is family; the nondescript little vehicle, without top,
bottom, or sides--nothing but four small wheels and a cushioned seat
perched on springs, with an exquisite perched astride upon the street,
driving a magnificent blood horse at the rate of 2.40; and English
boxes with stiff Englishmen in them; and French chaises with loose
Frenchmen in them; and a New York buggy with a New York fancy man in
it; and hundreds of fine horses with dashing Russian officers in
uniform mounted on them, and hundreds of other horses with secretaries
and various young sprigs of nobility struggling painfully to stay
mounted on them; and, in short, every thing grand, fanciful, and
entertaining in the way of locomotion that the most fertile
imagination can conceive. Don't do me the injustice, I pray you, to
consider me envious of the good fortune of others in being able to
ride when I had to walk, for it does me an amazing deal of good to see
people enjoy themselves. Nothing pleases me better than to see a fat
old lady, glittering all over with fine silks and jewels, leaning back
in her cushioned carriage, with her beloved little lapdog in her
arms--two elegant drivers, four prancing horses, and a splendid little
postillion in front; two stalwart footmen, in plush breeches, behind,
with variegated yellow backs like a pair of wasps. Can any thing be
more picturesque? It always makes me think of a large June-bug dragged
about by an accommodating crowd of fancy-colored flies! And what can
be more imposing than a Russian grandee? See that terrific old
gentleman, sitting all alone in a gorgeous carriage, large enough to
carry himself and half a dozen of his friends. Orders and disorders
cover him from head to foot. He is the exact picture of a ferocious
bullfrog, with a tremendous mustache and a horribly malignant
expression of eye, and naturally enough expects every body to get out
of his way. That man must have had greatness thrust upon him, for he
never could have achieved it by the brilliancy of his intellect.
Doubtless he spends much of his time at the springs, but they don't
seem to have purified his body, or subdued the natural ferocity of his
temper. His wife must have a pleasant time. I wonder if he sleeps
well, or enjoys Herzain's essays on Russian aristocracy? But make way,
ye pedestrian rabble, for here comes a secretary of legation on
horseback--make way, or he will tumble off and inflict some bodily
injury upon you with the points of hi