SIDEWALKS 39

on the seashore or the stars in the Milky Way,
Into those open spaces the whole population of
the city Łeems to have discharged itself, after the
manner of an inundation.

At Coney Island the beach is carpeted far to
your right and far to your left with a broad belt
of human forms, sunbathers mostly, and the
waters black—no, pinkish—with another belt of
water-bathers equally broad and so compact
that the sea appears to be held back from the
shore by a breakwater of humanity. What a
sight for a cannibal to feast his eyes on! What a
harvest for death! What an opportunity for a
lover of humanity to become intoxicated with love,
or for a hater with hate, or for one who is both
lover and hater (as so many of us are) to be torn
asunder by the conflict of the two emotions and
put to his wits' end in the effort to reconcile them.
What a challenge to the philosopher to justify his
principle of treating every man as an end in him-
self, to the democrat to show cause why everyone
should have a vote, to the shepherd of souls to
make himself responsible for a flock so enormous,
and to the plain man to answer the question
" what difference would it make to the universe
or to ' society * if I had never existed or ceased
to exist this very instant ? " May it not be that
humanity itself is suffering from over-production ?

I lately spent a Sunday afternoon in Prospect
Park; or to speak more accurately, I spent it
in the crowd that was gathered there. I was