over, and the ferry is actively employed for this purpose. This is what my omnibus companions have got with all their manœuvring.
On alighting from the stranger's carriage, the guest whom they had taken in, said to the polite proprietor:
“If ever you should come to Sweden, to Stockholm, I beg you will inquire for Miss Bremer, who will be glad to thank you in her own home for your kindness to her!”
“Miss Bremer!” exclaimed the lady—“what a singular meeting! Miss Bremer, allow me to introduce my husband to you, Sir Thomas Lyell, of whom you must have heard during your travels in America!”
“Sir Thomas Lyell! Oh, certainly!”
And now we are deep in an infinity of topics, of people, and occurrences in America. Immediately we must part. The carriages are in motion for crossing the river. Sir Thomas himself carries my little traveling-bag to the omnibus, to which we struggle through deep sand and miry clay, talking the while on slavery. The handsome lady waves me a friendly farewell—we have agreed to meet again in Rome—and now I am on the ferry-boat, where the carriages and passengers stand in order, the carriages in one place, and the passengers in another, because the passage looks dangerous. La Tosa rolls along rapidly and broad, with its dark, agitated waters; it has again retreated to its banks, but it has left evident traces on the shore how high it was only a few hours since.
The deep mud of these shores, the number of carriages and carts, asses and other animals, which had
