and Market sts. Passengers for Columbia, &c., take the cars here. We next pass the City Gas Works, situated on the Schuylkill. They

are the most complete in their structure and arrangement of any similar establishment in the country. They were commenced in 1835, with some doubt as to the practicability of the undertaking, in an economical view. The entire area now occupied by the works is nearly eight acres, with a front on the Schuylkill of 800 feet. A high standard of illuminating quality of gas has been adopted, by the use of the proper varieties of coal, and the admixture of resin when they fall below the prescribed standard. The fat bituminous coals of our own State are principally used, with some samples of pure Cannel coal, some of it imported and some obtained from the extensive beds of Virginia, as well as those lately discovered in our own State, which, it seems, has almost every variety of coal known anywhere on the globe. The standard quality of the gas is that of twenty candle light -in other words, the light of an argand burner, consuming four feet of gas per hour, is equal to that of twenty sperm candles, moulded six to the pound. This high quality is attained by the use of our own coals alone, without the addition of resin or any other bituminous matter. After the bitumen is extracted from the coal, the coke is sold. The quantity of gas consumed by the city proper (exclusive of the adjoining districts, two of which have extensive gas works of their own,) for the year 1851, was over one hundred and eighty-two millions of cubic feet. The maximum production of the works is about 887,000 cubic feet every twenty-four hours-or, converted into gallons, some

thing over seven and a half millions, which is about the same amount of water daily consumed during the summer season.

The extent of main-pipes laid down is equal to ninety-five miles. The number of meters is nearly ten thousand, and the whole number of customers about the same-employing a total number of lights of over one hundred and fifteen thousand, exclusive of about sixteen hundred in the streets, squares, and market-houses of the city. The total length of the pipes is about one hundred and twenty-six miles. A larger gas establishment is now about being erected a short distance from the present works, to which these will be transferred, as their productive capacity is too small to supply the increasing demand of the city, which exclaims with Goethe, "Light-more light!" The new works will be erected at Point Breeze, on the Schuylkill, and will embrace an area of some seventy acres.

A few yards from the gas works we pass over the Market Street Bridge, one of the finest and most substantial structures in the United States. One side of it is appropriated to the exclusive use of the Railroad, and has a double track laid down upon it. All the

freight and passenger-cars passing over the railroad, are hauled to and from the city by horses, for which purpose a large number are employed. The other side of the bridge is used for the passage of horses and vehicles-while, for foot-passengers, there is an outside-walk, from which a fine view of the Schuylkill is obtained. A short distance below we can see the Blockley Almshouse, a large and elegant establishment, whose external appearance indicates anything else than the abode of poverty and misfortune. But distance, the cheat, "gives enchantment to the view," which an inspection of its interior features would soon dispel. The building consists of two thousand feet in front, three stories high, ornamented in the centre with a stately Tuscan portico, supported by six massive columns. It has accommodations for a vast number of inmates-there being now within its walls not less than two thousand, supported at an average weekly expense of 104 cents each. The house of employment connected with it yields annually about $22,000 worth of manufactures, and the farm nearly $15,000 worth of produce. The children's department of this institution embraces, at present, three hundred and sixty-five boys and oyer fifteen hundred girls-supported at an annual cost of near $70,000. The entire annual expense of the whole establishment may be stated at $165,000—including the insane department, in which there are some three hundred and fifty patients. The whole cost of supporting the poor of the city and county of Philadelphia, for the year 1851, is stated at $228,977.

Were half the power that fills the world with terror-
Were half the wealth bestowed on rum and courts-
Given to redeem the human mind from error,

There were no need of poor-houses and forts!

Upon emerging from the bridge, we enter the borough of West Philadelphia, with its mud and dust, and jim-crack cottages. It has a large and rapidly increasing population, which is principally composed of those who conduct business in the city, but do their sleeping out here-hence the dull, drowsy appearance of the place.

Hitched to our "loco-snorter," we wind along, for a short distance, the western bank of the Schuylkill, catching, here and there, a glance at some attractive object in the distance, as the Girard College, Fairmount Water-works, &c. A deep cut finally obstructs the view, and the railroad soon after plunges into the midst of the narrow patches,

the sweet little gardens (blooming with roses and cabbages)—and cozy cottages, so characteristic of the suburban districts of populous cities; and then pursues its way among the broad rich acres of the farmer. Rich!-no. Not rich, nor yet sterile;but rather like a dismissed Irish servant, without a "cha-ractur." The soil is too clayey to be fertile, and the swelling fields and grazing cattle deny its barrenness. That it is not well drained is certain-that such soils greatly need it, we will attach our hand and seal. The truth is, there is a superabundance of manure expelled from the city, and it naturally finds its way here, where it is needed; and thus, for ten or more miles, we traverse a region of agriculture not supported by the usual agricultural economy-but principally devoted to vegetables and fruits, for which it receives from the city the means to uphold its limited productive capacity.

Eleven miles from Philadelphia-(three hundred and fifty-two from Pittsburg,) is WHITE HALL-(which, by the way, was brown,—but now, in fact, is neither white nor brown, for it burned down some years ago, and has not yet been rebuilt.) It was a fine hotel, much resorted to by Philadelphians-why, we cannot tell. Pure air! Fudge! Talk of pure air in a clay-flat like this-as well talk of raising potatoes in a snow-bank. Go to the mountains for pure air-go to Pottsville, six or eight hundred feet above the Delaware, or go with us to the cloud-capped summits of the Alleghany, and you shall taste pure air, fresh from heaven.

Oh! let us go and breathe our woe

In Nature's kindly ear,

For her soft hand will ever deign

To wipe the mourner's tear;
She mocks not, tho' we tell our grief
With voice all sad and faint,

And seems the fondest while we pour

Our weak and lonely plaint.

Oh! let us take our sorrows
To the bosom of the hills,
And blend our pensive murmurs
With the gurgle of the rills;
Oh! let us turn in weariness

Towards the grassy way,

Where skylarks teach us how to praise,
And ringdoves how to pray;