doubtful scientific system, and your painstaking classification of
nonexistent things, and your diligence and zeal and sincerity, and your
disloyal attitude towards anecdotes, and your undue reverence for unsafe
statistics and far facts that lack a pedigree; and you turn around and
come back at me with eight pages of weather.

I do not see how a person can act so. It is good of you to repeat, with
change of language, in the bulk of your rejoinder, so much of my own
article, and adopt my sentiments, and make them over, and put new buttons
on; and I like the compliment, and am frank to say so; but agreeing with
a person cripples controversy and ought not to be allowed. It is
weather; and of almost the worst sort. It pleases me greatly to hear you
discourse with such approval and expansiveness upon my text:

"A foreigner can photograph the exteriors of a nation, but I think that
is as far as he can get. I think that no foreigner can report its
interior;"--[And you say: "A man of average intelligence, who has passed
six months among a people, cannot express opinions that are worth jotting
down, but he can form impressions that are worth repeating. For my part,
I think that foreigners' impressions are more interesting than native
opinions. After all, such impressions merely mean 'how the country
struck the foreigner.'"]--which is a quite clear way of saying that a
foreigner's report is only valuable when it restricts itself to
impressions. It pleases me to have you follow my lead in that glowing
way, but it leaves me nothing to combat. You should give me something to
deny and refute; I would do as much for you.

It pleases me to have you playfully warn the public against taking one of
your books seriously.--[When I published Jonathan and his Continent, I
wrote in a preface addressed to Jonathan: "If ever you should insist in