I cannot close this last chapter, without saying something of the natives’ procession, which took place in New-York, 15th of november, 1844. Such a procession is the shame of this country! Were it not sufficient wisdom among the citizens of this Union, the natives’ erroneous ideas they have of strangers, living in America, would ruin this country. Were it but two, or three years I am living in this country, on the next day, after that procession, I would have shipped myself, and my rags for a country, where the sacred word of Hospitality has not yet been profaned! Had I voted in this country, I would feel ashamed of myself now; and I am happy not to have done it. And he who has such a kind feeling as I have for America will be more offended, than he, who might come here with the intention of making money. The true republican will, hereafter, hesitate to place his foot on these shores, where the word Republic might be but a name. Go to my poor country, you americans; and, although we have monarchical governments, you will be welcomed; and were you expressing the wish of becoming a citizen, we would be happy to number you as our brothers--were we republicans as you are, your hands, and hearts, would be still a greater blessing to us. We would not fear for any thing you would say, or write: if you are wrong, we would demonstrate you are wrong; if you are right, we would thank you for your instruction. How many strangers have you, holding your offices? The few you have employed, it was because you could not fulfill those offices yourselves, the object of those offices being grounded on the knowledge of modern languages; and the foreign, american consuls, who personate you in their own countries, they serve you, without receiving any fee from you. When did strangers rule you? And, where is the act done by strangers against the welfare of this country?--It is not the strangers whom you fear: I am rather inclined to believe, it is the liberal education, now going around the world, which you fear; and the truth, coming from the mouth of strangers, must offend you. The poor, virtuous strangers, who, with their rags, bring here to you their pure suffering mind, and labor, is the very wealth of this country. They should be more welcomed by you, than princes, whose glittering gold cannot conceal their false pride, and vices, injuring this very republic. The princes, whom you welcome in preference to virtuous men of letters, would like to see the ruin of America, in order to keep themselves upon those thrones, now shaking at the voice of Republic. The poor people, bring here, to you, their mind, purified in the furnace of vicissitude, and suffering: their labor cleared and clear your deserted forests; they made and make your railroads, and built and build new cities, and forts, which frighten all the despots of this selfish earth. When your fathers left the despotism of their old country, they were no more natives of