Dear, splendid England, with its clouds and its rain and its exquisite (though rare!) spring days, its summers without mosquitoes, and its foggy autumns. Do you feel grand and proud, British people, and realize that you are made of the salt of the earth — and that you have a right to be even a little saucy?
Last autumn I happened to be dining with the Regent of Hungary on the night of the pound sterling's collapse. Every one was gloomy and prognosticating the end of all things with...
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