Late as we were, we were in time for dinner, which I took at a table d’hote that was well crowded with French.  I passed as an Englishman, as a matter of course, and had reason to be much amused with some of the conversation.  One young Frenchman very coolly affirmed that two members had lately fought with pistols in the hall of Congress, during the session, and his intelligence was received with many very proper exclamations of horror.  The young man referred to the rencontre which took place on the terrace of the Capitol, in which the party assailed was a member of Congress; but I have no doubt he believed all he said, for such is the desire to blacken the American name just now, that every unfavourable incident is seized upon and exaggerated, without shame or remorse.  I had a strong desire to tell this young man that the affair to which he alluded, did not differ essentially from that of M. Calemard de Lafayette[37], with the exception that no one was slain at Washington; but I thought it wiser to preserve my incognito.

[Footnote 37:  This unfortunate gentleman was no relation of the family of Lafayette, his proper appellation being that of M. Calemard. Fayette, so far as I can discover, is an old French word, or perhaps a provincial word, that signifies a sort of hedge, and has been frequently used as a territorial appellation, like de la Haie.]

The next day our French party was replaced by another, and the master of the house promoted me to the upper end of his table, as an old boarder.  Here I found myself, once more, in company with an Englishman, an Irishman, and a Scotchman.  The two former sat opposite to me, and the last at my side.  The civilities of the table passed between us, especially between the Scotchman and myself, with whom I fell into discourse.  After a little while, my neighbour, a sensible shrewd fellow enough, by the way of illustrating his opinion, and to get the better of me, cited some English practice, in connexion with “you in England.”  I told him I was no Englishman.  “No Englishman! you are not a Scotchman?” “Certainly not.”  “Still less an Irishman!” “No.”  My companion now looked at me as hard as a well-bred man might, and said earnestly, “Where did you learn to speak English so well?” “At home, as you did—­I am an American.”  “Umph!” and a silence of a minute; followed by abruptly putting the question of—­“What is the reason that your duels in America are so bloody?—­I allude particularly to some fought in the Mediterranean by your naval officers.  We get along, with less vindicative fighting.”  As this was rather a sharp and sudden shot, I thought it best to fire back, and I told him, “that as to the Mediterranean, our officers were of opinion they were ill-treated, till they began to shoot those who inflicted the injuries; since which time all had gone on more smoothly.  According to their experience, their own mode of fighting was much the most efficacious, in that instance at least.”