CONDESCENSION IN FOREIGNERS. 67 



very cockney could not complete his education without 

 taking a vacant stare at us in passing. But the sociologists 

 (I think they call themselves so) were the hardest to bear. 

 There was no escape. I have even known a professor of 

 this fearful science to come disguised in petticoats. We 

 were cross-examined as a chemist cross-examines a new 

 substance. Human ! yes, all the elements are present, 

 though abnormally combined. Civilised 3 Hm! that needs 

 a stricter assay. No entomologist could take a more 

 friendly interest in a strange bug. After a few such 

 experiences, I, for one, have felt as if I were merely one of 

 those horrid things preserved in spirits (and very bad 

 spirits, too) in a cabinet. I was not the fellow-being of 

 these explorers ; I was a curiosity ; I was a specimen. 

 Hath not an American organs, dimensions, senses, affections, 

 passions even as a European hath 1 If you prick us, do we 

 not bleed 1 If you tickle us, do we not laugh ? I will not 

 keep on with Shylock to his next question but one. 



Till after our Civil War it never seemed to enter the 

 head of any foreigner, especially of any Englishman, that 

 an American had what could be called a country, except as 

 a place to eat, sleep, and trade in. Then it seemed to 

 strike them suddenly. &quot; By Jove, you know, fellahs don t 

 fight like that for a shop-till ! &quot; Ko, I rather think not. 

 To Americans America is something more than a promise 

 and an expectation. It has a past and traditions of its 

 own. A descent from men who sacrificed everything and 

 came hither, not to better their fortunes, but to plant their 

 idea in virgin soil, should be a good pedigree. There was 

 never colony save this that went forth, not to seek gold, 

 but God. Is it not as well to have sprung from such as 

 these as from some burly beggar who came over with 

 Wilhelmus Conquestor, unless, indeed, a line grow better 

 as it runs farther away from stalwart ancestors 1 And for 

 history, it is dry enough, no doubt, in the books, but, for 

 all that, is of a kind that tells in the blood. I have 

 admitted that Carlyle s sneer had a show of truth in it. 

 But what does he himself, like a true Scot, admire in the 



