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Mohicans.” Times have changed since the period of this tale, for now the energy and life of the falling waters are pressed into the service of man, to turn his water-mills for corn and lumber. The bridge of wood by which we cross the falls, looks so frail and insecure, and through large gaps in the roadway we can see so plainly the dashing torrent below, that we breathe more freely when the coach is fairly over.

We are now emerging from grand scenery into a region of matter-of-fact, industrial life. Here is a steam-machine stubbing up roots of trees, which look ugly customers when turned up chevaux de frise fashion, to form a stump fence. In a factory hard by, Yankee ingenuity, aided with funds from an Albany Company, is converting peat into good house-fuel, while close at hand the consuming organs of locomotives are being catered for by the preparation of piles of logs of hardwood. Here is growing buckwheat, with its three-cornered grain, something like a miniature Brazil nut in shape. The meal made from it soon turns sour, and must be ground immediately before being used, to secure it sweet and good. A dish of smoking buckwheat pancakes served up with molasses, was a great luxury to breakfast in the New Brunswick forest. By the side of buckwheat flourishes a similar cereal,-Indian wheat it is called, it ripens early in the season, and is used for fattening hogs. But the glory of the corn-land is the golden Maize. As we pass by the fields, the reapers are at work, cutting it down plant by plant, and storing it up in “shocks” like our English wheat. Delicate and beautiful is the large ear of maize, of pale amber color, which peeps out from beneath its leafy sheath. It turns out to be the Canadian maize, which is a rather smaller variety than the American, and ripens sooner. The ground beneath is now exposed, all covered with growing pumpkins amongst the stubble.

By this time I was on excellent terms with my fellowtravellers on the coach. With Americans there is little of that needless formality which you so often find in England. If they meet a fellow traveller, they are quite ready to break a lance with him in conversation, and if they find the ring of true metal of honest human nature about him, hospitality and friendship soon follow. I have received more acts of true kindness on occasions when it has been necessary to "take me on faith” in America, than in England, or anywhere else. Not that I blame my own countrymen for the want of it; there are warm hearts enough in Britain, only that warmth is often chilled by a certain icyness, if you cannot at the moment present any credentials beyond an honest face and an intelligent conversation.

My new-found friends were joking me about staying in America, and said that I was half a Yankee already. “But my chances of long life are not so good here as in our foggy island,” said I ; upon which I was assured that although in American towns and cities men live fast and are old men at fifty, still, in the country, they generally live to a good old age. Speaking of the habit of reading or studying by gas and candle light, one of them, a Professor, said that the practice is more injurious to sight, in the morning, before daylight, than in the evening after dark. I had not heard this opinion propounded before, and must therefore only advance it as balf-proven. Alluding to the early hours which obtain in New England farm-houses, where half-past five to six is the usual breakfast hour, one of them repeated the line,

He that by the plough would thrive, -
I gave the maxim at length,

He that would thrive, must rise at five,
He that has thriven may lie till seven.

举 *

They all laughed heartily, and immediately said, “Oh, we are all English you know, and English in many of our ways and notions.” They regarded my country as the old mansion-house of their race, and judged its present tenants by Emerson's standard. He said,

I was given to understand in my childhood, that the British Islands from which my forefathers came, was no lotus-garden.

In prosperity its people were moody, but in adversity they were grand. The ancients did not praise the ship leaving port with flying colors, but the one which came back with torn sheets and battered sides, having ridden out the storm! England has done this for a thousand years, and I say, All hail ! Mother of nations !

“Why do not your young noblemen come and travel in America? said they." Why do not your future statesmen know something of this land by actual observation ! The answer shall be that of our “ Thunderer,"

The characteristics of the class in general, in the present age is play rather than work. To judge very many of them by what they do, one would think they were the idle apprentices of Providence. All play and no work costs an aristocracy the respect of the people of which it is the natural leader.

Again they said to me, “Stay in our country, and become a United States' citizen.” My last words to them on parting were, “I shall carry with me pleasant memories of you all, and America will always be allied to home in kindly associations, still I shall return to England, fonder than ever of my country.”

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HUDSON RIVER & WEST POINT.

was

at ; the river was a flood of brown waters, which bad risen 3 or 4 feet higher than had been known for 40 years. Yet though there was flood below, the sun bright and glowing above; in the clear atmosphere we could see a long distance with the naked eye. I had seen the birthplace of the river far away in its mountain cradle, bere at Albany it has swollen to a lake-like expanse. You are prepared gradually for the glorious scenery of the American Rhine. For miles its banks are low and flat; now terraced with vineyards; now gleaming with fields of red-tinted buckwheat. Close under our lee is a little town called after a city of sunny Greece, Āthens the good, non-classical townsmen call it. Soon the wharfs of Hudson city are abreast of us, and away in the distance loom the Catskills, with a glimpse of the White Mountain house gleaming on a shoulder of the hill. Many and enchanting are the glens and flumes which reward those who penetrate these rocky spurs, and strange to say the ice and snow creations of winter, are perhaps more remarkable than summer scenes amid the Catskills.

The outer barriers of pike and slope run inland for many a mile, yet, sheltered behind them spreads a goodly table-land of farm and prairie. Now the banks are overhung with rugged flinty masses of rock, into which the quarryman will never strike his drill. You would think

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