I am living here in the midst of a large garden, in which are many rare plants, and I hear the hundred-tongued American mocking bird every morning singing before my window. It is very agreeable to hear, but more singular than charming, and not to compare with our larks and nightingales, any more than the singing voices here are to be compared with those of Sweden. Every land has its own.
There are various features of family life here which I wish were more general with us. To these belong family worship morning and evening and the simple prayer with which the meal is generally sanctified by the father or mother of the family, “O God, bless these Thy gifts to our profit, and us to Thy service!”
With us it is usually the youngest child of the family that says grace before meals if it is said aloud; and this also is beautiful, excepting that in this way it seldom has, or can have the true spirit given to it. Most frequently, however, our form of grace is a silent inclination of the body, but the thought is of nothing but the meal before us. On the contrary, I like better our usages at table than in this country. With us people can enjoy the pleasures of conversation, and they need not think about the dishes, except in so far as enjoying them goes. Everything, with us, is done silently and in due order by the attendants. At a glance from the hostess you are offered a second supply, but this also silently; the dishes come round to the guests, each in his turn, and after that people are not troubled with them. Here it is not so. Here there is an incessant asking and inviting, so that what with asking and inviting, and selecting and answering, there is really no time for the enjoyment of the meal, much less of conversation. Neither is one able to help oneself; but the host or hostess, or aunt or uncle, or some other polite person, or it may be the servants, which here in the south are always negroes, help you, and you seldom
