Palfrey feels certain that it was written by my aforesaid ancestor. I
mentioned my wish to ascertain the place in England whence the family
emigrated; and Mr. Palfrey took me to the Record Office, and introduced
me to Mr. Joseph Hunter,--a venerable and courteous gentleman, of
antiquarian pursuits. The office was odorous of musty parchments,
hundreds of years old. Mr. Hunter received me with great kindness, and
gave me various old records and rolls of parchment, in which to seek for
my family name; but I was perplexed with the crabbed characters, and soon
grew weary and gave up the quest. He says that it is very seldom that an
American family, springing from the early settlers, can be satisfactorily
traced back to their English ancestry.
July 16th.--Monday morning I took the rail from Blackheath to London. It
is a very pleasant place, Blackheath, and far more rural than one would
expect, within five or six miles of London,--a great many trees, making
quite a mass of foliage in the distance; green enclosures; pretty villas,
with their nicely kept lawns, and gardens, with grass-plots and flower
borders; and village streets, set along the sidewalks with ornamental
trees; and the houses standing a little back, and separated one from
another,--all this within what is called the Park, which has its
gateways, and the sort of semi-privacy with which I first became
acquainted at Rock Park.
From the London Bridge station I took a cab for Paddington, and then had
to wait above two hours before a train started for Birkenhead.
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