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back on her path, that is the reason. But it is believed that there is no such repetition of description or incident as will make it necessary for the reader to indulge in what Scott calls “ the laudable practice of skipping," whatever other reason he


find for so doing. It may be thought that an apology is due for publishing a new book of travels through countries, so well-known as some of those whose features are described in these volumes. Not such is our opinion, however. We remember a tale of two travellers, who discoursing of what they had seen in other climes, at last fell into a conversation upon the nature, habits, form and color of the chameleon. (ne of the twain spoke of it as being red—the other asserted that it was green. There was a dispute—and a reference of it to the umpirage of a mutual friend, who declared its hué was black, and in proof of his declaration produced the animal, and lo! 'twas white. They were all right, however, for each had seen the anomalous creature under different circumstances. So it is with travellers in the present day-no two of them look upon strange lands in the same light ;-and supposing the countries themselves do not change like chameleons—which

supposition, by the way, is untrue—yet those who visit them see through mediums so various, that there is but little probability of a sameness in their descriptions. So thinking, the writer of these lines cannot but believe there are a few at least who will find in the pages sequent, somewhat to amuse, interest and instruct, concerning the lands the fair author has visited, “Over the Ocean."

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Liverpool, June 8. YESTERDAY, after passing the green fields of Anglesea, its copper works and wind-mill, we first set foot on English ground, and no sooner had we passed our baggage at the custom-house than we commenced sight seeing, and visited the public buildings, the exchange, town hall, &c. Today we may say our travel truly began, for we have been to the very old town of Chester, and to Eaton Hall, three miles beyond. We first crossed the Mersey, in a ferry boat much larger than any we have, and like all vessels of every description here, every part was painted black, on account of their burning sea-coal, whose smoky atmosphere turns every thing to its own hue in a short time. The whole of the machinery is always below deck, so that you see nothing above but a tall pipe, which is constantly belching forth the blackest and densest smoke imaginable.

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The Mersey will at low tide admit the largest ships, and has a rise of twenty feet, but it is a very difficult river to navi. gate, owing to the many sand-bars at its mouth. The banks of the river are dotted with beautiful villas and cottages, with lawns and terraces, separated by the only fence known here, a beautiful hedge. On the other side of the river we were taken by an omnibus to the railroad station, and thence in most elegant and comfortable cars sixteen miles to Chester; and oh, what an Eden, we passed through! It seems as if I could write nothing but exclamations; but I will try. The foliage of the trees here is dark green, universally of one shade differing from our American forests, in which you see every tint and variety of that color. Here what we call grass-green is hardly known. The trees are constantly trimmed, so that the branches are more scattered, and the growth being luxuriant, the foliage on all seems to be in clumps over the tree, and is more picturesque than ours, though not so full of leaves. The fields, divided from each other, and the road by hedges, which at some seasons are full of flowers perfuming the air, are beautiful beyond description, and the luxuriance exceeds every thing but our golden West. Every house and cottage by the road-side has its vines running over the porch, and the windows filled with pots of flowers, while every inch of ground was covered with plants and flowers. Even the thatched roofed cottage had beds of flowers and vegetables extending along the road side. Instead of banks of yellow sand, as with us, the sides of the railroad are covered with rich grass, and not only grass, but wild flowers of every color of the rainbow. Looking over this wide-spread garden, you here see a tall wind-mill painted white or brown, and its large arms turning round and round as if battling with the air, and then through another opening, an old brown church, with its gothic spire and windows, and its steeple ever verdant with "that rare old plant, the Ivy

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Green.” I could have cried as I gazed with the excess and variety of my emotions, for we were whirled past these objects with such rapidity, that it was painful for the mind to grasp them as they were presented to the eye. I can compare it to nothing but a moving panorama. They have forests, too, as thick and dense, though not as extensive as the American; and the body of every tree of any size was from root to branch covered with Ivy. (Oh, how I wish I could send the trunk of one to cousin H.) And then in contrast were here and there the gentlemen's parks, with the noble oaks standing separate and apart, cleared of all underwood, with a beautiful green sward beneath. And there was a canal, which instead of being straight as with us, is beautifully serpentine, winding in and out like a selfwilled river, with nothing to hinder its going where it listeth. The tow path was about four feet wide, with a border of grass, a foot and a half wide on the side next the water, and shaded all along by a hedge of trees.

At the termination of the railroad, we took an open car. riage and rode to Chester. We thought the houses in Liv. erpool dark and dingy, but they have not the appearance of antiquity that strikes you here, and of the strength and solidity of every thing on this side of the Atlantic, you can form no idea without seeing. Even the bridges of the streets passing over the railroad, eem to contain all the materials of one of our city stone churches. The streets of the suburbs of the town are lined with little low thatched roof stone-houses, and scarce a window but had a thick curtain of plants and flowers in pots, in every house we passed. The views we send, will give you a good idea of Eaton Hall, which we have seen to-day, but I do assure you, the reality surpasses it. The proprietor (the Marquis of Westminster,) is held to be one of the richest peers, and to have, in some respects, the handsomest place in the whole king

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dom. Its interior finish and furniture are said to excel even Buckingham Palace. No written description could give an idea of its magnificènce. But this was my first “entree” among the great, and I was bewildered amid paintings and sculpture, and tessellated floors of marble and oak, and pavements of mosaic, East India Cabinets, knights in armor, armorial bearings, coats of arms and strange devices, beautifully portrayed in the stained glass of the windows, surmounting full length figures of warriors, knights and mitred bishops, and immense mirrors to multiply all these-perspective views of the long galleries and lofty ceilings, painted in Fresco; the walls hung, some with crimson, some with blue damask, bordered with rich gimp, the draperies of the windows of velvet, the furniture looking like solid gold. All seemed like a fairy vision. But in the library, amid the dead and living on the book-shelves, surrounded by beautiful stuffed birds, and splendid specimens of mineralogy and various antiques, I was brought to the sober realities of life by the sight of a goodly row of Harper's Family Library in their plain drab bindings:

The park is very extensive, and there are gravel roads running in various directions, where you may drive some sixteen miles, seeing every variety of tree, with deer grazing under them, and now and then a hare tripping merrily over the grass. The garden, too, is in keeping with every thing else. There are graperies, fig-trees and the largest peaches, nectarines and cherries, that I remember ever to have seen, all in full bearing, and what is very singular, the peach-trees are some twenty years old, and hanging like vines; their fruit, as Mrs. T. says,

6 would make you feel sad for a week after.” The gardener gave Mrs. T. and my

. self each a small bouquet which I intend to press and keep as a memento of Eaton Hall. The Roman Altar, of which you see an engraving in the book I send describing the Hall,

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