“It is. They’re just beginning to understand that it is. The Englishman, the Frenchman, the Italian, they’re beginning to see that the democracy we talk so much about isn’t merely a question of the vote—that it isn’t primarily a question of the vote at all—it’s one of self-government in the widest and yet the most personal sense. The great summons is not to mankind in nations; it’s to mankind as individuals. It’s to Tom and Jimmy and Peter and Headlights and Daisy and every one who has a name. It’s the individual who makes the country, who forms the army, who becomes the redemptive element. In proportion as the individual cleanses himself from the national sin the national sin is wiped out. So it’s by Englishmen and Englishwomen that England will renew itself—” I think it was my old friend, the Irish hospital attendant, who called out, “What’s England’s national sin?” The question brought the speaker to a halt. He seemed to reflect. “What’s England’s national sin?” he repeated. “I should say—mind you, I’m not sitting in judgment on any one or any people—but we’ve all got to clean our stables, even if it takes the labors of Hercules to accomplish it—I should say England’s national vice—the vice that’s been eating the heart out of her body, and the spirit out of her heart—is sensuality.” “What’s the matter with France?” “I’m not an international physician with a specialty for diagnosis,” Christian laughed; “but in my opinion France has been corroded through and through with sordidness. She’s been too petty, too narrow, too mean, too selfish—” “Say, boss, tell us about my country.” “You mean, Italy, Tony? Haven’t you got to get rid of your superstition, and all the degrading things superstition brings with it? I want you to understand that we’re talking of national errors, not of national virtues.” “Have we got a national error in the United States?” “What do you think, Tapley? Isn’t it as plain as the nose on your face? Isn’t it written all over the country, on every page of every newspaper you pick up?” “What? What is it?” came from several voices at once. “Dishonesty!” he cried, loudly. “We Americans have got our good points, but of them honesty is the very smallest. If any one called us a nation of sharpers he wouldn’t be very far wrong. Our notion of competition is to get the better of the other fellow, by foul means if it can’t be done by fair. That’s the case in private life, and when it comes to public—well, did you ever hear of anything that we ever undertook as a people that didn’t have to be investigated before very long? You can hardly read a daily paper in which the investigation of some public trust isn’t going on. Dishonesty is stamped deep, deep into the American character as it is to-day; and for that very reason, if for no other, we’ve got to give everything back. If we don’t it will be taken from us by main force; and we’re not of the type to wait for that.”