“Nauvoo, mister,” said a tall gaunt man whom his friends addressed as “Major,” “Nauvoo is a pretty considerable sprig of a city. It is a tall place, sir. There air good points and great developments about Nauvoo. Do you settle down there, stranger? I could sell you a lot of land awful cheap.” “Thank you,” said I, “I have no intention of becoming a resident at Nauvoo; I merely wish to visit it.” “I see,” observed another guest; “you want to have a peep at the great temple the Mormons built before Joe Smith was shot at Springfield. ’Tain’t much you’ll see, though, stranger, for the place is all to ruin. The bhoys were not soft enough to let so much cedar-pine and dressed limestone stand, when houses were costing hat-fulls of dollars. But Nauvoo has some fine bluffs, con-sidered aiqual to any scenery the old Rhine can show.” “Air you in the hardware line? If so, we might trade, I guess;” said a little man at my elbow. “No, no;” I returned, “my journey is not of a commercial character, exactly.” “Political, eh?” asked the Major: “picking up news, perhaps, for your Downing Street wiseacres, and feeling Uncle Sam’s pulse to know when the old gentleman is at fever heat, eh, mister?” “Not at all,” said I; “I have no mission of the sort; nor, indeed, do I believe the British Government to entertain any peculiar anxiety on the subject you mention.” A cough and shrug of disapprobation pervaded the assembly. “It is well known, sir,” said the tall Major, “that the Government of your benighted land is ever on the watch for the expression of American opinion. American opinion, sir, has great weight in your House of Commons.” “I was not aware of it, I give you my word;” I answered with a smile. “Perhaps not, sir, perhaps not,” replied the Major, pityingly. “Do you never read the ‘Evening Planet,’ sir, when you are at home?”