"I am sorry that you should have encountered anything so
unpleasant," Lord Drummond said to him when he went to bid adieu to
his friend at the Foreign Office.
"And I am sorry too, my Lord;--for your sake rather than my own. A
man is in a bad case who cannot endure to hear of his faults."
"Perhaps you take our national sins a little too much for granted."
"I don't think so, my Lord. If you knew me to be wrong you would
not be so sore with me. Nevertheless I am under deep obligation for
kind-hearted hospitality. If an American can make up his mind to
crack up everything he sees here, there is no part of the world in
which he can get along better." He had already written a long
letter home to his friend Mr. Josiah Scroome, and had impartially
sent to that gentleman not only his own lecture, but also a large
collection of the criticisms made on it. A few weeks afterwards he
took his departure, and when we last heard of him was thundering in
the Senate against certain practices on the part of his own country
which he thought to be unjust to other nations. Don Quixote was not
more just than the Senator, or more philanthropic,--nor perhaps
more apt to wage war against the windmills.
Having in this our last chapter given the place of honour to the
Senator, we must now say a parting word as to those countrymen of
our own who have figured in our pages.
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