gives them charm and atmosphere." It would seem, then, that the war,
with its great emotions and its sustained heroism, imbued us with
national life at the expense of our national manners.

I wonder if this kind of criticism does not err by comparing the many
with the few, the general with the exceptional. I wonder if the
deficiencies of an imperfect civilization can be accounted for along
such obvious lines. The self-absorption of youth which Mrs. Comer
deprecates, the self-absorption of a crowd which offends Mr. Page,
are human, not American. The nature of youth and the nature of crowds
have not changed essentially since the Civil War, nor since the Punic
Wars. Granted that the tired and hungry citizens of New York,
jostling one another in their efforts to board a homeward train,
present an unlovely spectacle; but do they, as Mr. Page affirms,
reveal "such sheer and primal brutality as can be found nowhere else
in the world where men and women are together?" Crowds will jostle,
and have always jostled, since men first clustered in communities.
Read Theocritus. The hurrying Syracusans--third century
B.C.--"rushed like a herd of swine," and rent in twain Praxinoe's
muslin veil. Look at Hogarth. The whole fun of an eighteenth-century
English crowd consisted in snatching off some unfortunate's wig, or
toppling him over into the gutter. The truth is we sin against
civilization when we consent to flatten ourselves against our
neighbours. The experience of the world has shown conclusively that
a few inches more or less of breathing space make all the difference
between a self-respecting citizen and a savage.

As for youth,--ah, who shall be brave enough, who has ever been brave
enough, to defend the rising generation? Who has ever looked with
content upon the young, save only Plato, and he lived in an age of