with an interest that is really exhausting, and, as
they vanish, hope for rest, but don't get it. A strong-minded woman,
with a tumbler in her hand, and no cloak or shawl on, comes rushing
through the car, talking loudly to a small porter, who lugs a folding
bed after her, and looks as if life were a burden to him.

"You promised to have it ready. It is not ready. It must be a car with
a water jar, the windows must be shut, the fire must be kept up, the
blinds must be down. No, this won't do. I shall go through the whole
train, and suit myself, for you promised to have it ready. It is not
ready," &c., all through again, like a hand-organ. She haunted the
cars, the depot, the office and baggage-room, with her bed, her
tumbler, and her tongue, till the train started; and a sense of fervent
gratitude filled my soul, when I found that she and her unknown invalid
were not to share our car.

Philadelphia.--An old place, full of Dutch women, in "bellus top"
bonnets, selling vegetables, in long, open markets. Every one seems to
be scrubbing their white steps. All the houses look like tidy jails,
with their outside shutters. Several have crape on the door-handles,
and many have flags flying from roof or balcony. Few men appear, and
the women seem to do the business, which, perhaps, accounts for its
being so well done. Pass fine buildings, but don't know what they are.
Would like to stop and see my native city; for, having left it at the
tender age of two, my recollections are not vivid.

Baltimore.--A big, dirty, shippy, shiftless place, full of goats,
geese, colored people, and coal, at least the part of it I see. Pass
near the spot where the riot took place, and feel as if I should enjoy
throwing a stone at somebody, hard. Find a guard at the ferry, the
depot, and here and there, along the road. A camp whitens one
hill-side, and a cavalry training school, or whatever it should be
called, is a very interesting sight, with quantities of horses and
riders galloping, marching, leaping, and skirmishing, over all manner
of break-neck places. A party of English people get in--the men, with
sandy hair and red whiskers, all trimmed alike, to a hair; rough grey
coats, very rosy, clean faces, and a fine, full way of speaking, which
is particularly agreeable, after our slip-shod American gabble. The two
ladies wear funny velvet fur-trimmed hoods; are done up, like compact
bundles, in tar tan shawls; and look as if bent on seeing everyt