worse
than a cipher; outside of nationality there is neither art, nor
truth, nor life; there is nothing."--IVAN TURGENIEFF.

I have mentioned a piece of reckless extravagance; it was reckless in
view of my straightened circumstances. And the reason I mention this
apparent trifle is that it and its attendant circumstances influenced me
in my conduct after the abrupt termination of the _Daily Gazette_
engagement.

One of my fellow knights of the reporters' room introduced me in a
certain Fleet Street wine-bar to one of the characters of that classic
highway--a man named Clement Blaine, who edited and owned a weekly
publication called _The Mass_. I hasten to add that this journal had
nothing whatever to do with any kind of religious observance. Its title
referred to the people, or rather, to the section of the public which,
at that time, we still described by the quaintly misleading phrase, "the
working classes," as though work were a monopoly in the hands of the
manual labourer.

_The Mass_ was a journal which had quite a vogue at that time. This was
brought about, I suppose, by the wave of anti-nationalism which, in
1906, established the notorious administration which subsequently became
known as "The Destroyers." It was maintained largely, I fancy, by
Clement Blaine's genius for getting himself quoted in other journals of
every sort and standing.

The existence of _The Mass_, and the popularity which it earned by
outraging every civic and national decency, stands in my mind as a
striking example of the extraordinary laxity and slackness of moral
which had grown out of our boasted tolerance, broad-mindedness, and
cosmopolitanism. We had waxed drunken upon the parrot-like asseveration
of "rights," which our fathers had won for us, and we had no time to
spare for their compensating duties. This misguided apotheosis of what
we considered freedom and broad-mindedness, produced the most startling
and anomalous situations in our national life, including the almost
incredible fact that, while nominally at peace with the world, the State
was being bitterly warred against by cliques and parties among its own
subjects.

For instance, in any other State than our own, my new acquaintance,
Clement Blaine, would have been safely disposed in a convenient prison
cell, and his flamingly seditious journal would have been promptly and
effectually squashed. In England the man was free as the Prime Minister,
and a Department