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largest liberty in perambulating the streets of the city, but protests against the same privi lege being granted too freely, in favor of leo pards, tigers, and similar gentry. Did we not occasionally stumble over a porker, we should fear the extinction of our aldermanic defend ers. Nevertheless, too much of a good thing is objectionable, and to see the leopard, would be worse than seeing the elephant —even the threat “Rajah,” recently despatched, m Eng land, for killing his keeper, in resentment of ill-treatment. Think of the old chap’s merely coughing a little when they gave him prussic acid enough to destroy a respectable army, and merely shaking his sides, after receiving a volley of fifteen musket balls! The mur dering of the poor fellow was about as sensi ble as the breaking of a chair, over which one may have stupidly bruised his shins. — His keeper abused him and he resented the affront. ’Twas not what a Christian elephant would have done, to be sure, but then ’twas natural. The government should have taken him in charge and prejudiced his mind against the chartists. What an efficient “ special constable” he would then have made in the next “demonstration!” Had the incident oc curred within the jurisdiction of our tender hearted Governor of New York, the sentence would surely have been commuted to impris onment for life! On Friday last, the semi-annual examina tion of the pupils of the Blind Asylum took place, to the great delight of the visitors, and the credit of all concerned in the institution. Many interesting papers were read by the pu pils, and some pretty original songs were .sung; among the latter a sweet poem upon the Restoration of Peace, by Miss Crosby, the laureate of the establish ment. The Blind Asylum is among the most valuable institutions, and is one of the great points of interest to all strangers who visit the city. A meeting which was to have been held the other evening, in commemoration of the taking of the Bastile, has been postponed, in conse quence of the late intelligence from Paris. The returned New York Volunteers, who are encamped near Fort Hamilton, are said to be in a state of extreme destitution. Some measures are on foot for their relief. Mr. Bennett of the Herald , in urging their claims upon the public sympathy and aid, offers to head a subscription, with the liberal donation of one hundred dollars. A distinguished literary friend has kindly furnished me with the following interesting items of intelligence in the book world: Literature is almost driven from the public mind, by the more exciting details of the newspaper press, just as the the theatres are closed in Paris, by the more imposing specta cles of the streets. But irrespective of Revo lutions, one or more of which is served up every morning with one’s breakfast, literature has been of late “off” her high library pe destal; the wit and philosophy of the day seeking immediate audience in Punch or the Times. It is a tendency which might have been looked for in connection with railways and telegraphs. Eveiy form of literature is absorbed in the Press. A few books how ever. are announced abroad. Anew and en larged edition of the works of Lord Bacon, to be edited by Cambridge scholars, is in pre paration ; the philosophical and literary works under the charge of Robert Leslie Ellis and James Spedding; those relating to law in the hands of Douglas Denon Heath; these departments, it is calculated, will be ready for press in about two years. The “occasional works” will be diligently sought for, and many will be now got together for the first time. The long expected History of England, by Macaulay, is to be immediately forthcom ing. Mrs. Jamison’s new book on Art, is promised for July. Two new volumes of Charles Lamb*6 Letters, will be issued this season, under the editorship of Serjeant Tal fourd. Monkton Milnes’ Life and remains of SOHSITSISIBIBI flainr-Bl&&&¥ iBASSirVg. Keats, “dainty books” is also just ready. At home, the new revised edition of Ir ving’s works, is the most agreeable thing we hear of. Knickerbocker’s History of New York, with anew preface, and additional chapters , is to appear soon. The illustrations of the series by Darley are capital. Kernot, the favorite bookseller of the Up per Ten Thousand, fashionable or literary, is mysterious over the “ forthcomings” of the next season. The publishers are not idle, and the result will be seen in due time. I owe Kernot, by the way, acknowledgements for two pamphlets, an anniversary poem by Mr. St. John, before the Philolexican Society of Columbia College, quite of the standard order of cleverness of those satirical productions, and anew publication, a narrative of adven tures in the Pacific, by a party of fugitives from a whaler, written by James A. Rhodes. It is another version of the stories so well told by Herman Melville, though in a different style, and reads with interest on the old un- w r earable stock of Robinson Crusoe. Now, my dear sir, I think that in the length of this epistle, I have atoned for the brevity of my latter sheets, and that you will be ready to exclaimin Shakspearian measure, “ Hold! enough!” FLIT. . <El)c (Kssatjist. For the Southern Literary Gazette. TALE READERS AND TALE WRITERS. BY THOMAS W. LANE. While the tale readers of the present day may be justly congratulated on their good fortune in having such a number and variety of tales at their disposal, the tale writers, pen ny-a-liners, who fill the emptiness of their stomachs by increasing the emptiness of the magazines, deserve a large share of our pity, and sympathy. Every interesting situation in which two lovers can be placed has been described —every distressing scene in which widow's, and orphans in a state of semi-nudi ty, could figure, has been pictured forth—Ev ery weakness of poor human nature has been pointed out; every hair-breadth escape, every interesting incident, act, event, and prod igy, that nicely or awkwardly, legitimately or illegitimately, could be woven into the thread of a story, has been worked in, and the looms must soon stop for the want of more raw ma terial. The tale writer’s profession is gone; he must serve anew apprenticeship, and in stead of inventing as formerly, must learn to metamorphose—to change time, incident, and locality—to plagiarize without detection —in short, to glean from the great fields, whose crops have long ago been garnered, and by a skilful putting together of fragments compose a tolerable whole. Some of the shrewder writers have already found this out, and our most popular modern tales are but mo saics, so ingeniously put together too, that the best read man, though he may be con scious of having seen the tale before is not a ble to say when or where it first met his eyes. We have love stories by thousands, all fra grant with the odor of flowers, and silver ed with moonshine, holding up to public gaze some bewhiskered hero upon his knees on a perfumed handkerchief in the parlor, or mounted on a coal black steed, whereby the heads of half the girls in the land are turned, and they are left to sigh away an ex istence, in hunting for just such a hero for a husband, as Mr. Augustus Adolphus Hamil ton ; while their highest aim, and dearest wish is to assimilate themselves with Mr. A. A. ITs sweet-heart. Young men too, are equally injured by reading these milk-and water stories. Hours upon hours are wasted in tying a cravat, arranging the hair, or in giving that exquisite curl to the moustache , which made Mr. Howard (the hero of the last new novel,) such a lion among the la dies. They are brought to consider spotless hands, more desirable than spotless characters, and instead of exerting themselves for fame, or fortune, are doing their best to make “love fly out at the window,” by a romantic elope ment, to be followed by a failure of the “ pot to boil.” We have sea-stories full of nautical terms, and eulogiums on “ the sea! the sea!” writ ten to show the privations of sailors; assum ing that they are not ihe detestable objects they are represented to be, that they all do not swear like sailors, &c. &c. These tales are interspersed with interesting descriptions of how the ocean looked on certain evenings in the year 18 , together with the longi tude and latitude, in which an imaginary sea captain found himself on those occasions, and the depth of the ocean at those precise spots. We have Revolutionary stories depicting the horrors of war, and describing the unpleasant feelings of a deserter, who on a fine morning in May, reluctantly consented to act as bulls eye to a dozen blundering fellows who imag ine a man's heart to lie in his legs, and aim accordingly. Fairy land has been rifled of all its mysteries, and the fairies themselves sitting upon mushrooms, or reclining in half open roses, are exposed to the vulgar gaze of boys and girls, by certain enterprising pub lishers for the sum and consideration of twenty-five cents for every such exposure. Domestic tales are written in which authors vie with each other in their efforts to describe in the most charming manner, the order in which cups and saucers, or pots and kettles should be kept—how Mrs. B. hung up her curtains, and at what hour of the night Mr. B. ought to come home in order to preserve the happiness and peace of the family. Nay, a certain celebrated writer has even gone into the counting-house, and there among day books, and ledgers, written a long-winded story to prove that if the out-goings exceed the in-comings, a man will never become rich, and is in a fair way to become poor. It was within the limits of supposition however to imagine that when the tale wri ters, starting from the top, had penetrated to the bottom of society, and had sketched all the intermediate classes, they would be de barred from all further progress, but they have gone down, down, lower, and up high er and higher. The most startling events that once excited the imagination are become dull and stale—life is no longer a chequered scene, but a dull common place—the world is not now a stage, nor are men and women players, but the scene, must now be laid out of this miserable planet. Nothing will now please the vitiated taste of the tale devourers unless it be a story, either mysterious, diabol ic, amphibious, or anti-mundane, to prove which we need only state that the most pop luar book of the day is, “ Revelations by a Clairvoyant,” in which are described the manners and customs of one of the planets (we forget which, but think it is Jupiter,) that do our pitiful planet the honor to keep it company around the sun. Tales ’were once written to tickle the fan cy, and charm the imagination —they merely served to chronicle the tricks of Cupid, or the exploits of adventurers, but they are now used as vehicles for conveying a moral, or a maxim—a sort of gilding to make the pill more easily swallowed. Mankind are led to virtue and wisdom, by short and easy stages over a level turnpike, instead of jogging a long in those dry dull conveyances in which they were wont to ascend those rugged mounts. Sir Robert Peel, it is said, has learn ed some lessons in diplomacy, and statesman ship, by the perusal of a modern novel, while a certain learned pontiff has not thought it beneath him to give his attentive considera tion to the pages of the “ Wandering Jew.” There must soon be an end, if not to book making, at least to tale-writing. The tale writer will soon be merged iuto the poet, who §i!*, t “ . k *w£r “gives to airy nothings a local habitation and a name,” or else, they must treat old tales, as milliners do old bonnets, alter, re model, and hide the seams beneath heavy masses of ribbon and flowers. Sketches of £ifc. For the Southern Literary Gazette. THE LISTENER,—NO. V. NOT BY CAROLINE FRY. OLD MAIDS. Whatever I may here say about that class of community, whom we are wont to call “old maids,” l wish it well understood that I would not for the world throw contempt on the sisterhood, for in their number are some, whom I love and respect equally with the most amiable and honorable people in the world. She who is to be the principal object of this sketch, has indeed gained a right by her peculiarities, to the title of “old maid,” in the somewhat opprobious sense of the phrase; but did we know the whole history of her long life, doubtless we should find that many apologies might be made for her, distorted as her humanity has become. In truth, even in her worst aspect, an old maid is as much to be pitied as censured.— Her heart is most generally a sealed book, into which few are permitted to look, even were they inclined to do so. Well be it for her happiness and her reputation, if the cher ished memories there preserved, are those of tenderness and true affection. Well —if there is no cankering disappointment—no sourceof bitterness turning her heart against those whose lot is happier than her own. It must indeed, be a gentle nature and a loving spirit, which can resist the influence of a memory of injustice done to the treasures of love poured out upon an unworthy object. Again, the unselfish devotion of a wife, more than repaid by the love and confidence of the being who calls it forth, never has a roused her, from the dream of her own com fort and well-being; the deep fountains of a mother’s love, so fertilizing and enriching, has never flowed over the heart, keeping it fresh and genial. Can we then wonder if she is apt to be harsh and uncharitable in her judge ment of the world ! Can we wonder that when her own affairs terminate in so limited a circle, she officiously employs herself with those of her friends and acquaintances! She must be supplied with some object of interest, or she would stagnate in the midst of a busy world. It is therefore that the stream of her existence blends with others, and the mingling being met with resistence, the waters of both become turbid, and the “old maid,” the cause of all this trouble, is soon looked upon with distrust and aversion—poor soul! The lives of some, have been very different from this pitiable state. I well remember pas sing a month or two, when a child, at the house of Miss Mary Alford, a true “old maid,” if forty years of single life could make her such, but her heart was as young as that of a girl in her teens —and oh ! how much richer in its wealth of love —how much nobler in its well directed purposes for the good of others! I was in poor health, and needed country air and exercise; now was she not good to burden herself with an in dulged, and therefore spoiled—a sickly, and therefore ill-tempered child. I know now the reason why she did it, and that knowledge adds much to my reveience for the woman capable of such an act. My mother had been the dearest friend of her girlhood, and my fa ther was the 011I3’ man who had ever moved her heart to love; she had sacrificed herself to the happiness of those so dear to her, and found her own in their blessedness. For their sakes she was willing to give me a mo ther’s tenderness and care. How vividly I can call to mind the firft time I ever saw her. After a ride of twenty 91