d not remind him, as you might
have, that your ancestors fought for the King at Marston Moor, and that
your grandfather was once an intimate of Charles James Fox. But what
shall we say of Mr. Cluyme, and of a few others whose wealth alone
enabled them to be Directors of the Fair? Miss Isabel Cluyme was duly
presented, in proper form, to his Royal Highness. Her father owned a
"peerage," and had been abroad likewise. He made no such bull as the
Colonel. And while the celebrated conversation of which we have spoken
was in progress, Mr. Cluyme stood back and blushed for his countryman,
and smiled apologetically at the few gentlemen of the royal suite who
glanced his way.

His Royal Highness then proceeded to luncheon, which is described by a
most amiable Canadian correspondent who sent to his newspaper an account
of it that I cannot forbear to copy. You may believe what he says, or
not, just as you choose: "So interested was his Royal Highness in the
proceedings that he stayed in the ring three and a half hours witnessing
these trotting matches. He was invited to take lunch in a little wooden
shanty prepared for the Directors, to which he accordingly repaired, but
whether he got anything to eat or not, I cannot tell. After much trouble
he forced his way to the table, which he found surrounded by a lot of
ravenous animals. And upon some half dozen huge dishes were piled slices
of beef, mutton, and buffalo tongue; beside them were great jugs of lager
beer, rolls of bread, and plates of a sort of cabbage cut into thin
shreds, raw, and mixed with vinegar. There were neither salt spoons nor
mustard spoons, the knives the gentlemen were eating with serving in
their stead; and, by the aid of nature's forks, the slices of beef and
mutton were transferred to the plates of those who desired to eat. While
your correspondent stood looking at the spectacle, the Duke of Newcastle
came in, and he sat looking too. He was evidently trying to look
democratic, but could not manage it. By his side stood a man urging him
to try the lager beer, and cabbage also, I suppose. Henceforth, let the
New York Aldermen who gave to the Turkish Ambassador ham sandwiches and
bad sherry rest in peace."

Even that great man whose memory we love and revere, Charles Dickens, was
not overkind to us, and saw our faults rather than our virtues. We were a
nation of grasshoppers, and spat tobacco from early morning until late at
night. This some of us undoubtedly d