"Is it possible that I can reach these towns, so far apart, in time to give my lectures?"
"Nothing easier," he replied, seizing the railway guide. "Your New York lecture comes off at three in the afternoon. At five, you have a train which gets to Youngstown by noon next day. There you lecture at eight. Pay your bill and send your luggage to the station before going to the Academy of Music, where you have to speak. As soon as your lecture is over, jump into a cab, and you will catch the ten o'clock train, which will set you down at Indianapolis in time for your next day's engagement."
"What! go to the train in evening dress?" I exclaimed.
"And why not? You undress in the sleeping-car, I suppose?"
"What a life!" thought I. "These Yankees beat everything."
Oh, that map of the United States! If you would have any idea of a good lecturing tour in America, just imagine yourself appearing in public one day in London, the next in Paris, the day after in Berlin, then in Vienna, St. Petersburgh, and Constantinople to finish up the week. Then take Teheran, and the chief cities in Asia, and you have a fair idea of the journeys.
Here is a little scene of American life. It was told me, not only without boast, but as the most natural thing in the world, by Mr. L. S. Metcalf, the editor of the Forum, one of the most important Reviews of New York.
Mr. Metcalf wished to have an article on the subject of the Mormons for his Review: not one of those papers written by a man who had passed through Utah, but a serious study. For several weeks he had been in correspondence with one of the elders of the Mormon Church.
"All this letter-writing does not advance matters much," thought Mr. Metcalf to himself one day; "one or two hours' conversation would settle the thing."