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Exaggeration. ‘The age in which we live’ is frequently charac teriied. hy writers and orators, as being ‘the age of ‘ the age of resolution,’ ‘the age of super ficiality,’ and the like. With all deference to the claims of the respective advocates of these distinc tive features, we beg leave to consider the present a( r e as ‘the age of exaggeration A slight exami nation will suffice to shew the justice of our claim. \ love of the marvellous is common to mankind, an d whatever administers to this taste is welcome and popular. Hence, the effort on the part of au thors, either in the world of fiction, or in the more real world of observation, to give the highest possi ble degree of interest to their narratives —inducing the habit of exaggeration, of too high coloring, fre quently amounting to an actual disguise and perver sion of the truth. Some authors have achieved their popularity mainly by the power of exaggeration. There is scarcely one of the popular works of Charles Dickens that is not a tissue of overdrawn characters, amounting, in many instances, to caricatures—the highest species of exaggeration in Art. In books of sober philosophy, in treatises On social and political economy, iu theological expositions even, we may often encounter this feature. What are Mesmerism, Homeopathy, Hydropathy, Four rierism, Mormonism aftd Swedenbourgianism, but exaggerations 1 All of them have more or less truth in their principles, but the fancifulvagaries of their exponents have so distorted that truth, as to leave scarcely the semblance of it in the outworkings of these systems. But we must confine ourself to a very limited view of the manifestations of this tendency —we may venture to say, this fault —of the age. The portrait painter exaggerates every picture he produces—sof tening the features of ugliness into a less repulsive aspect, and heightening the charm of beauty by the power of his Art. Like the character, described by Goldsmith, “A flattering painter, who made it his care To draw men as they ought to be —not as they are,” the Artist of the present day never intentionally fails to flatter his subject—aware, as he is, that the moro beauty he can bestow upon his canvass, the more perfect will the likeness be regarded by those whom it is his interest to please—setting aside, of course, the unimportant opinion of the disinterested observer. The public orator is perpetually exaggerating his themes—exhausting the vocabulary of praise in his descriptions of a favorite theory— ‘ m iking the worse appear the better cause,’ or seeking to gain over the popular opinion to his peculiar views. The press is, however, the great organ of exag geration, and affords innumerable illustrations of our position. We might instance the adulation of political papers bestowed upon a party candidate for some office in the gift of the people—from that of Constable of the Village to President of the Repub lic. All the virtues that adorned the character of a Cincinnatus, a Sully, or a Washington, are united in the illustrious person of Col. John Smith, who runs for the office of Constable, equally with that of General Cass or General Taylor, who seeks the highest place in the councils of the nation. Nor is it in adulation alone that the political press exag gerates. In dispraise, it is not a whit more circum spect. No epithets of dishonor and obloquy are too strong to be applied to a candidate of an opposing P'irty. His very virtues are tortured into vices, and his acknowledged excellencies into faults, by the ex aggerations of ptavty spirit. Nor is the political press alone liable to this charge. The Literary organs of the day teem with exaggeration. If they arc to be believed, almost every new book that appears—upon the tables of the Editors, of course!—is a master-piece of Genius, a prodigy of talent, a miracle of wit. It is the best, without disparagement to a thousand others, of its kind! The author has achieved not only fame, but immortality! Every successive issue of a Magazine is more excellent than its predecessor. The Editor and Publishers have outdone themselves. Brilliant, >splenilid, magnificent, unparalleled, are words of common application in such cases. Nothing less satisfies the publisher—nothing less would attract the attention of the reader. Under this system a Magazine, or newspaper, of very respectable circu lation, boasts of its “ million of readers.” The advertising columns of our daily and weekly papers afford, perhaps, the highest specimens of ex aggeration. Every patent nostrum is a wonderful panacea, a miraculous elixir, a transcendent trea sure to the sick, and the like. Is a country-house offered for sale I It is describ ed as an elegant mansion, built, perhaps, after the J emple of the Winds—a long time after it, truly— surrounded by most romantic and charming scene ry > and furnished with all the appliances of comfort, luxury and magnificence! There is yet one other phase of this evil which we must notice. It is the manner in which intelligent 1 < ‘mmittees, composed of practical men and appoint ed to attend the examination of Schools, make their §©®tfsm ta is a# mr a&& ib -anr s ♦ reports. To read them, one would really suppose that all the classical erudition of Oxford, all the mathematical skill of Cambridge, all the logical acumen of Whately and Mills, all the elocutionary grace and power of Cicero and Demosthenes, had been concentred in the pupils of the “ Muddy Creek Academy.” We have read these reports with open eyed astonishment to think that such transcendent genius should exist in places so obscure—illustrating painfully the language of the Poetl “ Full many a flower ip born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air,” &c. Dear reader: did you ever know a Fourth of July Oration, a Temperance Address, a political speech, or an anniversary poem, that was not described by the newspapers as full of the fire of genius and patriot ism, thrillingly eloquent, powerfully argumentative, or abounding in the sublimest thoughts and pas sages ? Is there anything common-place at the present day I Certainly not—if the newspapers are to be credited. It has become so common to exaggerate, that the most intense words of our language are tame to express our common ideas of common things. We deal altogether in hyperbole—and he who would form a true estimate of men and things, must take all he hears or reads of them cum grano salis , and if the grains are ounces all the better. 2TI)e 3Ltterara> S^orlfr. A Stolen MS. — The “National Intelligencer” says that a very valuable and highly illuminated MS. volume of Prayer and Scripture Passages has been stolen from the Library of the Georgetown College. It is about 600 years old and highly pri zed. We make this announcement to increase the chances of its recovery by the College. New Publications. — Stringer & Townsend, suc cessors to the well known and esteemed firm of Bur gess, Stringer & Cos., have published Mr. Herbert’s great sporting work' —some time since announced as “ Frank Forrester’s Field Sports of the U. S.” It is in two elegant vols., finely illustrated. ©ur ©ossip Column. We do not know what better disposition we can make of the following note than to serve it up in our Gossip—where, we have a notion* its writer expects it to appear. Let us assure our fair readers, how ever, especially the younger ones who are the spe cial objects of ‘ Peter Schlemil’s ’ satire, that we do not at all agree with him in his opinions, and think it altogether more than probable he has been “jil ted ” by one of the very “ young ladies in short jack ets” of whom he speaks so contemptuously. We think, if this be the case, he has exhibited a very illiberal and contracted spirit, in the poor revenge he takes. But he must be heard nevertheless—and wo cordially invite some of the objects of his sarcasm to pay him back in his own coin. Mr. Editor. —I have observed of late anew and singular fashion in the dress of our young ladies, which I presume they think very pretty and becom ing, or they certainly would not have adopted it— but which, I must confess, appears to me to be just the opposite. I allude to the short-jacket, or round about, which they wear, of some color contrasting with the skirt of their dress. They call this jacket by a very singular name, moreover, viz: a jump —a term significant to me of male habits. I use the word habits not in the sense of dress, but of customs, as it is one of the commonest sports of boys to —jump! Do our young ladies intend to intimate, by thus adopting a part of the boyish dress, and by giving it a name indicative of boyish practices, that they are preparing themselves, by degrees, to adopt, at some future period in their lives, the rest ts the male at tire —in other words, to wear the breeches as well as the jacket ? Now, modesty forbids an idea so alarm ing ; and yet, sir, I am seriously afraid that you and I, and all the rest of creation’s legitimate lords, will have to come eventually to the petticoat cos tume, if we would maintain distinctiveness of appa rel in the sexes. I suggest, Mr. Editor, that the young gentlemen attempt to nip this threatening evil in the bud, by fighting the enemy with their own weapons —in short, that they immediately adopt, as a part of their costume, a skirt of ample breadth, tied around the waist with a sash, and that it be called a courtesy, a name unmistakeably feminine. Now, sir, if I can get a few others to second my plan, I will, with them, appear on Broad-street, and at Church, thus arrayed; and so we shall give them “a Roland for their Oliver” —a ‘ courtesy’ for their ‘jump.’ Let them beware how they trespass on the immunities of our sex, or they will find that the ass in the skin of the lion is less respected than ho is in his own hide! 1 have the honor, sr, to be your obedient servant, PETER SCHLEMIL, Jr. W ithout further comment, we commit our corres pondent to the tender mereies of the young ladies who patronize the “jump ” .... A case of Yel low Fever, of a very remarkable character, was re- cently reported to us hy a friend, in the course of a pleasant evening’s conversation. The patient was addicted to the bottle, and was in the habit of tak ing a good pull at it every night, before retiring to bed. He kept for this purpose a quart bottle of fine old Cognac, in a closet, in his bed-room. Returning home about twelve o’clock, one night, in an advan ced state of “ interrogation,” he resorted to the closet, and, eagerly grasping his beloved bottle, he took a long draught, then hurried to bed, and soon fell into an unquiet slumber. He did not sleep long, however, awaking with a feeling of nausea, which was shortly relieved by a violent vomiting, and he lay restless until morning. The dawn disclosed to him the sheets of his bed, and the floor also, stained with a dark fluid, which, superadded to his excited system, instantly suggested the idea of the Black V omit. In great alarm, he called a servant and sent for friends and a physician, who were soon at his bed s : de; and the latter, with the dark evidence staring him in the face, pronounced it a decided case of Yellow Fever, in the last stages! Great excite ment followed this discovery, and the patient was in a fair way of dying outright, when the servant girl came into the room, and, going to the closet, saw the bottle from which her master had taken his last drink, and immediately comprehending the truth of the case, she exclaimed, with uprolled eyes, “Why, Lord a massy, if master ain’t been and drinkt nearly half a bottle full of ink !” These words had an electric effect on the victim of Yellow Fever, for he sprung up from his bed, and looking eagerly at the Black Vomit, he said, “ Drunk, hy , and didn’t know ink from Cog niac. Thank God, I’m a well man again,” The servant had placed the ink bottle just in front of the brandy bottle, and hence the mistake of her master, which made him ever after suspicious of bot tles at the hour of midnight! .. . . The sketch of Madame George Sand which wo copy this week from De Vericour’s valuable work, will doubtless at tract the attention of our readers, in consequence of the popularity of her writings and the conflicting opinions which prevail concerning their character. The judgment of De Vericour seems to us to be cor rect. While some of her earlier productions are un fit to be read, her late works display her great ge nius without demoralizing sentiments. £lje American s*ttoir(cal Jlvess. Godey’s Lady’s Book, for November. To say that the Lady’s Book is a beautiful Mag agine, and abundantly worthy of the favor with which the Public has received it, would be merely echoing the universal sentiment of the Press. We admire the energy of its worthy Proprietor, and not less his ingenuity in continually devising novelties for the gratification of his patrons. The Number before us contains 72 pages of reading matter, two fine steel plates, a sheet of music, a beautiful colored fashion-plate, and very numerous wood cuts. One article —a very interesting one on the Home of Shaks peare—has no fewer than twelve beautiful illustra tions. Godey has the credit of being always in the advance, and with his friendly rival, * Graham,’ has run a brilliant career of popularity—which we hope will continue and increase. Graham’s Magazine, for November. The present Number opens with a capital story by Mr. Simms—a Tale of Venitian History, which is followed by numerous very pleasant articles from well-known authors. The Odd-Fellow’s Literary Magazine. This is a neat monthly of 32 pages, devoted, as its name indicates, to a rapidly growing interest.— There appears to be both talent and industry in its management, and it should command a wide circu lation at its moderate subscription price—One Dollar. Blackwood’s Magazine, for October. Am. Ed. We have read several of the papers in this number ofMAGA with more than common interest. The Inst article will attract much attention. It is a cri tique on Byron’s Hymn to the Ocean in Childe Ha rold—in which that much be-lau<led “ Address” is dealt with in a manner that will certainly awaken the ire of the legion admirers of the noble poet. The critic makes a strong case against the poem and its author, the burden of his charge being the spirit of hatred to his fellow man which breathes through out the hymn, and which, as he insists, impairs both its truth and beauty. A more ingenious and spirited article has seldom enlivened the pages of Ebony. ‘The CaxtonV loses none of its interest. ‘Life in the Far West’ is one of a graphio series of cis- Atlantic Sketches. Blackwood is re-printod by Leonard, Scott & Cos. of New York, for Throe Dol lars per annum. The Daily Morning Star —is the title of a very neat and well-oonducted paper recently commenced in Savannah, indicating very pleasantly an onward tendency in the business of our beautiful sea-port. It is published by E. C. Council, and we trust it will succeed. The Radiator —is a quarto Journal issued week ly at Clintoh, New York; and we imagine that it is connected in some way with “ Hamilton College,” a view of which forms a very pretty vignette for the paper. It is a pleasant, racy sheet, and we cordial ly respond to its request for an exchange. ©uc 3300 ft Cable. A Search After Truth, or a New Revelation on the Psycho Physiological Nature of Man. By T. 11. Chivers, M. D. Published for the Author 1848. We may suppose the author of this brochure to have made the same determination which the mat ter Poet put into the mouth of Poionius: “ I will find Where Truth is hid, though it were hid, indeed, Within the centre.” We are not informed, however, that Poionius wm successful in his search, and we fear that our author’* readers will throw aside his very elaborate and learn ed disquisition in a state of equal doubt as to wheth er or not he has found what, he has so resolutely set out to discover. We know not very well how to characterize the work before us —it partakes of so many natures in audition to the Psycho—Physiological one which gives it a namo. It is at once metaphysical, theo logical and philological—and the author appears to disport himself in these deep seas with all the confi dence of a true child of the element —laughing at the reasonable apprehension of the spectator that he may possibly get out of his depth. Out of his depth indeed ! Not he ! The deeper the better —and “ full fifty fathoms deep ” ho plays as gracefully as on the surface ! There is an old adage about Truth being at the bottom of a well, and we suppose that our author has gone down in search of her. Seriously—the “ Search after Truth ” leads the pursuer through such mazes of metaphysics—such labyrinths of psychological physiology—such tortu ous paths, where Latin, Greek and Hebrew roots obstruct his progress-—that long before ho has ac companied the adventurous author to his goal, he is exhausted with the greatness of the way, and turn* aside, prefering a simpler method of discovering Truth. Wo do not question the Doctor’s learning, or hi* ingenuity ; but iu the namo of Truth we ask him— What ho expects to accomplish by such efforts I Wo verily believe that not one in a hundred of his readers will have the tomerity to pursue his argu ments to an issue ; and not one in a thousand derive a single practical now idea of Truth from all his elaborate investigations! High-sounding words applied to abstruse and diffi - cult theories, may dazzle and bewilder, but cannot enlighten the understanding of the enquirer. If the Doctor desired to shew his learning—his acquain tance with books and with tongues, he may have gained his end ; but if ho desired to reveal valuable truth to his fellow men, we think he has utterly fail ed of his object. We would remind him of the lan guage of Seneca—“veritatis simplex oratio est.” Rhapsodies and wild flights of fancy arc not the proper media for the exhibition of truth, and espe cially when that truth concerns the nature of the immortal soul and man’s future destiny. We subjoin a paragraph or two to exhibit, at once, the matter and manner of the book. The au thor is enforcing the simple, but sublime truth, that Death has power over the body and not over the soul of man, and this is his language: “ The divesting of one’s self of the garments of the aufia body at the hour ot death, does not effect the essential entity of the 7rvev/ia spirit any more than pulling off the garments at night to lie down to a quiet sleep effects the body. It, therefore, follows that if the soul is the true Man while in this life, it will carry away with it on the wings of its own spir itual nature all the self-consciousness and knowledge with which it was possessed while in this life, where it will exist, perhaps, as a monad in the duplex hy postasis of Tfwiirj Psyche and 7rvtvfia Pneuma spirit; the former, or Psyche, being the vehiculum of the Pneuma spirit.” And again: “ He who fulfils his destiny here on earth, cradled in the delicious abundance of God’s overflowing bounty, beholds from his death-bed —the second cra dle of his euthanasian metamorphosis—the Chariot of fire, thronged with the rejoicing Angels, coming to convey him up through the parting clouds, from an astonished world, into the everlasting joys of the Amaranthine yEons of Heaven. As the Sylph-like Butterfly, in all its sinless dalliance, floats, at noon tide, upon the cloudy perfume of the newly opening flowers; so shall the soul of Man, filled with the most ecstatic rapture—bathed in the lightning splendors of the Eternal Love—rise up upon the snow-white wings of the rejoicing Angels into the blissful company of the glorified spirits of the Ilelu sion of God.” We verily fear that in this practical age the Doc tor has labored in vain, and if he has indeed found Truth “within the centre,” he will not find patient readers to penetrate so far as to reap the fruits of his researches. In conclusion, wo are tempted to apply to our au thor the doubtful compliment which Festus, cr . certain memorable occasion, addressed to Paul, in the following words: “Paul, thou art beside thy elf; too much learning hath made thee mad.’ 199