At two o'clock P.M. Washington once more lay beneath me, with the broad Potomac beyond, looking like a currentless transparent lake, clipped about by finely wooded irregular heights, and navigated by faery barks. Such was the aspect this noble river presented, and just such the little fleet of fishing-boats scattered over its bosom, busied in pursuit of the shad and the herring, now coming into season. To my great joy, I found my excellent friend, Captain B----n, was still resident at Fuller's: my old rooms had that day been vacated for me, a few hours beheld me comfortably installed, and the rough-work of the past trip across the backbone of the continent only served to enhance my present enjoyments. The Impressions left by my present residence I have already given in an embodied form to the reader. I shall therefore beg him to accompany me back to Philadelphia, and thence _via_ Princeton to New York. _May 26th._--A lovely morning: landed from the Delaware steamer at Bordenton, and rode thence to Princeton on horseback, sixteen miles; passing two royal residences by the way, first, that of Joseph Buonaparte, and next a queer-looking, low, quadrangular building, inhabited by one of the sons of Joachim Murat, ex-king of Naples. On reaching the hospitable house to which I was bound at Princeton, I encountered the prince, paying a visit to my friend Mr. T----n. He is a tall, robust-looking personage, very fat, and fond of race-horses; but has not, as I learn, been over-lucky on the turf. One can never meet and contemplate any of these far-flung fragments of Napoleon's mighty empire without reverting with renewed interest to the founder of so much unlooked-for though brief greatness. Sheltered beneath his Titan aegis these new-made monarchs flourished, and ruffled it with the best of Europe's princes; until, grown vain of their fancied power, they deserted their shield and shelter, leaving it to abide unsustained the assault of an outraged world, and, whilst, forgetful of their origin, seeking to stand alone, were shattered into atoms by its fall! What a capricious climate is this! On Tuesday the 27th of May, I rode from Princeton to Brunswick, on a day as sultry as a July afternoon ever is in England; the heavy showers of the 25th had so saturated the sandy soil that no particle of dust could float, and the verdure of wood and valley was bright and refreshing to look upon. Yet here we are in New York, on the 28th, with large fires burning within, a north-east wind blowing without, attended by alternate sleet and showers, with fog and every other atmospheric misery most grievous to humanity. This sample of "the spring-time of the year" continued tolerably regular until