slavery, and — are not ashamed! Truly, you men are not merely liars, you are also slaves! Are you not base by nature?
In London lives a man who once excited universal sympathy, and whose romantic fate, I must confess, also fascinated me for a time, and created a sort of enthusiasm in me. It is Gottfried Kinkel. He swore that he would wage endless war against the enemies of our fatherland, and traveled through this country to supply himself with the sinews of war. What has become of him? He has disappeared and is forgotten. His hatred of tyrants has quickly calmed down, his enthusiasm for war has subsided, behind the counters of a bank, where he deposited the money, collected for the revolution, "on interest," much to the satisfaction of the despots! Was there ever a man who claimed the confidence of his country people more obtrusively, and has ever any one betrayed it more basely than this Kinkel? No man could have acted thus who had the least conception of honor, and who had the least regard for the respect of respectable people. And yet, did not Mr. Kinkel become the ideal man, for this entire emigration? Did it not praise everything that he did, and approve everything that he omitted to do? Is it not always approving? Does it not always take part in his infamy? Where, then, I ask, are the men?
And is it not a terrible thought that this emigration represents the flower of the German people?
