clerks and managers at hotels, the officials at railway stations,
the cashiers at banks, the women in the shops--ah! they are the
worst of all. An American woman who is bound by her position to
serve you--who is paid in some shape to supply your wants, whether
to sell you a bit of soap or bring you a towel in your bed-room at a
hotel--is, I think, of all human creatures, the most insolent. I
certainly had a feeling of regret at parting with my colored friend--
and some regret also as regards a few that were white.

As I drove down Pennsylvania Avenue, through the slush and mud, and
saw, perhaps for the last time, those wretchedly dirty horse
sentries who had refused to allow me to trot through the streets, I
almost wished that I could see more of them. How absurd they
looked, with a whole kit of rattletraps strapped on their horses'
backs behind them--blankets, coats, canteens, coils of rope, and,
always at the top of everything else, a tin pot! No doubt these
things are all necessary to a mounted sentry, or they would not have
been there; but it always seemed as though the horse had been loaded
gipsy-fashion, in a manner that I may perhaps best describe as
higgledy-piggledy, and that there was a want of military precision
in the packing. The man would have looked more graceful, and the
soldier more warlike, had the pannikin been made to assume some
rigidly fixed position instead of dangling among the ropes. The
drawn saber, too, never consorted well with the dirty outside woolen
wrapper which generally hung loose from the man's neck. Heaven
knows, I did not begrudge him his comforter in that cold weather, or
even his long, uncombed shock of hair; but I think he might have
been made more spruce, and I am sure that he could not have looked
more uncomfortable. As I went, however, I felt for him a sort of
affection, and wished in my heart of hearts that he might soon be