I leave the table each day expecting half the people will die of apoplexy before to-morrow, but to-morrow they all come forth with placid faces and fresh appetites! Is this the result of their leisurely eating? or their serene, social, and enjoying tempers? or their lives, exempt from the keen competitions and eager pursuits of ours? or their living out of doors? or all of these together? I leave you to solve a problem that puzzles me.
A German, of whatever condition, bows to his neighbours when he sits down and when he rises from table, and addresses some passing civility to them. We are sometimes amused at the questions that are asked us, such as, "Whether English is spoken in America?" A gentleman asked me "Whether we came from New-York or New-Orleans?" as if they were our only cities; and another said, in good faith, "Of course there is no society except in New-York!" Oh, genii locorum of our little inland villages, forgive them!
We are too often reminded how far our country is from this. Yesterday a Russian gentleman said to K., "Qui est le souverain de votre pays, mademoiselle?" "Monsieur Van Buren est le President des Etats Unis." "Ah, oui. Mais J'ai entendu le nom de Jackson. Il est du bas peuple n'est ce pas?"
"Comment s'appellent les chefs des petits arrondissements?"[1] It might be salutary to such of our
- ↑ "Who is the sovereign of your country, miss?" "Mr. Van Buren is the President of the United States." "Ah, yes. But I have heard the name of Jackson. He sprang from the lower class,did he not?" "Pray what is the title of the chiefs of the lesser departments?"
