Englishman, confident that he is the last word of creation,
despises the Frenchman, who, in turn, laughs at the German, who
shows open contempt for the Italian, while the American, conscious
of his superiority to the whole family of nations, secretly pities
them all.

The most serious fault which the American--whose one god is Mammon
and chief characteristic hustle--has to find with his French
brother is that he enjoys life too much, is never in a hurry and,
what to the Yankee mind is hardly respectable, has a habit of
playing dominoes during business hours. The Frenchman retorts that
his American brother, clever person though he be, has one or two
things still to learn. He has, he declares, no philosophy of life.
It is true that he has learned the trick of making money, but in
the things which go to satisfy the soul he is still strangely
lacking. He thinks he is enjoying life, when really he is ignorant
of what life is. He admits it is not the American's fault, for he
has never been taught how to enjoy life. One must be educated to
that as everything else. All the American is taught is to be in a
perpetual hurry and to make money no matter how. In this mad daily
race for wealth, he bolts his food, not stopping to masticate it
properly, and consequently suffers all his life from dyspepsia. So
he rushes from the cradle to the grave, and what's the good, since
he must one day die like all the rest?

And what, asks the foreigner, has the American hustler
accomplished that his slower-going Continental brother has not
done as well? Are finer cities to be found in America than in
Europe, do Americans paint more beautiful pictures, or write more
learned or more entertaining books, has America made greater