Rose at eight: after breakfast tidied my dressing-box, mended and tucked my white muslin gown--wrote journal: while doing so, Colonel ---- came to take leave of us for a few days: he is going to join his wife in the country. Mr. ---- called and remained some time; while he was here, the waiter brought me word that a Mr. ---- wanted to see me. I sent word down that my father was out, knowing no such person, and supposing the waiter had mistaken whom he asked for; but the gentleman persisted in seeing me, and presently in walked a good-looking elderly man, who introduced himself as Mr. ----, to whom my father had letters of introduction. He sat himself down, and pottered a little, and then went away. When he was gone, Mr. ---- informed me that this was one of _the_ men of New York, in point of wealth, influence, and consideration. He had been a great auctioneer, but had retired from business, having, among his other honours, filled the office of Mayor of New York. My father and Mr. ---- went to put our letters in the post: I practised and needle-worked till dinner-time; after dinner, as I stood at the window looking at the lovely sky and the brilliant earth, a curious effect of light struck me. Within a hundred yards of each other, the Town-Hall lay, with its white walls glowing in the sunset, while the tall grey church-steeple was turning pale in the clear moonlight. That Town Hall is a white-washed anomaly, and yet its effect is not altogether bad. I took a bath at the house behind it, which is very conveniently arranged for that purpose, with a French sort of gallery, all papered with the story of Psyche in lead-coloured paper, that reminded me of the doughy immortals I used to admire so much, at the inns at Abbeville and Montreuil. The house was kept by a foreigner--I knew it. My father proposed to us a walk, and we accordingly sallied forth. We walked to the end of Broadway, a distance of two miles, I should think, and then back again. The evening was most lovely. The moon was lighting the whole upper sky, but every now and then, as we crossed the streets that led to the river, we caught glimpses of the water, and woody banks, and the sky that hung over them; which all were of that deep orange tint, that I never saw but in Claude's pictures. After walking nearly a mile up Broadway, we came to Canal Street: it is broader and finer than any I have yet seen in New York; and at one end of it, a Christian church, copied from some Pagan temple or other, looked exceedingly well, in the full flood of silver light that streamed from heaven. There were many temptations to look around, but the flags were so horribly broken and out of order, that to do so was to run the risk of breaking one's neck:--this is very bad.[3] The street was very much thronged, and I thought the crowd a more civil and orderly one than an English crowd. The men did not jostle or push one another, or tread upon one's feet, or