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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.