tes him. On the Red-blood she heaps her favours; she gives him a good
digestion, a clear complexion, and sound nerves. But to the Mollycoddle
she apportions dyspepsia and black bile. In the universe and in society
the Mollycoddle is "out of it" as inevitably as the Red-blood is "in
it." At school, he is a "smug" or a "swat," while the Red-blood is
captain of the Eleven. At college, he is an "intellectual," while the
Red-blood is in the "best set." In the world, he courts failure while
the Red-blood achieves success. The Red-blood sees nothing; but the
Mollycoddle sees through everything. The Red-blood joins societies; the
Mollycoddle is a non-joiner. Individualist of individualists, he can
only stand alone, while the Red-blood requires the support of a crowd.
The Mollycoddle engenders ideas, and the Red-blood exploits them. The
Mollycoddle discovers, and the Red-blood invents. The whole structure of
civilisation rests on foundations laid by Mollycoddles; but all the
building is done by Red-bloods. The Red-blood despises the Mollycoddle;
but, in the long run, he does what the Mollycoddle tells him. The
Mollycoddle also despises the Red-blood, but he cannot do without him.
Each thinks he is master of the other, and, in a sense, each is right.
In his lifetime the Mollycoddle may be the slave of the Red-blood; but
after his death, he is his master, though the Red-blood know it not.

Nations, like men, may be classified roughly as Red-blood and
Mollycoddle. To the latter class belong clearly the ancient Greeks, the
Italians, the French, and probably the Russians; to the former the
Romans, the Germans, and the English. But the Red-blood nation _par
excellence_ is the American; so that, in comparison with them, Europe as
a whole might almost be called Mollycoddle. This characteristic of
Americans is reflected in the predominant physical type,--the great jaw
and chin, the huge teeth, and predatory mouth; in their speech, where
beauty and distinction are sacrificed to force; in their need to live
and feel and act in masses. To be born a Mollycoddle in America is to be
born to a hard fate. You must either emigrate or succumb. This, at
least, hitherto has been the alternative practised. Whether a
Mollycoddle will ever be produced strong enough to breathe the American
atmosphere and live, is a crucial question for the future. It is the
question whether America will ever be civilised. For civilisation, you
will have perceived, depend