gutters, as may suit her fancy best.  They generally return very regularly to give and take the morning and evening meal; though it more than once happened to us, before we were supplied by a regular milk cart, to have our jug sent home empty, with the sad news that “the cow was not come home, and it was too late to look for her to breakfast now.”  Once, I remember, the good woman told us that she had overslept herself, and that the cow had come and gone again, “not liking, I expect, to hanker about by herself for nothing, poor thing.”

Cincinnati has not many lions to boast, but among them are two museums of natural history; both of these contain many respectable specimens, particularly that of Mr. Dorfeuille, who has moreover, some highly interesting Indian antiquities.  He is a man of taste and science, but a collection formed strictly according to their dictates, would by no means satisfy the western metropolis.  The people have a most extravagant passion for wax figures, and the two museums vie with each other in displaying specimens of this barbarous branch of art.  As Mr. Dorfeuille cannot trust to his science for attracting the citizens, he has put his ingenuity into requisition, and this has proved to him the surer aid of the two.  He has constructed a pandaemonium in an upper story of his museum, in which he has congregated all the images of horror that his fertile fancy could devise; dwarfs that by machinery grow into giants before the eyes of the spectator; imps of ebony with eyes of flame; monstrous reptiles devouring youth and beauty; lakes of fire, and mountains of ice; in short, wax, paint and springs have done wonders.  “To give the scheme some more effect,” he makes it visible only through a grate of massive iron bars, among which are arranged wires connected with an electrical machine in a neighbouring chamber; should any daring hand or foot obtrude itself with the bars, it receives a smart shock, that often passes through many of the crowd, and the cause being unknown, the effect is exceedingly comic; terror, astonishment, curiosity, are all set in action, and all contribute to make “Dorfeuille’s Hell” one of the most amusing exhibitions imaginable.

There is also a picture gallery at Cincinnati, and this was a circumstance of much interest to us, as our friend Mr. H., who had accompanied Miss Wright to America, in the expectation of finding a good opening in the line of historical painting, intended commencing his experiment at Cincinnati.  It would be invidious to describe the picture gallery; I have no doubt, that some years hence it will present a very different appearance.  Mr. H. was very kindly received by many of the gentlemen of the city, and though the state of the fine arts there gave him but little hope that he should meet with much success, he immediately occupied himself in painting a noble historical picture of the landing of General Lafayette at Cincinnati.