Drunkenness is not at all a national vice in America. On the contrary, it is rare even among the lower classes, and does not exist in the higher.
When a drunkard is picked up from the gutter, the passer-by says, "It is a European just come over."
I have often admired the sobriety of the Americans at great dinners, which are sometimes prolonged to the midnight hour. After dessert, no more wine. Bottles of mineral-waters are brought in, and the guests moisten their lips with Apollinaris, Vichy, or whichever sparkling water they prefer, while smoking and talking.
The air is so dry in the north of the States that, when heated at theatres, concerts, and balls, one breathes with difficulty, and it often causes the breath to be disagreeable.
I repeat it, the cold is healthy; and the foreigner who visits America during the winter, only suffers from the suffocating heat of the rooms. With fur wraps, and the ears well covered, he has nothing to fear in the air, unless it be for his nose, which I would advise him to keep an eye upon.
If you go to America for the winter, take only autumn and summer costumes. It is not only the houses that are heated night and day to a temperature of nearly 80 degrees, but it is the trains as well. All carriages, cabs, and sleighs are provided with rugs and furs, and you have no use for winter clothes. In the private houses, hotels, and railways you will only be able to bear light clothing. All the winter comforts you will need are furs for out of doors.
The Americans, who cook themselves within doors, fear the cold so little when they are in motion that, in the States of Illinois, Wisconsin, Ohio, and others in the north, when the thermometer is down to 30 degrees below zero, they give the preference to open carriages. In Chicago, Buffalo, and Milwaukee one has almost a difficulty to find a covered sleigh or cab to go out in at night. It is the same in Canada. In Toronto, Ottowa, Montreal, and Quebec, nothing but open sleighs. The driver buries you in furs. Your feet and body are warm, and the cold that cuts your face seems to help to make your blood circulate, and is quite enjoyable.
I went to see Niagara Falls (the grandest spectacle it was ever given to man to behold) in the early part of February. Without suffering from the cold, I was able to drive for three hours in an open sleigh through thickly snow-laden air. To have the snow beating in one's face so long, was not agreeable; but the storm added, if possible, to the grandeur of the scenery. On alighting at Prospect House, to take a cup of tea before beginning the train journey to Buffalo, I took off my wraps, and never have I felt such a glowing sense of warmth and life.