thing, I suppose, could have ruined me more hopelessly
in his estimation than if I had betrayed unfamiliarity with table
etiquette,--if, for instance, I poured Rhine wine into the white
glasses, or sherry or Madeira into the blue.

As the hours of the night advanced, Dannevig's brilliancy rose to an
almost dangerous height, which, as it appeared to us, could end in
nothing short of an explosion. And the explosion came at last in the
shape of a speech which I shall quote as nearly as the long lapse of
years will permit.

After some mysterious pantomimic play directed toward a singularly
noiseless and soft-mannered butler, our host arose, assumed an
attitude as if he were about to address the universe, and spoke as
follows:

"Gentlemen! As our distinguished friend here (all Americans, as you
are aware, are born sovereigns and accordingly distinguished) is about
to leave us, the spirit moves me to give voice to the feeling which
animates us all at this peculiar juncture of events." (Here the butler
returned with two bottles, which Dannevig seized and held up for
general inspection.) "Bravo! here I hold in my hand a rare and potent
juice, the condensed essence of all that is rich and fair and sweet in
the history, character, and climate of _la belle France_, a juice for
which the mouths of princes have often watered in vain--in short a
bottle of Chateau Yquem. I have my reasons for plucking the fairest
bloom of my cellar on an occasion like this: for what I am about to
say is not entirely in the nature of a compliment, and the genial
influence of this royal wine will be needed to counteract the possible
effects of my speech. In other words, I want the goodness of my wine
to compensate for the rudeness of my intended remarks.

"America has never until now had the benefit of my opinion of her,
which may in part account for the crudeness of her present condition.
Now she has sent a competent emissary to us, who will return and
faithfully report my sentiments, and if he does his work well, you may
be prepared for revolutions beyond the Atlantic in decades to come. To
begin with the beginning: the American continent, extending as it does
from pole to pole, with a curious attenuation in the middle, always
looked to me in my boyhood as a huge double bag flung across the back
of the world; the symbolic sense of this form was not then entirely
clear to me; but now, I think, I divine its meaning. As the centuries
with their chan