d now I would here distinctly declare that, apart from my political
principles, from which I never swerved, I always found the rebels--that
is, Southern and Western men with whom I had had intimate
dealings--without one exception _personally_ the most congenial and
agreeable people whom I had ever met. There was not to be found among
them what in England is known as a prig. They were natural and
gentlemanly, even down to the poorest and most uneducated.

One day Sam Fox came to me and asked me to use my influence with the
Cannelton Company to get him employment at their works.

"Sam," I replied, "I can't do it. It is only three weeks now, when you
were employed at another place, that you tried to stuff the overseer into
the furnace, and if the men had not prevented, you would have burned him
up alive."

"Yes," replied Sam, "but he had called me a -- son --- of ---."

"Very good," I answered; "and if he had called me _that_, I should have
done the same. But I don't think, if I _had_ done it, I should ever have
expected to be employed again on another furnace. You see, Samuel, my
son, that these Northern men have very queer notions--_very_."

Sam was quite convinced.

At Cincinnati a trifling but droll incident occurred. I do not set
myself up for a judge of wines, but I have naturally a delicate sense of
smell or _flair_, though not the extraordinary degree in which my brother
possessed it, who never drank wine at all. He was the first person who
ever, in printed articles or in lectures, insisted that South New Jersey
was suitable for wine-growing. At the hotel Sandford asked me if I could
tell any wine by the taste. I replied No, but I would try; so they gave
me a glass of some kind, and I said that honestly I could only declare
that I should say it was Portugal common country wine, but I must be
wrong. Then Sandford showed the bottle, and the label declared it to be
grown in Ohio. The next day he came to me and said, "I believe that
after all you know a great deal about wine. I told the landlord what you
said, and he laughed, arid said, 'I had not the American wine which you
called for, and so I gave you a cheap but unusual Portuguese wine.'" This
wine is neither white nor red, and tastes like sherry and Burgundy mixed.

At Cincinnati, Sandford proposed that we should return by way of Detroit
and Niagara. I objected to the expense, but he, who knew every route and
rate by heart, explained to me that