Now, if it was you who had done your country this sarvice, you would
have spoke as mealy-mouthed of it as if butter wouldn't melt in it. "I
flatter myself," you would have said, "I had some little small share
in it." "I have lent my feeble aid." "I have contributed my poor
mite," and so on, and looked as meek and felt as proud as a Pharisee.
Now, that's not my way. I hold up the mirror, whether when folks see
themselves in it they see me there or not. The value of a glass is its
truth. And where colonists have suffered is from false reports,
ignorance, and misrepresentation. There is not a word said of them
that can be depended on. Missionary returns of all kinds are coloured
and doctored to suit English subscribing palates, and it's a pity they
should stand at the head of the list. British travellers distort
things the same way. They land at Halifax, where they see the first
contrast between Europe and America, and that contrast ain't
favourable, for the town is dingy lookin' and wants paint, and the
land round it is poor and stony. But that is enough, so they set down
and abuse the whole country, stock and fluke, and write as wise about
it as if they had seen it all instead of overlooking one mile from the
deck of a steamer. The military enjoy it beyond anything, and are far
more comfortable than in soldiering in England; but it don't do to say
so, for it counts for foreign service, and like the witnesses at the
court-marshall at Windsor, every feller sais, Non mi ricordo.
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