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one hundred dollars, it is said, was returned,
at the door, for their unavailable tickets. —
Yesterday-noon she read Romeo and Juliet,
and for to-night was selected llamlet. The
entire course is to embrace twelve evening,
and four morning readings : the latter for the
benefit of invalids and superannuated people',
who can venture to smell the air only while
the sun shines. As lam not of this interest
ing class, and was on Saturday, one of the
unusually small number which the “ last of
the Kembles’’ had failed in enticing from the
attractive drawing-rooms of Miss Lynch, of
course, I have not yet had the pleasure of
listening to her much talked of “readings.”
1 am told that Mrs. Butler’s habit is to sit
during the whole of her discourse and to em
ploy very little or no gesture. The public
interest and sympathy in the illustrious lady’s
late personal trials and sorrows added to the
high and general admiration of her genius,
bus created an unwonted excitement in her
favor.
Mrs. Butler selected the alternate nights of
the Opera for her readings, so that no clash
ing of attractions should result: but late de
velopcments in Operatic history, seem to
show that the fore-thought was unneeded,
since no representation was given last night
as usual, and the whole concern is in im
mediate danger of going to “ everlasting
smash.” On the occasion of the Manager’s
benefit last Friday evening, that patriotic
gentleman put forth a statement proving that
all was not gold which glitters, at the Opera
House, any more than on the banks of the
Sacramento; that brilliantly as everything
had, to outward view, gone off during the
season, the Establishment was financially
rotten at the core : a mere painted sepulchre :
that though the public cheek was tinged with
triumph’s warm, sunny smile, the cold heart
of his purse ran to ruin the while; in other
words that he had maintained the Opera in
its glory during the past season at a monthly
loss to himself of some three thousand dollars,
and that only a more liberal patronage could
longer sustain it. About one half of the two
hundred subscriptions required to enable Mr.
Fry to complete his season, have been pledg
ed ; and the fall of the establishment hangs
upon the event of the action of the remain
ing patrons. Yet despite these convulsions
and relapses of its feeble childhood there is
good hope that the Opera may soon break
the spell into which the manager’s expose
has thrown it: bravely overcome all troubles
and long flourish in healthful arid vigorous
manhood. •
Speaking of —the directors of the
new Free Academy have, in the plenitude of
their folly, elected a professor of that absurd
orthographical innovation, called phonogra
phy or phonetics, as though no hope existed
of the pupils learning to spell badly, without
a tutor. Not half an hour since, I nearly
fainted with horror, as on returning to my
sanctum, I found upon the table the card of
a phonetic friend, telling me that he “ Iz pre
pared tu furniss Reports on Surmunz,
&s.” —but instead of tormenting you
further with such barbarous stuff', let me turn
io a more pleasant billet which I found by its
side: that of the Historical Society, for its
stated monthly meeting, to + ake place this
evening. A paper upon “our Dutch progeni
tors,” is to be read, on the occasion, by Mr.
John W. Knevels of Fishkill. The reunions
of this important Association are always
well attended and are replete with interest.
The Society is continually adding to the
treasures of its valuable library, and is in
ether ways increasing its strength and use
fulness.
If the note of the Historical Society is not
enough to make me forget the phonographic
scroll of my deluded friend, there remains
one other which cannot fail of doing the deed
—an invitation from the committee of man
agement of the Art Union to the private view,
to-morrow night, of their new Exhibition,
3 © 2HT Ell IE El 0* HIT g!BA IE H ©MSTTiFIS*
prior to the re-opening of the gallery for the
year. An unusually brilliant display of Art
is expected, and I regret that the posting of
my sheet must anticipate the passage of the
soiree. FLIT.
Sdectcb JJoctrjj.
CHEER UP.
* . •
B V M . F . TlirrEß.
Never go gloomily, riian with a mind;
Hope is a better companion than fear ;
Providence, ever benignant and kind,
CiveS with a smile what you take with a tear;
All will be right;
Look to the light ;
Morning is ever the daughter of night;
All that was black will be all that is bright;
Cheerily, cheerily, then cheer up!
i \ •
Many a foe is a friend in disguise.
Many a sorrow a blessing most true,
Helping the heart to be happy and wise,
With love ever precious and joys ever new ;
Stand in the van ;
Strive like a man ;
This is the bravest an and cleverest plan;
Trusting in God, while you do what you can ;
Cheerily, cheerily, then cheer up!
WHEN THOU ART GONE MY HEART
IS SAD.
• BY WISLIAM C . RICHARDS.
When thou art gone my heart is sad,
Whatever joys my cup may fill ;
The charm is llown that music had,
The Summer skies look dark and chill.
Thou canst not deem how much I miss
Thy greeting when the morning wakes,
And every dream of unreal bliss —
Like a bright bubble suddeu breaks. ‘
( • A
And ah, not less when shadows fall,
Thy words-of love before I sleep—
Thy sweet caress—l miss them all,
And in my loneliness I weep !
When thou art gore—the day to me,
And the deep silence of the night,
Alike roll on—and thoughts of thee,
Alone can make the moments bright.
- $ mm t .
LOVE’S ENDEAVOR.—A SONG.
BY CARLOS D. STUART.
Love is like the summer sunlight,
Over field and over flower ;
Nursing out of hardest bosoms
Gentle tokens of its power;
Cut. it will not live unanswered,
And forsaken is in pain;
And oh! vain is Love's endeavor,
That brings Love not back again !
And the kingly crown is heavy,
And the gold is only pelf,
If there is no reed unbroken,
Where the heart may lean itself;
Where the heart may lean unwounded,
Like the rose that drinks the rain,
And oh ! vain is Love’s endeavor,
That brings Love not back again.
tEljc (fnglisl) Ucmcws.
LOST LUGGAGE OFFICE.
[We extract the following graphic article
from the paper on the London and North
Western Railway, in the London Quarterly
Review for January 1849.
Editor Gazette.]
At a short distance from the terminus of
the up-trains there is a foundling-office, term
ed the Lost Luggage Office, in which are re
ceived all articles which the passengers leave
behind them, and which on the arrival of ev
ery train are brought by the company’s
searcher to this office. The superintendent
on receiving them records in a hook a
description of each article, stating on what
day, by what train, in what carriage it arriv
ed, and by whom found. All luggage bear
ing an address is kept about hours,
and. if during that time no one calls for it, it
is then forwarded by rail or other conveyance
to its owner. In case it bears no address, if
not inquired after, it is after a month opened;
and if any clue to the owner can be found
within, a letter is addressed to him. If no
clue he found, the property is kept about two
years, and has hitherto been then sold by
auction in the large coacn-factory to the
Company’s servants—a portion of the pro
ceeds being handed over to the sick-fuud for
persons who have been hurt in the service,
and the remainder, to the Friendly Society
among the men. It having, however, been
ascertained that a few of the Railway men
who had spare cash purchased the greater
portion of these articles, it lias, we understand,
lately been determined henceforward to sell
the whole of this property by auction exclu
sively to the public; and as the Company’s
servants are not allowed to be purchasers, they
can no longer derive any benefit whatever
from lost property, which must often be of
inestimable value to its owner, and which
they therefore should have no interest, direct
or indirect, in concealing from him.
A second ledger, entitled Luggage Inquiry
Book, is kept in this office, and., if the articles
therein inquired after have not been brought,
in by the searcher, copies of the description
are forwarded to each of the offices where the
lost luggage is kept; for by the Company’s
orders all luggage found between Wolverton
and London is without delay forwarded to the
latter station, all between Wolverton and
Birmingham to Birmingham, and so on.
It is possible, however, that the above or
ders may not have been attended to, and
therefore, as a last resource, the superintend
ent of the Lost Luggage Office at Euston Sta
tion writes to three hundred and ten stations
on forty-two lines of rails to enquire after a
lost article, he it ever so small, and if it beat
none of these stations a letter is then address
ed to the owner, informing him that his lost
property is not on the railway.
In the office in which these ledgers and
letter-books are made up are to he seen on
shelves and in compartments the innumera
ble articles which have been left in the trains
during the last two months, each being tick
eted and numbered with a figure correspond
ng with the entry-book in which the article
is defined. Without, however, describing in
detail this property we will at once proceed to
a large pitch-dark subterranean vaulted cham
ber, warmed by hot-air iron pipes, in which
are deposited the flock of lost sheep, or with
out metaphor, the lost luggage of the last two
years. *
Suspended from the roof there hangs hori
zontally in this chamber a gas-pipe about
eight feet long, and as soon as the brilliant
burners at each end were lighted, the scene
was really astounding. It would be infinite
ly easier to say what there is not than what
there is, in the forty compartments like great
wine-bins in which all this lost property is
arranged. One is choke-full of men’s hats,
another of parasols, umbrellas and sticks o.f
every possible description. One would think
that all the ladies’ reticules on earth were de
posited in a third. How many little smell
ing-bottles —how many little embroidered
pocket-handkerchiefs —how many little mus
ty eatables and comfortable drinkables —how
many little bills, important little notes, and
other very small secrets each may have con
tained, we felt that we would not for the
world have ascertained ; but when we gazed
at the enormous quantity of red cloaks, red
shawls, red tartan-plaids, and red scarfs, pil
ed up in one corner, it was we own, impossi
ble to help reflecting that surely English la
dies of all ages who wear red cloaks &c.,
must in some mysterious way or other be
powerfully affected by the whine of compress
ed air, by the sudden ringing or a bell, by
the sight of their friends—in short, by the
various conflicting emotions that disturb the
human heart on arriving at the up-terminus
of the Euston Station; for else how, we
gravely asked ourselves, could we possibly
account for the extraordinary red heap before
us ?
Os course, in this Rolando-looking cave
there were plenty of carpet-bags, gun-cases,
portmanteaus, writing-desks, books, bibles,
cigar-cases, &c.; hut there were a few arti
cles that certainly we were not prepared to
meet with, and which but too clearly proved
that the extraordinary terminus-excitement
which had caused so many virtuous ladies to
elope from their red shawls—in short, to be
all of a sudden not only in a bustle behind,
but all over—had equally affected men of all
sorts and conditions.
One gentleman had left behind him a pair
of leather-breeches ! Another his boot-jack!
A soldier of the 22nd regiment had left his
knapsack containing his kit! Another sol
dier of the 10th, poor fellow, had left his
scarlet regimental coat! Some cripple, prob
ably overjoyed at the sight of his family, had
left behind him his crutches !! But what
astonished us above all was. that some hon
est Scotchman, probably in the extasy of
suddenly seeing among the crowd the face of
his faithful Jeanie, had actually left behind
him the best portion of his bag-pipes!!!
Some little time ago the superintendent, on
breaking open, previous to a general sale, a
locked leather hat-box, which had lain in
this dungeon two years, found in it, under
the hat, Gsl. in Bank of England notes, with
one or two private letters, which enabled him
to restore the money to the owner,’ who, it
turned out, had been so positive that he had
left his hat-box at an hotel at Birmingham
that he had made no enquiry for it at the
railway-office.
©limpets of Xcui Books.
THE ESCURIAL.
The Escurial is perhaps the most celehr-u
ed palace upon the continent of Eurone n
is situated among the wild and sombre seen
ry of the old Castilian mountains
twenty-two miles from Madrid. This en
mous palace, 740 feet in length by sn° r *
breadth, was reared by Philip 11, ln ; h ™
die of the sixteenth century, at an e\ pei ,l
of about fifty millions of dollars.
austere, gloomy, fanatical—selected th’
mountain fastness as the site of his palac’
and reared the regal palace in the form o f e ’
gridiron, in commemoration of theinstnimJJ
of the martyrdom of St. Lawrence. 1
The embellishments of more modern
and the luxuriant foliage of trees and. shrub.’
bery have now invested even this uncouth
order of arhcitecture'Nvith a kind of venera
ble beauty. Four towers at the angles re
present the legs of the gridiron. The*apart
ments of the enormous pile especially devot
ed to the residence of the reigning monarch
constitute the handle of the gridiron: and yet
the enormous edifice, with its cupola, its
domes, its towers, chapel, library, painting
gallery and college, mausoleum, cloisters. r e ft
gal saloons, apartments for domestics and
artizans, its parks, gardens, walks and foun
tains constitute almost a city by itself. The
statue of St. Lawrence is over “the grand en
trance, with a gridiron in his hand.
Spacious reservoirs, constructed upon the
neighboring mountains, collect the water,
conveyed by aqueducts to supply ninety-two
fountains. Avery beautiful road, about one
mile in length, fringed with lofty elms and
lindens, is the avenue to this magnificent pa
lace ; and a subterranean corridor of equal
length, arched with stone, connects the edfice
with the neighboring village.
Underneath the building is the chamber
called the Pantheon, the.burying-placeof the
royal family. It is a very magnificent apart
ment, circular in its form, thirty-six feet in
diameter, its walls incrusted with the most
beautiful and highly-polished marble. Here
repose the mouldering remains of the Span
ish monarchs. Their bodies lie in marble
tombs one above another. A long, arched
stairway lined with polished marble, beauti
fully veined, conducts to this mausoleum, far
below the surface of the earth. A magnifi
cent chandelier, suspended from the ceiling,
is lighted upon extraordinary occasions, and
sheds noon-day brilliance upon the grand yet
gloomy mansion of the dead. The labor of
many years was devoted to the construction
of this sepulchre-
For nearly three hundred years the dome
and towers of this monument of Spanish gran
deur and superstition have withstood the
storms which have swept the summer and
winter sky. Many generations of kings, with
their accumulated throng of courtiers, have,
like ocean-tides, ebbed and flowed through
these halls. But now the Escurial is but a
memorial of the past, neglected and forgot
ten. Two hundred monks, like the spirits
of dead ages, creep noiselessly through its
cloisters, and the pensive melody of their
matins and vespers floats mournfully through
the deserted halls. Here have been witness
ed scenes of revelry and scenes of fanaticism
through misguided piety, and the spirit oi
reckless heaven-defying crime, such as few
earthly abodes have ever exhibited. The
fountains still throw up their beautiful jets,
but the haughty cavaliers and the high-born
maidens and dames who once thronged them,
have disappeared, and the pensive friar, in
sackcloth and hempen girdle, sits in solitude
upon the moss-grown stone. The blaze oi
illuminations once gleamed from those win
dows and corriders and night was turned to
to day as songsand dances resounded through
hall, and bower, and grove. Now midnight s
silence and solitude and gloom, —and nauglu
is to he seen but here and there the glimmer
of seme faint taper from the cell where so mi
penitent monk keeps his painful vigils. The
jewelry, and the flaunting robes of fashion,
and the merry peals which have ushered m
the bridal party"have passed away, and now
the convent bell but calls world-renouncing*
joyless hearts to the hour of prayer, or toi
the knell, as, in shades of night, the remains
of some departed brother are borne wn
twinkling torches and funeral chants to their
burial. ,
Such is now the Escurial. And yet how
many are there, weary of the world, W 1
crushed hearts and dead hopes, who won l
gladly find in these dim cloisters, a relug
from the storms of life. Here soon, wit m
this marble canopy, the body of the hapl es .
Isabella, will moulder to the tlust. May Gcu
grant that when the archangel, shall w r a *
her from the long sleep of the grave, she ma„