The Germans who have been here any time almost constantly make use of Anglicisms, such as “es will nicht thun” (it will not do), instead of es ist nicht hinlanglich (it is not sufficient), and many such.  Nay, some even say, “Ich habe es nicht geminded” (I did not mind it), instead of ich habe mich nicht daran errinnert, oder daran gedacht (I did not recollect it, or I did not think of it).

You can immediately distinguish Englishmen when they speak German, by their pronunciation according to the English manner; instead of Ich befinde mich wohl, they say Ich befirmich u’hol (I am very well), the w being as little noticed as u quickly sounded.

I have often heard, when directing any one in the street, the phrase, “Go down the street as far as ever you can go, and ask anybody.”  Just as we say, “Every child can direct you.”

I have already noticed in England they learn to write a much finer hand than with us.  This probably arises from their making use of only one kind of writing, in which the letters are all so exact that you would take it for print.

In general, in speaking, reading, in their expressions, and in writing, they seem, in England, to have more decided rules than we have.  The lowest man expresses himself in proper phrases, and he who publishes a book, at least writes correctly, though the matter be ever so ordinary.  In point of style, when they write, they seem to be all of the same country, profession, rank, and station.

The printed English sermons are beyond all question the best in the world; yet I have sometimes heard sad, miserable stuff from their pulpits.  I have been in some churches where the sermons seem to have been transcribed or compiled from essays and pamphlets; and the motley composition, after all, very badly put together.  It is said that there are a few in London, by whom some of the English clergy are supposed to get their sermons made for money.

CHAPTER XIV.

London, 18th July.

I write to you now for the last time from London; and, what is still more, from St. Catherine’s, one of the most execrable holes in all this great city, where I am obliged to stay, because the great ships arrive in the Thames here, and go from hence, and we shall sail as soon as the wind changes.  This it has just now done, yet still it seems we shall not sail till to-morrow.  To-day therefore I can still relate to you all the little that I have farther noticed.

On Monday morning I moved from the Freemasons’ Tavern to a public-house here, of which the master is a German; and where all the Hambro’ captains lodge.  At the Freemasons’ Tavern, the bill for eight days’ lodging, breakfast, and dinner came to one guinea and nine shillings and nine pence.  Breakfast, dinner, and coffee were always, with distinction, reckoned a shilling each.  For my lodging I paid only twelve shillings a week, which was certainly cheap enough.