nature. Opposite me was another lady, so tiny-waisted that I trembled every time the omnibus pulled up sharply, lest she should snap off in the middle. Poor thing! as I looked at her pale face, and her pinched stomach, I ceased to wonder at the far-away devotees who inflict self-torture, and knew that FASHION was a no less inexorable and cruel deity than JUGGERNAUT.

On we went, but all at once there was a sudden jerk, and a middle-aged lady mounted the steps-No room, ma'am,' said an easy-looking gentleman, with a very white cravat and a red fold of flesh instead of a collar turning over it. Not a bit,' said one of my lady neighbors, with an apprehensive glance at her petticoats. 'We're as full as we can be,' chimed in the other, and she bestowed a glance of mingled ferocity and disdain upon my coat, one skirt of which had dared to infringe on a fold of her dress. Yes, ma'am,' said I, in revenge, 'there's room for one more,' and I got up, and the middle-aged lady, who was twice as big as I was, took my place, to the infinite chagrin of-the reader knows whom. The middle-aged lady, however, scarcely deserved the compliment paid her, for she took my seat quite as a matter of course, and not of courtesy-not even acknowledging the latter by a nod or a smile of that sort which goodbreeding teaches. Down she dropped on the cushion, and out went I, and there was an end to the matter. Now I hope I am as polite as other people, and I greatly admire the deference which gentlemen pay to ladies in this country; but really I think when the courtesy of gentlemen is, as it too often is, received without the most trifling acknowledgment, that the custom stands in some danger of wearing threadbare. Besides, the gentlemen

don't like, at least I do not, being defrauded of a pleasant smile, or a cheerful look-its a clear case of obtaining a good seat and not paying the price, and I therefore beg that all ladies will be more honest in future, and give the quid pro quo, if they would have the men be patterns of politeness.

Well, I joined the crowds, who were walking in orderly ranks through the streets towards the various places of worship, whilst the bells rang from many a church tower. I was much struck, on the occasion of my first Sunday in Boston, by the tolling of these bells, the Sabbath sounds were so entirely different from those to which I had always been accustomed. I could not but think that at every church a funeral was about to take place, for the sonorous and measured sounds were just such as are usually sent forth in England, on sepulchral occasions. It quite cast a gloom over me; indeed, the most vigorous and musical chiming of bells always has on me a saddening influence but this tolling to church seemed very dismal to one who had always before heard people chimed to the temple not made with hands. In many English cities and towns, the bells are so arranged that they play psalm tunes, and even at certain hours in every twentyfour, the Old Hundredth or some other measure floats over the peopled city. Hundreds of times have I lain awake in the calm, still midnight, and listened to the bells of the neighboring church, as they sent forth sounds which had become sacred by association. Even now, far distant from them, I hear them in dreams, and sometimes, in the busy day, they fall upon my ear, and I am, though pacing the crowded streets of an American city, once more in the old house at home.

Of the service and the sermon, time and space will not allow me to speak. Suffice it to say that both were excellent. Nor may I tell of how the remainder of the day of rest was spent. But when it had closed, and I returned to my chamber, I could not but feel that this Sabbath in Boston had been one of the most delightful I had ever known,

A STREET GOSSIP.

WE cannot always be babbling of green fields,' or wandering by running brooks, on whose banks grow the 'pied wild flowers.' Nor is it always convenient to pay visits to certain institutions, in this hot, dog-day weather, when rank odors rise from the steaming ground, and not being able to ascend in the dense atmosphere, remain under one's nose, a 'rank abomination.' At such times one knows not exactly what to do or where to go. Let us saunter forth into the streets and hunt up what objects may chance to cross our path.

It is early morning, not so early that the very houses seem asleep,' as Wordsworth says of that great heart of England, London, but just the time when a solitary shutter or two, (eyes of trade-houses,) begin to open, and give evidence of commercial life. The omnibi have not yet began their daily rattle, and the only vehicles which 'disturb the echoes' are quaint-looking milk carts, and perhaps a carryall with its cargo of early risers, who are bound for the suburban towns. Affectionate couples sally forth linked arm in arm to enjoy the fresh air of the morning and their own conversation, whilst they are watched by the longing eyes of the bound 'prentices, who are compelled all unwillingly to put the windows in order which are now in a state of deshabille. Slowly move

along the canvass-covered ice-carts, with their refreshing looking loads, and visions of creams to be, float before the stomach's eye. Now come in the market vehicles, bearing stores of luscious fruit, delicious alike to the eye and palate the downy peach, the glossy apple, or the soft melting pear. Tomatoes in all their colored glories lie side by side with the delicate green ears of corn, which look like vegetable babies lapt in coverlets of moonlightgreen leaves. Beans, white as pearls, glitter in the sunshine, and great indolent-looking squashes keep company with fragrant melons. Bah! whilst we have been feasting our eyes, a water cart has drenched our pants, so we will step into the market until they have recovered their wonted glossiness.

There is something delightfully bustling and busy about a market when the stalls are all filled, and the rudy faces of the venders are wreathed with smiles, as 6 customers come in.' Many a time and oft have we, in the old country,' risen before the lark for the purpose of strolling in Covent Garden Market whilst the bloom was on the peach and the lustre on the flower. And a beautiful and a cheerful thing it was to gaze on that one spot of 'sunny greenery,' as Leigh Hunt hath it, in the very heart of the mighty metropolis. It was in reality an oasis in the great desert of London, for to a lover of the country the capital is the most desolate place imaginable. But we are now in New and not in Old England, and must confine our attention to the good things in view, instead of dwelling on those retrospective glories of beef and mutton which once gladdened our optics.

Talking of beef, we are, whilst pausing before this specimen of Yankee grazing, forced to admit, much