SIR,—How refreshing it is to read an understanding letter like
Mr. Cotton's : Englishmen of his type are always made to feet at home with us. To " the wretch," on the other hand, who not only does not burn at the thought of returning to his native land but openly disclaims the intention of ever doing so, the riposte can only be Whistler's "Thank you: thank you very much."
Except for his pose of delicious bamboozlement at the end of his article, Sir William Darling's diagnosis is excellent. He deftly conveys our mounting horror of strangulation. The arm once linked with ours is now about our neck, and when we gasp out a desire for being more on our own, a voice from above booms genially: " Nonsense!" If, Sir, Scotland must have a governess, let it be one' of her own.—I am,