I found no place of amusement set apart for the men; where one sex went the other went; what was sauce for the gander was sauce for the goose; and the spirit that prevailed was soft and human accordingly.  The hotels had no “ladies’ entrance,” but all passed in and out the same door, and met and mingled commonly in the same room, and the place was as much for one as for the other.  It was no more a masculine monopoly than it was a feminine.  Indeed, in the country towns and villages the character of the inns is unmistakably given by woman; hence the sweet, domestic atmosphere that pervades and fills them is balm to the spirit.  Even the larger hotels of Liverpool and London have a private, cozy, home character that is most delightful.  On entering them, instead of finding yourself in a sort of public thoroughfare or political caucus, amid crowds of men talking and smoking and spitting, with stalls on either side where cigars and tobacco and books and papers are sold, you perceive you are in something like a larger hall of a private house, with perhaps a parlor and coffee-room on one side, and the office, and smoking-room, and stairway on the other.  You may leave your coat and hat on the rack in the hall, and stand your umbrella there also, with full assurance that you will find them there when you want them, if it be the next morning or the next week.  Instead of that petty tyrant the hotel clerk, a young woman sits in the office with her sewing or other needlework, and quietly receives you.  She gives you your number on a card, rings for a chambermaid to show you to your room, and directs your luggage to be sent up; and there is something in the look of things, and the way they are done, that goes to the right spot at once.

At the hotel in London where I stayed, the daughters of the landlord, three fresh, comely young women, did the duties of the office; and their presence, so quiet and domestic, gave the prevailing hue and tone to the whole house.  I wonder how long a young woman could preserve her self-respect and sensibility in such a position in New York or Washington?

The English regard us as a wonderfully patient people, and there can be no doubt that we put up with abuses unknown elsewhere.  If we have no big tyrant, we have ten thousand little ones, who tread upon our toes at every turn.  The tyranny of corporations, and of public servants of one kind and another, as the ticket-man, the railroad conductor, or even of the country stage-driver, seem to be features peculiar to American democracy.  In England the traveler is never snubbed, or made to feel that it is by somebody’s sufferance that he is allowed aboard or to pass on his way.

If you get into an omnibus or a railroad or tramway carriage in London, you are sure of a seat.  Not another person can get aboard after the seats are all full.  Or, if you enter a public hall, you know you will not be required to stand up unless you pay the standing-up price.  There is everywhere that system, and order, and fair dealing, which all men love.  The science of living has been reduced to a fine point.  You pay a sixpence and get a sixpence worth of whatever you buy.  There are all grades and prices, and the robbery and extortion so current at home appear to be unknown.