Two weeks have gone by. I am now packing my trunk for London. In half an hour, the evening express train leaves here for a five hours’ cruise over farms of rich and poor, like a streak of lightning. I find on the day of departure that the servants are like the servants of all parts of my own country. It is impossible for me to do anything for myself. I have offers 杭州足浴爽记 from nearly all parts of the Hotel, volunteering to do all that is to be done and more too.—Before I commenced packing my trunk, I went down to the Bureau (office) to have my bill made out. As I passed along the passage I saw a large man with slippers on, with a cap denoting Cookery, bowing and scraping. I instantly perceived that my fame, as an American, had reached the culinary sanctum. I requested the Clerk to have my bill ready, but found that I was too late in the information to be given. My bill was already made out.

A quarter to 5 o’clock, I showed to Mary, my sincere wishes for her welfare, and left my apartment. Her cap was neater than when I located there; her apron was whiter, and her hair was neater. I done my duty to the advice given by Murray, who is the author of the Guide Book of all Europe, Asia, and even 杭州spa哪里比较刺激 Africa. He says that it is best to give a small bonus to the menials in public or private houses. The landlord, saw me in the coach and wished me a happy voyage to London. When the coach moved gradually away from that small Hotel, it carried lingering thoughts of friendship and comfort. I thought of the kind attention, and obedient but commanding language of all I had seen, and the moral came home to my heart, saying “you have value received.” I reflected on Mary’s cap and snow white apron; the old porter’s hopeful countenance; the dining room servants; and how well they seemed to be pleased, when the driver stopped my coach and landed me at the London station in a good humor. All aboard! The Cars, (express train in a hurry) dashed on with fury, and I found myself a happy man on my way to London.
LONDON.
Last night I arrived 杭州夜网最新地址 here, making the time from Liverpool in five hours and a half. My location is between Buckingham Palace and Trafalgar Square. I am on the second floor, in the Trafalgar Hotel, on Trafalgar Square. The Queen, when in London, resides at this

celebrated palace. It is in St. James’ Park. This July 28th, London is the world’s Bazaar. The Crystal Palace is the acquafortis of curiosity that gives the arcadial polish to London’s greatness. This is the place where every country is trying to make a pigmy of some other. In this great feast of genius no country is fairly represented. The United States has many articles of arts in the palace that are not what she has ever prided herself on as her arts. One of our ordinary Steam Boats would have astonished the natives beyond the admiration of all the trumpery that we ever contemplate carrying 杭州龙凤夜生活 to a World’s Fair. I was, indeed, ashamed to see the piles of India Rubber Shoes, Coats and Pants, and Clocks that stood out in bas relief in that part of the palace appropriated to the American Arts and Sciences.—Pegged Shoes and Boots were without number. Martingales and Side Saddles, Horse Shoes, Ploughs, Threshing Machines, Irrigators, and all the most worthless trash to be found in the States. I saw everything that was a prevailing disgrace to our country except slaves. I understood that a South Carolinian proposed taking half a dozen haughty and sinewy negroes to the Fair, but was only deterred from that proposition by the want of courage to risk six fat, strong healthy negroes to the chances of escape from slavery to freedom. In the centre of this beautiful and most splendid palace, was a Band of Music not to be 杭州哪里有荤洗浴场所 surpassed by any Band for discoursing sweet melody. Close to this music was a beautiful fountain, throwing sprays upward like the heaves of a shark; and round about this fountain were seats for ladies and gentlemen to take refreshments together. This palace resembles, in a great degree, “Paradise found;” there is also some sparrows inside yet, that the Falcons did not run out when those twenty thousand took possession some months ago. These little birds light about among this gay crowd as if they were on one of our wild prairies, lighting among the still gayer tribe of flora. Two or three tried to light on a spray of water, but could not make it go. I see two sitting on a piano, whilst one is trying to get an equilibrium on the strings of a harp. The piano now opens and a noblemen is seating one of the most handsome women there 杭州不正规的足浴店还有吗 I have seen in England. I said to a young Englishman, that is indeed a handsome woman. He said yes, she is generally pronounced the handsomest woman in London. I enquired her pedigree and found that it was the benevolent Duchess of Sutherland; like a humming bird, from one “sweet flower” to another her alabaster-like fingers darted from the bassiest note to the flutiest. The pianos were generally enclosed like a separate tomb with railings a yard from the pianos. After her highness had played out “God Save the Queen” and brought an audience round the railing, as if they really came to protect the “queen of beauty,” she played a thrilling retreat as if her intention was to convey the idea that she must retreat or be captured. The piece played, she rose straight up and gazed around upon the recruits she had drummed up with the air of a successful adventurer throughout the world; she moved along this immense crowd of various classes like a swan in a showery storm. Whilst all was in commotion, she seemed more herself. The noble gallant seemed to be quite conscious that the lady he was gallanting was the Duchess of Sutherland.

On the outside of the Crystal Palace is a small, fairy-like house, erected for Prince Albert and her majesty the Queen of England to lunch in when they visit the Fair. It is said that the Prince planned it himself. In this pretty little house is enough furniture of various beauties to make an ordinary Fair itself.

The Police regulations about this Fair are admirable. There is no question that can be asked about this affair but will be properly and intellectually answered by any policeman. They are intelligent men and seem to take an interest as well as pride in this great Fair.
THE QUEEN IN HYDE PARK.
It is now 4 o’clock. All the streets within a mile of the Crystal Palace are crowded with people, instead of drays, carts, wagons and other impeding obstacles to the World’s Fair. For a quarter of a mile down the street that leads to St. James’ Square, where the Queen resides, at Buckingham Palace, I presume I can see 50,000 people bareheaded, that is to say, they have their hats off. But, at the further end of this quarter of a mile, I see a uniform commotion, and this commotion of heads are coming towards Hyde Park. I mean only the commotion but not the heads. These heads are being responded to from an open plain Calashe, that is coming as rapid as a Post Chaise from the battle field when bringing good tidings to a King.—The object of this exciting moment is the Queen of England. One minute and she is gone by, as she passed me, bowing on all sides to the crowd greeting her. I felt a sort of religious thrill pass over me, and I said to myself “this is civilization.” Her Majesty was evidently proud of her people’s homage; and her people were not ashamed to show their loyalty to their “gracious Queen.” She was looking remarkably healthy for one living on the delicacies of a Queen. In fact she was too healthy in appearance for a Queen. Her color was too red and masculine for a lady. She was considerable stouter than I thought she was, and quite as handsome as I expected to find the great Queen. Seated opposite her, face to face, was her Maid of Honor; and seated by her side vis-a-vis to the Queen, was a couple of the “little bloods” of her Majesty and Prince Coburgh. I thought it strange that his highness, Prince Albert, was not accompanying the Queen. I learned afterwards that it was usual for the Queen to go in Hyde Park alone. I also found that the Prince and his courtiers were gone out deer stalking.

In the Queen’s calashe was four greys. The driver rode the hindmost left horse. In his right hand he carried a light whip which was altogether useless. About 50 yards ahead of this moving importance, a liveried outrider sped on at a rapid speed, that the populace might know that he was soliciting their attention to making way for the Queen. He wore long, white-legged boots, and held his Arab steed as artful as a Bedouin sporting over a rocky desert. His other habiliments were red, save his hat, which was a latest style silk. The driver keeps him in view, and has nothing to do but mount and drive off after this courier or out-rider, who gets his orders at the Palace where to lead.

It is said that the Queen is not celebrated for a good temper. Like her symbol, the lion, she is not to be bearded by any one, no matter how important. She is a natural monarch and feels her royalty. Prince Albert is one of the handsomest men I ever saw. The like of the Prince’s popularity among the ladies of the Court cannot be equaled by any nobleman in England; but that popularity must be general, it cannot be in spots, for the Queen is not unlike other women under the influence of the “green-eyed monster.” Although Prince Albert’s virtue has never been dishonored by even a hint, still the Queen is not to be too trusty. Prince Albert is a model of a “true gentleman.” He could not suspect half as quick as the most virtuous Queen the world has ever been ornamented with.

The English people are alone in all things pertaining to domestic life. It would puzzle the double-width intellect of a hermit to tell what one was thinking about; and this nonchalence of air to surrounding circumstances is every moment blowing upon the object in their heart. France sets the fashion for the world, but what the morning paper say about the dress worn by the empress on the champs d’elysee yesterday, is not what the poorest maid servant is trying to find out to cut her calico by, but what her Majesty wore at Windsor or Buckingham. These people were wearing the skins of the beasts of their forests in the days of the C?sars’ invasion, and barbarous as our Indians, but now they are the most civilized and christian power on this earth.

A German now sitting by my side tells me this is a gross subject for me to be writing upon. I asked what subject? He said Konigon (Queen). On reflection I find it true, and now retire from the beading of this chapter.
I AM GOING TO PARIS.
I am now all cap a pie for Paris. Ho! for Boston, is nothing to ah! Paris. I have been this morning to get my last view of the great Palace of the World’s Fair. I have since been to Greenwich to eat white bait, and I am now hurrying on to the station. Whoever wishes to see a good deal of the country, and a broken down route, had better take what is called the Brighton Route. If you leave London at 6 o’clock in the evening, you will stop at 8 o’clock at New Haven, a place with a name on the map, but in fact no place at all, save the destination of the train of this route. There you will, in all probability, have to wait about an old building an hour or two for the arrival of a boat to take you across the channel. Next morning, if you are lucky, you arrive at 8 o’clock at a little old French town called Dieppe, just in time to be too late to take the morning train for Paris. It is said that these little old half dead towns live off these tricks. I got a pretty breakfast a la carte; I say pretty, because I had boiled eggs, red wine and white, radishes, lettuce, and three boquets on my breakfast table. Having been disappointed in taking the morning’s train for Paris, I vented my wrath on both bottles of wine, thereby getting an equilibrium between disappointment and contentment. This done I went down to a little old shed which they called the Custom House, to get my trunks which they had been searching. I then took a ride in the country to see the ruins of an ancient castle, captured by the first reigning king of the present great Bourbon family, Henry Quatre, King of Navarre. This was the first ruined castle I had ever seen, and it interested me so much that in spite of the boat last night with no berths, sea sickness, custom-house troubles, disappointment in getting to Paris that day instead of 11 o’clock at night, I was in quite a good humor, and in fact, considered myself well paid for the ride, though in an old chaise and two poor horses.

At the ruins of this enormous pile of brick and mortar, was an old, broken down French officer. His companion was a lonely raven. We could go in and out of no part of this dilapidated mass of downfallen power, without meeting the raven. He seemed to be a lonely spirit. I caught at him once when he came within two feet of me; he jumped about a foot further off and stopped right still, and turned his head so that one eye was up and the other down, and kept looking up at me as long as I looked at him, as if he would fain say laissi moi (let me be). The cool treatment of the raven about these old ruins lowered my spirits. I gave the old soldier a franc for his trouble and information, and got in my old turn-out, and turned around to say adieu to the old soldier when I found him too much engaged paying Jocko with crumbs, his portion of the bonus, for services rendered.

At 4 o’clock I found myself well seated in a French car, for the first time, direct for Paris. Here we go in a tunnel, and it is dark as ebony; here we come out; away go the cattle as if Indians were after them.

It would be impossible to conjecture that French farmers were lazy, for this is the Sabbath and down in the meadows I see farmers reaping. I can see towns in such quick succession, it would be useless to attempt to describe them. It is now 11 o’clock, and I am at my destination and being searched. Nothing found and I am pronounced an honest man. But my honesty, if there be any, is like Falstaff’s, hid. I have two hundred cigars in my over and under coat, and they are, indeed, contraband and was one of the greatest objects of search; but, reader, if you pronounce this French stupidity you deceive yourself. It was French politeness that allowed me to pass unnoticed by this scrutinizing assemblage of Savans. If a man move among these lynx-eyed prefectures as a gentleman ought to, he is, once out of three times, likely to pass the barrier of their polite inclinations, whilst at the same time it would give them great satisfaction to believe that it would pay to examine you, were there a justifiable excuse for such rudeness, overbalancing the politeness which is characteristic of their whole national dignity. The French are proud of their national characteristics, and least of all nations inclined to trample them under foot.

It is now eleven o’clock, as I have before said, and I am in Paris, trying to get across the Boulevard des Italian. What I mean by trying is, picking my chance. I am no dancing master, and in this crowded street might not do the dodging right the first time.