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235
The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft
·
George Gissing
53
Last
midsummer
I
received
a
circular
from
a
typewriting
person,
soliciting
my
custom;
some
one
who
had
somehow
got
hold
of
my
name,
and
fancied
me
to
be
still
in
purgatory.
This
person
wrote:
"If
you
should
be
in
need
of
any
extra
assistance
in
the
pressure
of
your
Christmas
work,
I
hope,"
etc.
How
otherwise
could
one
write
if
addressing
a
shopkeeper?
"The
pressure
of
your
Christmas
work"!
Nay,
I
am
too
sick
to
laugh.
XIX.
Some
one,
I
see,
is
lifting
up
his
sweet
voice
in
praise
of
Conscription.
It
is
only
at
long
intervals
that
one
reads
this
kind
of
thing
in
our
reviews
or
newspapers,
and
I
am
happy
in
believing
that
most
English
people
are
affected
by
it
even
as
I
am,
with
the
sickness
of
dread
and
of
disgust.
That
the
thing
is
impossible
in
England,
who
would
venture
to
say?
Every
one
who
can
think
at
all
sees
how
slight
are
our
safeguards
against
that
barbaric
force
in
man
which
the
privileged
races
have
so
slowly
and
painfully
brought
into
check.
Democracy
is
full
of
menace
to
all
the
finer
hopes
of
civilization,
and
the
revival,
in
not
unnatural
companionship
with
it,
of
monarchic
power
based
on
militarism,
makes
the
prospect
dubious
enough.
There
has
but
to
arise
some
Lord
of
Slaughter,
and
the
nations
will
be
tearing
at
each
other's
throats.
Let
England
be
imperilled,
and
Englishmen
will
fight;
in
such
extremity
there
is
no
choice.
But
what
a
dreary
change
must
come
upon
our
islanders
if,
without
instant
danger,
they
bend
beneath
the
curse
of
universal
soldiering!
I
like
to
think
that
they
will
guard
the
liberty
of
their
manhood
even
beyond
the
point
of
prudence.
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