after her, and looks as if life were a burden to him.

"You promised to have it ready. It is not ready. It must be a car
with a water jar, the windows must be shut, the fire must be kept
up, the blinds must be down. No, this won't do. I shall go
through the whole train, and suit myself, for you promised to
have it ready. It is not ready," &c., all through again, like a
hand-organ. She haunted the cars, the depot, the office and
baggage-room, with her bed, her tumbler, and her tongue, till the
train started; and a sense of fervent gratitude filled my soul,
when I found that she and her unknown invalid were not to share
our car.

Philadelphia.--An old place, full of Dutch women, in "bellus top"
bonnets, selling vegetables, in long, open markets. Every one
seems to be scrubbing their white steps. All the houses look like
tidy jails, with their outside shutters. Several have crape on
the door-handles, and many have flags flying from roof or
balcony. Few men appear, and the women seem to do the business,
which, perhaps, accounts for its being so well done. Pass fine
buildings, but don't know what they are. Would like to stop and
see my native city; for, having left it at the tender
age of two, my recollections are not vivid.

Baltimore.--A big, dirty, shippy, shiftless place, full of goats,
geese, colored people, and coal, at least the part of it I see.
Pass near the spot where the riot took place, and feel as if I
should enjoy throwing a stone at somebody, hard. Find a guard at
the ferry, the depot, and here and there, along the road. A camp
whitens one hill-side, and a cavalry training school, or whatever