g on his farm, _adscriptus glebae_, holds in his toil-worn hands
the destiny of his country. He knows that the excellent work done in
tranquil seclusion by men of letters and scholars will outlast the
braggart achievements of well-advertised millionaires and "prominent"
citizens. Fortunately, such virtues as these are the common inheritance
of all peoples.

They are not characteristic of this nation or of that. They belong,
like air and sunlight, to the whole civilised world. And it is not by
similarities, but by differences, that the traveller arrives at a clear
picture of a foreign land. Especially in America do the softer shades
and quieter subtleties escape the unaccustomed eye. The swift energies,
the untiring restlessness, the universal haste, obscure the amenities
of life more darkly there than elsewhere. The frank contempt of law and
blood, which receives a daily illustration, must needs take a firmer
hold of the observer than the peaceful tillage of the fields and the
silent acquisition of knowledge. America is unhappy in that she is still
making her history, not one episode of which a vigilant and lupine press
will suffer to go unrecorded. Graft and corruption stalk abroad,
public and unashamed. The concentration of vast wealth in a few pockets
results, on the one hand, in a lowering of the commercial code, on the
other, in a general diffusion of poverty, These are some of the traits
which mark America off from the other nations, and these traits none
with a sense of the picturesque can ever overlook.

Yet it is not these traits which make the deepest impression upon the
returning traveller. As he leaves the shores of America he forgets for
the moment her love of money and of boodle, he forgets her superb energy
and hunger for life, he forgets the exquisite taste shown by the most
delicately refined of her citizens. He remembers most vividly that he
is saying good-bye to the oldest land on earth. It is an irony of
experience that the inhabitants of the United States are wont to
describe themselves as a young people. They delight to excuse their
extravagances on the ground of youth. When they grow older (they tell
you) they will take another view of politics and of conduct. And the
truth is that old age long ago overtook them. America is not, never
was, young. She sprang, ready-made, from the head of a Pilgrim Father,
the oldest of God's creatures. Being an old man's daughter, she has
escaped the virtues and v