the day.  I have been over many prisons since, for I have always held that the management of such places is a pretty reliable thermometer of the moral condition of the country to which they belong.  I know of some foul ones in states which set up to be very civilized.  In France we are lamentably behindhand in the matter.  Though we have some prisons which are model, we have a great many more which are shamefully behind the times.  For my own part, I have come to the conclusion, from all I have seen and heard, that seclusion in cells at night, with work in common during the daytime in small easily managed workshops, or better still, in the open air as at Portland Prison in England, is the penitentiary system which offers the fewest drawbacks.  I say drawbacks, for no such system can offer advantages.  All the holding forth of philanthropists about the sad fate of criminals is empty noise.  A prison must be a place of punishment; it can never be an abode of reformation, nor of reclamation.

Let us pass, from the prisons, to Mr. Norris’s great steam engine, and especially locomotive engine works, which Michel Chevalier had told me to be sure to go and see; and most interesting, truly, they were.  Great improvements in the construction of locomotives originated in these works.  Mr. Norris had also had a very original and exceedingly American idea—­to make a great orchestra of musical instruments played by steam instead of by human lungs.  I heard, or at all events I was told I heard, the “Hunting Chorus” in Robin Hood performed by this orchestra, in which the conductor’s baton was replaced by a tap.  It was horrible!

After Philadelphia came Niagara, wonderful and peerless.  I admired its picturesque grandeur, but I admired the rapids before the fall every bit as much.  The mighty power of the huge river, the overflow of all those great lakes, pouring in foaming fury over its rocky bed, for such a distance and through such splendid scenery, is indescribably striking.  In the midst of the lovely country of the Hudson Highlands, stands West Point, the famous military school where all the officers of the American army are educated.  I was the guest, while there, of Colonel de Russy, who was in command, and my stay was full of interest.  There is a curious point about the school, and it is not the least of the surprises reserved for us by the American democracy.  The cadets do not enter by examination, but by favour.  The Senators, or representatives of each State in the Union, have a right to a certain number of nominations.  The President has the same.  Their choice, as a rule, falls on lads of intelligence, and the only thing asked of them on joining, is to give proof of a healthy constitution.  They know nothing, and have to learn everything in the school, at which they consequently spend four years.  Well, in spite of the absence of selection or competition for entrance, the result is quite excellent.  The knowledge, spirit of discipline and duty of the American officer, and his adaptability to no matter what task, leave nothing to be desired.