the last six hours he has been the "observed of all observers," the presiding genius of the place, and his flirtation with a certain meek, blue-eyed quakeress, at the Union, who, for his dear sake, is in imminent danger of being read out of meeting, has created the first positive sensation of the season. The duke is reported to be immensely rich-the lady is known to be so.

But who is that mild, intellectual-looking being, languishing in the shade? She is leaning upon the arm of General and talking to Chancellor

That lady, I mean, attired in the plain white dress,

with her hair modestly parted on her foreheadshe of the smiling lip and speaking eye

"That looks not like the inhabitants o' the earth,

And yet is on't."

Oh, I see-Miss

I should have known her

among ten thousand, for she is an ornament to her

sex and country.

What a contrast she presents to the proud, haughty belle in her train, half buried beneath the weight of gold and jewels!

"Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes."

Heavens, how she tosses her pretty head, and gives the nod of recognition to those around her!

"The wealth of worlds is heaped on her in vain.”

Lady, for all your smiles and winning ways, I do not envy the poor youth who wears your chains; they are woven of any thing but flowers. She has the riches of Croesus, the beauty of Hebe-but the temper of Xantippe. Yet mind, dear Theodore, I tell you this in confidence, so don't let it go any further. But what have we next? generals and judges, and public characters by the score! A whole bevy of widows, old maids, and solitary spinsters, without any particular claim to distinction.

A sudden pause in the crowd. Several carriages with their out-riders have rolled up to the door, emblazoned with the crests of the nobility of this democratic land! I cannot admire the horses sufficiently; but as for those who have just alighted-the least said the soonest mended."

The bell rings for supper-so, ladies and gentlemen, by your leave.

Is it not strange that the very things to which this village is indebted for all its consequence, are most neglected? The hotels are spacious—the accommodations convenient, and the attendance unexceptionable; but the springs themselves are in a shocking condition. Instead of splendid colonnades, attractive apartments, spacious pump-rooms, marble counters, sparkling fountains, and neat, well-dressed women to attend the visiters, as in other coun

tries, you are compelled to stand ankle-deep in the mud, or upon a miserable platform, constructed over a filthy brook, and receive the water from a barefooted, meanly-clad juvenile, who dips it up in an unclean vessel, and flings it at you with a sleight of hand peculiarly his own. In stead of taking the water as an inviting, health-restoring beverage, you seize the glass with a wry face and an involuntary shudder, and drain its contents with the same repugnance you entertain for nauseous medicine. On rainy days, invalids cannot go to the springs, unless they are satisfied to have the outer as well as inner man, most thoroughly drenched, as there is no friendly covering to shield them from the weather. Really this is too bad, for the most fashionable watering-place in America.