BOSTON.

SOME twenty years ago, when I was a resident in Boston, a friend proposed to me that we should rise at five o'clock every pleasant morning in the summer, and taking a small boat, should amuse ourselves for an hour in rowing about in the smooth and spacious harbor, viewing the city and shipping from as great a variety of points as possible. This plan was accordingly put in execution; and it afforded us for some weeks an unfailing fund of amusement. Nothing can be more beautiful and picturesque than many of the views which are thus to be obtained. The land-locked harbor is as tranquil as a mill-pond, and on its glassy surface you see reflected the beautiful forms and tapering masts of hundreds of vessels of all sizes. Some are under sail, moving tranquilly along with a gentle summer breeze. Others are receiving or discharging their cargoes; while the workmen make the air ring with that loud and monotonous chorus, by which they regulate their motions. Others are undergoing repairs in their rigging, and others lie at anchor just ready to depart for some distant foreign shore. Leaving this busy scene, we used to shoot off to a considerable distance, passing the fishing boats on their way out to sea under easy sail, and often encountering the puffing, smoking steamboat on its way to Nahant.

When completely clear of the wharves, out in the open harbor, we used to rest upon our oars and contemplate the array of city, towns and villages which surround this beautiful sheet of