A cloud was on the mind of men, and wailing went the weather, Yea, a sick cloud upon the soul when we were boys together. Science announced nonentity and art admired decay; The world was old and ended: but you and I were gay. Round us in antic order their crippled vices came-- Lust that had lost its laughter, fear that had lost its shame. Like the white lock of Whistler, that lit our aimless gloom, Men showed their own white feather as proudly as a plume. Life was a flower that faded, and death a drone that stung; The world was very old indeed when you and I were young! They twisted even decent sins to shapes not to be named: Men were ashamed of honour; but we were not ashamed. Weak if we were and foolish, not thus we failed, not thus; When that black Baal blocked the heavens he had no hymns from us. Children we were--our forts of sand were even as weak as we, High as they went we piled them up to break that bitter sea. Fools as we were in motley, all jangled and absurd, When all church bells were silent, our cap and bells were heard. _'The Man who was Thursday.'_ AUGUST 9th In practice no one is mad enough to legislate or educate upon dogmas of physical inheritance; and even the language of the thing is rarely used except for special modern purposes--such as the endowment of research or the oppression of the poor. _'What's Wrong with the World.'_ AUGUST 10th _THE FALL OF THE FRENCH MONARCHY_ We, the modern English, cannot easily understand the French Revolution, because we cannot easily understand the idea of a bloody battle for pure common sense; we cannot understand common sense in arms and conquering. The French feeling--the feeling at the back of the Revolution--was that the more sensible a man was, the more you must look out for slaughter. _'Charles Dickens.'_ AUGUST 11th