The future House itself is thus painted in bright perspective:—“A fine house of wood, of two stories, with a magnificent coffee-room on the ground floor; a vast saloon on the first-floor for two roulette-tables; on the second, apartments for the manager, the servants; and the officers; the whole completely furnished, with all necessary appurtenances for warming and lighting. Tables, implements, counters, iron coffers for the specie, &c., are to be immediately exported by a sailing vessel. M. Mauduit, the manager, will accompany these immense munitions, together with subordinates of known probity. M. Charles, chief-of-the-play at Aix, in Savoy, is to follow, as director of the expedition, at the end of October, by steamer. It is expected that preparations will be complete, so as to open the Cercle in San Francisco on the 31st December of this year.” Of all the bare-faced schemes that was ever presented to a French public, this is surely the most extravagant. There is nothing in _Jerome Patûrot_ that equals it in impudence. YOUTH AND SUMMER. It is Summer. Day is now at its longest, the season at its brightest; and the heat comes down through the glowing heavens—broiling the sons of labour, but whitening the fields for the harvest. Like hapless Semele, consumed by the splendours of her divine lover, Earth seems about to perish beneath the ardent glances of the God of Day. The sun comes bowling from the Tropics to visit the Hyperboreans. The strange phenomenon of the Polar day—when for six months he keeps careering through the sky, without a single rising or setting, rolling like a fiery ball along the edge of the horizon, glittering like a thousand diamonds on the fields of ice—is now melting the snows that hide the lichens, the rein-deer’s food; and, quivering down through the azure shallows of the Greenland coast, infuses the fire of love and the lust for roaming into the “scaly myriads” of the herring tribe.