The next morning, Sept. 12th, rose early, took a hot bath, and dressed for a hot day; but the day was resolute not to be hot: a north-east wind had set in after breakfast, and down went the thermometer from seventy-nine to forty-five. "Zooks, what a tumble!" as Mister Poll says: all the time too the sky was cloudless, and the sun shining most treacherously. I wasn't to be done, however; so, after an hour, jumped again into my broad-cloth for comfort. During my first week here I occupied private apartments,--which may be had at every hotel, by the way,--and being in company with a friend, we had our meals at our own hours, all of which were excellent and well served, with wines most unexceptionable. My friend leaving me, however, I took the advice of my good host, Mr. Head, and, quitting my sulky solitude, joined the public table,--a change I had every reason to be satisfied with, since, however, unpleasant the bustle occasioned by a hundred or a hundred and fifty persons dining _ensemble_, no such objection can apply here, where the guests rarely exceed twenty-five or thirty, including from time to time men of the first rank and intelligence in the States. This dinner-table indeed is as well appointed in every way as any gentleman could desire; the attendants numerous and well ordered; the service, including every luxury the season can furnish, is of three courses; and the cloth is never drawn under an hour. I am thus particular, because, as much has been said of the badness of hotels in America, it is but fair to give place to a notice of those which are good; and so essentially good a _table d'hote_ as that of the Mansion House at Philadelphia, whether for variety, cooking, wine, or all these things combined, I never yet met in any country of Europe. PHILADELPHIA. I pity the man who, on a fine morning, can walk through the shady and clean streets of Philadelphia and cry, "all is barren!" In my eyes, it appeared, even at first sight,--and no place improves more upon acquaintance,--one of the most attractive-looking towns I had ever beheld. Coming immediately out of the noise, bustle, and variety of Broadway, its general aspect appears quiet, almost _triste_; but the cleanliness, the neatness, the air of comfort, propriety, and health, that reigns on all sides, bespeaks immediate favour. The progress of improvement, and enlargement too, are sufficiently evident, for at either extremity of the city, the fall of hammer and chisel give unceasing note of preparation. The circle designed and marked out as the limit of its future greatness by the sanguine mind of its sagacious founder has long since been overleaped; the wide Delaware on one side, and on the other the Schuylkill, seem incapable of bounding the ambitious city. Already does Market-street rest upon these two points, which cannot be less than three miles apart.