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#ratro! Crlrrtir. From the Home Journal. COCKNEYISM OF ENGLISH CASCADES. My Dear the Marquis of Hollohed, ever take you out of a morning, before luncheon, through a mile and a half of damp forest (with unlimited common of soak aye!) to show you his cascade? Ten to one, if he has. your predomi nant feeling on reaching the spot where it ought to be, and where his lordship makes a grand pause, and points out what he means you shall take for it, has been a burst of disappointment that there was not water enough in which to drown him! A few bucketfuls of water dripping over a heap of rocks, in comparison of which the paving-stones that went to make the substratum of the Bowling Green fountain were cyclopean—a cas cade ! At that rate a barrelful would be a cataract, and the contents of a hogs head would be the deluge over again in spite of the rainbow. This to a man who has summered at Trenton; whose eyes and ears have fed on Niagara! But the English have no conception of the element, water. They have an idea of the ocean at Brighton; of the channel at Dover; and vaguely defined geographical no tions of Hudson’s Bay, Behring’s Straits, and the Gulf of St. Lawrence. But, practically, their ideas on the sub ject are pre-eminently cockneyish. Do you know that it is a sober fact that most Englishmen have no conception that in length, depth, width, or capaci ties of navigation, the Mississippi or the Amazon are in any way equal to the Thames? But on the point of cascades they are incorrigibly insular and insufferable. They revenge themselves on Nature for not having seen fit to tumble an English river over an English preci pice, even to accommodate the Duke of Devonshire, by twisting innocent little rivulets out of their placid, pre destined, and unpretending course, and torturing them over artificial declivities and through imitation Alpine gorges, approaching in effect about as near the original as a coffee-mill does to a loco motive. Alas for my unhappy childhood! If ever youth was the victim of decep tion, that victimized youth was I.— Many a day have I sat and read “ how tlie water comes down at Lodore;” read and re-read about the magnificent whirling and twirling, and dashing and splashing, and warring and roaring, until 1 wanted wings to fly to the spot where all this poetized grandeur and sublimity thundered in the ears of the Laureate. No one had done for Niagara, so far as my juvenile apprehensions were concerned, what Southey had done for Lodore. It was my inevitable practical con clusion that Lodore was grander, more poetical, more inspiring than Niagara ! “If I ever travel, I will go to Lo dore!” And with this deliberate project I would shut up the volume, and go to bed, and the torrent went rushing head long through my dreams. Well, the travel came, and to Lodore I went. By this time I had found out that the “phantoms of imagination,” as the au thor of Rasselas calls them, are less substantial even than Cock-lane ghosts. But, drown me in a bathing-tub, if I ever expected such a complete snuffing out of all the lights of expectation and youthful anticipations as l experienced on that hitherto classical spot —Lodore. llow I whistled contempt at the in significant rocks, ravine and rivulet! — Ilow I made my way back to Keswick, and rejoiced that brown stout and roast mutton were at least a trifle more sub stantial than the romantic stuff of po ets laureate! llow, with deliberate and predetermined malice I w'reaked my vengeance on the deceiver Southey in that last refuge of indignant poet asters—a parody! LODORE. Do you want to be told how it is that the water Comes down at Lodore ? Why then I’in the man Os all others that can Or rather, the man of all others that ought to Be able to tell you without any more Fuss: Thus! Behind a small tavern, Suppose a dark cavern, Or ravine more correctly. From whose summit directly, As from a stone pitcher, Out of the which a Volume of fluid Enough for a Druid To wade to his knees in Pours out unceasin Gly down, And not up; Which would be a sup position so very To Nature contrary, That it couldn’t be thought a Supposable case, For a cascade of water, On any man’s place ; Much more At Lodore, Where the water has always come down Heretofore! Down deep precipices And awful abysses, 10 feet or 15, The water is seen To drip, Skip, Trip, Slip, Dip, A gill in a minute. gtv-at agitation ; Then goes ;r c.> <i?! f With a very perpen dicular smash, Dash, Splash, Crash, • A pint at the least calculation ! Making no bones Os wetting the stones, Which can’t get out, But wriggle about, A whole quart of the cascade has got ’em, And the way they go Down isn’t slow; Rumble, And jumble, And tumble, Hip! Hop!! Drop!t Whop |; m Stop !!! |! A gallon has got to the bottom ! , e ’ sai< i 1, throwing my pen into “re, and casting a glance of triumph out of the window of the Royal George .owar s the Southey mansion—“there is ie cue reward of imposition; and may a i poems be parodied, and, if possible, in worse style, that undertake to eke out the shallowness of English cascades with ladles full from Helicon.” What evil genius was it that prompt uu that personification of tidiness with a bunch of keys, the housekeeper, who came sailing into my chamber just then, for a final benevolent inspection and calculation of my chances for comfort, to look at me with an air as who should say—now, at last, you have got your money’s worth in coming from America—and I remarked as she un pinned the curtains—“ Been to the Falls of Lodore to-day, 1 suppose, sir?” It cost her a half-crown, misguided woman that she was. Jacques du Monde. (Original jAu'tnj. For the Southern Literary Gazette. I WOULD FORGET. I know a glad and beautiful maiden, Who carrols a bird-like glee, * And when my heart is wearily laden, She sings her songs to me ; I clasp her hand—her eyes meet mine, Till my cheeks with tears are wet; I bask in smiles that seem divine— And her I would forget! By her side I’ve sat, when fleeting hours, Were full of heaven to me, And thought the blest in Eden’s bowers, Not half so happy as we ; I never knew such rapturous bliss, Till thus our souls had met, I wished no greater joy than this— And her I would forget! I love this glad and beautiful maiden, Who warbles a bird-like glee, And fancy I dwell in blissful Aidenn, When she sings her songs to me. Her angel face—bewitching eyes, Have all my thoughts beset, More beautiful than starry skies— And her I would forget! How long I’ve prayed that she might love me, Alas! my prayers are vain— My lot is dark, like skies above me, That lower with storm and rain ; I’ve loved her as I’ve loved no other— ’Tis useless, sad regret, She loves me not —but loves another— And her I would forget. W. G. C. Lawrence, Mass. (Original (Bssntjs. ■ Forthe Southern Literary Gazette. EGERIA: Or, Voices from the Woods and Wayside. NEW SERIES. LXXXVII. Fame. It is the erroneous belief and doctrine of many of our statesmen and philosophers, that the world is, at all times, in profound ignorance of its own resources. “The world,” says Mr. Taylor, in his Philip Van Artevilde— “ The world has never known its greatest men.” This is a very consoling philosophy for that innumerable crowd of illustrious obscures, who would be thought great, without acting greatness —who would receive the wages without doing the work. Now, there could be nothing so startling—perhaps nothing so untrue, in the line, were it written — “ The time has seldom known its greatest men.” A great man is one, who, in some sense or other, adds to the world’s possess ions; be it in government, in poetry, or in philosophy, he is a bringer into life—a builder, a creator, a planter, an inventor—in some sort, a doer of that which nobody else has done before him, and which nobody, then, besides himself, seems willing or prepared to do. Now, it is very certain that the world loses none of its possessions.— A truth once known, is known forever. It is an immortality, as well as a pro perty ; and he who makes it known, is known with that which he discovers and because of his discovery. He possibly gives it his name! It does not alter the case very materially, to show that the name is sometimes mistaken, mis applied, confounded with another.— The supposed discoverer receives the prize of the discovery, and whether we call him Columbus or Americus, it matters little in affecting the universal acknowledgment that it is obviously the intention of the world to make to his memory. But it is very seldom, indeed, that the mere time is ignorant of the merits of its great men. These may be baffled, denied, not in what would seem to be the aim in their endeavour; but the very fact that their lives are struggles —that there is opposition—earnest, angry opposition, perhaps persecution, and a bloody death—these are sufficient proofs that the w r orld acknowledges the greatness —which provokes its fear, its jealousy, its various passions of envy, or hos tility, or suspicious apprehension. No truth ever yet failed because of the martyrdom of its teacher; and the life of the teacher, and his glory, lie in the ultimate success of the truth which he taught, and not within the miserable limit of his seventy years of earthly allotment. It is one quality of true greatness, to be always at work; push ing its truth forward; never sleeping; never doubting; always pressing on to the consummation of its final object! A man may die before his work is utterly done! Some truths require the lives of successive generations of great men, before they are perfected, so as to become clear and useful in the inferior understanding of the million; each of these workers has his share in the glory; not, perhaps, when the struc ture is completed, but during the se veral stages of its progress —though that glory be, itself, nothing greater, and nothing less, than the opposition and reproach, the persecution and mis representation, which they encounter in the world-fight forever going on be tween the subjects of routine-tyranny and the prophets of the better faith. The wmrld knows all these great men, preserves their labours, and consecrates their fame. The time, itself, though unbelieving, is never improvident; for it preserves the history of its own un SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE. belief; the penalties which it inflicted. and the constancy, firm faith and un! flagging resolution of the martyr; and from these come the human glory in other generations. There is in man an inherent sentiment of justice. This will work out its way. I conscientiously believe that man never yet toiled for man—that he did not ultimately re ceive his acknowledgments; and this working for our race, constitutes the only sure claim upon which we may reasonably expect the gratitude either of our fellows or of the future! t For the Southern Literary Gazette. Extract from an Address before the Literary Societies of the University of Oxford , delivered by Hon. E. A. Nisbet, in July , 1848. My object in addressing you to-day, young gentlemen, is something more than simply to please. Believe me, I am not indifferent about that. But lam here for a more serious purpose than merely to play a part in this beauti ful literary drama. I would that these broken sketches might stimulate you to value justly all things lovely and to cultivate a taste for the beautiful. That is the lesson I teach—that the moral of the tale. Ours is a practical age, and we are called, and justly too, I appre hend, an eminently practical people. Utility is the aim and end of domestic instruction, and of Academic and Col legiate education. It is the young man’s hope and the fruition of the aged. It stimulates to every enterprise prompts to every adventure—guides the counsels of statesmen— sweetens the labours of philosophers, and even inspires the pen of the poet. It is mingled with thought and blended with principle. The universal inquiry is, “ What shall it profit a man ?” The per centum of advantage is the touch stone of utility. That which yields most is the great good. With the educated, there are two grand objects of pursuit—money and the honours of the Republic—wealth and political dis tinction. Now, far be it from me to underrate the power of money, or to sup press laudable ambition. The former is the greatest of all the agencies of power—the latter is the life force of character. In the pursuit of money, however, we may realize the fate of Midas, and political airtbition, in most instances, consumes the heart of its votaries. Remember that w T e live not alone for wealth or distinction. These are but means—the end is to be useful and happy. A desire for what is use ful may exist in excess. A love of the beautiful is a counteracting force—a restraining power—an ameliorating element of character. Money and place are expediences—beauty an immortal principle. A principle conservative of peace, joy and virtue. It will continue so to be until the deformities of time are lost in the beauties of anew heaven and anew earth. It is in danger, how ever of losing something of its influence in the go-ahead madness of the times. We, as a nation, make progress every where, and in every thing, except in the refinements of taste. Excitation is the ruling spirit of the hearer. Listen to the whirl of the nations. The foun dations are breaking up. It is as though the Almighty had loosened the bands of the universe for reconstruction. — Look nearer and survey our own coun try. Society is agog. Men run to and fro, as in a carnival. The coarser pas cions of humanity are triumphant.— The fine arts, social charities, the quiet household virtues, accuracy in scholar ship, and delicacy in sentiment, give way before the mere lust of accumula tion and the puerile passion for noto riety. Our people wait not, as did the Athenians, to hear something new — they run to do something rash. Upon this western continent, reared by the heroism of virtue, stands a temple de dicated to liberty. It is sublime in its foundations, its attitude and its vast proportions. It belongs so an order of political architecture unknown to the past. Thither were the tribes accus tomed to go up to worship. Now they mingle tumultuous in its courts to wrangle. They kindle unholy fires upon its altars. The money changers sit in its halls and hucksters sell doves in its porches. The old ways are obliterated, literally and figuratively obliterated. The steam horse chafes beneath his iron curb. With “a roar and a rattle, with a shriek and a howl,” he bounds away—away through granite hills, o’er bogs and bournes and the boiling seas. In his fiery train he drags the conservative habitations of society, old truth and ancient honour. His surging course may drive through the temples of the living God. To register his triumphs and telegraph his conquests, comes the lightning, and in maiden meekness says, lo! here I am, send me. But steam and lightning are not alone on the land and the sea—they are also in the hearts of the people. The life fountain of the nation is impregnated with an element as strong, as quick, and as controlless in morals, as are steam and lightning in physics! It is a passion for what is called proyress. Hence the furious beatings of the national pulse. Hence the unhealthful action of the social sys tem. It needs the soothing application of letters, love and taste. It is mani fest that in the excitements of the times, the virtue and happiness of man, as an individual, are in peril. There is too much heat in the social machinery. So absorbed are we in externals, that we neglect the wants of the inner man. So hurried are we by the rapid succes sion of events, that we have no time for introverted thought. Whilst, there fore, I admit that action is your voca tion, and wealth and distinction your privilege—whilst I despise the dreamy, impracticable, intellectual voluptuary, as I do the sensual sot—allow me to’ commend to you the refinements of life, the social charities and the pursuit of letters. Excitement is the force of the mind. With imperious force it demands gratification. But it may be governed. A little child may lead it, if it be disciplined in time. You must guide and restrain it, or it will guide and govern you. It will drag you to the obscene altars of sensualism and immolate you there. 1 hold that a taste for letters, for the fine arts, for the natural sciences, and for the con templation of all those things in the intellectual world which are soothing and agreeable, for the ideal in short, is a preventive against vice. At Athens, in its best day, the grosser offences, such as homicides, riots, forgeries and arson, less abounded than they do at this day in many parts of our own land. It was owing to a taste among the people for the tine arts, and for the beautiful in nature and sentiment. — The people were quiet when they could listen to the eloquence of Demosthenes or the poetry of Sappho—criticise the paintings of Appelies, or witness the representation of the play of Euripides. Bathe your spirits in the amber foun tains of moral truth and they will be ever pure and fresh. Pay your orisons at the shrine of beauty and you will be the stronger and the better for the homage. Imbue your minds with the loveliness of things and you will be yourself lovely. The effect which the contemplation of any natural object calculated to ex cite love and complacency, produces upon the physical man, is thus described by Mr. Burke: “The head reclines on one side, the eye-lids are more closed than usual, and the eye rolls gently with an incli nation towards the object. The mouth is a little opened, and the breath drawn slowly, with now and then a low sigh. The whole body is composed and the hands fall idly to the sides, and all this accompanied with an inward sense of melting and languor.” Most of you, no doubt, have seen, if you have not felt, that this delineation of the effect of beauty, at least in one of its most attractive forms, is true. It produces on the body .all those signs which indicate quiescent pleasure. Just the same are the effects of the morally beautifnl on the soul. It soothes, de lights and composes the spirit. Is it not,therefore, to all vicious excitements a counteracting cause; and if it is, I submit to you whether or not it is con servative of virtue and happiness. A taste for the beautiful is an im proveable faculty. It may be improved by culture and it may be lost by dis ease. Its cultivation and enjoyment are computable with high office, high honours, profound science and unre mitting industry. Nay, a[l these things may become, without effort on your part, tributary to it. To the eye edu cated to see it, it is an all-prevailing presence. As I have already said, God himself is its sublime impersonation, and it is revealed in all his works and throughout the whole range of his moral government. It is strewed in every path of life. To the natural eye, it is visible in figure, colour, mo tion and proportion. It is seen in every aspect of Heaven and in every phase of earth. In the floating cloud and the flowering shrub—in the star-spangled cope and the enameled tree —in the mid-day Armament, whose mystic re cesses seem to reveal the portals of eternal light, and in the glades and glens, the ancient forests, the fountains, streams and verdant fields of earth. To the intellectual eye, it is present in all the laws of science, the demonstra tions of mathematics, the deductions of reason, and the creations of fancy. To the moral vision, it is revealed in vir tue, hope, faith and charity, in fellow ship and in every social concord, in the living word and the final adjustments of the judgement. To the soul of man, reconciled to God, the universe of mind and matter is the organ of eter nity, pealing from age to age the an them of truth and beauty. You will find, as you advance in life, that trouble is one of its conditions. Happiness, 1 believe, is the rule— misery the exception. The exceptions in number and intensity depend much upon ourselves. One of the secrets of living happily, is to resist in the begin ning our native tendencies to vice, and to nurse from the baginning every pure thought, every innocent taste, and every pleasurable association. We re quire but little pressure in the direction of had taste and false principles to ac celerate our downward tendencies. It is also true, that once fairly on the wing, and an upward flight is an accel erated motion. Watch therefore each scent perception of beauty. With ly vigil guard the gentle words and kind acts and innocent associations of home and kindred. These are the richest gems of memory and should be worn about the heart. The domestic charities—the beautiful things of the heart—are to the character clothed with duties and with honours, what the fountain is to the vegetable gems of the desert. It may be hid, but it sends forth the flower and the fruit—it cre ates the cooling shade and the reviving air. If life be indeed a desert, as some teach, how wise is it to redeem at long intervals some fields of verdure—to w r ear within a fountain of sweet waters. To enjoy the beautiful, you must over come the dominion of the passions. No victory is so glorious as that which youth achieves over the rude, vulgar or profane tendencies of our nature. Each triumph is a title to self-respect and a guarantee of future repose. “ A thing of beauty is a joy for ever.” It is indestructible —it has the resur rection power. It will re-appear with you, and you, with it, shall be im mortal. ifntr i'rttrrs. Correspondence of the Southern Literary Gazette. NEW YORK, Aug. 3, 1850. The dog-days have fairly set in, — the great problem is how r to keep cool, —frequent thunder-showers seem only to increase the sultriness of the atmos phere,—every variety of white hat is sported in Broadway,—all sorts of thin costume, except the fig-leave, are in request, —but all to no purpose. The town looks as parched as a corn-field after a four weeks’ drought, and the in tellectual stagnation is no less oppres sive than physical. Even the usual sources of gossip are dried up and scarce a breath of life moves over the barren torpidity of August in the city. A little excitement was produced yesterday by the reception of General Paez City Hall by our municipal authorities. The guest, in whose hon our the pageant was got up, was w r aited on at Staten Island, where he has been staying since his arrival from Philadel phia, and briefly addressed by the Mayor, in belpilf of the Civil Authori ties and by Gen. Morris, as the repre sentative of the militia York. He was then escorted to the steamer, which was to bring the cortege to Castle Garden, and from thence the procession advanced up Broadway to the Park and City Hall. General Paez was on horseback, and formed a conspicuous object of attention to the throngs of spectators which lined the streets. He was welcomed along the whole course of the procession with loud cheers, and having reached the City Hall, was con ducted to the Governor’s Room, where he was formally introduced to the prin cipal functionaries. After this, lie made a short speech from the balcony, which gave great satisfaction to the multitude below. The General speaks only the Spanish, Mr. Purroy, late American Consul at Venezuela, acting as inter preter. At the conclusion of the cere monies, he was escorted by the military on parade to the Astor House, where he will remain for the present as the guest of Messrs. Colman & Stetson. He cannot fail to be made to feel at home in the enjoyment of their courte ous and elegant hospitality. The ap pearance of Gen. Paez is prepossessing, though without any of the remarkable traits which arrest the attention at first sight. His stature is less than that of our late President, and his person looks more like a stout specimen of John Bullisin than one of Spanish blood. His face is indicative of more than common intellect, and of a bold, de cided character, showing that he is one of those who “never say die.” It is his intention, I understand, to take up his permanent residence in the United States, but he has not yet decided on the particular location. Gen. Garibaldi has been completely disabled since his arrival, by an attack of acute rheumatism, contracted, it is said, by his exposure in the Italian campaign and after his escape. He is able to sit up and converse with his friends, but not to move from his sofa. Ilis physician is Valentine Mott, the younger, who was distinguished for his brave exploits in the cause of the Italian patriots. Garibaldi will probably be honoured with a public reception by the city, as soon as he recovers. The Ohio poetesses, Alice and Phoebe Carey, have been in tow for a week or two past. I do not learn that their visit has produced a sensation in any quarter, with all the rage in New York for using every kind of material in the manufacture of artificial lions. Our principal artists in that line, however, I believe, are out of town. I see some of the contributions of these ladies to the city papers, so it seems that they retain the gift of song in our dusty thoroughfares, as well as in their sylvan solitudes. An addition to Poe’s miscellaneous criticisms is announced, including seve ral pieces not before published. From some specimens which have been shown to me, 1 amagine they will create not a little fluttering among the bright-feath ered birds which he shoots on the wing with murderous effect. Poe w r as a literary surgeon by nature; mental anatomy was his favourite study ; and no man could dissect a subject with more skill, celerity, and heartfelt en joyment. Among the authors treated in this volume are some distinguished names; others will derive their princi pal celebrity from having been the vie tims of his keen, glittering, searching scalpel. Every thing which I have seen of Poe’s, in the way of verbal criticism, is acute, ingenious, and for the most part just, under its veil of ap parent paradox. When he comes into a higher sphere, his opinions so ©ften bear the stamp of his crooked person ality as not to be worth preserving. We have received Edward Everett’s Oration at Charlestown on the Anni versary of the Battle of Bunker Hill— a singular illustration of his magic rhetorical power, of the force of simple words in the right place, and of the charm of his graceful manner, although not sustained either by any peculiar depth or originality of thought. The oration is quite destitute of any con nective train of ideas, except those which are the common property of every intelligent man. Yet they are set forth with such skill of graphic ex perience, and so embellished with the picturesque allusions suggested by the occasion, that the effect of the Discourse, is said to have been almost overwhelm ing at the delivery, and on its perusal it so musically, so blandly, steals upon the ear and the mind, that you are scarcely sensible of its poverty of thought, until having laid it aside, you find that you can recal little of the spell that has enchanted you, but the re membrance of sweet melody, with one or two rainbow-like dissolving views. Mrs. Crowe’s ‘ Night Side of Na ture,’ just issued by Redfield, is an in teresting collection of marvellous inci dents, making quite a readable book, not only for the professed amateurs of the preternatural, but for all who be lieve that there are dark chapters in the history of human nature which would not sutler in the least from the acces sion of more light. It is pleasant, too, to have such subjects handled with something of a philosophical spirit, without being dragged through a mush of superstition by some credulous fan atic. Mrs. Crowe seems to be nothing at all of this. She writes with cool ness, discrimination, and great self-pos session, though with a decided taste for the study of those abnormal phenome na, which, beyond the voracious appe tite of German investigation, have hardly been regarded as tit subjects for an intellectual bill of tare—certainly not in the fastidious cuisines of Eng land and this country. The Appletons have in press the posthumous poem of Wordsworth, com prising his spiritual autobiography, and said to be a characteristic produc tion. A slight lull prevails just now among the busy presses of the Harpers, their Magazine for the last three months having principally absorbed their atten tion. I understand they are to bring out several important works early in the autumn. Putnam has published to-day the fourteenth volume of Washington Ir vings Collected Works, containing “The Conquest of Grenada”; and we have from the dainty Boston house of Ticknor & Cos., a volume of “Dis courses” on Life, by Henry Giles, savoring less of pulpit than of the free and fervid passion of Irish eloquence. T. #limjJsfs us Unit Stanks. CARLYLEISMS. From tlie “ Latter Day Pamphlets ’’in course of publi cation by Messrs. Harper, of N. Y., and Messrs. Phil lips, Sampson & Cos., of Boston. CARLYLE ON THE U. S. CONGRESS. Only perhaps in the United States, which alone of countries can do without governing—every man being at least able to live, and move off into the wil derness, let Congress jargon as it will —can such a form of so-called “ Go vernment” continue for any length of time to torment men with the sem blance, when the indispensable sub stance is not there. For America, as the citizens well know, is an “unparal leled country”—with mud soil enough and fierce sun enough in the Mississip pi Valley alone to grow Indian corn for the extant Posterity of Adam at this time; what other country ever stood in such a case? “Speeches to Bunk um,” and a constitutional battle of the Kilkenny cats, which in other countries are becoming tragical and unendurable, may there still fall under the comical category. If indeed America should ever experience a higher call as is like ly, and begin to feel diviner wants than that of Indian corn with abundant ba con and molasses, and unlimited scope for all citizens to hunt dollars. Amer ica too will find that caucuses, division lists, stump-oratory and speeches to Bunkum will not carry men to the im mortal gods: that the Washington Congress, and constitutional battle of Kilkenny cats is, there as here, naught foi such objects ; quite incompetent for such; and in fine that said sublime constitutional arrangement will require to be (with terrible throes, and travail such as few expect yet) remodeled, abridged, extended, suppressed; torn asunder, put together again ; not with out heroic labour, and effort quite other than that of. the Stump-Orator and the Revival Preacher, one day ! CARLYLE ON MINORITIES. On the whole, honour to small mi norities, when they are genuine ones. Severe is their battle sometimes, but it is victorious always like that of gods. Tancred of Hauteville’s sons, some eight centuries ago, conquered all Italy; bound it up into organic masses, of vi tal order alter a sort; founded thrones and principalities upon the same, w hich have not yet entirely vanished—the last dying wrecks of which, still wait for some worthier successor, it would appear. The Tancred Normans were some Four Thousand strong ; the Italy they conquered in open (light, and bound up into masses at their odering will, might count Fight Milions, all as large of bone, as eupeptic and black whiskered as they. How came the small minority of Normans to prevail in this so hopeless-looking debate] In trinsically, doubt it not, because they were in the right; because, in a dim, instinctive, but most genuine manner, they were doing the commandment of Heaven, and so Heaven had decided that they were to prevail. Butextrin sically also, I can see, it was becanse the Normans w’ere not afraid to have their skin scratched; and w ere pre pared to die in their quarrel where need ful. One man of that humour among a thousand of the other, consider it! Let the small minority, backed by the whole Universe, and looked on by such a cloud of invisible witnesses, fall into no despair. CARLYI.E ON THE LITERARY MEN OF THE PRESENT DAY. A crowded portal this of literature, accordingly ! The heaven of expatri ated spiritualisms, and, alas! also of expatriated vanities and prurient imbe cilities. Here do the windy aspira tions, foiled activities, foolish ambi tions, and frustrated human energies reduced to the vocable condition, fly as to the one refuge left; and the Re public of Letters increases in popula tion at a faster rate than even the Re public of America. The strangest regi ment in her Majesty’s service, this of the soldiers of literature. Would your lordship much like to march through Coventry with them ? The immortal gods are there, quite irrecognizable un der these disguises, and also the lowest broken valets; an extremely miscella neous regiment. In fact the regiment, superficially viewed, looks like an im measurable motley flood of discharged plavactors,funambulists, false prophets, drunken ballad-singers; and marches, not as a regiment, but as a boundless canaille, without drill, uniform, cap taincy, or billet; with huge over pro portion of drummers ; you would say a regiment gone wholly to tin* drum, with hardly a good musket to be seen in it, more a canaille than a regiment. Canaille of all the loud sounding Levi tes, and general winnowings of chaos, marching through the world in a most ominous manner, proclaiming audibly, if you have ears, ‘Twelfth hour of the Night; ancient graves yawning ; pale clam.ny puseyisms screeching in their winding-sheets ; owls busy in the city regions; many goblins abroad! Awake, ye living; dream no more; arise to judgment! Chaos and Gehenna are broken loose; the Devil with his bed lams must be flung in chains again, and the Last of the Days is about to dawn!’ Such is literature to the reflective soul at this moment. THE SHEIKH-GHOST. [From Bayle St. John’s Two Years Residence in a I,e vantine Family.] I have omitted until now to commu nicate the fact that I was living in a haunted house—a house in which a cer tain ghost, or incorporeal Sheikh, was known to be a constant resident, wan dering about the rooms, passages, and galleries, by night and by day, though seldom allowing himself to be seen by the other inhabitants. I am going to relate all I know about this extraordinary personage, and beg, in the first place, to be excused if 1 seem to admit his existence. There are fifty different arguments in favour of the belief that phantoms do some times present themselves to the eyes of man, and but one good one against it—namely, that for the most part the phantoms whose appearance is testified to have no definite reasonable mission, but are mere inexplicable accidents.— This argument, however, has purely a logical value, and does not counterbal ance universal tradition and irrefraga ble testimony. Besides, there are many things equally unaccountable which no body attempts to deny. Let it be ad mitted, then, whatever may be the faith exercised in this particular instance, that certain forms or phantoms re-* sembling persons deceased, and either having in themselves a limited power of action, or moved by celestial or in fernal agency, have been from time to time actually made manifest to mortal vision. In Egypt, haunted houses are often met with, though more frequently in Cairo than in Alexandria. The latter city, however, possesses several, one, especially, where the inhabitants are constantly persecuted by stones falling on the roof or into the court-yard, without any body having been able to discover whence they come. This is remarkable, as a well attested instance of the same kind has lately occurred in France. It is of no use for a sceptic to observe here that similar facts have often been positively explained by private malice; for if this proves any thing, it will also prove that, because some rustic, armed with phosphorus, a hollow turnip, and a white sheet, has been detected in a gross imitation of a ghost, therefore no such thing could exist. I was sitting on a divan, pipe in hand, at a window which commanded the on ly exit from the house, and a view of a small portion of the gallery. 1 had not long before returned from .the Arab’s Tower, and was meditating on my journey to Siwah. The Sitt was in her kitchen lighting a shisheh. Zara was occupied winnowing a pile of grain in the court-yard; Hanna was in the door-way preparing to take the little Henneneh to her aunt’s; the robust Ayshe was washing my room, when suddenly a simultaneous cry rose of “The Sheikh! the Sheikh!” I turned rapidly round, and distinctly saw a hu man figure—a man advanced in years, with a somewhat tarnished tarboosh, a long gray beard, a faded blue jacket, white trousers, and red slippers, bear ing a pipe in his hand—pass with down cast eyes, along the gallery in the full glare of the sun. 1 instantly recog nized, from the description, the appari tion of which I had so often heard speak ; and I shouted out to close eve ry exit. I waited to hear Hanna roll back the heavy doors that led to the street, and then sprang into the gallery. Every one was in the same position as when the alarm was first given, but no one could tell whither the Sheikh had gone. One said he had faded away in the sun ; another, that he had ascended to the terrace. The last was most probable, but on examination 1 found the door closed and bolted. I searched everywhere without the slightest suc cess, and remained perfectly convinced of two things; first, that no man was concealed in the house; second, that there were no apparent means by which he could have effected his escape un perceived. I made another observa tion, too. All the rooms and staircases had been washed that morning, and were still slushed with water. The sun had dried the gallery, but no trace of a wet slipper could be seen. The Sitt laughed at my researches and remarks, saying that the Sheikh would not be found, and left no trace behind him.— She explained the universal agitation created by his appearance, by the fact that he had raised his head and looked round with a menacing aspect. The idea of any conspiracy to alarm or un nerve me was inadmissable. larrdi slltnr. From the Saturday Gazette THE SINGLE-HEARTED Good angels watch the spirit pure Os every earnest, righteous doer, Recording thought and deed ; Till, as successive moments roll, They form a bright, unfading scroll That God delights to read. The while on Him, the Holy, High, The saint has fixed his eager eye, Himself forgotten quite; As we may gaze upon the sun, Till every object looked upon. Gives back the solar light. Lesson for Sunday, August 11 REMEMBRANCE OF CHRIST’S L()Vl’ “ We will remember thy love.— Cam. i. / What a wonderful faculty is tl„ memory ! It produces in the mind 1 kind of resurrection of past scenes a ,i circumstances. We do well to cult! vate the exercise of it, with regard t,, the things of God. Note here The subject of remembrance. It one of the deepest interest and high est importance to which we can reltr Let us remember Its antiquity. It is from everlast ing ; before the creation of the world or the music of the spheres. Its freeness. It is shown to those who neither deserved nor desired it, nor could make any adequate return. Its development. The love that con sists in’ words does not deserve the name. We see its designs in the Hi vine purposes, and its displays in the Divine proceedings. The love of Christ was manifested in his own per son when he was on earth, and by his Spirit now he is in heaven. Its dura tion is eternal. dHE REMEMBRANCE OF THE SUBJECT. It must be With feelings of gratitude amt jot/. This will especially he the ease in our devotional exercises, when the mind is softened by meditation; in prayer, reading the Scriptures, and at the sa cramental table. It must be continual. We must live and act, and suffer, and die, in the re membrance of it. It will he an ingre dient to sweeten the bitter waters of af fliction, give a relish to the streams ot comfort, and bear us up in the swellings of Jordan. It must be practical. It will lead to a steady adherence to the cause of Christ, the conscientious performance of duty, and the patient endurance of trials; it will moderate our attach ment to earthly objects, and draw our souls to God, the great centre of at traction. Nf.ttleton and the Unfaithful Min ister. —The following anecdote of Dr. Nettleton, is a delightful instance of his peculiar tenderness for the ministerial reputation and influence of his brethren. It serves both as a powerful rebuke to that reckless spirit which too often marks the character of flaming zealots, and as a gentle admonition for that rep rehensible coldness, which perhaps equally as often prevails in the bosom of the ministry. Dr. Nettleton was most sensitively careful to sustain the influence of his brethren. He would not, when be knew there was an evident deficiency, do any r thing that might tend, in the least degree, to disparage them in the estimation of their people. There was one instance, which 1 am about to name, in which he showed his delicacy of feeling and address, in a most Chistian manner. A clergyman who lived not far from the place where Dr. Nettleton resided, bore the reputation af an indo lent and inefficient pastor, and had, in consequence, caused considerable un easiness amongst his people. Some of the more faithfuj part of the church, who deplored the low state of religion and growing laxity of morals among the youth of the congregation, went to Dr. Nettleton, and desired him to come and preach to them. To this he would by no means consent, without an express invitation from the pastor, and of that he had little hope. But there happened to be a desert spot on the borders of the town, where religious meetings were seldom held, and where the influence of the pastor did not par ticularly extend. When he was made acquainted with the fact, he said that he had no objection to go there and hold a few’ evening meetings with them. He went, and without exciting obser vation, held several religious meetings. In a short time a number of the youth were under deep conviction for sin. As soon as he perceived the joyful ap pearance, he requested all who* were under serious impressions, to meet with him the next day, informing them that he had something of an important na ture, which he wished to communicate. When they had all met, he advised the young ladies to go that same evening to their pastor, and ask his counsel re specting the present state <Sf theirmiuds; and the young men he advised to g< the evening following for the same pur pose. They all did as he had prudent ly directed them : and the effect was so powerfully electric, that the slothful pastor rose up at once, went to work with all his might, preached and la boured with assiduous energy, and was the favoured instrument in reaping a glorious harvest of souls. As soon as the pastor got thus fairly to work, Dr. N. retired; the pastor ever remained a faithful and useful man. Superstition of the Chinese. —* hi the 13th of May, 1818, a storm sud denly arose at Pekin, which darkened the heavens, and filled the air with sand and dust. The Emperor was ex cessively alarmed, conceiving il to i,,J a divine judgment. Anxious to know the meaning of the portentous event lie required of his ministers of state >” endeavour to ascertain the cause, hi public document, he reprimanded h' > astronomers for not having previous).’ informed him when the hurricane ‘ u> to take place: they had but three da) > before stated to him, that felicitous >t>n shed their happy influence around 1> person, and indicated long life and l 1 perity. , The Mathematical Board their opinion, and affirmed that it 1111 kind of hurricane, accompanied >’ 1 descent of dust, continued a” 10,1 _ • ‘ it indicated perverse behaviour an , cordant counsels between the sox u n and his ministers; and also a6* drought and dearness of grain. wind should blow up the sand, w the stones, and be accompanied “ , noise, inundations were to be expei <• If the descent of dust should contm but an hour, pestilence may be pected in the south-west regions, a"’ half the population will be diseased 111 the south-east.