n, the naturalism of Zola, the
cynicism of La Rochefoucauld are all convergent streams in the torrent
of reforming words which make the soul fertile.

No; the tame and vapid acquiescents are not to be found in literature.
Sometimes they furnish material for literature. Their principal use in
life is to kindle the souls of reformers with the resentment of which
great deeds are born.

NATIONALITY

I can remember no time in my life when I was not addicted to the study
of humanity. The marvels of faces, types, and characteristics were, I
feel sure, with me in my cradle. At the age of ten I had evolved a kind
of astrological chart of my own, according to which all human beings,
including uncles and aunts, grandmothers and children, could be placed
in twelve categories. There were the long-nosed, thin-lipped,
sandy-haired, over-principled people, who always knew right from wrong
and who grudged me an extra chocolate because it was not the hour to
have one. There were the snub-nosed, full-lipped, dark-eyed people,
whose manners were jolly and who positively encouraged illicit
consumption of fruit in the thin-lipped aunt's garden. There were the
shortsighted, solemn people with bulging foreheads and studious habits
who saw print and nothing else. They bored me and belonged to my
eleventh category. As far as I can see now, my categories were a florid
elaboration of the four temperaments of Hippocrates, though I have no
idea of the cause of my childish absorption in the subject. It was
certainly altogether spontaneous and not encouraged, for I have a vivid
recollection of how an eager and eloquent description of my categories
(profusely illustrated by mimicry) brought me a sharp reprimand and a
very nasty tonic. The tonic was taken under compulsion, but the cure is
still unaccomplished.

And now for many years I have sat at my chalet window and seen the world
go by. The path from the village below to the peaks and pastures above
runs past my nest. On it, in the summer months, there was a straggling
procession of tourists and climbers, peasants and townsfolk. They were
of all nationalities, and their loud voices proclaimed the immutability
of the curse of Babel. I used to be annoyed at the close proximity of
the path, until, one day, I discovered its marvellous opportunities for
anthropological research. Then I settled down, content to limit my
wooing of the solitude to the early morning and the late evening, or the
t