to be in a conspiracy to impress us with their individuality,—­in which every ordinary locality seems to assume a special significance and to claim a particular notice,—­in which every person we meet is either an old acquaintance or a character; days in which the strangest coincidences are continually happening, so that they get to be the rule, and not the exception.  Some might naturally think that anxiety and the weariness of a prolonged search after a near relative would have prevented my taking any interest in or paying any regard to the little matters around me.  Perhaps it had just the contrary effect, and acted like a diffused stimulus upon the attention.  When all the faculties are wide-awake in pursuit of a single object, or fixed in the spasm of an absorbing emotion, they are often-times clairvoyant in a marvellous degree in respect to many collateral things, as Wordsworth has so forcibly illustrated in his sonnet on the Boy of Windermere, and as Hawthorne has developed with such metaphysical accuracy in that chapter of his wondrous story where Hester walks forth to meet her punishment.

Be that as it may,—­though I set out with a full and heavy heart, though many times my blood chilled with what were perhaps needless and unwise fears, though I broke through all my habits without thinking about them, which is almost as hard in certain circumstances as for one of our young fellows to leave his sweet-heart and go into a Peninsular campaign, though I did not always know when I was hungry nor discover that I was thirsting, though I had a worrying ache and inward tremor underlying all the outward play of the senses and the mind, yet it is the simple truth that I did look out of the car-windows with an eye for all that passed, that I did take cognizance of strange sights and singular people, that I did act much as persons act from the ordinary promptings of curiosity, and from time to time even laugh very nearly as those do who are attacked with a convulsive sense of the ridiculous, the epilepsy of the diaphragm.

By a mutual compact, we talked little in the cars.  A communicative friend is the greatest nuisance to have at one’s side during a railroad-journey, especially if his conversation is stimulating and in. itself agreeable.  “A fast train and a ‘slow’ neighbor,” is my motto.  Many times, when I have got upon the cars, expecting to be magnetized into an hour or two of blissful reverie, my thoughts shaken up by the vibrations into all sorts of new and pleasing patterns, arranging themselves in curves and nodal points, like the grains of sand in Chladni’s famous experiment,—­fresh ideas coming up to the surface, as the kernels do when a measure of corn is jolted in a farmer’s wagon,—­all this without volition, the mechanical impulse alone keeping the thoughts in motion, as the mere act of carrying certain watches in the pocket keeps them wound up,—­many times, I say, just as my brain was beginning to creep and hum with this delicious