For my part, I love to see John Bull show himself. I must go
again and again and again to Chester, for I suppose there is not a more
curious place in the world.
Mr. Ticknor, who has been staying at Rock Park with us since Tuesday, has
steamed away in the Canada this morning. His departure seems to make me
feel more abroad, more dissevered from my native country, than before.
October 3d.--Saturday evening, at six, I went to dine with Mr. Aiken, a
wealthy merchant here, to meet two of the sons of Burns. There was a
party of ten or twelve, Mr. Aiken and his two daughters included. The
two sons of Burns have both been in the Indian army, and have attained
the ranks of Colonel and Major; one having spent thirty, and the other
twenty-seven years in India. They are now old gentlemen of sixty and
upwards, the elder with a gray head, the younger with a perfectly white
one,--rather under than above the middle stature, and with a British
roundness of figure,--plain, respectable, intelligent-looking persons,
with quiet manners. I saw no resemblance in either of them to any
portrait of their father. After the ladies left the table, I sat next to
the Major, the younger of the two, and had a good deal of talk with him.
He seemed a very kindly and social man, and was quite ready to speak
about his father, nor was he at all reluctant to let it be seen how much
he valued the glory of being descended from the poet. By and by, at Mr.
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