repose and that their voices are somewhat harsh and strident when they land first at Liverpool; but after a time one gets to love these pretty whirlwinds in petticoats that sweep so recklessly through society and are so agitating to all duchesses who have daughters.  There is something fascinating in their funny, exaggerated gestures and their petulant way of tossing the head.  Their eyes have no magic nor mystery in them, but they challenge us for combat; and when we engage we are always worsted.  Their lips seem made for laughter and yet they never grimace.  As for their voices, they soon get them into tune.  Some of them have been known to acquire a fashionable drawl in two seasons; and after they have been presented to Royalty they all roll their R’s as vigorously as a young equerry or an old lady-in-waiting.  Still, they never really lose their accent; it keeps peeping out here and there, and when they chatter together they are like a bevy of peacocks.  Nothing is more amusing than to watch two American girls greeting each other in a drawing-room or in the Row.  They are like children with their shrill staccato cries of wonder, their odd little exclamations.  Their conversation sounds like a series of exploding crackers; they are exquisitely incoherent and use a sort of primitive, emotional language.  After five minutes they are left beautifully breathless and look at each other half in amusement and half in affection.  If a stolid young Englishman is fortunate enough to be introduced to them he is amazed at their extraordinary vivacity, their electric quickness of repartee, their inexhaustible store of curious catchwords.  He never really understands them, for their thoughts flutter about with the sweet irresponsibility of butterflies; but he is pleased and amused and feels as if he were in an aviary.  On the whole, American girls have a wonderful charm and, perhaps, the chief secret of their charm is that they never talk seriously except about amusements.  They have, however, one grave fault—­their mothers.  Dreary as were those old Pilgrim Fathers who left our shores more than two centuries ago to found a New England beyond seas, the Pilgrim Mothers who have returned to us in the nineteenth century are drearier still.

Here and there, of course, there are exceptions, but as a class they are either dull, dowdy or dyspeptic.  It is only fair to the rising generation of America to state that they are not to blame for this.  Indeed, they spare no pains at all to bring up their parents properly and to give them a suitable, if somewhat late, education.  From its earliest years every American child spends most of its time in correcting the faults of its father and mother; and no one who has had the opportunity of watching an American family on the deck of an Atlantic steamer, or in the refined seclusion of a New York boarding-house, can fail to have been struck by this characteristic of their civilisation.  In America the young are always ready to give to