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124 Besides this, she was an elegant and thor ough English scholar, which I will venture to say nine tenths of the accomplished young ladies of our land are not. She had read un derstandingly and with delight our standard works of History, Belles-Lettres, and Poetry. Nor, was she ignorant of the literature of oth er countries, hut more familiar, through fine translations, not only with the great names of France, Germany, Italy and Spain, but with the writings which had illuminated these names, than are those misses who have su perficially studied the grammars of those lan guages. Her mind was rich in thought en gendering thought, and every day it grew larger, and stronger, more capacious and more energetic. Thus did her character become elevated, and surrounded by lofty and beauti ful ideas, she lived anew life of which few have the power to conceive, and her soul even while fettered by the flesh, had an exis tence in a nobler world, revealed to it by good and great souls, who had already passed into the glorious state of being for which she was preparing.” “Why surely,” said Mrs. Allan, who had listened to the old lady’s earnest, almost elo quent words, with surprise and doubt, “ sure ly you do not believe, that studying books in this world makes people any better of! in a nother?” “ I certainly do believe, that when a person studies with noble aims, they are fitted by the knowledge they acquire, for a more ex alted happiness during Eternity: and I think too, that when great acquirements have been made, upon which the blessing of God has nev er been sought, when rare genius has been bestowed and it has not been sanctified to the promotion of the glory of God, the soul thus endowed, becomes susceptible of greater an guish in a world where, as the Bible teaches us, punishment is inflicted for misimproved advantages.” “Well, for my part Mrs. Bently,” said Mrs. Allan, “ I have no such ideas on the subject. 1 believe all the good or harm we can receive from studying, we will have in this world. Every one who goes to Heaven will be per fectly .happy ; more than that no one can be. .So the most ignorant person who lives with the fear of God before his eyes, and dies in humble faith that he is saved through Christ, will be just as happy in heaven, as Sir Isaac Newton or any other man who added great learning to piety.” “ Surely,” said Mrs. Bently, “the capaci ties for happiness of all who reach Heaven, will be filled and satisfied, but a soul expand ed on earth by a judicious education, and a constant communion with sublime and lofty minds, and a heart enlarged by the active ex ercise of the noblest emotions, will have much greater capacity for blessedness. But one thing I do not believe : it is this ; that the highest purpose for which we should labor and study, the promotion of the glory of God, and our own eternal happiness, is at all ad vanced by these soulless accomplishments. And, I can but grieve to see the best years of a young girl’s life, when she is freed from an noying cares, and her young soul is open to receive the impulses which shall direct it to wards its high destiny, 1 can but grieve to see such golden hours wasted, frittered away in learning simply to shine in the gay circles she will frequent for a few years, in acquir ing modern, accomplishments. When a witty English government defaul ter, after his recall, was asked on his arrival home, if he left India on account of his health, he replied, “ They do say there’s something wrong in the chest. ” It was stated in the shipping list of the Tri bune, a few days since, that there had arrived below “two chips and a bark ” An inveterate wag intends issuing propo sals to the principal cities or the world to il- I luminate their streets at a cheaper rate than can be done by gas companies—as he “ makes light” of every subject that falls under his notice. a®®ita aie sa & air aa a a ijome Correspondence. For the Southern Literary Gazette 1 NEW-YORK LETERS.— NO. 15. Lake George, New-York, \ Aug. 17th, 1848. J My Dear Sir , —If it be true that heaven ‘has made nothing worthy of contempt,’ I begin to fancy, since my arrival here, that it could have had no hand in the invention of those ablutionary machines, which, in the ci ty, we denominate “baths:” for, what is ‘Stoppani’ with his ‘hot’ and ‘cold,’ or ‘Ra bineau’ with his ‘ salt,’ compared to the vast crystal tub of Lake George, in which I here make my daily toilet? I rise ever with the first beam of the sun, and often reach the wa ter before that gentleman's golden smde has fallen upon its surface. After dreaming plea sant dreams through the cool and noiseless night, think of the interval of only a few mo ment's walk from your couch to the margin of the Lake, where you seize your oar, and directly after secure your skiff to the branch of a noble pine, overhanging the edge of a fairy island—when, like Cassius, you plunge in at the very moment that the morning rays of the bright sun dart from behind the crown of black rock on the East, tinging with gold the dense verdure of the “Tongue Mountain” on the West, lighting up the mighty gorge of the “Narrows,” bespangling with radiant pearls the broad bosom of the sweet Lake, arid calling its hundred islets into life and beauty. Really, my dear sir, under these pic turesque and pleasant circumstances, I begin to entertain a marked respect for the “cold water cure.” The reputed clearness of the waters of Lake George is no fable. They are, indeed, as the purest mirror, displaying the minutest pebble and the smallest fish at the bottom, ma ny feet below. I think it scarcely possible that water should be more pellucid, though a friend, lately returned from a tour to Lake Huron, informed me that a white handker chief, sunk sixty feet below its surface, would be plainly visible in all its folds. Everybody is familiar with the more poetic, but less used names of this charming Lake, both suggested by its singular purity—the “Lake Sacra ment” of the French, and the Indian appella tion gs “Horicon,” or “the silvery waters.” So fairy-like is the whole aspect of the scenery here—the valley of water and the hills of verdure —that, during the first few days of my visit, (lovely, sunliy days as one could wish,) 1 felt quite curious to note the effect of cloud and storm, and could scarcely realize that the elements ever war in such a gentle field. Amidst the wild and savage fea tures of the Catskills, I looked upon the storm and the tempest as the guardians of their own strong castles; but here I thought they would be nothing less than impudent invaders.— Still, as the mildest eye will sometimes glance in wrath, and the rosiest lip curl,in scorn, so in due time, here as everywhere, the scowl of the storm gathered upon the brows of the no ble hills, and hid the smile of the gentle Lake : soon however to pass away, and to leave hill and water more verdant and sparkling than before; only that “ The vanished frowns enhance The charms of each returning glance.” After the air is thus cleared by storm or shower, the surrounding hills glitter in almost painful distinctness, each stem and stone, from the base to the crown of the mountains, seem ing to come within the grasp of your hand. Only the other day, my companion was com pletely “sold,” as the Bowery boys have it, by this deceitful appearance; and he even prevailed upon me to cross the Lake with him, and ascend Buck Mountain. “It is so easy and simple a matter,” said he, “and may be accomplished in such brief time, and with such slight exertion.” Alas! poor, de luded wretches, well was it that our fancy came with the rising of the sun, and that no delay followed in the execution, for night fairly overtook us before we regained our domicile, under a firm conviction of the verity of the old proverb, “ appearances often de ceive.” Asa memento of this excursion, we brought back a rattlesnake, which we demol ished on the way, and the skin of which my companion now wears as a hat-band. These reptiles are abundant in all the ranges of mountains upon the eastern side of the Lake. I see, at this instant, from my window, the rugged side of “ Rattle-snake Hill,” inhabited by a large den of the varmints, any quantity of which may be caught when you will. Speaking of localities, by the way, reminds me that I have not yet ‘defined my position.’ Know, then, that after the lapse of half a month, I have voyaged but ten miles down the Lake, and am now, as at the writing of my last letter, near the landing, known as “ Lyman’s.” This is, perhaps, the most in teresting and varied portion of the whole thir ty-six miles of Horicon. The coupd'ceil em braces the entrance to the “Narrows,” with the Tongue Mountain on one side, and Black Rock and other peaks upon the opposite; the North-west and the South Bays, and larger clusters of islands than are assembled in any other part of the waters. Among the latter is a jewel of an island, where a little shanty has lately been erected for the accommodation of hunters of the pic turesque, of deer, trout, bass and chubs. The steamboat, which passes and re-passes daily, in its tour of the Lake, will send you ashore, or pick you up here when you please. The boniface and Prospero of the spot isa marvel lous proper man in his way —only two hun dred and ninety-four pounds! He is portly as FalstafT, and as jolly withal, and concocts a lemonade in a manner worthy of Florence or Palmo. He dotes, too, on fishing, and has an eye for the picturesque, and a proper re spect for strolling artists, having heard some thing of “high art,” of distances, middle grounds, foregrounds, tone, breadth, and the dangerous nature of chrome yellow. He has erected a flag-staid on his domain, from which flies a star-spangled banner, made by the de moiselles of Sandy Hill, of “stated preaching,’’ memory, and in each star of which is inscribed the name of one of the fair seamstresses. But the greatest curiosity of “Fourteen Mile Isl and” is a tender juvenile of such an aquatic turn, that the provident host has built a rail pen to secure him and check his inveterate disposition to run into the Lake. One more advantage has this fair isle, as a residence, with the mention of which I will bid vou good night. It is directly under Rattle-snake Hill, and, of course, within most exceedingly convenient visiting distance of that beautiful and attractive spot. FLIT. PATCH-WORK. following inscription is on a gravestone in a church-yard at Luton, Eng land : “ Reader, I’ve left a world in which 1 had a world to do ; Sweating and fretting to be rich — Just such a fool as you.” Economy is an excellent thing, and should be practised by all, but a wise man will never retrench his expenses by stopping his newspaper. None but a fool would re gard the seed the farmer sows as wasted. see it confidently announced that a young man of quite ordinary capacity once made a very handsome living*by mindino- his own business- They are as fond of titles in the East, as we are in the \\ est. Among his other high sounding titles, the King of Ava has that of “ Lord of Twenty-four Umbrellas.” This looks as if he had prepared himself for a long reign. there any situation worse than a lawyer’s clerk? Yes, that of a lawyer’s client. heel must be somewhat better said a gentleman to a buxom lass who had a hole in the heel of her stocking. Why so' 1 she asked. Because, miss, replied the gen tleman, I percieve it i6 getting out. Southern (fcUctic. THE REAPER. BY J . M. LEOARE. How still Earth lies!—behind the pines The summer clouds sink slowly down. The sunset gilds the higher hills And distant steeples of the town. Refreshed and moist the meadow spreads, Birds sing from out the dripping leaves, And standing in the breast-high corn I see the farmer bind his sheaves. It was when on the fallow fields The heavy frosts of winter lay, A rustic with unsparing hand Strewed seed along the furrowed way. And I too, walking through the waste And wintry hours of the past, Have in the furrows made by griefs The seeds of future harvests cast. Rewarded well, if when the world Grows dimmer in the ebbing light, And all the valley lies in shade, But sunset glimmers on the height. Down in the meadows, of the heart The birds sing out a last refrain, And ready garnered for the mart I see the ripe and golden grain. THE HUMMING BIRD. BY JOHN JAMES AUDUBON. Where is the person who, on observing this glittering fragment of the rainbow, would not pause, admire, and instantly turn his mind with reverence toward the Almighty Creator, the wonders of whose hand we at every step discover, and of whose sublime conceptions we everywhere observe the manifestations in his admirable system of creation ? There breathes not such a person : so kindly have we all been blessed with that intuitive and noble feeling—admiration ! No sooner has the returning sun again in troduced the vernal season, and caused mil lions of plants to expand their leaves and blossoms to his genial beams, than the little Humming-Bird is seen advancing on fairy wings, carefully visiting every opening flow er-cup, and, like a curious florist, removing from each the injurious insects that otherwise would ere long cause their beauteous petals to droop and decay. Poised in the air, it is observed peeping cautiously, and with spark ling eye, into their innermost recesses, whilst the ethereal motions of its pinions, so rapid and so light, appear to fan and cool the flow er, without injuring its fragile texture, and produce a delightful murmuring sound, well adapted for lulling the insects to repose. Ihe prairies, the fields, the orchards and gardens, nay, the deepest shades of the forests, are all visited in their turn, and everywhere the little bird meets with pleasure and with food. Its gorgeous throat in beauty and bril liancy bailies all competition Now it glows with a fiery hue, and again it is changed to the deepest velvety black. The upper parts of its delicate body are of resplendent chang ing green; and it throws itself through the air with a swiftness and vivacity hardly con ceivable. , It moves from one flower to anoth er like agleamof light, upwards, downwards, to the right, and to the left. In this manner it searches the extreme northern portions of our country, iollowing with great precaution the advances of the season, and retreats with equal care at the approach of autumn. i mm i-—. “ DOING” A LANDLORD. A Story of Shape and Talent. BY JOHN S. ROBB, OF ST. LOUIS, MO, .J om C. H , Esq., a genius, whose ideas of life were on such a magnificent scale that they outran his interest, capital and all, was seated upon the porch of a fashionable hotel, in a large eastern village , one bright Monday morning, cogitating how, in the na tqre of things, it was possible for him to com pass a dinner. The long score, unpaid, which stood recorded on the books within, precluded the idea of getting one there wi hout the tin. and numerous searches through sundry pock ets about his person were unrewarded by a single shiner. The case was desperate, but great minds are always equal to great emer gencies, and Tom's was of that order. His coat had been renovated by a scourer, for whom he had written a love-letter, his hat had been ironed by a good-natured hatter, who had enjoyed his custom in better days, a new coat of japan varnish had been lavished upon his cane, his dicky was passable, and no gentleman would think of examining the extremities of his covering, or pry into the shifts he had been put to for a shirt. Tom