I had nearly attained it, when there comes an impertinent officer of fate, known as Dr. G., and he peremptorily orders me out of my gentle bliss.  I am sinking into apathy, forsooth!  The warm weather is prostrating me!  I must be stirred to activity by torture, like the fainting wretch on the rack!  I am commanded to travel!  I, who cannot bear the grating of my slow-moving wheels over the smooth gravel-walk, without compressed lips and corrugated brow!

The Doctor ordained it; Kate executed it.  I am no longer my own master; and so here I am in New York, resting for a day, on my way to some retired springs in the Green Mountains, where the water is medicinal, the air cool and bracing, the scenery transcendent, and the visitors few.

I have taken Ben for my valet.  He looks quite a gentleman when dressed in his Sunday clothes, and his Scotch shrewdness serves us many a good turn.  He has the knack of arresting any little advantages floating on the stream of travel, and securing them for our benefit.

I journey on my wheeled couch from necessity, as I have not been able to sit up at all since the heats of June set in.  So I have, in this trip, a novel experience,—­on the railroad, being consigned to the baggage car, and upon the steamboat, to the forward deck.  I cannot endure the close saloons, and prefer the fresh breeze, even when mingled with tobacco-smoke.  I go as freight, and Kate keeps a sharp eye to her baggage, for she will not leave my side.  I tried to flatter her by saying that the true order of things was reversed,—­her sex being entitled to that name and position, and mine to the relation she now bore to me.  She had the perversity to consider this a twit, and gave me a stinging reply, which I will not repeat to you, because you are a woman likewise, and would enjoy it too much.

We left peaceful, green Bosky Dell late in the afternoon, and slept in Philadelphia that night.  Yesterday—­the hottest day of the season—­we set out for New York.  I thought it was going to be sultry, when, as we passed Washington Square before sunrise, on our way to the boat, I saw the blue haze among the trees, as still and soft and hay-scented as if in the country.  Ben often quotes an old Scotch proverb,—­“Daylight will peep through a sma’ hole.”  So beauty will peep through every small corner that is left to Nature, even under severe restrictions.  Witness our noble trees, walled in by houses and cramped by pavements!

The streets were quite deserted that morning,—­for, being obliged to ride very slowly, I had set out betimes.  No one was up but ourselves and the squirrels, except one wren, whose twittering sounded strangely loud in the hushed city.  Probably she took that opportunity to try her voice and note her improvement in singing, for in the rush of day what chance has she?  These country sounds and sights, in the heart of a populous city, were, for that reason, a thousand-fold more sweet to me than ever.  Their delights were multiplied to me by thinking of the number of hearts that took them in daily.