Some of these critics, no doubt, would carry the matter further. “We don’t think of the object,” they would say, “because the weak must go to the wall, cruelty being inherent in the struggle for existence.” Well! The sort of cruelties we have any chance of legislating against are certainly not necessary to the preservation of our existence; they are luxuries, excrescences, or that kind of short-cut which often takes one round the longer way. The struggle for sheer existence we cannot, of course, annul; it goes on, and always will. But in this age the human being is surely bound to say: “I am not only thankful that I am alive, but that all these other creatures are alive; I am not only thankful that I am without pain, but that none of these others are in pain either. I wish the world to be a decent place for them as well as for myself!”
And if these critics, returning to their mutton, say: “Quite so, sir, we desire that as much as you, perhaps more; we only tell you that you can’t make men feel like that by law!” the answer once more is: “Freely admitted! But if you do not concrete and record in laws such humane feelings as you secretly and truly have, if you do not keep the body of the social organism in time and tune with its soul, you are handicapping the growth of your humane feeling for want of signboards against temptation to profit at the expense of others; and you are passing by on the other side instead of going to the help of those you see being ill-treated.”
III
Passing
(From the Westminster Gazette, 1914.)
I was standing on the Bridge before dawn of the summer morning; heat-mist down on the water, and the bright face of Big Ben up there, disjoint, set as it were in sky—so dark it was.
I had been there some time, seeking what air there might be in the town, staring vaguely down the broadway of blackness between the misted lights of the river banks, thinking idle thoughts, dreaming perhaps a little, when suddenly I became conscious of something on the parapet. It seemed to be perching there, a thin, gray shape, without face or limbs; and, peering at it, I sidled along, till I found that I was getting no nearer! Startled, I said:
“What is that? Who is it?”
Only a faint sigh answered.
I called again: “Who are you?”