inexorableness and constancy with which, in other cases, he obeys his prince—his official duties. Thus, as previously mentioned, he is able to do great things, which are in no wise consistent with the “weak character" which he attributes to himself. But usually he is afraid of depending solely on himself, of taking the initiative: this is why Germany wastes the energies of so many of her officials and spills so much ink. The German is a stranger to light-heartedness, he is too timid for it; but in entirely new positions, which rouse him from his drowsiness, he is almost frivolous; he then enjoys the novelty and rarity of the position like some intoxicating liquor, and he thoroughly understands this kind of thing, Hence the German of our days is almost frivolous in politics: though even in this department, he has the advantage of the prejudice of thoroughness and earnestness, and though he may fully avail himself thereof in the intercourse with other political powers, yet he secretly rejoices in being able for once to be enthusiastic and capricious and fond of innovations, and to change persons, parties, hopes, as if they were masks. The German men of letters who up to lately were considered the most German of Germans, have been and are perhaps still as good as the German soldiers, owing to their profound and almost chilllike tendency towards obedience in all external things and their being compelled frequently to hold their own in science and to answer for many things; should they know how to preserve their proud, simile and patient nature
