e hear so much of this praiseworthy but most unamiable
_Wunderkind_ amongst nations, that we generally forget the Germany we
know, the Germany still there for our affection and delight, the dear
country of quaint fancies, of music and of poetry. That Germany has
vanished, the wiseacres say, the dreamy unworldly German is no more
with us, it is sheer sentimental folly to believe in him and to waste
your time looking for him. But how if you know him everywhere, in the
music and poetry that he could not have given us if they had not
burned within him, and in the men and women who have accompanied you
as friends throughout life,--how if you still find him whenever you go
to Germany? Not, to be sure, in the shape of the wholly unpractical
fool who preceded the modern English myth; but, for instance, in some
of the mystical plays that hold his stage, in many of his toys and
pictures, and above all in the kindly, lovable, clever people it is
your pleasure to meet there. You may perhaps speak with all the more
conviction of this attractive Germany if you have never shut your eyes
and ears to the Germany that does not love us, and if you have often
been vexed and offended by the Anglophobia that undoubtedly exists.
This Germany makes more noise than the friendly element, and it is
called into existence by a variety of causes not all important or
political. It flourished long before the Transvaal War was seized as a
convenient stick to beat us with. In some measure the Anglicised
Germans who love us too well are responsible, for they do not always
love wisely. They deny their descent and their country, and that
justly offends their compatriots. I do not believe that the Englishman
breathes who would ever wish to call himself anything but English;
while it is quite rare for Germans in England, America, or France to
take any pride in their blood. The second generation constantly denies
it, changes its name, assures you it knows nothing of Germany. They
have not the spirit of a Touchstone, and in so far they do their
country a wrong.

In another more material sense, too, there are many Germanys, so that
when you write of one corner you may easily write of ways and food and
regulations that do not obtain in some other corner, and it is
obviously impossible to remind the reader in every case that the part
is not the whole. Wine is dear in the north, but it has sometimes
been so plentiful in the south that barrels to contain it ran sho