kept very clean. The side walks are paved with bricks, of a brighter and richer color than those made of our clay. They look as if they had been painted. In our public squares, the walks are graveled; but they present a very singular red appearance, looking as if they had been strewn with bark from a tannery. When I first came here, it seemed very strange to go into a store and see half a dozen young ladies waiting upon customers; but now it seems quite in order, for every dry goods store is attended by female clerks. In New York city such a thing is unknown. Philadelphia is the place to enjoy life, and New York the place to get rich. I have been to Baltimore this summer, and I had an opportunity of observing some of the peculiarities of the more southern cities. There seems to be a listlessness, and want of energy, when compared with New York. There is nothing like the "go-a-headativeness" and enterprise of the New Yorkers. When I looked upon the vast tracts of land in Maryland lying waste, I thought, if the enterprise of the old Empire State was brought to bear upon these sterile regions, the waste places would soon become a "living heritage." For miles and miles, as you pass on the railroad, you see the same state of things, nothing like thrift and prosperity. These copses are worn-out land, permitted to lie waste for a number of years, and then re-subdued, and brought under cultivation. If these plantations were at the North, the Yankee industry, I think,

would keep up their vitality. The planters live in isolation, remote from each other, and seem to have no more intercourse than feudal lords. Not unfrequently the barn stands between the house and the road, which to my notion is a want of taste. The servants live, in many instances, in snug one story buildings, with flourishing gardens attached to them, of which, I am told, they have the entire avails. Another peculiarity of Maryland is riding on horseback instead of in a carriage. In many parts of the State they send their daughters to school in this way, carrying their baggage on another horse. It looked quite primitive, to see the women galloping off with great bundles attached to the horns of the saddle.

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PULPIT PENCILINGS.

I. REV. STEPHEN OLIN, D. D.

(December, 1845.)

I went recently to the Madison Street Church, to hear Dr. Olin, President of the Wesleyan University; and as I neglected it at the time, I will now pen my impressions of the preacher.

I think President Olin is the Hercules of the Methodist Episcopal Church. He seems to be unlike any other preacher in America. Every great man, it is said, has some remarkable peculiarity. Peculiarity is thought to be a primary quality of greatness. The properties which a man possesses in common with other men, will never attract the notice of the world. To be distinguished-to produce a sensation, one must exhibit some rare characteristic-perform some strange achievement-originate some novel theory or enterprise. Be it, then, set down as an axiom, that greatness is always peculiar. And what is Dr. Olin's peculiarity? The superiority of his logic? Others argue as well. The vigor and vividness of his fancy? Others paint as good

a picture. The lofty tone of piety he displays? Others, it is hoped, live as near to God. What is it then? A question this, less difficult to ask than to answer. But I will try:—

First, then: Dr. Olin is a thinker-not a mere declaimer-one who thinks deeply, earnestly, on every subject which he attempts, and thoroughly imbues his mind with the truth before he appears in the pulpit-one who is capable of thinking as few men can—who has accustomed himself to thinking, and has a huge apparatus for thinking.

Secondly: All his intellectual powers--so admirably balanced and blended-are brought into requisition in every sermon, and their action is delightfully harmonious. There is neither too much, nor too little, of any single quality. The judgment and the imagination—a pure taste and a warm heart— hold each other in beautiful equipoise throughout the discourse.

Thirdly: The crowning circumstance is the earnestness of the speaker. He is a man of gigantic stature, and has a heart of corresponding dimensions. He throws his whole soul into every sentence. There are no breaks-no breathing places—in the sermon. From beginning to end, it is all one paragraph. His sentences are long and heavy, like those of Dr. Chalmers; whom, perhaps, he resembles no less in the ardor of his delivery. He is too much in earnest to break up what he has to say into periods. He opens his great soul upon the audience, and it is a

fountain of living waters. The current of grand, impassioned thought rolls on like the eternal thunder of Niagara. Once thoroughly roused, every fibre of his huge frame seems quivering with intense excitement. Half the time, he is on tiptoe; hands stretched aloft, as if he would pluck down the stars. I know of no man who speaks with so much ard as Dr. Olin-I know of but one preacher with whom I am better pleased.

II. REV. JOSEPH CASTLE, A. M.
(January, 1846.)

MR. CASTLE lives with his books, in the freezing altitudes of a transcendental philosophy, from which his friends are apt to complain of difficulty in bringing him down to the familiarities of ordinary intercourse. But you, C., seemed to make your way at once to his heart; which I am sure you could not have done, if you had not been there before. For my own part, during several days, I observed in his presence a very respectful deference; for a look of his large penetrating eye was enough to frighten the word from my tongue, and I was silent from sheer necessity. But as I became better acquainted with him, I feared him less, and loved him more, and grew prattlesome with him; and when I saw him in the pulpit, I immediately excused the cold