We drank to the two teams, good winners and plucky losers both, and then to the flags.
"I have nothing against the other bits of bunting," declared Tom, generously; "but what is the use of having more than two? Let us arrange it now. The Union Jack shall fly over the eastern, and the Stars and Stripes over the western hemisphere. The Frenchman, German, and Russian shall take what is left."
"That leaves them the sea," I interposed.
"The sea!" cried Tom; "why, that is ours already beyond dispute."
It was just at midnight that we drank our last toast with all the honors. It was the "Anglo-Saxon Race." May its two great nations never meet in sterner conflict than that fought out in friendliness, on green field and brown cinder-path, under a smiling sky!
It was late in the winter of 186- that I arrived in Boston, having bade farewell to Old England for good and all.