I like not traveller's stories, Told at the blazing hearth, Of wild and wondrous wandering On ocean and on earth; When the wine foams in the goblet With its glorious ruby light, Imagination sparkles Proportionately bright. I loathe to see the simple eye In wonder opened wide, At hair-breadth 'scapes from shot and steel, From rock and tempest tide. As each adventure wilder grows Of the traveller's bold career, The listeners gather closer round, And cross themselves for fear; And many an anxious glance is cast Around the shadowy room, As if some horrid spectacle Lay lurking in the gloom. But I love, in my own good bark, And with my gallant crew, To wander free where fancy leads Over the waters blue: To speak with new-found people, Of the world a fresh-turned page; O! grateful bounds my spirit, That I live in a gallant age! O! if the tame ones of the earth Could taste the deep delight, Of feeling free upon the main, Whose sway is the bold man's right, The sea would swarm with rovers, Whose zeal would never sleep, While anxiously they gathered The treasures of the deep! _Montreal, August, 1837._ A. A. MACNICOL. RANDOM PASSAGES FROM ROUGH NOTES OF A VISIT TO ENGLAND, SCOTLAND, FRANCE, SWITZERLAND, AND GERMANY. NUMBER FOUR. PARIS, AUGUST, 1836.--After due deliberation respecting the various routes, viz.: first, by Southampton to Havre, and up the Seine; second, by Brighton and Dieppe; third, by steam-boat direct to Calais, or Boulogne; fourth, (the older and most frequented,) by Dover and Calais, or Boulogne; I chose the latter; and in order to be in Paris before Saturday evening, (to-day is Wednesday,) took my outside seat in the night coach to Dover. It was a fine evening, and as we rode out of London through 'the main artery of the right hand of the world,' Charing-Cross, down Whitehall and Parliament-street, over Westminster bridge, and through the villages of Deptford and Greenwich, I had the finest sunset view of the great metropolis, which I had yet seen. A glorious full-moon rose soon after we took leave of the more dazzling luminary, and of course the ride in such an evening was most agreeable. We passed through Gravesend, a bustling and noted town on the Thames, and our course lay for some distance along the margin of the river. At eleven, we stopped for supper at Rochester. The night which looked so promising, was not to be very delightful; a change came over the face of it, in the shape of a cold, thick fog; moreover, that useless and annoying animal, y'clept 'the guard,' kept us awake by a hideous bellowing with a long tin-horn; and altogether, I was abundantly satisfied with my first experiment in riding all night. Day-light came at last, just as we were entering the ancient and honorable town of Canterbury, as weary