Filed by Fletcher Moody — Literary Correspondent There were forty-four speeches in that room on the Fourth of July, 1873, and a man killed every one of them with a single sentence, and I was there to watch it done. I was also, I should say at the front, carrying the forty-fourth. The occasion was the Independence Day dinner of the Americans in London, held that year with the full pomp the exiled patriot brings to the business of missing home. I...
