The unwritten history of Mrs. Sykes’s visit to Marbury Park would have been more interesting than the account she gave.  She took with her a camp-chair, which she placed in any and every spot that suited her or commanded the pictorial situations which she wished to make her own permanently.  To the horror and surprise of her friends, she plumped it down immediately in front of Mr. Wickers (after marching past an immense congregation), and, wholly unembarrassed by her conspicuous position, settled herself comfortably, took out her block and pencil, and proceeded to jot down that worthy’s features line upon line, as though he had been a newly-imported animal at the “Zoo” on exhibition, paying no attention to the precept upon precept he was trying to impress upon his audience.

She walked all over the place repeatedly, went poking and prying into such tents as she chanced to find empty, nor considered this an essential requisite to the conferring of this honor.  When less sociably inclined, she established herself outside, close at hand, and in this way made those valuable observations and spirited drawings which subsequently enriched her diary and delighted a discerning British public.  But this is anticipating.  When she tired of New York, she wrote to Sir Robert that she wished to give as much time as possible to the Mormons, and would leave at once for Salt Lake City, where she would busy herself in laying bare the domestic system as it really existed, and hold herself in readiness to join the party again when they should arrive there en route to the Yosemite.

Sir Robert, being an heroic creature, felt that he could bear this temporary separation with fortitude, and, being about to start for Boston when he got the news, forthwith threw himself upon the New England States in a frenzied search for all the information to be had about them,—­their exact geographical position, by whom discovered, when settled, climate, productions, population, principal towns and rivers.  He studied three maps of the region as he rattled along in the south-bound train, and devoted the rest of the time to getting an outline of its history:  so that his nephew found him but an indifferent companion.

“I suppose there are authorized maps and charts, geographical, hydrographical, and topographical, issued by the government, and to be seen at the libraries.  I must get a look at them at once.  These are amateur productions, the work of irresponsible men, contradicting each other in important particulars as to the relative positions of places, and inaccurate in many respects, as I find by comparison,” he said, emerging from a prolonged study of his authorities.  “You don’t seem to take much interest in all this.  You should be at the pains to inform yourself upon every possible point in connection with this country, or any other in which you may find yourself; else why travel at all?”

Mr. Heathcote, not having his uncle’s thirst for information, was reading a French novel at the time, and did not attempt to defend his position, knowing it probably to be indefensible.