In point of consanguinity the people whom he has succeeded in uniting into a nation are not a long way removed from us; in times past they have frequently been our allies; they have, moreover, given us our reigning dynasty. Perhaps, upon the whole we get on better with them than with any other continental race. Many English families repair to Germany for educational purposes, are received at the smaller courts, visited by the high-nobly born _Herrschaft_ with whom they are brought into contact, and thus gain some idea of German ways. It has been said that a sailor is the best of good fellows anywhere except on board his own ship, when he is apt to become—well, not quite so good a fellow. The contrary rule would appear to apply to the German, who is a kindly, pleasant, person at home, but whose demeanor when abroad leaves something to be desired. We have all met him in Italy or Switzerland, and we are all aware that his manners, like Mr. Pumblechook’s, “is given to blusterous.” We have suffered from the loud, harsh voice with which Nature has afflicted him, as well as from his deep distrust of fresh air and his unceremonious method of making his way to the front at railway stations. But in their own country the Germans show to much greater advantage. They are well-disposed towards strangers; not a few of them have the sporting pro-civilities which are a passport to the British heart; they are easily pleased, and are, in the main, amiable, unassuming people. It is much to their credit that their sober heads were never turned by victories which would assuredly have sent a neighboring nation half crazy. Of course there are Germans and Germans, and the inhabitants of the State which holds the chief rank in the Empire have never been renowned for prepossessing manners or for an excess of modesty. Even they, however, have a good deal of the innocent unsuspiciousness which is one of the charms of the Teutonic character. Not long ago I chanced to be speaking to a Prussian gentleman about the ill-feeling which existed at that time between his country and Russia, and which seemed likely enough to culminate in an outbreak of hostilities. He assured me that the ill-feeling was entirely on the Russian side. “We have nothing against them,” he declared, “and we want nothing from them; but they are angry with us, and that is easily explained. They cannot get on without us; they are obliged to employ our people everywhere instead of their own, and they are furious because they have to acknowledge the superiority of the German intellect.” I remarked that the superiority of the German intellect was manifest; whereupon he shrugged his shoulders quickly, and snorted in the well-known Prussian fashion, as who should say, “Could any one be such a fool as to doubt it?” I went on to observe that in philosophy, science, and music Germany led mankind. He agreed with me, and added, “Also in the art of war.”