At first, I had but a single fellow-traveller.
Venturing to ask him the names of one or two objects that we passed, and
fearing he might think my curiosity impertinent, I apologized for it, by
mentioning that I was a foreigner. "A foreigner!" he exclaimed; "why,
you speak English as well as I do myself!" I confess I had thought,
until that moment, that the advantage, in this particular, was
altogether on my side; but it seems I was mistaken. By way of relieving
his mind, however, I told him I was an American. "An American!" and he
seemed more puzzled than ever. After a few minutes of meditation on what
he had just heard, he civilly pointed to a bit of meadow through which
the Thames meanders, and good-naturedly told me it was Runnymeade. I
presume my manner denoted a proper interest, for he now took up the
subject of the English Barons, and entered into a long account of their
modern magnificence and wealth. This is a topic that a large class in
England, who only know their aristocracy by report, usually discuss with
great unction. They appear to have the same pride in the superiority of
their great families, that the American slave is known to feel in the
importance of his master. I say this seriously, and not with a view to
sneer, but to point out to you a state of feeling that, at first, struck
me as very extraordinary. I suppose that the feelings of both castes
depend on a very natural principle. The Englishman, however, as he is
better educated, has one respectable feature in his deference. He exults
with reason in the superiority of his betters over the betters of most
other people: in this particular he is fully borne out by the fact.
Subsequent observation has given me occasion to observe, that the
English gentleman, in appearance, attainments, manliness, and perhaps I
might add, principles, although this and deportment are points on which
I should speak with less confidence, stands at the head of his class in
Christendom. This should not be, nor would it be, were the gentlemen of
America equal to their fortunes, which, unhappily, they are not. Facts
have so far preceded opinions at home, as to leave but few minds capable
of keeping in their company. But this is a subject to which we may also
have occasion to return.

The coach stopped, and we took up a third inside. This man proved to be
a radical. He soon began to make side-hits at the "nobility and gentry,"
and, mingled with some biting truths, he uttered a va