swagger, and an immense surface of Byronic shirt-collar. He is a legitimate descendant, I doubt not, of the chap whom Horace met in the Via Sacra. He has come to Saratoga to make acquaintances, to invade joyous little circles and cliques, and render himself universally de trop. He is not merely a bore. He is much worse than that. Among men you might call him au anthropophagus, a cannibal. Among women, he is nothing short of a vampyre. His breadth of linen, in connection with his epidemic qualities, induces them to call him familiarly "The Cholera," (" collarer?")

But here comes an original, and (what is better,) an original in female form. Her form is as airy as a sprite's. Ah! I remember: it was but yesterday that she was driving two-in-hand with marvellous nerve and grace in front of the United States Hotel. She has now taken possession of a cane and is mimicking some dandy swaggerer in her style of flourishing it and in the long steps she takes. As Dickens said of the sherry-cobbler, "that---that's good." How her piercing blue eyes flash with a mischievous light, as she peers into your countenance so inquiringly. She is a little conscious, and does not care who knows it. Her pouting lip says, "look at my face, and then sneer at my actions, if you dare, you sardonic old bachelor." And on she struts, casting a warning glance at me as I shape my features into a wicked sinile.

I see you are struck with a gay little party that is now approaching. You are excusable; shall I present you? There is J, with the must lustrous complexion you ever saw, whose face has the beautiful repose of an odalisque's. What perfect brown hair lies over her forehead and clings lovingly around a contour of face which would be massive, were it not so exquisitely feminine. Her almost blonde beauty contrasts finely with the bilious face of the truly gentlemanly cavalier who accompanies her, whose keen and dark eye is wonderfully softaned just now by his emotions of gallantry. There too is Hwhose unexceptionable elegance of figure and grace of motion may not strike you, but will create in her favor a prepossession which you may not take pains to explain to yourself. Come, are you not in love with those deep womanly eyes, and those lips that part and meet with such indescribable sweetness? Note her smile, too. It is not merely a superficial look of delight that you observe. You seem rather to be looking through a long vista of bright thoughts and emotions, into her very heart. Come, bespeak her. I forewarn you that she has the gift of words, both witty and wise. You will hardly find her match for felicity and propriety of language, although it is any thing but the prim stupidity, elegantly expressed, which characterizes the common sort of "sensible" women. If her thoughts do come first from the frigid zone of her intellect, clear and crystalline, they always pass through the

tropical region of her heart before they escape in words. Ah, Dux! when a woman really has the power of touching expression and has a rich treasure of feminine wisdom and feeling to express, is she not dangerous? But His too full of self-respect to play the game of a belle, and to exchange with every customer the small change of flattery, which, by the way, is generally coined of brass. She does not court to be courted. She may even annoy you by the sincere estimation in which she seems to hold her own dignity of character. She may seem too little impressible; but, I assure you, that no one will respect you sooner or more warmly, if you deserve it. In short, do not fear that she will patronize and repel you, or, on the contrary, hope to make a toy of her. As a family secret, I may tell you that she is something of an adventuress, and means hereafter to adorn the first circles of Patagonia.

The lady with the large, shrewd, grey eyes, so observing and yet so indifferent, next to II, is her sister, although you would hardly believe it. Yes, you look a little tender or so, as you fix your gaze on her, but beware. You may be sure that she will presume nothing in your favor, and is as hard to catch as a Will-o'-the-Wisp. Poor R- took a ride on horseback with her the other day, and his "injured innocence" has not yet recovered from the shock she gave it, by deriding the difficulty which he experienced in putting her foot in the stirrup. With his wonted gallantry, he insisted that it was so small he could not find it.

But here approaches a live Saratoga belle, the belle of all the newspaper scribblers. Don't expect beauty, for her face is decidedly lunar in its contour, and her figure is rather oblong: nor youth, for she has a daughter just emerging into society; but an elasticity of manner which attracts curiosity and relieves every body who comes into contact with her: a resolution to be agreeable to all, which enables her to pour out pleasant and gratifying things as from a cornucopia: a long list of graceful accomplishments which enables her to adapt herself instantly to the taste of almost any one. Even if you are keen enough to analyze her manner of charming, you will hardly be philosopher enough to resist it. You will even respect that steady determination to please, and thank her from your soul for having made you esteem yourself so heartily for a few moments. She might not tax the deep and delicate sensibilities of your love, but she will make you call her a marvellously fine woman, and say amen to every praise offered to her. Nor is this instance a peculiar one. Go to the brilliant assembly, and you will find that your dark-eyed, classic-looking sultana, who would be worshipped in a tableau vivant, but depends on her beauty alone for conquests, will mope, in torments of jealousy, before the evening is over, if she has for a rival an intrepid, fluent, skilful, accomplished woman, without beauty,

who is determined to captivate by active demonstrations rather than by languishing vanity and coquettish repose.

But that Neptune of a boy, who has been flourishing for hours the trident, with which he proffers tumblers of medicated water to the passing guests, is rapidly losing his customers: the breakfast-bell, "the tocsin of the soul," is pealing, and you and I must away.

Do you wish to know how we spend our time in Saratoga? My principal occupations are eating, and reading penny papers, which, as they cost six cents apiece here, have become, all of a sudden, a great luxury. Sometimes I saunter up to see the ladies roll at ten-pins, and have the exquisite pleasure of passing the balls to them. and of keeping up a perpetual discussion of the size of the balls, the result of the bowling, and the chances of victory. An angel of mercy could not be more severely taxed for consolation, or an old Roman parasite for approbation than I. Every bad bowl must be attributed to the irregularity of the alley or the protrusion of a flounce,-in short, to any thing but want of skill: while every successful blunder is to be received with enthusiastic gestures and the highest compliment to the dexterity of the fair bowler. It is wonderful how patiently and long ladies will take this joke. It sometimes seems as if their womanly gentleness would interpose in favor of the poor alley, every plank of which must have received from me a thousand disinterested anathemas at the very least.

At the " United States," we have the " Redowa:" not only under the glare of blazing lamps in the evening, but even in the morning. The vulgarizing desire for ostentation of gayety, already discussed at length, spoils the manners of some people. Fops and foppesses are seen here to outrage decorum by twirling around the parlors during the forenoon in graceless mazes. 1 never liked the Polka, as a whole, but the Redowa seems ten-fold worse. What the former seems to lack in decency, the latter wants in elegance. One, (as it is practised in this country,) is, where it came from, a low camp fandango, not tolerated in refined circles. The Redowa, I suspect, must have been originated in cellars and underground revels, where enjoyment is valued according to its boisterousness, amusement according to its rudeness, and motion according to its extravagance. The extended arms,-making men and women look like crazy guide-boards, the furious whirl, the mincing tattoo of steps, the rampant bounds, cannot be graceful. Fair faces and fine dresses cannot redeem the dance from being ridiculous. How meanly does it compare with the soft, thrilling, voluptuous mazes of the waltz! which, however objectionable, (perhaps the more so on account of its refinement,) must be confessed to be the most elegant demonstration of human grace in the world.

But the dance is for the gay some of the sober people are obliged to have recourse to horse-races and balloon ascensions. Why Saratoga horse-races are so much more moral than others, I cannot say, unless it be because they are infinitely worse-as races-than all others. The Saratoga" turf," I must allow, presents some eccentric features, and I can only recommend it as being the cheapest humbug, to which miserable people at the Springs can resort when it is absolutely necessary to assassinate time. It only costs a shilling, which can be paid to any loafer, who is disposed to take off his hat and turn amateur beggar for a few moments. Having settled this matter with public opinion, you can enjoy the brilliant scene with a clear gentlemanly conscience. To give greater solennity to the hoax, the managers always exhaust an honr beyond their advertised time in settling extra preliminaries; which interim you can beguile with listening to swearing enough to satisfy you fully, that you are in a Christian country. (Hard swearing is unknown elsewhere.)

All at once, the signal is given. The horses start under whip and spur. The spectators cheer. O, glorious sight! Your interest and excitement are repaid by seeing one horse distance the other within the first fifteen rods :un er circumstances, too, which leave no doubt in your mind that the managers of the race know beforehand it must be

In short, one fast horse in capital enough for Saratoga sharpers This gives an excuse for getting up a race, and they do not care if the rival nag is the worst specimen of horse-flesh in the country. Imagine Alexander the Great and Don Quixote backing Bucephulas against Rosinante, and you have a tolerable, although too exalted an idea of a Saratoga horse-race.

And here let me ask you, Dux, if you can explain how it is that sedate and moral people, who when at home would sooner suffer martyrdom than attend a ball, find their way to such places as racinggrounds and circuses during their visits to Saratoga? Is it because they are so delighted at being released from home-cares and the jealous eyes of home-friends, that like truant school-boys, they are ready to accept any thing that bears the name of pleasure, and to work quite hard to get it? Certain it is that such persons usually select the most impotent and insipld of public recreations, to while away time with. People, who live for pleasure, instead of travelling once a year for it, have better taste in selecting pleasures. They do not go to four-penny theatres and poor races. On the other hand, I have seen the whole family of a New England deacon at a circus in Saratoga, set, like “ gems of purest ray serene," in a mosaic of black, yellow and dirty faces, listening to rude jeers and shouts from the auditory, and the coarsest jokes of Mr. Merriman, and breathing an atmosphere which drove me instan

ter into the open air, leaving behind me a whole lesson in human nature unstudied.

All that is necessary to a balloon ascension at Saratoga is, to extract half a dollar a-piece from about four hundred people for standing up three hours within a wall of canvass, and seeing the slow process by which the failure of the experiment is insured beyond all cavil: while if it should happen to succeed, those who stand outside and do not pay at all, have quite as favorable a location as spectators. Then the oilsilked bag is carefully half-filled with gas, after a laborious trial. This is enough to raise the machine off from the ground, provided nobody steps into it. The chords are cut. The daring æronau rises full four feet, stakes his flag, and is then obliged to drop it as soon as may be to hold on to the ropes. For down he comes, with marked emphasis, amid the jeers of the crowd. He then goes to work with great anxiety and assiduity to throw out ballast. Up he rises, sweeps off with the wind among the crowd inside of the canvass, who scream with apprehension until he strikes a knoll of ground three feet high, where hi, balloon is at rest safely as Noah's Ark on Ararat. All the spectators are highly satisfied-that they have been disgustingly cheated.

Adieu, Dux; 1 have reached the limit assigned you for my epistle, and must take an abrupt leave, without even a snatch of poetry or a postscript.