ad there, for instance, a conversation in German with Mme. Sontag, the
great singer, as with Jerome Bonaparte, the nephew.

When the summer came I joined Mr. Fisher and his two daughters--the
second was named Mary--in a tour. We went to New York, thence up the
Hudson, and eastward to Boston. After a day's travel we came to a town
on the frontier line, where we had to stop for two hours. Mr. Fisher and
I, being very thirsty and fatigued, went into a saloon in which were two
bars or counters. Advancing to the second of these, I asked for brandy.
"We don't sell no brandy here," replied the man. "This is in
Massachusetts: go to the other bar--that is in New York." In an instant
we left New England for the Middle States, and refreshed ourselves.
Thence we went to Springfield and saw the armoury, where guns are made.
Thence to Boston, where we stopped at a hotel. I went with Miss Belle
Fisher for a day's excursion to Dedham, where my mother and sisters were
on a visit. It was very pleasant.

From Boston we went to Newport, and stayed at the Ocean House. There I
found Milton Sanford, a connection of mine and a noted character. He had
lived in Florence and known Browning and his wife. He was, I believe,
uncle of Miss Kate Field. He introduced me to Colonel Colt, the
celebrated inventor or re-discoverer of the revolver; to Alf. Jaell, a
very great pianist; and Edward Marshall, a brother of Humphrey Marshall.
Sanford, Colt, Marshall, and I patronised the pistol-gallery every day,
nor did we abstain from mint-juleps. I found that, in shooting, Colonel
Colt could beat me _at the word_, but that I always had the best of it at
a deliberate "take-your-time" shot. There, too, were the two brothers
Burnett, whom I had met long before in Heidelberg. What with drives and
balls and other gaiety, the time passed pleasantly enough.

As I spoke German, I became intimate with Jaell. He could not sing at
all. Once I suggested to him that he should compose variations on an
air, a German popular song. For a day or two he hummed it as well as he
could. On the third morning he took me into a room where there was a
piano, and asked me to sing while he played accompaniments. All at once
he said, "Stop! I have got it!" and then he played the air with
marvellously beautiful variations. He was a great genius, but I never
heard him play in public as he played then. He was in a "high hour." It
was wonderful. I may here say that in