We have all heard that servants in America are named "helps." This alone signifies a great deal. They object to serve you, they do not mind, "if you make it worth their while," helping you. The same feeling pervades all but the well-educated and intellectual classes in the States. Even where, as in New York, contact with Europeans has rubbed off some of this peculiarity, it exists. The shopman serving you seems to do so under protest. The conductor on the rail treats you as his equal. The hotel official picks his teeth, and expectorates in dangerous proximity to your boots, while entering your name. You need not, 'tis true, shake hands with the shopkeeper, even if he recognizes you, simply because there is no time in New York for such courtesies, but you have to do it out West.
The first thing that strikes you on landing in America is the want of deference and courtesy among all classes. Not only from the inferior to the superior, but vice versa also. The maxim noblesse oblige has no sway there. In England, speaking to an equal or a social inferior, "Kindly do this," or "Please give me that," is general. In America the "kindly" and "please" are carefully omitted, and the servant or "help" retaliates by the substance and tone of the answer. But I am wrong, perhaps, to use the word retaliates, for I never found that civility in asking produced any other effect.
The maxim in America seems to be that every man is as good as his neighbour, or better, at least every man seems to think so, and why, thinking so, they should address anybody as "Sir," beats their comprehension, and they simply don't do it.
It seemed to me, among the class I write of, that the feeling is "Civility argues inferiority, ergo, the less given the better." It can only be some feeling of the kind, deeply implanted, that accounts for the fact that the Yankee (mind I use the word as I have defined it above) is the most uncourteous being in creation.
The press in all countries reflects public opinion more than it leads it. Suppose a paper—I say not in London, but in Manchester, then the comparison is perfect—were to write of the Empress Eugenie as some American papers write of our Royal Family. Were she spoken of as simply "Eugenie," and even lauded as such, would not the paper so speaking of her be certainly damned? But "Wales" I have seen in several Northern States papers, do duty for our Queen's eldest son and future king. Nay more, in such papers woman's sex is no defence. Her Royal Highness, Princess Beatrice, is written of by her Christian name only, and her husband is alluded to as "Battenberg." Even worse, I have an article (I care not to sully this page with even an extract) about him, which was headed "Beatrice's Mash," the last being a slang word used in the States for lover!
There are, of course, papers and papers in America, and many would not be guilty of the solecisms above alluded to; still, such are the exceptions. I do not care to name the two in which the above appeared, but as they were the leading journals in the capital of a western state, it is evident that this kind of thing goes down, for they, and many like them, flourish.
But to other subjects. I went out to New York in that magnificent Anchor Line steamer, the City of Rome, which, after the Great Eastern, is the largest vessel afloat. The Atlantic was exceptionally kind, like a mill-pond, all the way between Liverpool and Sandy Hook, and the passage was nice in every way. We crossed in something less than eight days. The society on board was extensive and good—Americans, French, Germans, English, and others, there was no lack of choice. I studied the Americans most, for they were to me a new study, and I was very much pleased with the result. When I left the ship, I did so with the impression that, nation for nation, as regards intelligence, wide views, and general knowledge, the women certainly, if not the men, were ahead of us English. I had not many opportunities in America of mixing with the upper classes, but my limited experience there strengthened the above belief. Of course, all I met on the City of Rome were more or less travelled Americans (in no country, perhaps, does travel make a greater change than among our transatlantic cousins), but I was particularly struck by the intelligence, and the broad and charitable views of the ladies. Speaking generally of both nations, the English woman who holds matured and decided opinions on politics, theology, or social questions, hesitates to give them vent. Not so the American. And, as regards the failings of her own sex, commend me to the ladies over the water, who are far more Christian-minded than we are in that way.
It was also a real pleasure to converse with many of the American gentlemen on board. As I have nothing to say, except in his favour, one of them will perhaps forgive my naming him. Mr. D'Almar is a well-known man in the States. He is a great writer on political economy and currency, and I believe an authority in the States on those and other heads. But I wish to speak of him here as a companion. Highly gifted with thinking power, and possessing an amount of knowledge which is extraordinary, so diversified are the subjects, he literally bristled all over with information. The above, joined to a modest demeanour and pleasant manner, made him one in many. All on board liked him, and that alone speaks much in a man's favour; for ten days on a vessel betrays more of character than months elsewhere. If children like a man, I always think I shall do the same. We had a large nursery on board; the little ones liked Mr D'Almar, and so did I.
The City of Rome is a luxurious boat, and, given calm water and a set of passengers such as we had, what nicer than the Atlantic under such conditions? I do not like the sea, and am often sea-sick. The last thing I would do is to keep a yacht. So, enjoying the trip as I did, speaks volumes for the comfort and pleasure which was attainable. But then the City of Rome is not an ordinary ship. The sweep of deck for a walk, the superb saloon made gay with flowers, the cuisine, which tempted you to eat more than is well on board, the spacious smoking-room, the comfortable cabins, the absence of vibration from the screw, all and everything about the ship was simply perfect, and I felt almost sorry when we arrived, for though I have travelled much I have never ploughed the deep in this wise.
New York—I am not going to add one more to the many descriptions extant. As to the city, the many beautiful churches, the grand museums, perfect picture-galleries, magnificent opera-house, luxurious clubs, and numerous theatres, are they not all described, and far better than I could do it, in Murray's hand-book and many others. Still I will say a few words. First, as to climate. I was there twice, once in the height of summer, once late in the autumn. The temperature was as nice the last time as it was disagreeable the first. I have spent years in the tropics, but I never suffered more from heat than I did in New York last July. The nights were very nearly as hot as they are in Calcutta the same month, and while in the capital of Bengal to sleep except under a punkah is thought impossible, in New York, punkahs or any cooling appliances being unknown, you really suffer more. Still there is a difference. In Calcutta, at that time of the year, you simply cannot walk out in the day time, the sun would knock you down. In New York you can, but any time towards the middle of the day it is very disagreeable to do so. Calcutta is in latitude 22°, New York 40°. This accounts for the less powerful sun in the latter place; but why the nights there are so cruelly hot, I know not. The sea, as is well known, lessens extremes of temperature, but it does not seem to have that effect in New York, though it is virtually on the sea, for the winters there are as cold as the summers are hot. Twice in the year is the climate exquisite, viz. spring and autumn, but both summer and winter are intensely disagreeable. We have no idea here in England of extremes of temperature, for we never experience them. Were we visited with the heat and cold of New York, 100° Fahr. in summer, 20° to 25° below zero in winter, as maximums and minimums, we should feel new sensations, and be thankful for the temperate climate we have, instead of abusing it as so many of us do.