On the 19th of August we left London for Liverpool, and on our arrival took lodgings at the Adelphi Hotel.

The kindness with which I had been welcomed, when I first arrived at Liverpool, had left a deep impression upon my mind.  It seemed very ungrateful to leave that noble city, which had met me in some of its most esteemed representatives with a warm grasp of the hand even before my foot had touched English soil, without staying to thank my new friends, who would have it that they were old friends.  But I was entirely unfit for enjoying any company when I landed.  I took care, therefore, to allow sufficient time in Liverpool, before sailing for home, to meet such friends, old and recent, as cared to make or renew acquaintance with me.  In the afternoon of the 20th we held a reception, at which a hundred visitors, more or less, presented themselves, and we had a very sociable hour or two together.  The Vice-Consul, Mr. Sewall, in the enforced absence of his principal, Mr. Russell, paid us every attention, and was very agreeable.  In the evening I was entertained at a great banquet given by the Philomathean Society.  This flourishing institution enrolls among its members a large proportion of the most cultivated and intelligent gentlemen of Liverpool.  I enjoyed the meeting very highly, listened to pleasant things which were said about myself, and answered in the unpremeditated words which came to my lips and were cordially received.  I could have wished to see more of Liverpool, but I found time only to visit the great exhibition, then open.  The one class of objects which captivated my attention was the magnificent series of models of steamboats and other vessels.  I did not look upon them with the eye of an expert, but the great number and variety of these beautiful miniature ships and boats excited my admiration.

On the 21st of August we went on board the Aurania.  Everything was done to make us comfortable.  Many old acquaintances, friends, and family connections were our fellow-passengers.  As for myself, I passed through the same trying experiences as those which I have recorded as characterizing my outward passage.  Our greatest trouble during the passage was from fog.  The frequency of collisions, of late years, tends to make everybody nervous when they hear the fog-whistle shrieking.  This sound and the sight of the boats are not good for timid people.  Fortunately, no one was particularly excitable, or if so, no one betrayed any special uneasiness.

On the evening of the 27th we had an entertainment, in which Miss Kellogg sang and I read several poems.  A very pretty sum was realized for some charity,—­I forget what,—­and the affair was voted highly successful.  The next day, the 28th, we were creeping towards our harbor through one of those dense fogs which are more dangerous than the old rocks of the sirens, or Scylla and Charybdis, or the much-lied-about maelstrom.