hout any of those
other good things which we are accustomed to call the gifts of
fortune, you can never become aware of the infinite ingenuity of
man." There had been much said before, but just at this moment Mr.
Gore and the American left the room, and the Italian followed them
briskly. Mr. Glascock at once made a decided attempt to bolt; but the
minister was on the alert, and was too quick for him. And he was by
no means ashamed of what he was doing. He had got his guest by the
coat, and openly declared his intention of holding him. "Let me keep
you for a few minutes, sir," said he, "while I dilate on this point
in one direction. In the drawing-room female spells are too potent
for us male orators. In going among us, Mr. Glascock, you must not
look for luxury or refinement, for you will find them not. Nor must
you hope to encounter the highest order of erudition. The lofty
summits of acquired knowledge tower in your country with an altitude
we have not reached yet."

"It's very good of you to say so," said Mr. Glascock.

"No, sir. In our new country and in our new cities we still lack the
luxurious perfection of fastidious civilisation. But, sir, regard our
level. That is what I say to every unprejudiced Britisher that comes
among us; look at our level. And when you have looked at our level,
I think that you will confess that we live on the highest table-land
that the world has yet afforded to mankind. You follow my meaning,
Mr. Glascock?" Mr. Glascock was not sure that he did, but the
minister went on to make that meaning clear. "It is the multitude
that with us is educated. Go into their houses, sir, and see how they
thumb their books. Look at the domestic correspondence of our helps
and servants, and see how they write and spell. We haven't got the
mountains, sir, but our table-lands are the highest on which the
bright sun of our Almighty God has as yet shone with its illuminating
splendour in this improving world of ours! It is because we are a
young people, sir,--with nothing as yet near to us of the decrepitude
of age. The weakness of age, sir, is the penalty paid by the folly of
youth. We are not so wise, sir, but what we too shall suffer from its
effects as years roll over our heads." There was a great deal more,
but at last Mr. Glascock did escape into the drawing-room.

"My uncle has been saying a few words to you perhaps," said Carry
Spalding.

"Yes; he has," said Mr. Glascock.

"He usually does," sa