If you talk with an American girl for any length of time you will discover that among other defects she is troubled with what one may term a statistical, or, perhaps, more correctly, an arithmetical mind. Her male folk talk dollars and put everything into the terms of dollars. She, cute little bon-bon head, talks figures. She is as full of dates as a Scotchman, and as full of heights, depths, widths, dimensions, aggregations, and general computations as a guide-book. She will pour into your willing ear particulars as to the population of the city in which she was “raised,” and the next city to that, and the next. She is sure to tell you that she came over on such and such a liner, that they had exactly one thousand three hundred and forty-nine persons aboard, including three hundred officers and crew, two hundred and seventeen saloon passengers, and a precise number of second class and steerage people. “That ship has got eight thousand electric lights, five hundred portholes, eight thousand seven hundred and twenty-five tons of coal in her bunkers, when she leaves port; her stores include four thousand knives, forks, and spoons, and ten thousand bottles of old rye whiskey; she is an American boat, and there are twenty performers in the band, and her captain has made the return trip two hundred and seventy-three times,” and so on, until you begin to feel as if you had fallen into a ready reckoner, and to wonder whether in some occult way the young lady receives a commission from the steamship company. Like every other American man, woman or child, Mark Twain included, she is plagued also with the “pass-a-given-point” mania. The Americans are literally eaten up with processions, and the glory of every one of them is determined by the circumstance that it took so many minutes to pass a given point. Of the latest records in this connection, the American girl is sure to prattle to you with amazing zest. In brief, her mind, besides containing much that is really valuable and certainly interesting, is a storehouse of unimportant and altogether gratuitous and unnecessary facts. Summed up, she is pert, provoking, chock full of information, moderately pretty, a good deal of a bore, and—an obvious peach. Then there is the American married woman, who may or who may not have been married in several different places. If you meet this lady casually in London or on the Continent, it will take you quite a week to discover which of the numerous men by whom she is always squired, happens to be her husband.