I winced. The truth was, that I _did_ take in the ‘Evening Planet,’ and heedfully perused therein the valuable dicta of its eloquent proprietor, a celebrated parliamentary and platform orator. And I had been accustomed to give credence to the confident assurance of this gentleman, that we were miles behind the Northern States of the American Union in all that was useful and good, and that we could not do better than copy so shining a model in all things. I had read and heard the bold statement, made in defiance of statistics, that America was floating peacefully on the tide of prosperity into the haven of universal empire—an empire won by bloodless means, of course; for what nation, unsaddled with an aristocracy, would dream of war, while Britain was sinking into decrepitude and decay! All this, and much more, had I heard and read, and I had believed that Britannia ought to sit at the feet of her flighty offspring for instruction, and to remodel her old institutions after a republican pattern. But, as not seldom happens, a nearer view of the United States did not precisely confirm the loud assertions of the Americanising party in the British press and senate, and I was gradually losing my ideal admiration for transatlantic liberty and customs. After the rapid dinner, and the more leisurely supplement of juleps and brandy-cobblers imbibed in the bar-room of the hotel, I asked a coloured waiter if my waggon and mules were forthcoming, as I was desirous of reaching Nauvoo before dark. “Iss, massa!” answered the negro, and whisked off with his napkin to inquire after the lingering equipage. The Major said he was going to Nauvoo too, and begged the favour of a lift, which I willingly conceded. The mules and waggon, with their whipcracking teamster, soon rattled up to the door; my bill was promptly paid, my baggage transferred to the vehicle; the Major and I climbed into our places, and we started. “How comes it, Major,” said I, “that there is no line open to Nauvoo?” The Major knocked the ashes off his cigar as he replied, “Wall, I suppose it wouldn’t pay. Rail to Fort Madison is all right and spry, because Uncle Sam has property there; but I guess not a dime could be drawed from Washington treasury to make a line on to Nauvoo.” “And from Nauvoo, westward through Iowa, say to Nebraska,” observed I, with affected carelessness; “what should you say to the prospects of a railroad in that direction?” My heart throbbed audibly as I spoke, for all my feigned indifference, and I listened with anxiety for the Major’s reply. I had not long to wait. “That depends,” said my fellow-traveller, with sagacious deliberation, “on the sort of rail you talk about. Is it a line to go no farther than Wall Street, and perhaps your London Capel Court, that you are speaking of, mister?” “Wall Street and Capel Court! Upon my life, I hardly comprehend you,” returned I.