popular applause, of ideas that are not
marketable; the abrupt rancour whenever the common folk must be
mentioned; the spite felt for England--"in England ... you see where the
rot starts"; the sly suspicion of other countries, and the consequent
jealousy and fear; here it all is, convulsive, uncertain, inflammable.
The prophet of Empire! But the prophecy was wrong. England, "where the
rot starts," bore most of the heat and burden of the day, and saved the
Empire for the money-mongers. And what of the British youngsters who did
that, who were not materialists in the least, but many of them the
idealists for whom no abuse once could be too vicious? The corruption of
the Somme! That faceless and nameless horror was the apotheosis of the
Imperialist.

XXXI. A Devon Estuary

SEPTEMBER 11, 1920. "This dreary expanse," the guide-book explains, "will
not attract the tourist." The guide was right. I was alone to that degree
beyond mere solitude when you feel you are not alone, but that the place
itself is observing you. Yet only five miles away long lines of
motor-cars were waiting to take tourists, at ruinous prices, to the
authentic and admitted beauty spots. There was not, as the polite
convention would put it, a soul about. It was certainly a dreary expanse,
but the sunlight there seemed strangely brilliant, I thought, and, what
was more curious, appeared to be alive. It was quivering. The transient
glittering of some seagulls remote in the blue was as if you could
glimpse, now and then, fleeting hints of what is immaculate in heaven.
Nothing of our business was in sight anywhere except the white stalk of a
lighthouse, and that, I knew, was miles away across the estuary whose
waters were then invisible, for it was not only low tide, but I was
descending to the saltings, having left the turf of the upper salt
marshes.

You felt that here in the saltings you were beyond human associations.
The very vegetation was unfamiliar. The thrift, sea lavender, rocket, sea
campion, and maritime spurge did not descend so low as this. They came no
nearer than where the highest tidal marks left lines of driftwood and
bleached shells, just below the break of the upper marshes. Here it was
another kingdom, neither sea nor land, but each alternately during the
spring tides. At first the sandy mud was reticulated with sun-cracks, not
being daily touched by the sea, and the crevasses gave a refuge for algae.
There was a smell, neithe