nent, viz., that it was in order to repair forthwith to the Custom-House. So to the Custom-House depot I went, and there found a score of knowing ones who had hastened thither to secure precedence by entering their names in the register. What they gained, however, in one respect, they lost in another, for the trunks first opened were thoroughly ransacked; scattering cigars received due attention, and certain cheap American republications of English Books were made prize of, past redemption. Before my turn came, however, the inquisitorial ardor had greatly abated, and on my giving a negative to the inquiry after cigars and American books, my keys were returned, scarcely an article displaced. Such and so favorable was my first acquaintance with Custom-House functionaries.

One long day sufficed for Liverpool, which has few attractions for those who, like myself, are not specially interested in the price of cotton. I presented two or three letters of introduction, formed as many acquaintances that afterward proved of value, and, notwithstanding frequent showers, saw what was most remarkable in the architecture of the city. The splendid Exchange buildings form three sides of a square, in the centre of which is a statue of Nelson with four prostrate, abject figures, at his feet, representing Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, the last in reference to the Spanish power in the New World. But even with this explanation, the figure, I thought, belonged rather to hyperbole, than to legitimate allegory.

ENGLAND.-Railway Travelling.-English Ladies.-Warwickshire.Ruins of Kenilworth Castle.

FINDING, among the first class cars at the railway depot, one more sumptuous than the rest, with "ROYAL MAIL" inscribed on it in flaming capitals, I paid the shilling or two extra, and secured a seat in it to Birmingham. Each of its three compartments resembled a luxurious private carriage, differing from the other first class cars in having but two places, instead of three, on a seat. The places were numbered, and corresponding tickets given; and each having its limits accurately defined by a projection, so as to resemble an arm-chair, seemed studiously adapted to the independent spirit, as well as the burly figure of John Bull-allowing ample scope and verge enough for the "Stout Gentleman" himself, should he at any time chance to be a passenger. Large glasses at the sides, affording an unobstructed prospect, well-cushioned seats, straps with buckles for the disposal of hats, umbrellas, ladies' bonnets and baskets, and whatever else is always in the way, where such appliances are wanting—and the smooth and equable motion, causing no fatigue-all were characteristic of a country in which no luxury need be wanting to him who has money in his purse; but, as I afterwards heard an omnibus driver say with great emphasis of London, "If a man hasn't got money, he's по business here." The cars of the second class are as superlatively uncomfortable, as those of the first are sumptuous; yet the multitude of well-dressed persons that

patronize them rather than pay the highest price, (perhaps twice the average on our roads,) is such as to astonish the traveller fresh from democratic America.

From the depot we passed at once into a tunnel a mile and a quarter long. Away we went through this long underground passage, with houses, churches, and busy streets, high over our headss—a very small lamp neatly inserted in the roof of the car, just serving to make darkness visible. When we emerged into daylight, a wide extent of country came in view, all cultivated like a garden, clothed in the deepest verdure, intersected with beautiful hedge-rows, and shaded here and there with groves of majestic trees. This first glimpse of the rural scenery of England surpassed my expectations, high-raised as they were, and I gazed on the landscape with unaffected delight. My companions in the car, (or carriage, according to the English nomenclature,) were two gentlemen, the elder of whom sat opposite to me, "You look about you," said he, "as if you were not an old railway traveller." "Not on this side the Atlantic," was the reply. This introduced a very agreeable conversation. Both gentlemen were intelligent and courteous; the elder especially had that mellowness of character, which belongs to the later period of a life extensively conversant with men and things. He had been in the United States, as to which his opinions differed materially from those of the Trollopes, Fidlers, et id genus omne. Happily no allusion was made to that stigma on our republican fame, repudiation; but on the scarcely less critical question as to the comparative beauty of English and American ladies, he was rational enough to admit that the young ladies of our country were the most delicately beautiful in the world, strenuously insisting, at the same time, that English beauty, instead of being that fragile, evanescent thing that it too often is with

us, generally wears well. That we measured from different standards, was presently proved, for, as the train stopped at a depot where two young ladies were waiting its arrival, he praised the good looks of one of them, at the same time expressing commiseration at the sickly appearance of the other, while, to my thinking, the latter was only a delicate beauty, and the former quite too "robustious" for a belle. One cannot be long in England, however, without gradually adjusting his principles of taste to a more fully developed model, at least so far as to appreciate beauty in full rosy bloom, as well as in the tender bud.

Passing through an extensive region of coal mines, iron foundries, and manufactories of various descriptions, whose tall chimneys sent up thick columns of smoke, darkening the air, we reached Birmingham, having travelled not quite 100 miles in four hours and three quarters. Half an hour was allowed here for lunch, an interval which I spent in strolling through a street near the outskirts, where a fair, with its accompaniment of booths, shows, &c., exhibited one phase of English character. Proceeding then by railway to Coventry, I there left the direct route to London, and took the coach for Leamington, a beautiful watering-place in Warwickshire. The weather being cool and cloudy, I chose an inside seat, and had the agreeable company of two ladies, and a gentleman, who, as I afterwards found, was a colonel in the army. The ladies took part in the conversation, in a style equally removed from reserve and forwardness, just suited to the temporary acquaintanceship of a stage-coach, and such as constitutes a very pleasant item in a tourist's reminiscences. The English coaches, though carrying eight or ten, outside, have but four inside seatswhose occupants are thus brought into very neighborly proximity,

The winding road led through a country even more beautiful than any which I had seen on the line of the railway. The exhilarating sensations of a rapid drive through such scenery, and in such circumstances, were enhanced to me by that peculiar pleasure with which we observe, for the first time, the reality of what has often given us delight in the description. The thatched cottages, the gentlemen's seats, the deep verdure of the fields, the stately avenues of oaks, the perfect smoothness of the road, all harmonized well with what I had read of England.

At length an object came in view, the sight of which called up a throng of recollections, associated with the romantic feeling of earlier years. It was the massive ruin of Kenilworth Castle, interesting from its connection with several of the most distinguished names in English history, but far more so from that which the genius of Scott has established between its mouldering walls and the tragic tale of the murdered Countess of Leicester.

Half an hour after passing Kenilworth, we reached Leamington, where I took lodgings at the Regent Hotel. After a few turns in the beautiful grounds adjacent, shaded by noble trees and ornamented with shrubbery, I dined in the best style at my solitary table, monarch of all I surveyed, and as assiduously attended as monarch need be. After dinner (about 7 P. M.,) the head-waiter procured me a copy of Scott's Kenilworth, and I plunged at once into the fascinating story, which, in spite of the fatigues of the day, held me captive till midnight. The charm of re-perusal under such circumstances those can imagine whom its thrilling pathos, at a distance of thousands of miles from its localities, has moved to tears.

Next morning I visited the Ruin. It stands on a gentle elevation, in the midst of rural scenery, such as can be found