I am not going to write a guide book, feeling sure that Mr. Murray will do New England and Canada, including Niagara, and the Hudson River, with a peep into Boston and New York, before many more seasons have passed by.  But I cannot forbear to tell my countrymen that any enterprising individual, with a hundred pounds to spend on his holiday—­a hundred and twenty would make him more comfortable in regard to wine, washing, and other luxuries—­and an absence of two months from his labors, may see as much and do as much here for the money as he can see or do elsewhere.  In some respects he may do more; for he will learn more of American nature in such a journey than he can ever learn of the nature of Frenchmen or Americans by such an excursion among them.  Some three weeks of the time, or perhaps a day or two over, he must be at sea, and that portion of his trip will cost him fifty pounds, presuming that he chooses to go in the most comfortable and costly way; but his time on board ship will not be lost.  He will learn to know much of Americans there, and will perhaps form acquaintances of which he will not altogether lose sight for many a year.  He will land at Boston, and, staying a day or two there, will visit Cambridge, Lowell, and Bunker Hill, and, if he be that way given, will remember that here live, and occasionally are to be seen alive, men such as Longfellow, Emerson, Hawthorne, and a host of others, whose names and fames have made Boston the throne of Western literature.  He will then, if he take my advice and follow my track, go by Portland up into the White Mountains.  At Gorham, a station on the Grand Trunk Line, he will find a hotel as good as any of its kind, and from thence he will take a light wagon, so called in these countries.  And here let me presume that the traveler is not alone:  he has his wife or friend, or perhaps a pair of sisters, and in his wagon he will go up through primeval forests to the Glen House.  When there, he will ascend Mount Washington on a pony.  That is de rigueur, and I do not therefore dare to recommend him to omit the ascent.  I did not gain much myself by my labor.  He will not stay at the Glen House, but will go on to—­Jackson’s I think they call the next hotel, at which he will sleep.  From thence he will take his wagon on through the Notch to the Crawford house, sleeping there again; and when here, let him, of all things, remember to go up Mount Willard.  It is but a walk of two hours up and down, if so much.  When reaching the top, he will be startled to find that he looks down into the ravine without an inch of foreground.  He will come out suddenly on a ledge of rock, from whence, as it seems, he might leap down at once into the valley below.  Then, going on from the Crawford House, he will be driven through the woods of Cherry Mount, passing, I fear without toll of custom, the house of my excellent friend Mr. Plaistead, who keeps a hotel at Jefferson.  “Sir,” said Mr. Plaistead, “I have everything here that a