in England is too pessimistic. I must say, in
extenuation, that of
optimists I am the most optimistic. But I measure
manhood less by
political aggregations than by individuals. Society
grows, while
political machines rack to pieces and become "scrap."
For the English,
so far as manhood and womanhood and health and happiness
go, I see a
broad and smiling future. But for a great deal of the
political
machinery, which at present mismanages for them, I see
nothing else than
the scrap heap.
JACK LONDON.
PIEDMONT, CALIFORNIA.
"But you can't do it, you know," friends said, to whom I
applied for
assistance in the matter of sinking myself down into the
East End of
London. "You had better see the police for a guide,"
they added, on
second thought, painfully endeavouring to adjust
themselves to the
psychological processes of a madman who had come to them
with better
credentials than brains.
"But I don't want to see the police," I protested.
"What I wish to do is
to go down into the East End and see things for myself.
I wish to know
how those people are living there, and why they are
living there, and
what they are living for. In short, I am going to live
there myself."
