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1888.] faubourg, who had travelled in America over thirty years ago, once described to me his high appreciation of American society. I said, "Surely you must have found much that was uncongenial to you?" "But consider the difference," he answered. "Among ourselves, if two strangers meet casually, half an hour is taken up by trying to find out who the other's grandfather was, and whether it would be desirable to know him the next time we met; in America, the two men begin at once to talk and thresh out some practical subject: think of the national gain, in information and intelligence, from the half-hours so employed!" If my friend had travelled in Australia, he would have found this practical advantage and a corresponding pleasure, added to the essential refinements of English society.

It must be admitted that in mixed assemblies, not to say sometimes in first-class railway carriages, the vile habit of spitting – symbol or profession, as it is supposed, of faith in the Democratic Idea – is unpleasantly frequent. You watch, consequently, the countenance of a doubtful neighbour, and when the facial muscles begin to contract, you draw your feet well under your chair. However, it is a free and manly practice, and let us hope that the woman of the period, who has borrowed so much from us, will draw the line at this. I am told the spitting in Australia is nothing to what it is in America. If this is so, I do not think I should like to go to America.

The genesis and spread of the Australian accent would be an interesting subject for investigation. Mr Froude – and it is one of the most curious minor errors in his book – says there is none, and having made the erroneous assertion, proceeds characteristically to philosophise on it. The accent offends the educated ear, for it is almost identical with the Cockney accent, only with an exacerbation of the nasal twang, but no confusion of the aspirates. You cannot express the twang in writing, but they say gripes for grapes, dye for day, and so on. There is a popular song with the refrain, "Tommy's come home to-day," which sounds very unfeeling when they sing jovially, "Tommy's come home to die!" The curious thing is that you seldom hear it, even among born colonials, in persons past (say) fifty; but most of the younger generation, and children even of the most comme il faut people, so nice and attractive, non Angli sed angeli, till they open their mouths, have it, to the distress of their parents, who cannot account for it. Of course it is in the air now, but did it come originally with a ship-load of Cockney emigrants, or how, and when?

The precocity of the rising generation is remarkable. No doubt there is always a tendency to this in a new country where hands are few, and the services of all are needed as soon as possible; but physiologically, too, they become men and women at a startlingly early age. I have been amused when stopping at an open door to ask my way or other information. A couple of children of the mature age of three years might be playing on the doorstep, but if I ventured to ignore their presence and direct my inquiry over their heads to an adult member of the family behind them, they have taken up the subject with perfect aplomb, and a look and manner implying a slight but definite surprise at my want of savoir faire.