But I must not stand here and brag all night.  However, you won’t mind a body bragging a little about his country on the fourth of July.  It is a fair and legitimate time to fly the eagle.  I will say only one more word of brag—­and a hopeful one.  It is this.  We have a form of government which gives each man a fair chance and no favor.  With us no individual is born with a right to look down upon his neighbor and hold him in contempt.  Let such of us as are not dukes find our consolation in that.  And we may find hope for the future in the fact that as unhappy as is the condition of our political morality to-day, England has risen up out of a far fouler since the days when Charles I. ennobled courtesans and all political place was a matter of bargain and sale.  There is hope for us yet.

[At least the above is the speech which I was going to make, but our minister, General Schenck, presided, and after the blessing, got up and made a great long inconceivably dull harangue, and wound up by saying that inasmuch as speech-making did not seem to exhilarate the guests much, all further oratory would be dispensed with during the evening, and we could just sit and talk privately to our elbow-neighbors and have a good sociable time.  It is known that in consequence of that remark forty-four perfected speeches died in the womb.  The depression, the gloom, the solemnity that reigned over the banquet from that time forth will be a lasting memory with many that were there.  By that one thoughtless remark General Schenck lost forty-four of the best friends he had in England.  More than one said that night, “And this is the sort of person that is sent to represent us in a great sister empire!”]

LIONIZING MURDERERS

I had heard so much about the celebrated fortune-teller Madame-----, that
I went to see her yesterday.   She has a dark complexion naturally, and
this effect is heightened by artificial aids which cost her nothing. 
She wears curls—­very black ones, and I had an impression that she gave
their native attractiveness a lift with rancid butter.   She wears a
reddish check handkerchief, cast loosely around her neck, and it was
plain that her other one is slow getting back from the wash.   I presume
she takes snuff.   At any rate, something resembling it had lodged among
the hairs sprouting from her upper lip.   I know she likes garlic—­I knew
that as soon as she sighed.   She looked at me searchingly for nearly a
minute, with her black eyes, and then said: 

“It is enough.  Come!”

She started down a very dark and dismal corridor—­I stepping close after her.  Presently she stopped, and said that, as the way was so crooked and dark, perhaps she had better get a light.  But it seemed ungallant to allow a woman to put herself to so much trouble for me, and so I said: 

“It is not worth while, madam.  If you will heave another sigh, I think I can follow it.”