ment in the notions and opinions of the people I
conversed with; and as it was, I often did enjoy this in a
considerable degree.

We received, as I have mentioned, much personal kindness; but
this by no means interfered with the national feeling of, I
believe, unconquerable dislike, which evidently lives at the
bottom of every truly American heart against the English. This
shows itself in a thousand little ways, even in the midst of the
most kind and friendly intercourse, but often in a manner more
comic than offensive.

Sometimes it was thus.--"Well, now, I think your government must
just be fit to hang themselves for that last war they cooked up;
it has been the ruin of you I expect, for it has just been the
making of us."

Then.--"Well, I do begin to understand your broken English better
than I did; but no wonder I could not make it out very well at
first, as you come from London; for every body knows that London
slang is the most dreadful in the world. How queer it is now,
that all the people that live in London should put the _h_ where
it is not, and never will put it where it is."

I was egotistical enough to ask the lady who said this, if she
found that I did so.

"No; you do not," was the reply; but she added, with a complacent
smile, "it is easy enough to see the pains you take about it: I
expect you have heard how we Americans laugh at you all for it,
and so you are trying to learn our way of pronouncing."

One lady asked me very gravely, if we had left home in order to
get rid of the vermin with which the English of all ranks were
afflicted? "I have heard from unquestionable authority," she
added, "that it is quite impossible to walk through the streets
of London without having the head filled."

I laughed a little, but spoke not a word. She coloured highly,
and said, "There is nothing so easy as to laugh, but truth is
truth, laughed at or not."

I must preface the following anecdote by observing that in
America nearly the whole of the insect tribe are classed under
the general name of bug; the unfortunate cosmopolite known by
that name amongst us is almost the only one not included in this
term. A lady abruptly addressed me with, "Don't you hate
chintzes, Mrs. Trollope?"

"No indeed," I replied, "I think them very pretty."

"There now! if that is not being English! I reckon you call that
loving your country; well, thank God! we Americans have something
better to love our country for than