a green,
sunny, and quiet landscape, with the blue sky brightening the river.

I have not seen much of the people. There have been, however, several
incidents which amused me, though scarcely worth telling. A passionate
tavern-keeper, quick as a flash of gunpowder, a nervous man, and showing
in his demeanor, it seems, a consciousness of his infirmity of temper. I
was a witness of a scuffle of his with a drunken guest. The
tavern-keeper, after they were separated, raved like a madman, and in a
tone of voice having a drolly pathetic or lamentable sound mingled with
its rage, as if he were lifting up his voice to weep. Then he jumped
into a chaise which was standing by, whipped up the horse, and drove off
rapidly, as if to give his fury vent in that way.

On the morning of the Fourth of July, two printer's apprentice-lads,
nearly grown, dressed in jackets and very tight pantaloons of check,
tight as their skins, so that they looked like harlequins or
circus-clowns, yet appeared to think themselves in perfect propriety,
with a very calm and quiet assurance of the admiration of the town. A
common fellow, a carpenter, who, on the strength of political
partisanship, asked B----'s assistance in cutting out great letters from
play-bills in order to print "Martin Van Buren Forever" on a flag; but
B---- refused. B---- seems to be considerably of a favorite with the
lower orders, especially with the Irishman and French Canadians,--the
latter accosting him in the street, and asking his assistance as an
interpreter in making their bargains for work.

I meant to have dined at the hotel with B---- to-day; but having
returned to the house, leaving him to do some business in the village, I
found myself unwilling to move when the dinner-hour approached, and
therefore dined very well on bread, cheese, and eggs. Nothing of much
interest takes place. We live very comfortably in our bachelor
establishment on a cold shoulder of mutton, with ham and smoked beef and
boiled eggs; and as to drinkables, we had both claret and brown sherry
on the dinner-table to-day. Last evening we had a long literary and
philosophical conversation with Monsieur S----. He is rather remarkably
well-informed for a man of his age, and seems to have very just notions
on ethics, etc., though damnably perverted as to religion. It is strange
to hear philosophy of any sort from such a boyish figure. "We
philosophers," he is fond of saying, to distinguish himself and his