48 ON A CERTAIN CONDESCENSION IN FOREIGNERS. 



respectable gentleman of middle age, at the corner of Church 

 Street. I have never felt quite satisfied that I did all my 

 duty by him in not knocking him down. But perhaps he 

 might have knocked me down, and then ? 



The capacity of indignation makes an essential part of the 

 outfit of every honest man, but I am inclined to doubt whether 

 he is a wise one who allows himself to act upon its first 

 hints. It should be rather, I suspect, a latent heat in the 

 blood, which makes itself felt in character, a steady reserve 

 for the brain, warming the ovum of thought to life, rather 

 than cooking it by a too hasty enthusiasm in reaching the 

 boiling-point. As my pulse gradually fell back to its normal 

 beat, I reflected that I had been uncomfortably near making 

 a fool of myself a handy salve of euphuism for our vanity, 

 though it does not always make a just allowance to Nature 

 for her share in the business. What possible claim had my 

 Teutonic friend to rob me of my composure ? I am not, I 

 think, specially thin-skinned as to other people s opinions of 

 myself, having, as I conceive, later and fuller intelligence on 

 that point than anybody else can give me. Life is continually 

 weighing us in very sensitive scales, and telling every one of 

 us precisely what his real weight is to the last grain of dust. 

 Whoever at fifty does not rate himself quite as low as most 

 of his acquaintance would be likely to put him, must be 

 either a fool or a great man, and I humbly disclaim being 

 either. But if I was not smarting in person from any scat 

 tering shot of my late companion s commination, why should 

 I grow hot at any implication of my country therein ? Surely 

 her shoulders are broad enough, if yours or mine are not, to 

 bear up under a considerable avalanche of this kind. It is 

 the bit of truth in every slander, the hint of likeness in every 

 caricature, that makes us smart. l Art thou there, old True 

 penny? How did your blade know its way so well to that 

 one loose rivet in our armour ? I wondered whether Ameri 

 cans were over sensitive in this respect, whether they were 

 more touchy than other folks. On the whole, I thought we 

 were not. Plutarch, who at least had studied philosophy, if 

 he had not mastered it, could not stomach something Hero 

 dotus had said of Bceotia, and devoted an essay to showing 

 up the delightful old traveller s malice and ill- breeding. 

 French editors leave out of Montaigne s Travels some 

 remarks of his about France, for reasons best known to 



