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Walpole, Hugh, Sir, 1884-1941

"The Secret City"

I felt the negation,
the sudden slipping into insignificant unimportance of the whole of the
Western world--and, at the same time, the dismissal of the East. "No
longer my masters" a voice seemed to cry from the very heart of that
multitude. "No longer will we halt at your command, no longer will your
words be wisdom to us, no longer shall we smile with pleasure at your
stories, and cringe with fear at your displeasure; you may hate our
defection, you may lament our disloyalty, you may bribe us and smile
upon us, you may preach to us and bewail our sins. We are no longer
yours--WE ARE OUR OWN--Salute a new world, for it is nothing less that
you see before you!..."
And yet never were there forces more unconscious of their
destiny--utterly unselfconscious as animals, babies, the flowers of the
field. Still there to be driven, perhaps to be persuaded, to be whipped,
to be cajoled, to be blinded, to be tricked and deceived, drugged and
deafened--but not for long! The end of that old world had come--the new
world was at hand--"Life begins to-morrow!"
The dignitaries came upon the platform, and, beyond them all, in
distinction, nobility, wisdom was our own Ambassador.


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