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<nhat my hair is naturally of a light chestnut color, also my eyebrows. My eyes have no very determinate color, being of a light hazle. My skin you see is fair. On my first visit to Miss Octavia I came naturally, that is, as I was, only l had an imperial and mustaches, which I cut off to act the part of a lady. I was compelled to practise a ruse in order to gain time sufficient for the purpose of preparing female apparel. This was done by heavily bribing a mantua maker. The curls I assumed to hide my hair more completely. As Mansfield I only put on those great whiskers, and mustaches to give the nose a different appearance. Over my own hair I wore that wig, and darkened my eyebrows,” he continued rubbing the paint from that part of his countenance with his handkerchief. “Os course I assumed a different deportment and style of dress in each character. Now do you wonder at my not bringing my sister?” Octavia was silent. Admiration made her nold her peace. “We made Edgar -and May confidents,” said Arthur “for the furtherance of such a scheme. And they both acted very discreet ly. Did I not tell you, that Fred, should whisper something in your ear? —Fred, can say that he has not broken a single promise. And we can all say that we are very happy.” Not many months adter the above conver sation, Frederick Stanley, and Arthur Gum ming led their respective brides to the altar, where amid those that were collected together on that happy May-day, they were united. Arthur did not forget his wedding ring, nor did an t/ of them cease to remember that joy ous day, when collected together they formed such a pleasant “ May-Party.” £)omc (Jorrcspcmbmcc. For the Southern Literary Gazette. NEW-YORK LETTERS: NUMBER ELEVEN. Rathbun’s Hotf.l, New-York, ) July 12th, 1848. ) Mi f dear sir , —With “my heart” still “in the highlands,” I am again a denizen of Goth am, having left the mountains some few days since. I came down the Hudson in the night —and such a night! 1 hope the clerk of the weather has plenty “ more of the same sort.”’ The moon beamed most sweetly, and the fresh and cooling airs were most grateful. I de lighted myself on the deck of our noble steamer until our watery path was buried in the mighty shadows of the lofty peaks of the far-famed highlands; while behind us a sing ularly brilliant aurora borealis lent anew charm to the witching scene and hour. A friend and fellow traveler, whose chat helped to beguile the passing moments, and who was then returning from a tour on the St. Law rence, maintained the superior claims of that great stream to those of our glorious Hudson for picturesque beauty and variety. I boldly disputed every point of his argument, and would confidently accept, as arbitor in the quarrel, any truthful lover of Nature whose eye had wandered over the attractions of the rival scenes. The Hudson is the monarch of rivers, like the mighty Mont Blanc, “crowned long ago” with a diadem and wreath that cannot be easily snatched from its brow. Be fore I quite forget the Catskills, let me record a “snake story,”—true as gospel,—which happened on the day preceding my departure. I was accompanying some of the inhabitants of the clove in a ramble over the lofty ridge which frowns to the northward upon the lit tle hamlet of Palenville. This portion of these hills is the favorite resort of the rattle-snake, and you may at any time find these reptiles there if you take the trouble to look for them, as we did. After spoiling the usefulness of two large “ Bell Birds,” as the good people baptize them, one of the party called atten tion to a rattle that he had heard beneath the §© © aHIB m ft, HIT AM ©A 8 & THf £ ♦ flat rock upon which we were standing. The music was repeated, whereupon a reckless fellow, throwing off’ his coat, crept beneath the rock and dragged the “varmint” forth, coiled round his arm, while he grasped him just below his head ! As he thus reappeared, to the general horror, he dashed the snake vnth a jerk at my feet, exclaiming, “Put him in your pocket, Mr. Flit, and take him with you to New-York!” Mr. Morse’s electricity could scarcely equal the celerity with which that rock was evacuated. I myself was, as you may suppose, exceedingly slow in “pock eting” the affront! Did 1 mention to you in my last sheet that these same Palenville youths amused themselves on the “Fourth” in attempts to blast the immense rocks which crown this peak of the Catskills! I did not, in passing beneath it aftewards, miss the fa miliar faces of any of the venerable sentinels, but I am told that a terrible racket resulted from the efforts of the ambitious lads. The noise did not reach me, however, in the soli tudes of the Stoney Clove. Perhaps it was deadened by the roar of eloquence from the lips of our patriotic orators on that occasion which 1 have already described to you. But I must say good bye to the mountains, and be “in town,” though, in truth, “parting is such sweet sorrow, and I could say good night till it be morrow.” I find everything as quiet here as a mouse, excepting only the politicians and two tigers who made their escape last night from their cages in the case of “ Corporal Thomp son,” inhabiting the outskirts of Broadway. One of them has been traced to a cornfield in the vicinity, but is not yet secured, while of the other no account has reached us. Cor poral Thompson, is a noted dispenser of be verages, from pure soda and root beer to those mysterious concoctions denominated “Palo Alto smashers, “ Yera Cruz dodgers,” “Montery grape” and “Moral Suasion.” These sons of the wilderness, the tigers, he kept for the amusement of his patrons, and during the existence of the municipal laws against the vending of what good and inno cent Mrs. Malaprop calls “ arduous spirits.” He used to retail them as the ingenious Bos tonians did the “ striped pig.” Every body of course, today, as he turns a dark corner, is on the look out for stray tigers ! During the excitement the little boy standing eight feet high, in the museum saloons, is quite overlooked ! If the Herald issues an Extra, and I am every moment expecting one, I will not fail to send you a copy. On Monday night the barnburning division of the Democratic party held ward meetings to name delegates to the convention to be held on the 13th of September next, at Utica, at which time Presidential Electors are to be chosen and candidates nominated for Gover nor, Lieutenant Governor and other State offi cers. During my absence, Burton the comedian has opened the theatre formerly occupied by Pal mo as an Opera House. He has made a very promising begining and with the ‘ stars ’ he will not fail to catch, added to an efficient stock company, he will no doubt do well. The Viennoise are at present in his temple. Niblos establishment still retains the popular favor. The Steyermarchische people gave their ninth grand concert on Monday even ing. The celebrated pianist, Maurice Strak osch is also delighting us with his masterly doings upon the piano forte. E.lwin Forrest has recently returned from a verry successful professional tour in the west and south west. In Chicago he was received with great en thusiasm. The papers of that city are full of his praise, and I find in their columns, the eloquent address with which the distinguish ed orator took his leave of the worthy peo ple. Speaking of valedictories, reminds me that between your readers and myself “ there hath been and must be ” such a word as “farewell;” and circumstances demand that upon this occasion it should be spoken quick ly —yet, Farewell! FLIT. Southern (Eclectic. The annexed Poem is from the pen of a lady now resident among us. It was printed some years ago in one of the local papers, and has been recall ed to our notice by a friend, whose prefatory re marks we would have ventured to publish but for want of space. The Stanzas, however, need no introduction to ensure them a welcome [Ed. As for man, hi 9 days are as grass—as the flower of the field, so he flourisheth, for the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof, shall know it no more. [Psalms of DaVid. Man’s life is like the summer grass, That seems a moment to surpass In verdant brightness—all below — The next cut down, by one fell blow Os death’s keen scythe, ’t is lightly cast Withered, and dead, before the blast! Man’s life is like the opening rose That seeks a moment to disclose, Its blushing beauties to the sun, Exhales its per/ utne —and is gone ! Unnoticed sleeps uj on the spot, Where late it bloomed ; unknown, forgot! Man’s love is like this grass—this flower — ’Twill bloom and wither, in an hour, A moment last within the rays, Os beauty’s smile, and fashion’s blaze, But fortune’s frown—or sorrow’s blast Leaves not a vestige of the past ! PETRARCH AND LAURA. BY THE LATE RICHARD 11. WILDE. Os all the women who have been deified by their poetic adorers, Laura seems to us one of the least interesting. Why, then, did Pe trarch love her ? If we consult our own ex perience and observation, we shall not ask that question, nor its converse —why did she not love him? Love is commonly the result of accident or caprice, rarely of any intellectu al merit. The hope to win it by celebrity, though frequently indulged, is among the vainest of illusions, and Laura may have smiled at such a folly without being unusu ally stupified or insensible. The greater part of her sex, like the greater part ol ours, have no just conception or ardent love of glory.— In general they hold immortality as cheap as the mother of mankind or the widow of Na poleon. There have been remarkable and splendid examples to the contrary, it is true, hut fortu nately or unfortunately for us, and for them selves, the mass remains unchanged. Many have indeed been inseparably associated with undying names, often undeservedly, some times in their own despite; but most, being of the earth, earthly, would have lost that privi lege, had not the weakness of vanity or ten derness preserved the memorials of their tri umph, and thus rescued them from merited oblivion. Nina, who would be called nothing but the Nina of Dante, is the exception, not the rule. Even she, perhaps, was thought very naughty in her lifetime, and if she sac rificed temporary good repute to long ages of celebrity, had nearly made the sacrifice in vain, since, though a poetess herself, she was so little of a critic as to choose Dante da Maiano an indifferent versifier. Far be it from us to malign the fairer jiart of creation, to whom every rhymer is a born bondsman; but in truth and prose, the condition of women ex cludes her for the most part from these lofty aspirations. Shut up within the narrow cir cle of petty vanities, household cares, frivo lous amusements, devotional exercises, and trivial occupations, she rarely feels inclined to look beyond it, and if she does, is visited with the anger of all her sisterhood. There is lit tle reason to believe that Laura burst the spell, or was in any wise exempted from the common destiny, except by the fortune of a more illustrious lover. Her long continued system of alternate encouragement and re pulse, so delicately managed and adroitly blended, as always to keep alive his hopes, yet always disappoint them, may not deserve to be stigmatized as the refinement of heart less coquetry, but certainly excludes the idea of warm and sincere attachment. The very ascendancy she acquired over him, by her constant self-possession and invariable calm ness, indicates the action of a more phlegmat ic, on a more impassioned nature. For the rest, discretion, sweetness, good sense, reli gious faith, and serenity, make up the sum of an amiable and tranquil disposition, as femi nine as you please, and as remote as possible from all our early, romantic conceptions. Could the veil of ages be withdrawn, she might be found either frail or cold, and, whichever the alternative, must loose a por tion of her worshippers. Now, on the con trary, those who are not satisfied with either part of the dilemma have still open to their faith the further supposition, that Laura, ten derly loving Petrarch, concealed or governed her affection for one-and-twenty years, never driving him to d eß P&* r by her rigour, nor be traying the secret of her weakness. But whether she was enamoured and virtuous, or only coquetish, prudent or indifferent, it must not be inferred she took no pleasure in her lover’s praises. Who is offended by a deli cate and well turned compliment?—or what woman, however insensible to the beauties of poetry, ever failed to admire a sonnet to her own eye-brow? Love is not kindled by rhyme,* but self-love is fed by it, nor should we without reflection condemn Laura for not valuing more highly, or making a more grate ful return for the offering. We behold in Pe trarch the restorer of learning, the creator of a new poetry, the beautifier of a language which is all melody. She saw in him only a persevering sonneteer, who annoyed her with complaints, or soothed her by flattery. To up he appears with the glory of five centuries. Could he have laid it all at her feet, possibly she mighthave yielded. With the confidence of genius he oftened promised her immortali ty. But how could she believe him? Did he always believe himself? So far from it, he at one time set little value on his love verses, building his hopes of fame upon his Latin po ems. The lady whose apothesis has been made by the love and poetry of Petrarch, there is every reason to believe, was any thing but happy. His devotion, which alone has em balmed her memory, we may rea lily suppose,, brought upon her both envy and censure.— The propriety of her conduct is said indeed to have been such as to defy the gossips ot Avignon. The offence of being beautiful and idolized, however, is rarely expiated even by an abandonment of the heart’s affections. Our contemporaries ever judge us harshly. The living rarely get credit for their real worth. Nay, they are often hated for theory virtues by which they eclipse others, while, in the eyes of posterity, every fault and almost eve ry crime is absolved by greatness. Laura we may believe, if she really loved Petrarch, sac rificed her attachment to duty or to reputation, though she was unable or unwilling to fore go the incense offered to her charms. The sacrifice was in vain, save to her own con science, for Ugo, her husband, was harsh and jealous, and so little attached to her memory that he married shortly after her death ; while her daughter, Ogiera, so far forgot the mater nal example, even in her mother’s liietime, that the honour of the family obliged them to shut her up in a convent. Thus the celebri ty of Laura, arises from a homage which it was weakness, perhaps, worse, to allow, while her virtues were inadequate to insure her domestic happiness, and most certainly alone would never have preserved her from oblivion, So strange are the caprices of fame and fortune, so uncertain and inconsequent the judgments of mankind. (Eclectic of il)it. ELECTRICITY AS A TEMPERANCE AGENT. BY WM. C. RICHARDS. In a neighboring village we w'ere once amusing ourself and a few friends with a va riety of experiments in electricity, and the door of the room standing open, a notorious drunkard staggered in and stood eyeing our movements witn a vague yet fixed gaze. The electric battery seemed especially to engage his attention, and as the vivid spark flashed out at its discharge,he started back but instant ly, rubbing his hands, approached nearer as if to examine the strange object ; at the same time addressing us by name—he v/as vyell known to all—he demanded in a hiccupping strain — “W-what the d-d-deuce do you c-call this here-f-fezz-i-t-y p-p-pop-b-bang thing?” “It is an electrical battery, Boozy,” said we. “ A tea-ki-kittle, what?” returned he with a drunken leer. But it was in vain that we prompted him; he could not master the long word, and finally, out of patience, he stamp ed his foot and exclaimed — “ W-well the k-kritically thing b-b-be-d-d ----d—d! W-what do ye d-do w-with it? ’ “ We make drunken men sober, Boozy, said a friend, desirous of haying some fun. for which indeed we were all ripe. Boozy looked <it us a few moments, and then rolling up his shirt sieves, and extending his brawny arm, he replied : “ D-d-damn it, th-then s-s-sober m-m-me!” We accordingly lost no time in charging the battery; dnd Boozy without the least hesi tation grasped the hook with one hand, and at our bidding fearlessly approached his other to the glittering knob. The shock was heavy 83