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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 Thermopylæ 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 busbands 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 baste 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 Thermopylæ 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. Thə 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 ftourishing; 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.

Passing up the steep pavements of State Street I came upon the noble State House on the summit. In the library here are preserved all the documents relating to Arnold's treason, and the death of André.

It so happened that I had very pleasant company, for two American gentlemen were my companions in misfortune. One of them a Boston merchant-captain had lost much of his Yankee prejudice; it had been fairly knocked out of him in twenty three years of foreign travel and life abroad. He had seen a great deal of our military officers in China, and likes them very much. He was in Manilla in 1852 at the time of the great earthquake; he could never have imagined anything like such a convulsion of nature.

Another of our company, a banker from New York described to us a funny scene which he had witnessed a little while before at the Tower of London. An American family were passing through this “old curiousity shop,” and by and by came to the rifle armoury, in which 75,000 Sniders were piled side by side in bright array. “O I see,” exclaimed Mrs. America, “I guess a lot of those behind are rusty, and you put a few shining ones in front"“ Madam,” replied the old warder, " there is neither dust nor rust here, what you see is the reflection from behind, this is not a show-place, but a real armoury, and it is by the courtesy of the British Government that you are allowed to go through,”-and still further, " there are hands to use them too, there are both riflemen and rifles in old England." The following story of a Britisher “abroad” I will tack to the one just related of Jonathan. Both have their odd ways. The story appeared in a daily journal, so may be deemed public property. The French delight to relate stories of English eccentricity. Few

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