and editorials in the newspapers, there is some languid
discussion at dinner-tables and in society, but there is a sense of
unreality about it all, as though men were thinking: Nothing of grave
importance can happen in any case! We shall have something to say
farther on of political Germany; here it suffices to say that the
press of Germany betrays in its political writing that it is dealing
with shadows, not with realities. "They have been at a great feast of
language, and stolen the scraps," that's all.

The snarling Panther that was sent to Agadir, teeth and claws showing,
came back looking like an adventurous tomcat that wished only to hide
itself meekly in its accustomed haunts; and its unobtrusive bearing
seemed to say, the less said about the matter the better. What a storm
of obloquy would have burst upon such inept diplomacy in America, or
in England, or even in France. Not so here. Everybody was sore and
sorry, but the newspapers and the journalists could raise no protest
that counted. It is all explained by the fact that the people do not
govern, have nothing to do with the whip or the reins, nor have they
any constitutional way of changing coachmen, or of getting possession
of whip and reins; and hooting at the driver, and jeering at the
tangled whip-lash and awkwardly held reins, is poor-spirited business.
Only one political writer, Harden, does it with any effect, and his
pen is said to have upset the Caprivi government.

As one reads the newspapers day by day, and the weekly and monthly
journals, it becomes apparent that the German imagines he has done
something when he has had an idea; just as the Frenchman imagines he
has done something when he has made an epigram. We are less given
either to thinking or phrasing, and far less gifted in these
directions than either Germans or Frenchmen, and perhaps that is the
reason we have actually done so much more politically. We do things
for lack of something better to do, while our neighbors find real
pleasure in their dreams, and take great pride in their epigrams.

As all great writing, from that of Xenophon and Caesar till now, is
born of action or the love of it, or as a spiritual incitement to
action, so a people with little opportunity for political action, and
no centres of social life with a real sway or sovereignty, cannot
create or offer substance for the making of a powerful and independent
press.

There is no New York, no Paris, no London, no Vien