dreds and from hundreds to thousands. Many of the strangers, not content with their brief summer stay, took up their permanent abode in the town, replacing the old dwellings with sumptuous villas, here one and there another, until at last there grew up the long spacious streets of cottage and castle which now form the new and beautiful Newport that looks down so encouragingly from its hilly terrace upon the old town basking by the lazy sea.

In this renewed prosperity the old taverns and inns grew by-and-by to be insufficient for the accommodation of the coming throngs, and some twenty years ago there began to spring up the great hotels, which are now annually overrun with all that is most gay and most dazzling of the luxury, the elegance, the pomp, the parade, and the fashion of the land. With the erection of the Ocean House in 1845, the new life of Newport was fairly begun, and her position as one of the great national watering-places of the Republic forever assured. No where else in the New-World may there be seen, so well as in the parlors and halls of this elegant establishment, an epitome of the lux ury, beauty, elegance, and fashion of American summer society.

The Newport visitor of this day will, if he journey by way of NewYork or Boston, bestow himself upon the cars or steamers of the famous Fall River Line.' At New-York he will take the palatial 'Metropolis,' or some other scarcely less sumptuons boat of the Fall River squadron. Leaving the great city, he will enjoy the beauties of the East River by the beautiful light of the setting sun; see the broad bosom of Long-Island Sound under the magic of moonbeams, and have a pleasant experience of old Ocean as he rounds Point Judith,

toward the Narragansett Bay.
Passing, at length, Fort Adams on
the right of the portals between
the outer and the inner harbors,
and the bold Dumpling Rocks on
the left, he will make his midnight
entry into the old town. Cosy car-
riages will incontinently convey
him to comfortable quarters at the
Ocean House, or if he should pre-
fer it, to the Fillmore, the Atlan-
tic, the Bellevue, or the Aquid-
neck, and in the soft sunny morn.
ing he may bestir himself to the
enjoyment of the merry society
within doors, or the more attractive natural beauties without.

THE OLD MILL.

Of course he will not forget his pleasure and duty to join the army which does daily battle with the laughing surf. When evening approaches, he will accompany the throngs of gay equestrians to the beach, yet beyond that of the bathers, where he may see the Hanging Rocks of Berkeley and the dark cliffs of Purgatory; or, if the tides are averse, and it should be fort-day instead of beach-day, he will turn his horses' heads fort-wards, pay his respects to the courteous

officer in command, and listen to the band as he rides up and down the broad parade. At another time he may gallop with the cavalcade through the length and breadth of South Touro-street, with its succession of beautiful villas. This favorite promenade of the town will bring him to the rock-sheltered cove called the Boat-House, and to the jagged, foam-crested cliffs and crags of the Spouting Cave. After dinner he may talk against the music, following the splendid march up and down the hall of his hotel; and later he may join the informal dance or the more ceremonious hop at his own or at some one of the other great houses. When more quietly inclined, he may stroll into the dainty rooms of that ancient and classic little edifice the Redwood Library, and amuse himself with its rich stores of pictures and books; or he may lounge through the streets, and talk with the past as he gazes upon the venerable walls of the old State House, or on the former homes of Rochambeau, Channing, Perry, and others. He may take a pleasant peep at the pretty cemetery of the Jews, a gift of the generous and princely Touros.

THE GLEN.

The Old Mill,' or tower, in the heart of the town, will not fail to excite the visitor's curiosity and interest, whether he wonders or not if it were built by the Norsemen a thousand years ago for mystic rites, or by an enterprising miller a century since, simply to grind his corn. Whoever did it, and whatever for, it is a pleasant old relic to look and think upon.

One may ride agreeably to the upper part of the island, and explore the pretty woodland called the Glen; or, yet beyond, the old Stone Bridge, the only link with the main-land; or the scenes around of old settlement and Revolutionary memory.

With the varied society of Newport, floating or permanent, one may find abundant amusement for all hours; or, if the humor be not social, then in the out-door attractions every where; on the sandy seashore or by the frowning cliffs.

Active or idle, at home or abroad, one ought not to be unhappy here, amidst so many social, scenic, and poetic attractions, and breathing an atmosphere which is of itself life to enjoy.

ries of gallant warlike achievement, of both earlier and later date, in those troublous days.

With the fall of the posts on Mount Washington the whole of the island of New-York passed into the possession of the British, and so remained during the war; the waters of the Harlem and the Spyt den Duivel forming thenceforward the northern boundary of their position here, while a long stretch of country lay between them and the American posts above.

Though the island was thus given up, the losers still hoped-and more than once attempted-to regain it. In 1777 General Heath was ordered to approach King's bridge, and if practicable to attack the fortifications there. He advanced and summoned Fort Independence, on Tetard's Hill, to surrender. This reasonable demand was refused; and before it could be enforced other events caused it to be withdrawn. In 1781 there again seemed to be a favorable opportunity here for patriot valor, and a descent under the command of the Duke de Lauzan was planned; but, like the previous venture, it proved fruitless.

In the attack under Heath, on the 17th January, 1777, there was some spirited and bloody work. Two days after, one thousand troops were detailed for a further assault upon the British battalion within the Bridge. It was intended to cross the Spyt den Duivel in the night upon the ice; but that scheme was abandoned as hazardous, when warmer weather immediately followed. The next morning there was a severe cannonading upon both sides, and so again on the succeeding day; all greatly to the confusion and dismay of the besieged. The spot was at all times a scene of gallant deeds- the Thermopyla of the time and neighborhood, no less bravely disputed than was the classic pass of the Spartans of old. In 1783 there came its hour of triumph, when, upon the evacuation of New-York by the British troops at the