novel construction: it can be drawn completely out of the water at pleasure, by a simple process, and placed in a perpendicular position against the stern, leaving the vessel, to all intents and purposes, a regular sailing craft. She has four life-boats, and every bench, seat, and stool are made of iron, with air-tight compartments, thus forming life-preservers "for the million." On the water she is a handsome craft, with sharp bows, and a good run fore and aft. Her accommodations are excellent, the cabin and sleeping berths being quite first-rate.

Before I quit the waterside, I cannot help giving my readers an account of some celebrated feats in swimming that came off in the Mersey some eighteen years ago, and which, to use an American phrase, quite beats Leander's exploit "by a long chalk." In the sporting records of Liverpool we find the following account:-" In July, 1827, a surprising feat in swimming 'came off here. A match had been made between Dr. Bedale and a person of the name of Vipond, both Manchester men, to swim from Liverpool to Runcorn, a distance of twenty miles, in one tide. This was won by the Doctor, who accomplished his task in three hours and thirty-five minutes, beating his opponent by about five minutes. Some misunderstanding having arisen, the vanquished hero challenged his successful competitor in the ensuing summer, to swim against tide from Rock Point to Runcorn, a distance of twenty-six miles. For some reason the Doctor declined the contest, and Vipond performed the task in a little more than four hours." Happily, neither of the Manchester men shared the fate of the youth of Abydos, and fell victims to their temerity, although probably they may have experienced that which occurred to our noble poet Byron, after swimming from Sestos to Abydos, and which he thus describes, in a comparison between himself and the enamoured Leander :

""Twas hard to say who fared the best:

Sad mortals! thus the Gods still plague you!
He lost his labour, I my jest ;

For he was drown'd and I've the ague."

I now return to Liverpool, where the space allotted to me in this paper only enables me to give a brief description of its principal sights. The Town Hall is a handsome building: it contains the portraits of George the Third by Lawrence; of George the Fourth when Prince of Wales, by Hopner; of the Duke of York, by Phillips; and of William the Fourth, when Duke of Clarence, by Sir M. Shee.

The new Exchange, which is a noble structure, was opened Jan. 1, 1809, the first stone having been laid the 30th of June, 1803. The cost was 110,8487. In the centre of the area is the Nelson monument, modelled by Westmacott from the designs of M. C. Wyatt, Esq. It is of iron, weighing twenty-two tons, the expense of which was 9,000l. The Custom House and Post-Office are well suited for their respective purposes. The long room at the Custom House is one of the finest in England; and the whole building is admirably adapted to its double purpose of customs and post-office. The Zoological and Botanical Gardens are extremely well kept up, and the

different cemeteries are worthy a visit. Poor Huskisson's monument is chaste and pure, and a building at the entrance of the cemetery, which contains the remains of that lamented statesman, is as fine a specimen of architecture as can be found in this anti-architectural country. The Royal Assembly-Rooms are large and convenient. The Athenæum, alluded to by Washington Irving in his sketches, has an excellent reading-room, and a well stored library. Here may be seen a fine picture of the death of Lorenzo de Medici, by Fuseli, and presented to the institution by Roscoe. The Lyceum readingroom, the Rotunda billiard tables, the Palatine Club, are extremely well kept up, and are accessible to the stranger through the courtesy of the proprietors. In wandering through the streets, I found many associated with agreeable reminiscences. Duke-street has some degree of interest attached to it, by being the street in which the talented Mrs. Hemans was born in 1794. She was the daughter of a Liverpool merchant of the name of Brown. Here, too, lived the modern Sardanapalus, George the Fourth, when Prince of Wales, and his kind-hearted brother the sailor-king, William the Fourth, then Duke of Clarence. The house, too, No. 46, may be seen, where Bellingham-who shot Mr. Percival, May, 1812-resided. He was a native of Huntingdonshire, and, after many changes and chances, settled in Liverpool in 1802 as a ship and insurance broker. Some supposed or real injuries received from the Russian government, and which the British minister declined attending to, caused this fatal deed.

Where the Adelphi hotel now stands, the White House, or Ranelagh Tea Gardens, so called after the celebrated Ranelagh of the metropolis, formerly existed. The last exhibition in these gardens took place in 1760.

The hotels of Liverpool are extremely good the Adelphi and Waterloo are the principal ones. I give them alphabetically, so as not to incur the charge of favour, partiality, or affection; and to those who are devoted to the occidental luxury, "the love of the turtle," their gourmet propensities may be gratified to their heart's, or more properly speaking stomach's, content. The punch too, like its popular namesake, is piquant in the extreme.

I cannot take leave of Liverpool without expressing my grateful acknowledgments to those kind friends who rendered my stay there so agreeable. Nothing could exceed their attention and hospitality; and when one considers how valuable time is to those who do not pass their lives in idleness or fashionable frivolity, the obligation is considerably enhanced. With this feeling, I can only hope that this modern Tyre will ever retain its pre-eminence, that its commerce may prosper, and, in a slight variation from the saying of the worthy Glasgow Baillie, from my heart I exclaim" May Liverpool flourish!"

*Since writing the above I have put the Waterloo turtle to the test, or rather taste it is faultless. Mr. Lynn sends it to all parts of the country "ready dressed" at a moderate charge. I shall again advert to the subject of one of the best hotels in Europe, and the spirited proprietor of it.

PENCILLINGS IN THE PROVINCES.

"THE CHALKED OFF COACHMAN."

BY WHIZ.

Sedate, unsophisticated Nature! thou reignedst supreme in the provinces until thy features became disfigured by the omnipotence of steam; Wonders, Defiances, Tallyhoes, and Telegraphs courted thy presence with their admiring party-coloured loads, and ran through thy precincts with 16-mile-an-hour dispatch. Now Railway Kings divide your territories, gauges intersect your landscapes, hammer stories the pastures proclaim, and Nature seems stupified at their demoniacal contortions.

Sitting at a neat little inn, in a neat little country town, a railway bus drove up, drawn by two old worn-out bow kickers, that had done the state some service in the palmy days of coaching. It was a rustic contrivance, unlike the L. C. C. conveyances, or the more aristocratic Paragons and Nelsons; it was a human hearse wending its way to the railway terminus, driven by an ancient Jehu, who had numbered three score years and ten, by the aid of brandy and water, and the kind hand of Providence. An old stumpy tommy took the place of one of Ward'smost improved fly flourishers; a moth-eaten horse-cloth encased his knees; no well-appointed West of England body coat enveloped his outer man, but gave place to a seedy, greasy mackintosh coat, which never looked so fresh as when newly constructed by Butler of Birmingham. "Now! any gent for the station?" shouted Jehu from his husky throat, as he threw the rusty reins on the horses' loins, and was busily employed in loading the bus.

The Inns in the country should be called Outs: they are full of nothing but executions. No well-appointed chariots drive up to their portals, resounding with "One and two turn out; horses in; all paid," &c.; the occupiers anticipating a severe debate or a division at St. Stephen's. It was really a treat to see the late Duke of Cleveland travel; four carriages-and-four occupied the train, and for the pace one would fancy him the head road-director. He was once travelling up to London, when the boys drew up at the Swan, at Doncaster, instead of the Angel. "Go back, you rascals!" shouted the Duke;" you know this is not my house." "Please your Grace, the Angel is shut up," said the obsequious post-boys. The Duke raved; old Harry Smith who passed as the road-wit of his day, interposed, and putting on one of his blandest and most humbugging smiles, "If you please, your Grace, the Swan has pecked out the Angel's eyes." In fact, by a well-organized stroke of policy, he had purchased the Angel with the proceeds of the Swan, and shut it up. So, nolens vo

lens, the Swan horses were ordered, and his Grace was obliged to resume his seat for Newark.

A pair of sporting country squires took their places on the top, or summæ diligentia as we used to say in France, whilst the inside was tenanted with all the fashionable milliners of the place, votaries to fashion, frivolity, and victimization; while I, humble Whiz, engaged the box seat. We wended our way through the town, amidst droves of sheep and oxen, the baying of dogs, and the busy hum of farmers; for it was market day. I had emerged from a long vista of woods to an open common. After eyeing my companion. with all the sagacity of a boysman,

"Your face is very familiar to me on the North-road, coachman?" said I.

"May be, it is, Sir: I drove the York Highflyer five-and-twenty years; and although I have driven some out-and-out rum ones in my time, never had a mishap; and I should have been there now had it not have been for them demd teakettles of engines, looking for all the world as if they was a dragging a slice of Brummagem or Leeds after them."

Here we pulled up at a little road-side public: it rejoiced in the name of the "Straggler," or half-way watering-house for the 'buses. The old man went to fetch the bucket from the pump, as there was no ostler as in days of yore, no rubicund smiling servant maid, bringing out glasses of ale to frosty warehousemen in oilskin hats and worn-out mackintoshes; or glasses of brandy for squeamish old ladies. Economy seemed the order of the day, and our orderly load kept their seats. In a minute or two we were on the move again.

"Now, that little place we have just left was as good a house as any on the road, until railways ruined us all," resumed Jehu. "Poor old Barbottle, the landlord-he died t'other day, of a broken heart, although four men before him made their fortunes there. And poor old mother Barbottle, she can hardly get a living. Never were such times. I think, Sir, the rich gets richer every day, and the poor poorer. What do you think? That is my opinion, and I don't care who knows it."

"What has become of that pretty smiling bar-maid, who used to live there?"

man, with a knowing grin, "You knowed her, did ye? married Jem the ostler, and

"Oh, smiling Sukey," said the old and his eye struck fire like an old flint. Why she has bundled up her traps, and gone to London to start in the oyster line."

The three spires of the Cathedral rose from the earth like large needles, and the ancient city appeared in view, as we crowned the three-mile hill; the white smoke of the engine curled through the valley, and at intervals the hissing train was seen on the ponderous embankment, and we entered the station amidst noise and bustle. What a change from the "Straggler!" They were awaiting the express train from York, with the Railway King.

W.

GOWN AND TOWN ROW, OXFORD.

BY GELERT.

Oxford polemics have for some time occupied the attention of the public, and have entailed upon the old university rather an unenviable notoriety. Polemics of a different cast, however, have succeeded to these, and on the night of the 5th of November the sons of Alma Mater were once more united in heart and hand, and enacting the church militant in its streets, with a vigour that reminds us of its character in former days. A "Gown and Town Row," of a formidable description, took place on the 5th; and, for the benefit of the "unentered," we cannot do better than quote from a work which admirably describes an almost parallel scene.

"The blue light of heaven illumined the magnificent square of Radcliffe when we passed from beneath the porch of Brazenose, and, tipping with her silvery light the surrounding architecture, lent additional beauty to the solemn splendour of the scene. Sophisticated as my faculties certainly were by the copious libations and occurrences of the day, I could yet admire with reverential awe the imposing grandeur by which I was surrounded. A wayward being from my infancy, not the least mark of my eccentricity is the peculiar humour in which I find myself when I have sacrificed too freely to the jolly god. Unlike the major part of mankind, my temperament, instead of being invigorated and enlivened by the sparkling juice of the grape, loses its wonted nerve and elasticity: a sombre gloominess pervades the system, the pulse becomes nervous and languid, the spirits flagging and depressed, and the mind full of chimerical apprehension and ennui. It was in this mood that Eglantine found me ruminating on the noble works before me, while resting against a part of the pile of Radcliffe library, contemplating the elegant crocketed pinnacles of All Souls, the delicately taper spire of St. Mary's, and the clustered enrichments and imperial canopies of masonry, and splendid traceries which everywhere strike the eye; all of which objects were rendered trebly impressive from the stillness of the night and the flittering light by which they were illumined.

"I had enough of wine and frolic, and had hoped to have shirked the party and stolen quietly to my lodgings, there to indulge my lucubrations on the scene I had witnessed, and note in my journal, according to my usual practice, the more prominent events of the day, when Horace commenced with

"Where the devil, old fellow, have you been hiding yourself? I've been hunting you some time. A little cut, I suppose. Never mind, my boy; you'll be better presently. Here's glorious sport on foot: don't you hear the war-cry?'

"At this moment a buzz of distant voices broke the mingled shouts of an election tumult.

upon

the ear,

like