to side of the street, through the shower; took lunch in a confectioner's
shop, and drove to the railway station in time for the three-o'clock
train. It looked picturesque to see two little girls, hand in hand,
racing along the ancient passages of the Rows; but Chester has a very
evil smell.

At the railroad station, S----- saw a small edition of "Twice-Told
Tales," forming a volume of the Cottage Library; and, opening it, there
was the queerest imaginable portrait of myself,--so very queer that we
could not but buy it. The shilling edition of "The Scarlet Letter" and
"Seven Gables" are at all the book-stalls and shop-windows; but so is
"The Lamplighter," and still more trashy books.


August 26th.--All past affairs, all home conclusions, all people whom I
have known in America and meet again here, are strangely compelled to
undergo a new trial. It is not that they suffer by comparison with
circumstances of English life and forms of English manhood or womanhood;
but, being free from my old surroundings, and the inevitable prejudices
of home, I decide upon them absolutely.

I think I neglected to record that I saw Miss Martineau a few weeks
since. She is a large, robust, elderly woman, and plainly dressed; but
withal she has so kind, cheerful, and intelligent a face that she is
pleasanter to look at than most beauties. Her hair is of a decided gray,
and she does not shrink from calling herself old. She is the most
continual talker I ever heard; it is really like the babbling of a brook,
and very lively and sensible too; and all the while she talks, she moves
the bowl of her ear-trumpet from one auditor to another, so that it
becomes quite an organ of intelligence and sympathy between her and