The Old Dominion
When a distinguished French abbe was making a visit to this country in the early days of our national history, he happened to be dining with some Washington celebrities, of whom John Randolph, of Roanoke, was one, and the place of whose residence was not known to the foreigner. The question was put to the abbe:
“And how were you pleased with the South?”
“Exceedingly; but I confess to having been a little disappointed—I had heard so much—in the Virginia gentlemen.”
“Perhaps you were unfortunate in your circle,” broke in Randolph, with a sneer. “You did not come to Roanoke, for instance.”
“True,” said the abbe, covering his evident annoyance at the rude tone with his usual calm smile. “True; the next time I visit Virginia I shall certainly go to Roanoke.”
“Gentlemen,” answered Randolph, emphasizing the word, “do not come to Roanoke unless they are invited!”
It was a cruel thrust, but the abbe took it in the same placid manner; and lifting his gray head, paused for a moment to give due emphasis to his words, and then replied, looking inquiringly at the other guests:
“Said I not, messieurs, that I was disappointed in Virginia gentlemen?”