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the brim and round the form ; and a pretty bavolet* was placed behind, above the border.

All this had been performed with great rapidity, and with incredible energy.

The young ladies, who had each finished her particular task, sat watching, with curious and attentive eyes, the interesing labour of applying their various preparations.

The modiste, wholly absorbed in her creation, smiled calmly on its progress.

She raised the hat in air, on one hand, turned it lightly round, examined it under all its aspects, inclining the crown to the right and to the left, and from time to time, with her other hand, pressing the edge of the brim in divers places, rectifying some of the folds of the gauze, and giving, thus, harmony and perfection to the ensemble of the work.

I followed her with my eyes, as far as the Rue Colbert. There stood sentinel a tall and good-looking young man, wearing spurs and mustachios. She took his arm familiarly, and they departed together.

Did I not tell you that she reckoned on some happiness, for the close of that evening ?

Her work completed, let us leave her, satisfied with herself, to go where she pleases, with the friend so true to his rendezvous. Assuredly, she has earned her walk and her happiness.

But, what will now be the fate of our hat ?

VII. This was not, however, all. The most difficult and most important part remained yet to be done. The point was now to place the bouquet. Every one knows that this is the decisive moment, and that on the fixing of the bows, the flowers, or the feathers, depends the whole fate of a hat, however well it may have succeeded up to that point.

The deepest silence reigned in the work-room. A lively anxiety was depicted on the faces of all those young girls, gazing on the hat, which was drawing towards its accomplishment.

But our artist was not abandoned of her inspiration,Under her hand, the corn-flowers and the wild-poppies mingled with the knots of gauze, and grouped themselves in an enchanting manner, divinely inclining to the right of the form of the hat, and reposing on its brim.

The last bow fixed, the artist set gently down the frail head-dress at the edge of the table, and with folded arms, leaned back in her chair, to contemplate her work.

A satisfaction not to be described beamed on the features of the young woman; it was evident that she was saying to herself,—-"I am content; behold my idea expressed.”

But her reverie was not of long duration. Rising and approaching the glass, she called to her one of the young girls.

Then suddenly sprang forward one of the most arch and roguish faces of a young girl ever seen at the Grande-Chaumière, or at Tivoli. The hat was placed upon her pretty head, to be definitely proved. It was the final trial. Nothing could be better. One burst of enthusiasm filled the work-room. The hat had universal success. Indeed, it became the lovely girl enchantingly. And so pleased was the giddy thing with the head-dress, that she would not part with it; but, holding it to her cheeks, with the ends of her fingers, danced with joy before the glass, in admiration of herself.

She was obliged, however, to give it up—the dear hat !-as soon as the strings were attached to it, it was taken down into the shop, where it was immediately placed in the show-glass, on the first rank, on one of the mahogany stands.

VIII. Madame de Saint-Clair was a little behind her time.Eight o'clock had struck, and she had not yet finished her toilet.

It was still daylight, the modistes had closed the window of the work-room. I opened mine, and looked out into the street.

At that moment, I observed approaching, from the direction of the Palais Royal, a couple whom I at once singled from the crowd of passers, and who soon attracted all my attention.

They were evidently man and wife, and had been so for about the period of twelve moons, including that one which, no doubt, had been of honey for them. The husband, a personage of an appearance sufficiently ungainly and slovenly, was apparently a clerk in some office. Having probably spent the whole day stooping over papers and registers, he was in a hurry to reach the Boulevard, for the purpose of getting fresh air, and breathing a little. It was, however, by no means an easy undertaking for him. His wife, a charming creature, well formed, well dressed, but certainly the most giddy and curious wife in the world, rendered that task truly arduous and painful. For, that head of her's turned incessantly to the right and left, on her pretty neck, like a weathercock. And then, if she happened to catch sight ofthe shop of a linen-draper, or Marchand de Nouveautés, it became absolutely necessary that she should approach it, and make a pause. It was, however, before the Magasins de Modes that she stopped, in preference to all others. They are, as everybody knows, infinitely numerous in the Rue Vivienne, and every one of them was a Calvary, to which the poor husband was compelled painfully to carry his cross.

Thus they came forward slowly,—he pulling with all his might, like a free and generous thill-horse,--she not suffering herself to be drawn along without a vigorous defence, and disputing the ground valiantly, foot by foot. It was a regular joust, and of the most obstinate kind.

In this manner, they had arrived under my window, and opposite the Magasin de Modes which faced it.

IX. I ought to declare here, that I really make no pretence to more penetration than has been bestowed upon me, but scarcely had I seen the restless and capricious face of that young woman, before, at one, and the first glance, I had discovered the secret relations and affinities which existed between it, and our hat of lilac gauze. There was in both, the same coquetry, the same lightness, the same fantasy. Assuredly, at the very first moment, I thought to myself, "behold the foolish head which must have appeared to our modiste, when she conceived her foolish hat! And you,

Our beautiful modiste had been busy repairing the disorder which her labour had produced in her dress. She had carefully recurled her hair, she now took her bonnet and shawl, and went out.

* A bavolet is a species of head dress worn by countrywomen.--Tr.

Madam," I added, "you are looking for your head-gear, are hold it then, launched into the world, on a very charming you not ?-Oh! come quickly, then. It is ready, it is wait- head, but endowed with very little more brains than the ing for you."

dolls of our modistes. I pray that, in the keeping of such Everything happened just as I had foreseen. In spite of a fool, no evil happen to this rare child of genius. Let us the resistance of her husband, the young wife had stopped leave it, in the meantime, to seek the Boulevard, under the before the Magasin de Modes: and, in an instant, she had protection of heaven. Stormy and threatening as it has distinguished, in the show-frame, amongst all the others begun to look, within the last few minutes, we will not hats, the one destined for her,--the one which had been doubt that Heaven will have pity on it. created expressly for her.

There, then, at the very door of the shop, a contest speedily arose between the two spouses,—very different, in point It was almost dark. Being with difficulty able to conof gravity and seriousness, from the little skirmishes which tinue my external observations, I quitted the window, had preceded it. The young wife, this time, did not con- and walked about the saloon. fine herself to looks of admiration and envy, she insisted Half-past eight chimed from the pendule. upon entering the shop,--she was determined to try on the “Madame de Saint-Clair has forgotten me," thought I, hat, and ask the price of it. On his part seeing the danger ! "or else her toilet is a little tedious to-night." imminent, and judging, like a man of sense, that if the į At that moment, one of the doors of the room opened, threshold of that door were once passed, the cursed hat , and Mademoiselle Lise entered, with a candle in her would not only be tried on, but bought, at the expense, hand. probably of a whole month's savings, the husband stood Mademoiselle Lise, that you may not be ignorant of the firm, and defended his purse, like a desperate man.

fact, is the intelligent and faithful femme-de-chambre of Unfortunately, two of the modistes, who happened at this Madame de Saint-Clair. This girl, naturally very crabbed moment to be in the shop, having observed the struggle, and disagreeable, had at the present moment a certain readily divined its object. Whereupon, without regard to amiable and gracious air, which made me tremble. I conthe law of non-intervention, the malicious creatures came cluded, at once, that she had come to me with some unpleato the assistance of the young wife, by opening the door, sant message. the handle of which they saw her grasping and endeavour “Madame will not go out, and has been obliged to lie ing to turn. The fight was no longer equal. Without down, by a violent head ache ;-she begs that Monsieur making a scene in the street, there was no escape from en will not wait for her any longer," said Mademoiselle Lise, tering.-The husband resigned himself to his fate. As he dissembling but awkwardly a malicious smile. had but too justly apprehended,—in a few minutes the pur As for me, who am the kindest man in the world, I took chase was made, and the hat paid for, with seven beautiful in great seriousness the sad news that Mademoiselle Lise five-franc pieces, all new,which I saw glisten through had brought me. the glass of the shop-door, and could count gradually, as “Now truly,” said I, "this is a very impertinent headthe unfortunate husband reckoned them mournfully into ache, which, wholly unannounced, takes the liberty to enthe hand of one of the marchandes de modes.

ter a lady's room, while she is dressing! Lise, say, I beg I think he was a little consoled and cheered to the endur-:| of you, to Madame de Saint-Clair, how much I am aflicted ance of his destiny, by perceiving how slight would have at leaving her in the arms of this untimely visitor." been his chances of success, even if he had endeavoured to Thereupon, taking my hat, I departed, not giving the struggle longer against the inclination of his wife. It was charitable creature an opportunity of long enjoying the evident that she had, herself, yielded to a powerful and pleasure which she might derive from studying, in my irresistable temptation ;-for, it was not enough for her that

countenance, the effect produced there by her embassy. she had bought the hat, but she must carry it away on her As I strolled along, by the Rue Vivienne, in the direchead. It was necessary to her that the enjoyment of it tion of the Boulevard, I explained to myself, in various should commence on the instant. Leaving then, in the ways, this unexpected head-ache of Madame de Saint-Clair, shop, the straw-hat which she had brought with her, and I supposed, at first, that in the violence of a legitimate anwhich, though simple and modest, was certainly by no ger against her dress-maker, she had, perhaps, trodden unmeans deserving of disdain, she departed with the new one der foot, and torn in pieces, the new gown which she was all smiling and glorious.

about to put on, that evening—which would be quite suffiIn truth she had a good deal of cause for pride, for really cient to cause the invasion of a very reasonable head-ache. she looked adorable in it.

But every one knows that Madame de Saint-Clair is a very Her husband himself, it was evident, however great his angel of patience and mildness. It was, therefore, neceswrongs from her, could not resist the seduction of this ma sary to refer to other suppositions. I declare ingenuously. gic head-dress ;--for, as he pursued his path up the Rue that I refused to admit any which should bring the least Vivienne, towards the Place de la Bourse, with his pretty stigma in the world upon the just consideration which the wife on his arm, I saw him cast upon her frequently enough, lady enjoys, in the most reputable and the best circles of glances of complacency and reconciliation. I would not the Rue de Grammont and the Rue Sainte-Anne. answer for it, however, that, in the midst of the disenchantments of the sleeping-room, he did not experience, that

XI. night or the next day, a reaction against these good feelings. Thanks to the somewhat rich stock of philosophy which

However, that is not our affair. We are writing the his. I possess, and whence I draw in the hour of need, courage tory of a hat, and not of a household.

against the vicissitudes of life, and consolation for its sorThis frail head-gear,—that we have watched forming - rows,-the strange indisposition of Madame de Saint-Clair thread by thread, ribbon by ribbon, flower by flower,-be had not, at the worst, affected me either a very long time, or beyond a reasonable measure. In fact, I was employing | moment of its birth, and which only we had known and unmyself in considering the means by which I could pass, as derstood ! pleasantly as possible, the remainder of the evening without her, when new events arose, which took that burthen

XIII. off my hands.

Scarcely had I reached the end of the Rue Vivienne, But a disgrace, which was entirely personal, came sudand nine o'clock was striking on the clock of the Palais de denly, to divert me from this disinterested and generous la Bourse, when the storm with which the sky had, all pity, and to challenge its share of my regrets and my the evening, been charged, at length burst decisively sensibility. forth.

The young wife had entered into the shop, no doubt to As I entered upon the Place de la Bourse, I was attacked get back her straw hat; happy still, inasmuch as there was by a fearful gust of wind, which rushed into the Rue Vivi yet that refuge left, to shelter her head to her home! enne : lifting up the dust in thick eddies, and making the A hackney coach, which splashed me from head to foot, lamps dance like so many swings. Then came the light stopped before the shop. There, whilst I was mentally ning and the abrupt thunder-bursts ; and huge drops of rain offering, to those who had bestowed upon me that baptism, began to descend.

the benediction usual in such cases, I beheld descend gaily I turned back, and endeavoured to run as far as the from the ominous carriage, and enter also into the shopGalerie Vivienne. But the violence of the shower left no whom do you think ?—The fair modiste,who returned, I time for this ; and I was compelled to shelter myself under know not whence! the first portecochère that I found empty. As chance But, in truth, I had not leisure to reflect long on that would have it, this happened to be the very one belonging subject,-nor on the sad spectacle which she was about to to our Magasin de Modes; and, consequently, fronting the witness in the shop, and the pangs which would penetrate window of the apartment of Madame de Saint-Clair.

her modiste's maternal heart, on beholding the ravages There, a few stragglers, surprised like me by the storm, committed by the tempest upon that hat,--no doubt the had already come in search of an asylum; and, while the loveliest of all the daughters to which her poetic fancy had rain fell in torrents, and the kennel rose against the walls, eyer given birth! there .came many more. Poor creatures, who seemed to The driver of the hackney-coach-paid beforehand apbelong to no sex ;-strange apparitions, half drowned ; who parently, had re-mounted his box, and was about to depart, came in like swimmers, with their heads grotesquely hood when he was called from one of the windows of the aparted in shawls or handkerchiefs, and their gowns or panta ment of Madame de Saint-Clair, by a shrill and squeaking loons tucked up, with little enough regard to decency ; voice, which I, at once, recognized for that of Mademoiselle each face more piteous and chop-fallen than the other : Lise. and of the whole of which I would here give a descriptive This struck me as singular ! inventory, were it not that such an episode would retard too The coachman turned his vehicle, and drew up before the greatly, the march of our history.

door of the house of Madame de Saint-Clair.

I crossed the street in haste, and planted myself against XII.

the wall, a few paces behind the carriage.

Can you imagine to yourself my surprise when, after The hurricane had soon, however, spent itself. The

waiting several minutes, the portecochère was opened, and greater number of our shipwrecked companions had already

I saw emerge from it, lighted by Mademoiselle Lise, and risked themselves on the faith of the stars, and ventured

escorted by a very handsome Polish officer, Madame de forth upon their route. I was about to depart myself, when

Saint-Clair, lovely as love, and dressed like an angel, in a two victims of the storm passed before me, more cruelly

low robe of rose-coloured crape, with flowers and ribbons ill-used by it than all the others whom I had just had so

in her hair ? much leisure to pity.

Madame de Saint-Clair, supported by the hand of her At first, I had some difficulty to recognize them ;-I could

gallant knight, ascended the coach, with that perfect grace not, however be mistaken it was she!-it was he!

which she communicates to her slightest gestures-to her Yes! yes !-it was he! It was our excellent and miser

simplest movements. The Polish officer followed, and able husband, drenched in every part, soaked through to

placed himself by her side. the very bones!

" To the Opera !” said he to the coachman, as he closed It was she! It was our charming giddy-head, swamped

the door. as if she had fallen into the water.

And the coach departed-splashing me all over a second As for her hat,-alas ! I knew it no more. She had still upon her head some shreds of gauze, some streaming flowers, some dishevelled ribbons; but they had neither form,

XIV. nor name. It was a hat no longer-it was no longer anything.

There was no room for doubt.--I was sacrificed! Poor drowned bird ! Poor young beauty! Poor trem Madame de Saint-Clair had loved me three days !- The bling linnet! Oh! what would I not have given, in that

gauze hat had lasted three hours ! moment, to press thee to my bosom, to dry thee on my

I returned slowly home,-very sad and very wet, making heart, to warm thee in mine arms, to wipe thine eyes and

grave and profound reflections on the instability of women's thy garments !

affections,-and of their hats! And then, each of us had so much need of consolation !

"Book of the Hundred and One." Together, we would have spoken long, and not without tears, of the untimely fate of that hat,--dead almost in the

time.

sion.

HOFFNER, THE MISER OF BREMEN.

“Enough,” replied Hoffner, “I shall be there ;” and A TALE.

Paer quitted the spot.

“Now, old man, what is thy business ?”

“I am a poor man, with neither purse nor scrip. I hunHoffner, the miser of Bremen, was a fine stately man, and ger, and I fain would eat. I beg for bread," answered had not counted thirty summers; was of a kind and oblig

Andre. ing temper—a man who never wronged his fellow-was “ Follow me,” said Hoffner, and they entered the mancharitable, but not prodigal; simple in his diet as his home, he had acquired, by thrift, a splendid fortune-he was never After the beggar had satisfied the cravings of hunger, he seen among gallants or nocturnal revellers—hated dice and sought Hoffner, and having found him alone in his study, duelling, and spurned the advances of courtezans—for addressed him :which the madcaps of Bremen called him unsociable and I have come, good sir, to thank you—to unburthen a heamiserly. He had a ward, Emmeline, whose beauty was the vy heart. Hoffner nodded him to proceed. “I was a soltheme of all the poets of Bremen ; gallants drank to her dier about seventeen years ago ; Henri Paer was my colonel. health-her very name was given to the colours she wore. I deserted, was taken, tried, and condemned to death. The Admirers she had many; but she found none that touched night previous to my intended execution, my colonel enterher youthful heart. Among the most pressing of her sui- ed my cell with a cloak, which he threw over me in silence tors was Ferdinand Paer, a dashing young gallant, whose -motioned me to follow him—I did so, and after passing name made every maiden heart in Bremen tremble. He, the sentinels, passed through, unmolested, the outer gate. conscious of his own charming and graceful figure, entered Suddenly turning round, my colonel exclaimed, 'Andre,— the mansion of Hoffner, and plainly solicited her hand in | thou art free!' Imagine my joy on hearing this. In an marriage, but was as plainly refused. Chagrined, he left ecstacy of joy, I threw myself at my preserver's feet. He the place, vowing revenge on Hoffner for his refusal of his bid me rise and follow him. He led me to an old-fashionsuit. Scarce had the disappointed gallant advanced a few ed apartment in his father's house, the apartment was hung paces from the house, than he was accosted by an old battle with black, with here and there a glimmering taper. In worn soldier.

silence he lifted the lid off the crimson-coloured coffin, and “Charity, for Heaven's sake, young man," entreated the pointed to the corpse, his father, with a bitter smile. He soldier mournfully, as Paer walked by, regardless of his

then unlocked sundry drawers. At last he drew from one moans. “Hunger is wasting my life-thirst is maddening his father's will—bade me read it. In it I found that the my brain. I served your father once, young man, a good

old baron had bequeathed his estate to his son, the colonel, no, a bad service.”

and the rest of his immense wealth to his only daughter." “What !” exclaimed Paer, in a furious tone, " you serve “ You see how I am wronged, Andre," said he to me; My father ? You, a thing not fit to crawl upon God's earth My sister has an immense fortune bequeathed to her by

-you, a beggar? Hence ! nor cling thus around me, or, by that old ingrate there, and I, the heir, have nothing but a St. Ursula, and her virgins to boot, I'll strike thee prostrate

worthless title, and a poor estate. Now, Andre, is it not on the earth.

right that I should provide for myself? The world knows But Andrea, the soldier's name, minded not his threats. not yet of my father's will, (my sister has married against In a firm voice he said,

MY will) nor shall. How easy it is good Andre, to make “Strike, young sir, I fear you not-I say I have served another. You have been by me preserved from death; on your father--I have made him what he is— I have waited you, then, do I confide to forge the will, leaving to me the patiently on him for my reward—day after day-week after title, estate, and fortune at my pleasure. You can easily week--months and years have passed, and I have not touch | imitate the old man's hand ; and when that you have done, ed the smallest coin of his bounty. Impatient at his delay, destroy that hateful will.” this morning I asked—humbly asked for remuneration for “But you did not ;" hastily interrupted Hoffner. my long passed services. He called me fool-laughed at 0, no ! I have it here," replied the soldier. “But to promy tears-spat upon memand, to consummate his ungrateful ceed. I wrote the will that he proposed, and he, by that, work, drove me forth heartless into the streets, amidst the became the sole possessor of his father's wealth, whilst I yellings of a mob, which was set on by thy father's stern was left penniless and wretched. Into your hands do I command. Hither I flew for safety-I met thee, his son. consign this deed.” So saying, he gave it to Hoffner, who You have pursued me-treated me as the earth's vile no sooner read it than he exclaimed, with tears of joy scum, and lifted up your sword to strike me-do strike streaming in his eyes, thrust it in this breast-and then go forth-tell your com “Father of Heaven, here on my knees do I thank you !". panions of your great exploit. Oh!'twill be a goodly thing Here a loud knocking was heard at the door, Hoffner for thee to be called the beggar's murderer.”

bid the soldier retire into an inner room. Opening the door, “I'll hear no more, age hath made thee insolent."

Paer entered. Paer was about to use violence with Andre, when Hoff “I am come,” said Paer, haughtily, “to solicit again the ner came to the soldier's rescue.

hand of the fair Emmeline." “ How is this,” exclaimed Hoffner, "is this the noble “Young man,” replied Hoffner, in a solemn tone, "listen, Ferdinand Paer, the boast of Bremen's gallants ? And do Twelve years ago, I was a gay, reckless gallant, like thyI now behold him playing at thrusts with a defenceless beg self ; brawlers and duellers were my only companions.-gar? For shame, young sir, I thought you would have | Returning home one night, musing upon my way of life, known better. Come, old man, rise up."

a scream struck upon mine ears. I listened-another. Hoffner,” said Paer, sarcastically, “I would speak to | Following the way the sound proceeded, I at length came you in private, at your mansion, in an hour hence."

to a roofless hovel. O, what a sight did I see then! On

The world, the world, the human world,

The darkened stage of toil and strife; The war-field where the flag's unfurl d,

Are those of agony and life. Is it amid this jarring scene

The heart can seek or find its home? Where hate and suffering bave been,

Can Love find augbt except a tomb ? But earth, the bright and changing eartb,

Whose very strifes are harmony; Linked even from his spirit's birth,

With all of man that cannot die ; The greenwood shade, the river's rush,

The gentle flower, the mighty sea, Oh! these may claim the purest gush

Of the heart's vital melody.

the ground extended, lay a young woman in the agonies of death. Kneeling by her side, was a little girl about four years old. I noted not, when I first entered the wretched place, the presence of a third person. He was a tall, handsome well-dressed man ; he looked with pleasure on the heart-rending scene; and when death freed her troubled spirit from its earthly tenement, the monster laughed a long, loud laugh. Indignantly I sprang upon him-his life was in my grasp, when the little motherless and fatherless cherub prayed on its knees for its UNCLE's life.”

“And was the villain that young woman's brother?" anxiously inquired Paer.

" Aye;" answered Hoffner. “She had married contrary to his will. The father had died and left all to his son.”

“ The child is," said Paer

“Emmeline ! is it possible ? O, then she is the offspring of the Lord knows who,” sneeringly remarked Paer.

Hold, young man! I have saved her for twelve years to have vengeance on that villainous uncle—it is in my power now---the will by which he became possessor of the whole estates, was a forged one-the true one is here (holding it up to the astonished gaze of Paer). Tomorrow will I to the Duke, there shall he be arraigned as a forger, and Emmeline shall rise triumphant and claim her rights.”

“ Who is the villain ?” impatiently inquired Paer. “Thy father," was the stern reply to the paralysed Paer.

"M-My father," he stammered forth, and madly rushed out of the apartment.

The case was heard, and the evidence of the soldier was so clear and true, and the production of the original will, that the judges, without hesitation, sentenced him to banishment, and Emmeline was pronounced Baroness of Holstock, amidst the plaudits of the numerous spectators of the interesting trial. Ferdinand Paer soon after lost his life in a duel; Andre, the soldier, by whose evidence Emmeline was restored to her rights, was made easy for life ; and the fair and grateful Baroness gave her heart and hand in marriage to Hoffner, the miser of Bremen.

F. A.

ON THE CHOICE OF WATERING AND SEA

BATHING PLACES.

THE VISIONARY.

My heart bad dreams in childhood's hours,

And then they were the bright and gay; Their hauntings were with light and flowers,

But soon their brightness passed away. And then came visions darkly wild,

Dim shadows that I loved to see ; Their presence sadder thoughts beguiled,

And dreams became a home to me. But now they glad my heart no more;

Beneath their power its wings are bound; Those dreamings like the clinging flower,

Have withered what they wreathed around. Tbe heart, upon whose central page

The spirit Love hath set his seal ;Where shall it seek, from youth to age,

An image that its depths can fill ? Amid the altars called his own,

What sbrine can consecrate a sigh, Whose incense is not claimed alone

By selfishness and vanity ?

A visit to a watering place offers so many charms and advantages to those who are confined in towns during the greater part of the year, and who have but a limited respite from the toils and cares of business, that the vast majority of such persons prefer it to any other mode of spending their leisure. There can be no doubt that they act wisely in so doing; but some directions will be found useful in guiding them and others to the proper choice of watering places, which is a matter of much importance. I would here notice the fact, that many persons go year after year to the same place-Margate, Ramsgate, or Brighton---never changing their route or destination; a plan which considerably diminishes the benefit that might be derived from their trips. Change of scene and novelty are admitted to be the best restoratives for those who are suffering from mental excitement of any kind, and are therefore always to be desired. Margate, Ramsgate, and Brighton, are towns which undoubtedly deserve the popularity they have acquired; but there is no reason why they should be the only places of resort: I therefore subjoin a brief account of several other watering places, for the information of my readers.

SOUTHAMPTON, equally fitted for health and pleasure, occupies a kind of peninsular, the soil of which is a hard gravel; and as the buildings rise from the water with a gentle ascent, the streets are always clean and dry. The beauty of the neighbouring scenery, the interesting remains of antiquity which adorn the town, and the busy lively stir of the port, render Southampton a most delightful place to visit. It contains botanic spa gardens, a picture-gallery, and philosophical institution, and numerous places of amusement. The baths, both warm and cold, are spacious and commodious.

The Isle of Wight has deservedly gained the mame of “the garden of England." The face of the country presents all the features of picturesque scenery-woods, rocks, hills, rivers and vales. The climate is peculiarly favourable to vegetation, and is equally propitious to health. Such is the genial mildness of the air, that myrtles, which love a soft marine exposure, grow here and flourish, without being injured by the severity of winter.

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