courtship. In short, though we have quite enough of work, we have a very tolerable share of leisure.

Must I, like some juvenile artists, write underneath my scribbling "What it is meant for ?"-a commentary on my commentary ? I have claimed to write from some experience of the lot of the toiling thousands, and need not be suspected of any indifference to their righteous cry for deliverance from the oppression of Mammon. But in this matter of leisure (whether it be freedom from toil, for the sake of mental culture, or release from all serious occupation, and the enjoyment of those socialities which so adorn and gladden our life), the toiling classes are not so much worse off than others. Much more depends on habits and temper than we are apt to think. Wicked and ruinous as our social laws are, perhaps there are very few men in that state of mind where leisure is half a necessity of life, but can manage to gain a little of it. Only those can have time for study who maintain that cheerfulness which is essential to work of all sorts; and nothing is gained by sacrificing real and noble human intercourse to any supposed "pursuit of knowledge." If you must give up one, better give up the book for a while, and pray for better times. But is it so impossible to have both?

No matter-earnest wed to sport,
And either sacred unto you.

THAT NIGHT.

WHEN Martin Luther, conversing with a friend, walked in the field at Eiselben, and suddenly beheld that partner of his thoughts struck to the earth by lightning-a livid corpse, what where his feelings!

Ór, how excited was the mind of Michael Angelo when, in his silent chamber of the Medici mansion, he pursued his immortal labours at midnight, with opened coffins and ghastly mortal remains around him, to assist the workings of his genius!

You have read, moreover, of the Hebridean fisher who descended a horrible precipice in search of eagles' eggs; and, swinging in mid air, was attacked by the enraged birds-a thrilling circumstance which blanched his dark locks, and deprived him, for a time, of reason.

But you have never heard the story of that night; and none save I can tell it. Give me, then, your best attention, and do not doubt me, for I do not doubt myself.

I had taken supper, and found pleasure in it. Amiable with the finely-flavoured coffee and fresh Finnon haddocks, I rang my bell. "Now, landlady," I said, " suppose I turn in. And, by the way, I was rather cold last night. If you would give me another blanket I'd thank you." "Eh! yes, sir; ye'll no' fash me!"

And good Mistress Wilson departed. She was a kind Scotch soul, and therefore I had not hesitated to prefer my request. Presently she told me all was ready. I took my candlestick, bade her good night, and in a second was in my chamber.

Before jumping into bed I studiously arranged several little articles which I had collected in my rambles. I had lately arrived at Leith from Rotterdam, and being fresh from Waterloo, I naturally wished to "straighten" the various relics, &c. which I had brought in my coffre. Mrs. Wilson had loaned me a drawer, and business began. The chestnuts from Hougoumont, the French eagles, the views of La Haye Sainte, Mont St. Jean, La Montagne du Lion, &c. were severally placed in my drawer, together with guide-books, pocket-compass, and other et cætera.

Now I'll to bed!" With that thought my outer shell was speedily cast off. I did my devotions, and turned off the gas. The next moment I leapt into bed.

Come, gentle sleep! ethereal mildness, come. Exquisitely warm sheets! I plunged my feet down into

their recesses. How truly delicious! how Heavens ! what was it? What could it be my right foot encountered? Frozen with a vague horror, I sprang from the bed. My brain positively whirled; my teeth chattered-but not with cold. Cold! O, I would rather step upon an iceberg than again experience the thrill which I then endured. There was some object in the bed. A rude grasp, a secret robber, would have chilled me less. Its mysterious feel was not of aught human!

Momentary relapse into a desperate mood, and my spirit said within me, "Get in again, and kick it out!" Kick out-what?

Searching in the dark, I at last found a chair. My next thought was to examine my foot. No! it was not lacerated, not even scratched. True, I had not at the moment experienced a sense of pain; but so horrible a surprise would not allow of it. Mental excitement often deadens physical suffering. Yet, as I believed, there was no laceration. I could not detect the flow of blood; and, though in the dark, I could have felt this.

With hands clasped on my forehead, I strove to think. What were my best recollections of the contact? remembered that the left foot had touched nothing, but as the leg went down it had received a gentle rub. I recollected, also, that the sole of my right foot had been visited with the feeling of hot breath, as though it were the breath of an animal. But then it had not touched any rough or furry creature. At this point, impressed with a dread of the supernatural, I removed my chair to the most remote corner of the room, and there pursued my train of reflection.

Was it a sleeping cat? Entangled in one of the sheets, its fur might have been covered. I called to mind many instances of cats which, for the warmth, had crept into beds. Still, one so rudely aronsed would have extended its claws; and I-had I been wounded? Not to the best of my belief.

In the first place, I was confident that the plunge of my feet would have awakened such an animal. Its impulse then would be to bound away. But no movement apparent to the ear had taken place!

On the other hand

There were two married ladies staying in the house. One of them had a small baby. Her servant-maid had been enjoined to put that precious infant to bed. I had heard this through my opened door at the moment when supper was served.

Before taking supper I had accidentally caught a glimpse of the servant-girl en route to her mistress's apartment, and her physiognomy caused me to think her a stupid, blundering lass. Now, how easily might a mistake have occurred! The stupidity or forgetfulness of the moment might have led her to place the little baby in the wrong bed. Its mamma slept in the chamber next to mine; how facile, then, to open the wrong door!

Certainly, I had not felt anything of the shape or substance of a baby. But, in that horrible moment my mind had been completely unhinged; and could I now say what I had felt ?

Thought beats the electric telegraph. These reflections occurred in less time than I take to narrate them.

My first vague horror had given way to a feeling of calm fright. By this time my body was benumbed, for in one's shirt the cold strikes in with effect.

Huddling myself together-and still impressed by the supernatural,-I resumed my chain of analysis. Thus, for some heavy minutes,-but you shall not be troubled with more detail. After turning over every horrible probability, and glancing in the dark towards the bed (as I believed), I went into committee (all alone) on ways and means-what to do!

Should I awaken the landlady? By no means: even though the circumstances warranted it, I would not.

After the first horror, as I have told you, a calm fright succeeded; and I felt that-fearful as was the position— I would brave it alone.

No! I would light the gas, and--look!

Slowly I quitted my chair,-but at this moment a strange, unearthly, hissing sound came from the bed. It might be the hissing of a serpent (and Mr. Wilson was, I had heard, an amateur collector of such creatures), or the suppressed breathing of a dog. It was a sound as though blood were letting! Saint Bartholomew, flayed to death as thou wast! how my hair stood up as I thought of sickening passages in Frankestein! Shaking with the palsy, as it seemed, I tottered to my chair.

But something must be done! Screwing my courage to the sticking point, and murmuring a prayer, I again rose,-found my trowsers, and searched for my box of congreves (which, as a smoker, I invariably carry). It was barren! not a single match remained! What should I do? To cross the spacious landing, and to reach the kitchen, was an early thought. The fire would perhaps be smouldering; I might perchance obtain what I required. Mrs. Wilson's matches I could not hope to find; I knew not their locality. But an old newspaper (which I had put into the drawer loaned me, as mentioned) would do. Could not I carry it, blazing, from the kitchen embers? Yes, I could; but what then? The glare of light would arouse the sleepers; and then-! The second married lady was-I had heard Mrs. Wilson sayfearful of fire; and I felt persuaded that, after the manner of others whom I know, she slept with her door ajar!

I felt for my cane,-the one which I had brought from Hougoumont. Desperate, I thought of striking the coverlet until that object moved. But suppose it were an infant! Ah! I could pass my cane gently over the surface, and do no harm.

Then, starting

I approached the bed, and did so. back, my summoned resolution left me; I knew, I felt, that the object was still there! With a beating heart, I dressed myself as I could; and, cautiously feeling my way to the sitting-room, lay down on the sofa and drew my

coat over me.

For a time I was unable to sleep; my nerves were too much strained; at length I dropped off into an uneasy slumber.

The clock of an adjacent church struck four. I awoke. Morning had come; golden and silver rays were flashing through the crevices of the shutters. I arose-with a perfect memory of last night's occurrences-shook myself, and (reassured by the day) proceeded to my chamber.

I was not at ease when I entered. I stopped on the threshold, but at last I slowly went in. With bated breath, I approached the bed. Oh! shall I ever erase from memory that revelation?

Ghoul vampyre! monsters misshapen, and creatures charged to freeze the blood! No marvel that I had thought of ye!

My terror had been acutely excited; my nerves awfully startled; and I discovered the cause at the bottom of the bed, in the shape of a "foot-bottle!" Mrs. Wilson, pray for the future inform your guests when you give them a bedfellow, which a bad conscience or active imagination can conjure into a frightful and mysterious monster.

Nothing is more easy than to magnify a trifling circumstance into a serious misfortune, by suffering the mind to dwell upon, and place it in every possible point of view, each assuming a darker shade than the former. It is the common fault of a vivid imagination to exagge rate either good or evil,

ENGLISH PUBLIC SPEAKING.

There is a good deal of peculiarity about public speaking in this country. A certain monotony, and an utter absence of passionate emotion, are among the chief qualities of a good parliamentary orator. Such a speaker appears cold and dry in the eyes of a foreigner; but whenever he does not succeed in remaining unimpassioned, whenever he gets violent, the impression he produces is decidedly disagreeable. The same may be said of the action of the hands. Every Englishman who takes the platform at a meeting, every member who rises from his seat in Parliament to address the House shows at once that he is firmly resolved to make no movements with his hands and arms. He secures his hands to keep them out of harm's way; and the positions he takes for that purpose are not by any means æsthetic or pathetic. One man puts his hands in his trousers' pockets; another hooks his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat; some put their hands behind their backs, and others cross their arms over their chests, à la Napoleon. In this manner do they begin their speeches; but since the speeches are long, it stands to reason that the speaker cannot always remain in the same position. Besides, as he proceeds with his subject, he warms to it, and then commences the most astonishing action of the arms and body generally. One man moves his hand up and down as if he were the leader of a band presiding over the performance of a galopade; another stands with his hands clenched, and makes a rowing motion; and the third moves his right hand in circles, each circle ending with a sort of push at the audience; others-for instance, Lord Dudley Stuart -beat time on the table; and others-for instance, Lord Palmerston-swing their bodies to and fro in imitation of a pendulum. All these attitudes are not by any means elegant; but it is customary in England for publie speakers to conduct themselves with all possible nonchalance, and to address their hearers as merchants do in a conversation on mercantile affairs. Besides, there is no tribune in the House of Commons, and it is therefore quite natural that the members are at a loss what to do with their hands. Public speaking, in fact, is by no means an easy matter; and to be an efficient member of parliament requires the whole of a man's time and energies. Committies in the morning, debates from four o'clock in the afternoon until after midnight, the speaking and the listening to speeches, surely these fatigues are enough to shake a man's health. Who would find fault with the most conscientious member of parliament for his desire to escape from town in August, and recruit his strength in the Highlands?-Schlesinger's Saunterings in and about London.

A LAW STUDENT'S DEFINITIONS. Law-students and lawyers who have been students, will smile at this " scene in a court-room," where "examinations for admission to the bar" are going on:-" Examiner: Mr., what is law?' Startled student (striving to collect scattered faculties): Law? Law, sir, is (under-tone) I wonder what the devil law is! Law is did you ask, sir, what law is ?' Examiner (getting crusty): 'Yes, sir.' Startled student (getting wild): Law, sir, is -is-is-is-it's a rule, sir, of civil conduct, prescribed by municipal regulations.' Examiner: 'What ? Startled student (in agony, and becoming desperate): A rule, sir-oh! I'm sure I don't know what it is.' Examiner (solemnly): What are treaties?' Startled student: 'A treatise, sir, is a book-its judicial reports-I mean reports of judicial decisions, collected together, and forming what is called unwritten, or common law.' Examiner: A what? Startled student: A book, sir! a book, sir,

is a collection of leaves of printed paper, sewed together, and, when pasted to a thick cover, it is called 'bound;' and, when it has only a paper cover, it is denominated a pamphlet, sir.' Examiner: 'Do you intend to say, sir, that treaties are books?' Startled student: Treatisesyou mean treatises, sir: yes, sir, treatises are books (a light dawns on bewildered mind); oh! you mean treaty, treaty spelt with a 'y,' not with 'ise; oh! yes, sir, a treaty's a different affair. A treaty, sir, refers to the law of nations; or, rather, sir, its got something to do with the law of nations and war; that is to say, when the law of nations is at war, then the treaty don't come in; but when there's peace, treaties generally ensue.' Examiner (sternly): What is a summons, sir?' Startled student (feeling hopeful): 'Oh! yes, sir; a summons is subscribed by the plaintiff and directed to the defendant, and requiring an answer thereof within twenty days, or else to be barred thereby, and liable on said contingency to have judgment entered up against him.' Examiner: What is a complaint?' Startled student (more encouraged :) A complaint, sir, is a statement of facts: the name of the court is to be put at the top of the page, and a line drawn under it and then you write the name of the county, and then draw a line again; and then there are two or more names frequently more, generally put with a flourish on one side and two letters vs. between them; but I never knew what "vs." meant. I suppose, however, it is a mere form, and is probably used in the case of a formal complaint.' Examiner: How, sir, would you commence an action in a court of law?' Student (radiant): 'Oh! sir, I would first serve a summons on the sheriff, by leaving a copy with him, and making an affidavit that he was the individual known and described therein, and that I knew the same to be the same, and requiring him to hold and execute the same by demanding a delivery of the property, and in case it was shut up in an enclosure, if there wasn't any person inside, or the property wasn't delivered up forthwith, then straightway to demolish said enclosure, and seize the same, and allow him the privilege of calling in the "posse comitatus," although those words always "knocked me," and I don't know to this day what they mean.' Examiner: "That 'll do, sir.'"

66

How much real comfort every one might enjoy, if he would be contented with the lot in which Heaven has cast him, and how much trouble would be avoided if people would only "let well alone!" A moderate independence, quietly and honestly procured, is certainly every way preferable even to immense possessions achieved by the wear and tear of mind and body so necessary to procure them. Yet there are very few individuals, let them be doing ever so well in the world, who are not always straining every nerve to do better, and this is one of the many causes why failures in business so frequently occur amongst us. The present generation seem unwilling to "realise" by slow and sure degrees, but choose rather to set their whole hopes upon a single cast, which either makes or mars them for ever.

Now, why must woman's petticoats
Aye be the blameables ?
How is't Quevedo never quotes

Mankind's unnameables?

He rates the sex, and certes for it he
Makes a good plea ;

But can't I, on good authority,
Ask, who is he?

Quevedo swears that Eve and Helen

Wrought dire mishaps ;

That Adam and the Trojans fell in
Their deep-laid traps.

Eve ?-why Diabolus beguiled her,
Thou know'st, Quevedo.

Helen ?-that rascal, Paris, wiled her;
That's Homer's credo.

Trust me, man causes woman's failing;
And, on my life,

He's always wantonly assailing
Maid, widow, wife.

Beneath the surface let the gazer

Look deep; he'll see

Some stronger vessel that betrays herJust ask,-Who's he?

Is it a milkmaid drops her pailful?
Lubin's love-making!

Is her fate scandalous or baleful?
Lubin's been raking!

The schoolgirl loathes her bread and butter,
Pouts o'er her tea,

Mumbles her lessons in a flutter

Ask-Who is he?

Despite experience, what can set
The widow hoping?

Why are wives sometimes gadding met,
And sometimes moping?

Don't talk of widows' amorous bump,

Of wives too free;

But pop the question to them, plumpPray, who is he?

We're mighty prompt to throw the blame on
The weaker fair sex;

When justice ought to fix the shame on
Ours-not on their sex.

Ours the seduction and the fooling,

If such there be;

Come, your exception to this rulingPray, who is he?

The old and humpbacked ply their battery Of gold and jewels;

Well-knit young fellows deal in flattery,

Dance, song, oaths, duels ;

So, to conclude, I'll take my oath, sir,
Upon the Bible,

That to blame one, in place of both, sir,
Is a gross libel!

Printed by Cox (Brothers) & WYMAN, 74-75, Great Queen Street, London; and published by CHARLES Cook, at the Office of the Journal, 3, Raquet Court, Fleet Street.

The Editing of this Journal will, for the future, be SOLELY in the hands of the Proprietress. It is, therefore requested that all communications will be addressed in her name to the Office, 3, Raquet Court, Fleet Street.

SUNNY MEMORIES OF FOREIGN LANDS. MRS. STOWE gives in these volumes a most glowing description of her visit to Europe. Certain it is that the English stand pleasantly forth on her canvas, and that she deems us a very agreeable excellent people. Young looking, healthy-looking, and good-looking. It is well known that Mrs. Stowe was paraded and lionized to a somewhat serious extent during her sojourn in England and Scotland, and if flattery is an evidence of gratitude, Mrs. Stowe is indeed most grateful. Yet, while we read her Sunny Memories with an English eye, and an English spirit, we feel a want of something solid in their tone, and would rather have met a degree more of criticism with a little less excess of eulogy. Our admiration of Uncle Tom excited a hope that these volumes would preserve the genius of the writer undimmed, but having read them carefully through, we cannot help wishing they had not been published, or that Mrs. Stowe had been less imbued with the spirit of public breakfasts, and Stafford House meetings. Every distinguished personage who invited Mrs. Stowe to their table, is represented as an ideality of moral, mental, and physical excellence-very much in the same spirit that Miss Bremer speaks in her work of those who entertained her in America. Now, we have no objection to give even the oldest known gentleman of bad character his due, but we have a distaste for universal "buttering;" and while we would most cautiously abstain from animadverting too candidly on the qualities and appearance of those whose salt we had eaten, still the rose-waterish adulation so often rendered at the shrine of wealthy or titled entertainers, is somewhat fulsome, and we have resolutely made up our minds that if we are ever invited to breakfast and dine with the planets "Mercury" and "Venus," we will not return to the contemptible "earth," and relate the particulars of the singular dish presented to us, formed of extract of sunbeams.

Mrs. Stowe gives passages here and there which remind us of her vigour and originality, but the greater portion of the work is very diluted.

[PRICE 1 d.

We shall select a few passages for our readers' gratification, commencing with a portion of her voyage to England:

"Our cook has specially interested me-a tall, slender, melancholy man, with a watery-blue eye, a patient dejected visage, like an individual weary of the storms and commotions of life, and thoroughly impressed with the vanity of human wishes. I sit there hour after hour watching him, and it is evident that he performs all his duties in this frame of sad composure. Now I see him resignedly stuffing a turkey, anon compounding a sauce, or mournfully making little ripples in the crust of a tart; but all is done under an evident sense that it is of no use trying.

Many complaints have been made of our coffee since we have been on board, which, to say the truth, has been as unsettled as most of the social questions of our day, and, perhaps, for that reason quite as generally unpalatable; but since I have seen our cook, I am quite persuaded that the coffee, like other works of great artists, has borrowed the hues of its maker's mind. I think I hear him soliloquise over it-To what purpose is coffee? -of what avail tea ?-thick or clear ?-all is passing away-a little egg, or fish-skin, more or less, what are they?' and so we get melancholy coffee and tea, owing to our philosophic cook.

"After dinner I watch him as he washes dishes: he hangs up a whole row of tin; the ship gives a lurch, and knocks them all down. He looks as if it was just what he expected. Such is life!' he says, as he pursues a frisky tin pan in one direction, and arrests the gambols of the ladle in another; while the wicked sea, meanwhile, with another lurch, is upsetting all his dishwater. I can see how these daily trials, this performing of most delicate and complicated gastronomic operations in the midst of such unsteady, unsettled circumstances, have gradually given this poor soul a despair of living, and brought him into this state of philosophic melancholy. Just as Xantippe made a sage of Socrates, this whisky, frisky, stormy ship-life has made a sage of our cook. Meanwhile, not to do him injustice, let it be recorded, that in all dishes which require grave conviction and steady perseverance, rather than hope and inspiration, he is eminently successful. Our table excels in viands of a reflective and solemn character; mighty rounds of beef, vast saddles of mutton, and the whole tribe of meats in general, come on in a superior style. English plum-pudding, a weighty

and serious performance, is exhibited in first-rate order. The jellies want lightness,-but that is to be expected." Mrs. Stowe says this of our railway travelling :"As to the comforts of the cars, it is to be said, that for the same price you can get far more comfortable riding in America. Their first-class cars are beyond all praise, but also beyond all price; their second class are comfortless, cushionless, and uninviting. Everything upon the railroad proceeds with systematic accuracy. There is no chance for the most careless person to commit a blunder or make a mistake. At the proper time the conductor marches everybody into their place, and locks them in, gives the word All right,' and away we go. Somebody has remarked, very characteristically, that the starting word of the English is 'All right,' and that of the Americans Go ahead.'

As for there being "no chance for the most careless person to make a blunder or mistake," we rather doubt it. We have known steady and cautious people find themselves put out at the wrong station, and luggage is often missing when wanted. Perhaps railway travelling requires a greater amount of active perception and locomotive knowledge than any other style of progression, but this may be a mere matter of opinion, or Mrs. Stowe might experience extra attention and facilities.

Mrs. Stowe went direct to Scotland, and was received with enthusiastic greetings. In due time she returned to London, and the endless meetings, parties, presentations, and addresses devoted to her are pretty well known. She must, indeed, have been "exhausted," as she so frequently complains, for the toil imposed on her would have wearied a post-horse. Her visit to the Earl of Carlisle's, and first introduction to the Duchess of Sutherland, are thus described :

"After long driving, we found ourselves coming into the precincts of the West End, and began to feel an indefinite sense that we were approaching something very grand, though I cannot say that we saw much but heavy, smoky, walled buildings, washed by the rain. At length we stopped in Grosvenor Place, and alighted.

We were shown into an ante-room adjoining the entrance-hall, and from that into an adjacent apartment, where we met Lord Carlisle. The room had a pleasant, social air, warmed and enlivened by the blaze of a coal-fire and wax-candles.

"We had never, any of us, met Lord Carlisle before; but the considerateness and cordiality of our reception obviated whatever embarrassment there might have been in this circumstance. In a few moments after we were all seated the servant announced the Duchess of Sutherland, and Lord Carlisle presented me. She is tall and stately, with a most noble bearing. Her fair complexion, blond hair, and full lips, speak of Saxon blood. In her early youth she might have been a Rowena. I thought of the lines of Wordsworth ::

"When we went into the drawing-room I was presented to the venerable Countess of Carlisle, the earl's mother; a lady universally beloved and revered, not less for superior traits of mind than for great loveliness and benevolence of character. She received us with the utmost kindness; kindness evidently genuine and real.

"The walls of the drawing-room were beautifully adorned with works of art by the best masters. There was a Rembrandt hanging over the fireplace, which showed finely by the evening light. It was simply the portrait of a man with a broad Flemish hat. There were one or two pictures, also, by Cuyp. I should think he must have studied in America, so perfectly does he represent the golden, hazy atmosphere of our Indian summer.

"One of the ladies showed me a snuff-box, on which was a picture of Lady Carlisle's mother, the celebrated Duchess of Devonshire, taken when she was quite a little girl; a round, happy face, showing great vivacity and genius. On another box was an exquisite beautiful miniature of a relative of the family.

"After the gentlemen rejoined us, came in the Duke and Duchess of Argyle, and Lord and Lady Blantyre. These ladies are the daughters of the Duchess of Sutherland. The Duchess of Argyle is of a slight and fairy-like figure, with flaxen hair and blue eyes, answering well enough to the description of Annot Lyle, in the Legend of Montrose. Lady Blantyre was somewhat taller, of fuller figure, with very brilliant bloom. Lord Blantyre is of the Stuart blood, a tall and slender young man, with very graceful manners.

"As to the Duke of Argyle, we found that the picture drawn of him by his countrymen in Scotland was every way correct. Though slight of figure, with fair complexion and blue eyes, his whole appearance is indicative of energy and vivacity.

*

"The company soon formed themselves into little groups in different parts of the room. The Duchess of Sutherland, Lord Carlisle, and the Duke and Duchess of Argyle formed a circle, and turned the conversation upon American topics. The Duke of Argyle made many inquiries about our distinguished men, particularly of Emerson, Longfellow, and Hawthorne; also of Prescott, who appears to be a general favourite here. I felt at the moment that we never value our literary men so much as when placed in a circle of intelligent foreigners; it is particularly so with Americans, because we have nothing but our men and women to glory in-no court, no nobles, no castles, no cathedrals, except we produce distinguished specimens of humanity, we are nothing.

"The quietness of this evening circle, the charm of its kind hospitality, the evident air of sincerity and goodwill which pervaded everything, made the evening pass most delightfully to me. I had never felt myself more at home even among the Quakers. Such a visit is a true rest and refreshment, a thousand times better than the most brilliant and glittering entertainment.

"At eleven o'clock, however, the carriage called, for our evening was drawing to its close; that of our friends, I suppose, was but just commencing, as London's liveliest hours are by gaslight; but we cannot learn the art of turning night into day.".

The meeting at Stafford House is thus detailed by Mrs. Stowe:

"At about eleven o'clock we drove under the arched carriage-way of a mansion externally not very showy in appearance. It stands on the borders of St. James's Park, opposite to Buckingham Palace, with a street on the north side, and beautiful gardens on the south, while the park is extended on the west.

We were received at the door by two stately High