when he put in my stockings the gift
of two miraculous legs？ We thank people for birthday presents
of cigars and slippers。 Can I thank no one for the birthday present
of birth？
There were； then； these two first feelings； indefensible and
indisputable。 The world was a shock； but it was not merely shocking；
existence was a surprise； but it was a pleasant surprise。 In fact；
all my first views were exactly uttered in a riddle that stuck
in my brain from boyhood。 The question was； 〃What did the first
frog say？〃 And the answer was； 〃Lord； how you made me jump！〃
That says succinctly all that I am saying。 God made the frog jump；
but the frog prefers jumping。 But when these things are settled
there enters the second great principle of the fairy philosophy。
Any one can see it who will simply read 〃Grimm's Fairy Tales〃
or the fine collections of Mr。 Andrew Lang。 For the pleasure
of pedantry I will call it the Doctrine of Conditional Joy。
Touchstone talked of much virtue in an 〃if〃； according to elfin ethics
all virtue is in an 〃if。〃 The note of the fairy utterance always is；
〃You may live in a palace of gold and sapphire； if you do not say
the word ‘cow'〃； or 〃You may live happily with the King's daughter；
if you do not show her an onion。〃 The vision always hangs upon a veto。
All the dizzy and colossal things conceded depend upon one small
thing withheld。 All the wild and whirling things that are let
loose depend upon one thing that is forbidden。 Mr。 W。B。Yeats；
in his exquisite and piercing elfin poetry； describes the elves
as lawless； they plunge in innocent anarchy on the unbridled horses
of the air
〃Ride on the crest of the dishevelled tide； And dance
upon the mountains like a flame。〃
It is a dreadful thing to say that Mr。 W。B。Yeats does not
understand fairyland。 But I do say it。 He is an ironical Irishman；
full of intellectual reactions。 He is not stupid enough to
understand fairyland。 Fairies prefer people of the yokel type
like myself； people who gape and grin and do