to Paris. During the
conversation, the American did not care to own that he hailed from
America, but went as far as to confess that he came from Boston, which,
he thought, would no doubt atone for his being American in the eyes of
his English companion.

'And where are you going to put up in Paris?' inquired the Englishman.
'Well,' replied the Bostonian, 'I was thinking of staying at Meurice's;
but it's so full of d----d Americans! Where are you going to stop
yourself?' 'H'm,' said the Englishman; 'I was thinking of stopping at
Meurice's myself, but the place is so full of d----d English people!'

I object to the American who tells you that he spends the summer in
Europe because America does not possess a summer resort fit to visit,
and who regrets being unable to spend the winter in the South of France
because there is not in the United States a decent place where to spend
the winter months, who assures you that America does not possess a
single spot historically interesting. In my innocence I thought that an
American might be interested to visit the Independence Hall of
Philadelphia, Mount Vernon in Virginia, Lexington, Bunker's Hill,
Yorktown, Chattanooga, Gettysburg, and a few other places where his
ancestors made America what she is now.

I thought that the Hudson River compared favourably with the Thames and
the Seine, the Rocky Mountains with the Alps and the Pyrenees, the
Sierras with Switzerland, and that Europe had nothing to offer to be
mentioned in the same breath with the Indian summer of America, when the
country puts on her garb of red and gold.

When you meet that American in Europe, he asks you if you have met Lord
Fitz-Noodle, Lady Ginger, and the Marquis de la Roche-Trompette. When
you confess to him that you never had the pleasure of meeting those
European worthies, he throws at you a patronizing glance, a mixture of
pity and contempt, which seems to say: 'Good gracious! who on earth can
you be? In what awful set do you move?'

At fashionable places, on board steamers, he avoids his compatriots and
introduces himself into the aristocracy, always glad to patronize people
who have money. He makes no inquiry about the private character of those
titled people before he allows his wife and daughters to frequent them.
They are titled, and, in his eyes, that sanctifies everything. On board
a steamer he works hard with the purser and the chief steward in order
to be given a seat at the same table with