clustering about them, they look picturesque.

The old-fashioned flowers in the gardens of New England--blue-bells,
crocuses, primroses, foxglove, and many others--appear to be wild flowers
here on English soil. There is something very touching and pretty in
this fact, that the Puritans should have carried their field and hedge
flowers, and nurtured theme in their gardens, until, to us, they seem
entirely the product of cultivation.


March 16th.--Yesterday, at the coroner's court, attending the inquest on
a black sailor who died on board an American vessel, after her arrival at
this port. The court-room is capable of accommodating perhaps fifty
people, dingy, with a pyramidal skylight above, and a single window on
one side, opening into a gloomy back court. A private room, also lighted
with a pyramidal skylight, is behind the court-room, into which I was
asked, and found the coroner, a gray-headed, grave, intelligent, broad,
red-faced man, with an air of some authority, well mannered and
dignified, but not exactly a gentleman,--dressed in a blue coat, with a
black cravat, showing a shirt-collar above it. Considering how many and
what a variety of cases of the ugliest death are constantly coming before
him, he was much more cheerful than could be expected, and had a kind of
formality and orderliness which I suppose balances the exceptionalities
with which he has to deal. In the private room with him was likewise the
surgeon, who professionally attends the court. We chatted about suicide
and such matters,--the surgeon, the coroner, and I,--until the American
case was ready, when we adjourned to the court-room, and the coroner
began the examination. The American captain was a rude, uncouth
Down-Easter, about thirty years old, and sat on a bench, doubled and bent
into an indescribable attitude, out of which he occasionally straightened