Emilie Girardin has a new book L'Abolition de la Misére, in which he proposes the entire abolition of suffering. He has "found the philosopher's stone."
Somebody is writing for the United Service, "Reminiscences of a Voyage to Canada," and we have looked into a couple of his chapters to see what sort of stuff, respecting America, is thus submitted to the officers of her Majesty's Army and Navy. The style of a fellow who talks of his "fellow countrymen" (not meaning, as the words do, persons who live with him in rural neighborhoods), is scarcely deserving of criticism; but the silliness of the falsehoods of this latest English traveller among us, may be referred to as illustrating the causes of the common prejudices in England against the United States. After describing his arrival at the Tremont House, in Boston, he says:
"A clerk [meaning our old friend Parker], dressed in the height of fashion, presided at the bar [meaning the office] at which we applied for rooms, wherein to perform our duties of the toilet. The one to which I was directed contained several beds without curtains, from which the occupants had evidently but a short time previously taken their departure. This was however a matter of indifference, as I imagined the apartment would have been entirely at my own disposal. In the course of a few minutes however, the door was opened, and in walked an individual, who, depositing a small carpet bag on the floor, commenced operations of a similar nature to those I myself was engaged in—not a word was at first exchanged between us; he eyed me critically, I returned the compliment, till at length I was favored with 'Stranger, I guess you are from Europe' (a strong accent on the last syllable), immediately followed by questions as to where I was going, what was my business, &c. This was somewhat amusing, so I informed my gentleman I was journeying to New-York, whereupon he told me I should see an 'almighty fine city.' His curiosity being next attracted by my portmanteau, which was lying open on a chair, he strode up and peered into it most attentively. Thinking I might as well follow his example, I did the same by his carpet bag; whereupon giving a grunt of dissatisfaction, he collected his valuables and soon after took himself off."
Thirty years ago, the Duke of Saxe Weimar published a western story of a coachman who said, "I am the gentleman what's to drive you." Our very original United Service tourist tells of a visit to Mount Auburn, and adds:
"Whilst driving back to the hotel I happened to remark, 'That is the man who drove us from the steamer in the morning.' Upon which 'Jehu' quickly replied, 'I reckon I'm the gentleman that drove you.' This information was received on our part with all the respect due to the elevated rank of our charioteer."
In a paragraph about luggage:
"The American trunk is a ponderous solid affair made of wood, secured with braces of iron, studded with brass or iron nails, and usually having the name or initials of the owner, and frequently the state of which he is a native, painted on it in large white letters. Owing to this custom, the traveller is liable to be addressed by any peculiarity appertaining to his trunk being affixed thereto. Thus a gentleman passing through the states, found himself designated as 'Mr. Air Tight,' because this simple term was marked on the outside of a tin-box, and no affirmations on his part could induce the bystanders to believe to the contrary. They 'reckoned it was on his box,' and that was sufficient."
Of the personal appearance of the Americans: