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when all of a sudden lie stopped, down went his washand-busiand hegevsuch a piercing fjijr.ek ! such a bust of agony as 1 never saw, except wacn the prince sees tne ghost in Ham lick'. down went his basin, and up went his eyes; 1 really tiiougiit he was going to vom ick 1 I rushed up to his Grace, squeezing him in the shoulders, and patting him on the back.— Every body was in alarm ; the Duke, as pale as usnex,grinding his teeth,frowning, and rank in’ tne most frightful extortions : the ladies were in astarrix; and I observed Lazy Jim leaning against tiie sideboard, and looking as white as chuck. 1 looked in his Grace’s plate, and, on my honor as a g’n’lm’n, among tae amins and rea sons there was two rows of teeth ! •• L nv—l leavens!—what i —your Grace ! —is it possible,” said Lady Sungsinag, puttin’ her hand into the Duke’s plate. “ Dear Duke of Haldersgit! as 1 live tiiey are my lost .teeth!” Flesh and bind coo In’t stand this, and I bust out laffi.i till l thought 1 should split; a foot man's a man, and as impregnable as hany oui er to tire rediclous. I bust and every body bust after me—lords and ladies; duke and but ler. and all—every body except Lazy Jim. Would you believe it? He hadn’t cleaned out the glasses, and the company was a wash in’ them -elves in second-hand water a fortnit old! I don’t wish to insinuate that this kind of thing is general; only people had better take warnin’ by me and Mr. Skeleton, and wash themselves at home. Lazy Jim was turned off the next mornin’, took to drinkin’ and evil habits, and is now, in consquints, a leftenant general in the Axillary Legend. Edinburgh Scotsman. iirrihij. Achievement. The church of St. Peter and St. Paul is re markable for its spire, the loftiest in St. Peters burg. Ail anecdote connected with this church and not known I believe, out of Rusia. is too re in irkable to be ornited. The spire winch ris es is terminated by a large globe, on wuich an an gel stands,supporting a large cross. T'us an gel less respee’ed by the weather than perhaps Ins iioiy character de; e.ved, tell into disrepair,! and some suspicions were entertained, that he designed revisiting, uninvoked, the surface of tne earth. Tae atHiir caused some uneasiness, an . tiie government at length became serious ly perplexed. To raise a scaffolding to such a heig.it, would cost more money than all the; •angels out of Heaven were worth—and in med itat.ng fruitlessly on circumstances, without be-! iug able to resolve how to act, a considerable time was suffered to elapse. Among the crowd of gazers below, who dai ly turned their eyes and their thoughts towards t ie angel, was a niijack called Telouchine. — Tuts man was a roofer of houses, and Ins speculations by degrees assumed a more practical character than the idle wonders and conjectures of the rest of the crowd. The sp ,e was entirely covered with sheets of gild e : copper, and presented a surface to the eye a ; smootn as if it nad been one mass of burn isued gold. But To’ouchine knew that the s .eeis of copper were not uniformly closed up on cacti otner; and above all, that there were large nails used to fasten them, which project ed from the side of the spire. Having me ditated upon t ;ese circumstances till nis mind was made up, the rnijack went to the government, and olio red to repair the an-1 gel, without scaffolding, and without assistance, on condition ot being reasonably paid for the time expended in the labour. The oiler was accepted, for it was made in Russia, and by a Russian. On the day fixed for the adventure, I elouchine, provided with nothing more than a coil ol ropes; ascended tiie spire into the window. Here he looked at the concourse of people below. He cut a portion of the cord in the form of two large stirrups, with a loop at each end. The upper loops he fastened up on two of the projecting nails above liis head, and placed his feet in tiie others. Then dig ging t.ie fingers of one hand into interstices of the sheets of copper, lie raised up on his stir rups on the other hand, so as to make it catch a nail higher up. The same operation he per formed op the part of the other leg, and so on alternately. And thus lie climed nail by nail, step by step, and stirrup by stirup, till his starting post was scarcely distinguishable from the golden surface, and the spire hand dwind led in his embrace till he could clasp it all aro und. So far, so well. But he now reached the Ball, a globe ol between nine and ten feet in circumference. The ange 1 tiie object of I the suit, was above the bull, and concealed 1 from liis view by its smooth, round and glitter ing expanse. Only fancy the man at the mo iment, turning up his grave eyes and grave beard to an object that seemed to defy the da ring and ingenuity of man. But Teloucokine was not dismayed. lie was prepared for the difficulty ; and the means by which he essayed to surmount it exibited the same prodigious simplicity as the rest of the feat. Suspending himself in his stirrups, he girded the needle with a cord, the ends of which he fastened around his waist, and so supported, lie leaned gradually back, till the soles of his feet were planted agaiast the spire. In this posi tion he threw by a strong effort, a coil of cord over tiie ball, and so coolly and accurately was t ie aim taken, that at the first trial, it fell in the required direction, and he saw the end hang j ingdown on the opposite side. To draw himself up in his original position, to fasen the cord firmly around the globe, and With the assistance of this auxiliary, to climb to the summit, were now an easy part of his task and in a few minutes more Teiouchkine stood bv the side of the angel, and listened to tne sud den shout that burst like sudden thunder from tiie crowd below, yet came to his ear only like a faint and hollow murmur. From the January number of the Southern Literary Messenger. In commencing the fourth volume and fourth year of the Messenger, we have somewhat to say beyond a mere holiday salutation to sub scribers, readers and contributors. We cannot look back upon the past with un mingled satisfaction, we \ct derive from it some pleasing thoughts; and much cheering iiope for the future. Some useful and elegant taient iias been called into exercise, nay it may be said, has I >ooll created 5 since such is the power of exercise over the faculties, that to afford an attractive field lor their exertion is in a great degree to create them. Some new and valuable trutlies have been promulgated through our columns; and a yet larger number ol truths not new, has doubtless been present ed m form.’, mo .e engaging or impressive than before, and lias thus been stamped beneficially upon many a mind. Some books, worthy to be read, have been pointed out to the reader’s notice; and some unworthy ones have been marked, so that he might not misspend his mo ney and time upon them. And it no other good had been done, —many an hour, of many a young person, who might otherwise been given to hurtful foll.es, has by our pages been waded away in harmless at least, if not salu tary enjoyment. So little ascetic are we, as to nold, mat whoever furnishes mankind with an innoce.it recreation, is a public benefactor. But the past is nothing, except as a help to tiie future. Wo are earnestly desirous to ren der the Messenger a vehicle of light ; of use ful truth; oi moral improvement; of enlight ened taste. To some extent, it has been so already: but to an extent commensurate neith er w*ti 1 our w shes, nor with tae fund of talent slumbering in the community around us. The mineral wealth of Virginia is a trite theme of expatiation. It is unquestionably immense. But the mines of Southern intellect, ail unwrought, and many of them unknown even by t.ueir proprietors, far surpass those of matter, both in number and the richness of their buried treasures. Not to speak of persons to whom the ample page of knowledge, “rich with tae spoils ol time,” has never been unrolled, there exists, southward of the Potomac, a mass lot cultivated mind sufficient, with only a little industry and care in practising the art of com position, to fill twenty such magazines as this, with instruction and delight. Few are aware, how improvable the facculty is, of expressing thoughts upon paper. The gigantic increase or the muscles in a blacksmith’s arm, from his wielding the hammer so frequently ; the pro verbial strengthening of the memory by exer cise , or tae miraculous sleight which the jug gler acquires by practice with his cups and bails ; is not more certain than he who daily habituates himself to writing down his ideas with waat ease, accuracy, mid elegance he can, will find his improvement advance with hardly any assignable limit. Nor will only his style improve. It is a truth so hackneyed, that on ly its importance rescues it from contempt and emboldens us to utter it, that “in learning to write with accuracy and precision, we learn to think with accuracy and precision.” Besides this, the store of thought is in a two-fold way enlarged. By the action of the mind in turn ing over, analysing, and comparing its ideas, they are incalculably multiplied. And the re searches prompted by the desire to write un- I derstandingly upon each subject* are constant ly widening and deepening the bounds of knowledge. Thus, whether the concious possessor of tal ents desire to enrich and invigorate his own mind, or to act with power upon the minds of others; we say to him “ WRITE.” Tlx; Messenger is a medium, through which, the best talents need not disdain to commune with the public. Whatever it contains, worthy to be read, finds not less than ten thousand readers; besides tho.>e whom republicutions procure. And most of these (it is a pardona ble vanity to say) are such readers as any auy author may well be proud to have. Where is the orator so gifted, that he might not glory in addressing so numerous an auditory of the enlightened, tne fair, the exaulted in station ! By all tiiese powerful considerations then, — by the desire of self-improvement—by an hon orable ambition—by disinterested patriotism — by the pure wish to diffuse light and do good, —we invoke the dormant talents of the .South (especially) to rouse up from their slumber, and employ the means now offered them, of assisting to mould and fashion the age, if not of leaving names, which a distant posterity will contemplate with grateful veneration. AN AUTHOR. Strange the countrast between the writer’s actual situation & that which he creates. I have been writing all my life, and even now I do not understand tiie faculty of composition; but this | I do know, that tiie history of the circumstances j under which most books are written, would he i a frightful picture of human suffering. How often is the pen taken up when hand is un steady with recent sickness, and bodily pain is i struggled against, and sometimes in vain ! I low often is the page written hurriedly and anxiously—the mind fevered the while by the consciousness that it is not doing justice to its powers! and yet a certain quantity of work must he completed, to meet the exigencies of that poverty which has no other resource.— But there is an evil beyond all this. When the iron of some settled sorrow has entered into the soul—when some actual image is predom inat, even in the world of imagination and the thoughts, do what you will, run in one only channel—composition is then a perpetual struggle, broken by the one recurring cry, “ Hast thou found me, 0I1! mine enemny ?” Something or other is for ever bringing up the one idea: it colours, every day more and more, the creations which were conjured up, in the vain hope to escape from it. “ I cannot write to day,” becomes more and more the frequent ex clamation. It is, I believe, one of those sha dows which deepen on the mind as it ap proaches to its close. It is anew and dread ful sensation to the poet, when lie first finds tnat “ his spirits do not come when he docs call to them;” or, that they will only come in one which makes him cry, ‘take any shape but that.’ It is anew sensation to Ijc glad of any little return of power, and a most painful one. AN AUTHOR. ENFORCED MARRIAGE AND HAPPY RELEASE. Sir Walter Scott used to relate the follow ing curious anecdote : “‘Mv cousin Wattv,’ said he, ‘ was a midshipman some forty years ago in a ship at Portsmouth ; he and two other companions had gone on shore, and had over staid their leave, spent all their money, and run up an immense bill at a tavern on the Point. The ship made the signal for sailing ; but their landlady said, “ No, gentlemen, you shall not escape without paying your reckoningand she accompanied her words by appropriate actions, and placed them under the tender keeping of a sufficient party of bailiffs. They felt they were in a scrape, and petitioned very hard to be released. “ No, no,” said Mrs. Quickly, “ I must be satisfied some way or |t’other; you must be well aware, gentlemen, that you will be totally ruined if you don’t get 011 board in time.” They made long faces, and confessed that it was too true. “ Well,” said | she, “I’ll give you one chance. lam so circum j stanced here that I cannot carry on business as a single woman, and I must contrive some how to hove a husband, or, at all events. I must be able to produce a marriage certificate ; and, | therefore, the only terms on which you shall all three have leave to go on board to-morrow, is, that one of you consent to marry me. I don’t care a snap which it is ; but, by all that’s good one of you I’ll have, or else all three "o to jail, and your ship sails without you !” The vira go was not to be pacified, and the poo r youths, left to themselves, agreed, after a time, to draw lots, and it happened to fall on my cousin. No time was lost, and off they marched to church, and my poor relative was forthwith I spliced. The bride, on returning, gave them a good substantial dinner, and several bottles of wine apiece, and, having tumbled t’ em into i ll wherry, sent them off. The ship sailed, and the yong men religiously adhered to the oath of secresy they had taken pi evious to drawing lots. The bride, I should have said, merely wanted to be married, and was the first to pro. pose an eternal separation. Some months after, at Jamaica, a file of papers reached the midshipmens’ berth; and Watty, who was ob. seved to be looking over them carelessly rea. ding an account of a robbery and murder at Portsmouth, suddenly jumped up in lii s ecstasy, forgot his obligation of secresv, and cued out, “ Thank heaven, my wife is hung, ed!’ ” 5 JUNIUS. 11l the library of the late Sir Philip Francis is a regular series of the Public Advertiser du ring the period when Junius’s letters were pub lished in that journal, in which nearly every let ter is corrected, and the regular stops inserted, by Sir P. Francis, in bis clear and very dis tinct autograph. The recent death of Mr. Philip Francis, only son of Sir Philip Francis, may possibly elicit some new facts relating to the author of the Letters of Junius. Sir Ph lip Francis be queathed his house in St. James’ square, his fine political and classical library, also his manuscripts, to Lady Francis, and to his son. His collection of political pamphlets, published about the same time when Junius’s Letters ap peared in the Public Advertiser, are illustrated with manuscript notes relaiting to the persons who figured in those memorable epistles. It is possible that some information may be found respecting the copy of these memorable epis tles, bound in vellum, by Henry Sampson Woodfall, and sent to the author. Sir Philip Francis left sealed up in his library, in manu script, a history of the period in which he lived, containing ‘biographical sketches of the emi nent statesmen, his contemporaries. TULIPS AND ROSES. The following is a very pretty and very plea sant epigram: My Rosa, from the latticed grove, Brought me a sweet boquet of posies, And asked, as round my neck she clung, If tulips I preferred to roses ? u I cannot tell, sweet w ife,” 1 sighed, “But kiss me ere 1 see the posies. She did. “ Oh, I prefer,” 1 cried, “Thy two lips to a dozen roses For the Southern Post, To the Memory of 3lrs. llemans. KY MRS. C. LADD. T II E TRIBUTE. I’ve seen the glorious sun arise And dart its brilliant rays O’er all the face of nature bright— Yet, ere the moon had past, ’twas gone And buried from my sight: Clouds, deep and dark, had spread Their mantle o’er the face of day— Yet w e forget not how the sun Had cheer’d us in the morn, With its resplendant ray. The recollection of it e’er will die ; Like thy unfading fame, ’tw ill live Through all the gloom of night. THE SIMILE. I’ve seen the Rainbow, in a summer eve* With all its varied tints, it burst Upon my view—and seem’d to take Creation iri that one embrace ! What art —what skill— Can copy the refulgent dye ? None, none, hut the hand that form’d Can e’er portray, or bring back to our view Those beauteous colours bright, llemans ! ’lis like thy muse— Past imitation’s art; Yet, ’tis not like thee in each simile, For the remembrance of it rests In our mind’s-eye alone ; But thy sweet muse can never be forget, ’Twill bloom in each of thy poetic lays, When rolling years have pass’d away, And we are mould’ring in the dust. LAMENT. The poet’s sigh—the poet’s tear— All that he had was given To waft thy disembodied shade Unto its native heaven. The hero sigh’d when thou wert gone,, Who could so well portray The feelings of a hero’s breast, On the dread battle day. What heart did not thy loss deplore— For who is left to tell How deeply Woman’s soul can feel, Or love, but half how well. THE VISION’S CONSOLATION* A vision bright passed as I sigh’d, . And whisper’d on the breeze, Thou hast a gentle spirit left, 1 Thy sorrow’s to appease. Homans is in that blest abode, Free from all care of mind ; Tho’ far from us she reigns in bliss— Sigourney’s left behind. Vinevi Uc\