n the very warmest terms, and all the little crew of the "Young Rachel"
cheered from the ship's side as their passenger left it.

Again and again Harry Warrington and his brother had pored over the
English map, and determined upon the course which they should take upon
arriving at Home. All Americans of English ancestry who love their mother
country have rehearsed their English travels, and visited in fancy the
spots with which their hopes, their parents' fond stories, their friends'
descriptions, have rendered them familiar. There are few things to me
more affecting in the history of the quarrel which divided the two great
nations than the recurrence of that word Home, as used by the younger
towards the elder country. Harry Warrington had his chart laid out.
Before London, and its glorious temples of St. Paul's and St. Peter's;
its grim Tower, where the brave and loyal had shed their blood, from
Wallace down to Balmerino and Kilmarnock, pitied by gentle hearts; before
the awful window at Whitehall, whence the martyr Charles had issued, to
kneel once more, and then ascended to Heaven; before playhouses, parks,
and palaces, wondrous resorts of wit, pleasure and splendour; before
Shakespeare's resting-place under the tall spire which rises by Avon,
amidst the sweet Warwickshire pastures; before Derby, and Falkirk, and
Culloden, where the cause of honour and loyalty had fallen, it might be
to rise no more: before all these points in their pilgrimage there was
one which the young Virginian brothers held even more sacred, and that
was the home of their family, that old Castlewood in Hampshire, about
which their parents had talked so fondly. From Bristol to Bath, from Bath
to Salisbury, to Winchester, to Hexton, to Home; they knew the way, and
had mapped the journey many and many a time.

We must fancy our American traveller to be a handsome young fellow, whose
suit of sables only makes him look the more interesting. The plump
landlady looked kindly after the young gentleman as he passed through the
inn-hall from his post-chaise, and the obsequious chamberlain bowed him
upstairs to the "Rose" or the "Dolphin." The trim chambermaid dropped her
best curtsey for his fee, and Gumbo, in the inn-kitchen, where the
townsfolk drank their mug of ale by the great fire, bragged of his young
master's splendid house in Virginia, and of the immense wealth to which
he was heir. The post-chaise whirled the traveller through the most
delightf