Self-praise is no recommendation, neither is a profession of patriotism; besides, the Germans have raised such a pother over theirs that silence would seem enjoined on all self-respecting men, for fear of even distantly resembling those blatant deluded souls. "The last resource of a scoundrel," Doctor Johnson called these professions of devotion to one's country; and Gilbert laughed them down with his—
"In spite of all temptations
To belong to other nations. . . ."
We are what we are in this respect, neither by choice nor yet by merit, but by necessity. Most of us could not betray our country even if we were born treacherous, the situation would be too strong for us; and it is only some unusual situation which can make praise for patriotic action due to a good man, or turn a weak man into a traitor. No doubt we were all pro-German to the extent of our failings; for nothing cumbers or hinders a country more than the shortcomings common to the majority of its people. Yet how easily intelligent men are lured away to indulge in this odious rhetoric! How sane the common soldier is in this; "Blighty"[1] is his name for the mother isle. No name could be more exactly deserved; for a country is always, by collective action, blighting the best hopes and virtues of its sons; and yet they feel for it the affection expressed in a pet name as for some impossible old landlady who has contributed to all the happiness they have known.
- ↑ "Blighty" is derived from the Arabic and hence Urdu (camp language) of the Mogul soldiery, Viláyat meaning a country, which has come in India to designate England or Europe, and the adjective Viláyati, English. But the British soldier in adopting the word for home or England accepted also half humorously the sense associated with its deformed pronunciation.
