" ' iiw‘onld have given the world for a crooked street. 23%)" and out of spirits. , m” gamma: macaw. ‘ ‘ LITERATU’RE. AMERICAN NOTES FOR GENERAL CIRCULATION. _ ' , n! ensues nicxnns, ESQUIRE. - AN ATLANTIC Suzanna m A STORM.—-Ii isthe third morn. ing. 1 am awakened out of my sleep by a dismal shriek from my wife, who demands to know whether there’s any danger. lrousc myself, and look out of bed. The water jug is plunging and leaping like a lively dolphin; all the smaller articles are afloat, except my shoes, which are strati- dod on a carpet bag, high and dry, like a couple of coal barges. Suddenly Isee them spring into the air, and be- hold the looking-glass, which is nailed to the wall, sticking fast upon the ceilinw. At the same time, the door entirely disappears, and anew one is opened in the floor.. Tlieii I begin to comprehend that the statewoom is standing on its head: Before his possible to make any arrangement, at all compatible with this novel state of things, the ship rights. Before one can say “Thank Heaven!” she wrongs again. Before one can cry she is_ wrong, she seems to have. started flirward, and to be a creature actively running of its own 'accord, with broken knees and failing legs, through every variety ofhole and pitfiill, and stumbling constantly. .Be- fore one can so much as wbnder, she takes a high leap into the air. Before she has well done that, she takes a deep dive into the water. Before she has gained the surface, she throws a somerset. The instant she is on her legs, she rushes back- ward. And so she goes on, staggering, heaving, wrestling, leaping, diving, jumping, pitching, throbbing, rolling, and rocking; and going through all these movements, sonic- times by turns, and sometimes altogether; until one feels disposed to roar for mercy. A steward passes. ‘ Steward!’ ‘Sir?’ ‘ What is the matter ?---what do you roll this ?’ ‘Ra- ther a heavy sea on, sir, and a head-wind !’ lmagincg‘a hu- than face upon the vessel’s prow, with fifteen thousand Samp- sons in one bent upon driving her back, and hitting her ex- actly between the eyes whenever she attempts to advance an inch. Imagine the ship herself; with every pulse and artery of a huge body-swollen and burning underOtlns inal- treatment, sworn to go on or die. _Iinaginc‘thc wind bowl- ing, the sea roaring, the rain beating; all iii furious array against her. Picture the sky both dark and wild, and the clouds, in fearful sympathy with the waves, making another ocean in the air. Add to all this, the cluttering on the deck, and down below; the tread ofhurried feet; the loud hoarse shouts ofseiiuien; the gurgling in and out ofwatcr through ‘the sciippers; with, every now and then, the striking of a heavy sea upon the planks above, with the deep, dead,.lieavy I sound of thunder heard within a vault; and there is the head Wind ofthat January morning. ii * * [This head-wian was precursor too. heavy gale :]-— A/ heavy gale ofwind came slowly up at sunset, when We were about ten days out, and raged with gradually iii- creasing fiiry until morning, saving that it lulledfor an hour ’ a little before midnight. There was something in the natu- ral repose ofthat hour, and in the after gathering ofthe storm, so inconceivably awful and tremendous, that its burst: ing into full violence was almost a relief! The labouring of the ship in the troubled sea on this night I shall never for- get. ‘ Will it ever be worse than this ?’ was a question I had glen heard asked, when everything was sliding and bump~ '3 about, and when it certainly did seem difficult to coni- prehend the possibility ofanything afloat being more dis- turbed. without toppling over and going down. But what 'the agitation ofa steam-vessel is, on a bad winter night on ~ the wild Atlantic, it is impossible for the most vivid imagin- ation to conceive. To say that she is flung down on her side in the waves, with her masts dipping into them, and that, springing up again, she rolls over on the other side, until a heavy sea strikes her with the noise of a hundred great guns, and hurls her back—that she stops, and staggers, and shivers, as though stunned, and then, with a violent throbbing at l.er heart, darts onward like a monster goaded into madness, to be beaten down, and battered, and crushed, and leaped on by the angry seaétliat thunder, lightning, bail, and rain, and wind, are all in fierce contention for the mastery—that every plank has its groan, every nail its shriek, and every drop of water in the great ocean its howling voice -—ia nothing. To say iliat all is grand, and all appalling and horrible in the last degree, is nothing. Words cannot ex- press it. Thoughts cannot convey it. Only a dream can call it up again, in all its fury, rage and passion. A Sort-:N'rii-‘ic Sco'rcu Lama—About midnight we ship- ped a sea, which forced its way through the skylights, burst open the doors above, and came raging and roaring down into the ladies’ cabin, to the unspeakable consternation of my wife and a little Scotch lady—who, by the way, had pre- viously sent a message to the captain by the stewardess, re- questing him, with her compliments, to have a steel conduc- tor immediately attached to the top of every mast, and to the chimney, in order lhat the ship might not be struck Willi lightning. Dome THE AMMBLa—JI Ludi’crous Picture—They, and the handmaid before mentioned, being tear, that l scarcely knew what to do with them, I naturally bothougbt myselfofsome restorative or comfortable cordial ; and nothing better occurring to me, at the moment, than hot brandy and water, I procured a ttimb'er-full without delay. It being impossible to stand or sit without holding on, they were all heaped together in one cornerot'a long sofa—a fix- ture extending entirely across the cabin—where they clung to each other in momentary expectation of being drowned. When [approached this place with my specific, and was about to administer it, with many consolatory expressions, to the nearest sufferer, what was my dismay to see them all roll slowly down to the other end! And when I staggered to that end, and held out the glass once more, how imiiiense- ly baffled were my good intentions by the ship giving ano- ther lurch, and their all rolling back again! I suppose I dodged them up and down this sofa for at least a quarter of an lioitr, without reaching them once; and by the time ldid catch them, the brandy and Water was diminished, by con- stant spilling, to a tea-spoonful. To complete the group, it is necessary to recognise in this discoucerted dodger, a very pale individual, who had shaved his beard and dressed his httlt‘, last,.at Liverpool, and whose only article of dress (linen not included), were a pair of drcadnought trowsers; - blue Jacket, formerly admired upon the Thames at Rieli- inond; no stockings, and one slipper. Tait Ur'ti'rsp STATES BANK—PHILADELPHIA.—IV6 reach- ed Philadelphia late at night. Looking out of my chamber Window, before going to bed, I the way a handsome building of white marble, which had a m9m'nfilli ghost-like "Spect, dreary to behold. [attributed this to the sombre influence ofthe night, and on rising in the morning, looked out again, expecting to see its steps and portico throngcd Iwith groups ofpeople passing in and out. lhe door was still tight shut, the same cold cheerlcss air Breaded, and the building looked as if the marble statue of onIanman could alone have any business to transact Within its gloomy walls. [hastened to inquire its name and purpose, and then my surprise vanished. It was the tomb ,ofmauy fortunes, the great catacomh of investment, the me- ‘morable United States Batik. Tho Stoppage 0fthis bank ..with all its ruinous consequences, has cast (as I was told oil .overy side)a gloom on Philadelphia, under the depressin" ofi'ect ofwhich ityet laboured. It certainly did seem rather: It is a handsome city, but distract- After walking about it for an hour or two, I The col- lar of my coat appeared to stiffen, and the brim of my hat to expand, beneath its Quakerly influence. My hair shrunk into a sleek short crop, my hands folded themselves upon my breast oftheir own calm accord, and thoughts oftaking lodgings in Mark-lane, over against the market-place, and of making a large fortune by speculations in corn, came over me involuntarily. Fae-roar Guns—After stating the astounding fact that in Iluly, 1841, nine hundred and seventy-eight of these fac- tory girls were depositors in the Lowell Savings Bank to the amount Jomtly of$100,000, or £30,000 (is it possible ?)——Mr. Dickens .goes on to say—“Iain now going to state three facts, Which 'Will startle a large class of readers on this side ofthe Atlantic very much. Firstly, there is ajoint-stock pi- ano in a great many of the boarding-houses. Secondly, nearly all these young ladies subscribe to circulating libra- ries. Thirdly, they have got up among themselves a peri- odical called ‘Tlte Lowell Ofl'eriiig,’ a repository of origi- gly regular. in such extacics of I saw on the opposite side of no] articles, written exclusively by females actively employed in the mills, which is duly printed, published and sold; and whereof I brought away from Lowell four hundred good solid pages, which I have read from beginping to end. I_he largu class of readers, startled by these facts, wull excliiim with one voice, ‘How very preposterous!’ On my defer- entially inquiring why? they Will answer, ‘These things are above their station.’ In reply to tltelt‘ObjeCllot], I would beg to ask what their station is? lt is their station to work, and they do work. They labour in these mills, upon an average, 12 hours a day, which is llltt-qllesllt)llttl)ly work, and pretty tight work too. Perhaps it is above their statiop to indulge in such amusements, on any terms. .Are wequite sure that. we in England have not formed our ideas of the ‘statiou of working people fi‘om accustoming ourselves to the coiitciii; plation ofthnt class as they are, and not as they might be . I think that if we examine our own feelings we shall find that the pianos, and the circulating.Iibraries, and even the ‘Lowell Ofleriug,’ startle us by their noyeliy, and not by their bearing upon any abstract questionrofrigbt or wrong. For myself, [know no station in which the occupation of to-day, cheerfully done, and the occupation pfto—uiorrow cheer-fully looked to, any one ofthcse pursuits is-not 'most liiimauisuig and laudable. I know no station which is rendered more eudurable to the person in it, by having ignorance for its as- sociate. I know no station which has a right to monopolize the means of mutual instruction, improvement, and rational entertainment; or which has ever continued to be a station very long lifter seeking to do so. . Bosrox—When I got into the streets, upon this Sunday morning, the air was so clear, the houses were so bright and gay; the sign-boards were painted in such gaudy colors; the gilded letters were so very red, the stone was so very white, the blinds and area railings were so very green, the knobs and plates upon the street doors so inarvelloiisly bright and twinkling; and all so slight and unsubsiaiitial in appearance—that every tl‘ioro-ughfhre in the City lookeil ex- actly like a scene in a pantomime. It rarely happens in the business streets that a tradesinan, ifl may venture to call anybody a trudcsman, where every body isa merchant, re- sides above liis store; so that many occupations are often carried on in one house, and the whole front is covered with boards and inscriptions. ’ The suburbs are, ifpossible, even more iiusubstantial look- ing than the city. The white wooden houses (so white that it makes one wink to look at them), with their green jalousic blinds, are so sprinkled and dropped about in all directions, without seeming to have any root at all in the ground, and the small churches and chapels are so prim, and bright, and highly varnished, Ialinost believed the whole affair could be taken up piecemeal, like a child’s toy, and crammed into a little box. The city is a beautiful one, and cannot fail,1 should ima— gine, to impress all strangers very favourably. The private dwelling houses arc,for'tlie most part, large and elegam . the shops extremely good; and the public buildings hand- some. Thc State House is built on the summit of a bill which rises gradually at first, and afterwards by a steep as. cent, almost from the water’s edge. In front is a, green in. closure, called the Common. The site is beautith ; and from the top there is a charming panoramic View of the whole town and neighbourhood. THE LADIES 0F BOSTON—The tone of society in Boston ’ the last, that you seem to have beentranslated back iigaintpy magic. The train calls at stations in the woods, w'iere i . wild impossibility of anybody buying the smallest icason to, first out, is only to be equalled by the apparently despeiatc hopelessness of there being anybody to get in. It iiishes across the turnpike road, where there is no gate, no policef; man, no signal: nothing but a rough wooden arch, on WhIIJC is painted “ WHEN Tris BELL RINGS, coox our son THE 0— COMO'I‘IVE.” On it whirls headlong, dives through the woods again, emerges in the light, clatters over frail arches, tum— bles upon the heavy ground, shoots beneath _a wooden- bridge which intercepts the light for a second 'like a Wink, suddenly awakens all the slumbering echoes in the main street ot'a large town, and dashes on; liap-hazair-d, pell-mell, neck or-nothiiig, down the middle of the road. I‘here—with mechanics working at their trades, and people leaiiiug frpin their doors and windows, and boys flying kites and playing marbles, and men smoking, and women talking, and children crawling, and pigs burrowuig, and unaccustomed horses , plunging and rearing, close to the very railsf—ther'e—ou, on, on—toars the mad dragon of an engine With its train of cars , scattering in all directions a shower of bllI'lHllg’Spal'kS from its wooil‘fire; screeching, hissing, yelling, panting; until at. last the thirsty monster stops beneath a coyered way to driu k, the people cluster round, and you have time to breathe again. (From Gatlcy’s Lady's Boo/c for October.) AN INCIDENT RELATED 0F BYRON. BY N. P. WILLIS. It was getting towards iiiiilnight when a party of young iioblenieii came out from one ofthe clubs of St. James- Street. The servant ofeach, as he stepped iipmttlie pave- ment, threw up the wooden apron of the cabriplet, and- sprang to the head ofthe horse; but as to the destiiiationot the equipages for the evening, there seemed to be some dis- seiisiou among the noble masters. BetWIxt the line of coro- netted vehicles stood a hackney-coach, and a person in an attitude of'eagcr expectancy, pressed as near the exhilarated group as he could do without exciting immediate attention. “ Which way ?" said he whose vehicle was nearest, stand- ing with his foot on the step. “ All together, of course,” said another. night of it.” . “ Pardon me,” said the deep and sweet veice of the last out from the club; “I secede for one.-—-Go your ways, gen- tlemen.” . “ Now, what the deuce is n-foot ?” said the foreman, again stepping back on the sidewalk. “ Don’t let him ofl; Fitz? Is your cab bore, Byron, or will you let me drive you! By Jove, you slian’t leave us!” “ But you shall leave me, and so you are not foresworn, my friend! In plain phrase, I won’t go with you. And I don’t know where I shall go, so spare your curiosity the trouble ofaskiiig. l have a presentimeut that I am wanted —by devil or angel, . t “I see a hand you cannot see.” “ And a very pretty hand it is, I dare swear,” said the for- mer speaker. jumping into his cab, and starting off with a spring ofhis blood horse, followed by all the vehicles at the club door, save one. Byron stood looking after them a moment, and raised his hat and pressed his hand hard on his forehead. The tin- “ Let’s make a is one of perfect politeness, courtesy, and good breeding. The ladies are unquestionably very beautiful—in face; but there Iain compelled to stop. Their education is much as with us; neither better nor Worse. I had heard sonic very marvellous storicsin this respect; but. not believing them, was not disappointed. AN AMERICAN l{AiLaoan.—I made acquaintance with an American railroad, on this occasion, for the first time. All these works are pretty much alike all through the States, their general characteristics are easily described. There are no first and second class carriages, as with us; but there is a gentlenien’s car and a ladies’ car; the main distinction between which is, that in the first, everybody smokes; and in the second, nobody does. As a black man never travels with a white one, there isalso a negro car; which is a great blundering clumsy chest, such as Gulliver put to sea iii, from the kingdom ofBrobdignag. There isa a great deal ofnoisc, agrcat deal ofwall, not much window, a locomotive engine, a shriek, and a bell. The cars are like shabby omnihuses, but larger; holding thirty, forty, fifty people. The seats, instead of stretching fi'om end to end, are placed crosswise. Each seatholds two persons. There is a long row ofthem on each side of the caravan, a narrow passage up the middle, and a door at both ends. In the centre ofthe carriage there is usually a stove with charcoal or anthracite coal, which is for the most part red-hot. It is iiisufl‘erably close; and you see the hot air fluttering be- tween yourselfnnd any other object you may happen to look at, like the ghost of smoke. In the ladies’ car there are a great many gentlemen who have ladies with them. There are also a great many ladies who have nobody with them : for any lady may travel about from one end ofthe United States to the other, and be certain ofthe most courteous and considerate treatment every where. The conductor, or checktaker, or guard, or whatever he may he, wears no uni- form. He walks up and down the car, and in and out of it, as his fancy dictates ; leans against the door with his hands in his pockets, and stares at you, ifyon chance to be a straiiwei'; or enters into conversation with passengers about him.” A great many newspal'iers are pulled out, and a few ofthem are read. Every body talks to you, or to any body else who hits his fancy. Ifyoii are an Englishman, he expects that that railroad is pretty much like an English railroad. Ifyou say “No,” he says “Yes?” (interrogatively,) and asks in what respect they differ. You enumerate the heads ofdif- l'crence, one by one, and he says “ Yes?” (still interroaativc- ly) to each. Then he guesses that you don’t travel faster in England; and on your replying that you do, says, “Yes P” again (still interrogatively,) and, it is quite evident, don‘t be— lieve it. After a long pause, he remarks, partly to you, and partly to the knob on the top of'his stick, that “Yankees are reckoned to be a considerable ofa go-a—head too;” upon which you say “ Yes,” and then he says “Yes ” again (affirmatively this time ;) and upon your lookintr out of a window, tells you that behind that hill, and some three miles fro-:1 the next station, there is a clever town and a smart lopatioii, where he expects you to have coucliided to stop. _ Ionr answer in the negative naturally leads to more questions in reference to your intended route (always pro- nounced rout); and wlicreveryou are going, you invariably learn that you can’t get there without immense difliculty and danger, and that all the great sights are somewhere else. lfa lady takes a fancy tp any male passenger’s seat, the gen- tleman who accompanies her gives notice ofthe fact, and he iuii‘iicdiately vacates it with great politeness. Politics are discussed, so are banks, so is cotton. Quiet people avoid the question ofthe Presidency, foi'there will he anew election in three years and a half, and party feeling runs very high: the great constitutional feature of this election bein" that directly the acrimony ofthe last election is over the a: rimony ofthe next liegiiis ; which is an unspeakable delitrht to all strong politicians and true lovers oftheir country ; that is to say, to. ninety-nine and aquai'ter. Except when a branch roadfiioius the main one, there is seldom more than one track of rods: so that the road is very narrow, and the View, where there is a cutting, by no means extensive. When there is not, the character ofthe scenery is always the saute. Mile after mile of stunted trees; some hewn down by the axe, some blown down by the wind some half fallen and resting on their neighbours, many mer-e lows hair hidden in the swamp, others mouldered away to :10" v chips. The very soil ofthe earth is made up of minutei frag;- ments such as these; each pool ofstagnant water has ifs crust of vegetable rottenness; on every side there are the EpiiighifaqizéginElegy $223qu of til'lees, in every possible einrcl'ge for a few brief iiiinutesltin "an" on‘eglem. Now’ you . I . - pen country, alitter- ing With some bright lake or poal, broad as many aii l“n« glish river, but so small here that it scarcely has a ‘ nunie‘ now catch hasty glimpses ofa distant town, with its clettll white houses and their cool piazzas, its prim New Enaltind church and schoolhouse; when wliir-r-r! almost beforii you have seen them, comes the same dark screen: the studied people, great deal of'jolting, ) known person who had been lurking near, seemed willing lto leave him for a moment to his thoughts, or was embar- (rassed atapproacliiiigu stranger. As Byron turned with l his halting step to descend the steps, however, he came sud-l idcnly to his side. ’ “ My lord,” he said, and was silent, as if waiting permis- sion to go on. “Well!” replied Byron, turning to him. without the least , surprise, and looking closely into his time by the light of the ‘ street lamp. “1 come to you with an errand which perliaps—” “A strange one, I am sure ; but I am prepared for it—I ‘ have been forewarned ofit. Wlint do you require of me? —for I am ready !” “This is strange I” exclaimed the man. ‘ messenger, tlieii—” “None except a spirit—for my heart alone told me 1 should he wanted at this hour. Speak at once.” “ My lord, a dying girl has sent for you.” “ no I know her ?” “ She has never seen you. Will you come at once, and on the wayl will explain to you what I can of this singular errand; though, indeed, when it is told to you, you knoiv all t, that I comprehend.” They were at the door ofthe l‘iackney coach, and Byron entered it without fiirther remark. “Back again !”said the stranger, the door, “and drive for dear time, I fear!” I l The heavy tongue ofSt. Paul’s struck twelve as the rolling )vohicle hurried on through the now lonely street, and though ‘so far from the place whence they started, neither of the two occupants had spoken. Byron sat with folded arms and bare head in the corner ofthe coach, and the straiitrer I with his hat crowded over his eyes, seemed repressii‘ig sane, violent eiiiotion;and it was only when they stopped before a low door, in a street close upon the river, that the latter found utterance. “Is she alive?” he hurriedly asked of out at the sound ofthe carriage wheels. “She was, a moment since—but be quick l” Byron followed quickly on the heels and passingthrougl'. .1 dimly lighted eiitr backroom, they entered. A lamp, shaded by a curtain of spotless purity, threw a faint light upon a bed, upon which lay a girl, watched by a physician and uiirse. The physician had just removed a small niirrorfrom her lips and holdii} it to the light, he whispered that she still breathed. As 13g. ton palssled Kline edge of Ithe curtain, however, the dying gait, or ii i "r o '1 ' ‘ Ll‘fhv ohimlbo‘ilsminti§Z.l'iEde..lli";g °" the cove-""3" “"d , . _ .5 yes—eyes of iiiexprcs- Sible depth oflustie. No one had spoken. “ He is here!” she murmured u R. '. _ - ‘ ' _ o aise me mothe i I have time to speak to him.” ’ r: Vhlle Byron looked around the small cba break the spell ofawe which the s apparition fi‘onianother world coi fearfully and completely the mor der-cnrrent of his nature. He stood with his heart beatimr almost audibly, and his knees trembling beneath him, awaite- ing what he prophetically felt to be a w ' ' . . aininv ~ ’ ' gate of Heaven. 5 “om the "fly . Prnpped wuh pillows, and left by her girl turned her head towards the proud mg by her bedside, and a slight blush tiires, while a smile ofaiigelic beauty stole through her li is In that smile the lime rte-awakened to its former lovelineiss- and seldom had he who now gazed breathlessly upon liei" lookedon such spiritual and incomparable beauty The s in: cious forehead and the noble contour, still visible lofthe orb eluted lips, bespoke genius impressed upon atablaet all fem:- iiiue in its language: and in the motion ofher hands and even in the slight movement oflier graceful neck there w ‘ something that still breathed ofsurpassing elegantie It wa: the shadowy wreck of no ordinary mortal passin I aw m hiiiuble as were ihe surroundings, and straiirre‘asgh l by- bis summons to her bedside. D in Ben . “lAnd this is Byron!” she said at l mgr y sweet, even throu rh its weakn s‘. “ ~ ' could not die without seeilig you—withoiit°relievlliflr Md. 1 of a mission with which it has been long hiirtliened "T322112 nearer, for I have no time left for core ' ' man an ~ what I have to say—and die I” y, d l mu“ say .She hesitated, and as Byron took the th him, she looked steadily upon his noble c ffl“Iii‘eiliutifull!” sh?1 said ; “ beautiful as w in ms so am: autited the !—-t ’- - . ofa spirit oflight ! Pardon "Wile fh'yielldifitidng “de W39" ihatat a moment so in'iportant to yourself the re a! 01“. me, of an earthly feeling has been betrayed inio ex ii‘mem ilil’nce She paused a moment, and the bright colbui'ssiiiili had “Hos another as the coachman closed life, for we shall scarce be in a woman who came of his companion, y to the door ofthe mber, trying in vain to cone threw over him. An ll(l not have checked more is worldly and scoriifiil iii'i- attendants, the dying poet and noble stand- overspread her fea- ast, in a voice bewilder- in hand she held to ountenance. the dream of him to point you almost to Heaven froin’m on my heart like the one errand army of God—to implore you to preparei’fm, lord ! with your glorious powers, with yo, be not lost! Do not, for the pool- pleame 3ft lose an eternity in which your great my ’ intelligence of angels. Measure this i ‘ worth of angelic bliss with the intellect my gloriously through thenniverse: do hogan. at» tons subject ofhuman intereSt,——on this sighted !” . “ What shall I do ?” suddenly burst from , , tone of agony. But with an efl'bn, as fps. death pang, he again drew up his form a marble calmness ofhis countenance. The dying girl, ineantime,seemed to ha prayer. With her wasted hands claped her eyes turned iipWards, the slight motl " ed to those around her that she was mead ofmercy. The physician crept closing with his hand in his breast and his head btit watching for the moment when the ' flight. , She suddenly raised herselfon the, brown tresscs fell over her shoulders, natural and almost fearful kindled inm‘re endeavouring to speak, and gum] Slowly, then, and trauquilly, she sank _ pillow, and as her hands fell apart, and but she murmured, “Come to Heaven!” death was in the room. The spirit had “ THE INDiAN SUMMER.”—Tllls is the when this bland influence pervades u. would seem, like some spirit-sister, to bag the one hand, to summer influences, to selves front the rude embrace of desol upon the other, to be _waviug a wand to enemy, holding him iii abeyance until ‘. one far enough South to be out ofre hosts and snows. Having done this, it own genial vapors into the sunny pl comes not; or, iflie enters them at all, moment. But this is fancy. What can mer? and why is it 'so called?are qu’ propose to answer. That genial period which comes to us after the fall of tbs leaf; often mingling wi eiices, is caused by the decomposition o , and oflonger or shorter duration, as, ' slow or sudden. To us ofthe Atlant see the interminable and thick set fores the border, but a very inadequate concev ofthe masses ofleaves which lie upon midst. Theseleaves, undergoing the p sition, send up at the same time heat fill the atmosphere ;and are seen and ness, or become fainter and thinner, we are contiguous to, or removed from, they arise—It is doubtless in the mei‘ sons of our vicinity, that fifty years forests were thinned and made to m, which we denominate the Indian S “I , tinctly marked than now; and was morals , er. It wears—that same appearance now' same heat ; and is thus distinctly niark' abound. \Ve have penetrated forests, miles in the interior, where the heat fro ofthe leaves, and the vegetable matter that thick, was so intense, as to be uncomfo where the air was so warm, as to melt inhale it, and the atmosphere so thick w, sion from these vast bodies ofdecaying cliidc objects of the size of men from moved only some ten or twenty yards 0‘ genial season, then, istlie decompositi , in the form ofleaves, &.c., which abou season is longer or shorter, as the fronts denly, and in quick succession, or by more distant periods. lfthc frost is consumes the leaves, and they fiill to the V dried—and there being iiojuices left, ' tities, there will be a correspondingly ric emitted in the process of decompo vapor which attends that decomposit' therefore be less distinctly marked, and’ Whereas, ifthe frosts fall gently audisrq‘ and come at longer intervals, the leaves _ successively from their stems, and reach , with their juices, or sap, and throw '- larger portions of heat and vapor.. So much for the cause of that peculiar ii atmosphere which recurs annually, and» and Winter, and which is called “ The i is called the Indian Summer, because the is the custom) couie iii li-om their hand grounds in the Spring, to settle in their lakes and \ 'ater courses, to supply their that abound there, avail themselves oftli _ and tranquillity to return to their buiiii _ grounds for the Winter. It is therefore —a season in which he can reach the the: trials, without suffering from the heat of, or the cold of Winter. Thus have we exnl the Indian Summer, and the reason why Portland Transcript. I ; THE BLARNEY S'I‘ONE.-—“ Blarney villa miles ofCork; the principal object ofcur ' is its old castle, which stands on a PS9 rock, at whose base flows the Awmarw . considerable beauty. A massive square Pl dred and twenty feet in height, which f great tower, is all that now remains ofthe e' and defences which extended of old at , rection, and covered, it is said, a space 0f terior area ofcourt-yard measured eigh are ofiininense thickness, and must, before ' , artillery, have been inipregiiable. The H ' have long since disappeared; but the on . a little worming through the narrow SP "11 casionally putting his neck injeoiiai‘tly,3 . » all the chambers, particularly that called . her,’ which is still pointed out as the fa"! , one ofthe Earls ofClancarty, the former, w castle. It is a cheerful room, lighted byfill commanding a pleasing prospect ofthe. the floor is tiled, and the fragments ofllt' to the walls, show that it was fitted up WJ comfort, as well as elegance. Sir Walt visited Blarney, in 1808, entered much wards was present at the ceremonial 0”. stone.’ To this stone the castle owes mt»! than to its historic recollections. A ' tributes to it the power ofendowing W ‘ the sweet persuasive wheedling eloqllt‘amt the language ofthe Cork people, and “fl! nied ‘Blurney.’ This is the true medal”! no" as some writers have supposed, a " from veracity, with an unlil-usliiiig on“!!! " "my be convenient. Milliken,tlie i I ' describes its virtues :— ‘ There is a stone there—WM" . Oh ! he never misses—to F0": 5' ’Tis he may clamber to! all . ' 0r become a member of the “l, “I had rather not take a horn who’d“ the mad bull—but the bull insisted "Po" 1 and the loafer got quite higbr—Wa’h'fii. Tl“? late“ musical novelty isa qUE‘dP'lleSl The agony of the Virgil! ' ., “0” made the theme of music for s, ~‘ll0I IlllOll ll llel Cll ' (l l()\V ‘ 9 - r- d . 0 eek till I ’ s b ldd All (it‘ ill”, an llel COIN]- trees, the stumps, the logs, the stagnant water—all so like :ciianco reassumctl its heavenly serenity “ ‘ I . 1 am neat enough to death,” she resumed“ CHARLOTTETUWN: Printed and “filmed” ' ‘ at “33!? Oliice. East corner of Pownal 83". - “near enough I58. perannum, payable half yearly in M ) -A .at I has has anali odue .Attt :settl