AFTER-DINNER SPEECH

[At A fourth of July gathering, in London, of Americans]

Mr. Chairman and ladies and gentlemen:  I thank you for the compliment which has just been tendered me, and to show my appreciation of it I will not afflict you with many words.  It is pleasant to celebrate in this peaceful way, upon this old mother soil, the anniversary of an experiment which was born of war with this same land so long ago, and wrought out to a successful issue by the devotion of our ancestors.  It has taken nearly a hundred years to bring the English and Americans into kindly and mutually appreciative relations, but I believe it has been accomplished at last.  It was a great step when the two last misunderstandings were settled by arbitration instead of cannon.  It is another great step when England adopts our sewing-machines without claiming the invention—­as usual.  It was another when they imported one of our sleeping-cars the other day.  And it warmed my heart more than I can tell, yesterday, when I witnessed the spectacle of an Englishman ordering an American sherry cobbler of his own free will and accord—­and not only that but with a great brain and a level head reminding the barkeeper not to forget the strawberries.  With a common origin, a common language, a common literature, a common religion and—­common drinks, what is longer needful to the cementing of the two nations together in a permanent bond of brotherhood?

This is an age of progress, and ours is a progressive land.  A great and glorious land, too—­a land which has developed a Washington, a Franklin, a William M. Tweed, a Longfellow, a Motley, a Jay Gould, a Samuel C. Pomeroy, a recent Congress which has never had its equal (in some respects), and a United States Army which conquered sixty Indians in eight months by tiring them out—­which is much better than uncivilized slaughter, God knows.  We have a criminal jury system which is superior to any in the world; and its efficiency is only marred by the difficulty of finding twelve men every day who don’t know anything and can’t read.  And I may observe that we have an insanity plea that would have saved Cain.  I think I can say,—­and say with pride, that we have some legislatures that bring higher prices than any in the world.

I refer with effusion to our railway system, which consents to let us live, though it might do the opposite, being our owners.  It only destroyed three thousand and seventy lives last year by collisions, and twenty-seven thousand two hundred and sixty by running over heedless and unnecessary people at crossings.  The companies seriously regretted the killing of these thirty thousand people, and went so far as to pay for some of them—­voluntarily, of course, for the meanest of us would not claim that we possess a court treacherous enough to enforce a