"Owing to the accident, we did not reach New York until ten o'clock. No one was at the pier to meet me, for brother had supposed that I would arrive before sunset. As I did not appear, however, he concluded that I had not left Albany at the time appointed. But my adventures of the day were not yet over. I secured a cab, and drove to the address he had given me, 123 Hudson Street, which in 1836 was by no means the plebeian locality it is at present, but a fashionable street, devoted exclusively to elegant residences. Upon inquiring for Mr. Greeley, my consternation was great to learn that although he had looked at rooms in that house, he had not engaged them, and the landlady had no idea of his address. I was almost as timid about cabs as I had been about the steamboat; for I had heard stories of young girls being robbed and murdered by New York cab-drivers, and here I was, late at night, in all the whirl and excitement of the metropolis, driving I knew not where, and entirely at the mercy of an assassin. However, my modest trunk did not look very inviting, I suppose, for I reached _The New Yorker_ office--the only other address I knew in the city--without further adventure, where I ascertained that brother was now living at 124 Greenwich Street--a most beautiful situation close by the Battery--then the fashionable promenade of New York. He had written to tell me of his change of residence, but the letter failed to reach me. "It was half-past eleven when I finally reached my home. The large parlor was ablaze with lights, and crowded with people; for it was Friday, the night that _The New Yorker_ went to press, and brother's reception evening. I was trembling with fatigue and excitement, and very faint, for I had not eaten since early in the morning; but all these emotions vanished when I was introduced to my new sister. I had seen no pictures of her, and knew her only through brother's description, and a few letters she had written me since her marriage, and I was quite unprepared for the exquisite, fairy-like creature I now beheld. A slight, girlish figure, rather _petite_ in stature, dressed in clouds of white muslin, cut low, and her neck and shoulders covered by massive dark curls, from which gleamed out an Oriental-looking _coiffure_, composed of strands of large gold and pearl beads. Her eyes were large, dark, and pensive, and her rich brunette complexion was heightened by a flush, not brilliant like Gabrielle's, but delicate as a rose-leaf. She appeared to me like a being from another world." To continue mamma's reminiscences of uncle's first year of married life: