The Towns of Galt, Preston & Blair.
sailing that it was a question whether Mrs. B.
could endure the voyage. They were seven weeks
at sea; seven weeks, as Bellew said, �in company
with people with whom you wouldn�t wish to stay
half an hour.� Clif. Thomson is with his regi-
ment in Washington, where, also, are Mortimer
and House; anxiously awaiting the next battle;
which in private circles is said to be imminent.
x x I have not seen Cahill since you have gone;
though I have been thrice in his room, early in the
morning, for that purpose.� On, merrily, read-
ing the news from the last-received �Tribune�; talking
and smoking. Our road lay through a pleasant
and sometimes picturesquely woody country, bounded
by worm-fences or those composed of tree-roots.
By half-past twelve, when we had eaten the sand-
wiches judiciously put up by the pretty housekeeper,
we reached the town of Galt, situate beside the
Grand River, whose snaky sinnosities we had occa-
sional glimpses of, on our road. Erroneously, we
drove through its main-street. White, wooden
houses, Scotch names, inn-signs, exhibiting the ap-
propriate conventionality of design, as instanced in a
brown Red Lion, with a disproportioned head and
comically impossible countenance. On to Preston.
German names, almost exclusively so. Blair, a
mile or more further; to reach which we crossed