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“My name is Edward Morris. I am a clerk in the Will Office at Doctors’ Commons, and my duty is to assist those who wish to search wills deposited in our office. On the 14th October, 1854, Baron R** came to the office and searched in several wills. One was the will of a Mr. Wilson, copy of which is herewith enclosed. I remember this will particularly, because I had an altercation with the Baron respecting his wish to copy parts of it. He wished to make extracts, and I told him it was not allowed; only the date and the names of the executors. He persisted, and I said I must report it. He then laughed and said it did not matter, and he tapped his forehead and said he could make a note of it there. He read parts of the will over two or three times and gave it back to me. He then said, ‘You shall see, my friend,’ and laughed again, and he made me follow him while he repeated several pages of the will by rote. He laughed again when he had done, and asked if he might copy it now. I said no; and he laughed again, and wrote for some time in his note-book, looking up at me every now and then and laughing. I was angry, partly because he laughed, and partly because he kept me there when I wanted to get away. I had leave for a week to go to the Isle of Wight and see my aunt. I wanted to get there that night because the next day was my birthday. He made me miss the train, and as the next day was Sunday, I did not get there till late. That is how I remember the date. I am sure of the year because my aunt only went to the Isle of Wight the November previously, and died in the spring of 1855. I am quite sure it was the Baron. I should recognise him anywhere. He is a short, stout man, with a rather florid complexion and reddish hair, rather light. He has large fat hands, white and well kept, and an immense head. He dresses all in black, and wears large spectacles of light blue. I don’t think it is because his eyes are weak. I am sure it is not; for when he takes off his spectacles I never saw such extraordinary eyes. I can’t describe them, only that they are very large and bright. I never could look at them long enough to make out the colour, but they are very dark, I think black, and they put one out to look at them, otherwise there is nothing very remarkable about him. I recognised him that day from having seen him before at a mesmeric lecture, when I asked his name.”

I enclose the will of which the following is an abstract:

“Mr. Wilson, of the firm of Price & Wilson, Calcutta, who died in 1825, leaves the sum of 25,375l. three per cent. consols, to his niece, Gertrude Wilson (afterwards Lady Boleton), and to her children, if any, or their heirs in regular succession, whether male or female. In default of any such heirs, the money to be made over to trustees selected by the Governor General of India for the time being, from among the leading merchants of Calcutta, for the purpose of founding, under certain restrictions, an institution among the hills for the children of those who could not afford to send them home to England.”

The will also provides that should any female taking under it die during her coverture, the husband shall retain a life interest in the property.

ball at Washington was right good fun. The costumes were so queer, the notions about Italian peasants, marquises, knights and crusaders, being of the most indefinite nature.

Characters in satirical novels were taken up, and well supported, especially by the women, who have in large measure the “gift of the gab.” Their repartees were somewhat Elizabethan in freedom, but they had true wit none the less.

No one had greater command of withering sarcasm, or fired off more pungent jokes, than Mrs. Jefferson Davis. Tall and handsome, her flashing black eyes seemed destined to command, and the South, once free, will feel she owes at least half her triumph to the energy and character of the wife of the President. Jefferson Davis did not mix much in general society; his health was delicate, his mind incessantly occupied on graver matters than the idle chit-chat of society, of which, doubtless, the cream was served up to him by his clever wife.

I am surprised to see the newspapers represent the Southern President as tall; he is merely of middle height, certainly shorter than his majestic partner, very sallow and fragile-looking, with the sight of one eye gone—but spirited, daring, and nervously energetic in his appearance.

Mason, Cass, and Crittenden were notable exceptions to the generality of politicians. Political life in the States involved so much that was utterly abhorrent to the mind of a refined and well-educated man, that the arena was too much abandoned to an inferior class, whose sensibility to honour was callous, and who cared not for upholding the dignity and integrity of the nation, so long as they could, in the general scramble which occurred every four years, secure some comfortable post for a friend or relation. The politicians are, therefore, no fair sample of the American gentleman. They are of all grades of society, have generally tried their hands in every profession, and been country lawyers, schoolmasters, and backwoodsmen, turn about. They are as self-sufficient as they are ignorant; violence in their speeches and vituperation against England make up in their own eyes, and those of their colleagues, for calm reasoning and enlightened views. England was invaluable political capital to them. Did any man dread his popularity waning in his own State, straight he poured forth in the Capitol a frantic harangue against the “Britishers,” and all hearts were his again; that is to say, the hearts of the “rowdies,” his supporters. Unaccustomed to the usages of polite