deer from the wood and the fish from the stream, were cooked and eaten without the aid of pepper and salt-two of the greatest blessings of civilization.

And not more different than the scenes were the actors concerned in them. Step aside, good reader, and mark them as they now pass along Broadway. The first is one but little known to Indian lifeone who lives by the folly and roguery of the fools and rogues around him-a lawyer. He is clad in solemn black, as if that were ominous of the gloom which follows in his train. What would the Indian, with his untaught natural sense of right and wrong, think of this man's "quiddets, his quillets, his cases, his tenures and his tricks" and of "his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers and his recoveries ?" Alas! the poor Indian has but too deeply felt his power and the power of his brethren in the modern "black art." They conjured away his pleasant haunts "under the greenwood tree," his silver streams teeming with life, his beautiful lakes and fair hunting grounds, all" according to law," and left him a string of beads and a bottle of fire-water, a bruised heart and a broken spirit in their place. Here comes another product of the present times, neither rare nor valuable, indigenous to Broadway, and

flourishing there in peculiar rankness; a modern Sir Fopling Flutter, of whom it may well be said

with the poet,

"Nature disclaims the thing-a tailor made him!"

Mark with what affected effeminacy the full-grown baby lounges along, and the air of listless indifference or slightly awakened surprise with which it is his pleasure to regard a fine woman; but what, indeed, are all the women in the world to this caricature of manhood, in comparison with his own sweet self? Anon, another variety of the same genus appears, quite as contemptible, not so amusing, and a great deal more disagreeable. This is your ruffian-dandy; one who affects a dashing carelessness in his dress and deportment, wears good clothes in a very ill fashion, and has generally a checked shirt, a sailor's hat, or some other article of dress sufficiently different from the ordinary costume of those around him to render him an object of notoriety. Mark the easy dignity of that swagger as he rolls along, staring impudently at all the women and frowning valiantly at all the men, as if he expected every moment to be insulted, and was afraid his courage might not be screwed up" to the sticking place." A sort of personage not unlike Mike Lambourne in Kenilworth, allowing

for the modifications of the times. But lo! what comes next-dame nature's loveliest work, a woman; but, heaven and earth! how the mantuamaker has spoiled her! Why, what frippery have we here? Silks and lace, ribbons and gauze, feathers, flowers, and flounces! Not but that these are all excellent things in their way, when judiciously used; but to see them all clustered, as in the present instance, on one woman at one time, is what the proverb states to be "too much of a good thing," or what the poet terms "wasteful and ridiculous excess.' Then look at those sleeves in which her arms are lost, and that acre of hat upon her head, with a sufficiency of wheat ears and flowers on it, were they real, to feed a family or stock a garden. And see! as far as the eye can reach it rests on colors as varied and fantastical as the butterflies in summer or the leaves in autumn, in which the dear creatures have arrayed themselves. Oh, matrimony, matrimony! thou art indeed becoming a luxury in which the rich and opulent alone will be able to indulge. Nine small children might be supported, but to deck out one of Eve's daughters in this fashion three hundred and sixty-five days in the year, is what nothing but a prize in the lottery or a profitable bankruptcy is equal to. Still on they pass in throngs: the

grave and thoughtful student, abstracted from all around, building up his day-dream of fame, fortune, and beauty, and then in love with the cunning coinage of his own brain; and the rich old merchant, not in love with any thing but still in raptures, for cotton has risen an eighth. On they pass, the whiskered Don, the sallow Italian, the bulky Englishman, and the spare Frenchman, all as eager (as a professed moralist might say,) in the pursuit of business and pleasure, as if enjoyment were perpetual and life eternal: and all this where, but a little while ago, the wolf made his lair, and the savage his dwelling-place. Verily, as a profound German philosopher acutely though cautiously observed-"let a man live long enough, and it is probable he will see many changes,"

STEAM.

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.-Byron.

Modern philosophy, anon,

Will, at the rate she's rushing on,

Yoke lightning to her railroad-car,

And, posting like a shooting star,

Swift as a solar radiation

Ride the grand circuit of creation!-Anon.

I HAVE a bilious friend, who is a great admirer and imitator of Lord Byron; that is, he affects misanthropy, masticates tobacco, has his shirts made without collars, calls himself a miserable man, and writes poetry with a glass of gin-and-water before him. His gin, though far from first-rate, is better than his poetry; the latter, indeed, being worse than that of many authors of the present day, and scarcely fit even for an album; however, he does not think so, and makes a great quantity. At his lodgings, a few evenings ago, among other morbid productions, he read me one entitled "Steam," written in very blank verse, and evidently modelled after the noble poet's