at seeing three—four servants—strong, tall, well-Made young men (for such are selected)—attached to a coach, one coachman and three footmen, two, of course, perfect supernumeraries? We "moralize the spectacle," too; observe the vacant countenance and flippant air of these men, chained, to the circle of half a dozen ideas, and end with a laugh at their fantastical liveries; some in white turned with red, and some in red turned with white. Fancy a man driving, with a militia general's hat, feathers and all, with three footmen, one seated beside him and two behind, all with white coats, scarlet plush breeches, white silk stockings, rosettes on their shoes, and gold-headed batons in their white-gloved hands. There must be something "rotten in the state," when God's creatures, "possible angels," as our friend Doctor T. calls all humankind, look up to a station behind a lord's coach as a privileged place. "Possible angels" they may be, but, alas, their path is hedged about with huge improbabilities!
London.—Since the first day of our arrival here, my dear C., we have been going on with the swiftness of railroad motion. I have made, en passant, a few notes in the hope of retaining impressions that were necessarily slight and imperfect; and now, at my first leisure, I am about to expand them for you. You shall have them honestly, without colouring or exaggeration. I can scarcely hope they will have
