76 ON A CERTAIN CONDESCENSION IN FOREIGNERS. 



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, un- 

 less, 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 Car- 

 lyle's sneer had a show of truth in it. But what does 

 he himself, like a true Scot, admire in the Hohenzol- 

 lerns'! First of all, that they were canny, a thrifty, 

 forehanded race. Next, that they made a good fight 

 from generation to generation with the chaos around 

 them. That is precisely the battle which the English 

 race on this continent has been carrying doughtily on for 

 two centuries and a half. Doughtily and silently, for 

 you cannot hear in Europe " that crash, the death-song 

 of the perfect tree," that has heen going on here from 

 sturdy father to sturdy son, and making this continent 

 habitable for the weaker Old World breed that has 

 swarmed to it during the last half-century. If ever men 

 did a good stroke of work on this planet, it was the fore- 

 fathers of those whom you are wondering whether it 

 would not be prudent to acknowledge as far-off cousins. 

 Alas, man of genius, to whom we owe so much, could 

 you see nothing more than the burning of a foul chim- 

 ney in that clash of Michael and Satan which flamed up 

 under your very eyes 1 



Before our war we were to Europe but a huge mob of 

 adventurers and shop-keepers. Leigh Hunt expressed it 

 well enough when he said that he could never think of 

 America without seeing a gigantic counter stretched all 

 along the seaboard. Feudalism had by degrees made 



