WILL attempt outline sketches of three scenes, each of which is laid in the region of the famous springs of Saratoga. My readers may fill in the details of each of these pictures for themselves. The first is an historical scene. Two armies are ranged upon the plain. But a few hours ago they were rival hosts, now the tournament of strife is over, the old flag of England is drooping low, before the banner of the new Republic. The defeated British soldiers have laid down their arms, and their commandant is tendering his sword to an American General. Among the staff of officers surrounding General Gates are two prominent figures, one, a patriot Colonel, the ancestor of the honoured Prescott of our times, the other an officer dressed in white uniform, Colonel Morgan, the celebrated commander of the Virginian Volunteers. A fresco painting in the Rotunda at Washington, will perpetuate this memorable scene as long as the Capitol stands.

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A populous town has sprung up near the battle-field mentioned in the preceding sketch. Its streets are shaded by maples and elms; gay shops and monster hotels indicate that the place is a resort of the richesse and fashion of the country. Here during the brightest months of the summer solstice, you will find Legislators and Congress-men, Southern planters aud Northern

merchants, with a sprinkling of Californians, and now and then as a rara avis, an European Ambassador. Here tco, you will find in all the glory of beauty, and in all their "bravery of apparel,"-American ladies. Dancing far into the night, and drinking the "waters" before the day has begun, have become the ruling passions, the Alpha and Omega of life at fashionable Saratoga.

"Who has e'er had the luck to see Donnybrook fair?

An Irishman all in his glory is there,

With his sprig of shillelagh and shamrock so green."--Old Song. This is not more true of Ireland, than that our fair cousins of the West allow no peace to fathers and husbands until they are taken to share in the revels of the "Springs."

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It is a September day, when you alight from the railway cars at a rough barn-like station. As you pace the platform, it is somewhat hard to realise the fact, that during the "season one thousand guests arrive here daily. Passing into the deserted streets, you are ready to exclaim-Is this Saratoga-the famous city-"whose antiquity is of ancient days?" When the first harbinger frost-breath, brushing the maple leaves on its passage, is felt here, the gay company take wing in haste for home. Coming into the recently evacuated camp of fashion, surrounded by the débris of those things which minister to the wants of her devotees, I caught myself musing, and inwardly repeating these thoughts:

"I feel like one who treads alone,

Some banquet-hall deserted,

Whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead,"

when musing suddenly came to an end, under the vigorously applied suggestions of Melpomene Brownell, and Thermopyla Philemon Collender, the authorised "touters" of Empire House.

The lake is left to its loneliness, the Opera House to silence; the springs at Congress-Hall and High Rock may ebb and flow unnoticed, the waters of the Excelsior and Columbian fountains will remain untasted, no throngs of visitors will jaunt it to the Falls of the Mohawk. Everything reminds you, that the harp of pleasure, but a little while ago so ubiquitous at Saratoga is mute. But the place will burn with eager life again. The winter of its loneliness will depart, the summer days of its revels will return. Birds of passage will not more certainly seek the reed-beds of Winnipeg and Saskatchewan, than will birds of pleasure come again to flutter round the Goddess who reigns enthroned at Saratoga Springs.

The pioneers of the New York Lothians must have been giants in classical history. The nomenclature of their towns attests the fact. Ithaca and Syracuse, Utica and Rome, and here under the shadows of Ida and Olympus, stands a New World Troy. A wonderfully different city it is from the Ilium of Virgil, from the town which Æneas described to the Carthagenian Queen. It is twice as populous as Quebec, it is prospering and flourishing; and with the sight of its church spires before me, I may call my story of it—more appropriately than Milton's city of mythological worship-" the tale of Troy divine."

Owing to the washing away of a railway embankment in the north, I was detained for some time in Albany, which may be considered at the head of navigation on the Hudson, and the pivot on which turns the traffic of the West by land and water. It is a fine pleasant city, and is the political capital of the State of New York. The streets are broad and well planted with shade-trees.

merchants, with a sprinkling of Californians, and now and then as a rara avis, an European Ambassador. Here tco, you will find in all the glory of beauty, and in all their "bravery of apparel,”-American ladies. Dancing far into the night, and drinking the "waters" before the day has begun, have become the ruling passions, the Alpha and Omega of life at fashionable Saratoga.

“Who has e'er had the luck to see Donnybrook fair?

An Irishman all in his glory is there,

With his sprig of shillelagh and shamrock so green."--Old Song. This is not more true of Ireland, than that our fair cousins of the West allow no peace to fathers and husbands until they are taken to share in the revels of the " Springs."

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It is a September day, when you alight from the railway cars at a rough barn-like station. As you pace the platform, it is somewhat hard to realise the fact, that

during the " season one thousand guests arrive here daily. Passing into the deserted streets, you are ready to exclaim-Is this Saratoga-the famous city-" "whose antiquity is of ancient days?" When the first harbinger frost-breath, brushing the maple leaves on its passage, is felt here, the gay company take wing in haste for home. Coming into the recently evacuated camp of fashion, surrounded by the débris of those things which minister to the wants of her devotees, I caught myself musing, and inwardly repeating these thoughts:

"I feel like one who treads alone,

Some banquet-hall deserted,

Whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead,"

when musing suddenly came to an end, under the vigorously applied suggestions of Melpomene Brownell, and Thermopyla Philemon Collender, the authorised "touters" of Empire House.

The lake is left to its loneliness, the Opera House to silence; the springs at Congress-Hall and High Rock may ebb and flow unnoticed, the waters of the Excelsior and Columbian fountains will remain untasted, no throngs of visitors will jaunt it to the Falls of the Mohawk. Everything reminds you, that the harp of pleasure, but a little while ago so ubiquitous at Saratoga is mute. But the place will burn with eager life again. The winter of its loneliness will depart, the summer days of its revels will return. Birds of passage will not more certainly seek the reed-beds of Winnipeg and Saskatchewan, than will birds of pleasure come again to flutter round the Goddess who reigns enthroned at Saratoga Springs.

The pioneers of the New York Lothians must have been giants in classical history. The nomenclature of their towns attests the fact. Ithaca and Syracuse, Utica and Rome, and here under the shadows of Ida and Olympus, stands a New World Troy. A wonderfully different city it is from the Ilium of Virgil, from the town which Æneas described to the Carthagenian Queen. It is twice as populous as Quebec, it is prospering and flourishing; and with the sight of its church spires before me, I may call my story of it-more appropriately than Milton's city of mythological worship-"the tale of Troy divine."

Owing to the washing away of a railway embankment in the north, I was detained for some time in Albany, which may be considered at the head of navigation on the Hudson, and the pivot on which turns the traffic of the West by land and water. It is a fine pleasant city, and is the political capital of the State of New York. The streets are broad and well planted with shade-trees.