ur--in short, a heavy and half-honest stupidity: ultimate
product of gross prosperity, too much exercise, too much sleep. Then I
notice a grim passion for the _status quo_. This is natural. Let these
people exclaim as they will against the structure of society, the last
thing they desire is to alter it. This passion shows itself in a naive
admiration for everything that has survived its original usefulness, such
as sail-drill and uniforms. Its mirror of true manhood remains that
excellent and appalling figure, the Brushwood Boy. The passion for the
_status quo_ also shows itself in a general defensive, sullen hatred of
all ideas whatever. You cannot argue with these people. "Do you really
think so?" they will politely murmur, when you have asserted your belief
that the earth is round, or something like that. And their tone says:
"Would you mind very much if we leave this painful subject? My feelings on
it are too deep for utterance." Lastly, I am impressed by their attitude
towards the artist, which is mediaeval, or perhaps Roman. Blind to nearly
every form of beauty, they scorn art, and scorning art they scorn artists.
It was this class which, at inaugurations of public edifices, invented the
terrible toast-formula, "The architect _and contractor_." And if epics
were inaugurated by banquet, this class would certainly propose the health
of the poet and printer, after the King and the publishers. Only sheer
ennui sometimes drives it to seek distraction in the artist's work. It
prefers the novelist among artists because the novel gives the longest
surcease from ennui at the least expenditure of money and effort.

* * * * *

It is inevitable that I shall be accused of exaggeration, cynicism, or
prejudice: probably all three. Whenever one tells the truth in this island
of compromise, one is sure to be charged on these counts, and to be found
guilty. But I too am of the sporting race, and forty years have taught me
that telling the truth is the most dangerous and most glorious of all
forms of sport. Alpine climbing in winter is nothing to it. I like it. I
will only add that I have been speaking of the solid _bloc_ of the caste;
I admit the existence of a broad fringe of exceptions. And I truly
sympathize with the _bloc_. I do not blame the _bloc_. I know that the
members of the _bloc_ are, like me, the result of evolutionary forces now
spent. My hostility to the _bloc_ is beyond my control, an e