At last came the welcome announcement, 'Bangor! There is Bangor!' 'Where is it? I do not see it,' said I, looking eagerly out into the gray morning mist. 'Why, there, to be sure! Don't you see that steeple? There's another! and there's another!' Yes, surely there was Bangor at last, welcome to me as ever the Holy City to the penance-worn pilgrim. In my gratitude, I overflowed with benignity to all the world, and even granted the poor Frenchman permission to enjoy his pipe, a privilege of which he made haste to avail himself. It was an ill-timed charity, to be sure, but I could well afford to submit to the temporary discomfort in the fulness of my satisfaction. The driver hastened the horses. With ever-increasing speed we passed the lowly cottages in the suburbs, where people were getting up and preparing breakfast by candle light, and at last the 'three grays' cantered triumphantly to the ---- Hotel--in time for breakfast, too! There was not a moment to spare, however, and so, without waiting even to make my toilet, we hurried to the train. The relief I experienced when fairly seated in the car, the excitement of finding myself in the world once more, among bustling, wide-awake people, stimulated me, and for some time I was unconscious of my fatigue. The Englishman was to leave me at a station a few miles beyond Bangor, as his journey lay in a different direction. We exchanged cards, and I could not help saying, as we parted: 'I met you a stranger, but I have found in you a friend and a brother.'[A] The Scotchman continued on to Boston with me. His chivalrous and thoughtful consideration remained undiminished. At last, after many intervals of lassitude and reanimation, I broke down altogether. My strength left me. Over-powered with grief and fatigue, I was glad to rest my weary head on my old plaid cloak, which the Scotchman rolled into a pillow for me in the saloon of the car, where I lay for the last six hours until we reached Boston. Kind friends were there to meet me, and the Scotchman gave me into their charge, a poor, exhausted creature. But I was in _time_--and that was enough. FOOTNOTES: [A] The accomplished author of 'Intuitive Morals,' in an article in _Fraser's Magazine_, entitled 'A Day at the Dead Sea,' takes occasion to render a high tribute to the courtesy of our countrymen. She writes: 'If at any time I needed to find a gentleman who should aid me in any little difficulties of travel, or show me a kindness, with that consideration for a woman, _as a woman_, which is the true tone of manly courtesy, then I should desire to find a North American gentleman.... They are simply the most kind and courteous of any people.' It is with heartfelt pleasure that I return this compliment, in this account of my winter journey, which, but for the constant and delicate kindness of her countrymen, would have proved wellnigh insupportable. DIARY OF FRANCES KRASINSKA;