ed under privations and cares, by reflections removed from the scenes round about them.

I was much struck by the appearance of a female, better dressed than the rest of the group of strangers, sitting apart from all the others, on a bundle containing her scanty store of worldly goods and gear, tied up in a threadbare handkerchief. Her face, which was covered with a much-worn black lacę veil, was sunk between her knees, so that her brow seemed to rest upon her open hands, which, . however, I could not well distinguish behind the veil, as it hung down to the deck, while every part of her dress fell so gracefully about her, that I was reminded of a weeping figure, in a similar attitude, in Raphael's celebrated Loggie. This casual association immediately carried my thoughts back to the countries I had left beyond the Atlantic, and I could not help suspecting, from the appearance of grief in this desolate exile, that her mind's eye, and with it the best feelings of her breast, might be equally far from the present scene, but alas! probably without one ray of hope to lighten her path back again.

On the 8th of September, we made a delightful voyage along Lake George, freely acknowledging that we had come at last to some beautiful scenery in the United States-beautiful in every respect, and leaving nothing to wish for. I own that Lake

George exceeded my expectations as far as it exceeds the power of the Americans to overpraise it, which is no small compliment. I began now to suspect, however, that they really preferred many things which have no right to be mentioned in the same day with this finished piece of Lake scenery. At all events, I often heard Lake George spoken of by them, without that degree of animation of which they were so lavish on some other, and as I thought, very indifferent topics of admiration.

It is difficult, I must confess, to discover precisely what people feel with respect to scenery ; and I may be wrong in supposing so many of my Transatlantic friends insensible to its influence. But certainly during our stay in the country, while we heard many spots lauded to the utmost length that words could go, we had often occasion to fancy there was no genuine sentiment at the bottom of all this praise. At the time I speak of, this was a great puzzle to me; and I could not understand the apparent indifference shown to the scenery of this beautiful Lake by most of our companions. Subsequent experience, however, led me to see that where the fine arts are not steadily cultivated -where in fact there is little taste for that description of excellence, and not very much is known about it, there cannot possibly be much hearty admiration of the beauties of nature.

Of all kinds of navigation that by steam is certainly the most unpleasant. There is, I fear, but a choice of miseries amongst the various methods of travelling by water, while that which is present, like pains in the body, seems always the very worst. The only way to render the sea agreeable, is to make it a profession, to live upon it, and to consider all its attendant circumstances as duties. Then, certainly, it becomes among the most delightful of all lives. I can answer, at least, for my own feelings in the matter, for I have gone on liking it more and more every day, since I first put my foot on board ship, more than six and twenty years ago.

鄘

But it is a very different story when the part of a passenger is to be enacted-a miserable truth which holds good whether the water be salt or fresh, or whether the vessel be moved by wind, or steam, or oars. Fortunately our passage down Lake George was in the day-time, for just as we had reached almost the end of this splendid piece of water, we heard a fearful crash-bang went the walking beam of the engine to pieces, and there we lay like a log on the water. But the engineer had no sooner turned off the steam, than the pro-. digious fizzing, together with the sound of the bell, which was instantly set a-ringing, aided by the shouts of the crew, gave alarm to those on shore,

In a few minutes half a dozen boats shot out from under the high bank near the village of Caldwell, and towed us speedily to land. This was a shortlived distress, therefore, and rather picturesque and interesting upon the whole, as the twilight was just about to close, and the magnificent scenery of Lake George, being reduced to one mass of deep shade, became still more impressive, I thought, than it had been even in full daylight.

But we had experienced the true joys of a steam-boat during the previous night when making the voyage from North to South along Lake Champlain. The machinery was unusually noisy, the boat weak and tremulous, and we stopped, backed, and went on again, at no fewer than eleven different places, at each of which there was such a racket, that it was impossible to get any rest. If a passenger did manage to doze off, under the combined influence of fatigue, and the monotonous sound of the rumbling wheels, which resembled eight or ten muffled kettle-drums, he was sure to be awakened by the quick" tinkle! tinkle!" of the ' engineer's bell, or the sharp voice of the pilot calling out "Stop her!" or he might be jerked half out of his birth by a sound thump against the dock or wharf. If these were not enough, the rattle and bustle of lowering down the boat was sure to banish all remaining chance of sleep.

In the cabin there was suspended a great staring lamp, trembling and waving about, in a style to make even a sailor giddy. While underneath its rays were stretched numberless weary passengers some on mattresses spread on the deck, others on the lockers, or on the bare planks-the very picture of woe, like the field of battle after the din of war has ceased. Amongst these prostrate objects of compassion, various stray passéngers might be seen picking their way, hunting for their bags and cloaks, and talking all night, in utter disregard of the unhappy wretches cooped up in the sleepless sleeping-births round about them. At every stopping place, fresh parties either came on board, or went away, or both, so that the overcrowded cabin was one scene of buzz! buzz! during this very long night.

I went upon deck once or twice, when worried almost to death by the incessant bustle, but the scenery was not very interesting; for though the moon was only a little past, or a little before the full, I forget which, and the sky overhead clear and sparkling, the lower atmosphere was filled with a muggy sort of red haze or smoke, arising, I was told, from the forests on fire, which gave a ghastly appearance to the villages and trees, seen through such a choky medium. On one occasion only, when this mist cleared off a little, I was