look after me as if I were their sister; and they do everything so nicely and so well. I cannot be sufficiently grateful for these friends.

The Downings also those amiable people and kind friends are to me invaluable. They came to New York to see me, and brought me the most beautiful flowers. His dark eyes, and her gentle, bright blue ones, as blue as our Swedish violets, will accompany me on my journey -will remain in my heart.

March 16th.-But I do not know how rightly I am to get away, there is so much difficulty both as regards the vessels and the captains. The captain, that is to say him of the sailing-vessel, when he learnt the name of the lady-passenger who wished to sail in his vesselrefused to receive her on board; and when Marcus insisted upon knowing his reason why, he replied that he did not wish to have any authors on board his ship who would laugh to scorn his accommodations, and who would put him in a book. Marcus laughed and wanted to persuade him to run the risk, assuring him that I was not dangerous, and so on. But the man was immoveable. He would not take me on board; and I have now to wait till the next steam-boat goes, which is eight days later. And for this I have to thank Mrs. Trollope and Dickens. But I am happy at Rose Cottage with my amiable friends, and this delay has afforded me the pleasure of hearing Emerson's lectures at various times, both here and in New York. It is a peculiar pleasure to hear that deep, sonorous voice uttering words which give the impression of jewels and real pearls as they fall from his lips. I heard him yesterday in his lecture on eloquence severely chastise the senseless exaggeration and inflation of expression made use of by some of his countrymen, and which he compared with the natural and poetically beautiful, yet destructive hyperbole of the East. He produced examples of both, and the assembly, in the best possible humour

with their lecturer, gave the most lively demonstrations of approval and pleasure. Marcus S. and some other gentlemen of Brooklyn invited Emerson to give these lectures, and I thus saw him there several times. Perhaps we may never meet again. But I am glad to have seen him.

20th. We have had two quiet beautiful evenings, for I do not this time either receive visits, or accept invitations, unless exceptionally; I must rest. My friends and I have therefore been alone, and we have spent the evenings in reading and conversation. I have read a letter which they have received from Margaret Fuller, now the Marchioness Ossoli, for her marriage is now divulged, and her advocate, Mr. W. R., was perfectly right. Madame Ossoli is now, with her husband and child, on her way to America, where she will take up her residence. And on board the same vessel is also that young man who travelled to Petersburg, and gave the Emperor of Russia the acorn. Her last letter is from Gibraltar, and describes the affectingly beautiful evening when the body of the captainhe had died of small-pox-was lowered into the sea, above which the evening sun descended brilliantly, and small craft lay with white sails outspread like the wings of angels. A certain melancholy breathes through the letter, and a thoroughly noble tone of mind, with no trace whatever of that insolent and proud spirit which various things had led me to expect in her. In her letter to Rebecca she spoke of her joy as a mother, and of her beautiful child, in the most touching manner. "I can hardly understand my own happiness," she says in one place; "I am the mother of an immortal being,-' God be merciful to me a sinner!" That does not sound much like pride! She has sent home a box of presents and souvenirs for her friends, "in case I should not again see my father-land," says she. She has commenced the voyage with joyless presentiments; and now that the good captain of the vessel is dead, during the voyage they seem to increase.

Yet all has gone well hitherto, and her mother, three brothers, and her only sister, the young amiable lady at Concord, and many of her friends, expect her with longing and with joy.

22nd. Yesterday I visited the Female Academy at Brooklyn, an educational institute for five hundred young girls, where they study and graduate as young men do. I admired the arrangement of the establishment, its museum, library, &c., and was especially pleased with the deportment of the young girls; heard their compositions both in prose and verse, liked them and the young ladies who read them. I also heard here a song, with which, to my shame I say it, I have been greeted two or three times in this country, because the words, in which I cannot discover a grain of sense or connection, have been dedicated to me, (they begin, "I dream, I dream of my father-land") and the music to-Jenny Lind! C'est imprimée! These finishing schools for young girls give unquestionably a deal of finish, various kinds of knowledge, demeanour in society, self-possession, &c. But are they calculated to develop that which is best in woman? I doubt it; and I have heard sensible women in this country, even among the young, doubt also, or rather deny that they are. They may be good as a temporary means of leading women into those spheres of knowledge from which they have hitherto been excluded. Thus these young ladies are universally commended for the progress which they make, and for their skill in mathematical studies, in algebra, and physics. But it is clear to me that the pursuit of these scholastic studies must involve the neglect of much domestic virtue and pleasure. The young girl, in her zeal to prepare her lessons, snubs her mother, and looks cross at her father, if they venture to interrupt her. ambition at the expense of her much stress upon school learning.

They call forth her heart. They lay too The highest object of

schools should be to prepare people to do without them. At all events the life of the young girl ought to be divided between the school and home, so that the school may have but a small part of it. The good home is the true high school.

But I almost reproach myself for saying so much against an institution where I experienced so much of the young heart's warmth as I did here. Certain it is that I embraced and was embraced, that I kissed and was kissed, by daughters, and nieces, and mammas, and aunts, so that there was almost-too much of it. But the warmheartedness there warmed my own heart, and I bore away with me many lively memories of it.

I am now preparing for my departure, and in the meantime have taken the portraits of my friends and their children, "the rose-coloured family," in a little group of heads, which I leave with them as a memorial of me. I was very sorry to part with it. I should like to have had it always with me. But I shall see them again, for I am returning here. Great part of my books and clothes, as well as my one chest, I shall leave at their house. When I look at the former, and see the thick volumes of Hegel's Philosophy and Scandinavian Mythology, which I intended to have studied during my visit to this country, I cannot but smile. I have not once thought of opening them.

March 24th.-Yesterday Channing was here, the amiable W. H. Channing! He came in the morning, fresh and dewy as a morning in May. We had during the winter exchanged a couple of letters, and in them had got a little atwist. Emerson was the apple of discord between us. Channing set up Emerson, and I set up— myself. And thus we both became silent. When we now met he was most cordial and beaming, gave me a volume of Wordsworth's, the "Excursion"—and was perfectly kind and amiable. With such men one breathes the air of spring.

There was a little party in the evening, Channing among the rest. After he had said good night and left the house, he came hastily back, and calling me out, led me into the piazza, where pointing up to the starry heavens, which shone forth in beaming splendour above us, he smiled, pressed my hand, and—was gone.

But I must not talk only of myself and my own affairs; I must say a little about the affairs of the public. The question of universal interest, and which now occupies everyone, regards the incorporation of California and Texas with the Union as independent States. The whole country may be said to be divided into two parties,Pro-Slavery, and Anti-Slavery. California, rapidly populated, and that principally from the North-Eastern States, the enterprising sons of the Pilgrims, has addressed to Congress a petition to be freed from slavery, and to be acknowledged as a free state. To this the Southern slave states will not consent, as California by its position. belongs to the Southern States, and its freedom from slavery would lessen their weight in Congress. They contend desperately for the maintenance of what they call their rights. The Northern free states contend just as desperately, in part to prevent the extension of slavery to California and Texas, and in part to bring about the abolition of that which they with reason regard as a misfortune and a plague-spot to their father-land. And the contest is carried on with a good deal of bitterness on both sides, both in and out of Congress.

Abolitionists are here of all shades. Various of my acquaintance belong to the Ultras; the S.'s to the Moderates, and to these last I attach myself; I think the others unreasonable.

The continually increasing emigration of the poorest classes of Europe, principally from Ireland and Germany, has given rise to great exertions, not to oppose it, but to deal with it, and to make it not merely uninjurious, but as