Out of one hundred american ladies, who learned modern languages from me, I cannot reckon five gentlemen. I have no doubt that in America there must be good professors of greek, and latin, as well as among any other nation in the world; but, a dead language will always be a dead language, even from the mouth of the best professor; and a Buscheron, the deceased professor of the latin language in Turin, Italy, was one of those rare birds which does not appear on this earth, but during one thousand years, if it does: and when it does, such a bird, I mean such a professor, might be unable to impart his latin to others. But, no person is perfect here, below the moon, and the want of literature in the american gentlemen is counterbalanced by many virtues, for which I have as much sympathy towards them, as I have towards my countrymen. The mercantile business in which they are thrown, gives them such an extensive knowledge of the world, which does supply, in great measure, their deficiency of languages, or of books. They know what is passing in Europe, Africa, Asia, New Holland, and South America. They are patient, industrious, brave, and active. I have seen american gentlemen going to bed wealthy, and on the next morning, when they found themselves reduced to beggary, sustaining their misfortune with manly fortitude, noble composure, and getting anew into business with such cheerfulness, as if nothing had happened to them. Such an eulogy is the greatest which can be given to any civilized nation. As it is the truth, I feel happy to say so. From a nation who does possess such virtues, we must expect great things: and the republic of America has my best wishes. Had a foreigner said of America, what Mr. Headley said of Italy, and the Italians, I do not know with what words many americans would have called such a foreigner. And, although that which Mr. Dickens said of America in his Notes, is nothing to compare to what Mr. Headley said of Italy. Mr. Headley himself introducing an english lady in his fifteenth letter, he wrote: “She tells me that Dickens is getting out a work reflecting on us in a manner that will throw his Notes on America, entirely in the shade. She says she supposed our rapturous reception of him, was occasioned by the fear we had of his pen. Shade of Hector defend us! this is too much. However, we deserve it, or rather those of my countrymen deserve it, who out-did Lilliput, in their admiration of the modern Gulliver; for I plead not guilty to the charge of fool in that sublimest of all follies ever perpetrated by an intelligent people. I will cry ‘bravo’ to every pasquinade Dickens lets off on that demented class, which cried out every time they saw that buffalo-skin over-coat appear: ‘The Gods have come down to us.’”