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Mr. Irving tells us in a quaintly written preface, that, being laid up by indisposition in Mentz, and finding it impossible to read books with pleasure, he set about writing them. These volumes are the product. They are a collection of tales divided into four parts. The two first will occupy the present notice. The others are decidedly the best divisions, and those we must postpone until next week. He opens with a set of stories told by the same person who related the tale of "The Stout Gentleman," in Bracebridge Hall. They originate at a hunting dinner, at which the guests are kept by a storm, and they beguile the time with ghost || stories. The description of the dinner, and the manners of the guests, is like those in Bracebridge Hall, and therefore with all their smartness, wholly unlike anything which has existed in England within these hundred years. The first tale, "The Adventure of my Uncle," is founded on an incident supposed to have happened at the chateau of a French Marquis, where "My Uncle" imagines that he sees a ghost, and in the morning relates the story to the Marquis :

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The whole merit of this consists in the working up of a few materials so as to excite high expectation, and then to disappoint it at once. The next story of "My Aunt" is of the same sort, where the supernatural incident turns out to be the scheme of a housebreaker who conceals himself behind a picture, and frightens the servants. This is poor enough; and the next tale, of My Grandfather," an Irish dragoon at Bruges, is not much better." The German Student" is considerably more interesting. He is a visionary youth of good family, whose brain has been turned by the bewildering speculations of the German universities, at the beginning of the French revolution. He goes to Paris to divert himself amidst the splendours and gaieties of that city. Here his gloom and despondency increase, and in one of his fantastic dreams he falls in love with a female face of transcendent beauty :

"Such was Gottfried Wolfgang, and such his situation at the time I mentioned. He was returning home late one stormy night, through some of the old and gloomy streets of the Marais, the ancient part of Paris. The loud claps

of thunder rattled among the high houses of the narrow
public executions are performed. The lightning quivered
streets. He came to the Place de Greve, the square where
about the pinnacles of the ancient Hotel de Ville, and
shed flickering beams over the open space in front. As
Wolfgang was crossing the square, he shrunk back with
horror at finding himself close by the guillotine. It was the
height of the reign of terror, when this dreadful instru.
ment of death stood ever ready, and its scaffold was conti-
nually running with the blood of the virtuous and the
brave. It had that very day been actively employed in the
silent and sleeping city, waiting for fresh victims.
work of carnage, and there it stood in grim array amidst a
"Wolfgang's heart sickened within him, and he was
turning shuddering from the horrible engine, when he be-
held a shadowy form cowering as it were at the foot of the
flashes of lightning revealed it more distinctly. It was a
steps which led up to the scaffold. A succession of vivid
female figure dressed in black. She was seated on one of
the lower steps of the scaffold, leaning forward, her face hid
in her lap, and her long dishevelled tresses hanging to the
Wolfgang paused. There was something awful in this soli-
ground, streaming with the rain which fell in torrents.
tary monument of woe. The female had the appearance of
being above the common order. He knew the times to be
full of vicissitude, and that many a fair head, which had
once been pillowed on down, now wandered houseless.
Perhaps this was some poor mourner whom the dreadful
axe had rendered desolate, and who sat here heart-broken
on the strand of existence, from which all that was dear to
her had been launched into eternity.

sympathy. She raised her head and gazed wildly at him.
"He approached, and addressed her in the accents of
What was his astonishment at beholding, by the bright
glare of the lightning, the very face which had haunted him
in his dreams. It was pale and disconsolate, but ravishingly
beautiful.

"Trembling with violent conflicting emotions, Wolfgang again accosted her. He spoke something of her being exposed at such an hour of the night, and to the fury of such a storm, and offered to conduct her to her friends. She pointed to the guillotine with a gesture of dreadful signification. "I have no friend on earth,' said she. "But you have a home,' said Wolfgang. "Yes-in the grave!'

"The heart of the student melted at the words."

He persuades her to allow him to lead her to his own apartment as a place of shelter :—

"The perplexity now commenced with the student how to dispose of the helpless being thus thrown upon his protection. He thought of abandoning his chamber to her, and nated by her charms, there seemed to be such a spell upon seeking shelter for himself elsewhere. Still he was so fascihis thoughts and senses, that he could not tear himself from her presence. Her manner, too, was singular and unaccountable. She spoke no more of the guillotine. Her grief had abated. The attentions of the student had first won evidently an enthusiast like himself, and enthusiasts soon her confidence, and then, apparently, her heart. She was understand each other.

"In the infatuation of the moment Wolfgang avowed his passion for her. He told her the story of his mysterious dream, and how she had possessed his heart before he had even seen her. She was strangely affected by his recital, and acknowledged to have felt an impulse toward hin equally unaccountable. It was the time for wild theory and wild actions. Old prejudices and superstitions were done away, every thing was under the sway of the Goddess of Reason.' Among other rubbish of the old times, the forms and ceremonies of marriage began to be considered superfluous bonds for honourable minds. Social compacts were

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the vogue. Wolfgang was too much of a theorist not to be the quickness of lightning. He saw me as I came rushing tainted by the liberal doctrines of the day.

upon him-he turned pale, looked wildly to right and left as
if he would have fled, and trembling drew his sword.
"Wretch !' cried I, well may you draw your wea-

"Why should we separate?' said he: our hearts are united; in the eye of reason and honour we are as one. What need is there of sordid forms to bind high souls toge-pon!' ther ?'

"The stranger listened with emotion: she had evidently received illumination at the same school.

"You have no home nor family,' continued he; 'let me be every thing to you, or rather let us be every thing to one another. If form is necessary, form shall be observed-|| there is my hand. I pledge myself to you for ever.' "For ever!' said the stranger, solemnly. "For ever!' repeated Wolfgang.

"The stranger clasped the hand extended to her: Then I am yours,' murmured she, and sunk upon his bosom.

"The next morning the student left his bride sleeping, and sallied forth at an early hour to seek more spacious apartments, suitable to the change in his situation. When he returned, he found the stranger lying with her head || hanging over the bed. and one arm thrown over it. He spoke to her, but received noreply. He advanced to awaken her from her uneasy posture. On taking her hand, it was cold-there was no pulsation-her face was pallid and ghastly. In a word-she was a corpse.

||

"I spake not another word—I snatched forth a stiletto, put by the sword which trembled in his hand, and buried my poniard in his bosom. He fell with the blow, but my rage was unsated. I sprung upon him with the blood-thirsty feeling of a tiger; redoubled my blows; mangled him in my frenzy, grasped him by the throat, until with reiterated wounds and strangling convulsions he expired in my grasp. remained glaring on the countenance, horrible in death, that seemed to stare back with its protruded eyes upon me. Piercing shrieks roused me from my delirium. I looked round, and beheld Bianca flying distractedly towards us. My brain whirled-I waited not to meet her; but fled from the scene of horror. I fled forth from the garden like another Cain,-a hell within by bosom, and a curse upon my head. I fled without knowing whither, almost without knowing why. My only idea was to get farther and farther from the horrors I had left behind; as if I could throw space between myself and my conscience. I fled to the Apennines, and wandered for days and days among their savage heights. How I existed, I cannot tell-what rocks and precipices I braved, and how I braved them, I know not. I kept on and on. trying to out-travel the curse that clung to me. Alas! the countenance of my victim was for ever before my eyes. The blood of Fillippo cried to me from the ground. Rocks, trees, and torrents all resounded with my crime. Then it was I felt how much more insupportable is the anguish of remorse than every other mental pang. Oh! could I but have cast off this crime that festered in my heart-could I but have regained the innocence that reigned in my breast as I entered the garden at Sestri-could I but have restored my victim to life, I felt as if I could look on with transport, even though Bianca were in his arms.

"Horrified and frantic, he alarmed the house. A scene of confusion ensued. The police was summoned. As the officer of police entered the room, he started back on be-shricks of Bianca rung for ever in my ears. The horrible holding the corpse.

"Great heaven!' cried he, how did this woman come here?'

"Do you know any thing about her?' said Wolfgang, eagerly.

"Do I?' exclaimed the police officer: she was guillotined yesterday!'

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"He stepped forward; undid the black collar round the neck of the corpse, and the head rolled on the floor. The student burst into a frenzy. The fiend! the fiend has gained possession of me!' shrieked he: I am lost for ever!'

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They tried to soothe him, but in vain. He was possessed with the frightful belief that an evil spirit had reanimated the dead body to ensnare him. He went distracted, and died in a mad-house."

Then follow some other stories of no particular interest, until we arrive at that of "The Young Italian." This is far too long, but it is more carefully written than the others. During his absence from a beloved mi tress, a treacherous friend makes her to believe that he has been shipwrecked, and allures her into a marriage. He returns, detects the wickedness, and thus ends the tale:

"A new suspicion darted across my mind- What!' exclaimed I, do you then fear him? is he unkind to you? Tell me,' reiterated I, grasping her hand, and looking her eagerly in the face, tell me-dares he to use you

harshly?'

No! no! no!' cried she, faltering and embarrassed -but the glance at her face had told me volumes. I saw in her pallid and wasted features, in the prompt terror and subdued agony of her eye, a whole history of a mind broken down by tyranny. Great God! and was this beauteous flower snatched from me to be thus trampled upon? The idea raised me to madness. I clenched my teeth and my hands; I foamed at the mouth; every passion seemed to have resolved itself into the fury that like a lava boiled within my heart. Bianca shrunk from me in speechless affright. As I strode by the window my eye darted down the alley. Fatal moment! I beheld Fillippo at a distance! my brain was in delirium-I sprang from the pavilion, and was before him with

"By degrees this frenzied fever of remorse settled into a permanent malady of the mind-into one of the most horrible that ever poor wretch was cursed with. Wherever I went, the countenance of him I had slain appeared to follow me. Whenever I turned my head, I beheld it behind me, hideous with the contortions of the dying moment. I have tried in every way to escape from this horrible phantom, but in vain. I know not whether it be an illusion to the mind, the consequence of my dismal education at the convent, or whether a phantom really sent by Heaven to punish me, but there it ever is-at all times-in all places. Nor has time nor habit had any effect in familiarizing me with its terrors. I have travelled from place to placeplunged into amusements-tried dissipation and distraction of every kind-all-all in vain. I once had recourse to my pencil, as a desperate experiment. I painted an exact resemblance of this phantom face. I placed it before me, in hopes that by constantly contemplating the copy, I might diminish the effect of the original. But I only doubled instead of diminishing the misery. Such is the curse that has clung to my footsteps-that has made my life a burthen, but the thought of death terrible. God knows what I have suffered-what days and days, and nights and nights of sleepless torment-what a never-dying worm has preyed upon my heart-what an unquenchable fire has burned within my brain! He knows the wrongs that wrought upon my poor weak nature; that converted the tenderest of affections into the deadliest of fury. He knows best whether a frail erring creature has expiated by long-enduring torture and measureless remorse the crime of a moment of madness. Often, often have I prostrated myself in the dust, and implored that he would give me a sign of his forgiveness, and let me die."

The second part consists of sketches of town life,

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to the lady of the house, and were extravagantly fond of the children. Some few, who did not feel confidence enough to make such advances, stood shyly off in corners, talking to one another; or turned over the portfolios of prints, which they had not seen above five thousand times, or moused over the music on the forte-piano.

"The poet and the thin octavo gentleman were the persons most current and at their ease in the drawing-room; being men evidently of circulation in the west end. They got on each side of the lady of the house, and paid her a thousand compliments and civilities, at some of which I thought she would have expired with delight. Every thing they said and did had the odour of fashionable life. I looked round in vain for the poor devil author in the rusty

"I was surprised to find between twenty and thirty guests assembled, most of whom I had never seen before. Mr. Buckthorne explained this to me by informing me that this was a business dinner, or kind of field-day, which the house gave about twice a year to its authors. It is true they did occasionally give snug dinners to three or four lite-black coat; he had disappeared immediately after leaving rary men at a time; but then these were generally select authors, favourites of the public, such as had arrived at their sixth or seventh editions. There are,' said he, 'certain geographical boundaries in the land of literature, and you may judge tolerably well of an author's popularity, by|| the wine his bookseller gives him. An author crosses the port line about the third edition, and gets into claret; and when he has reached the sixth or seventh, he may revel in champagne and burgundy.'

the table, having a dread, no doubt, of the glaring light of a drawing-room. Finding nothing further to interest my attention, I took my departure soon after coffee had been served, leaving the poet, and the thin, genteel, hot-pressed, octavo gentleman, masters of the field.”

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Then comes an extravagant account of a poor devil-author's life." This is followed by a long autobiography of Buckthorne, who is a smart man about "These hints enabled me to comprehend more fully the town. The second part ends with the history of "A arrangement of the table. The two ends were occupied Strolling Manager," which is tedious and unfaithful. by two partners of the house: and the host seemed to have adopted Addison's idea as to the literary precedence of his The truth is, after all, Mr. Irving is not very happy in guests. A popular poet had the post of honour; opposite his pictures of society. His shrewdness is on paper, to whom was a hot-pressed traveller in quarto with plates. || and not in his real observations. With his powers of A grave-looking antiquarian, who had produced several description we could turn our knowledge to a much solid works, that were much quoted and little read, was treated with great respect, and seated next to a neat dressy better account. But this may not be. Next week we gentleman in black, who had written a thin, genteel, hot-shall be able in our notice of the other portions of the pressed octavo on political economy, that was getting into work to speak in a more favorable tone. fashion. Several three volume duodecimo men, of fair currency, were placed about the centre of the table'; while the lower end was taken up by small poets, translators, and authors who had not as yet risen into much notoriety.

"The conversation during dinner was by fits and starts; breaking out here and there in various parts of the table in small flashes and ending in smoke. The poet who had the confidence of a man on good terms with the world, and independent of his bookseller, was very gay and brilliant, and said many clever things which set the partner next him in a roar, and delighted all the company. The other partner, however, maintained his sedateness, and kept carving on, with the air of a thorough man of business, intent upon the occupation of the moment. His gravity was explained to me by my friend Buckthorne. He informed me that the concerns of the house were admirably distributed among the partners. Thus, for instance,' says he, the grave gentleman is the carving partner, who attends to the joints; and the other is the laughing partner, who attends to the jokes.'

When the cloth was removed, and the wine began to circulate, they grew very merry and jocose among themselves. Their jokes, however, if by chance any of them reached the upper end of the table, seldom produced much effect. Even the laughing partner did not seem to think it necessary to honour them with a smile; which my neighbour Buckthorne accounted for, by informing me that there was a certain degree of popularity to be obtained before a bookseller could afford to laugh at an author's jokes.

After dinner we retired to another room to take tea and coffee, where we were reinforced by a cloud of inferior guests-authors of small volumes in boards, and pamphlets stitched in blue paper. These had not as yet arrived to the importance of a dinner invitation, but were invited occasionally to pass the evening in a friendly way.' They were very respectful to the partners, and, indeed, seemed to stand a little in awe of them; but they paid devoted court

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The Poetical Note-Book; and Epigrammatic Museum. By
GEORGE WENTWORTH. Esq. London: Robertson and
Co. 1824.

A GREAT many years ago we recollect to have seen published some annual volumes, entitled " Spirit of the Public Journals," consisting of such pieces of a light, witty and humourous character, as might have appeared in the newspapers and periodicals of the current year. They were generally well edited, and formed a series of amusing books. For a long time, we know not wherefore, they have been discontinued. Surely the pith and marrow of all the light literature of the country ought to command a certain sale. We are confident that judiciously edited, such a publication would do well at present. We have said so much on the subject, because the volume before us is a collection of the same sort, but embracing a wider range. It extends over the whole surface of English literature, and contains specimens of the wit and merriment of all periods of our poetical history. The author takes some credit to himself for being the first to collect a volume of English Epigrams. This is a mistake. The same thing has been done often enough before. We have no less than three distinct collections of English Epigrams on our own shelves, and there are multitudes of them to be found in the jest-books, elegant extracts, &c. which load the common bookstalls. Still, these do not supersede the collection of

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Three Swallows make a Summer.

"One sharp frosty day, his Majesty, when Prince of Wales, went into the Thatched House Tavern, and ordered a beef steak; but the weather being very cold, desired the waiter to bring him first a glass of brandy and water. He emptied that in a twinkling, then a second, then a third. 'Now,' said his Royal Highness, I am warm and comfortable; bring me my steak.' On this Mr. Sheridan, who was present, wrote the following impromptu :

"The Prince came in and said 'twas cold,
Then put to his head the rummer;

Till swallow after swallow came,

When he pronounc'd it summer.”

On finding a Pair of Shoes in the Bed of a Lady.

"Well may suspicion shake its head,

Well may Clarinda's spouse be jealous,

When the dear wanton takes to bed

Her very shoes because they're fellows."
Dean Swift's Barber.

"Dean Swift's barber one day told him that he had taken a public house. And what's your sign? said the Dean. Oh, the pole and basin; and if your worship would just write me a few lines to put upon it, by way of motto, I have no doubt but it would draw me plenty of customers.' The Dean took out his pencil, and wrote the following couplet, which long graced the barber's sign :

“Rove not from pole to pole, but step in here,
Where nought excels the shaving, but the beer."
Cutting a Swell.

"Cries Ned to Bill, how's shabby Bob?
Says he, I cannot tell,

He's cur me-for his stupid nob

Thought me too GREAT A SWELL.

Egad, says Ned, that's very fair,
He'll now do very well;

For the first time it is, I'll swear,

HE EVER CUT A SWELL."

Inscription designed for the Inner Temple Gate.

"As by the templars holds you go, The horse and lamb display'd,

In emblematic figures show

The merits of their trade.

That clients may infer from thence,
How just is their profession;

The lambs sets forth their innocence,
The horse their expedition.
O happy Britons! happy isle !
Let foreign nations say,

Where you get justice without guile,
And law without delay."
The Answer.

"Deluded men, these holds forego,
Nor trust such cunning elves;
These artful emblems tend to show
Their clients, not themselves;

"Tis all a trick; these all are shams,

By which they mean to cheat you;
But have a care, for you're the lambs,
And they the w-1-s that eat you:
Nor let the thoughts of no delay

To these their courts misguide you:
"Tis you're the shewy horse, and they
The jockeys that will ride you."
Ladies' Watches.

"Among our fashionable bands,
What wonder now that Time should linger?
Allow'd to place his two rude hands
Where no one else dares lay a finger."

The Parson and Physician.
"How D. D. swaggers, M. D. rolls!
I deem them both a brace of noddies;
Old D. D. has the cure of souls,
And M. D. has the care of bodies.
Between them both what treatment rare,
Our souls and bodies must endure;
One has the cure without the care,
And one the care without the cure."
Singular Petition.

"About the second year of the late King's reign, a man of the name of George King was convicted in Dublin of a capital felony. He drew up a memorial to the King, which he forwarded with the following lines :

"George King to King George sends his humble petition, Hoping King George will pity poor George King's conditon;

If King George to George King will grant a long day,
George King for King George for ever will pray."

What's an Epigram?

THE FIRST KNOWN ENGLISH EPIGRAM. "On a scholar, who was pursuing his studies unsuccessfully, but, in the midst of his literary career, married unfortunately:

"A student at his book so plast,

That welth he might have wonne,
From book to wife did flete in haste,
From welth to wo to run.

Now who hath paid a feater cast,
Since juggling first beganne?
In knitting of himself so fast,
Himself he hath undone."

The Rival Watermen.

FOUNDED ON A RECENT FACT.

"Two watermen the other day,
Tom Lipscombe-Andrew Ware,
As many men have done before,
Fell out about a fare.

Miss Ann Drew tripp'd towards the stairs,
Intending to take boat;

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Says Ware, I likes with pretty fares

Upon the Thames to float.'

Ann Drew rejected Andrew Ware,
And drew where Lipscombe stood;

Says Ware, take care, for that's my fare,
For you she's far too good.'
Lipscombe rejoin'd, a pretty go,
I do not mind a spree,

And from a boy was bred to row,
And rowing's bread to me.'

'So let me, Andrew, tell you this,
Betwixt yourself and me,

If you should think to take that miss,
Mistaken you will be.'

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of the United States, however long or short a time one may stay at a house. I may here remark, as another peculiarity in American taverns, that nothing is expected, either by the waiter or chambermaid, as they are paid by the master of the house, and do not depend at all upon travellers. When remaining, indeed, at an inn for three or four days, the better order of travellers often give the waiter half a dollar, particularly if they expect to return there again. But no one ever thinks of giving anything to the chambermaid. I may make a similar remark with regard to the drivers of the coaches, of whom indeed nine out of ten would feel highly affronted at being offered money. All is paid when the passage money is paid. This, from New York to Philadelphia, is only two dollars and a half; in cluded.

These are pretty good of their kind, and are a fair which, however, eating and drinking are of course not insample of the rest of the volume.

An Excursion through the United States and Canada during the years 1822-23. By an English Gentleman. London: Baldwin, Cradock, and Joy. 8vo. 1824. THERE is one feature in these travels which is almost peculiar to them alone;-their liberality. One can scarcely believe that the author is an Englishman, after the specimens of extravagant misrepresentation which English travellers in America have been so remarkable for furnishing. He appears to have visited America with a mind free from all unworthy prejudices, and his book may be read with the certainty of its being an honest picture of all that he observed. Besides its fidelity, it has the merit of being extremely entertaining.

The author set out on his excursion towards the end of the summer of 1822. He gives a pleasant account of his sea voyage-which is more pleasant in the reading than in the reality. Like Mr. Mathews he arrives in the midst of the yellow fever at New York, but such was our author's antipathy to a ship-life that he considered the change a welcome one. His description of the harbour, and general appearance of the city of New York is very animated. The country is extremely beautiful, and the city was solitary and silent. Out of a population of 120,000, not more than 7 or 8000 remained in the city, and these only in the higher and more healthy parts. We cannot follow him in his enquiries respecting the origin of the yellow fever. The filthiness of the slips and quays producing an abominable stench, is of itself enough to cause a pestilence. Lately the city authorities have turned their attention to the state of the health police, and their first step has been to rid the streets of the swine which used to be comfortably denizened there.

The fever at New York dispatched our gentleman to Philadelphia. Of course he stopped on his route at an inn, and as American inns have been a great deal talked of and laughed at, we will quote his description:

"In order to pay the bill at a tavern one is obliged to go oneself to the bar, as there is no officious waiter who can be called and ordered to bring word what there is to pay. Indeed paying at the bar is customary throughout the whole

"By this laudable custom of not paying waiters and coachinen, travellers are exempt from a heavy tax, which is levied in England, and indeed in every other country through which I have travelled.

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"At this, as at all taverns in the United States, the stranger is boarded at so much per week or day. Indeed the tavern-keepers will not receive you on any other terms; and you cannot have your meals by yourself, nor at your own hours. This custom of boarding,' as it is termed, I disliked very much, as it deprived me of many a meal when I was desirous of going to see sights. If a traveller stay at an hotel only one day, and from having friends in the place neither dines nor sups, he is charged nevertheless with a whole day's board. The terms of boarding are, however, very moderate; at the Mansionhouse only ten dollars per week. The table is always spread with the greatest profusion and variety, even at it not for the absence of wine and soup, might be called so breakfast, tea, and supper; all which meals indeed, were many dinners.

'There, Dick, what a breakfast!-Oh, not like your ghost Of a breakfast in England-your curs'd tea and toast!' but a variety that would astonish even those accustomed to the morning repast of a Scotchman. At this important meal, besides tea, coffee, eggs, cold ham, beef, and such like ordinary accompaniments, we always had hot fish, sausages, beefsteaks, broiled fowls, fried and stewed oysters, was repeated at supper."

preserved fruits, &c. &c. &c. The same variety of dishes

On board the Steam-boat he was obliged to endure much ridicule for the manner in which His Majesty was received in Scotland. In his candour he quotes accounts from the English journals, which excited the risibility of his fellow travellers, and we agree with him that they are excessively absurd. Of Philadelphia he speaks in terms of praise for the neatness of the buildings, and the cleanly and regular appearance of the streets. He expresses great surprise at the quiet and peaceable manner in which the elections are conducted, especially as there was nothing like bribery or corruption. The ladies, he thinks, dress too gaudily: the gentlemen smoke too much, but this he accounts a pardonable vice, considering the cheapness and excellence of their cigars," but the filthy habit of chewing tobacco our traveller with all his philosophy

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could not endure We should wonder if he could.

From Philadelphia he passed rapidly on to Washington, where he complains like every other traveller of the silly conduct of the government in their arrangement and completion of this embryo capital. The

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