snow and water of spring, if she would escape defilement to either her dress or her slippers.  As the power of direction of these human missiles is by no means unerring, notwithstanding so much practice, one’s own person, and all parts of his person, are exposed to the random shots of this universal foe of American civilised life; and often he finds, on different parts of his dress, proofs abundant of the company he has kept.  The only single spot absolutely secure is a man’s face—­and that would not be, were it not for the fear of a duel.  That there is not the shadow of exaggeration in this description, coarse as it is, and coarse as it has been my intention to make it, all Americans, and all travellers who have ever been within an American hotel, steam-boat, or rail-car—­all will testify.  And the result of it all is, I suppose, that we are the freest and most enlightened people on the face of the earth!  But for one, republican as I am in principle, I think, on the whole, I would prefer the despotism of Austria, Russia, or Rome, to the freedom, if I must take with it the spit, of America.  It is vice enough to tempt one to forswear home, country, kindred, friends, religion; it is ample cause for breaking acquaintance, friendship, for a divorce; in a word, it is our grand national distinction, if we did but know it.  There are certainly parts of the country comparatively, but only comparatively, free from this vice.  Here at the north, there is much less than at the west and the south, though here enough of it to disgust one with his race.  In proportion as general refinement prevails, the custom abates.  At the south, no carpets, no rooms, no presence, affords protection.[6] Here, in the best rooms, the best society, there is partial exemption, though not often enough from the presence of that ingenious, fearful patent—­the brazen, china, or earthen box.  Would that my country could be induced to pause in this its wonderful career!  Pity some public effort could not be made by way of general convention, or otherwise, for the abatement of this national mischief—­certainly as worthy of attention as very many of our political and moral reforms.  The advice of the London surgeon, Abernethy, to an American sea-captain, was at anyrate useful to us all, and pregnant with good medical philosophy.  “Keep your saliva in your mouth to help to digest your food with,” said he, “and do not spit it all over my carpet.”  Very wholesome counsel.  And, seriously, who can say how much the pallid face, the proverbial indigestion of our country, even consumption itself, may not be owing to this constant drain, which deprives the stomach of a secretion which nature provided for the most important purposes in the manufacture of the blood, and which she certainly did not provide to be wasted and thrown about in the manner of the Anglo-American?’