E left Waterford at two o'clock P.M. for Bermis's Heights, the famous battle-ground where Burgoyne was checked and defeated in the autumn of 1777, a few weeks after General Gates succeeded to the command of the northern Our conveyance was a neat little canal packet, its cabin crowded with passengers and a well-supplied dinner-table, and its deck piled with as much luggage and as many loungers as low bridges and a hot sun would allow. For a loiterer who takes no note of passing hours but to mark and mourn their excessive length, and who loves to glide along listlessly among green fields and shady woods without the disturbance of even a carriage ride, a day voyage upon a canal is really delightful, especially if the face of nature is attractive, and a pleasant companion or agreeable book assists in smoothing the passage of time. Such seemed to be the character of nearly all our fellow-passengers, pleasure from personal enjoyment being their chief object. When dinner was over, some slept some read, and every body talked to every body as freely as old acquaintances would chat. The country through which we passed is very fertile, and beautifully diversified in aspect. The plain over which the Hudson here flows is a narrow alluvial bottom, of garden richness, along the western edge of which passes the canal. Green woods and cultivated fields skirted the river on either side, and those conical hills and knolls, like western tumuli, which are prominent features from Stillwater to Sandy Hill, here begin to appear. Some of them were still covered with the primeval forest, and others were cultivated from base to summit, giving a pleasing variety to the ever-changing landscape. The dark green corn, just flowering; the wheat ears, fading from emerald to russet; the blackberries, thick in the hedges; the flowers innumerable, dotting the pasture fields, and the fragrance of the new-mown hay, scattered in wind-rows along the canal, were pleasant sights to one just escaped from the dust and din of the city, and imparted a gratification which only those can feel and appreciate who seldom enjoy it. There was one thing wanting, which leafy June would have supplied-the melody of birds. " Silence girt the woods; no warbling tongue Talks now unto the echo of the groves; Only the curled stream soft chidings kept; And little gales that from the green leaves swept Dry summer's dust, in fearful whisperings stirr'd, As loth to waken any singing bird," for it was just the season when the warblers of the forest are still, except at early morning when they carol a brief matin hymn, and then are quiet. Yet " The poetry of earth is never dead. When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run "Silence girt the woods; no warbling tongue Talks now unto the echo of the groves; Only the curled stream soft chidings kept; And little gales that from the green leaves swept Dry summer's dust, in fearful whisperings stirr'd,