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house. The palace looked every inch a palace, the whole of it being thrown open, brilliantly lighted, and filled with the chief people of the island, —not, 1 dare say selected on any very exclusive principle. The scene was truly festal in aspect, and everywhere there was that air of enjoyment, the absence of which is perhaps the most striking char acteristic of those great London par ties at which the grave guests seem to be performing some penitential duty, remembering the sins of their youth, and fashionably repenting in purple and fine linen. While some were dau cin” others walked up and down a mag nificent gallery which runs along the top of the portico, the whole length of the building. Above us stretched an awning which protected us from the dew ; ‘beneath us were countless flow ers, which did not injure the air by breathing it before us; around us the tire-flies flashed, and from within the music of the band streamed through all the casements and floated far away over the town. It pursued me through the thickets and gardens in w hich I oc casionally took refuge for the sake of enjoying cooler air, and looking back on the distant revelry through the bow ers of lilacs and festoons ot roses. — From those gardens it was not easy to return to the palace; but their soli tudes were made more delightful by the intrusion of the. distant mirth. Another characteristic scene at which I “assisted” was the prorogation of the parliament; a scene that illustrated well the meaning of our British “ pro tection” and the freedom of the lonian republic. The parliament sits in the Lord High Commissioner’s palace ; and the members entered between fdes of soldiers, w ho gave them a somew hat unceremonious greeting, so fiir as “pri vilege” is concerned, clashing their arms every moment, with emphatic loyalty, on the marble steps. As the Presi dent took his place, the band wasplay ing “ God save the Queen.” The mo ment the Lord High Commissioner had finished his speech, a loud peal of ar tillery rang out from the citadel, and pronounced the “Amen” in an audible voice; and the much complimented, and somewhat bewildered, senators took their departure, amid the gleam ing of swords, the glaring of uniforms, and the prancing of cavalry that charged up and down the esplanade. On the whole, the spectacle was both pictur esque and significant, and would have met the cordial approbation of Queen Elizabeth, who marvelled that the mem bers of the “nether” house should some times be betrayed into meddling with “matters of state.” There is at Corfu a university,—not using the word, however, quite in the sense in which it is applied to Oxford or Cambridge. Daring a visit w hich I paid to it I had some interesting con versation with a Greek professor, ap parently a man of much learning.— Among other things he discussed the subject of Greek prosody, and made himself merry with what he called our preposterous mode of pronouncing. I referred to the poets, and asked how’ he could make harmony out of Horner's hexameters on his metrical principles. He, on the other hand, appealed to ex perience and to precedent, and affirmed that our prosodaical system was mere ly an arbitral’) and fanciful device of our own, w hich pleased us because w e had invented it and were used to it. — Having no demonstrative process at hand, 1 appealed, a* prudent controver sialists do on such occasions, to com mon sense, to the moral sense, and to every infallible intuition which occupies the space between these extremities : especially 1 appealed to the ear. The little lively old man clapped both his hands to his head, and answered, “I too have ears.’ 1 looked at his head, and, there w ere two ears, not at all too long, and in all respects as good-looking as another mans. The professor also stood on his native soil, discussed his native language. ::i.id was paid for knowing all about the matter. Accordingly, I made my submission. The only mode in which 1 can reconcile local traditions with the needs of our western ears is by supposing that thechaunt of the an cient minstrel, in reciting, sw r allow’ed up all discords, just, as in our cathedral chaunt mere prose can be accommoda ted to music, whether the clause be long or short. The sunsets of Corfu as far exceed those ot \ enice, as the latter surpass a London sunset seen on one of those foggy evenings when that city, looked at trom Hyde Park, might be described as a mist with trees and houses in it. One, in particular, 1 shall never forget; I rubbed mv eyes, thinking 1 was in a dream, and mounted from rock to rock, trying to assure myself that it was a reality. The colours were wholly dif ferent in quality from any that 1 had ever seen .in clouds, flowers, metals, feathers, or even jewels. The Poet’s expression, “an illumination of all gems, gives you but a faint idea of it. Lhe effect, on the whole, was very dark. In a few minutes the splendid pageant had spread itself over all the heavens, the west being but little distinguishable from the east. A sudden shade fell over the scene, (the sky appearing to come nearer to the earth,) at the same time that you seemed to look for leagues and leagues through the depth of colours as glowing as if a world of dark and shining iewels had been melt ed into an atmosphere, and suspended over our sphere. The woods and glefisbelow, “invested with purpureal gleams, >nggested to me, in their dewy darkness, the Elysian fields, and the shades where the heroic dead found rest amid their amaranthine banks, and meads of asphodel. Such colours could never have been represented in a pic ture. Even if the amethystine and vermilion hues could have been intelli gibly rendered, nature only could have reconciled them to such shades of green and bronze. It was as if the skv had been a vast vault of painted glass : nor perhaps will anything grander be seen till the millennium morn. These are the accidents which reveal to us at least what is possible, and may well be precious to us on that account” alone.— A region in which such effects were fre quently realised should be peopled on su<h forms as we see in Perugi no s pictures, standing in their rapt beauty and eternal serenity against a sunset sky of pale green. I spare you the whole of my small learning on the subject of the “ancient Corcyra. \\ here lay the Homeric Phaeacia. and where the city of Alcin ous stood, nobody knows; and discus sions on such subjects, when much pro longed, prove chiefly that the dispu tant has not caught much of the genius loci. Ulysses probably troubled him self little about the genealogy of Circe or Calypso ; and the modern traveller need not very closely investigate ques tions about Ulysses, which however they may be decided, leave the legend where it stands. The habitation of such things is the human fancy ; and w hoever wants to know’ the exact spot where the Hero was found by Nausicaa, had better put by bis map, walk along the coasts, and fix on a spot w here the meet ing ought to have taken place. I found a dozen such. There are, alas! few re mains of antiquity in Corfu. Some traces still exist of a temple, probably dedicated to Neptune. They are situ ated in a little green dell which hangs, amid olive-bowers, on the steeps beside the eastern sea. Some relics of ancient mythology also hold their ground in a modified form. Near the ancient Leu cimna is an eminence called “ Nereido Kastro,” a title derived from the cir cumstance that the spot is accounted a favourite resort of the Nereids, whose tutelary care is not yet quite forgotten, though no longer invoked with libation and vows. Some persons are simple enough to imagine that the south is a land of per petual sunshine. Such is not the case, even in Corfu, that fairist garden of the Adriatic. The morning of my depar ture was not very promising. During the preceding day the heavy rain fell, as it were, in a mass, on the earth. — The next morning the sky was still louring, and the sea, during the preced ing month a deep blue, had changed in to a turbid and gloomy green. The Albanian mountains frowned behind their clouds, and the loftier of them were of a threatening purple bordering on black, with the exception of their w hite summits, and the long rifts down their sides in which the snow still lurked. The sky, however, had become as bright as usual before we had dropped anchor in the bay of Paxos. We had not time to land. The little luxuriant island looked like a smaller Corfu, but without its mountains. Its olive-woods sloped down the hills in all directions to the water's edge, and stood “ With their green faces fix’d upon the flood.” A few windmills clustered together on a mound near the sea ; and their circling sails harmonized with that general air of industry and life which contrasted with the Elysian stillness of Corfu’s lawns and bays, where the natives think it exertion enough to walk in the sun, and their English protectors won der that neither new roads nor schools can inspire them with a little Dutch industry or American energy. \\ e reached the harbour of Santa Maura, the ancient Leucadia, at about four o clock in the evening. Landing at the fort, and proceeding thence by a long causeway and a ferry to the town, we wandered on into the island till it was late and dark. Our path lay prin cipally through woods of olive; and after some time the moon silvered the distant mountain-tops wherever they were visible through the gaps in the forest, and rained its white light through the twinkling foliage of the trees close by us, and through the rifts in their aged stems. At night we embarked again; and 1 was left almost alone on deck, to watch one of the most beauti ful and pathetic of spectacles—a moon setting at sea. It sank with a staid pomp and magnificence analogous to that of sunset, but far more melancho ly in effect. The declining orb became a dark orange-colour as it approached the water. The clouds hung depressed around it in heavy masses, wanly ting ed, not irradiated, by its light; and the sea, dark everywhere else, burned be neath it with a gloomy fire. The moon had all but disappeared, when the man at the helm called out to me, “ That’s Sappho’s Leap.” 1 turned, and its last beam still played on a white rock, the ex tremity of the Leucadian promontory. That rock w ill be an object of interest while the world lasts, associated as it is with the memory of the most cele brated woman who has ever lived ; celebrated by a lov e-song and a love. llow far her celebrity was deserved, we shall never know; but travelling, as w e do,through time as through space, amid a world half-visionary and half historical, we shall do best to regard such records, as 1 did the material mon ument, not with a near or captious scru tiny, but at a distance and bv moon light. (Original Cssntjs. For the Southern Literary Gazette. EGERIA: Or, Voices from the Woods and Wayside. NEW SERIES. XLIII. Attachments. Our capacity to form judicious attachments, does not so much depend upon our capacity to think and to observe, as upon the vigilance and activity of rare instincts which have been tutored by necessities and trials. XLIV. Judgment. It were no unchristian mode of judging others, were we as willing to suppose, in them, the merits which we all fancy in ourselves. XLV. Self-Mirrors. The instinct which dis cerns the evil motive in our neighbour, proves the vice in question to be active at the core of our own hearts. XLVJ. Female Virtue. The delicacy of fe male virtue consists wholly in its un consciousness. She to whom you can teach nothing, has already learned the worst knowledge of the human heart, XLVII. Old and Young. To the young the past is an abyss; to the old an eminence. It is before the latter that the abyss presents itself, from the edge of which they mournfully look back to the sun ny heights which they never more shall tread. XL VIII. Vice Short-lived. How much easier would our virtues be of attainment, if we could only remember always how short-lived are all the enjoyments of vice. Give them the whole seventy years of our allotment, and how in. SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE. finitely nothing is the whole sum of being upon w hich even the most selfish worldling would insist. XLIX. Child Angels. Why should there not be child-angels—dear and infant forms with wings—as well as those which can tutor and direct us even while they serve? It does not follow that a perfect condition of happiness im plies a monotonous equality of strength and stature in the realms and princi palities assigned to the abodes of the blessed. L. The Future. It is strange that, know ing nothing of the future our selves, we should still be unwilling to trust ourselves implicitly to that guid ance which has already carried us so far in safety. LI. Communities. Ancient communities which, at the same time, remain sta tionery, making no progress, are apt always to refine at their own expense. In such, the tastes ripen at the expense of the energies; and refinement, when it becomes fastidiousness, is fatal t<> performance. The dangerous point t<> which such a community can arrive, is when it becomes habitually critical. When the Athenian mob could teach an actor the right reading, Athens was no longer a power. A community of critics will lack the courage to do any tiling hut criticise. They will dread to incur, by performance, the severities which it has been their pleasure to pass upon their neighbours. Such a com munity w ill tell you of the burr in the voice, the grammatical slip, of the un couth expression of the great orator, while all the world hangs with tears and tumultuous delight upon the mag nificent flow of his thought—the glori ous sw'eep of his imagination. They are quite too nice to be w ise—too cor rect to be courageous —too solicitous of their own utterance to hear the words of wisdom or genius, or to gather truth or inspiration from the lips of others. C'jjt fturtj (T'rllfr. For the Southern Literary Gazette. THE PLEIADES. A TRUE TALE OF THE SEA. It was a lovely night, “the moon parting aside the light clouds’’ that floated in the heavens, peered forth with her brilliant lace. The sea, spark ling beneath her earnest glance, seemed like one vast casket of gems; each rip ple appeared a diamond, and from each billowy wave gleamed forth “the ever changing opal’s light.” Truly, Lima had never a more “shining bath in which to lave” than on this night. For hours I had stood watching “the sea of fire” as it appeared in its brilliancy. 1 had never recollected seeing it more dazzlingly bright; and calling to Henry M., who was standing near, 1 invited him to share the glorious spectacle with me. He came, I thought, rather re luctantly ; and after giving one rapid glance, turned coldly away. J followed him, for I had noticed that he shuddered as if in horror at the sight. On similar occasions I remembered his exhibiting the same apparent disgust, and I felt somewhat anxious to find out-'he cause. He had seated himself when 1 reached him, in thoughtful attitude, and placing myself by his side, I gathered from him the following thrilling incident: It is some years since the vessel I then belonged to, was taking in a cargo of sugar at one of the West India Islands. We w ere obliged to go from our ship which was anchored at some distance, to the landing, in boats, and transport our cargo in that manner.— The afternoon was a very windy one, when two comrades and myself pushed off in our boat, “ nothing fearing,” to take in a load of sugar. We had got out of sight of the vessel, when sud denly there came upon us one of those violent gusts so often experienced in a tropical climate. It seemed as if the “caverns of the wind” had been sud denly opened, and their pent up prison ers rushed out to scatter with their footsteps the ocean’s foam around. The boat reeled as the blast descended, which sweeping over us with a mighty power, hurled us from our places with a giant’s strength. Oh ! the horror of that mo ment, when J found myself tossing about on the merciless deep, and how cold the waves felt as dashing over me, 1 would rise and sink with their swell. I had caught two pieces of timber that were floating past, and in that manner sustained myself, for the shore w r as at too great a distance for me to reach it by swimming. Upon looking around, I found that my companions wore near me bffeting the waves. For several hours we tossed about, looking out anxiously for a sail, and striving to keep up each others fast drooping spi rits. As long as 1 saw my companions near, 1 felt buoyed up, and continued to combat with the waves. But the fearful agony of that moment 1 shall never forget, when looking again at the spot where J had last seen them tossing wildly their hands as if imploring for aid, I found that they had disappeared. I called aloud, 1 implored them to an swer; only one w r ord I said, to tell me that I am not alone—alone on this hor rible deep. But, Oh! my God, my God, (said the speaker, overcome by his emotion,) no voice replied, they were gone, gone. The merciless waves had opened and’ ingulfed them. Yes, I was alone, alone to combat with the fierce elements that seemed driving me on to eternity ; alone w ith my last fail ing strength, no voice near to cheer me, no arm to uphold me. To add to my horrors, night threw out her mantle, covering the earth and sea. and soon its shadows darkened all around. It was the first quarter of the moon, and oh ! how I looked up and blessed her, as she hung out her brilliant crescent, “ like a silver boat launched on a bound less flood.” While 1 lay gazing up to heaven and thanking God for even this little ray of light, which w r as enough to enable me to distinguish surrounding objects, I saw’ a shark moving its pon derous form towards me. I felt as if di vested of all powers of volition, and it seemed as if 1 had been spared the fate of my companions to meet w r ith this more horrrible death. Slowly the crea ture advanced, and then remained per fectly motionless at a little distance, watching me- I bent my gaze upon it, and kept it fixed steadily, it moved not, neither did I, save the gentle mo tion of my body caused by the rocking of the waves. All was still and silent, the winds had murmured themselves to sleep, the billows moved quietly as if fearful of disturbing the slumbers of those who slept beneath them. It must have been about ten minuces, (to me it seemed an “age of age*”) that, this strange scene continued. At last J saw the creature move grjdually off, and with a deep plunge Oat agitated the waters around, it smk beneath the waves. After this I lay perfectly ex hausted from terror and fatigue—l felt that my wasted strength was fast giv ing way, and I knew not what instant the shark would return, eager for its prey. Completely overcome by ex haustion, you would scarcely believe it, 1 slept—yes. slept,and dreamed. It could not havebeen more than a minute I lay in this deep slumber, and oh! what a vision swept across my brain. I thought that as I lay gazing up to heaven, a delightful strain of music filled the silent air, and slowly arose that brilliant group of sisters—the fiiir •Pleiades. They rested their “starry instrument” in the azure skies, and striking its shining cords, they breathed forth a strain of peace and comfort.— Again and again the delightful tones breathed out, then died away “the faint exquisite music of a dream,” until at last no sound could be heard, but the dying echoes that gradually expired in their own sweet music. At this mo ment an increased ripple in the waters, aroused me from my deep, and I can never forget the thrill of horror that ran through every nerve, when I per ceived the shark slowly moving around me in circles, as if preparing to seize upon its victim. Maddened almost to insanity', I believe that 1 should have made no effort at resistance, but on raising an appealing look to heaven to pray for strength to sustain me, I saw glittering in all their beauty, the Pleiades. In a moment my dream rushed across my mind, and 1 fancied I saw Hope written in burning letters upon their brows, and nerved by that sign, 1 prepared for the conflict. Silent ly the horrible creature revolved around me, and every instant would open its huge mouth as if to ingulf me therein. At last it came closer and 1 felt its cold nose touch my face. In a moment, with all the energy of despair, I rushed upon it. The piece of timber I had un der my right arm, now’ served me as a weapon of defence, and sustaining my self by the left, I fought with the other. For about an hour 1 struggled with the fierce monster. 1 beat it about the head, trying to stun it, and every fresh dart it would make at me, 1 would re new the attack with increased vigour. I screamed with all my strength to at tract any vessel that might be near, un til at last it seemed as if all strength was deserting me. It was a desperate and a fearful struggle between life and death, and 1 dared not relax one mo ment, for that instant would hurl me to destruction. But even during that long and terrible scene, the Pleiades seemed ever before me, and 1 would murmur Pleiades, Pleiades, as if I thought that bright band would come down and succour me. At last I made a vigorous effort, and gathering up my remaining strength, 1 dealt the monster a blow on the head, that seemed to stun it. It remained perfectly motionless for an instant, and then I saw’ it move gradually off, and disappear in the depths of its ocean home. I was so completely exhausted after this, that J had scarcely strength to breathe, but yet was compelled to make an effort to keep myself from sinking. Worn out as I was, I dared not close my eyes, but kept them fixed upon “the starry lyre of the sisters,” which seemed to be echoing back my murmurings of Pleiades, Pleiades. As I lay tossing about on the deep, it appeared to me, memory was gifted with ten thousand eyes, that glancing back, brought to light every action of my past exis tence. Not a deed, not a thought, but sprung to life once more, every friend I had know n, every hope I had cherish ed, every sorrow I had wept over, seem ed actually present. Then for the first time, did the freak that made me leave the comforts of a refined and luxurious home appear a crime; and again did the tearful voice, and the subdued “good bye” of my Mother, sound mournfully distinct; as it seemed to blend itself with the dreamy sound of the waves. While I thus pondered on the past, the lovely Pleiades gradually “ sunk into their ocean bower,” and “night with all her starry host” passing away, morning broke upon me. Upon looking around at the vast waste of waters that en compassed me, I espied a soil , my heart beat joyously, again I seemed endowed with supernatural energy, and I called aloud for assistance. My cries were heard, and in an instant a boat was lowered, and came wending its w T ay through the waters. I watched it with intense anxiety. As soon as it reached me l was taken in, and on arriving at the ship I saw painted upon it in large golden letters its name—“ The Plei ades !” Yes ! that glorious sisterhood upon whom I had anchored as it were, my hopes, was to me the harbinger of life, the ark of safety from the storm. Do you w onder now that the glitter ing of the waves is to me but as a dark shadow, and that l shudder as 1 gaze in to their fearful depths ? And do you deem it a marvel that 1 should turn away my glance from the waves be low, to the skies above, w here pictured in brightness glimmer that group of my vision—the Pleiades —who on that fearful night hung out their “golden sign of promise” on high. Yes, “ the stars that gem the deep midnight” have for me more beauty, than all the bright ness that silvers the ocean’s foam, for truly did their “ footsteps pass like an gels o’er the sky,” when on that fearful night there was breathed to me a les son of Hope, from the bright, the beau tiful Pleiades. E. B. C. Original For the Southern Literary Gazette. NO MORE. No more, oh! requiem pealed from hearts fast breaking, O’er faded hopes that strew life’s way, Whose song, as their rapid flight they’re taking, Has but one sad burthen for its lay, “ We return no more.” No more shall the wanderer, to his home re turning, Be clasped to hearts that yearn for him ; In vain the welcome fire on the hearth-stone burning, Its light will only flicker and grow dim, “ He’ll return no more.” No more—the young form, from earth fast fleeting, Asa light cloudlet passes from the sky, Oh! never more will health those pale cheeks greeting, Throw over them the rose’s brilliant dye, No more—no more. No more—the sad one murmurs when crushed, forsaken, Some cold voice bids her love again, She looks up, and says, oh! this lone heart is breaking, The love it lavished all in vain, Can return no more. Oh! never more, are our wearied souls sad breathings, Will youth’s glad feelings to us return; Life’s garland is all of sorrows wreathings, The lights are out that on our path did burn. To be lit no more. E. B. C. (Dnr I'rttcrs. Correspondence of the Southern Literary Gazette. White Sulphur Springs, f Hall county, Ga. \ My Dear Richards: I do not intend to bore you with a long communication, so be quiet and let me have your button hole a mo ment. In my last, 1 guessed at the temperature of the water of the Sulphur Springs, but my guessing was not quite so cute as some Yankee guesses that I wot of, for I find that it —the water — is 59°. More than this, 1 intended to have told -you of the improvements made in the grounds the past season— of the bowling alley, now in process of erection —of the bathing facilities—of the Chalybeate Spring—and of the Limestone Spring, one and a half miles this side of Gainesville. Gainesville, you know—or if you don’t, I’ll tell you—is 1218 feet above the ocean —N. lat. 34° 21, \\ . long. 7 —high enough, in all conscience, to suit the most fastidious taste, and such a delightful climate! You can form no idea how easily one’s lungs act in this region until you get here. They have their own time of it, and one is obliged to breathe whether he would or no. And then the music of the birds, as it swells from out the rich foliage of the forest trees, and the opening buds and the open flowers, the rills chanting to the trees, and they whispering back again, all “Breathing calm freshness o’er the fair earth’s breast”—stir up the blood, paint the cheeks, stimulate digestion, and make one vigorous and strong. According to an analysis of the Limestone Spring, made in October, 1840, by Dr Cotting, State Geologist, there are the following substances in its w ater, viz: Carbonate of Lime. Carbonate of Magnesia. Peroxide of Iron. A trace of Sulphate of Lime and Iron. Carbonic Acid Gas. Mean temperature of the waters 58° ; Specific gravity, 1.091. I am told that Dr. Schreiber made an analysis of the White Sulphur Spring, but I have not been able to obtain it. lam informed that he found more Lime in it than in the Limestone. The waters of this Spring should be resorted to by dyspep tics, by persons afflicted with deopsy, chronic rheumatism, or with cutaneous affections. My friend, Dr. Branham, tells me that previous to last year, he thought more favourably of the Indian Spring waters, and so expressed him self, but that he now thinks differently. The country here is very broken. Perched on one hill is the neat cottage of the late Dr. Few; on another, that of that Dr. Branham; and at a little distance, on a very commanding hill, that of Dr. Alston, of your State. Near by is a small church, and scattered here and there are a number of small cabins. The route to the Spring is a pleasant one. Travellers who have never visit ed the Stone Mountain, can gratify their curiosity and love for the wonder ful by taking it (if they have capacity) in the trip. That hero of the whip, Holmes, has a fine line of coaches, which are as comfortable as any in Georgia. But, quantum suf. Yours,as ever, MEDICUS. I'ljt Inrrrii Slltnr. From the Churchman. SUNDAY EVENING. How calmly sinks the parting sun ! Yet twilight lingers still, And, beautiful as dreams of heaven. It slumbers on the hill; Earth sleeps, with all her glorious things. Beneath the Holy Spirit’s wings, And, rendering back the hues above. Seems resting in a trance of love. Round yonder rocks the forest trees In shadowy groups recline, Eike saints at evening bowed in prayer Around their holy shrine ; And through their leaves the night winds blow So calm and still—their music low Seems the mysterious voice of prayer Soft echoed on the evening air. And yonder western throngs of clouds. Retiring from the sky, So calmly move, so softly glow. They seem to Fancy’s eye, Bright creatures of a better sphere Come down at noon to worship here. And from their sacrifice of love Returning to their home above. The blue isles of the golden sea. The night arch floating high, The flowers that gaze upon the heavens. The bright streams leaping by, Are living with Religion—deep On earth and sea its glories sleep, And mingle with the starlight rays. Like the soft light of parted days. The spirit of holy eve Comes through the silent air To feeling’s hidden spring, and wakes A gush of music there! And the far depths of ether beam So passing fair, we almost dream That we can rise and wander through Their open paths of trackless blue. Each soul is filled with glorious dreams, Each pulse is beating wild, And thought is soaring to the shrine Os glory undefiled! And holy aspirations start Like blessed angels from the heart, And bind—for earth’s dark ties are riven— Our spirits to the gates of heaven. Lesson for Sunday, June 23. THE CONTEMPLATION OF CHRIST. “Consider the Apostle and High Priest of our profession, Christ Jesus.” —Heb. iii. 1. Nature presents us with a lovely mirror, in which we see much of God in his nature and perfections; but the view is contracted, when compared with the brighter exhibition furnished in the glass of the Gospel, where his whole name appears complete, and his attri butes shine with a united, harmonious and magnificent splendor. The glory of God is best seen in the face of Christ. Here is A Glokious subject. The Apos tle and High Priest of our profession, Christ Jesus.” Look at the terms which Paul uses in speaking of the Saviour: “ The Apostle,” that is, one sent of God. Jesus was sent on a glorious work,, involving the endless happiness of millions of the human race. “ The High Priest of our profession.” Our profession if we are true Christians, is a holy, honourable, solemn and sacred one; and Jesus, as our High Priest, has made an atonement, and is now in terceding for his people. They are priests, but he is the High Priest; they offer sacrifices, but he presents them to the Father. As an Apostle, he was su perior to Moses, and as an High Priest greater than Aaron. The design of the Epistle to the Hebrews is to prove this. A solemn injunction. “ Consider” his pre-existent glory, his sovereign grace, his matchless excellencies, and his boundless dominion. Consider the scenes of his life, the severity of his sufferings, the circumstances of his death, the triumph of his resurrection and ascension, and the magnitude of his work. Consider the example he has left, the ordinances lie has enjoined, and the privileges he has entailed on his people. Wrapt in a contemplation so glorious, brighter beams than those of the natural sun shall irradiate your path; instead of the desolating tern pest, you shall have the refreshing shower; sweet and fragrant flowers shall be seen here and there, among the thorns and briers of the w ilderness. — Jordan’s streams shall not ingulf you, for your High Priest has gone before, and is waiting to welcome you on the peaceful shores of the celestial Canaan. Will you not consider Him ! ilonttrill (Erlrrtir. CREATION OF MAN. The North British Review in an arti ticle on Hugh Miller’s “Footprints of the Creator,” speaking of the late geo logical period of Man’s creation, says: “The large brain of man would have been, as Mr. Miller states, quite out of place in the earlier ages of creation. He could not have jived amid the storms, and earthquakes, and eruptions of a world in the act of formation. His timid nature would have quail ed under the multifarious convulsions around him. The thunder of a boil ing and tempest-driven ocean would have roused him from his couch, as its waters rushed upon him at midnight; torrents of lava or of mud w ould have chased him from his hearth; and if he escaped the pestilence of animal and vegetable death, the vapour of the sub terranean alembics w ould have suffo cated him in the open air. The house of the child of civilization was not ready for his reception. The stones that were to build and roof it, had not quitted their native beds. The coal that w r as to light and heat it was either green in the forest or blackening in the storehouse of the deep. The iron that was to defend him from external vio lence lay buried in the ground; and the rich materials of civilization, even if they w’ere ready, had not been cast within his reach, from the hollow r of his Creator’s hand. But if man could have existed amid catastrophes so tremen dous and privations so severe, his pre sence was not required, for his intel lectual powers could have had no suitable employment. Creation was the field on which his industry was to be exercised and his genius unfolded; and that Divine reason which was to analyze and combine, would have sunk into sloth before the elements of mat ter were let loose from their prison house, and Nature had cast them in her mould. But though there was no specific time in this vast chronology which we could fix as appropriate for the appearance of man, yet we now perceive that he entered with dignity at its close. W hen the sea was gath ered into one place, and the dry land appeared, a secure footing was pro vided for our race. When the waters above the firmament were separated from the waters below it, and when the light which ruled the day, and the light which ruled the night, were displayed in the azure sky, man could look up ward into the infinite of space, as he looked downward into the infinite in time. When the living creature after his kind appeared in the fields, and the seed-bearing herb covered the earth, human genius was enabled to estimate the power, and wisdom, and bounty of its Author; —and human labour re ceived and accepted its commission, when it was declared from on high that seed-time and harvest should never cease upon the earth. “But though the early world was not made for the reception of man. it was well adapted to the habits and instincts of inferior natures. Fishes and rep tiles were well fitted to enjoy life on a planet partially consolidated and shaken with earthquakes. Birds could live and multiply under circumstances which would be unfavourable to terrestial ani mals; and when the earth was far ad vanced in its preparation for man, and the land sufficiently dried and consoli dated to sustain the weight of heavy and gigantic animals, the mammiferous quadrupeds were admitted to its plains. But it is a curious fact, that the} were no sooner admitted as a group, than the reptiles appear in greatly diminish ed proportions, while those of the gigantic class are reduced in size as well as number. Mr. Miller has as signed a plausible reason for this re markable change, llad the gigantic reptiles been contemporaneous with the higher herbivorous, and the more powerful carnivorous animals, an ex terminatory war must have taken place between them; and the jungles and the dense forests which they occupied would have been a scene of cruelty and suffering incompatible with the benevo lence of the Creator. The reptile was therefore removed from his place in the front of creation; and no sooner were ‘creatures of a higher order introduced into the consolidating and fast-ripening planet, than his bulk shrank, and his strength lessened, and he assumed a humility of form and aspect at once in keeping with his reduced circumstances, and compatible with the general wel fare. From the Literary World. THE MISSISSIPPI TO THE PENOBSCOT. My dear Penobscot: That you have lately had no com munication with your Father—the Fa ther of Waters —has not been my fault; and now you are not indebted to my paternal solicitude only for these brief messages, but also to the eccentricities of a chemist, who dipped up the cask full containing these reflections to mix with your own bright and crystal bab blings. I have read in some newspapers hid away in my bosom, and stolen from the cabin of a snagged steamboat, that the wretched men of your neighborhood are about damming you upon a large scale, and curbing your mettle at vari ous points into an unpleasant stagna tion ; to stun you with the noise and whirl of machinery; to blacken your hopes with filthy dyes ; and stain your virgin purity with mountains of clay and charred timber. I can advise you in such a crisis, for 1, too, have been hardly dealt with, and have only lately learned how to punish our oppressor, man, for his various audacities and con tumelies. As you well learned, before civilization with its barriers of con fusd noise intercepted our conversa tions, 1 was once freer than now. 1 could stretch myself, when wearied, over miles and miles of land ; I could venture on a picnic far into the prime val forests of the country ; I could play pranks w ith the war-parties and tribe hunts of the early Indians; I could surprise the deer at his drinking, and and overpower him where the arrows of pursuers were hurtless; if the great gulf, to whose luxury 1 administer, at any time rutiled my temper, my liquid products sought outlet into the many bays about him. But the conqueror came, and fenced me in, and dug into my very vitals, and gave me heavy burdens to bear, and hideous noises to listen to, and bade my roving propen sities cease, while my course of life was made as monotonous as that of our bastard relatives the Canals. For how many years have 1 fretted and fumed at all these outrages! I have leagued with your remote brother, the Missouri, (a wild, untamed fellow), the (>hio (a gentle and lovely daughter), the Red River (a perfect savage), the Yellow Stone (a spiritless vagabond), and with increased strength made re peated efforts to regain my former liberty. Perhaps in your quiet nook you may have heard of the fright I last year gave to my largest city ; and how bravely 1 fought it week after week, until compelled by sheer ex haustion to give in. (I ruined the re putation of two surveyors—that's some consolation.) But this year the victory is mine. I have avoided the city; it contains material too powerful. I have directed my forces against interior places. 1 could contain myself no longer. Was I not choking with the secretions of old age? Was I not be coming asthmatic, through compression ot my lungs? Were not my oppres sors threatening to dredge out the Falls of St. Anthony, and hammer and forge me far towards my very source? I made my selections; and this early spring-time made a dash at Vicksburg, and at the Parishes lower down.— Houses and sugar factories, cotton and cane, have all been swept before me. lam as free as ever. I have expanded myself twenty miles at one point. I have a dozen new channels for future use at other points. 1 have united my self as of old to Lake Ponchartrain, and thrilling, even in my old age, are her kisses. I may again be vanquished and imprisoned. But, oh my oppressor man, leave me my fond Lake to meet I day after day, and I will withdraw f or ever from the contest. You, my Penobscot, are young and lusty. Keep cool for a time. Let the timbers fall across you, and the stones and choke you. Bide your re . venge. The winter is coming. Freeze hard; freeze low; melt quickly; sun,, mon all your energies; quicken the flow of your arteries; come out in swelling grandeur; and all the timbers and masonry of the land may not re sist you. I would say more. But the cask of the chemist is full, and my words would be wasted. Imagine the waving of adieux, from your almost heart-broken b ather, Mississippi. t'tif florist. NEW AND RARE PLANTS. Zanschencria Californica. —A ven showy plant, lately found growing in the fields near Monterey. It forms a thick bushy mass, with its numerous slender branches, and produces a bril liant effect b\ its multitude of ga\ orange, scarlet flowers, somewhat"re sembling that of the. Caura. It has been cultivated abroad as a hard} green-house plant, and taken up and sheltered in a cold frame, or green house in the winter. If, as seems pro bable, this plant proves hardy with us. it will be a great acquisition to the flower garden, it grows about three feet high, very bushy, with perennial stems, woody at the base; natural order Onetheracese. Fuchsia Serratifolia. —This distinct and beautiful Fuchsia is better worthv of second trial here than any other, and, if it answer to the character given by \ an Houtte, of “allowing amateurs of all classes to enjoy its beauty, be cause it grows and flowers freely in the open air all summer,” it will become a favourite at once in this country, where none of the new Fuchsias succeeded so well, except with shelter in summer. It is a native of New Grenada and the countries bordering on Andes, and a cold frame is sufficient to protect it in winter. The plant is of handsome growth, the leaves boldly seri ated, the lower large, with rosy cal fixes touched with green, a fine open corolla of an orange colour. It should, for trial in the country, be planted about the mid dle of May, in a situation sheltered from winds; a deep, moist, rich border, with the surface mulched to retain moisture. Fuchsia Spectabalis. —The Queen of Fuchsias, this superb species has been called by Dr. Lindley. The flowers are so large and the petels so expanded, that they might at first sight almost be taken for the oleander. The colour is a rich, lively red, heightened by the pure white of the very large stigma. The foliage is large and broad and a dark, velvety, green colour. This was discovered in the Andes of Quito, where it grows four feet high in shad\ woods. It requires the same treatment as other green-house species, and plants of it are advertised for sale by Messrs. Parsons, and other leading growers. [Downing's Horde ulturist. Draining Flower Pots.— Of all cir cumstances connected with the culture of flowering plants in pots, none b more important and less regarded than draining; that is, putting a stratum of broken pots, broken tiles or broken bricks, of a soft quality, in the bottom of the pots, underneath the soil and roots of the plants; potsherds should be broken down till the largest does not exceed the size of a small bean—the powder occupying the topmost part. Asa general rule, every pot should have nearly one-fourth of its depth oc cupied by this material. Flowers are considered the sweetest of all nature’s smiles. Who does not love—what heart so callous to all feel ings—as not to yield to the brighten ing influences of the children of showers and sunny beams. fttk ‘lV'iirtlj liitDtnitig. If a woman, who is consumptive, become enceinte , she will immediately seem to mend, and may live for years, bearing many children. Directly she ceases to conceive, however, she will fall ti victim to the awful disease, which has only been lying latent in her.— Again, if a woman happens to break a bone, while enceinte , union of its ends will be delayed until after her delivery. It would appear that two actions can not take place in her body at the same time, and that nature has wisely or dained that nothing shall interfere with the process of procreation. \ enous blood is dark crimson; but restored to its red colour by passing through the lungs. The heart, by its muscular contrac tion, distributes two ounces of blood from seventy to eightv times in a minute. Oil of walnuts and walnut soap are specifics for the removal of pimples and and cutaneous blotches. Plato was at one time a slave, and was redeemed by his pupils for less than four hundred dollars. At the Lisbon earthquake, Bristo; Hot Wells became red. A well in King’s Wood became black, and the Avon flowed back while rising. Sarsaparilla is the root of a Peruvian plant called smilax. Sassafras is t)i r wood of a tree of the laurel kind. Chocolate is a preparation from the cocoa-nut, which is ground into powder made into cakes, and flavoured with spices. The bones of a bird are hollow at 1 , filled with air. If a string be tk’ tightly round the neck of a sparrow.y 11 that no air can enter its lungs, and leg be broken, it will live. Re*P' rat: ’ ‘ will take place by means ot the bro >< “ bone. The Neptunian or Wernerian the<\ teaches that all the terrestial format!’ arise from water; while the Pluto’-- theory ascribes the whole to fire. 1 ‘ haps both may be partly true; wt‘ tel as a constant,*and fire as an occasional cause. But if combustion is the sob cause of water, than the Plutonist: claim priority.