He writes of one fellow student to whom he had taken a liking.

"He is that rare thing," he says, "a Yankee Christian gentleman." He particularly dislikes one of his instructors, but, as he explains, he is "a native of Connecticut, and Connecticut, I suppose, is capable of producing any unholy human phenomenon." Speaking of a beautiful and well mannered Greek girl whom he had met, he says: "The little creature might be taken for a Southern girl, but never for a Yankee.

She has an easy manner and even an air of gentility about her that doesn't appear north of Mason and Dixon's Line.

Indeed, however much the Southern race (I say race intentionally: Yankeedom is the home of another race from us) however much the Southern race owes its strength to Anglo-Saxon blood, it owes its beauty and gracefulness to the Southern climate and culture.

Who says that we are not an improvement on the English?
An improvement in a happy combination of mental graces and Saxon force ?" This sort of thing is especially entertaining in the youthful Page, for it is precisely against this kind of complacency that, as a mature man, he directed his choicest ridicule.