Max O'Rell,
A Frenchman in America: Recollections of Men and Things
“ I have just had lunch: a piece of tough dried-up beef, custard pie, and a glass of 264 filthy water, the whole served by an old negro on an old, ragged, dirty table-cloth.Petersburg, which awakes so many souvenirs of the War of Secession, is a pretty town scattered with beautiful villas. It strikes one as a provincial town. To me, coming from the busy North, it looks asleep. The South has not yet recovered from its disasters of thirty years ago. That is what struck me most, when, two years ago, I went through Virginia, Carolina, and Georgia.Now and then American eccentricity reveals itself. ”
