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[371] London waiter, and would evidently decline the honor of being kicked by a Duke. In Italy, there is little manhood but no class-worship; her millions of beggars will not abase themselves one whit lower before a Prince than before any one else from whom they hope to worm a copper. The Swiss are freemen, and wear the fact unconsciously but palpably on their brows and beaming from their eyes. The Germans submit passively to arbitrary power which they see not how successfully to resist, but they render to rank or dignity no more homage than is necessary—their souls are still free, and their manners evince a simplicity and frankness which might shame, or at least instruct America.

On the twenty-first of July, Horace Greeley was again in London. One incident of his journey from the court to the metropolis was sufficiently ludicrous. There were three Frenchmen and two French women in the car, going up to see the Exhibition. ‘LondonStout, displayed in tall letters across the front of a tavern, attracted the attention of the party. “Stoot? Stoot?” queried one of them; but the rest were as much in the dark as he, and the American was as deficient in French as they in English. The befogged one pulled out his dictionary and read over and over all the French synonyms of “ Stout,” but this only increased his perplexity. “Stout” signified “robust,” “hearty,” “vigorous,” “resolute,” &c., but what then could “London Stout” be? He closed his book at length in despair and resumed his observations.’

The remaining sixteen days of Mr. Greeley's three months in Europe were busy ones indeed. The great Peace Convention was in session in London; but, as he was not a delegate, he took no part in its proceedings. If he had been a delegate, he tells us, that he should have offered a resolution which would have affirmed, not denied, the right of a nation, wantonly invaded by a foreign army or intolerably oppressed by its own rulers, to resist force by force; a proposition which he thought might perhaps have marred the ‘harmony and happiness’ of the Convention.

A few days after his return to London, he had the very great gratification of witnessing the triumph of McCormick's Reaping Machine, which, as it stood in the Crystal Palace, had excited general derision, and been styled “a cross between an Astley chariot, a flying machine, and a tread-mill.” It came into the field, therefore, to

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