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I ®'S ® IkiHlS.sj PER A.WI \l IN ADV ANCE. SECOND YEAR,NOAsIwHOLE NO. GO mmMM faiu to im&mm >Ws aits mb seiiras, mb to w&ml ■ : Ti :;: r A B For Richard s’ Weekly Oazeite. I THE SELF-TAUGHT. ■ BY WM GILMORE SIMMS. HnuMucn are Nature's favorites: they wore born Hieath the canopy of trees in May, HhcD Beauty tills the sky, and from the bud Himthes the fresh odor ; when the merry birds H. singing, through the air, and whirls aloft ■maddest paroxysms of delight, H wanton mimic of a thousand tongues, Hiring a torrent of impetuous song, Hit stuns the grove to silence. She has been Tli gentle mother, leading them away Ffjmi the immure of the unnatural town, Tel the free homestt ad of the ancient trees; Belt owing them4he life that there alone \f ihes life a dear romance. They have gone forth A*|d brought her flowers, and fill’d her lap with them; And she has told them, of the life of each, M t ravishing stories. Oh ! how very sweet, Bus to be taught! No musty books—no rules, ■ dull, damp dungeons, shutting out the sky, Bd drudging the free fancy with a weight But leaves it wingless after.—’Tis my joy ■at I have thus been tutor'd! Nature came, ■ 1 took me for her charge when 1 was young, II brought me up herself. I was not taught listories of school men—men of cloud ■ i vapor, with philosophies of straw, ■.ii strive in bubble-hunting. Ancient tongues, Hut. having answer’d for their day, had gone, Ihloforgetfulness, ne’er tortured mine! for life—the present and the real — lcmnM to its necessity s, and full lolall its glorious conquests —its new truths, Hu coming victories—l was not vex'd I with frigid phantoms of philosophy, IA ddnight in my chamber—ghosts of doubt, Hi speculation, that in all their eyes [ $ peculation wore *, when the broad heavens Here hung with forms of rare intelligence — Buchers of heart and fancy—twining forms, He herds of eyes, the numerous flocking stars, H/.uig down on me, and imploring mine ! H present was my own ! I made it mine,— ®(joying it; the past was mine as well; — 1 ivedthe life of the world, as still the world JJUa render’d life to the living ; yielding man I fperier.ee of his father in bis own ; I tod the same ground that they had travel’do’er, The .'age and soldier of dim ages gone, lift lie same company.—What did I need, I fitli the same feelings and affections fill’d— F<r I drew milk from hearts which they had drawn, To toil through their adventures 1 They were I mine, Ire ady in my progress. I was taught ■ \ the same tutor—happy that 1 was! luSMIjMj'J-fiiJi. For Richards’ Weekly Gazette. OMAN & WOMAN'S LORI). BY A L.\l)V OF GEORGIA. CHAPTER I. I The village of Clarksville, in the upper ntry of Georgia, possesses considerable M I action in the summer season. Some of He choice spirits of the State have resorted 9 ‘ re regularly for several years with their I Indies, and have their mansions scattered ■ pund in the immediate vicinity, at plcas visiting distances. They moreover B 1 >n a delightful and attractive circle, to tlose who enjoy with zest “the feast of Ha*on anj the flow of soul,” together with Be more substantial enjoyment which the Bud cheer of hospitable boards offer.— Bgcd veterans in politics and war —young Bn in the prime and vigor of manhood — Batrons, whose eyes have sparkled in the B bite House levees—maidens, who have ■“'•'ks ruddy with the glow of health, and B 1 nh, and happy thought—mingle often Oh delightful harmony, in social and in- I dlectual enjoyment. I besides this, the salubrious climate, with to the Mountains and Falls. 1 - ure to it shifting crowds of visitors, more <r less agreeable. The remembrance of I L'tn is like viewing a piece of patch- I'oik. Here we see one more beautiful I J an its neighbor; there, one deformed, Bib in texture and stamp ; another we I M >inl was good for use, and not for beau- I another purely and innocently white. B ihc first evening of Autumn, 18 —, ■wksville presented more than its usual cheerful ami varied appearance. The Ho tels were lighted up, each in tlieir own way, and the appearance of the company at each indicated their grade in life. There were accommodations for all, from the travelled leader of fashion, who imported caps, bon nets and dresses from Paris, to the verdant waggoner, fresh from over the mountains, but whose jolly good-nature and robust I frame promised him, when many, many years rolled by, the enjoyment of a green old age. The stores were also well lighted, and they looked more brilliant from the fact that the young moon had set in the twi light of the evening. There had been a barbecue towards the mountains, where i the veterans had talked politics, and a party in town, where the young folks were talking love and sentiment. Some of the votaries of politics had halted in town, to have a parting talk, to place an entering wedge with precision, or to tighten one that had already entered, to instil, to in struct—in other words, to lead the blind! But where are the gay votaries of plea ‘ sure 1 They are collected at a ball, given at tlie most fashionable Hotel, to some | young visitors. The merry laugh, the | joyous music of happiness, is heard across the street, and falls pleasantly on the j heart and the ear of a traveller. He had entered one of the principal streets of the village, walking and leading a fine-looking horse, rather lame from having been shod carelessly. He stopped before the corner store of the square, and asked of a gentle man who was just about leaving in the di rection in which he had come, if “ Mr. Edward Oliver lived near there. - ’ “Yes, sir,” said the gentleman, “he ’ lives only a short mile from here, and has | not been gone from this place fifteen min utes.” “That is really unfortunate for me,” ; said the stranger, “for 1 had promised my | self the pleasure of seeing him to-day.” “ There is a man in that store,” replied | the gentleman, “ who lives on Mr. Oliver’s | place; and if you can induce him to go now, you will save him some money, and ! leave a few drams for the next drunkard ! that comes in.” A bright smile lit up the face of the stran ger, as he replied— “ Well, as I am enlisted myself in the cause of temperance, 1 will try and reclaim him from his cups—at any rate, for to night.” As he said this, he hitched his horse and entered the store ; and as the light fell full upon his manly form, I will describe him to you. The first glance would fix him in your mind as a mechanic of the higher or der; and the cause of this conclusion was found in the practical, matter-of-fact ex pression of the eye. It seemed to say— Philosophy and Mathematics are my sub servients: their rules I understand, har monize and apply. Indeed, truth and util ity was the expressed language of his coun tenance. He had a form moulded in the finest model for strength and activity. His height was above six feet. If there was anything sensual in the expression of his countenance, it lingered about the mouth in playful smiles, and looked as if he might indulge, if there was not a divine principle ever watchful over the human propensities. That displayed itself in the nobly towering brow, which was as calm, placid and fair, as the moon glittering on the brow of night. His eye beamed with benevolence, but there was a degree of stoicism and stern dignity also expressed there, which forbade the too familiar approach of strangers. He succeeded in h.s attempt, for the trio, viz. Charles Elliston, his horse, and Jimmy- Day, the drunkard, soon left the village.— Sleeping, as many of its inhabitants were by that time, it seemed itself to be sleeping in the midst of darkness and silence. At tire termination of the Ridge road, through which he had been travelling, and on the verge of anew and striking prospect, Charles Elliston looked around him, and peered with his searching glance into the dark obscure. He thought he saw on the distant horizon dark summits, mountain shaped, and imagined he felt the pure mountain air upon his cheek. The road was just perceptible enough for him not to miss it. On the right, the woods were uni form and thick ; on the left, he felt certain there must be a magnificent view, lie thought how much pleasure he would have in contemplating it to-morrow, in company with his old friend Ned, and his mind rested with delight upon the recipro cations of affection he thought would pass between them. He would now witness the married happiness of Ned, which he had refused to do before, and would ex plain, in his turn, all the mysteries con nected with his own past conduct. His tall, athletic form, as he strode along by the side of his horse, presented a striking ! contrast to the meagre figure half running by his side, and muttering as lie went— “ Jimmy Day is the man, sir; he’ll show you tlie way, sir; he’s been to a barbecue, sir.” “And what have you been doing at a barbecue, Mr. Day 1” said Charles Elliston. “Been humbugging, sir, for grog. No body shall humbug me, sir. The biter must be bitten sometimes, sir. Ha, ha, ha. Jimmy Day ‘s a smart man when lie’s | drunk, sir.” “Is it possible you are not ashamed of being drunk ?” said Charles Elliston. “No, sir. Jimmy Day is a man when , he’s drunk, sir. Yes, sir—it’s the only time when he is a man, sir.” “Can you work better when you are drunk, Mr. Day?” said Elliston. “Oh! no, sir; but he’s a man of his | own will then, sir. Peggy works for me, sir; and when Jimmy Day is drunk, is the time to get the wages. Ha, ha, ha !” And delighted with the thought of his drunken power, he went along in a pacing gait, throwing himself from side to side, as if intentionally, to maintain his equilibrium, and muttering as he went, “Dimes, Peggy, i dimes; I’ll choke you if you don’t.” And thus he uttered his diabolical imaginings, i until they turned tnto a road winding down what seemed to be an extensive hill-side. They went on through groves of oak, which seemed to be of small growth, for ever and anon, as they would come to rather a rough projection, or a turn down ward. it would seem as if there was a con tinuous and wide prospect in front of them. They came at last to a clearing, through which the road seemed to wind semi-circu larly in front of a mansion, whose hospi table light was still burning brightly. A foot-path wound down to the left into a ravine, where stood a little windowless cottage—a fire-light visible under the door. Charles Elliston turned to inquire if this was the mansion of Mr. Oliver, when he saw, to his surprise, that Jimmy Day-, (as he called himself.) was half-way down the foot-path that led to his miserable home. The truth was. that he had not received his usual quantity- of stimulus before he was taken off, and the cool air and con stant exercise had sobered him rather too much. Be felt, indeed, by- the time he ar rived at home, that he was not the man he thought he was. His step was hesitating, and his eyes were cast down, for, unless lie was drunk, he never either walked firm ly or looked at any one. “ Now Jimmy, honey, is that you?” said P<W “ Ye-e-es,” said Jimmy. “Why. Jimmy, what is the matter with y-ou ? been at the barbecue, and not drunk ?” “Ye-e-s,” said Jimmy. “Oh, Jimmy, you are so good not to get drank. Just look here, Jimmy, at little Olli; don't he grow fast?” “ Ye-e-s ; ” said Jimmy-. “ Bless the Lord! what is the matter with the man ? Can't y-ou give one kind look to your boy, Jimmy- 1 Thank God, he looks like you did in your best days. Do you remember them, Jimmy- ?” “Ye-e-es,” said Jimmy. Grog and stu pidity had blunted all his feelings. His mind had but two ideas—money—rum. In the meantime, Charles Elliston had received the embraces of his friend, for they had loved with no ordinary degree of affection. In the first place, they had been friends and room-mates in Franklin Col lege; and in the second place, Ned had married a first cousin of Charles; so that there was every reason for their greetings to be affectionate and kind. A hospitable supper was soon served, around which the happy trio gathered in social mirth—a dif ferent trio from the last, in which Charles was the only intelligence. Even in Col lege, Ned and Charles were considered stars of the same magnitude, yet shining with different lustre. The latter, calm and steady, seeming to be set firmly in the deep blue heaven. The fo/mer, more wayward, seemed as if he almost dared to take the eccentric flight of the comet, and penetrate into unknown and far-off systems. They were friends from contrast, not from con geniality, excepting in the fundamental principles of mind. Ellen Constance Oliver, or, as Ned used often to call her, his constant Ellen, was the undefined, inexplicable charm of home, the presiding spirit of purity and benevo lence to all within her circle. “It gives me great pleasure, Elliston,” said Ned, “to see you again, with your own self-possessed countenance. It was the first charm that drew me to you, and induced me to seek your acquaintance.” “ And l hope you will tell us now, Cou sin Charles,” said Ellen, “ why you were so depressed and unhappy just before and when we last parted.” “Oh yes,” said Charles, “I intend doing so, when we have leisure and tine to go over a long story.” “ You indeed surrounded yourself with mysteries when you were in College,” said Ned, “and I hope you have brought a ma gician's wand to dissipate them all I half suspected you were in love, which was more than confirmed by those neatlv envel oped epistles, inscribed with a fairy-like hand.” “That was because you were in love yourself, mvdcarNed. Those letters were from my sister, who sends one nowto cou sin Ellen, and commissions me to induce you all to visit her in Maryland, at the old ; family mansion.” “ How is this, my dear Charles—after the brothers have been so long separated,’ ! are they are again to be united ?” “Yes, there is a strange ending to all I I our family separations—a consummation t little expected, when I first saw con sin El len at a Commencement in Athens.” “Well do 1 remember that day Charles, when you took me with you to see your stranger relative. It seems Pke yesterday, Ellen, when you burst upon mv sight, in the low, long, crowded parlor, of that mis erable hotel in Athens.” “You seem to think. Edward, you can say what you please about what lias ex isted in Athens, since there have been such great improvements there. I will make my escape for the night, for fear you will say something I would not like to hear, about your first impressions of me ; so farewell. To-ir.orrow, cousin Charles, I will shew you my jewels.” “1 will imprison this little hand, Ellen, j until you give me a farewell Ms*. ‘ saui j Ned, “the ‘family circular’ shall not be dispensed with because Charles is here.” Soon, sleep, with its soft influences, had lulled them all to rest, and happy minister ing spirits, the angels of the blessed de parted, were hovering around, instilling happy thoughts and pleasant dreams into the sleep of peace, innocence and truth.—- We also wish them “ pleasant dreams,” and turn with pleasure to another chapter of “Woman and Woman’s Lord.” [To be continued.] For Richards’ Weekly Gazelle. A MIDSUMMER NIGHT. Non lungi all’ aurce porte oniT esce i! sole, E crEtallina porta in oriente, Che per costume inuanzi aprir si suole Che si dischiuda l'useio al di naseenle: l>a ouesta cscono i sogni, * * * 1 Tasso. lu the orient skies, not far from the golden gate, whose portals unclose at the approach of the sun's royal chariot, in a gate of crystal. It opens before Aurora ushers in the king of day, and here Dreams find an entrance. Bright and glowing they flit about the morning couch of the sleeper. The wearied one, now refreshed by balmy slumber, still rests in delicious repose, while the invigorated spirit with rapture receives tlie visitants whose aerial forms have pass ed the crystal gate. * * * ♦■u n it was a mid-summer night. In a South ern clime, how delicious is night! Beauti ful it is in its mellow but brilliant moon light, but more glorious when its starry gems glow in skies of deepest azure. “ On such a night,” Trof. A. and his fa vorite pupil, Cora, from the balcony watch ed the golden constellations which adorned the sapphire arch. The evening was se rence. Silence reigned. The woodland song was hushed, for birds and bees rested after the sultry summer day. The zephyrs slept. The ambient air, laden with the per fume of aromatic flowers, just touched the strings of the zEolian harps which were placed in the branches of the overshadow ing trees. Soft, plaintive, almost silent, were the re-echoing tones, like the etherial music of an infant-spirit who had left Par adise to watch over tile loved on earth. “ Night wears her diamonds,” said Cora, “ Lovely night! robed in azure, geinmed with brilliants. See on herqueenly brow, her sparkling coronal—see beautiful Co rona.” “Yes,” said the Prof., “ Ariadne's crown, which Bacchus bid to take its place among the stars— “ The gotten circlet mounts, amt as it flies. Its diaioonls twinkle iu the distunt .kies.” And Lyra, how brightly it glows—how pure its rays! No wonder that the eye of Poesy appropriated to Orpheus, that unri valled constellation—to Orpheus, whose magic strains charmed the rocks and rivu lets, ami the lords of the forests, and whose lyric song won the heart of the lair Eury dice. “And see Aquila— Jupiter’s eagle—how J high it builds its eyrie. Noble bird, borne oil the standard, of the conquering Romans, but more precious to tis as the emblem which waves on our own flag, the ‘star spangled banner’ of our beloved America. A banner ever honored in the hands of our countrymen—heroes, whose prowess and valor are proved. And ever may our flag wave in peace o’er our country. “And in the Milky Way, floating on the silver stream, is fair Cygnus; and see, not far away, the Dolphin glitters in the blue serene—tlie heavenly sea. “In the west is the Diamond of Virgo— and how varied are the stars which form its outline. Cor Caroli gleams faintly, as through a curtain of gauze; Denebola glows more brilli uilly : A returns, with its ruddy rays, resembles • war's wild planet;’ while lone Spica. in solitary splendor, spar kles with purest light. And now tlie gold en Scorpion, rival to Orion—to “the belted giant of the skies”—is wreathing his cir clct of utaro in ilu* sui'Dim huuvcno. It* not most brilliant ?’’ ‘•Truly it is,” said Cora; “ but my eye now rests on a fairer constellation —one of pearl-like beauty, replete with historic in terest—on that nebulous light, which, the legend tells us commemorates the devoted love of the Egyptian Queen for her hero lord. Her luxuriant tresses, a votive offer ing for the safe return of Ptolemy, is an honored constellation. That is not love which is not capable of a sacrifice; but when a woman relinquishes her chief or nament, the object of her daily taste and skill, then prove her truth and de votion.” “How strangely are truth and fiction mingled,” replied the l’rof. “How many a lesson of the human heart may \vc find ‘ill’.vl mlai j Mmij u-a lnolut'rv event and classic story, and many an an cient fable, is traced in starry light on that azure scroll; but none more beautiful, more true to nature, than that of tlie crystal wave—of Coma Berenices. “ And is it not a thought replete with in terest, that in the elfin times, in the dark ages, lovers read their fate in the same stars which so serenely look down on us.— Grateful are vve that no cloud of supersti tion now obscures their beauty. Look on that ruby star; perhaps ages ago, the gift ed, beautiful, hut unhappy Cleopatra, fear fully watched the fitful gleainings of that star—the star of her destiny. On which of these bright orbs, think you, were the eyes of the devoted and wronged Josephine fixed, when she said to her husband, ‘Bo naparte, behold that bright star; it is mine: and remember, to mine, hot to thine, has sovereignty been promised. Separate then our fates, and your star wanes.’ Prophet ic words. 1 lei’s was a prophecy wrung from a heart whose vividness had quicken ed the judgment to intuitive perception.— The star of Napoleon, then in the ascend ant, went out, quenched in a dark and crimson flood. I,ike the burning star of Cassiopea, which so long filled the world with awe, by its wild gleaming and its gor geous brilliancy. “ And Horner and Virgil, on the shores of classic Greece, and ’mid Italian skies, sung of Orion armed with gold—of the weeping Ilyades, and of the twin Triones.” “True,’ pursued Cora, “ astrologers and poets, lovers and seers, have all contem plated that starry dome with wonder and admiration; but more than all, the inspired prophets watched.the rising and setting of the same constellations, which are so pre cious in our eyes. They loved the ‘cham bers of south,’ the golden mazes of ‘ the crooked serpent,’ the ‘brilliant bands of Orion,’ and on their holy heads descended ‘ the sweet influence of thePleiades.’ And how the heart thrills at the idea—how Ihe soul reaches forth to comprehend the won drous thought, that those sparkling dots are suns to whole systems of worlds, and the countless habitations of gifted and im mortal beings. “There are times,” added Cora, “when my spirit flutters wildly within its prison house ; it vainly struggles to be free, and to roam at will amid those distant orbs ; but at last, like a weary, wounded bird, it seems still and motionless, stunned by its own powerless efforts. But again, recov ering from its bewilderment, its aspirations are heard in questions like these. Are not those worlds replete with life, beauty and intelligence ? And may we not yet visit those distant orbs ! Are there more mag nificent displays of the Creator’s power in those vast worlds than on our earth ? And are their inhabitants wiser and better ? “Often,” said Prof. A., “have I asked of ‘the burning stars of night’ these very questions. Often, with an earnest spirit, have I gazed on the firmament, “ The breitst - ['hit o of the true High Priest, Ard ont with gems oranUar ” Sometimes 1 have thought that the loved scenes of nature here—that our beautiful earth, with its majestic mountains, its flow ing rivers, its pearled and grottoed oceans, its emerald isles, its peaceful vales, its hap py homes, are but shadowy images of the exhibitions of love and wisdom in those vast and wondrous worlds. We may here after be permitted, when free from the ■ mortal coils’ which bind us here, and when our intellectual and spiritual facul ties have gathered angelic power to com prehend those glories in the Universe, which imagination now so faintly pic tures.” As in words of beauty Prof. A. painted the results of scientific navigation, Cora’s spirit glowed with enthusiasm, and earnest were her aspirations after knowledge and wisdom. Hour after hour passed away.— At last, said Cora— “ It is well for us that in our skies there is no tiine-kecper, and that we have no .. i - -- T I if so, long since we might have heard— ‘ll est tard; il est niiuuit. Le croix du Sud est droit sur l’horizon,’ or rather, ‘ It is past midnight; the Cross has waned.’ ” “ But,” said the Prof., “ these winged hours cast o’er the common walks of life a halo of light and glory, and prepare us to meet without complaint the real and rough with which our pathway is beset. Thus is the spirit haimonized and prepared for its daily avocations and for life’s impera tive duties. These winged hours tinge many that follow, with a roseate hue.” When Cora retired to rest, the whip-poor will had awoke, and was pouring forth his plaintive notes,, his nightly serenade; and wearied by thought and lulled by the mo notonous repose, she slumbered— ’ W tli ib pvu.ee Floating a\>out her heart, which only comes From high communion.” Her sleep was dreamless, and with the first blush of Morning she awoke. The birds in sweet conceit were caroling tlieir morn ing hymns, and the gentle breezes were playing about the curtains. She arranged her repeater, and while recalling recollec tions of the lovely evening which had passed ‘in converse high,’ again she slept. Not yet had Aurora, in ‘orient purple dressed,’ unbarred the golden portals of the roseate east, but wide open were the crystal gates, and the winged messengers passed those beautiful barriers which shut out Dream-land from mortal ken. A radiant being, with a face of exqui site beauty, touched tlie sleeper with a magic wand. “Conic, Cora, away with me,” he salt), “even beyond the Land of Dreams. The open gate invites you to the profoundest depths of the universe.” Not a moment did she hesitate, hut trust ing herself, with the confidence of a true and earnest nature, to Aerial, the stranger guide, she ascended into the unique chariot. They approached the “ cristallina porta,” the gate of crystal, where the winged dreams were passing. One group arrested the at tention of Cora, for among them some were bright and beautiful, others wild and fan tastic—one wore the signet of truth on his brow, while on another was the impress of falsehood—some were trifling and frivolous, and others were thoughtful and of noble bearing. That group are all on their ucy to one slee|iei, and each will whisper to her, before returning. “No wonder,” said Cora, who, like all sleepers, supposed herself awake, “No wonder that fancies so strange, so contra dictory, so true, and so false, are blended in our dreams.” And now the aerial travellers espy Au rora's chariot, a transparent ruby of rich est hue, gracefully borne down the azure way, by swans of resplendent whiteness. Aurora reclined in the chariot, in a cloud like robe of purple, over which a net-work of golden gossamer, in rich folds, was thrown. Her luxuriant curls floated in the breeze, and a rich blush gave brilliancy to her perfect features. With her own beautiful hands she opened the gate, at the approach of the Sun’s royal chariot, which was borne on by steeds of majestic beauty, who were richly caparisoned, and were diamond-shod. The car of Cora flew on rapid wings, and soon rested on tho mountains of tljo wool l, which rose from the “Sea of Showers.” “Where,” said Cora, ‘is the jewel pal ace, thirty miles in circumference, descri by the Italian poet?” “That was a fiction of Ariosto's,” said Aerial; “but see that opal castle, spark ling in rainbow hues.” This fabric was by nature's architect spun from the volcan ic crater, in wild but symmetrical proper lions. Rainbows, passing from the earth, mingled with the molten lava to form the opal; crystalized fire, and consolidated light, dancing in sparkles of gold, purple and green, gave to this unique stone a beauty surpassing that of the diamond.— Cora’s winged chariot entered a dome of the opal palace. It was an immense globe, within which the car floated. The convex surface was inlaid with Lapis Lazuli, of the rich blue seen only in that rare stone Golden stars gemmed the azure. The hea vens, as they appear through the gigantic eye of a powerful telescope, were exhibit ed. Our solar system and stellar universe were there. The Milky Way, a gorgeous ring, a band of resplendent pearl, extended round the vast concave. The brilliant constellations so well known to Cora, as well as those about the Southern pole, were magnified into startling beauty. The polar star, our cynosure, the Southern Cross, Ursa Major, and the Centaur, Scor pio and Orion—all were seen by Iter, glit tering amid nebulte and magellanic clouds. A vast number of the nebulae were resolv ...l rr*t IX • T* 1* ■ ,- , - f.ll il’-T. —the ring-like Nebula in Lyre—the Com et, like one in the girdle of Andromeda, and the most glorious of the Nebul® —that in the girdle of Orion, all claimed her ad miration. Said Cora— “ This View does not satisfy me, but in creases my desire for further observation. Let us go among those wondrous worlds.” As she thus spake, the winged car left the Opal Palace, and floated over the Moon's volcanic mountains and ravines. It seem ed that mountains torn from their bases had left these huge excavations. “I remember,” said Cora, “that Ariosto relates a story of the Paladin Astolfo, who found at the Moon all lost things—love's sighs and tears, ladies’ charms, lost senses, and wasted hours. Before we leave this lunai legion, let me search for some of my lost time.” “ Mourn not,” replied Aerial, “ for the departed day, or for the dying hour, but let its knell remind you of the future.” The Sun had vanished, and the Earth, like a giant moon, met the gaze of Cora. “ Sec,” she exultinglv exclaimed, “ see our magnificent Earth--like a silver-robed sea. It is larger than half a score of moons.” “This is the only point in the Universe from which the earth appears magnificent,” replied Aerial. The chariot pursued its winged course, and soon hovered over Ve nus. The aerial car floated above magnifi cent lunar scenery. The lofty mountains of Venus, towering twenty miles above its surface, were ricli in gems of beauty.— The travellers rested in a grotto, formed of pterions stones, ami of sea-sholls, where the air was redolent with the perfume of lunar flowers, where winged creatures, of exquisite plumage, sported amid the foliage, while limpid streams flowed down golden sands, and fountains danced, as if to hid den music. “And” said Cora, “is this beautiful Venus, on whose silvery orb 1 have so of ten gazed, and while f watched it, follow ing the sun like a page, how have I long ed to know its history ! Ah !it is indeed as lovely as I had imagined it—but tell me arc its inhabitants of correspondent beau ty ? Do they love, and hope, and fear ? Is there here cherub infancy, and blooming youth, and wise maturity, and venerable age ? Do the inhabitants of this fair plan et, fade and die? Is sorrow here, and does the heart well nigh hreak with grief, and is the blight of sin cast over all this lovely region? And Mercury so near the sun—are not all these consumed by its op pressive rays, and do not the inhabitants of Hcrschel shiver with cold ?” Be assured answered Aerial that the same great de signer, who created your earth has fitted all beings for their own planet. “But” continued the excited Cora, “ I have heard that in Sirius, and in othei vast worlds, the inhabitants are endowed with many more senses, than those of ours 1 and their mental gifts are superior! Why may I not visit a planet inhabited by be -1 ings so highly gifted ?” “Because” said Aerial, “you, with your capacities limited, as ihe\ now are, could have no intercourse with th m. The inhabitants of earth are a very low or,lei of intelligences, but are susceptable of high improvement. I can not now tiring you to the companionship of the Doings on other globes. I have the power only, to give you a glimpse of the Universe, hut that will convince you of the impossibility of a finite being compre hending the works of creation. Leaving Venus, the ring-shaped moun tains, stationed like watch-towers about the ruddy planet of Mars, soon became visible. The polar snows consolidated into glaciers of fantastic form, glit tered with ice-castles, crowned with turrets and minarets. Now the cat hovered over one of Jupiter's sattelites, from which Ju-