, as is their
habit when you mention any one who has passed away. You see my point?
I protest against this nasty slime of hypocrisy which is befouling
every part of our intellectual and national life. We love the sea,
we old sea-dogs, descendants (we proudly think) of the mighty
Norsemen--we love it from Brighton Beach. We love Sport, do we who
sneer at Frenchmen because they cannot play football--we love it from
the closely packed amphitheatres of the race-course and footer-field,
as spectators. We love War--with a penny flag and a yell in front of
the Mansion House. We love Children, for we leave them to dwell in
slums. And we love Music with all our hearts, because we were told
that we did, and the wise repeat that it elevates and refines the
soul.

X

I am disappointed with the meagre letter my friend sends me, "in
haste"! Disappointed and surprised withal, inasmuch as he finds time
to say, hastily enough, "Give me of your best; describe, _toujours_,
describe!" To which I can only reply, "Humph!" _Mon ami_, I do not
write for the sake of showing off my penmanship, nor my authorship.
When I have time, I lie down, on my stuffed-seaweed bed, and write my
thoughts leisurely and enjoyably. A letter is something which would
not be set down if the two persons concerned were within speaking
distance. The mere fact that I endeavour to give my jottings some rude
literary finish proves nothing to the contrary. When we are gathered
together round the fire or the tea-table, the same thing obtains. The
difference between conversation and tittle-tattle lies in the
participants of the former giving a finish to their contributions,
watching for points, keeping the main channel of conversation clear of
the lumber of extraneous witticism and personalities, gradually
leading the timid to think and, later, to express their thoughts,
using the learning which they have acquired in secret for the
_edification_ or building-up of us all.

I remember how, when young H---- visited our anchorage, he sat silent
and abashed while we thundered and declaimed about his bewildered
head. And then, when the conversation moved, naturally enough, from
education to religion, from religion to science, and from science to
evolution, I noticed how, so to speak, he pricked up his ears. He was
thinking then, trying to realize, however faintly, that inside him was
something different to anything inside us. His Catholic training, his
sequestered up-