The Old World has nothing at all like him. He is at once
an emperor and a subordinate. In one hand he holds one five-millionth
part (be the same more or less) of the power that sways the destinies
of the Great Republic. His other hand is in your boot, which he is
about to polish. It is impossible to turn a fellow-citizen whose vote
may make his master--say, rather, employer--Governor or President, or
who may be one or both himself, into a flunky. That article must be
imported ready-made from other centres of civilization. When a
New-Englander has lost his self-respect as a citizen and as a man, he
is demoralized, and cannot be trusted with the money to pay for a
dinner.
It may be supposed, therefore, that this fractional emperor, this
continent-shaper, finds his position awkward when he goes into service,
and that his employer is apt to find it still more embarrassing. It is
always under protest that the hired man does his duty. Every act of
service is subject to the drawback, "I am as good as you are." This is
so common, at least, as almost to be the rule, and partly accounts for
the rapid disappearance of the indigenous "domestic" from the basements
above mentioned. Paleontologists will by-and-by be examining the floors
of our kitchens for tracks of the extinct native species of
serving-man.
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