Turkey Shooting.—Good dogs scent the turkeys, when in large flocks, at extraordinary distances,—I think Imay venture to say half a mile. Should the dog be well trained to this sport, he sets off at full speed, and in silence, until he sees the birds, when he instantly barks, and pushing as much as possible into the centre of the flock, forces the whole to take wing in different directions. This is of great advantage to the hunter, for should the turkeys all go one way, they would soon leave their perches and run again. But when they separate in this manner, and the weather happens to be calm and lowering, a person accustomed to this kind of sport finds the birds with ease, and shoots them at pleasure.

When turkeys alight on a tree, it is sometimes very difficult to see them, which is owing to their standing perfectly motionless. Should you discover one, when it is down on its legs upon the branch, you may approach it with less care. But if it is standing erect, the greatest precaution is necessary, for should it discover you, it instantly flies off, frequently to such a distance that it would be vain to follow.

When a turkey is merely winged by a shot, it falls quickly to the ground in a slanting direction. Then, instead of losing time by tumbling and rolling over, as other birds often do when wounded, it runs off at such a rate, that unless the hunter be provided with a swift dog, he may bid farewell to it. Irecollect coming on one shot in this manner, more than a mile from the tree where it had been perched, my dog having traced it to this distance, through one of those thick cane-brakes that cover many portions of our rich alluvial lands near the banks of our western rivers. Turkeys are easily killed if shot in the head, the neck, or the upper part of the breast; but if hit in the hind parts only they often fly so far as to be lost to the hunter. During winter, many of our real hunters shoot them by moonlight, on the roosts, where these birds will frequently stand a repetition of the reports of a rifle, although they would fly from the attack of an owl or even perhaps from his presence. Thus sometimes nearly a whole flock is secured by men capable of using these guns in such circumstances. They are often destroyed in great numbers when most worthless, that is, early in the fall or autumn, when many are killed in their attempt to cross the rivers, or immediately after they reach the shore.

Whilst speaking of the shooting of turkeys, Ifeel no hesitation in relating the following occurrence, which happened to myself. While in search of game, one afternoon late in autumn, when the males go together, and the females are by themselves also, Iheard the clucking of one of the latter, and immediately finding her perched on a fence, made towards her. Advancing slowly and cautiously, Iheard the yelping notes of some gobblers, when Istopped and listened in order to ascertain the direction in which they came. Ithen ran to meet the birds, hid myself by the side of a large fallen tree, cocked my gun, and waited with impatience for a good opportunity. The gobblers continued yelping in answer to the female, which all this while remained on the fence. Ilooked over the log and saw about thirty fine cocks advancing rather cautiously towards the very spot where Ilay concealed. They came so near that the light in their eyes could easily be perceived, when Ifired one barrel, and killed three. The rest, instead of flying off, fell a strutting around their dead companions, and had Inot looked on shooting again as murder without necessity, Imight have secured at least another. So Ishowed myself, and marching to the place where the dead birds were, drove away the survivors. Imay also mention, that a friend of mine shot a fine hen, from his horse, with a pistol, as the poor thing was probably returning to her nest to lay.

Should you, good-natured reader, be a sportsman, and now and then have been fortunate in the exercise of your craft, the following incident, which Ishall relate to you as Ihad it from the mouth of an honest farmer, may prove interesting. Turkeys were very abundant in his neighborhood, and, resorting to his corn-fields, at the period when the maize had just shot up from the ground, destroyed great quantities of it. This induced him to swear vengeance against the species. He cut a long trench in a favorable situation, put a great quantity of corn in it, and having heavily loaded a famous duck-gun of his, placed it so as that he could pull the trigger by means of a string, when quite concealed from the birds. The turkeys soon discovered the corn in the trench, and quickly disposed of it, at the same time continuing their ravages in the fields. He filled the trench again, and one day seeing it quite black with the turkeys, whistled loudly, on which all the birds raised their heads, when he pulled the trigger by the long string fastened to it. The explosion followed of course, and the turkeys were seen scampering off in all directions, in utter discomfiture and dismay. On running to the trench, he found nine of them extended in it. The rest did not consider it expedient to visit his corn again for that season.

During spring, turkeys are called, as it is termed, by drawing the air in a particular way through one of the second joint bones of a wing of that bird, which produces a sound resembling the voice of the female, on hearing which the male comes up, and is shot. In managing this, however, no fault must be committed, for turkeys are quick in distinguishing counterfeit sounds, and when half civilized are very wary and cunning. Ihave known many to answer to this kind of call, without moving a step, and thus entirely defeat the scheme of the hunter, who dared not move from his hiding-place, lest a single glance of the gobbler’s eye should frustrate all further attempts to decoy them. Many are shot when at roost, in this season, by answering with a rolling gobble to a sound in imitation of the cry of the barred owl.

While at Henderson, on the Ohio, Ihad, among many other wild birds, a fine male turkey, which had been reared from its earliest youth under my care, it having been caught by me when probably not more than two or three days old. It became so tame that it would follow any person who called it, and was the favorite of the little village. Yet it would never roost with the tame turkeys, but regularly betook itself at night to the roof of the house, where it remained until dawn. When two years old, it began to fly to the woods, where it remained for a considerable part of the day, to return to the enclosure as night approached. It continued this practice until the following spring, when Isaw it several times fly from its roosting place to the top of a high cotton tree, on the bank of the Ohio, from which, after resting a little, it would sail to the opposite shore, the river being there nearly half a mile wide, and return towards night.

One morning Isaw it fly off, at a very early hour, to the woods, in another direction, and took no particular notice of the circumstance. Several days elapsed, but the bird did not return. Iwas going towards some lakes near Green River to shoot, when having walked about five miles, Isaw a fine large gobbler cross the path before me, moving leisurely along. Turkeys being then in prime condition for the table, Iordered my dog to chase it, and put it up. The animal went off with great rapidity, and as it approached the turkey, Isaw, with great surprise, that the latter paid little attention. Juno was on the point of seizing it, when she suddenly stopped, and turned her head towards me. Ihastened to them, but you may easily conceive my surprise when Isaw my own favorite bird, and discovered that it had recognised the dog, and would not fly from it: although the sight of a strange dog would have caused it to run off at once. Afriend of mine happening to be in search of a wounded deer, took the bird on his saddle before him, and carried it home for me. The following spring it was accidentally shot, having been taken for a wild bird, and brought to me on being recognised by the red ribbon which it had around its neck. Pray, reader, by what word will you designate the recognition made by my favorite turkey of a dog which had been long associated with it in the yard and grounds? Was it the result of instinct, or of reason,—an unconsciously revived impression, or the act of an intelligent mind?—Audubon.

Duck Shooting on the Chesapeak.—To a stranger, visiting these waters, the innumerable ducks, feeding in beds of thousands, or filling the air with their careering, with the great numbers of beautiful white swans resting near the shores, like banks of driven snow, he would naturally suppose the facilities for their destruction were equal to their profusion, and with so large an object in view, a sportsman could scarcely miss his aim. But when he considers the great thickness of their covering, the velocity of their flight, the rapidity and duration of their diving, and the great influence that circumstances of wind and weather have on the chances of success, it becomes a matter of wonder how so many are destroyed.

The usual mode of taking these birds has been, till recently, by shooting from the points during the flight, or from the land or boats, on their feeding grounds, or by toling, as it is strangely termed, an operation by which the ducks are sometimes induced to approach within a few feet of the shore, from a distance often of several hundred yards. This process, though it has been frequently described, may not be uninteresting to repeat. Aspot is usually selected where the birds have not been much disturbed, and where they feed at three or four hundred yards from, and can approach to within forty or fifty yards of the shore, as they will never come nearer than they can swim freely. The higher the tides and calmer the day, the better, for they feed closer to the shores and see more distinctly. Most persons on these waters have a race of small, white or liver-colored dogs, which are familiarly called the toler breed, but which appear to be the ordinary poodle.

These dogs are extremely playful, and are taught to run up and down the shore, in sight of the ducks, either by the motion of the hand, or by throwing chips from side to side. They soon become perfectly acquainted with their business, and as they discover the ducks approaching them, make their jumps less high, till they almost crawl on the ground, to prevent the birds discovering what the object of their curiosity may be. This disposition to examine rarities, has been taken advantage of, by using a red or black handkerchief, by day, and white, by night, in toling, or even by gently splashing the water on the shore. The nearest ducks soon notice the strange appearance, whatever the plan attempted, raise their heads, gaze intently for a moment, then push for the shore. The rest follow suit, and the author has, on many occasions, seen thousands of them swimming in a solid mass, direct to the object; and by removing the dog further into the grass, they have been brought within fifteen feet of the bank. When they have approached to about thirty or forty yards, their curiosity is generally satisfied, when they swim laterally up and down for a few seconds, and then retrograde in their old spot. Whilst presenting the side view, is the moment to shoot, and forty or fifty ducks have often been killed by a small gun. The black-heads tole the most readily, then the red-heads, next the canvass-backs, and the bald-pates rarely; and this is the ratio of their approach to the points in flying, although if the canvass-back has determined on his direction, few circumstances will change his course. The total absence of cover or precaution against exposure to sight, or even a large fire, will not turn these birds aside on such occasions.

In flying shooting, the bald-pate is a great nuisance, for they are so shy, that they not only avoid the points themselves, but by their whistling and confusion of flight at such times, alarm others; and few days occur during the season, without many maledictions on their very existence.

As simple as it may appear to shoot, with success, into a solid mass of ducks, sitting on the water at forty or fifty yards’ distance, yet, when you recollect, that you are placed nearly level with the water, the object opposed to the visual line, even though composed of hundreds, may be in appearance but a foot or two in width. To give, therefore, the best promise of success, old duckers recommend that the nearest duck should be in perfect relief above the sight, whatever the size of the column, to avoid the common result of over-shooting. The correctness of this principle was illustrated to the writer, in an instance in which he had toled, to within a space between forty and seventy yards of the shore, a bed of certainly hundreds of ducks. Twenty yards beyond the outside birds of the solid mass, were five black-heads, one of which was alone killed out of the whole number, by a deliberate aim into the middle of the large flock, from a rest, by a heavy, well-proved duck-gun.

Before I leave the subject of sitting shooting, Iwill mention an occurrence that took place on Bush river, a few years since. Aman whose house was situated near the bank, on rising early one morning, observed the river had frozen, except an open space of ten or twelve feet in diameter, at about eighty yards from the shore, nearly opposite his house. The spot was full of ducks, and with a heavy gun he fired into it; many were killed, and those that flew soon returned, and were again and again shot at, till fearful he was injuring those already his own, he ceased the massacre, and brought on shore ninety-two ducks, most of which were canvass-backs.

Canvass-backs, when wounded, on the streams near the bay, instantly direct their course for it, where they nestle among the grass, on the shores, till cured, or destroyed by eagles, hawks, gulls, foxes, or other vermin, that are constantly on the search; and if a dead canvass-back be not soon secured, he becomes a prey to the gulls, who rarely touch any other kind, so refined is their taste. Ihave seen severe contests take place between crippled canvass-backs and gulls, and although a pounce or two generally prevents further resistance, sometimes they are driven off. If the bird is remarkably savory, the gull makes such a noise, that others are soon collected, when possession is determined by courage or strength.—Doughty’s Cabinet.

When wounded in the wing alone, a large swan will readily beat off a dog, and is more than a match for a man in four feet water, a stroke of the wing having broken an arm, and the powerful feet almost obliterating the face of a good sized duck shooter. They are often killed by rifle balls thrown from the shore into the feeding column, and as a ball will ricochet on the water for several hundred yards, a wing may be disabled at the distance of half a mile.

These birds are often brought within shooting range, by sailing down upon them whilst feeding, and, as they arise against the wind, and cannot leave the water for fifteen or twenty yards, against which they strike their enormous feet and wings most furiously, great advantage is gained in distance. They must be allowed on all occasions to turn the side, for a breast shot rarely succeeds in entering.

When two feeding coves are separated by a single point, by disturbing the swans in one or the other occasionally, they will pass and repass very closely to this projection of land, and usually taking as they do, the straight line, each gunner, to prevent dispute, names the bird he will shoot at.

In winter, boats covered by pieces of ice, the sportsman being dressed in white, are paddled or allowed to float during the night into the midst of a flock, and they have been oftentimes killed, by being knocked on the head and neck by a pole. There is, however, much danger in this mode, as others may be engaged in like manner, but shooting, and at a short distance, the persons might not be distinguished from the swan. These birds seem well aware of the range of a gun, and Ihave followed them in a skiff for miles, driving a body of several hundreds before me, without the possibility of getting quite within shooting distance.

It is a curious circumstance, that Wilson has neither figured nor described this beautiful and common bird in his ornithology; but Mr.Lawson, the engraver of his splendid plates, and also his personal friend, informs me, he had waited for another southern expedition, which he did not live to perform. Aparticular history, in detail, of this splendid bird has heretofore never been given to the public.—Sharpless.

The rock fish is universally known in all the rivers, and smaller tide-water streams, throughout the United States. The following description of the mode in which this fish is trolled for in the Susquehannah may be interesting. It is taken from the American Sporting Magazine.

‘The season for trolling begins in the latter part of May, and commonly ends about the middle of July; but some years lasts during August. In the month of June the rock fish generally bite best. To make good fishing, the river should not be very high nor low, muddy nor clear, but betwixt extremes in these respects. If the water be clear, the fish dart off at sight of the line; and it is thought, they leave the rapids, when the river is rising, or muddy, to feed upon the flats in the Chesapeak.

‘Trolling is very much practised from Port Deposit, to almost any given distance up the river, but not below. The grass that the ducks feed upon, grows too thick on the flats in tide-water for trolling, and the channel is uniformly too deep. The rapids above, where the water is in many parts shoal, and the rocky bottom clear of grass, is the proper place for trolling.

‘Two persons generally fish from the same boat; one of them steers with one hand, and fishes with the other. Each fisherman lets his line out over the side of the boat nearest to him, and close to the stern, (where they sit,) holding it in his hand, a few inches from the water, and leaves the end attached to the cork in the bottom of the boat. He pays out nearly all his line, and keeps constantly pulling it, by short jerks, to feel if it is running over a rock or tree top. The boat is rowed as fast as possible across the river, from shore to shore, above, and as near to the falls as they can go, to avoid being swept down them. The rock fish lie below the falls and ripples, waiting for the small fish that are carried over by the current. Here then the bait falls over, with a constant rotary motion, like a live fish whirled over, side foremost, and struggles in vain against the falls. The swivels turn every time the bait turns, and prevent the line from twisting up into knots; and as there are no sinkers, the rapid head-way of the boat drags them along so fast that the lines have no time to sink. At sight of the bait tumbling over the falls, the rock fish darts upwards from his cavern in the rocks, and swallows hook and all. The bite of the rock fish is quick as lightning, and gives a sudden jerk to the arm of the fisherman. When he first discovers he is snared, he rises to the top of the water, and begins to lash it furiously with his forked tail, like “a spirit conjured from the vasty deep,” then plunges down again to the bottom. He is dragged from thence by the fisherman, who hauls in his long line, hand over hand, until he brings his fish alongside of the boat. If he is of tolerable size, weighing only seven or ten pounds, the troller lifts him into the boat by the line; but if the fish is large, he runs his arm down into the water, and lifts him in by his gills.

‘The excitement that this scene produces in all those in the boat, is not to be described. One instant you see the fish making the water foam with his tail, the next you lose sight of him; one instant the troller feels him jerking desperately backwards, the next he darts ahead towards the boat, carrying the line with him; and the fisherman, who ceases to feel him, is distressed for fear he has broken loose from the hook. The black oarsmen ease up rowing to laugh and shout with great glee. The troller’s anxiety to secure his fish is so great, that he alone, of all the company, is silent, and full of uneasiness, until he gets him into the boat. In this manner, it is not unusual to catch, with two lines, ten or twenty fish, varying in weight from five to twenty pounds each, in an hour—sometimes they are caught much larger. When the fish do not bite fast, the troller does not become wearied soon; his line is always out, and he is in constant expectation of feeling a bite, as the boat glides backwards and forwards across the river, in search of luck; he is not confined to one rock, like the sleepy angler.

‘This would be very dangerous sport to persons unaccustomed to it; let no presumptuous cits venture upon it by themselves. The flat-bottomed boat must be rowed through the most dangerous falls and whirlpools in the river. Sometimes she is forced, at an imperceptible progress, against a current running down at an angle of forty-five degrees. If one of the oarsmen happens to fail in strength, or to dip his oar with a false stroke, the current will snatch it upwards out of his hands, and the frail skiff will be dashed to pieces amongst the rocks. Often they are obliged to get out of the boat on some rock above water, and haul her over. Aperson unaccustomed to it, cannot rely upon his senses of hearing or seeing. He is first deafened by the stunning roar of the incessant flood, then sickened by the tossing of the skiff amongst the waves and eddies. The huge rocks that rear themselves thick to oppose the rushing waters, covered with eagles, and cormorants, and the little islands all seem to be swimming backwards. And now she flies across a shoal—at first glimpse, the little skiff seems to rest securely on the bottom; at the next, the solid bottom appears deceitfully to recede from beneath her, and leave her to founder in the dark waters of a bottomless swirl. And again, before he is aware of it, she seems to have approached so near the falls that nothing can prevent her from going over side foremost. All these false appearances rushing in succession, quick as thought, upon the mind of the troubled cockney, turn his brain with dizziness.’

Baltimore has the honor, Ibelieve, of being the first city which has raised an architectural memorial of its gratitude to Washington. It consists of a column of white marble, rising from a quadrangular base. The shaft of the column is about one hundred and twenty feet high, and is surmounted by a colossal statue, which, from its throne, seems proudly to overlook the city. The design of this monument, which is yet unfinished, is simple and grand, and does honor to the taste of the city. Its gross height, including the statue and pedestal, is about a hundred and sixty feet.

In one of the squares of the city, there is what is called the Battle Monument, a sort of trophy column, erected to commemorate the repulse of the attack on the city during the late war, and the names of those who fell in its defence. This structure, which is about fifty feet in height, consists of a column representing the Roman fasces, symbolical of the union, rising from a square pedestal, which tapers in the Egyptian style, with a griffin at each corner. Above is the statue of Victory, with an eagle at her side. The effect of the whole is sadly injured by a most anomalous perplexity of petty details. Indeed so vicious is this monument, in point of taste, that it is difficult to believe it the production of the same period which has adorned the city with the noble structure to Washington.

I remember being asked by a lady, in one of the first visits Ipaid in Baltimore, whether Ihad seen this monument. Having answered in the negative, she proceeded to inform me that it was very beautiful, but, as if struck by a sudden recollection, somewhat eagerly apologised for the introduction of the subject, on account of the painful feelings which this memorial of failure in his country’s arms, could not fail to excite in an English spectator. In reply, Itook the liberty to assure her that her regrets on this matter were entirely gratuitous; that Ishould have great pleasure in examining the monument, and really entertained no apprehension of suffering from any pungency of feeling on the occasion. It was easy to observe, however, that my disclaimers, like the inaugural nolo episcopari of the bishops, went for nothing with my fair auditor. Her apologies for having wounded my feelings, became even more strenuous than before; and as it was evidently agreeable that Ishould appear in the light of a mortified man, Iat length judged it better to desist from farther disclamation. If Iknow any thing of John Bull, he is not quite so sensitive a person, as it pleases the good people on this side of the water to believe him; and the idea of an Englishman, at the present day, being distressed by regret at the failure of the attack on Baltimore, is, perhaps, somewhat closely connected with the ludicrous.

Baltimore is celebrated for its hospitality and the beauty of its women, and Ican bear testimony to the justice of its reputation for both. In no other city of the United States is the former so frequent and habitual, and in none are there so few of the sordid characteristics of traffic apparent to a stranger. There struck me as being at Baltimore, more effort than elsewhere, to combine the pleasures of social life with professional labor. The effect of this is generally felt in society. The tone of conversation is lighter and more agreeable, and topics of mere commercial interest are rarely obtruded at the dinner table.

In Baltimore, there is not much pretension of any sort, and the average of literary accomplishment is, perhaps, lower than in Philadelphia or Boston. In such matters, however, a transient visitor can form, at best, but an uncertain and very fallible judgment; but Ican with truth assert, that my recollections of Baltimore are of the most agreeable kind, and that Iquitted it with a strong sentiment of regard for several of its inhabitants, which time has yet done nothing to diminish.

The ladies of Baltimore, Ihave already intimated, are remarkable for personal attraction; indeed, Iam not aware that, in proportion to the numbers assembled, Ihave ever seen so much beauty as in the parties of Baltimore. The figure is, perhaps, deficient in height, but sylph-like and graceful; the features are generally regular and delicately modelled, and the fair Baltimoreans are less remarkable than the American ladies usually are, for the absence of a certain fulness and grace of proportion, to which, from its rarity, one is led, perhaps, to attach somewhat too much value as an ingredient of beauty.—Hamilton’s America.

The road, as we approached Boston, lay through a more populous country, and we passed a height, which commanded a fine view of the bay. At length, entering on a long street, Ifound myself surrounded by the busy hum of a great city. The first impression was decidedly favorable. There is in Boston less of that rawness of outline, and inconsistency of architecture, which had struck me in New York. The truth is, that the latter has increased so rapidly, that nine tenths of the city have been built within the last thirty years, and probably one half of it within a third of the period. In Boston, both wealth and population have advanced at a slower pace. Acomparatively small portion of the city is new, and the hand of time has somewhat mellowed even its deformities, contributing to render that reverend, which was originally rude.

There is an air of gravity and solidity about Boston; and nothing gay or flashy, in the appearance of her streets, or the crowd who frequent them. New York is a young giantess, weighing twenty stone, and yet frisky withal. Boston, the matron of stayed and demure air, a little past her prime, perhaps, yet showing no symptom of decay. The former is brisk, bustling, and annually outgrowing her petticoats. The latter fat, fair, and forty, a great breeder, but turning her children out of doors, as fast as she produces them. But it is an old and true apophthegm, that similes seldom run on all fours, and therefore it is generally prudent not to push them too far.

Boston stands on an undulating surface, and is surrounded on three sides by the sea. The harbor is a magnificent basin, encircled by a beautiful country, rising in gentle acclivities, and studded with villas. There is nothing very handsome about the town, which is rather English in appearance, and might in truth be easily mistaken for our more populous seaports. Aconsiderable number of the buildings are of granite, or, more properly speaking, of sienite; but brick is the prevailing material, and houses of framework are now rarely to be met with in the streets inhabited by the better orders. The streets are narrow, and often crooked, yet, as already stated, they exhibit more finish and cleanliness than are to be found in New York. In architecture, Icould discover little to admire. The state house stands on an eminence commanding the city; it is a massive square building, presenting in front a piazza of rusticated arches, surmounted by a gratuitous range of Corinthian columns, which support nothing. The building in front has a small attic with a pediment, and from the centre rises a dome, the summit of which is crowned by a square lantern.

The comparative diffusion of literature in Boston has brought with it a taste for the fine arts. The better houses are adorned with pictures; and in the AthenÆum—a public library and reading room—is a collection of casts from the antique. Establishments for the instruction of the people in the higher branches of knowledge, are yet almost unknown in the United States, but something like a Mechanics’ Institute has at length been got up in Boston, and Iwent to hear the introductory lecture. The apartment, a large one, was crowded by an audience whose appearance and deportment were in the highest degree orderly and respectable. The lecture was on the steam engine, the history, principle, and construction of which were explained most lucidly by the lecturer, who belonged, Iwas assured, to the class of operative mechanics.—Men and Manners in America.

Mount Auburn.—If the taste of our readers resembles our own, we can assure them that they will have no reason to regret the exertion, if they take a walk through the retreats of Mount Auburn, at the present season of the year. They may suppose that the fall of the leaf has deprived the place of most of its attractions; but it is one of the recommendations of this beautiful spot, that it remains pleasant through so many months. As the spring opens, it is a favorable place to watch the restoration of nature—the returns of the bird to his favorite home, and the opening of the sealed urns of the flower; in the summer, a fine retreat from the sultriness is offered by its deep caverns of green, formed by heavy masses of rich and various foliage, such as is found in no other part of this region; and now, in the closing year, even after the splendid drapery of autumn is taken down, and the rustle of the dead leaf, together with the sullen whistle of the wind through its deserted avenues, seems to speak of nothing but desolation, the lover of nature still finds every thing in perfect harmony with the feelings which such a place is desired to awaken. There is something melancholy in the sight, indeed, but the associations are neither painful nor oppressive. We know that the spring will return, and the voice of the bird will wake the earth from its slumber; the trees will be covered with beauty, and the streams move on again with music in their flow; by a familiar association, we are reminded that a similar happy and reviving change awaits those who have gone down to the dust in peace, when that which is sown in weakness shall be raised in power. When thoughts like these are brought home to the breast, there is consolation in them; even the eye filled with tears, may brighten with the hope of immortality.

We trust that the same good judgment which has presided over the work thus far, will conduct it to its close. It stands in complete and honorable contrast with most resting places of the dead. There are few of those monuments, which seem intended to commemorate the folly of the living, rather than the memory of the departed—few of those inscriptions which tell us of those who sleep below, not what they were, but what they ought to have been. We cannot say that we admire the rocky cells of the tomb, with their heavy iron grates; but the taste in this respect is generally governed by early associations, and we shall not presume to censure feelings which we do not understand. Among the monuments are many of great beauty; we were struck with a plain black marble obelisk of exquisite polish, ornamented only by a single cross, in relief, on the surface of the stone. There are several granite obelisks, of plain and almost severe simplicity, which are admirably suited to the place and the purpose: several fine monuments of white marble, among which are an unfinished column, and a cenotaph erected by the mechanics of Boston to the memory of a lamented young man, who died at a distance from his home. We apprehend that the whitest of this marble, however bright at first, will be soon defaced and blackened by the droppings from the trees above; it is generally less firm and hard than such as is veined and shaded, and therefore not so well suited for memorials that are meant to resist the elements and the waste of time. The classical form is generally preferred for this purpose, and with good reason; the ancients have left us little to do in these respects but to follow their example. We did not see a single copy of the tomb discovered by Dr.Clarke, in Naxos, which is in our view one of the most imposing, and is found in some places in this country. The cippus is well calculated also for our purposes: we want monuments of simple outline; for there is taste enough in our community generally, to feel that fine decorations are out of their place in cities of the dead. The outline is more to be regarded than the color: marble of pearly whiteness would contrast beautifully with the green back-ground; but since it is less suited to the exposure required, it is well to use the hardier material in which our country abounds.

The generations of men are so rapidly passing away, that a few years will make this interesting place rich in mournful and sacred associations. We noticed the monument of Hannah Adams, the first tenant of the place, remarkable for her fair and discriminating mind, and still more so for her child-like singleness of heart. Spurzheim also is there—honored for his enlarged and liberal feeling, by those who had no confidence in his philosophical speculations. We have already alluded to the cenotaph elected to a young man of high promise, by which his friends have commemorated his virtues and their own loss. But it is not always those whose loss is most widely felt, whose memory is most fondly remembered; many who go to the grave almost unknown, will give sacredness to this place in the feeling of those who loved them. The parent will regard it with emotion, because there he saw his child laid upon a colder pillow than a mother’s breast—or the youth, who perished in the brightness of his rising, and left his friends to mourn not only for all he was, but all they hoped he would have been. The community will turn to it, as the place where the generous and enlightened, the useful and honored, rest from their labors; where those who have passed through the various changes of public confidence, carry their rivalship and ambition down to the dust. Each inclosure will have its recollections gathered about it like the summer leaves over the monument; the feelings of men of various pursuits and characters will be drawn from all directions toward this single point of melancholy attraction. The memorial which one passes coldly by, will fix the attention of another: the stone which is to one simply a memorial of a stranger, will be gazed upon by another till ‘his heart is faint, and his eyes are dim.’

We cannot but hope that this example will be followed; the community at large have yet to learn the right feeling of respect for the dead. That respect is not shown only by the care which guards the sepulchre from violation—nor by setting up ghastly monuments, covered with tales of idle vanity or unmeaning affection. Whoever goes into the burial places of many of our villages, sees naked marbles, which after a few years lean with age, and find no hand to restore them. Nature, as if ashamed of man, seems endeavoring to hide what he has done with her tall golden rod and towering plants, which grow as luxuriantly as if they were fed from the graves below;—and all is surrounded, not protected, by a vile paling of unpainted wood, which defends it from no animal but man. The true respect for the dead will be shown by making their resting place such, that the stranger shall not retreat from it in disgust and scorn, by employing the decorations of nature, which are always at command. One tenth part of the expense which is now lavished on the absurd and ungraceful head-stones in almost every village of New England, would make their burial grounds, places which could be pointed out to the traveller without regret and shame; and what is still better, would permit the living to go and draw instruction from communion with the dead.—Boston Daily Advertiser.

Though New Orleans is rapidly increasing in size and commercial importance, as the emporium of the rich valley of the Mississippi must necessarily continue to do, yet no improvement has taken place in the climate and in the salubrity of the atmosphere, and even acclimated whites are afraid to remain when a greenish scum of vegetable matter begins to appear on the shallow pools in August. It is distressing to record the fact, that, on an average, six hundred Irish perish yearly in and about New Orleans, who come in search of employment, and high wages, (a dollar a day), from New York and Charleston, to the ungenial clime of Louisiana. They are commonly employed trenching in the country, and digging the foundation of houses in towns, inhale deadly vapors, and more deadly rum, have none to advise or guide them, and perish miserably.

It may not be intrusive to state, in this place, the precautions Itook to guard against the formidable malady. Islept in an upper story, performed my ablutions as regularly as a Hindoo, ate animal food only once a day, and in small quantities, (farinaceous substances form the natural food of men,) drank no spirits, but two or three glasses of wine per day, took three or four hours’ active exercise, kept the mind employed, took once or twice a little precautionary quinine, and avoided the night air, which crept insidiously through the dull streets loaded with pestilential effluvia from the slimy banks of the river, and from the creeks of cypress swamps, the haunts of loathsome alligators and snakes.

On the first of September, the thermometer at eight, P.M. was about eighty-four degrees, without a breath of air, but myriads of mammoth musquetoes.

New Orleans is called the ‘wet grave,’ because, in digging ‘the narrow house,’ water rises within eighteen inches of the surface. Coffins are therefore sunk three or four feet, by having holes bored in them, and two black men stand on them till they fill with water, and reach the bottom of the moist tomb. Some people are particular, and dislike this immersion after death; and, therefore, those who can afford it have a sort of brick oven built on the surface of the ground, at one end of which the coffin is introduced, and the door hermetically closed; but the heat of the southern sun on this ‘whited sepulchre,’ must bake the body inside, so that there is but a choice of disagreeables after all. The plan on which penitentiaries are built, has suggested to the Louisianians a new plan for interment: a broad brick wall is built with rows of cells on each side, and in these the dead are laid to wait for the awful blast of the angel Gabriel, when the dead shall burst the cerements of the tomb, and come forth to judgment.

Though it was the season of disease and death, yet the gamblers still continued to reap their harvest in the city. Night after night Iwas kept awake by the roulette table in the neighboring house; and it is said that a revenue of thirty-five thousand dollars a year is derived by the city from licensed gambling houses, which sum supports an hospital. Cock-fighting is a favorite amusement with both whites and colored, and vice in every shape seems to hold high carnival in this city of the great valley. However, let no one judge of America from New Orleans, for it is altogether sui generis; and, above all, let no future traveller visit it in autumn, unless he wishes ‘to shake off this mortal coil,’ and save the coroner some trouble.

The population of New Orleans was—

This increase is quite astonishing, especially when we consider that the population of the whole state of Louisiana under the French, in 1763, was only eleven thousand. The whites are said to be at present two hundred and twenty thousand, and the slaves about one hundred and nineteen thousand in the state.

In 1822, there were exported from the port of New Orleans, one hundred and sixty-seven thousand seven hundred and forty-two bales of cotton; and in this year, four hundred and seventeen thousand four hundred and thirteen. In 1822, twenty-six thousand two hundred and thirty-three hogsheads of tobacco; and in this year, thirty-one thousand nine hundred and thirty-three. Sugar and molasses, in 1829, fifty-six thousand five hundred and sixty-six hogsheads, and two thousand five hundred and eleven barrels of the former, and twenty thousand nine hundred and forty hogsheads, and eight thousand two hundred and forty-five barrels of the latter. This season, fifty-two thousand one hundred and forty-two hogsheads, and two thousand six hundred and fifty barrels of sugar; and twenty-two thousand eight hundred and seventy-two hogsheads, and fourteen thousand seven hundred and ninety-four barrels of molasses. Commerce will be facilitated by another canal from the city to lake Pontchartrain, to be commenced next year; and Itravelled from the city to the lake, four miles on a rail-road, on which there are now locomotive engines. The citizens seem determined to avoid the one hundred and ten miles of river navigation.

At New Orleans, in the gay season, they have very pleasant, though expensive amusements, called ‘Bals de Bouquet,’ given by the bachelors, but at the house of a lady. The garcon who gives the dance, is distinguished by the title of king; and his first care, when invested with the sovereignty, at the beginning of the season, is to select among the ladies of his acquaintance a queen to share his power, which he delegates by crowning his fair partner with a wreath of flowers. At her house, and in her name, is the ball then given. After two or three quadrilles, the first queen rises from her chair of state, and is conducted into the middle of the room by the king, when gracefully raising a wreath of flowers, which she bears in her hand, she places it on the brow of a future king, (another bachelor of the party); and he, after a low obeisance, having fixed upon his mate in like manner, adorns her with the regalia of the bal de bouquet. The new queen then accepts the proffered arm of the king, the band plays a march, and followed by the rest of the company, they polonoise round and round the room. Dancing in its various branches succeeds; quadrilles, Anglaises et Espagnoles are resumed with the greatest spirit, and continued until after day breaks, when the first King and queen cease to reign.

After an unusually hot and sultry day, the sun assuming at the same time a greenish hue, and the streets in the evening, as Iwalked home to my empty hotel, sending forth a most disgusting effluvium; in the middle of the night Iwas awoke by the noise of the doors and window’s violently agitated by the wind; it increased to the hurricane roar, lulled, and rose again, and blew with appalling force from the opposite point of the compass, rain, at the same time, deluging the city. Thus it continued all next day: the sea rushed into lake Pontchartrain; behind the town it burst its banks, and the city was under water, the levee only being dry. There was no moving out of the house for many hours, and this led me to believe that, one day this city, rapidly increasing as it is in wealth and consequence, will be swept into the gulf of Mexico, if the Mississippi happens to rise unusually high at the annual inundation, and at the same time the south-east wind raise the sea at its mouth and in the lakes. More vessels were driven on shore in this hurricane; the unburied dead were laid in their coffins in the grave-yard, and floated about till the waters subsided to allow of their being buried—the stench was horrible. Many houses were unroofed, and almost all damaged in some way or other. Many lives were lost; some boats and canoes upset in crossing the river; and, as usual (whether it proceed from the alligators or under current,) none who fall into the Mississippi at New Orleans, are ever seen again; and, lastly, the huts of several fishermen were swept off to sea, and the poor people miserably perished.’—Alexander’s Transatlantic Sketches.

That the Americans, however, were not unmindful of the respect paid to his remains by the British, appears from the following part of the inscription upon the monument:

There is a monument near it to the memory of General Hamilton, who had served with distinction under Washington, and ranked high as a statesman. He was killed in a duel by Colonel Burr, the vice president of the United States.

The inscription is as follows:

The new Mint appears to be a favorite place of resort for the curious among our fellow citizens. Visitors pass in by the Chesnut street front at all hours of the morning, and are at once ushered into a beautiful and capacious building, well adapted for the important purposes for which it was erected. When we look round its ample dimensions, we wonder how it was possible to accommodate so extensive a business as was done in the miserably confined apartments of the old coining house in Seventh street, and fail not, at the same time, to admire the neat and simple beauty of the present building. The first object which attracts attention on entering, is a huge steam engine, at the opposite end of the building, the noise of which, added to the incessant jarring of the dies, gives token of the laborious purpose to which it is applied. This engine, of thirty horse power, is the most highly-finished specimen of the steam engine we have ever witnessed. The shafts, upright and horizontal, are of polished metal, and most of the cogwheels are of brass. The huge fly-wheels run with the precision of a watch-wheel, while the various and totally different purposes to which its power is applied, strike the beholder with admiration of the skill and ingenuity of the machinist. Rush and Muhlenburg, of this city, constructed this engine; its cost was about eight thousand dollars.

From the hot rooms in which the bullion is converted into ingots, we entered the rooms where the ingots are passed through a succession of steel rollers, until they assume the flatness and thinness of a common iron hoop. Thence we ascended into a room where these thin bars are passed through a steel guage, to give them a uniform thickness, equal to that of the half-dollar. Apunch, worked by the same engine, cuts out the silver of a proper size; the scraps of silver are melted over again into ingots. From this room the prepared bits are taken down into the die room, where they are passed on their edges, through a machine which gives them the impression they bear upon the edge. They are thence handed over to the coiners, by whom they are placed in a tube, in a pile a foot high, whence they drop one at a time, on a slide which conveys them directly to the dies. Here they receive the proper impression on each side, from dies forced together by means of an iron bar ten or twelve feet long, worked horizontally by three men. The instant the coin receives its proper impression, it is forced off the die into a box ready to receive it, and gives place to another, which immediately occupies the same position, and undergoes the same operation.

After having gone through the whole establishment, the impression left upon the mind is that of astonishment and wonder, that an end of such immense importance as the supply of coin for a whole nation, can be attained by means, apparently, so simple, and of such ready comprehension. The spectator, going through alone, needs no one to explain this or that operation. Every thing explains itself on the instant; for every thing is free from mystery or concealment, while the excellent condition of the establishment, and the extreme politeness to strangers, manifested by every person about it materially enhances the pleasure of a visit to the Mint of the United States.—Philadelphia paper.

We reached Rochester under the influence of a burning sun. The hotel was excellent, and the luxury of cold baths, and the civility of the landlord, induced me to delay progress to the following day. In the cool of the evening, Istrolled out to see the falls of the Gennessee. The height of the uppermost is considerable, being about ninety feet, and the water rushes over it gracefully enough; but the vicinity of sundry saw and corn mills has destroyed the romantic interest which invested it in the days when ‘the cataract blew his trumpet from the steep,’ amid the stillness of the surrounding forest.

The old proverb de gustibus,&c. receives illustration in every country. An eccentric man, called Sam Patch, having an aversion to honest industry, made it his profession to jump over all the water-falls in the country. Niagara was too much for him, but he sprang from a lofty rock, some distance below the Horse-shoe fall, with impunity. His last jump was at the fall Ihave just described, of the Gennessee, in the autumn of 1829. From a scaffold, elevated twenty-five feet above the table rock, making a descent altogether of a hundred and twenty-five feet, he fearlessly plunged into the boiling caldron beneath. From the moment of his immersion, he was seen no more. His body was not discovered for many months, and was at length found at the mouth of the river, six miles below.

Rochester is a place worth seeing. Thirty years ago there was not a house in the neighborhood, and now there is a town, containing twenty thousand good Americans and true, with churches, banks, theatres, and all other oppidan appurtenances to match. Such growth is more like forcing in a hot-bed, than the natural progress of human vegetation. For a great deal of its prosperity, Rochester is indebted to the Erie canal, which brought its advantageous proximity to lake Ontario into full play. The canal runs through the centre of the town, and crosses the Gennessee by an aqueduct, which, according to the Northern Tourist, ‘cost rising of eighty thousand dollars,’ whatever sum that may amount to. There are several streets in Rochester which might be backed at reasonable odds against any in Hull or Newcastle, to say nothing of Cork, Falmouth, or Berwick-upon-Tweed. The appearance of the shops indicates the prevalence of respectable opulence. Those of the jewellers display a stock of Paris trinkets and silver snuff-boxes. There are silks and Leghorn bonnets for the seduction of the ladies, and the windows of the tailors are adorned by colored prints of gentlemen in tight-fitting swallow-tails, with the epigraph, ‘New York fashions for May.’—Men and Manners in America.

A recent traveller, who entertains no great partiality for the institutions of our country, but whose volume is well written, and entertaining, makes the following observations on the society of our metropolis:

Washington is, undoubtedly, the gayest place in the union; and must, Ishould imagine, be the very paradise of hackney coachmen. If these gentlemen do not get rich, it must be owing to some culpable extravagance, for their vehicles are in continual demand from the hour of dinner till five in the morning, and long distances and heavy charges are all in their favor. Washington, too, is the only place in the union where people consider it necessary to be agreeable; where pleasing, as in the old world, becomes a sort of business, and the enjoyments of social intercourse enter into the habitual calculations of every one.

The reason of this is obvious enough. The duties of legislation bring together a large body of gentlemen from all quarters of the union, whose time in the morning is generally passed in the capitol; but who, without the delassements of dinner parties and balls, would find their evening hours a burden somewhat difficult to dispose of. Idle men are always pleasant; they feel the necessity of being so, and make it their occupation, when they have no other. Your lawyer, or your merchant, on the other hand, is so engrossed by weightier matters, that he has no time to cultivate the graces of life, or those thousand arts of courtesy which contribute so materially to enhance the enjoyments of society. The experience of the world is in favor of the assertion, that it is impossible to excel both in pleasure and business. Aman of talent may select the sphere of his ambition, the bar, the pulpit, the exchange, the senate, or the drawing-room; but to attempt the honors of a double triumph is, in general, to secure but duplicity of failure.

In Washington, all are idle enough to be as agreeable as they can. The business of congress is no great burden on the shoulders of any of its members; and a trip to Washington is generally regarded as a sort of annual lark, which enables a man to pass the winter months more pleasantly than in the country. Aconsiderable number of the members bring their families, with a view of obtaining introduction to better society than they can hope to meet elsewhere; but the majority leave such incumbrances at home; some, it may be presumed, from taste, and others from economy.

There are few families that make Washington their permanent residence, and the city, therefore, has rather the aspect of a watering place, than the metropolis of a great nation. The members of congress generally live together in small boarding-houses, which, from all Isaw of them, are shabby and uncomfortable. Gentlemen with families take lodgings, or occupy apartments in a hotel; and it is really marvellous, at the Washington parties, to see how many people are contrived to be stowed away in a drawing-room, somewhat smaller than an ordinary-sized pigeon-house. On such occasions, one does not suffer so much from heat as from suffocation; for not only does the whole atmosphere become tainted in quality, but there seems an absolute deficiency in quantity for the pulmonary demands of the company.

Mr.Stuart, during his residence in the United States, appears to have made particular inquiries in respect to its agriculture and horticulture. The following paragraph, in which a comparison is drawn between the productions of our gardens and those of Great Britain, is interesting:—

The farms in the neighborhood of New-York are all cultivated; but having been long accustomed to the plough, and the soil very different from that of Illinois, the application of manure is indispensably necessary. The contiguity to New-York insures tolerable prices for green crops, and a great part of the land is devoted to them. Even the Lima bean is cultivated in the field. The varieties of the bean in an American garden last during great part of the summer; but the heat of the sun is too great for green peas after the first or second crop. Neither do artichokes thrive well, nor cauliflowers, nor broccoli; but the tomato is excellent and abundant, and pumpkins and vegetable marrow are plentiful. Asparagus, too, is often cultivated on the field in Long Island, and is nowhere of better quality. It is sometimes sold in the New York market at two pence sterling per hundred. Upon the whole, Ithink the vegetables for the table in Great Britain are fully equal in variety and quality to those in the United States; but they are much higher in price. Agreat distinction is to be drawn between the two countries respecting the article fruit. The Americans have peaches, melons, apples, strawberries, and cherries, all of excellent quality, and in such abundance, that there is not a single individual in the whole country, even the very shoe-black, whose funds do not enable him to have as much of these fruits as he likes at the proper season. There are also abundance of walnuts, and of various sorts of nuts for every body. In many places, but not universally, there are plums, pears, and grapes. The plums, so far as have seen them, are not equal to the English,—the pears, especially the sickle pear of Pennsylvania, excellent,—the grapes quite inferior to those in the open air in France, or in the south of England; but the great difference between the countries exists in the abundance of the first-mentioned fruits for the whole mass of the people. Peaches are raised on standard trees only, and, though universally good, are not superior in flavor to those raised on garden walls, or in hot-houses in England. They are reckoned better at Philadelphia than anywhere else. Melons are considered best-flavored in Virginia and the Carolinas; but they are so plentiful in New York, that there is hardly a laborer who does not partake of a watermelon every day during the hot season. Apples are as good in the neighborhood of New York as anywhere. Apricots, and nectarines, and figs, are hardly ever seen. It is therefore clear, that a man of wealth may obtain greater variety of fine fruit in England than in the United States, the melon and apple alone being inferior to the melons and apples in America; but all in this country have plenty of excellent fruit.

The following extract from the Lowell Journal possesses sufficient interest to entitle it to preservation.

‘The excavation which is now about being made in a hill in this town for the bed of the contemplated rail-way, may be considered, next to the various manufacturing establishments, the most wonderful “lion” of the place. This hill is near the terminus of the rail-way, in the neighborhood of the brewery, but not in a populous part of the town. It consists of a ledge of rock, which is about three hundred yards in length, and the average depth of the excavation is about forty feet. It is thirty feet wide at the bottom, and sixty at the top, and the masses of stone which have already been riven from the ledge by blasting, seem to be immense.

‘A contract was originally made with a person to effect a sufficient passage through this hill, for the sum of seventy-two thousand dollars. He commenced the undertaking, employed sixty workmen for about four months, and failed. Another person then undertook to finish the work for the same amount; but after a few months, he also abandoned the undertaking. Those individuals are said to have both been acquainted with the nature of the business which they undertook, but they were deceived by the quality of the rock, which consists principally of gneiss and mica, through which, although much lighter and softer than limestone or granite, it was found much more difficult and expensive to effect a passage, than if it was composed of those more solid materials. The drilling may not be so difficult; but the rocks, lying in numerous horizontal strata, almost defy the power of gunpowder, and heavy blasts, which would shiver an immense mass of granite, are frequently found here to produce but little effect. In addition to this, the ledge is found to be full of springs of water, which sometimes render it necessary for the workmen to expend much time, and exercise no inconsiderable ingenuity, in counteracting its effects. There are also found in the lower part of the ledge, huge masses of quartz, and a species of rock composed almost entirely of hornblende, which is, of course, almost impenetrable to the drill.

‘The Locks and Canal company have now undertaken to complete this work, at the expense of the Rail-road company. About seventy men are constantly employed, and the work advances as rapidly as the attending circumstances will allow. Seven hundred kegs of powder have been used in blasting, since the latter part of April, when the work was recommenced.’

The following account of a visit to the Point of Rocks, along the track of the rail-road from Baltimore to that place, a distance of seventy-three miles, is interesting, and may be not improperly introduced in this connection. It is taken from the Baltimore American of June, 1832.

‘In the middle of the merry month of May, the governor of Maryland, president of the Baltimore and Ohio rail-road company, several of the directors and other gentlemen, visited the Point of Rocks in one of the rail-road cars. The road is so well known from Baltimore to Ellicott’s mill that it requires no description, further than that point has become a very desirable retreat, both on account of the wild magnificence of the surrounding scenery and the elegant accommodations of the hotel. From thence to the Monocacy, it leads along the margin of the Patapsco river and Bush creek, through a woody region rarely intersected by some cultivated spots, and improvements indicating much comfort. The viaduct across the Monocacy is a light, airy and tasteful structure, reflecting great credit on the architect, and of sufficient solidity to insure its safety and duration. From that point is a view of the bridge below, the mountains six miles distant, and a short distance up and down the river. Here the branch road leading to Frederick leaves the continuous line which proceeds through a finely cultivated champaign country for eleven miles to the Potomac. Iformed one of the party, and as every spot at the Point and the opposite shore was familiar to me, Ienjoyed a satisfaction, mingled with some pleasing, melancholy recollections of former days, which was not felt by others, although Ibelieve that every one was highly gratified with the trip, which took up about twelve hours, allowing time to breakfast at the Mills, dine at Frederick, and an hour to examine the long-contested Point, which rises in almost a perpendicular line from the river, to the height of three or four hundred feet, on the top of which is an Indian barrow where lay mouldering the bones of some mighty Tecumsehs or valiant Little Turtles, commingled with the arrows which probably have often been dyed in the blood of many a noble tawny Hector or implacable Achilles. Here the soaring eagle and boding raven have immemorably pitched their eyries in social proximity, and looked down upon the humble fish hawk perched upon a jutting rock, or hovering with equal poise over his finny prey, and from which there is a view of Harper’s Ferry, the Blue ridge and Washington’s beloved river, studded with isles, for several miles. The stillness of the scene is often broken by the refreshing murmurs of Hook’s falls. Instead of the low cabin under the pendant rock where Ihave often felt the genial warmth of a blazing fire while waiting for the ferry boat, there is now rising, as if by magic, the town of Port Johnson. Already there are several houses, shops and warehouses finished and occupied, and a large tavern nearly completed on the rail-road, which will enable visiters to spend time enough to enjoy all the beauties of the prospect and a cheerful repast.

‘The distance from Baltimore is seventy miles, and may be travelled going and returning in less than twenty-four hours. But if the eye is delighted, and the senses gratified with the objects on the Maryland side, they will be doubly increased by passing to the other shore, where a tavern and ferry house are erecting directly opposite the point where the boats land. Immediately in the rear of the ferry house, is a tunnel cut out of the solid rock three hundred yards, at the base of the mountain; half a mile farther the most extensive beds of excellent iron ore and a favorable appearance of bituminous coal. The tunnel was made to let the waters of Catoctin creek into a run which supplied a furnace, saw and extensive merchant mills, destroyed some years ago by fire. If the view charms from the Indian barrows, it almost enraptures from the Virginia promontory, which rises several hundred feet above it, looking down, as it were, upon the little hillock of its Maryland neighbor. The summit is gained by a circuitous road from the river, about a mile in length, where immediately bursts upon the eye the most beautiful and extensive prospect in the country. On the one side you behold Harper’s Ferry gap, at twelve miles distance, the whole valley of the Blue ridge as far as vision can extend, on either side of the river the rich settlements of the Maryland tract, the Friends, German and Tunkerville districts, and the Blue ridge mountains. The whole of these tracts are in the highest state of cultivation, and from the height you occupy, appear like large and beauteous gardens, irrigated with perennial streams and adorned with tasty summer houses. On the other side are seen the rich Loudon lands, the town of Leesburg, the lofty Sugar-Loaf Peak in Maryland, and the verdant fields of Carrollton manor, and from one point, the Potomac for miles up and down, with its numerous islands, gentle falls and smooth bosom. On both sides of the river at the point will arrive in boats and wagons, hundreds of thousands of barrels of flour, large quantities of lumber, iron, coal and other productions for transportation on the rail-road. Anew energy will be imparted to the enterprising and industrious population of both states by the choice of markets at the district and Baltimore, and the facilities of transportation. If, as Mr.Jefferson says, the view at Harper’s Ferry is worth a voyage across the Atlantic, surely that from the Virginia summit is worth a ride from Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, or even the cradle city of independence.’

An intelligent friend, who has just visited the Petersburg and Roanoke rail-road, writes us as follows:—

‘The locomotive engines travel at the rate of twenty miles the hour, with ease, and with a train of from ten to twenty cars, all loaded—some with passengers, and others with produce of every description. The whole line of the Petersburg road presents a scene of cheerfulness and industry, not to be seen on any other road in Virginia. Plantations that have been abandoned are now re-settling; houses repairing, and fences, of the best kind, erecting. In the bodies of wood through which the road passes, workmen are employed, some getting staves, some sawing, and others clearing, and, in fact, on the whole line, there is a spirit and animation that is delightful to behold.’—Fredericksburg Arena.

The canal tolls received in the month of July, 1833, amounted to the sum of one hundred and forty-seven thousand, eight hundred and ninety-nine dollars; exceeding, by forty-two thousand, two hundred and eighty-two dollars, and two cents, the sum collected in the corresponding month the preceding year. The following is a comparison of the tolls for July on all the canals of the state, for 1832 and 1833, to wit:

The receipts for tolls to the close of July, are greater by one hundred thousand, five hundred and twenty-two dollars, and ninety-eight cents, than they were for the same period last year. Some estimate of the great increase of business upon the canals may be formed from the fact, that the diminution in the rates of toll, operating upon the articles which were transported upon the canals in 1832, would probably diminish the aggregate amount of tolls one hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the whole season. At the diminished rates of toll, such has been the increase of articles transported, that in three months and eight days, the aggregate amount exceeds that of the corresponding months of 1832, by the sum of more than one hundred thousand dollars.

The following canals are projected or in progress, the first two by the state, the remainder by private corporations.

Chenango canal, to extend from the Erie canal, in Oneida county, to Binghampton, in Broome county, on Susquehannah river. Length, ninety-two and three-fourths miles.

Black River canal, to extend from Rome to the High falls on the Black river, thirty-six miles, with a navigable feeder of nine miles at Boonville, and the improvement of forty miles’ river navigation from the High falls to Carthage.

Chittenango canal. Company incorporated in 1818. Length one and a half mile. Extends from Chittenango mill to the Erie canal, with four locks.

Sodus canal. Company incorporated in 1829. Capital, two hundred thousand dollars. Canal to extend from Seneca river to Great Sodus bay, on lake Ontario.

The following canal companies have been incorporated, which have not yet commenced operations. Harlem river, Owasco and Erie, Auburn and Owasco, New York and Sharon, Niagara, Jefferson county, Oswego, Greenville, Black river, and Long Island.