We returned in time, as we flattered ourselves, to meet the steam-boat which leaves Troy for Albany at four; but, just as we were crossing the ferry, the steamer ran past us, leaving us, with eyes and mouths wide open, very much bothered as to how we were to get down to Albany. D---- proposed a row-boat, and the sense of the company seemed to agree thereto; but, upon driving to the inn where we hired our carriage, and enquiring for such a conveyance, we were assured that there was no such thing to be had: whereupon my father, good easy man! believed there was not, and got into the coach again. Mr. ----, however, had absconded, and remained gone so long, that I began to think he had, perhaps, started to swim down the river; when he presently appeared, informing us that he had gotten a boat for us. We jumped readily out of the coach; and, though my father had actually made a bargain for the hire of it, to convey us to Albany, with the innkeeper, and, moreover, given him the money, the righteous man refunded the dollars; which, Falstaff knows, is a displeasing thing to do: "I hate that paying back!" Our row back was delightful: the evening was calm and lovely beyond description; the sun had lost his fierceness, and the warm air clasped the fresh woods tenderly; the waters were unbroken as a mirror; the very spirit of love and peace possessed the world: the effect of all which was to send me into a very sound sleep. * * * * * * * * * * We reached Albany in very good time for dinner. Mr. ---- dined with us: what a savage he is, in some respects! He's a curious being: a description of him would puzzle any one who had never seen him. A man with the proportions of a giant for strength and agility; taller, straighter, and broader than most men; yet with the most listless indolent carelessness of gait, and an uncertain wandering way of dropping his feet to the ground, as if he didn't know where he was going, and didn't much wish to go any where. His face is as dark as a Moor's; with a wild strange look about the eyes and forehead, and a mark like a scar upon his cheek: his whole appearance giving one an idea of toil, hardship, peril, and wild adventure. The expression of his mouth is remarkably mild and sweet, and his voice is extremely low and gentle. His hands are as brown as a labourer's: he never profanes them with gloves, but wears two strange magical-looking rings: one of them, which he showed me, is made of elephant's hair. * * * * * * * * * * Occasionally, in his horror of one class of prejudices, he embraces the opposite ones: perhaps the extreme of any evil, in this world of imperfect means, can only be effectually resisted by its reverse extreme. _Monday, 8th._