Let the Foreign Secretary try for a couple of days some such regime as the following:—­

5 A.M.  Light fires, fetch water, and put kettle on. 6 " Dust room and make beds. 7 " Clean shoes, polish knives, and sand kitchen. 7:30 " Market for dinner. 8:30 " Breakfast. 9 " To Downing-street, light fires, and dust office. 10 " Sit down comfortably(?) to work. 1:30 P.M.  Off to coal-hole for more coals. 4 " Sweep up, and go home. 5 " Off coat, up sleeves, and cook. 6:30 " Eat dinner. 7 " Wash up. 8 " Light your pipe, walk to window, and see your
          colleague over the way, with a couple of Patagonian
footmen flying about amid a dozen guests, while, to
give additional zest to your feelings of enjoyment,
a couple of buxom lassies are peeping out of the
attics, and singing like crickets.
9 " Make your own reflections upon the Government
          that dooms you to personal servitude, while your
colleague is allowed purchaseable service.  Sleep
over the same, and repeat the foregoing regime on
the second day; and, filled with the happy influences
so much cause for gratitude must inspire, give
reflection her full tether, and sleep over her again. 
On the third morning, let your heart and brain
dictate a despatch upon the subject of your reflections
to all public servants in slave-holding communities,
and, while repudiating slavery, you will
find no difficulty in employing the services of the
slave, under peculiar circumstances, and with proper
restrictions.

I embarked from Norfolk per steamer for Baltimore, and thence by rail through Philadelphia to New York.  I took a day’s hospitality among my kind friends at Baltimore.  At Philadelphia I was in such a hurry to pass on, that I exhibited what I fear many will consider a symptom of inveterate bachelorship; but truth bids me not attempt to cloak my delinquency.  Hear my confession:—­

My friend Mr. Fisher, whose hospitality I had drawn most largely upon during my previous stay, invited me to come and pay him and his charming lady a visit, at a delightful country house of his a few miles out of town.  Oh, no! that was impossible; my time was so limited; I had so much to see in the north and Canada.  In vain he urged, with hearty warmth, that I should spend only one night:  it was quite impossible—­quite.  That point being thoroughly settled, he said, “It is a great pity you are so pressed for time, because the trotting champion, ‘Mac,’ runs against a formidable antagonist, ‘Tacony,’ to-morrow.”  In half an hour I was in his waggon, and in an hour and a half I was enjoying the warm greeting of his amiable wife in their country-house, the blush of shame and a guilty conscience tinging my cheeks as each word of welcome passed from her lips or flashed from her speaking eyes.  Why did I thus act?  Could I say, in truth, “’Twas not that I love