"To me," said Eve, "it would be an eternal summer; as things are eternal with young ladies. My ignorance would be always receiving instruction, and my tastes improvement. But, if Italy be summer, or autumn, what is poor America?" "Spring of course," civilly answered Mr. Sharp. "And, do you, Mr. Blunt, who seem to know all parts of the world equally well, agree in giving _our_ country, _my_ country at least, this encouraging title?" "It is merited in many respects, though there are others in which the term winter would, perhaps, be better applied. America is a country not easily understood; for, in some particulars, like Minerva, it has been born full-grown: while, in others, it is certainly still an infant." "In what particulars do you especially class it with the latter?" inquired Mr. Sharp. "In strength, to commence," answered the other, slightly smiling; "in opinions, too, and in tastes, and perhaps in knowledge. As to the latter essential, however, and practical things as well as in the commoner comforts, America may well claim to be in midsummer, when compared with other nations. I do not think you Americans, Miss Effingham, at the head of civilisation, certainly, as so many of your own people fancy; nor yet at the bottom, as so many of those of Mademoiselle Viefville and Mr. Sharp so piously believe." "And what are the notions of the countrymen of Mr. Blunt, on the subject?" "As far from the truth, perhaps, as any other. I perceive there exist some doubts as to the place of my nativity," he added, after a pause that denoted a hesitation, which all hoped was to end in his setting the matter at rest, by a simple statement of the fact; "and I believe I shall profit by the circumstance, to praise and condemn at pleasure, since no one can impeach my candour, or impute either to partialities or prejudices." "That must depend on the justice of your judgments. In one thing, however, you will have me on your side, and that is in giving the _pas_ to delicious, dreamy Italy! Though Mademoiselle Viefville will set this down as _lese majeste_ against _cher Paris_; and I fear, Mr. Sharp will think even London injured." "Do you really hold London so cheap?" inquired the latter gentleman, with more interest than he himself was quite aware of betraying. "Indeed, no. This would be to discredit my own tastes and knowledge. In a hundred things, I think London quite the finest town of Christendom. It is not Rome, certainly, and were it in ruins fifteen centuries, I question if people would flock to the banks of the Thames to dream away existence among its crumbling walls; but, in conveniences, beauty of verdure, a mixture of park-like scenery and architecture, and in magnificence of a certain sort, one would hardly know where to go to find the equal of London." "You say nothing of its society, Miss Effingham?"