Though no ardent spirit was drank by the way,
All said, when arrived, we were over the bay.
We went in a big boat, without sails or rowing,
On each side a snug little water-wheel going,
In a place, like a mill-pond, without any stream;
I was puzzled, till told they were going by steam.
We next on a visit to Bunker-Hill went,
To take a fair view of the famed monument,
Which, to finish, the people not willing, or able,
One cannot but think of the building of Babel.
A mournful exception this fabric must seem,
While all things around it are rising by steam.
In Charlestown we stopped for the night to repose,
But scarcely had time to fall into a doze,
Ere all were aroused by most horrible yells,
And rattling of engines, and ringing of bells.
We ran out half naked, the cause to inquire,
And soon saw a beautiful building on fire,
And women and girls, in a terrible taking,
Their retreat from a mob of infernals were making.
Now, says I, 't is high time this strange region to quit;
This steam must arise from the bottomless pit.
Give me peace and quiet among the green mountains,
Beneath shady groves, and beside the pure fountains;
Nor more will I lavish in traveling expenses,
Hereabouts, till the people recover their senses.

MY HAT.

THE Beaver is a persecuted animal,—but I have never robbed him, or partaken of his spoil. I would not take his life or his coat. I am not one of the Fur traders. I wear a hat guiltless, towards the social, industrious beaver; I bought it fourteen summers ago; the substratum was of wool, but the knap was the fur of the musquash,-three of which father trapped in Bubbling Brook, and two of them satisfied the manufacturer for the hat "which now I wear." On the occasion of that exchange, the hatter uttered his sole and standing joke, that the hat was as good a beaver as was ever felt,—at the same time, to impress the jest upon me, poking his blue-dyed knuckles into my ribs, so that, herein, the joke was like the hat.

Many a rain has beat upon the old hat,—many a fashion has passed by to laugh it to scorn, but it has survived them all, and will outlive many more. It has a brim that affords shelter and shade,—a projection that a man may get under with a feeling of security that he is sheltered from the elements, as a poet feels a sensation of comfort and snugness when the rain is beating upon the roof of his garret.

It has saved me much in umbrellas, and, perhaps, in spectacles,though in some sort it is a spectacle itself. It serves me for other uses than the ephemeral hats of this generation. I carry in it my few receipts, and my many manuscripts. It is not only my pocket, but my valise; and, when I travel, I carry in it the linen,-I should say cotton, that I do not wear, together with three movable collars, that may be jointed upon the same.

At an inn, in Connecticut, I left an impression of the qualities of the old hat, that savored of brimstone and the black art. I had, in

my chamber,-garret, if you will,-accustomed myself to reap my chin without a looking-glass; and, at Deacon Hornbug's inn, where I passed the night upon a hard bed, I hung up my hat on a peg in the parlor, and shaved before it with the same grimace, that I have seen others use before a glass, and afterwards adjusted my collar and cravat in the same way. The kitchen door was ajar, and in the crack I saw four or five pair of female eyes looking at my operations with wonder, not unmixed with awe, and, on leaving my hat, the landlady approached, to look into it, followed by her three daughters and the maid. When I had mounted old dobbin, her curiosity became too strong for comfort, and she asked me how I could see to shave by my hat. I informed her that the hat was so constructed as to reflect imaginations, and that what the wearer wished to see therein, that he would discover, and, riding away before she had time to request to look again at it, saw her, as I turned the corner of the church, wringing her hands at the disappointment.

Hudibras carried his provant in his boots,-but, as I always wear shoes, I often have to carry a day's or two provisions in my hat. The crown is none of the smallest, and were it sufficiently inflated, and freed from ballast, it might lift me in the air.

National costume is nearly obliterated. In Europe and America, there is but one dress, the eternal coat, waistcoat, and pantaloons. There is no difference but in the covering of the head. To these, fashion allows a choice among many varieties. There are caps of all shapes, colors, and fabrics,-so that, when the heads only of a crowd are seen, there is a show of varieties; but

"Look at the coats, and you'll forget them all."

TO MIMOSA.

AN Oak I remember, that grew in a glade,
And near it there flourished a delicate Vine,
Contented to blossom like you, in the shade-
So its tendrils around the tall tree might entwine.

The Vine was as sweet as a jasmine could be,
And the Oak was so noble, majestic, and tall,
That I thought I could wish to be changed to a tree
To be clasped by a vine, so confiding and small.

I remember a Tulip, so slender of stem,

That it broke when the wind whistled over the lea;
And I thought it was strange that so fragile a gem
Should not shelter itself by the side of a tree.

The Lily, that bends in the morning with dew,
As tender and timid as Beauty in tears,

May remind you, perchance, of what Beauty should do-
For Love has forebodings, and Friendship has fears.

382

SCENES IN EUROPE.

VERSAILLES.

THE sun shone out bright and warm after a week of cold and wet weather, and I determined to take advantage of this sweet May-day and visit the city and palace of Versailles. Accordingly, at an early hour, I took my place in the diligence, and was soon beyond the gates of Paris. The late rains had brought the season rapidly forward; the trees hung rich with foliage, and many were in full blossom; flowers were growing thick in the fields, and their perfume filled the air. All nature seemed to rejoice in the bloom and loveliness of youth; and I, who had been shut up seven or eight months in Paris, (the longest time, by the way, I had ever spent in a city,) was in the mood to enjoy, in the highest degree, the glories of the country.

I passed the little village of Sèvres, the park of St. Cloud, and near by, the modest mansion of Sully; and, after a ride of about two hours, entered the gate of Versailles. A broad and magnificent avenue, bordered on each side by elms, conducts directly to the palace, which is built on a hill at the extremity.

The eastern front of the Château, which looks upon this avenue, presents a confusion of architecture, forming nothing like a whole, but rather resembling a small city; and the bricks, which are used plentifully on that side, have a bad effect. The western side, which overlooks the park, is much better, being composed of a light-colored stone beautifully carved and ornamented. Even on this side, however, The immense front dis

something is wanting to produce an effect. played is too uniform, and seems to require something in the centre, like a portico with collossal columns and a pediment. This deficiency was probably noticed by Peter the Great, who remarked that the building had the wings of an eagle, but the head of a pigeon.

Having ascended the hill, I entered the palace, and, following a long corridor to its extremity, passed through a small open door and found myself in the Theatre. The last time this had been used, was at a ball given by the unfortunate Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette, and the flooring, which then connected the pit and orchestra with the stage, has never been removed, so that it was difficult, at the first glance, to tell which part had been destined for spectators, and which for the actors. A dim light shone in and showed me that the room was only a magnificent ruin. Rows of pillars, richly carved and almost covered with gilding, encircled the whole. The ceiling was partly painted in fresco, partly destroyed. The conductor pointed out the boxes occupied by the king and the royal family, by the nobility and the foreign Ambassadors;-the fronts were covered with gold. The stage was not less magnificent than the other part, having originally had the spaces between the columns filled up with lofty mirrors. The whole formed the most superb apartment I ever was in; and, seen in this faint light, might almost make one fancy he had entered the abode of some fairy in the caverns of the earth.

From the theatre I ascended to the saloons, a long succession of which extends through the château. It seems as if the object of the

artist had been to make these rooms as splendid as the imagination could devise; the lavished gold, the panneling of polished marble, the mosaic floors, the exquisitely painted ceiling, the vast mirrors, realized all the descriptions of oriental magnificence. Notwithstanding all this splendor, however, there is an air of desolation in these rooms, which becomes deeply impressed upon the mind: the furniture has entirely disappeared, with the exception of one or two articles, which seemed to be left only to tell of the luxury which once reigned there; the fresco painting is beginning to fade in some of the saloons; all announces that the abode has long been deserted; and the traveler has a feeling of satisfaction, that he has been able to visit it before the traces of its former glory have passed away.

Of the interior of the palace, no part seems to retain so much of the original beauty as the chapel. The rude hand, which carried destruction into these luxurious retreats, spared the house of God, and there it remains, untouched amidst the surrounding desolation, an exquisite monument of art. The floor is of polished marble: long columns of white stone support the ceiling, which is richly painted: the altar, the seats of crimson velvet round it, the little organ finely carved and almost covered with gilding, the balustrade of stonework, which forms the front of the gallery all round, the lofty windows, with their borders of stained glass, all are in harmony and of faultless beauty.

From the palace I descended to the park, where there is the same appearance of lavished splendor. Beautiful statues of white marble and admirable workmanship are placed all along on each side of the great avenue, which is open through the middle of the park. The groves of elms are intersected by alleys, ornamented here and there with classic statues. In some places the underwood is growing thick between the trees, in others it is removed, leaving a shady grove.

Fol

The fountains in the park are very celebrated, and are, indeed, superb. Sea-gods and monsters of every kind are sculptured in the reservoirs, and throw the water in various directions and shapes; and a fine effect was produced when they all began to play at once. lowing a path for some distance through a thick wood, I came at once upon a circular colonnade of polished Italian marble, inclosing a space of about an hundred feet in diameter. In the centre is the statue of a sea-nymph, the presiding genius of the place, to whom a hundred circling fountains offered their tribute; and a tall stream rose under every arch of the colonnade. Along one alley, which descends a sloping hill, fountains were bubbling up from marble vases on each side. Here, a vast column of water rose majestically to a great height, burst in the sunshine, and fell, in silver spray, into the broad reservoir from which it rose; there, a troop of strange-looking monsters were so arranged that they formed an arbor of shining streams, which met above the head of a nymph, who stood in the midst like their queen, and fell in glittering showers around her. The waters were glancing among the trees as they ascended and fell in the groves, and the sound of their murmuring was refreshing and delightful. I remained a long time gazing on these fair scenes; but I had promised to meet a friend in the city and I was obliged to leave the spot.

I had engaged my place for Paris at an early hour of the evening; but, having a few moments to spare, I returned to look once more at

the park. The busy crowds, which had promenaded along the avenues in the daytime, had now gone, all save a few stragglers, who yet lingered as if unwilling to quit these beautiful groves; the fountains had ceased to murmur, and silence had resumed her reign. A feeling of sadness came over me as I gazed around. The rays of the setting sun were reflected in "yellow lustre" from the lofty windows of the palace, but no light shone within; all there was dark and desolate ; and the evening breeze sighed as it swept across the broad and lovely terrace, no longer trod by the gay crowds, which once were gathered there. The sound of music and of mirth, which once echoed within those walls, and the sterner tones of war, the groans of the dying and the cries of the raging multitude, which had terrified the inmates, were now alike hushed in death. A blight seems to rest on these splendid haunts of royal debauchery and crime; and Napoleon, in all his power, dared not return to them.

The days for the folly and extravagance of kings have gone by in France, and little care will be taken to preserve the monuments which remain of ancient despotism. This superb palace, in a few centuries, will be nothing but a ruin; and the moss-covered statues, the broken fountains, the fallen columns, and the crumbling walls, will but faintly convey to the traveler, as he muses among them, an idea of the gorgeous temple, which the pride of a monarch had dedicated to the obscene and cruel idols whom he worshiped. C.

SOMEWHAT TENDER.

NAY, tell me not, love, I am selfish and cold,
That my heart is a slave to ambition, or gold;
For what, love, are riches?-A shadow, a name--
And how empty a breath are the voices of fame!

It is true that my heart is not won by a smile,
Nor does every fond glance my poor senses beguile;
A neat foot may twinkle, and I be unmoved,
Bright eyes may look kindly, and yet be unloved.

I cannot deceive, and I will not pretend
To waste the same kindness on stranger or friend;
My affections die not, like my changes of rhyme,
But grow with acquaintance, and ripen with time.

Would you think me less cold, were my feelings a fire
That would kindle and flash, but to pale and expire?
Less selfish, if sterner and worldlier duty

Did not call me so oft from the dalliance of beauty?

If I know my own heart, neither land, love, nor sea,
Holds a gem that I prize half so dearly as thee;
Throw gold to the waves, and throw fame to the wind-
Be my world in thy arms, and my wealth in thy mind.

My sense is undazzled by visions of glory

I would sleep where no stone tells the slumberer's story;
Let one prayer of affection be breathed on the spot-
And then that I lived may be ever forgot!