hom it seems an impossible
kind of dream from which I must surely presently wake. We made New
York harbor Monday night at sunset, and cast anchor at twelve
o'clock off Staten Island, where we lay till yesterday morning at
half-past nine, when a steamboat came alongside to take the
passengers to shore. A thick fog covered the shores, and the rain
poured in torrents; but had the weather been more favorable, I
should have seen nothing of our approach to the city, for I was
crying bitterly. The town, as we drove through it from the landing,
struck me as foreign in its appearance--continental, I mean; trees
are mixed very prettily with the houses, which are painted of
various colors, and have green blinds on the outside, giving an
idea of coolness and shade.

The sunshine is glorious, and the air soft and temperate; our hotel
is pleasantly situated, and our rooms are gay and large. The town,
as I see it from our windows, reminds me a little of Paris.
Yesterday evening the trees and lighted shop-windows and brilliant
moonlight were like a suggestion of the Boulevards; it is very gay,
and rather like a fair.

The cholera has been very bad, but it is subsiding, and the people
are returning to town. We shall begin our work in about ten days. I
have not told you half I could say, but foolscap will contain no
more. God bless you, dear!

Affectionately yours,
F. A. K.

The foreboding with which I left my own country was justified by the
event. My dear aunt died, and I married, in America; and neither of us
ever had a home again in England.

NEW YORK, September 16, 1832.
MY DEAREST H----,

What shall I say to you? First of all, pray don't forget me, don't
be altered when I see you again, don't die before I come back,
don't die if I never come back.... You cannot imagine how strange
the comparisons people here are perpetually making between this
wonderful sapling of theirs and our old oak seem to me.... My
father, thank God, is wonderfully improved in health, looks, and
spirits; the fine, clear, warm (hot it should be called) atmosphere
agrees with him, and the release from the cares and anxieties of
that troublesome estate of his in St. Giles'