parcel, enabled us again to wag; and we finished our allotted journey
to Dalwhinnie in time for dinner, tea, and supper in one--and then to
our journal with glorious serenity!

Our arrangements for the continent were equally simple. When we were
asked to shew our luggage, on entering France, we produced a
portmanteau nine inches by six. 'Voila ma magasin!' It was opened, and
there were certainly some superfluities, though natural enough in an
incipient traveller. 'Une plume pour écrire l'Histoire de la
France!'--'Un cahier pour la même!' And the intending historian of
France, even with his imported pen and paper-book, and also three
shirts and some pairs of socks, was allowed to go to his dinner, with
his _magasin_ in his hand, and start by the first conveyance; while
his less fortunate fellow-travellers had to dine in absence of their
luggage, and perhaps give the town that had the honour of being their
landing-place, the profit of their company for the night.

But what is the use of all these insinuations of aptitude for
colonisation, when there is not such another man in the world? We beg
pardon; but we have actually discovered such another, and to introduce
him suitably has been the sole aim of our existence in writing this
interesting preface. In a most authentic newspaper, we find the
following admirable history, copied from the _New York Express_:--

'A man who had been an unsuccessful delver in the mines of Georgia, on
hearing the thrilling news of the gold placers of California, had his
spirit quickened within him; and although he had arrived at an
age--being about sixty--when the fires of youth usually cease to burn
with vigour, he fixed his eyes upon the far-distant and but
little-known country, and resolved that he would wend his way thither