In England, Mr. Lowell has, under different circumstances, developed a new line of diplomatic representation. He has represented the character and culture of the American people. The average politician supposes himself to be the typical American; the fact that we are ashamed of him is the sufficient proof that he is thoroughly mistaken. In what do Americans broadly differ from most other, if not all other, peoples? Is it not in this, that we are the great reading nation of the world? Our culture goes down to the bottom and reaches out to the extremities of our life. We have no class distinctions, no titled magnates, no rights of birth-privilege; and in the school rooms of the land the rich and the poor meet together, and our great newspapers go into the hands of both rich and poor. We are not so distinctly a nation of commercial people as we are a nation of people under an unexampled influence of general culture. A Professor who was much more than a professor; a man of the world who was also a man of books; an alert and quick, practical man who was also a poet; a gentleman who was, first of all, manly; a diplomat who was at home in a school room, could lecture on any literary theme, could instruct the educated Englishman in the history of his own men of letters; an American who knew Shakspere, Milton, Bunyan, the English Bible, and every shred of English art and song and event by heart—such a man has Mr. Lowell been in England. He was at home there on those levels of life and heights of achievement which are common to us and Englishmen; and his leadership there in literature and learning conferred honor on us in the precisely most honorable things in our character as a people. We simply are not philistines—hard dogmatists of dollars and precedents—we are a thoughtful, informed, studious and brainy people who despise wealth which is not held for the service of truth, well-being and progress. No man could represent us so well as a poet, teacher, essayist and scholar like Mr. Lowell. He could represent us at the level of those ideals and achievements of which we are not ashamed. We despise nothing so heartily as illiterate wealth; no other people on earth equal us in contempt for the commerce which has only sordid aims and results. The American merchant builds schools, museums, churches, asylums, hospitals—if he does not we despise him.
The problem in selecting the best foreign representatives is to secure men who will represent our national character. Our diplomacy is unimportant. Such as we have to do can be carried on at Washington. We want ministers abroad who will be typical Americans, whose conspicuous position will display in them the best and truest results of our unique social and political system. If they are honored abroad, as Mr. Lowell has been in unusual ways and measure, the honor is given to us and glorifies us. There is always a fool to say that our minister is more English than American—simply because Englishmen respect him. It is a poor kind of criticism, and fortunately there is less and less of it in the press. We all stand better abroad, command more honest respect, are better understood in our best characteristics, because James Russell Lowell has represented us in London. May his successor succeed to the full measure of this representative office.
The most distinguished honor ever conferred upon an American has come to Mr. Lowell. The English press, representing the best public opinion of that nation, invites him to remain., in England “as the unofficial representative of American literature, learning, manners, and knowledge of the world.” Nothing like that can be found in the long history of diplomacy. “He has been,” says one great journal, “a sort of guest-friend of England,” and it then describes him as “the most eminent American of this generation,” and adds, “Englishmen of all ranks and stations recognize in Mr. Lowell a faithful and jealous guardian of the interests of his country, and a type of all that is best in its intellectual and moral character.” There is not a word in all these encomiums which is not a eulogy of the American people.
THE CHOLERA.
The disease called Asiatic Cholera is at home in India. It travels, at long intervals, into Europe. There have been eight: or nine of these visitations during the century. The disease travels with man and his belongings; and since intercourse between Asia and Europe has become more swift and abundant, there is a tendency to more frequent visits of the dreaded scourge. In fact, however, this tendency has been overcome by sanitary science. Until last year, cholera had not been in Europe for sixteen years. It arrived the last previous time in 1866 and tarried into the next year. During all the intervening years, there was cholera on the Ganges, and an increasing flow of humanity between the two continents; yet sixteen years elapsed between the visits. Last year cholera landed from ships at Toulon and Marseilles in southern France, and produced general alarm in Europe. It swept around all the European coasts of the Mediterranean, and in the especially filthy towns caused a large mortality. It has doubtless wintered in Europe, and its second year is usually the worst. It can begin early and use the long summer for its desolating work. This is the second summer. It is probable that cholera will be a large feature of the health and mortuary reports of the year. European travel will be restricted by the caution which the prevalence of this disease inspires. American resorts for Americans will be unusually popular.
Will cholera visit us? In previous European visits it has always looked in upon us, sometimes the first, sometimes the second year. In 1866, it did not come, but did come in 1867. But the visit of that year was less baneful than any other we have had. In 1884, we escaped; can we escape in 1885? No doubt exists that we can. It is only a question of effective quarantine. The faithful discharge of their duties by all health officers at ports would exclude the unwelcome guest. And, at our principal port, where the danger is greatest, there is good reason to believe that the fidelity, wisdom and vigilance are equal to the emergency. Cholera is more likely to penetrate to us by some little-used door; the front gate will be securely guarded. At the smaller doors, there ought to be no danger. But there is danger, and it is probably too much to hope that there will be adequate watchfulness. There is, even at New York, a long line of accidents to be reckoned with. It would not be surprising, however, if cholera got a foothold among us from the West Indies, landing in some southern port.
If it comes, what then? It should not be very successful in its work of death. It could be stamped out in any city with a well organized health force. In New York, a few cases would not be cause for any alarm—not half so much as if the cases were in some small and careless community. Still it is most probable that if it effects a landing it will travel over the country. We have had warning enough. It is a filth disease which can be cornered and killed by cleanliness, if the cleanliness foreruns it. If we wait to clean up filthy quarters in our towns until the disease arrives, it will then be too late to clean. We shall have a good measure of the sanitary condition of our cities, if the cholera visits them. It will do its terrible work in the unclean quarters of unclean towns. It will not stop there. Once established in a filthy quarter, cholera easily thrusts its arms into adjacent clean places. If the long and loud warning has been heeded, there will be little to fear from cholera. The cleanliness of our towns will discourage and expel the intruder.
What can individuals do? Keep cool and in good health. All epidemic diseases fix upon the infirm, the debilitated, and the fearful. The mortality from cholera is only about one death for four cases. In some epidemics of it, the rate is one in three cases; but among people who are well fed and in fair conditions of comfort, and have proper care, there are five chances of recovery to one of death. The high rate of mortality in some towns results from want of care and medicine. Popular rumor exaggerates the danger of death from cholera. It is a case of ogne ignotum pro magnifico—we know so little about it that we magnify the danger beyond all warrant of the actual facts. Some of our danger—perhaps most of it—will come from the enthusiasm of the reporters. Last January these enthusiasts discovered genuine Asiatic cholera in St. Louis. They were sure of it. The evidence was perfect, they said. Of course there never was, and never will be, a case of Asiatic cholera in St. Louis in January. But after summer begins, the “Lo here” will begin to alarm the timid. There are sure to be many false reports; the true one may be in the bundle. Let us hope it will not be—and keep cool.
We hope that inland quarantines will not be resorted to if the disease appears among us. They are useless as well as inhuman. They shut the intruder out of the gate, and he crawls under the fence. If cholera gets upon this continent, safety will be secured only by cleanliness of streets and houses. Clean people may die in clean streets, but it will be because there are unclean people in neighboring streets to receive and breed the disease. Nor should the well fly from the sick. The nurses and priests are safest in Italian cities. Those who fly, do so when it is too late, and carry the disease with them. And, after all, cholera may not visit us in 1885.