other words, he would have died of hunger rather than be cruel; but, naturally, the manifestations of strife hateful to him were those that happened to be far off from his needs and sympathies. Yet he ought to have seen in the national efforts of his time that strife, though easy to rebel against, is woefully difficult to improve, since even kindness of heart when shown in promiscuous charities may unseat from their thrones in the public mind many good racial qualities, doing as much harm as ever was done by mediæval brutality. “Let me think” should be everybody’s motto; nothing less than arduous thinking can save us from the cant and the sentimentalism which at the present time enfeebles England.[11] Let me give you an example. Yesterday I was talking to a friend about the mediæval battle-bridge. Putting before him Frank Brangwyn’s excellent sketch in water-colour of Parthenay Bridge, I said: “This fortified gateway belongs to the thirteenth century, and through its machicolations red-hot stones and boiling oil were poured down many times upon the head and shoulders of an attack. The gateway was built between 1202 and 1226, not without help from English money, for the Josselin-Larchêveques of Parthenay were allies of the Anjou Plantagenets, who gave us English kings; but a few years later our English troops were driven from Parthenay by Louis IX, called St. Louis. Can’t you imagine the assault? Would you care to rush that gateway in a thirteenth-century manner?” My friend, a Quaker, was scandalised. “Rush the gateway?” he cried. “Red-hot stones and boiling oil! What imbecile savagery! Thank goodness, we are not savages now; life has improved wonderfully. To-day most men of sense fear war, and those who don’t fear it scorn it for moral reasons.”