Mr.Antrobus, mamma's friend, opposite to me, is beginning on his ninth.He is an Honourable, and a Member of Parliament; he has written, during the voyage, about a hundred letters, and he seems greatly alarmed at the number of stamps he will have to buy when he arrives.He is full of information; but he has not enough, for he asks as many questions as mamma when she goes to hire apartments.
He is going to "look into" various things; he speaks as if they had a little hole for the purpose.He walks almost as much as I, and he has very big shoes.He asks questions even of me, and I tell him again and again that I know nothing about America.But it makes no difference; he always begins again, and, indeed, it is not strange that he should find my ignorance incredible."Now, how would it be in one of your South-Western States?"--that's his favourite way of opening conversation.Fancy me giving an account of the South-Western States! I tell him he had better ask mamma--a little to tease that lady, who knows no more about such places than I.Mr.
Antrobus is very big and black; he speaks with a sort of brogue; he has a wife and ten children; he is not very romantic.But he has lots of letters to people la-bas (I forget that we are just arriving), and mamma, who takes an interest in him in spite of his views (which are dreadfully advanced, and not at all like mamma's own), has promised to give him the entree to the best society.Idon't know what she knows about the best society over here today, for we have not kept up our connections at all, and no one will know (or, I am afraid, care) anything about us.She has an idea that we shall be immensely recognised; but really, except the poor little Rucks, who are bankrupt, and, I am told, in no society at all, Idon't know on whom we can count.C'est egal.Mamma has an idea that, whether or not we appreciate America ourselves, we shall at least be universally appreciated.It's true that we have begun to be, a little; you would see that by the way that Mr.Cockerel and Mr.Louis Leverett are always inviting me to walk.Both of these gentlemen, who are Americans, have asked leave to call upon me in New York, and I have said, Mon Dieu, oui, if it's the custom of the country.Of course I have not dared to tell this to mamma, who flatters herself that we have brought with us in our trunks a complete set of customs of our own, and that we shall only have to shake them out a little and put them on when we arrive.If only the two gentlemen I just spoke of don't call at the same time, I don't think I shall be too much frightened.If they do, on the other hand, I won't answer for it.They have a particular aversion to each other, and they are ready to fight about poor little me.I am only the pretext, however; for, as Mr.Leverett says, it's really the opposition of temperaments.I hope they won't cut each other's throats, for I am not crazy about either of them.They are very well for the deck of a ship, but I shouldn't care about them in a salon; they are not at all distinguished.They think they are, but they are not; at least Mr.Louis Leverett does; Mr.Cockerel doesn't appear to care so much.They are extremely different (with their opposed temperaments), and each very amusing for a while; but Ishould get dreadfully tired of passing my life with either.Neither has proposed that, as yet; but it is evidently what they are coming to.It will be in a great measure to spite each other, for I think that au fond they don't quite believe in me.If they don't, it's the only point on which they agree.They hate each other awfully;they take such different views.That is, Mr.Cockerel hates Mr.
Leverett--he calls him a sickly little ass; he says that his opinions are half affectation, and the other half dyspepsia.Mr.
Leverett speaks of Mr.Cockerel as a "strident savage," but he declares he finds him most diverting.He says there is nothing in which we can't find a certain entertainment, if we only look at it in the right way, and that we have no business with either hating or loving; we ought only to strive to understand.To understand is to forgive, he says.That is very pretty, but I don't like the suppression of our affections, though I have no desire to fix mine upon Mr.Leverett.He is very artistic, and talks like an article in some review, he has lived a great deal in Paris, and Mr.Cockerel says that is what has made him such an idiot.That is not complimentary to you, dear Louisa, and still less to your brilliant brother; for Mr.Cockerel explains that he means it (the bad effect of Paris) chiefly of the men.In fact, he means the bad effect of Europe altogether.This, however, is compromising to mamma; and Iam afraid there is no doubt that (from what I have told him) he thinks mamma also an idiot.(I am not responsible, you know--I have always wanted to go home.) If mamma knew him, which she doesn't, for she always closes her eyes when I pass on his arm, she would think him disgusting.Mr.Leverett, however, tells me he is nothing to what we shall see yet.He is from Philadelphia (Mr.Cockerel);he insists that we shall go and see Philadelphia, but mamma says she saw it in 1855, and it was then affreux.Mr.Cockerel says that mamma is evidently not familiar with the march of improvement in this country; he speaks of 1855 as if it were a hundred years ago.
Mamma says she knows it goes only too fast--it goes so fast that it has time to do nothing well; and then Mr.Cockerel, who, to do him justice, is perfectly good-natured, remarks that she had better wait till she has been ashore and seen the improvements.Mamma rejoins that she sees them from here, the improvements, and that they give her a sinking of the heart.(This little exchange of ideas is carried on through me; they have never spoken to each other.) Mr.
