her horn--booms far away in the breeze, and finds no echo; the giant
monarchs of the forest line the road on either side, like a guard of
Titans, their nodding heads inquiring, as it were curiously, why their
ranks were thinned, and what strange meteor is that which, with clatter
and roar, rushes past, disturbing their peaceful solitude. Patience my
noble friends; patience, I say. A few short years more, and many of you,
like your deceased brethren, will bend your proud heads level with the
dust, and those giant limbs, which now kiss the summer sun and dare the
winter's blast, will feed that insatiate meteor's stomach, or crackle
beneath some adventurous pioneer's soup-kettle. But, never mind; like
good soldiers in a good cause, you will sacrifice yourselves for the
public good; and possibly some of you may be carved into figures of
honour, and dance triumphantly on the surge's crest in the advance post
of glory on a dashing clipper's bows, girt with a band on which is
inscribed, in letters of gold, the imperishable name of Washington or
Franklin.

Being of a generous disposition, I have thrown out these hints in the
hopes some needy American author may make his fortune, and immortalize
his country, by writing "The Life and Adventures of the Forest Monarch;"
or, as the public like mystery, he might make a good hit by entitling it
"The Child of the Woods that danced on the Wave." Swift has immortalized
a tub; other authors have endeavoured to immortalize a shilling, and a
halfpenny. Let that great country which professes to be able to "whip
creation" take a noble subject worthy of such high pretensions.

Here we are at Cleveland; and, "by the powers of Mercury"--this
expletive originated, I believe, with a proud barometer,--it is raining
cats and dogs and a host of inferior animals. Everybody seems very
impatient, for all are getting out, and yet we have not reached the
station,--no; and they don't mean to get there at present. Possession is
nine points of the law, and another train is ensconced there. Wood, of
course, is so dear in this country, and railroads give such low
interest--varying from six to forty per cent.--that they can't afford to
have sufficient shedding. Well, out we get. Touters from the hotels cry
out lustily. We hear the name of the house to which we are bound, and
prepare to follow. The touter carries a lantern of that ingenious size
which helps to make the darkness more visible; two steps, and you a