A person who would offer to shake hands with Fate is certainly lacking
in a fine sense of propriety. His belief in equality makes him
indifferent to the note of distinction. "He dubs his dreary brethren
kings." Of course they are not kings, but that makes no difference. It
makes little difference whether anything corresponds to the name he
chooses to give to it. For there is

"A cynic devil in his blood
That bids him mock his hurrying soul."

This impression of a mingling of optimism, cynicism, and hurry is one
which is often made upon those who are suddenly plunged into American
society. In any company of Americans who are discussing public affairs
the stranger is struck by what seems the lack of logical connection
between the statements of facts and the judgments passed upon them. The
facts may be most distressing and yet nobody seems much distressed,
still less is any one depressed. The city government is in the hands of
grafters, the police force is corrupt, the prices of the necessaries of
life are extortionate, the laws on the statute book are not enforced,
and new laws are about to be enacted that are foolish in the extreme.
Vast numbers of undesirable aliens are coming into the country and
bringing with them ideas that are opposed to the fundamental principles
of the republic. All this is told with an air of illogical elation. The
conversation is interspersed with anecdotes of the exploits of
good-natured rascals. These are received with smiles or tolerant
laughter. Everyone seems to have perfect confidence that the country is
a grand and glorious place to live in, and that all will come out well
in the end.

Is this an evidence of a cynic humor in the blood, or is it a