anybody can believe; and I am quite tired out after one day of lion-life.
Through the whole day have I had nothing to do but to receive visits; to sit or to stand in a grand parlour, and merely turn from one to another, receiving the salutations and shaking hands with sometimes half a dozen new acquaintance at once—gentlemen of all professions and all nations, ladies who invite me to their house and home, and who wish that I would go immediately; besides, a number of letters which I could do no more than merely break open, requests for autographs and so on. I have shaken hands with from seventy to eighty persons to-day, whilst I was unable to receive the visits of many others. Of the names I remember scarcely any, but the greater number of the people whom I have seen please me from their cordial frank manners, and I am grateful to them for their extreme friendliness towards me. It feels to me so warm and hospitable. Nevertheless I was very glad to be relieved for a few hours from my good friends, and to drive out with Mr. Downing to the beautiful park, Greenwood, the large and new cemetery of New York, a young Père la Chaise, but on a more gigantic scale as to situation and plan. One drives as if in an extensive English park, amid hill and dale. From the highest hill, Ocean Hill, as it is called, one looks out to the sea—a glorious view. I should like to repose here. The most beautiful monument which I saw, was of white marble, and had been erected by sorrowing parents over their young daughter and only child. The young girl had been driven over; I suppose it must have been in Broadway.
On our return to the hotel I dined with Mr. Downing in one of the smaller saloons. I saw some gentlemen sitting at table, whom it was as distressing for me to look at as it is to look at over-driven worn-out horses, for so they looked to me. The restless, deeply sunk eyes, the
