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compulsion ! If reasons were as plenty
as blackberries, I would give no man a
reason on compulsion.”
The discovery now opens. “ Mark
now,” says the prince, “ how plain a
tale shall put you down,” and relates
the incidents as they occurred. But
Fallstaff, nothing confused, turns the
joke completely upon them, and avers
that he knew them all the time. “Why,
hear ye, my masters,” he exclaims;
“was it tor me to kill the heir apparent ?
Should 1 turn upon the true prince'?
Whv thou kno west I am as valliant as
Hercules; but beware instinct, the lion
will not touch the true prince. Instinct
is a great matter. I shall think the
better of nt\self and thee during my
life; I, for a valiant lion, and thou, for
a true prince.” I am not aware that
the point of this excuse has been no
ticed by the critics, and yet, I think it
is especially worthy of remark. “ The
lion.” he says, “will not touch the true
prince ; instinct is a great matter ; I
was a coward upon instinct,.” Why
does Falstaff allude thus to a popular
superstition, and why add an emphatic
epithet to the title of his royal compan
ion ? Why say the true prince? The
reason is founded in the history and
feelings of the day. Henry the Fourth,
father of the prince, dethroned Richard
the Second, and many thought, foully
caused his death; so that many mil
lions regarded him not only as a usur
per, but as a murderer. His claim
was unsound according to blood; he
had no hold upon the national affection;
and at this very time, the real heir to
the throne, upon hereditary grounds,
was a closely guarded prisoner, 1 his
allusion, therefore, of Falstaff, impl es
not only the cunning pungency of a
brilliant wit, but the adroit flattery of
a polished courtier.
The character of Falstaff, as I appre
hend, consists in the union of fine men
tal faculties, with low appetites. This,
it will be my endeavor to elucidate.
If we were to take two separate
characters from Shakespeare, the ele
ments of which combined, and duly in
termingled. would embody the totality
of life, they would be, I think, the
character of Hamlet, arid the character
of Falstaff. Each of these characters
stand, as 1 view them, on the same
level of creative genius. We have, in
these, intensely contrasted, the two
leading tendencies of life, the ideal and
the sensual. It is not often that Shak
spcare dissociates these tendencies;
and never so broadly and distinctly as
in this instance. Hamlet has nothing
of sensualism, Falstaff has nothing of
idealism. In the creation of these two
great impersonations, these two great
inhabitants of the immagination-world,
the attention of the poet seems to have
been turned with an undivided force to
opposite directions of our nature. In
Hamlet, his thoughts communed en
tirely with the spiritual, the mysterious,
the future, the infinite, the possible. In
Falstalf, he dwelt exclusively in the
material, the visible, the present, the
limited, and the actual. We have, ac
cordingly, in Hamlet,meditative dream
iness; spectral visitations; smugglings
with unanswerable problems; ques
tionings of an impenetrable silence ; a
seeking, with passion and with tears,
for hidden things that will not reveal
perplexed amidst inscrutable phenome
na; a will moved by immediate im
pulse, yet losing resolution in the con
flict of imaginings, and the vagueness
of speculation ; a strength of concep
tion, that makes the future as the now,
the present as the real, and yet a fee
bleness of purpose that hesitates before
a conjecture; a grief that wanders un
comforted among the mysteries of ex
istence ; a melancholy that pines under
the shadows of thought; a tragedy that
has its despair, and its catastrophe, not
in the madness or torture of the pas
sions, but in the sickness of affection,
and in the bewilderings of the moral
reason. In Falstaff, there is not only
an absence of all this, but its contrary.
In Falstaff, we have the entireness of
being concentrated in the palpable.
The present, and the personal, and the
physical, make to him the sum of exis
tence. What is, what is ’mine, what
can be touched, and tasted, and felt,
and heard, and seen,—this on the Fal
staffside of life,constitutes the universe.
Here are no dreams or doubts; here
are no mysteries or spectres ; here are
no doubts and hesitances or perplexities;
here is no sadness from fancy, and no
malady from visions; here is no ques
tioning ot the future, and no musing
on the grave. And yet, underlying
the whole, there is a basis of mel
ancholy, w hich any one who will go
deep enough below the surface can
not fail to reach. To reach this, and
show it, has been one purpose of the
present Essay.
Phenomena Attendant on Immer
sing the Hands in Molten Metal. —
M. Come, in a paper submitted to the
Paris Academy of Sciences, says :
“ Having determined on investigating
the question whether the employment
ol liqu.d sulphurous acid for moistening
the hands would produce a sensation ot
coldness when they are immersed in
the melted metal, I immersed my
hands, previously moistened with sul
phurous acid, in the melted lead, and
experienced a sensation of decided
cold.
1 repeated the experiment of immer
sing the hand in melted lead and infu
sed cast iron. Before experimenting
with the melted iron, 1 placed a stick
previously moistened with water, in
the stream of liquid metal, and on
withdrawing it found it to be almost as
wet as it was before; scarcely any of
the moisture was evaporated. The
moment a dry piece of wood was
placed in contact with the heated metal,
combustion took place. M. Covictand
1 then dipped our hands into vessels of
the liquid metal, and passed our fingers
several times backwards and forwards
through a stream of metal flowing from
the furnace, and the heat from the ra
diation of the fused metal being at the
same time almost unbearable.
e varied these experiments for up
wards of two hours; and Madame Co
’ U 'C W' lo assisted at these experiments
pm nutted her child, a girl of nine years
o age, to dip her hand in a crucible of
red hot metal with impunity. We ex
pemnented on the melted iron, both
w ith our hands quite dry, and also when
moistened with water, alcohol and
ethei . Ihe same results were obtained
as with molten lead, and each of us ex
pc i ieticed a sensation of cold when em
ploying sulphurous acid.”
(Tljr iVutrlii us jfasjjian.
PARIS AND LONDON FASHIONS.
Walking Dress. —Robe of glace silk
in shades of lavender and green. The
skirt may be either plain or flounced
according to taste. Mantelet of black
>ilk,an entirely new pattern, presenting
the effect of a double mantelet, with
ends descending in front. The trim
ming consists of a double frill, cut in
the edges in Vandykes. At the head
of this double frill there is a trimming
of rows of braid set on in a serpentine
direction. The same trimming is re
peated on the upper part of the manta
let, and it also edges the ends in front.
Bonnet of rice straw, trimmed with
ribbon of mingled Islay green and
white.
Morning Costume. —Dress and par
dessus of printed cambric muslin, the
pattern consisting of wreaths and bo
quets of flowers. Jupon of plain
white cambric muslin, edged with a
border of rich open needlework. The
sleeves of the pardessus are gathered
up in front of the arm. The white un
der sleeves, which do not descend to the
wrists, are finished by two rows of
Vandyke needlework. A small needle
work collar. Lace cap of the round
form, placed very backward on the
head, and trimmed with full coques of
pink and green ribbon at each ear.
General Observations of Fashion
and Dress. —Some packages of beauti
ful bonnets have just been received in
London from Paris.
Bonnets of white crape lisse covered
with a bouillonnee. r lhe latter com
mencing a£ the back part of the crown,
which is in the form ot a horse-shoe.
On each side a flat, widely spreading
boquet of pansies, made of velvet, and
mingled with sprats of grass of a
bright green hue.
Avery fine leghorn bonnet, lightly
trimmed w ith a beautiful ribbon of Is
lay green and white. The bavolet at
.he back, consisting of the leghorn, first
turned up and then folding back. At
each side a boquet of small white
flowers with green foliage. Under
trimming of tulle and ribbon intermin
gled with a few r small flowers.
Two bonnets made precisely alike,
the one of lilac and the other of pink
crape, covered with bouillonnees of
of tulle of the same color, and between
each bouillonnee a row of very narrow
blonde. The pink bonnet is trimmed
at each side with three moss roses: and
the lilac bonnet with boquetsof pansies.
The under trimming of tulle, and the
same flowers ai those employed in
trimming the outside.
Another bonnet of leghorn, trimmed
on each side with loops of leghorn
coloured ribbon, and boquet of coquel
icots.
Bonnet of French chip, trimmed
with white ribbon ; and on each side,
a small marabout mouchete with lilac.
Riding-habits for the present warm
weather, especially those intended to
be worn in the country, are made of
light materials, such as Valencia or
China satin. In town, however, cloth
or cashmere are almost universally
preferred. They are made with closely
fitting pardessus, with basques, either
square or rounded, in front; and the
(.Oi.'dge opening so as 10 uispiay tne
habit shirt. The latter should be or
namented in front, rows
of needlework insertions and narrow
tucks, running perpendicularly. The
collar turns down, and is trimmed with
a bordering of needlework. Under
the collar may be passed either a col
ored necktie, or a jabot of white cam
bric, ornamented with needlework, and
edged w ith a bordering like that of the
collar. Die under sleeves, (for the
sleeves of the habit are open at the
ends and turned up) should be of w-hite
cambric or jaconet, and gathered up the
wrists on bands of needlework. *
A riding habit now very fashionable
among the fair equestrians of Paris, is
of grey beaver, of the shape called the
Louis Treize. It has a round brim,
turned up slightly on one side, and is
ornamented w ith a long, waving feather.
In the Bois de Boulogne, some ladies
have worn leghorn riding hats of the
helmet form, the vizier being of straw -
colored leather.
FOR THE LADIES ONLY.
Among the various revolutions of
the day, that which would interest our
iady readers most, is in all probability
the “topsy turvy” tendency’ which
sleeves seem universally to have as
sumed. r lhe flowing sweep of the dra
pery of the arm, so observable in the
Chinese robes pictured upon fans and
tea chests, is the most graceful thing in
the costume of the Celestials, and is
the only style to which we can fairly
liken that now in vogue. Undersleeves
follow as a matter of course, unless the
wearer has a beautiful arm, and doesn’t
mind letting people know it. Those of
lace, merely gathered in at the wrist,
are very neat, and puffs of muslins
separated by a row of insertion, give a
pretty effect to a nicely gloved hand.
Short sleeves are almost universally
worn by y oung ladies. They consist
of one very full puff gathered into the
corsage, and again into a band that fits
closely to the aim. From four to five
inches is their usual length. Three or
four small puffs may be used in the
place of* the one.
W hite dresses of every variety are
much worn, we are happy to notice, as
there is nothing more becoming to a
slight girlish figure, and bright young
face. Dotted muslins or plain Swiss,
are the favourite materials, and scarfs,
or small mantillas of the same, in the
street. Among the most elegant man
tillas are those of white barege, tin
edges scalloped, and bound with narrow
silk braid ; w hite, or any pretty fancy
colour, as blue or green. White ba
rege scarfs, without fringe, are also
gracefu 1 . —Saturday Gaxette .
A LA* M*ODE.
We have always had an especial
fancy for the graceful, gipsey-looking,
broad straw hats, that one sees in old
fashioned pictures of shepherdesses and
blooming country-girls. There is some
thing so careless and engaging in the
broad brim, with its fluttering knot ol
black or green ribbon ; and we are not
at all sorry to see, by recent arrivals
from London and Paris, that the ladies
are actually taking them into favor for
country or park promenades. We
hope the fashion will be speedily adopt
ed our fair countrywomen, as there is
utility as well as beauty in it.
Next to a broad straw hat, we know
of nothing so womanly and so becom
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
ing to a home costume as a black silk
or white muslin apron. And this, too,
is a prevailing mode. The silk aprons
are in three breadths, (is not that what
the ladies call them?) united only at
the waist band and hem, and tied in the
intervening space by knots of ribbon
of the same color. They seem almost
to meet behind, and are tied by broad
ribbon. The muslin aprons are made
in the same way, with colored ribbons
to suit the dress or complexion.
There is a pretty lace cape worn
now; a plain, round pelerine on the
back, full at the shoulders, with long
ends that cross and tie in a bow behind.
It is made of plain and figured illusion
or tulle, with a narrow edging of some
sort. They are inexpensive, and may
be worn in the street.
€l|t limrii Mar.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
A PSALM.
BY J. A. TURNER.
Bow before the Lord, ye nations of the earth,
And own him your King; for he is mighty,
And there is none like him. The breath of his
Nostril is the whirl-wind; his voice is as
The thunder, and in his hand he holdeth
The lightning. lie breathes in his anger, and
The earth shakes; her pillars move and the
beasts
Flee unto the mountains. The fountains ot
The deep are broken up, and the billows
Lift their heads and turn white lor fear. The sea
Opens her mouth at his voice, and the ships
Upon her bosom are dashed into hell.
He turns loose the lightning from his hand,
And the towers of the mighty fall down
Before him. Kings tremble and their sceptres
Fall. Empires and nations fear him and the
Multitude own him their God. Who is
Like the Lord ? Praise him all ye of earth.
Lesson for Sunday, August2s.
PASSING OUR TIME IN FEAR.
“Passing the time of your sojourning here in fear.”—
1 Peter i. 17.
Having in the foregoing exercise no
ticed the nature of the Christian’s life,
let us now consider
The manner in which it should re
spent. “In fear.” We must bear in
mind that there is a fear that is censu
rable, and a fear that is commendable.
We are not to fear man, neither are
we to fear so as to distrust God. But
we must pass the time of our sojourn
ing here —
In the fear of reverence. When we
contrast the Divine Majesty with our
meanness, there is enough to call
forth, not a dread, but a holy fear
of God. Saints in every age have been
characterized by this filial fear. “The
fear of the Lord in the beginning of
wisdom;” and we are to “perfect holi
ness in the fear of God.” It is an im
planted principle : “ I will put my fear
in their hearts,” says God. It is a gov
erning and restraining principle; “So did
not I,” says Nehemiah, “ because of the
fear of God.” It is connected with joy
and prosperity of soul: thus it is said
of the primitive believe s, they “ were
edified and walking in the fear of the
Lord, and in the comfort of the Holy
Ghost were multiplied.” We must
pass the time of our sojourning here —
In the fear of caution. For the way
in w hich the Christian pilgrim s travel
l!.-0 * - 1- . : .l- vu tv.. J (vui|ilur
tions. This caution is necessary in re
ference to our sinful and corrupt na
tures, arid all our spiritual adversaries.
In the fear of anxiety. I mean a
deep concern and solicitude as to the
safety of our state. The Christian does
not fear that he shall perish in the way
everlasting, but sometimes doubts
whether he is in it o’ not. He does
not fear that God will not complete his
work of grace; but the matter of his
anxietv is, whether that work has been
begun in him. Reader, how do you
regard this ?orld ? Are you a stranger,
or a settler?—a denizen of the world,
or a citizen of heaven? “ Let us there
ore fear, lest, a promise being left us
of entering into his rest, any of you
should seem to come short of it.”
FESTIVAL OF JUGGERNAUT.
A respectable writer gives the fol
lowing description of the festival of
J uggernaut: —
Loud were the shouts of triumph
which greeted our ears as we approached
the temple of Juggernaut. Immense
were the multitudes that thronged
around, and thousands upon thousands
w ould no more have been missed than a
single grain from a handful of the finest
sand. In a few minutes’ space, we stood
in front of the idol, raised upon its enor
mous car, and surrounded by a whole
host of priests and devotees.
The first sensations w hich I expe
rienced on approaching it, were those of
horror and disgust; but, a'as! how
were these sensations in a tenfl Jd de
gree increased before the ceremonies of
that day were past. The car, or tower,
on which the idol was raised, stood at
the height of many feet above the
ground. Its sides were adorned with
massive and enduring sculpture, repre
senting the most lascivicious forms nda
images which the mind of the wicked
could suggest. The platform on the
top was graced with an innumerable
crowd of monsters, half-man, half-beast,
in every variety and shape ; and in the
midst of these, the idol itself, a huge
mishapen block of wood, was placed.
Its visage was painted black, its mouth
was of a bloody colour, its arms were of
gold, and its apparel was of the richest
and most variegated coloured silk.
There it sat, in horrid, horrid listless
ness, upon its elevated throne, while
the priests and their assistants bowed
themselves before it, and, with the
most indecent attitudes and gestures,
sought to propitiate its favour and its
grace. Loud and louder were the shouts
of the multitude, as men, women, and
children, all pressed forward to lay, if
it might be, even a finger upon the
ropes that dragged the stupendous cur.
Many were the worn-out and travel
soiled pilgrims who were crushed to
death in the vain and empty struggle;
hut loud were the plaudits which they
who died received, and a smile remained
upon their countenances even in the
hitter hour of death.
At length the idol moved. The
enormous wheels, upon which it w 7 as
supported, creaked and groaned beneath
its weight, and the deeply indented
ground showed the immensity of the
pressure that rolled along its surface.
In a short space it stopped, and then
the worship of the god commenced.
The chief priests advanced, and with
many a low salaam began to recite a
long roll of obscene and indecent verses.
“'1 hese are the songs,” he exclaimed,
“ with which the god is delighted. It
is but when he is pleased that his car
will move.” Accordingly it did move
a few paces in advance, w hen again it
stopped, and anon a youthful being was
brought forward, to attempt, if it might
be, something still more lascivious, to
propitiate his god. He began to caper
—but I cannot, 1 will not, carry on the
horrible description. Fancy cannot pic
ture, the imagination cannot conceive
the abominations of this worship. I
turned away, in s ; ckness of heart, and
in utter loathing and disgust, from the
sight; but a loud and renewed shout
fell upon my ear, aud involuntarily I
turned round and saw an emaciated and
worn out pilgrim, with a kind of super
natural strength, and a wild devotion
gleaming in his eyes, force his way
through the surrounding crowd, and
prostrate himself ott his face in the very
course of the terrific ear, and, w ith out
stretched arms and legs, await unmoved
the consummation of his fate. On
rolled the ponderous wheels, and ere a
minute had elapsed, the misguided
wretch lay crushed, dismembered, bro
ken, a shapeless mass of flesh, and
scarely to be distinguished from the
dust amongst which he was almost con
cealed from sight. Loud songs of
praise accompanied this act of self-de
votion, for the multitude believed that
the victim would be received as a fa
voured child of. Juggernaut, and recal
led into life in a state of everlasting
happiness and joy.
(Driginnl ■
For the Southern Literar) Gazette.
MOONLIGHT MUSINGS.
The moonbeams rest on hill and dale,
On valley and on rill;
The silvery beams are glancing pale,
And all around is still.
The night bird’s melancholy note,
Comes faintly on the ear,
The flute’s soft notes, at distance heard,
Cheek the sad starting tear.
No vain romantic visions now
My mournful bosom fill,
No “ airy castles” baseless stand—
My soaring hopes are still.
To me it is an hour of gloom,
Os mournful mem’ries sweet,
It speaks of those—the loved aid lost —
I never more may meet.
“ The moonbeams rest with eadd’ning smile”
O’er valley, dale and hill.
And all is mournful as the plaint
Os lonely whipporwill.
My starting tears I cannot check,
I yield to wan despair ;
My heart, my lips, will vainly ask,
“ Where are those loved ones, where ?”
And yet this yearning, longing wish,
For joys that are no more—
This fear to meet the future griefs
Our Father has in store —
This vain repining at the path
His hand has marked for ms,
May be more vain, more rash, more w r ild,
Titan fancy’s imagery.
We’re pilgrims here ; far from our home,
Our better rest in heaven;
And all our Father’s castisements
In mercy here are given.
Bear bravely on! In such an hour
Raise thy crushed heart to Heaven,
And let this lovely moonlight eve
To prayer and praise be given !
Laura Linton.
The Old North State, July, 1850.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
VOICES FROM THE AIR.
IMITATED FROM THE GERMAN.
’Twas summer time, at close of day,
A lover from his cot did stray;
As ’mid the mountain wilds he sought
The evening shade in quiet thought,
And shouting o’er the hills
“ Hallo!”
A voice responsive echoed
“ Lo!”
“ How strange !” was quick the lover’s
cry;
“ Who spake to me, as from yon sky,”
Echo— I!
Lover—Mysterious thing; where hast thou
birth,
Art thou a form of heaven or earth ;
Or say if thou alone in air
Dost dwell, some magic spirit fair,
Echo— Air!
Lover—Then as thou so dost answer true,
Mysterious nymph, One thing I sue,
Be careful that you answer true ;
I wish to my beloved some c-lue,
Echo— Lou!
Lover—Thou tellest well; but what to do,
That I may win this lovely Lou,
Echo— Woo!
Lover—But dost thou think that I can win
A giil so free from every sin,
Whose spirit is better fit the sky,
Where angels dwell ia love on h-igh
Echo— Ay!
Lover—Then straight I’ll go, my heait to give,
And swear for her to die—to live ;
So fare thee well, I now must leave,
But, still, as true thy tones believe—
Echo— Leave!
And so the Lover quickly fled,
And leached ere night his humble shed.
He wooed—he won—he wedded Lou,
And thus the magic words came true.
Athens, Geo. TECUMSEH.
(Original tongs.
Forthe Southern Literary Gazette.
EGERIA:
Or, Voices from the Woodi; and Wayside.
NEW SERIES.
Cl.
Patriotism. There are in the world
at least two sorts of patriotism, and
though they occupy opposite extremes
in morals, it is yet very hard for ordi
nary men to distinguish between them.
The one is true, the other false. The
one may he seen, the other is always
to be heard. The one carries his public
lo% r e in his heart and shows it in his
actions; the other upon his tongue and
discovers it in his speech. The one is
solid and strives without ceasing; the
other is shadowy, and is always too
busy to work. The one is unpromis
ing, the other full of promise. The
one thinks, the other talks. The one
has no family but his country; the
other no country but his family. The
one sits late in council; the other gets
late to council. The one appropriates
the public money for the public good,
the other for his own. The one waits
the necessity to spend it; the other
makes the necessity. The one leaves
the public service a beggar; the other
beggars it. But the false patriot is a
dextrous imitator of the true. He
speaks justly the principles which the
other practises. Every body will allow’
that he knows what is right—that he is
a famous orator —and that, if not a
patriot, it is only because his own ideal
is too admirable for any common mor
tal to approach.
CII.
Conservatism and Progress. In poli
tics, that sort of conservatism w hich
opposes progress, is only a patriotic
sort of suicide. Fancy the venerable
grey-beard, with tottering limbs and
crutch extended, feebly striving to ar
rest the wheels of the locomotive under
full head of steam. (|t is a miserable
selfishness, as well as blindness, that
would arrest the movement which, hav
ing served our generation, we decree
should enure to the benefit of none suc
ceeding. There is only one sort of po
litical conservatism that has any value.
It is one that will recognize the move
ment and leaping into the seat of the
driver, will take partin guiding it with
skill and courage. To attempt to ar
rest it wholly, is only to perish under
the wheels.
cm.
Poetry. Poetry so far adopts the
vague as to studiously forbear the
literal. The more literal the poet, the
more common-place, and of conse
quence, the less poetical. Original ideas
necessarily imply an original phrase
ology. But poetry loses nothing of her
force of speech by her indirectness. It
is the wondrous property of the imagi
nation to seize upon the most imposing
forms of the subject by the least noto
rious processes. She first? rises, like
the eagle, or the vulture, above the
prey upon w hom she designs to de
scend.
CIV.
Will. We believe very much as w r e
will, in despite of Jonathan Edwards.
This is certainly the case where the
subject is the merits of our neighbour.
Perhaps the very best test of the feel
ing which we have for him, is to note in
what degree the mention of his good
fortune makes us angry and dissi s
fied, or pleased.
CV.
Depth of a Philosopher. How deep
was that ancient philosopher, Gregory
Naziartzen, who drowned himself in the
Euripus to ascertain ths causes of its
ffequent rising through the day? Over
his head—beyond his depth —certainly.
CVI.
Aim. The ambition w hich aims too
moderately, is quite as liable to defeat
as that which aims too low. The eagle
finds thf. sheep a better mark than he
would the moth.
CVII.
Comfort.. It is only in the decline
of a nation’s energies that comfort be
comes its prevailing passion. Strength
of any kind is sure to disdain comfort.
CVI 11.
Idleness. Habitual and utter idle
ness can only result in idiocy; but we
should err in always assuming him to
be idle whom we never see at work.
d&nr I'rttrrs.
Correspondence of the Southern Literary Gazette.
NEW YORK, Acg. 17, 1850.
The principal event of interest in
these “diggins” for the present week
has been the Commencement at Yale
College, with the celebration of the
Third Semi-centennial J übilee since the
founding of the College. Thanks to
the excellent arrangements on the New
Haven Rail Road, we are now within
a very few hours of that city, the jour
ney, indeed, being much easier than to
many places in our immediate vicinity.
One consequence of this is, that we are
readily acted on by the social electricity
of the beautiful City of Elms, the vi
brations of her literary festivals draw
ing within their sphere almost as many
Gothamites as are found at the anni
versaries of our own, it must be con
fessed, somewhat phlegmatic institu
tions. Venerable Yale, in her hundred
and fiftieth year, has has all the elasti
city and hilarious gayety of blossoming
youth. A more vivacious re-union of
professional and scholastic celebrities is
not often gathered than that which
came to hail their Alma Mater on the
recurrence of her birth-day. The exer
cises of the Jubilee and of the Phi
Beta Kappa threw the performances of
the “ ingenious” candidates for the Bac
calaureate somewhat into the shade.
President Woolsey’s Discourse, giving
many curious reminiscences of the old
College, was received with universal
applause, although it was not indebted
to any graces of manner or charms of
elocution. The President is a thorough,
bred Greek scholar, and an admirable
man for his rare qualities of mind and
heart, but his taste is any thing but
Attic in regard to the beauty of ex
ternals, and hence the effect of his
Address was greatly impaired by the
negligence of its delivery.
The dinner, which succeeded the
public services in the Church, was a
genuine, old-fashioned literary sympo
sium, at which official dignity was laid
aside with the robes of authority, and
the graduates for a long train of years
welcomed back to their classic ground,
again to taste of the foaming nectar of
youth, in reviving the scenes of olden
time. By the by, this was the only ex
hilerating liquor permitted on the occa
sion, the friends of total abstinence
having carried the day and rigidly ex
cluded every liquid of a more potent
character than lemonade. “Water is
the best,” seemed to be the prevailing
sentiment, which might have been back
ed up by the motto from the old The
ban bard. Over a thousand persons
were seated at the tables, and there was
plenty of wit, if not of wine.
A racy speech was made by Profes
sor Felton, of Cambridge, in reply to
the toast in honour of Harvard. Few
men could have done better justice to
the subject than did the genial, frisky,
humourous Greek Professor. He re
gretted the absence of President Ever
ett and President Sparks, but the com
pany had no reason to rtgret the ex
change.
But the most popular thing at the
dinner was a sort of half-extemporane
ous poem, full of good-natured satire,
by Pierpont, of Massachusetts, an old
graduate of the College, and one of the
most free-spirited and self-reliant of
men. lie must now be between sixty
and seventy years of age, but he is still
“as smart as a steel trap,” taking a
mischievous delight in bringing his
large assortment of ultraisms into the
most conservative assemblies. He did
this, however, with such cool audacity,
such unrivalled self-possession,announc
ing his belief in all the unfashionable
ologies and opaltries of the day, that it
had all the effect of a good joke, and
quite won upon the good graces of the
audience. Pierpont, I am told, has
always been up to a thing of this kind.
One of his notable exploits many years
ago, was a fierce onslaught on the Mili
tary System at the anniversary of the
Ancient and Honourable Artillery Corn
pany of Boston.
Holmes’s Poem, in the evening, be
fore the Phi Beta, was in quite a different
vein, cutting and slashing on all sides
like mad, and pursuing the “ disciples
of the newness” with hot poetic furor,
till they were left without so much as
an augur hole to creep out at.
The advent of Jenny Lind casts its
shadow before with a most decided ef
fect. Barnum is clapping and crowing
like a hen that has laid anew egg.
Every one begins to rub his ears and
get all the auriculars in tune for the
wondrous vocalist. The building is
“being rushed up” in hottest haste. —
About a month now —one little month
will bring the sublime Jenny to our
shores. What a tempting bait is of
fered by Barnum to our poetical aspi
rants in the Two Hundred Dollar Prize
for Jenny Lind’s Welcome to America.
It seems to be doubtful whether the
song is to be Jenny’s Welcome to
America, or America's Welcome to
Jenny. In either case, rather an awk
ward theme for our native bards. The
prize is to be decided by a committee
selected by Barnum, consisting of Rip
ley of the Tribune , Gaylord Clarke of
the Knickerbocker , and the well-known
intelligent publishers, Redfield and Put
nam—men, 1 believe, endowed with an
infinite stock of patience, and perhaps
selected on that account. They ought
to be congratulated that the decision is
not to take place until after the dog
days.
The season in New York opens on
Monday night with uncommon attrac
tions. Six theatres and two opera
houses will be open on that evening, of
which the most brilliant promises are
held forth at the Astor Place. Madame
Anna Bishap crowned with the green
laurels of her Mexican Campaign, will
be welcomed with enthusiasm. Great
preparations have been made for the
performance of ‘'Judith,” in which
opera Madame Bishop will be sustain
ed by several of the best artists. In
addition to this, a grand Oriental ballet
is to come off, in which the principal
part will be taken by Mad. Augusta.
The popular Broadway Theatre re
opens on the same night with the
“School for Scandal,” and a select com
pany recently engaged in London.—
Among them is Mr. Conway, the son
of the distinguished actor of that name,
who is so well-remembered by old
play-goers some twenty years since.
Castle Garden had a brilliant audi
ence last night for “ I Puritani,” which
was performed for the third time with
triumphant success. The house was
supposed to contain nearly four thous
and persons. Steffanoni, Salvi, Marini,
and Bardiali, all won the most raptur
ous applause. “La Favorita” is an
nounced for Monday evening next, it
being the last week of the Havana
troupe in that place.
Burton re-commences operations at
the favourite emporium of frolic on the
same evening, with several important
additions to his farce. Mr. and Mrs.
Skerrit are among the new attractions
to this establishment. Blahe, whose
welcome is always fresh in New York,
has returned from New’ Orleans, and is
engaged by Burton to appear at his
Theatre the early part of next month.
You see our prospects for amuse
ment are by no means dreary. 1 trust
we shall be able to weather the storm.
If not, the indefatigable purveyors to
the public taste will not be to blame.
We have had several new books of
interest this week, but I have no room
for any description to-day. In my next
I will sweeten the mouths of your
excellent readers with some literary
gossip. T.
A cement that will neither crack nor
crease, may be made with a solution of
pearlash and sulphuric acid, mixed to
the exact point of neutralization with
powder of gypsum.
dßtntrnl ißdcrtir.
[From the Home Journal.]
GHOST KNOCKINGS.
The damage to the renting of a house
by the knowledge that there have been
mysterious noises heard in it, and the
unwillingness of most persons to be
come subjects of public conjecture and
curiosity, would prevent the making
public of most of the instances —sup-
posing that spirit-knoekings were now
becoming general and frequent. Chan
cing, ourself, to know of three cases,the
publicity of which is carefully avoided
for these reasons, (and not seeing how
or why we should know more of such
things than our neighbours,) we feel
justified in thinking it probable that
the phenomenon —whatever it be—is
more common than has been supposed.
It is not two ghosts nor twenty who
have the monopoly of it—nor two im
postors nor twenty, (if imposture it be)
who have hit on the same trick, with
the same manner of performing it, in
different and very distant places. Let
it turnout what it will, the topic is one
so much discussed, that all which throws
light upon it is interesting, and we will
“scoop up” for our readers, the bubble
or so that has floated from the general
stream into our eddy editorial.
The first story we have to tell is ra
ther to the disparagement of ghosts,
and goes to show that the mind may
remain pretty much the same, for a
while after death, weakness and all. It
was narrated in a letter to a private
gentleman in this city, by an English
friend, with whom ha is in familiar
correspondence. Names cannot be
given, for the reason we specified in
the first sentence of this article,a nd it
was written with no thought of publici
ty —but the writer is a man of remar
kable mind and attainments, and the
correspondence is mainly upon topics
of religious and moral progress. We
briefly give the facts.
The wife and children of Mr. W.
had been very much disturbed for
some months, by unaccountable knoek
ings. An occasional and inexplicable
waving of their bed curtains was
another phenomenon which troubled
them. They occupied an old house, of
which Mr. W. had a Jong lease; but,
as he wished to dispose of his lease,
and move to another part of London,
and as he thought these phenomena
were tricks that would be explained,
he forbade a mention of the circum
stances, as likely to prejudice the
lease, and they were a family secret
accordingly. Though not a physician
he was a man of considerable medical
knowledge, and a female cousin being
subject to fits of epilepsy, he had tried
experiments of animal magnetism for
her case. These had been partially
successful, when, on magnetizing her,
in one of her tits, she changed fiom a
passive state to a look of intelligence.
“What a singular old woman is in
the room !” she suddenly exclaimed.
No one being present but Mr. W.
and his wife, he questioned the epilep
tic, getting gradually a description by
which they recognized his grandmother,
who had been dead several years. He
requested her to ask the old lady what
she wanted.
“ She is most anxious to speak to
yourself, was the reply.
Farther parley induced the venera
ble ghost to open her mind through a
second person. She was distressed at
the neglect with which her dresses and
ornaments were treated, her favourite
and valuable things left to moulder in
out of the way corners, in a way that
was insufferable, even where she was.
Having entirely forgotten the exis
tence of these articles, Mr. W. inquired
where they were. The old lady at
once gaveexplicit directions where they
could be found, and found they were , in
the very places described, and in the
very condition which had vexed the
unchanged memory of the departed.
They were attended to, and there were
no more supernatural noises for some
months.
A recurrence of an attack, while the
cousin was en a visit to the house some
time afterwards, brought animal mag
netism again into play, and, at the
moment of the patient’s subjection to
the influence, a violent knocking was
once more heard. The patient did not,
this time, become clairvoyant, and no
communication was received in any in
telligible shape from the unlaid grand
mother. The knockings at night were
resumed, however, and Mr. W. deter
mined to try if he could himself get up
a demonstration, and, in that case, to
speak his mind, with the hope that deaf
ness was not among the ills that ex
flesh is heir to. He took a book and
kept himself awake until after midnight,
and then tried to will up the knockings.
At two, they suddenly resounded, and
he then proceeded to give his grand
mother a lecture. He laid before her,
in plain terms, the way she was disturb
ing the family, the risk of damaging
his interest, and the better things she
ought for decency’s sake, to appear to
he thinking about, between this and
judgment day. As he went on, the
knockings, by their increased rapidity,
as they broke in, from time, expressed
displeasure; and, at the last alli sion,
and its reproof, there was a perfect
storm of tappings. Mr, W. then bade
his grandmother good night, and went
to bed — since which the knockings have
no more been heard.
Droll as this is, it is narrated with
perfect sincerity by a strong minded
and highly educated man, and we call
on the reader to credit thus much—
though he may put what construction
he pleases on the circumstances it de
tails for facts. Supposing it true, it
would suggest a query reasonable
enough, whether those who were wedded
most exclusively to this life and its tri
vialities are not those who cling most
to it after death, and are not most ea
ger and most likely to stumble on some
way to speak to us. Ghosts have con
tinually appeared to see about proper
ty, buried money, and such mere mat
ters of this world, whereas no intelli
gent ghost (that we ever heard of at
least) has once put his nose back,
through the dropped curtains of time
and desire, to tell us a single thing that
is either useful or agreeable. And yet
that all ghosts, gentle and simple, see
things with their new eves, which it
would be most interesting for us to
know, can scarcely be doubted. It is
possible that none but a “low” ghost
would have any communication with
us 1 The reader will follow out the
idea.
To give a second instance—
A gentleman of our acquaintance,
who had been a politician for manv
years, (and of course had no nerv,' s
that any thingunsubstantial could much
worry,) heard of a farm which could
be bought cheap, because “ the house
was haunted.” Feeling simply obliged
to the ghosts for the accommodation
he became the proprietor, and moved
there with his family lor summer quar
ters. llis wife had no objections to
the disqualifications of the place fi, r
she was a Swedenborgian, and \v a s
willing to see any spirit who had an
errand to her. They had been there
but a short time when the “knocking*”
commenced. The new tenant was a
famous cross examining lawyer, and
would believe nothing on plausibilities
lie set all his wits to work to discover
how the ghosts did their pounding f or
they were the blows of a sledge ham
mer apparently—and the house beincr
a wooden one, the disturbance to sleep
and comfort amounted toa serious uni.
sance. He was wholly unsuccessful.
Three days ago he told the writer of
this that it was still a complete myste
ry. llis wife, (to her own belief,) has
seen a spirit walk through the locked
door of her bed room, but as it made
no communication, they remain in the
dark as to its object, i lie place has no
history beyond crops. It has been oc
cupied always by such people, as none
but very illiterate ghosts could have
had any acquaintance with —
One instance more—
A family of young people, whom we
knew very well, moved into anew
brick house in the upper part of this
city, last year. Spirits are supposed
to haunt only antiquated dwellings,
but here, they even got the start of
rats, cockroaches, and other nuisances,
for unaccountable knockings were heard
before the coming in of the bill for the
first quarter’s Vent. They sent down
to order the servants to stop pounding,
on the evening when they first heard h.
but the cook was alone, and had done
nothing of the kind. They lit candle*
and again and again ransacked the
house from garret to kitchen, to find
out what that confounded knocking
could be, and discovered nothing that
would any way explain it. Beiu<x
young people, full of health, and with
no unsettled accounts worth a dead
man’s while to come back about, thev
are getting gradually indifferent to it,
already alluding to the matter with
more fun than terror.
It is a point gained, (as riddance ot’
fright on such subjects,) even if we ma\
reasonably question whether all ghostV
are respectable enough to be worthy
ot notice. If, indeed, anew and intel
ligent medium of electricity is to be
subjected to our service—if spirits who
will, now, at command, move tables
and chairs, are to be put under the
control ofthe living—they are,of course
inferior to the spirits in the body. Is
it a class of the damned about being
turned to account? Was there not
wanted in the progress of the world,
an intelligent slave, to play the messen
ger between our intellects and the
clearer perceptions of the spirit world,
and has not Providence given us a clue
to communication with this new agent
in these electric knockings, which may
be the first lessons in an alphabet of
spirit language ?
Os course there will be much less
sinning, when a ghost can be put on the
stand for a witness; and, indeed, it is
in this view, mainly, that we fear it to
be a thing for which the world is not
quite ready. That spirits are coolly
looking on and listening, whatever we
do and say, is a fact that has not hither
to been much of an embarrassment to
us—but, when they can go and tell !
virtue becomes inevitable! The pul
pit’s duty— encouragement to these
knockings—is very clear; but will it be
popular, on the whole, to know things
easier than at present, and will people
be willing to see established, (which
seems very likely,) a system of com
munication between the other world
and this, for a trifling ghostage, as now
between cities for a trifling postage;
news by ghost easy as news by post?
It is a subject which, as Bulwer says,
opens up.
jfnits Bnrtlj Ittinuiing.
Photographic pictures can be taken
on ivory, and afterwards coloured by
hand. Mr. Langenheim, of Philadel
phia, is the discoverer of the process.
It has been proved, by experiment,
in England, that iron vessels are not
near so well adapted for war as wooden
ones. Under cannon balls, the iron
splinters in the most dangerous manner.
A strange freak of nature may be
seen on an apple tree in Medford, in
the yard of Mr. Nathan Childs. Upon
a branch of this tree there are three
large white roses. Originally there were
five, and what is still more singular is.
they are all upon anew sprout of this
year’s growth.
A pillar square at the top and bob
tom is three times as strong as one
rounded at the ends. If pillars are not
placed perfectly perpendicular, at least
two-thirds of their strength is lost.and
they are one-seventh, stronger when
swelled in the middle, like the frustritm
of a cone, with the base in the centre.
The wild pine of the West Indies,
which grow's on the branches of trees in
hot climates, where there is little rain,
has a mug which will hold a quart:
when the dew falls it is received, and a
valve closes at the top and prevents
evaporation. Often are birds seen to
insert their beaks and procure water
therefrom.
We have inspected, says an Englbh
paper, and seen with great pleasure the
specimens of Mr. Hale Thomson’s nev
patent for silvering glass. Its ajf :
tion to cups, vases, and other articles,
is exceedingly beautiful, and in some
cases carries the art beyond any thing
we imagined possible. There is also
utility, as well as richness of de sign
and splendour of colours.
Mr. Chatin has discovered that \< Vn u
exists in the common cresses, am a
in all those aquatic plants which g'°”
in running w r ater. This fact clear, 1
explains the cause of the anti-scorbum
and anti-turbuculous properties known
to belong to all these plants that a>’
edible, and especially water-cresses.-”
lodine is the substance which renders
efficacious in consumptive habits the
cod-liver oil, recently so much in vogue.