We must think there is a deep root, in fact, for the late bitter expressions of prejudice, however unworthy the mode of exhibiting them, against the foreign element in our population. We want all this new blood, but we want it purified, assimilated, or it will take all form of comeliness from the growing nation. Our country is a willing foster mother, but her children need wise tutors to prevent them from playing, willingly or unwillingly, the viper's part.
There is a little poem in the Schnellpost, by Moritz Hartmann, called the "Three,"—which would be a forcible appeal, if any were needed, in behalf of all who are exiled from their native soil. We translate it into prose, and this will not spoil it, as its poetry lies in the situation.
"In a tavern of Hungary are sitting together Three who have taken refuge there from storm and darkness—in Hungary, where the wind of chance drives together the children of many a land.
"Their eyes glow with fires of various light; their locks are unlike in their flow; but their hearts—their wounded hearts—are urns filled with the tears of a common grief.
"One cries, 'Silent companions! Shall we have no toast to cheer our meeting? I offer you one which you cannot fail to pledge—Freedom and greatness to the Fatherland!
"'To the fatherland! But I am one that knows not where is his; I am a Gypsy; my fatherland lies in the realm of tradition—in the mournful tone of the violin swelled by grief and storm.
"'I pass musing over heath and moor, and think of my painful losses. Yet long since was I weaned from desire of a home, and think of Egypt but as the cymbal sounds.'
"The second says, 'This toast of fatherland I will not drink; mine own shame should I pledge. For the seed of Jacob flies like the dried leaf, and takes no root in the dust of slavery.'
"The lips of the third seem frozen at the edge of his goblet. He asks himself in silence, 'Shall I drink to the fatherland? Lives Poland yet, or is all life departed, and am I, like these, a motherless son?'"
To those and others who, if they still had homes, could not live there, without starving body and soul, may our land be a fatherland; and may they seek and learn to act as children in a father's house!