In my readings from time to time I come across many remarks by foreign and other authors, that I feel are belittling to our country. If we only took to the self-laudation practised by our Yankee neighbors, such arguments, or, rather, want of arguments--but rather noises--would at least make us better known. I feel that we as a people are far too modest. Remaining at home, or at least within our own boundaries, one does not so keenly feel how little our country amounts to or is known abroad. On travelling on the continent of Europe, now and then in company with some Americans, and once getting away from the seaport towns, I could not make the people understand that I was anything but a Yankee. Since I came from America _du nord_, I must, of course, be a Yankee, and no amount of explanation in the best French I could command would make them understand that I was a British subject. One day particularly, in Florence, Italy, I recollect buying a postage stamp, to send a letter home, on which was the plain address, Canada. Being somewhat in doubt if I had placed sufficient postage on the letter, I asked “if that was enough for Canada.” “‘Tis all the same. All America, all United States.” “But this is not for the United States.” “Oh, yes, it’s all United States, all America, _du nord_.” And so my country counted for nothing. The great Republic completely swamps us away from home, disguise the fact as we may, and we may as well acknowledge it. Even in Liverpool, I recollect when walking down the landing-stage, valise in hand, about to board the steamer to sail for home two summers ago, a little newsboy ran up before me and said, “Sir, don’t you want to buy the New York _Herald_?” Of course I bought the paper for the little urchin’s shrewdness in picking me out as being from America. I only mention this simple anecdote to show that across the Atlantic it’s all America and all the United States, almost without a discrimination. In the matter of passports, now happily not nearly so necessary in Europe as formerly, I have found at different times it is always better to be provided with one for emergencies which may at any time arise. Going down into Italy by the Monte Cenis route, the officials dumped us all out at Modaire, through which town and depot the line between France and Italy passed. I had to enter a door and pass a drawn-up guard of soldiers and through a passage for the examination of passports. Ahead of us were a number of Americans, who simply showed the eagle on the seal of their passports, and who were allowed to pass unchallenged. My turn came, and I showed the lion on my Canadian passport, and then my trouble came. It was not British, the examiner said, but from America, and did not bear an eagle like the Americans’ passports. I felt humiliated and disgusted, that my own country with its five millions, and the third naval (commercial) power of the world, was literally unknown.