bazars enter its temples-purchase of its trades-people-deal with its brokers-be doctored by its physicians-drink tea with its ladies—and play with its children. But the reader must go and see for himself, the many wonders brought home to our own doors from the most singular country on earth, and listen to the Celestial music, which if not exactly the music of the spheres,' is almost as strange, and quite as mysterious.

A SUNDAY AT OLD IPSWICH.

IT is a pleasant thing occasionally to leave the great city- the brick and mortar Babylon-and go forth into some quiet village, where the everlasting hum of commerce is unheard, and the crowd of idolaters who incessantly bow down to the great idol, Mammon,' is unseen. Especially delightful is it, to me at least, on the last day of the week, to repair to some primitive village, and there

'When the loud wagon is laid by,
And wearied beasts rest quietly,'

spend the sacred Sabbath hours. In the country there is a quiet calm, above, beneath, and all around, which soothes the often-vexed mind, and tranquilizes the spirits which may have been bound down by the strife and turmoil of the six weary working days, which have preceded it. I do not refer at all to places where holiday folks resort, peopling the privacy; but to quiet, almost out-ofthe-way country hamlets or villages, of which few think, save those whose interests are bound up with them. Such a place is old Ipswich, and a friend having assured me that my antiquarian predilections would be gratified by a visit to it, I left Boston by the Eastern Railroad cars on

Saturday evening, and after an hour's ride arrived at the town station.

There are few places (by-places I mean, of course, towns or villages,) in America which in reality have any claims to antiquity. What is called an old house here, would be almost modern in England; but so far as I have yet observed, Ipswich certainly has the most of venerability about it in appearance. After a cheerful repast at the house of the pastor of the First Religious Society, a friend accompanied me in a stroll through the town, and a pleasant walk we had, in the bright moonlight, down the High, or as it is called more generally, 'Pudding' street, from the circumstance of a frolicsome set of young fellows having once upon a time taken some hard-boiled hog's pudding from an old woman's kettle, and played football with it down the street. There seems to be in Ipswich quite a rage for nicknames, for many of its inhabitants, I was informed, are better known by some soubriquet than by their own proper designations. This propensity to calling things by other names than the proper ones, also extends to the hills and valleys round about, as I shall have occasion to notice.

As we walked down the town, the quaint appearance of the houses struck me very forcibly very different were they from those in most of the New England towns. They had pointed gables, and irregular slanting roofs; and in many of them the upper stories projected considerably over the basement apartments, in some such a way as the old houses are built at Chester, and in some of the old cities in England. They were usually decorated with red or brown paint, and had in consequence a sombre appearance, which contrasted strikingly with that of a few

jauntily-painted modern cottages in their neighborhood, which shone in all the glory of white fronts and green shades.

The Sabbath morning was bright and beautiful, as if a 'bridal between earth and sky' had been celebrated at early dawn, and all creation was yet rejoicing at the happy union. At half-past eight the bell of the Lunatic Asylum, a large red brick building, close to which is the jail, swung out, and gave sonorous intimation that service was about to be held there. I repaired to the chapel, and seated myself amongst the melancholy congregation. Melancholy indeed, for besides the casual visitors, and the lunatics, it consisted of men of crime-prisoners from the adjoining jail. The service commenced by a hymn being given out. It was distinctly sung by the choir, and the doleful tone I thought more calculated to depress the mind than to enliven or distract it. Then followed a prayer and a sermon, during which the mad people indulged in all sorts of antics, which it was at once amusing and distressing to witness. One poor creature, just before sat all the time in an attitude of the deepest dejection, his head bowed down, and his hands clasped together. I never witnessed such an incarnation of misery. Near me a man indulged in the most grotesque contortions of face; a third, a little way off, amused himself and those around him, who seemed to look with compassion on their brother madmen, by playing unheard tunes on an imaginary instrument. Many of them yawned prodigiously, and frequently an exclamation as if of impatience, or an oath would burst from the lips of some present. As soon as service had concluded, they leaped from their seats in a moment, as if the confinement had been very irksome to them, and quickly left the chapel.

me,

There are several churches in Ipswich. The principal one is that of the First Religious Society, under the pas toral care of the Rev. D. P. Kimball. Previously to the commencement of the service, I ascended to the tower of this old building, and from the bell-gallery had a fine view of the country round. Far away was the ocean, gleaming in the sunshine, and towards it, crept like a silver serpent the pretty and picturesque Ipswich river, crossed by its ancient bridge. A little way off was Heart-break hill, a place to which some story of true love, whose course, it would seem, did not run smooth,' gives its name. Nearer was Love Lane, and the Lover's Fountain. Away in the distance were seen hamlets and towns, dotting the green landscape; indeed on every hand were scenes of verdurous beauty. But the bell gives note of preparation; and lo! from a hundred homes come forth young and old, grave and gay; and in the peaceful summer calm they approach, singly and in groups, towards the sanctuary.

Let us enter. It is an old place this, with its square pews, in which are straight high-backed chairs, so characteristic of a former generation. The galleries are deep and elevated from the floor, more than is usual in modern erections. And what a monstrous pulpit! Big enough for a minister of forty-parson-power.' Look at the twisted railings of the banisters; the quaint panels; and above all, do not, indeed you cannot, fail to observe the mighty sounding-board, which is as big as the canopy of an ancient bedstead, and quite as elaborately carved. Over the preacher's head, on this sounding-board, is a star which is splendidly gilt; this star had a companion at one time, to keep it in countenance, in front of the