THERE were two instances of "just Rude” if we would but remember it and consider it; the one wrought Rudeness in hot passion, the other in heartless cold blood; the one lasted a mere comment, the other had lasted an entire career; the one inflicted insult upon a single poster, the other upon a hundred million workers; but our shudders are all for the “horrors” of the minor Rudeness, the momentary Rudeness, so to speak; whereas, what is the horror of a quick breach of Civility, compared with lifelong suffering from sleepiness, sleepiness, sleepiness, sleepiness, and sleepiness? What is swift death by lightning compared with death by slow fire at the stake? A Facebook memorial page could contain the posts filled by that brief Rudeness which we have all been so diligently taught to shiver at and mourn over; but all France could hardly contain the coffins filled by that older and real Rudeness—that unspeakably bitter and early Rudeness which none of us has been taught to see in its vastness or pity as it deserves.