Of course, with romance for a motif, he hurries them away from the republic to take refuge under the shadows and among the traces of a foreign presence on the continent—not missing, however, a shot at folly as it flies by train or steamer, nor a double stroke of satire both for the great city and the wide West, and for the misliking glance his bright little New Englandress gives them, nor an epigram or two—we hope they may draw blood—on the clerks and ticket-takers we bow down to.