No village bell ever summoned them to prayer, where they might meet the friendly greeting of their fellow-men.

When they die, no spot sacred by ancient reverence will receive their bones--Religion will not breathe her sweet and solemn farewell upon their grave; the husband or the father will dig the pit that is to hold them, beneath the nearest tree; he will himself deposit them within it, and the wind that whispers through the boughs will be their only requiem.
But then they pay neither taxes nor tythes, are never expected to pull off a hat or to make a curtsy, and will live and die without hearing or uttering the dreadful words, "God save the king." About two miles below Cincinnati, on the Kentucky side of the river, Mr.Bullock, the well known proprietor of the Egyptian Hall, has bought a large estate, with a noble house upon it.
He and his amiable wife were devoting themselves to the embellishment of the house and grounds; and certainly there is more taste and art lavished on one of their beautiful saloons, than all Western America can show elsewhere.

It is impossible to help feeling that Mr.Bullock is rather out of his element in this remote spot, and the gems of art he has brought with him, shew as strangely there, as would a bower of roses in Siberia, or a Cincinnati fashionable at Almack's.

The exquisite beauty of the spot, commanding one of the finest reaches of the Ohio, the extensive gardens, and the large and handsome mansion, have tempted Mr.Bullock to spend a large sum in the purchase of this place, and if any one who has passed his life in London could endure such a change, the active mind and sanguine spirit of Mr.
Bullock might enable him to do it; but his frank, and truly English hospitality, and his enlightened and enquiring mind, seemed sadly wasted there.

I have since heard with pleasure that Mr.Bullock has parted with this beautiful, but secluded mansion..