the abstract, without such reference, I confess no philanthropic object
ever struck me as so completely illustrative of the principles of true
benevolence. This was, in fact, returning good for evil, in the most
Christian sense of the word; "chastening as a father chasteneth." It
would appear that a convict must be unnaturally hardened not to quit
this abode a better man. Let him arrive here, however outcast, vile,
ignorant, knowing no honest calling, broken in health and savage in
spirit, here he will find teachers, masters, physicians, all provided
for him by the community whose laws he has violated. His spirit is
soothed, his health is recruited, his ignorance enlightened: he is made
master of a sufficient calling; and, when restored to society, is able
to contrast the value of the meal earned by the honest sweat of his brow
with the bitter fruit of idleness and crime.

Such is the result contemplated by the benevolent promoters of the
prison system of this country, which everywhere has societies of
voluntary philanthropists who watch over and study to improve it. One is
ashamed, after this, to avow a doubt of its success in practice, since
it almost amounts to an admission that man is indeed the brute our
European legislators appear to think him.

The subject is, at least, one that demands from England a rigid inquiry,
when we call to mind what a den of debasement, what a sink of soul and
body, a prison yet is amongst the most civilized and humane people in
the world.

TREMONT HOTEL.

My last, though not least, lion of Boston is the "Tremont House," which
being, in my opinion, the very best of the best class of large hotels in
the Union, I shall select as a specimen.

With externals I have little to do, although the architecture of this
fine building might well claim a particular description: its frontage is
nearly two hundred feet, with two wings about one hundred each in depth:
it is three stories high in front above the basement, and the wings are
each of four stories: the number of rooms, its proprietor informed me,
amount to two hundred, independent of kitchens, cellars, and other
offices: it contains hot and cold baths, and is, in fact, wanting in
nothing essential to the character of a well-contrived hotel.

The curious part of the affair, however, to a European, and more
especially to an Englishman, is the internal arrangement of such a huge
institution, the machinery by which it is so well and