induce the world to do what, according to their theory, the world
always does. The truth is, of course, that there will be a social
revolution the moment the thing has ceased to be purely economic.
You can never have a revolution in order to establish a democracy.
You must have a democracy in order to have a revolution.

. . . . .

I get up from under the trees, for the wind and the slight
rain have ceased. The trees stand up like golden pillars
in a clear sunlight. The tossing of the trees and the blowing
of the wind have ceased simultaneously. So I suppose there
are still modern philosophers who will maintain that the trees
make the wind.


XIII

The Dickensian

He was a quiet man, dressed in dark clothes, with a large limp straw hat;
with something almost military in his moustache and whiskers,
but with a quite unmilitary stoop and very dreamy eyes.
He was gazing with a rather gloomy interest at the cluster,
one might almost say the tangle, of small shipping which grew thicker
as our little pleasure boat crawled up into Yarmouth Harbour.
A boat entering this harbour, as every one knows, does not
enter in front of the town like a foreigner, but creeps round
at the back like a traitor taking the town in the rear.
The passage of the river seems almost too narrow for traffic,