ing across the Schuylkill, is also an interesting object, and is probably one of the most complete structures of the kind, as we believe it was one of the first, ever erected in the United States. The accompanying sketch exhibits a faithful view of the Water-works and Wire-bridge, as seen from the opposite side of the river.

Within the suburbs of the city, scattered along the rail-road, several "lager beer" establishments will be noticed. These breweries are all of very recent origin, and lager beer is, to many, an unknown beverage. It is a German drink, of which they are very fond, and is similar in taste and appearance to porter, but is said to have none of its deleterious qualities. It is a weak, bitter, but not unpleasant beer, containing an abundance of hops. It derives its peculiar value and flavor from storage in vaults, as the word "lager" sufficiently implies. The longer it is stored, the finer becomes its quality. The vicinity of Fairmount has lately become the fountain-head of this description of manufacture, and it is consequently a favorite resort for Germans, who, ranged around their little square tables, with cigars, pipes, newspapers and glass-mugs of lager,

Mingle o'er their friendly bowl,

The feast of reason and the flow of soul.

As we pass Fairmount, the river Schuylkill, with its green banks, soft verdure, and rich foliage, is brought into view the rail-road, until it crosses the bridge, diverging along its eastern bank. Here a number of spacious warehouses will be noticed, built directly along the water's edge, and affording access for carts by means of scaffolding erected to their upper stories. These are ice-houses. They are built with much care, the walls filled in with tan-bark to exclude the air, and capable of storing an immense quantity of ice. The manner of collecting and storing the ice is very simple, and is fully illustrated in the accompanying engraving.

Of late years, the storage and shipment of ice has become a very considerable item of trade. A large quantity is required for the consumption of the city, but in addition to this, no inconsiderable amount is shipped to the South, as well as to foreign countries where the climate forbids its production. Vessels freighted with ice always obtain a return load, and thereby a judicious exchange of local commodities is effected with points where, under other circumstances, our trade would probably be less extensive, and our communication

MET

TU

·SCAT FEN&ORG

CUTTING ICE ON THE SCHUYLKILL.

less frequent. Our eastern neighbors, always the first in the market with their “notions," have now a serious competitor in Philadelphia in this branch of commerce.

In seasons of scarcity, ice is brought down the Schuylkill, in the spring, from the mountain regions of Schuylkill county, where, the climate being somewhat colder, and the streams less impregnated with sediment, it attains a good thickness, as well as a pure and transparent quality. On the Schuylkill, it usually attains a thickness of from four to twelve or more inches, and is probably unrivalled for the purity of its mineral composition, and freedom from foreign and deleterious substances. Its color varies from snowy opaqueness to translucency, and sometimes to the most beautiful watery transparency.

As we pass over the splendid rail-road bridge, a very interesting object presents itself. A beautiful little island, overgrown with tall and slender trees, nestles in the midst of the river, and immediately in front of it, on the western shore, is situated an unique cottage, built of stone, and apparently of some antiquity. In front of the cottage are two old trees, wrinkled and gnarled, like the furrows in an old man's face. This cottage is now a rough and dilapidated affair, but it was once the temporary residence of the late Thomas Moore, the celebrated Irish poet. It bears the rather unpoetic name of "Pig's Eye," but to many is known as Tom Moore's cottage. We entered the house while our friend Brightly was sketching it,

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and found it indeed a relic of the past. The ceilings, which have never been plastered, reveal the rough joists, now blackened with smoke and greasy rust, while the occupants complained of the condition of the roof, which leaks badly. The cottage appeared otherwise warm and comfortable, as answering the humble pretensions of the lessee. But we thought there was some reason for his complaint against the landlord, who failed to put it in tenantable order, after receiving two months' rent in advance. If properly fitted up, it might still serve as the abode of the muse,-but, alas! it can never again return to the scenes of its former glory. It is about forty-five years since Mr. Moore visited this country; and the changes which have been made during this time, are probably no less striking elsewhere than on this spot. At that time, this little cot was surrounded with a comparative wilderness, the abode of merry warblers and of wild-flowers;-the Schuylkill yet flowed in undisturbed tranquillity, and its peaceful shores were fragrant with the rich profusion of its foliage. It was a spot well calculated to tempt the poet from the noisy scenes of the town, and no less calculated to lend inspiration to the harp which has given such celebrity to his melodies.

"I went to America," (says the poet, after his return to Europe,) "with prepossessions by no means unfavorable, and indeed rather indulged in many of those illusive ideas with respect to the purity of the government and the primitive happiness of the people, which I had early imbibed in my native country, where, unfortunately, discontent at home enhances every distant temptation, and the western world has long been looked to as a retreat for real or imaginary oppression; as, in short, the Elysian Atlantis, where persecuted patriots might find their visions realized, and be welcomed by kindred spirits to liberty and repose. In all these flattering expectations I found myself completely disappointed, and felt inclined to say to America, as Horace says to his mistress, "intentata nites." Brissot, in the preface to his travels, observes that 'freedom in that country is carried to so high a degree as to border upon a state of nature;' and there certainly is a close approximation to savage life, not only in the liberty which they enjoy, but in the violence of party spirit, and of private animosity which results from it. . . . . . The rude familiarity of the lower orders, and indeed the unpolished state of society in general, would neither surprise nor disgust if they seemed to flow from that simplicity of character, that honest ignorance of the gloss of refinement, which may be looked for in a new and inexperienced people. But, when we find them arrived at maturity in most of the vices, and all the pride of civilization, while they are still so far removed from its higher and