The hottest day of the year, 94° or more out of doors and 86° in. But nothing is any real harm but the east wind.
June 23.
Quite cold again, and I have a sore throat with the change.
June 28.
The letter advising me to come home arrived this morning. I have telegraphed for my berth, and sail with this letter from New York.
LETTERS.
FROM 1853 TO 1861.
LONDON.
To Charles Eliot Norton, Esq., Cambridge, Massachusetts.
On board the ‘Asia’: July 7, 1853.
Here we are, pretty well on our way across, about 2,200 miles from New York.
Mr. Slidell, of Louisiana, and a young man apparently his companion, are perhaps the most unexceptionable human beings that one sees. Some Spaniards from Mexico and Cuba are also pleasant to look at, specially two little boys. A maiden aunt and nephew from Burlington, New Jersey, sit near me, and are not so bad. A horrid woman from New York whines, or rather wheines, or whaines, or even whoines just beyond, whom it is misery even to think of. I feel convinced there is a purgatory for vulgar people.