I have come down here to support the case of a poor man who is I think being trampled on by this do-nothing legislator.  But I am bound to say that the lord in his kind is very much better than the poor man in his.  Such a wretched, squalid, lying, cowardly creature I did not think that even England could produce.  And yet the man has a property in land on which he ought to be able to live in humble comfort.  I feel sure that I have leagued myself with a rascal, whereas I believe the lord, in spite of his ignorance and his idleness, to be honest.  But yet the man is being hardly used, and has had the spirit, or rather perhaps has been instigated by others, to rebel.  His crops have been eaten up by the lord’s pheasants, and the lord, exercising plenary power as though he were subject to no laws, will only pay what compensation he himself chooses to award.  The whole country here is in arms against the rebel, thinking it monstrous that a man living in a hovel should contest such a point with the owner of half-a-dozen palaces.  I have come forward to help the man for the sake of seeing how the matter will go; and I have to confess that though those under the lord have treated me as though I were a miscreant, the lord himself and his friends have been civil enough.

I say what I think wherever I go, and I do not find it taken in bad part.  In that respect we might learn something even from Englishmen.  When a Britisher over in the States says what he thinks about us, we are apt to be a little rough with him.  I have, indeed, known towns in which he couldn’t speak out with personal safety.  Here there is no danger of that kind.  I am getting together the materials for a lecture on British institutions in general, in which I shall certainly speak my mind plainly, and I think I shall venture to deliver it in London before I leave for New York in the course of next spring.  I will, however, write to you again before that time comes.

Believe me to be,
Dear Sir,
With much sincerity,
Yours truly,
Elias Gotobed. 
The Honble.  Josiah Scroome,
25, Q Street,
Minnesota Avenue,
Washington.

On the morning of the Senator’s departure from Dillsborough, Mr. Runciman met him standing under the covered way leading from the inn yard into the street.  He was waiting for the omnibus which was being driven about the town, and which was to call for him and take him down to the railway station.  Mr. Runciman had not as yet spoken to him since he had been at the inn, and had not even made himself personally known to his guest.  “So, Sir, you are going to leave us,” said the landlord, with a smile which was intended probably as a smile of triumph.

“Yes, sir,” said the Senator.  “It’s about time, I guess, that I should get back to London.”

“I dare say it is, Sir,” said the landlord.  “I dare say you’ve seen enough of Mr. Goarly by this time.”

“That’s as may be.  I don’t know whom I have the pleasure of speaking to.”