62 ON A CERTAIN CONDESCENSION IN FOREIGNERS. 



use for it than to hold it fast. I am fain to confess that 

 I felt a sensible itching of the biceps, and that my fingers 

 closed with such a grip as he had just informed me was 

 one of the effects of our unhappy climate. But happen- 

 ing just then to be where I could avoid temptation by 

 dodging down a by-street, I hastily left him to finish his 

 diatribe to the lamp-post, which could stand it better 

 than I. That young man will never know how near 

 he came to being assaulted by a 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 1 



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 compo- 

 sure'? 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 pre- 

 cisely 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, 



