more than all gals can say."

"And now you're going home to spend your money?"

"Don't want to go home for that, it's all gone."

I have been much amused with the awkwardness and nonchalant manners of
the servants in America. Two American ladies who had just returned from
Europe, told me that shortly after their arrival at Boston, a young man
had been sent to them from Vermont to do the duty of footman. He had
been a day or two in the house, when they rang the bell and ordered him
to bring up two glasses of lemonade. He made his appearance with the
lemonade, which had been prepared and given to him on a tray by a female
servant, but the ladies, who were sitting one at each end of a sofa and
conversing, not being ready for it just then, said to him--"We'll take
it presently, John."--"Guess I can wait," replied the man, deliberately
taking his seat on the sofa between them, and placing the tray on his
knees.

When I was at Tremont House, I was very intimate with a family who were
staying there. One morning we had been pasting something, and the bell
was rung by one of the daughters, a very fair girl with flaxen hair, who
wanted some water to wash her hands. An Irish waiter answered the bell.
"Did you ring, ma'am?"--"Yes, Peter, I want a little warm water."--"Is
it to _shave with_, miss?" inquired Paddy, very gravely.

But the emigration from the old continent is of little importance
compared to the migration which takes place in the country itself.

As I have before observed, all America is working west. In the north,
the emigration by the lakes is calculated at 100,000 per annum, of which
about 30,000, are foreigners; the others are the natives of New England
and the other eastern States, who are exchanging from a sterile soil to
one "flowing with milk and honey." But those who migrate are not all of
them agriculturalists; the western States are supplied from the
north-eastern with their merchants, doctors, schoolmasters, lawyers,
and, I may add, with their members of congress, senators, and governors.
New England is a _school_, a sort of manufactory of various
professions, fitted for all purposes--a talent bazaar, where you have
every thing at choice; in fact, what Mr Tocqueville says is very true,
and the States fully deserve the compliment.

"The civilisation of New England has been like a beacon lit upon a hill,
which, after it has diffused its warmth around, tinges the distant
horizon with its glory."