"Thirty years have elapsed, my dear viscount, since the 'epoch' of our journey to Baltimore, and it is very doubtful whether you will remember as much as my name; but if I may judge from the feelings of my heart, which has always been loyal and true to you, this is not so, and I flatter myself that you would not be displeased to see me again. Although we are living almost opposite each other (as you will see by the date of this letter), I am only too well aware how many things separate us. But should you show the smallest wish to see me, I shall be eager to prove to you, in so far as I can, that I am ever, as I always have been, your faithful and devoted, "FRANCIS TULLOCH. "P.S.--The distinguished rank which you have won and which you have earned by so many claims has not escaped me; but the memory of the Chevalier de Chateaubriand is so dear to me that I cannot write to you (this time, at least) as Ambassador, &c., &c. So pardon the style for the sake of our old alliance. "30 Portland Place, _Friday_, 12 _April._" And so Tulloch was in London; he did not become a priest; he is married; his romance ended as did mine. This letter testifies to the truthfulness of my Memoirs and the faithfulness of my recollections. Who would have given evidence of the "alliance" and "friendship" formed thirty years ago upon the sea, if the other contracting party had not appeared upon the scene? And what a sad and retrogressive perspective this letter unfolds before me! Tulloch, in 1822, was again living in the same city as myself, in the same street; the door of his house was opposite mine, as when we met on the same ship, upon the same deck, cabin facing cabin. How many of my other friends I shall never meet again! Every night, on retiring to rest, a man can count his losses: there is naught save his years that does not leave him, although these pass; when he reviews them and calls their numbers, they reply, "Here!" Not one but answers the roll-call. * Baltimore, like all the other capitals of the United States, had not the dimensions which it now possesses: it was a pretty little Catholic town, neat and lively, with customs and a society closely resembling the customs and society of Europe. I paid the captain my passage-money and gave him a farewell dinner. I booked my seat in the stage-coach which ran three times a week to Pennsylvania. I climbed up to it at four o'clock in the morning, and found myself rolling along the high-roads of the New World. The road we followed was marked out rather than made, and crossed a somewhat flat tract of country: there were hardly any trees, some straggling farms, and thinly-scattered villages. The climate was French: swallows flew over the water as on the pond at Combourg. [Sidenote: Philadelphia.]