the cheers and hurrahs always sounded in the distance above the whistle of the locomotive.

At Carlisle a telegram was received by General Grant from the Lord Provost of Edinburgh, offering him the hospitalities of his home. On their way to the Scottish capital, Mrs. Grant was quite cheerful and talkative; while the General was unusually so. Occasionally he would speak of affairs at home, and very frequently he spoke of the past and present aspect of American politics.

At one time he was asked, "General, when do you expect to return to America?"

"I shall stay in Europe a year or more. I have special reasons for so doing. I am a private citizen now, and I want nothing whatever to do with politics."

"What is your object in staying away from home so long?"

"Well, in the first place, when I went out of office I was worn down. Now I have thoroughly recuperated, am in excellent health, and enjoying myself immensely. I would like to see all Europe. But I propose to stay away till after the exciting scenes that will surround the test of Mr. Hayes' policy, for the reason that if I were at home I would be charged with having a hand in every kind of political manoeuvring, whether I had or not, and I want to banish politics from my mind until everything settles."

"I notice, as we pass stations, these people hurrah and shake hands with you the same as our people do at home."

"Yes. I was under the impression that there was no such custom here; but in England the habit is as strong as in America. I think handshaking a great nuisance, and it should be abolished. In 1865 it was awful with me; I thought I could hardly survive the task. It not only makes the right arm sore, but it shocks the whole system, and unfits a man for writing or attending to other

other duties. It demoralizes the entire nervous and muscular system. None but a strong man could go through so much of it as I did in 1865. The most laborious and injurious handshaking is where you stand on an elevation and reach down. A man cannot stand much of that."

"Do you get seasick on these ocean trips from one place to another?"

"No, singularly enough, I do not. I have been a good deal at sea during my life, and generally got very seasick, but have not been troubled in these voyages. I say it is singular, because from the 4th of March till the 17th of May I dined formally with friends, every day lunched, and sometimes took two lunches the same day. I thought I was a good subject for seasickness, and expected the motion of the ship would turn me inside out. As a matter of fact, I was disappointed."

The General, so talkative at times, is a very different man from the Grant in office who was so recently our President. He inquires very particularly of the best informed people of the neighborhoods he visits into the most minute details of affairs connected with manufactures, crops, &c., and occasionally, as did Edmund Burke, when he travelled, he surprised the natives by pointing out historic spots that he had never seen before, but has learned of through books and localized maps, as the students of Grecian lore would point out the ruins of public buildings in the city of Athens. He can fully describe the scenes of his visits, and likes to do it, evidently with a view to extend his information through a friction of ideas upon the subjects under discussion or in doubt in his mind.

Soon after their arrival in Edinburgh, the freedom of the city was presented to General Grant by Lord Provost Sir James Fanshaw, in Free Assembly Hall. It was a grand affair, not only in fact but in its significance. It

was hearty and whole-souled. Everything of the grandeur that surrounded the scene was meant. It was rather amusing to note, however, that General Grant did not give them a chance to speak. Eighteen hundred people, the highest toned of Edinburgh, were there-no boys or girls, but the heads of families-with tickets of admission sent to them out of six thousand applications. The city dignitaries in robes, the soldiers in kilts, the insigna of office dotting the place, and the gravity of the ceremony reminded one of the Queen's visit to the House of Lords. That speeches were, as we say, "Fired off," till, with a wave of the hand, the Lord Provost of Edinburgh delivered the silver casket-big enough for a sarcophagus-to

the "Soldier, President, fellow Scot." and the collision of applauding hands structure from base to roof.

Then came cheers, shook the Gothic

In reply to the Lord Provost's speech, General Grant said:

"I am so filled with emotion that I scarcely know how to thank you for the honor conferred upon me by making me a burgess of this ancient city of Edinburgh. I feel that it is a great compliment to me and to my country. Had I the proper eloquence I might dwell somewhat on the history of the great men you have produced, on the numerous citizens of this city and Scotland that have gone to America, and the record they have made. We are proud of Scotsmen as citizens of America. They make good citizens of our country, and they find it profitable to themselves. I again thank you for the honor you have conferred upon me."

He spoke just three-quarters of a minute. Then it was suddenly discovered that the ceremony of half an hour was finished, and a dozen brawny Scots of the first families in the realm went home with a dozen written or thought out speeches unspoken. Said a disappointed Scot: "He made no speech." "Nau, mon, but he kippit a deal 'o thinkin'." Then came shaking of hands, and the General had to reach for them in every direction. One man-it was so funny, and the General was puzzling over the meaning afterwards-said:—“ Gineral, i'm glod to see ye. I'm a Scotchman, but me fayther and mither are baith birried in America." He passed on. Several such strange episodes occurred.

The events which followed are thus described:

"Then, after seeing the sights, to the Tay Bridge Instead of crossing the River Tay from Tayport to Broughty Ferry, the usual crossing, we took the steamer up the river toward the Tay Bridge. After proceeding a short distance we hauled alongside an immense old man-of-war, now used as a training ship for boys. Three hundred and fifty little fellows in white jackets, blue pantaloons and bare feet manned the yards and sides of the ship. A brass band composed of little urchins discoursed sweetly national anthems and opera music. The sight was most

affecting, and General and Mrs. Grant were delighted at the invitation to go aboard. The regular drill was gone through, and the ship was inspected. This institution, known as the "Mars training ship" is a wonderful preventive of crime. It is a charity incorporated by legislative act for the purpose of reclaiming little boys who are found running about the streets without visible means of support. The difference between this and the Reformatory is, that no lad can be sent to the latter institution unless he has been in prison ten days. The graduates of the Reformatory, therefore, are always looked upon as a sort of jailbirds. No boy can be taken on the training ship who has ever been convicted of theft or any crime. The philanthropists of Edinburgh and Dundee go about and pick up lads who are associates of thieves, or who beg, or who have no ordinary means of support, and after assurance that they are in a fair way to become criminals they are sent to the training ship. Here they are thoroughly instructed in the duties of a sailor and in the common branches of learning. The routine of the day is:-Six A M., make up beds, hymn and prayers, breakfast, clean decks, inspection; nine A. M., prayers, after which one watch on deck to seamanship, the other below to school; dinner at twelve. The same routine is observed in the afternoonsupper at half-past five, prayers and bed at half-past eight. The proper recesses for play are given during school hours. The boys, though trained to become sailors, are not required to ship for sea when they grow old enough. Many of them develop extraordinary talents in other directions and are left to choose other pursuits. Some of the boys taken to the ship prove too weak for the task. In that case they are sent ashore and taken back whenever the doctor thinks they are able to go. None desert. They are so kindly treated on the ship, that when they are dressed up and allowed to go ashore on a visit, they return punctually at the end of the allotted time. They take great pride in their studies, and strive to excel in learning. The rigid discipline kindly exercised is calculated to make them ambitious. In 1848 the commitment of boys below sixteen years of age to the Edinburgh prison was 745. Through the work of the ragged and industrial schools started in that year, both ashore and afloat, the number