Either he will become a dilettante, which is the French way, or he will take to drink and mystical nihilism, a career very popular in Russian fiction.  Bad manners have indeed a distinct ethical value.  We all experience moods in which we politely assent to the thing that is not, because of the fatigue of fighting for the thing that is.  A temperament such as has been delineated is therefore, as human types go, an excellent type.  But it has its peculiar perils.  To ignore the point of view of those in whose country you eat, drink, sleep, and sight-see may breed only minor discords, and after all you will pay for your manners in your bill.  But to ignore the point of view of those whose country you govern may let loose a red torrent of tragedy.  Such a temper of mind may, at the first touch of resistance, transform your stolid, laudable, laughable Englishman into the beastliest of tyrants.  It may drive him into a delirium of cruelty and injustice.  It may sweep away, in one ruin of war, wealth, culture, and the whole fabric of civilisation.  It may darken counsel, and corrupt thought.  In fact, it may give you something very like the history of the English in Ireland.  Now it is not denied that most Englishmen believe the English mind to be incapable of such excesses.  This, they say, is the Russian in Warsaw, the Austrian in Budapest, the Belgian in the Congo, the blind fool-fury of the Seine.  But it is not the English way.  Nor is it suggested that this illusion is sheer and mere hypocrisy.  It is simply an hallucination of jingoism.  Take a trivial instance in point.  We have all read in the newspapers derisive accounts of disorderly scenes in the French Chamber or the Austrian Reichstag; we all know the complacent sigh with which England is wont on such occasions to thank God that she is not as one of those.  Does anybody think that this attitude will be at all modified by recent occurrences at Westminster?  By no means.  Lord Hugh Cecil, his gibbering and gesticulating quite forgotten, will be assuring the House next year that the Irish are so deficient in self-restraint as to be unfit for Home Rule.  Mr Smith will be deploring that intolerant temper which always impels a Nationalist to shout down, and not to argue down an opponent.  Mr Walter Long will be vindicating the cause of law and order in one sentence, and inciting “Ulster” to bloodshed in the next.  This is not hypocrisy, it is genius.  It is also, by the way, the genesis of the Irish Question.  If anyone is disposed to underrate the mad passions of which race hatred can slip the leash, let him recall the crucial examples which we have had in our own time.  We have in our own time seen Great Britain inflamed by two frenzies—­against France, and against the Boer Republics.  In the history of public opinion there are no two chapters more discreditable.  In the days of Fashoda the Frenchman was a degenerate tigre-singe, the sworn enemy of religion and soap.  He had contributed