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“I would now lay a stone in the Temple of Peace."

Edmund Burke.

1870.

PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION.

F 106 .B 43

TO MY FRIENDS IN OLD ENGLAND, I DEDICATE THESE GLEANINGS

FROM HARVEST-FIELDS OF REAL AMERICAN LIFE.

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MERICA is like an alchemist's crucible. Its people

are a fusion of many races. White men rule over red, black, and yellow men. English, Scotch, Irish, Germans, French, Italians, Swiss, Norwegians, and Swedes all meet as citizens. Out of this mass, a race of “New Americans” is continually being produced. Past results lead us to the belief that the future will still yield a good political “philosopher's stone,” in the form or guise of freedom.

Figuratively speaking, the Western Continent is a storehouse of national character. On its shelves lie samples from many lands. Weighed in the balance of fair opinion, there is a cheering preponderance of sound grain ; there is some rotten and bad. The observant traveller holds a “Sesame” to open the doors and windows of this granary, for his home-staying country

men.

J, H, B.

ERRATA.

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18, 19

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OUTWARD BOUND.

the seas.

In the Middle Ages the Venetians claimed the sovereignty of

They celebrated this triumph by an annual festival. Attended by a rejoicing populace, with music, and chimes of bells, the Doge of Venice advanced to the brink of the sea, and in the name of the people, threw a ring of gold into the Adriatic ; accompanying the action with these words :“Desponsamus te, mare, in signum veri perpetuique dominii.” (We wed thee, O sea, in token of our true and perpetual sovereignty.) But a greater espousal took place between the Saxon nations and the Atlantic, when the first Steamer passed from land to land ; still greater when a Cable joined Old World and New.

N a bright summer-morning, I bid my kind English

friends good bye, and embarked for America. The “Scotia" lay at anchor in the river; her captain was leaning over, watching us, as the passengertender steamed alongside. Stepping on board, I feel that the route is now sounded in earnest. Sailors, busy as bees, are working with a will; soon hiding a mountain of luggage deep in the recesses of the hold. From the chaos of disorder, rises and shines the light of order. Each officer has donn'd his smartest uniform, and stands ready at his post; going out of port is a gala-day for seamen, no less than coming in.

The bell rings, up comes the anchor, the engines start into life, the paddlewheels move.

With flag gaily flying, we steam down the

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