Newspaper Page Text
other day, at a free-and-easy—quite
promiscuous —with a public company
when some gentleman, he left these
gloves behind him ! Another gentle
man and me, you see, we laid a wager
of a sovereign, that I wouldn’t find out
who they belonged to. I’ve spent as
much as seven shillings already, in try
ing to discover ; but, if you could help
me, I’d stand another seven and wel
come. You see there’s Tr and a cross,
inside.’ ‘/see,’ he says. ‘Bless you,
I know these gloves very well! I’ve
seen dozens of pairs belonging to the
same party.’ ‘No V says I. ‘ Yes,’
says he. ‘Then you know who cleaned
’em'?’says I. ‘Rather so,’says he. ‘My
father cleaned ’em.’
“‘Where does your father live ?’ says
I. ‘Just round the corner,’ says the
young man, ‘near Exeter Street, here.
He’ll tell you who they belong to, di
rectly.’ ‘Would you come round with
me now V says I. ‘Certainly,’ says
he, ‘but you needn’t tell my father that
you found me at the play, you know,
because he mightn’t like it.’ * All
right! We went round to the place,
and there we found an old man in a
white apron, with two or three daugh
ters, all rubbing and cleaning away at
lots of gloves, in a front parlour. ‘ Oh,
Father! : says the young man, ‘here’s
a person been and made a bet about
the ownership of a pair of gloves, and
I’ve told him you can settle it.’ ‘Good
evening, Sir,’ says I, to the old gentle
man. ‘Here’s the gloves your son
speaks of. Letters Tr, you see, and a
cross.’ ‘Oh yes,’ he says, ‘I know these
‘I know r these gloves very well; I’ve
cleaned dozens of pairs of ’em. They
belong to Mr. Trinkle, the great up
holsterer in Cheapside.’ ‘Did you get
’em from Mr. Trinkle, direct,’ says I,
‘if you’ll excuse my asking the ques
tion ?’ ‘ No,’ says he ; ‘ Mr. Trinkle al
ways sends ’em to Mr. Phibb’s, the
haberdasher’s, opposite his shop, and
the haberdasher sends ’em to me.’—
‘Perhaps you wouldn’t object to a drain?’
says I. ‘Not in the least!’ says he.
So I took the old gentleman out, and
had a little more talk with him and his
son, over a glass, and we parted excel
lent friends.
“This was late on a Saturday night.
First thing on the Monday morning, I
went to the haberdasher’s shop, oppo
site Mr. Trinkle’s, the great upholster
er’s in Cheapside. ‘Mr. Phibbs in the
way V ‘My name is Phibbs.’ ‘Oh !
I believe you sent this pair of gloves
to be cleaned]’ ‘Yes, 1 did, for young
Mr. Trinkle over the way, There he
is, in the shop !’ ‘Oh ! that’s him in
the shop, is it? Him in the green
coat?’ ‘The same individual.’ “Well,
Mr. Phibbs, this isan unpleasant affair;
but the fact is, I am Inspector Wield
of the Detective Police, and 1 found
these gloves under the pillow of the
young woman that was murdered the
other day, over in the Waterloo Road!’
‘Good Heaven !’ says he. ‘ He’s a
a most respectable young man, and, if
his father was to hear of it, it would be
the ruin of him !’ ‘l’m very sorry for
it, says I, ‘but I must take him into
custody.’ ‘Good Heaven!’ says Mr.
Phibbs, again ; ‘can nothing be done?’
‘Nothing,’ says I. ‘Will you allow me
to call him over here,’ says he, ‘that his
a — *; ‘ out unrortu
nately, Mr. Phibbs, I can’t allow of any
communication between you. If any
was attempted, 1 should have to inter
fere directly. Perhaps you’ll beckon
him over here?’ Mr. Phibbs went to
the door and beckoned, and the young
fellow came across the street directly';
a smart, brisk young fellow.”
“ ‘Good morning, sir,’ says I. ‘Good
morning, sir, says he. ‘Would you al
low me to inquire, sir,’ says I, ‘‘if you
ever had any acquaintance with a party
by the name of Grimwood V ‘ Grim
wood ! Grimwood?’ savs he, ‘No!’
‘You know the Waterloo Road?’ ‘Hap
pen to have heard of a young woman
being murdered there ?’ ‘Yes, I read
it in the paper, and very sorry I was
to read it.’ ‘Here’s a pair of gloves
belonging to you, that 1 found under
her pillow the morning afterwards!’
“ He was in a dreadful state, sir • a
dreadful state! ‘Mr. Wield.’ he says,
‘upon my solemn oath, I never was
there. I never so much as saw her, to
my knowledge, in my life?’ ‘lam
very sorry,’ says I. ‘To tell you the
truth ; I don t think you are the mur
derer, but I must take you to Union
Hall in a cab. However, I think it’s a
case of that sort, that at present, at all
e\ ents, the magistrate will hear in pri
vate.” r
“A private examination took place,
and then it came out that this young
man was acquainted with a cousin of
the unfortunate Eliza Grim wood, and
that calling to see this cousin a day or
two before the murder, he left these
gloves upon the table. Who should
come in, shortly afterwards, but Eliza
Grimwood! ‘\\ hose gloves are these 1 ?’
she says, taking ‘em up. ‘Those are
Mr. Trinkle’s gloves, says her cousin.
‘Oh! says she, ‘they are very dirty,
and ot no use to him, I am sure. 1
shall take em aw*ay for my girl to clean
stoves with. And she put ’em in her
pocket. The girl had used ’em to clean
the stoves, and, I have no doubt, had
left em lying on the bed-room mantel
piece, or on the drawers, or somewhere;
and her mistress, looking round to see
that the room was tidy, had caught ’em
up and put em under the pillow where
I found ’em.
“ That’s the story, sir.”
Mrs. Hemans. —She reminds us of
a poet just named, and whom she pas
sionately admired, namely, Shellev.—
Like him, drooping, fragile, a reed
shaken by the wind, a mighty mind, in
sooth, too powerful for the tremulous
reed on which it discoursed its music—
like, him, the victim of exquisite nervous
organization—like him, verse flowed on
and from her, and the sweet sound often
overpowered the meaning, kissing it,
as it were, to death ; like him she was
melancholy, but the sadness of both
was musical, tearful, active, not stony,
silent and motionless, still less misan
ropical and disdainful ; like him, she
was gentle playful, they could both
; prison garden, and dally
bound 1 ° hains “hich they knew
was no td death ’ Mrs. Hemans
reached hiJT & v Vates ’ she has never
depths vet U ° r sound ed his
depths yet they are, to our thought so
strikingly alike as to seem brother and
sxster, in one beautiful but delicate and
dying family.— Gilfillan.
i Carrying babies to Churches and
j) Iheatres, is termed a crying sin.
[We commend the following charm
ing paper to’ our readers. Every pul
sation of our heart chimes in unison
with its genial and graceful words. —
Ed. Gazette .]
A CAVATINA.
Je ne sgay que faire de pareillement comme
vous rhythmer, ou non. Je n’y sgay rien toute
fois, mais nous somme en rhythmaillerie. Par
sainctJean je rhythmerai comme les aultres.je
le sens bien, attendez et m’ayez pour excusd,
si je ne rhythme en cromaisi.
Pantagruel, Liv. V., cap. xliii.
Not long since, there arrived in our
city a pair of the Lafayettes, who land
ed, washed, shaved, bathed, ate, slept
and departed, without so much as start
ing from their ambush a single one of
the lion-hunters; with the exception
of one or two riddling shots from the
small arms of the evening papers, they
escaped scot-free, and as unscathed as
if their father, the poor old marquis,
had never buckled on an epaulette for
American Independence. At Albany,
indeed, I learn with regret, that they
were overtaken, and were honoured
with such a surfeit of mud, Devons
and Dorkings, as mnst have satisfied
both their rurality and their pride.
To their escape from our town, they
are indebted not so much to our gener
osity as to our J enny Lind. You, Fritz,
will understand this; —for you have
listened to this songstress amid the
blaze of knightly attendance, and under
the heavily embossed roof of a Royal
opera-house;—where the King and his
suite were nothing, and the fairest, ‘high
bosomed’ dames of the Unter Den Lin
den were nothing, —and where the long
moustached young officers of the Prus
sian army twisted their German faces
into all shapes of delight. You will un
derstand it, for you have seen her add
her native grace to the sweet imper
sonation of the dreaming and w ronged
Sonmambula ; and you have seen her,
with all the accessories of brilliant
stage decorations, and with all the vi
tality of infectious dramatic skill,
stretch up those little hands to Heaven,
in all the fervor and the strength of a
song of prayer.
Seeing her thus in the old world,
where at every sunset martial music
swelled upon the air, with its tale of
monarchic splendour, and of monarchic
power, —it is pleasant to see her here,
quit for a time of the panoply of the
stage, and in no character but that
which she best adorns, viz., her own, —
lending her sweet voice and songs to
the clear atmosphere of our land of free
dom.
Nor could our songstress easily find
a more glorious singing-spot than that
upon the edge of our moon-lighted bay
—wide as the gulf by Sorentum, and
with a richer green upon the shore —
soft as the Lagoons of Venice, and
wakened with the charm of a freer and
happier life.
Had Jenny been less than she was
represented, either in tone or in heart,
there might before this have been a
strong reaction. But from the first, she
has more than sustained her character;
and with a most liberal hand, she has
showered back the first largess of the
town, to run like the golden currents of
her song in a thousand channels, car
it is anew feeling with which to
worship art—that of doing goodness by
the worship. The knowledge of the
abounding benevolence and liberality
of this high priestess of song, makes
our offerings seem like the sweet sacri
fices of old to some protecting goddess,
or like that Christian munificence
which made the wise men of the East
prodigal of their frankincense and
myrrh.
Jenny Lind is leported to be apro
priating her earnings in this country to
the establishment of a great Sweedish
school; it can well be believed; her
charity and good sense lend evidence
to the report. Let me set the matter
down for you, more narrowly;—a
young woman, not yet thirty, scarce
appearing two and twenty, with whom
the enthusiasm of youth has not yield
one jot to the approaches of age,—
while yet in the hey-day of life, when
wordly vanities take strongest hold of
the soul, and under an amount of blan
dishment and flattery that might over
come the staid virtues of a veteran, is
bestowing her honours on the needy,
and the triumphs of her art and study
upon the orphan, and the poor. It is
as if Raphael had painted always to
teach lessons of charity, or Byron
made verse for the endowment of hos
pitals.
I love, I must say, Fritz, the very
exuberance of admiration which waits
upon such charity. It is pleasant,
amid the cynical things which are cred
ited me, to give loose to such enthusi
asm as five and fifty years can yet keep
within the walls of manhood, and add
the applause of a Timon to the plau
dits of the multitude. God save me
from that respectable class who cherish
their impassive habit under all the
events of life, and who cling to their
coldness as the only security of their
dignity !
You surely will not set me down as
an echoer of the praises of others, or
as one given to the loose carriage of
indiscrimminate flattery. My letters,
one and all, have told you a different
story : —nay, they will have even made
you question the heartiness which you
recognized in the days gone by,—when
we mingled our struggles and our hopes
upon the brink of youth, as the tide
set outward, and leaped together into
the stream that led on to life and des
tiny. But now, with the memory of
those notes of the songstress —not in
my ear, but in my soul—flowing over
me like pleasant thoughts heaven-ward
bound, and heaven-belonging, —now
falling to an echo, sweet as the sweetest
memories of childhood, and again rising
and swelling, pure and high as the best
hopes that beckon us toward futurity,
—I fall from my office of critic, carpist,
or whatever you may term me, and
yield as profound an homage as any, to
that art which, though it runs before
the foremost, is yet sublimed to a still
higher pitch by its abounding charity.
There is something more than inter
esting in the thought that a lady song
stress, of foreign birth, is gathering by
her melodies, from Americans of every
class and every taste, the means to
build up her distant country of the
North in the harmonies and duties of
civilization. Think of it for a moment,
Fritz, that your ticket, and your seat,
is to give a desk to some poor Swedish
scholar; and that the echoes of the
Nightingale (sounds to be kissed) are
to re-echo through their whole life-time
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
in the hearts and voices of ten thousand
blue-eyed Scandinavian children!
There is a kind of moral sublimity
in the thought, that the inhabitants of
our Western World are led on by their
sympathetic appreciation of the highest
art, and by their offerings at its shrine,
to extend the means of cultivation and
of refinement to the people of that
mountain peninsula,over which reigned
the great Gustavus Vasa, when Amo i
ca was a wilderness, and this Castle
Garden a low alluvial debris, on which
the herons stalked among the rank sea
grass, and half-clad heathen stranded
their birch canoes.
The fashionable world, the papers
tell us, has held aloof, and has only
here and there sprinkled the benches of
the Castle; if so, fashionable people
are to be pitied—not so much for their
weakness as for their losses. lam in
clined to think that the fashionable
world is slandered by the report. —
Were Jenny less than Jenny; were
the sympathies she excites less univer
sal, or her vanities more in keeping
with the proper vanities of the towm,
we should long ago have lost her nai
vete in the splendour of parade, and
our fashionists would have been intox
icated by her reception of their favors.
But even the idlest, and the strongest
of our fashionable world, are not apt
in the offices of self-denial; and though
they are not remarkable for their deeds
of benevolence, yet they will not cheat
themselves of a song that beguiles their
ennui , though the price they pay is a
reluctant charitity. What a lesson is
given by this benevolent Swedish wo
man, to our silken drivers of showy
equipage, and to our fat dandlers of
poodle dogs!
How many of our richly-reared wo
men, between twenty and thirty, have
got an ear or eye for outcast, needy
children, or for the groans and suffer
ings of the poor ? How many of them
are in the habit of commuting their
necklaces or their opera fans into bread
for the destitute ? How many of them
keep the calendar of our schools by
chairity, and do their offices of kindness
—for a blessing? There are indeed
honourable exceptions, whom it would
please my fancy to designate: —they find
their reward in the glow of an honest
purpose.
With the most of them (it is hard
to say it, Fritz,) this town life is but a
round of delirious indulgencies,in which
the delights afforded even by this new
meteor of song, are only —an added
excitement. Bounty and duty are to
them unknown terms, just fitted for pul
pit talk, but very harsh in the boudoir.
Their sensibilities are kept for the
dreamy rhapsodies of elegantly-bound
poets, or for the sweet covers of their
prayer-books. Their charity all exudes
in a twilight tear; and all their religion
in a Lentan fast.
You will perhaps set me down, Fritz,
as one crazed by the reigning excite
ment, and as giving loose to a frenzied
intoxication of spirit; but 1 claim no
absolution from that sympathy, which
is started by the holy offices of charity,
and adorned by the natural graces of
simplicity and song. Ido not envy the
critic, who must listen with profession
al coldness to such a singer, and curb
scale. Even the elegant journalism
which talks of her bravuras , her andan
(es, and falsettos, is to me a Crispin crit
icism upon a Phidian statue.
Jenny’s andante is an allegro ofspirit;
she cultivates no catch-penny bravuras
of voice, though her whole action is a
bravura of soul. Her life, like her
voice, is of one register; and her ac
tions, like her tones, whether di testa
or di petto , have always that peculiar
and holy symphony of utterance which
makes them integral and alone.
There are those who object, that Jen
ny’s voice biings no tears, and that her
style is cold. They prefer the heated
utterance of a Southron. Every man
will have his taste; but for myself,
Fritz, I had rather see the heat of the
soul in deeds, than to take my know
ledge of it from the lip. * And with
Jenny’s warmth in the world, and to
ward the world, she can well afford to
spend her voice in cool showers of re
freshing and limpid sound, rather than
in the heated outbursts of sultry, elec
tric clouds. The tears she makes, are
the tears of gratitude ; and the smiles
she calls, are the smiles of wonder and
ofjoy.
I must confess that I have enough of
the Saxon blood tingling in these fin
ger ends, to welcome, as a northern
cousin, the pure, bright genius of the
Swedish mountains and pine-lands, who
is chaste and pure as the auroral lights;
—nor do I regret one whit, that she does
not bring in her breath the heat of the
simoon, or show in her style the yellow
intensity of the tropics. Her song is
fresh, genial, sympathetic ; and though
it does not welter and writhe like a
swollen and turbid mediterranean river,
it rolls on, pure and clear, like a rill
through heather, or dashes like a moun
tain stream, watering bountifully wide
meadows, and making whole hillsides
green.
The Grisi has her richness of song,
flowing smoothly and evenly as oil; but
Jenny’s notes are like the dashing spar
kle of spring water. The first may
feed, with its combustible material, the
fires that are seething in one’s bosom ;
but the cool, joyous, and limpid bright
ness of the other will feed the health
and temper of the whole man.
I propose no quarrel with the critics;
they are a captious set; and a quiet
gentleman must needs be much dis
turbed, if not worsted, by an encount
er. But in this matter of objecting to
the town favourite, her northern style,
and her lack of that impassioned dra
matism of musical sentiment, which
belongs to the Italian, it seems to me
that the critics areas idle, and meaning
less, as if they were to object to the
blue devil of her eye, or to the golden
shadows that lie parted over her fore
head.
She is there—the large-souled woman,
with not one affectation of the stage,
or one mimicry of feeling ; —only Jen
ny —as the God who made the people
of the pine-lands, as well as the people
of the olives, fashioned her ; and if the
amateurs can mend her —they may.
I wish, Fritz, from my heart, that
for an hour I could get at one of your
forest skirts, to gather a bunch of wild
flowers, —with the golden rod in it, and
a fragrant orchis, and a blue daisy, and
pale ghost-flower, setoff with the heavy
fringe of a brake, and the featherly
lightness of the maiden’s hair, —to
make up a bouquet for the songstress.
And I am sure that such a bunch of
wild flowers would touch Jenny’s
heart more nearly, than all the flaunting
blossoms from our green-houses of
quality.
Act upon the hint, my dear fellow,
and tie one with your own hands, with
the ribbon grass that grows in your
meadow; send it me at once, and it
shall be braided into a thyrsan garland,
to hide the point of my Timon raillery,
and to be laid down, with all the grace
that years have vouchsafed to me, at
the feet of the blue-eyed Jenny.
Timon.
<<£jie Inrrri! Jlltnr.
SINFUL LAMENTATION OF JOB.
JOB. C. 111.
“Perish the day,” in deep despair,
Cried Job, “which saw my fatal birth,”
The night that said, undreaming fear,
“Rejoice, a man-child comes to earth
Oh let that day be darkness still,
Denied the light that glads thy rest,
And God, upon his holy hill,
Forget to make its fate his quest.
Still wrapt in clouds, in deathlike shade,
In blackness of an angry doom,
That day, that night, be still arrayed,
In shadows ot unnoted gloom •,
Torn from the numbers of the year,
Torn from the months that keep the rest,
Let it no more in sight appear,
Alone, apart, by all unblest.
That cruel night, denied each song
That speaks for joy in other hours,
Oh ! be it cursed, a thing of wrong,
By those that curse with fearful powers;
Imploring still for light in gloom,
Denied to see the dawning’s birth,
Because it shut not up the womb,
That gave me to an evil earth.
Lesson for Sunday, October 20.
THE ADVANTAGES OF MEDITATION.
•* Meditate upon these thinge.”—l Tim. iv. 15.
Man is a complication of wonders ;
this fact is proved in the very curious
formation of the corporeal, and the
mysterious constitution of the mental
part of his system ; and in the inti
mate connexion that subsists between
two such opposites as mind and matter.
If there is much to admire in the tex
ture and workmanship of the casket,
how much more in the exquisite nature
and imperishable properties of the jewel
it contains ! Man is a thoughtful and
reflecting being; and while his sinful
nature draws his contemplations down
to earth, God calls on him to let his
thoughts and reflections bear on the ob
jects of an unseen world. The world
sketches out to our view a pleasing
landscape of all that is beautiful to the
eye, charming to the senses, and grati
fying to the feelings, and says, Here
fix your thoughts ; while religion takes
us near to it, and shows us that it is
not a reality, but an ignis fuiuus of the
mind, which eludes our gtasp; and
leading us to the enjoyment of solid
pleasures, presents before us a fair and
bright prospect of a celestial paradise,
a crystallized river, and fields of living
green ; and says, “ Meditate on these
things.” Meditation may be consider
ed in
The variety of its subjects. They
and so delightful that we can never be
weary of them. Let us meditate on
the character and government of God,
on the glory and excellence of Jesus,
and on the grace of the Holy Spirit;
the vastness of our privileges, the na
ture of-our duties, and the brightness
of our prospects.
The extent of its advantages.—
Consider it more particularly with re
gard to religious ordinances.
It prepares us for the observance of
them. Meditation is like the gentle
shower that softens the ground, and
prepares it for the seed. It is the soul’s
retiring to dress itself to meet the king
in his palace.
It helps us in the performance of them.
It is the spiritual digestion of the
mind. That which falls on the ear
should occupy the thoughts in the sanc
tuary.
It refreshes us on the review of them.
This is the sweet exercise of Christian
meditation, you shall be satisfed with
the goodness of God’s house after you
have left it.
It feasts us in the absence of them. —
There are seasons when we cannot vis
it the temple; it is well if wo have a
store-house within. My soul, if there
be any virtue, or if there be any praise,
think on these things.
HEAVEN.
To that state all the pious on earth are
tending; and if there is a law from whose
operations none are exempt, which
irresistibly conveys to darkness and to
dust, there is another not less certain
nor less powerful, which conducts their
spirits to the abodes of bliss, to the
bosom of their Saviour and their God.
The wheels of nature were not made
to roll backward, every thing rolls on
to eternity ; from the birth of time an
impetuous current has set in, which
bears all the sons of men towards that
interminable ocean. Meanwhile heaven
is attracting to itself whatever is con
genial to its nature, is enriching itself
by the spoils of earth, and collecting
within its capacious bosom whatever is
pure, permanent and divine, leaving
nothing for the last fire to consume but
the objects and the slaves of concupi
scence : while everything which grace,
has prepared and beautified, shall be
gathered and selected from the ruins of
the world to adorn that eternal city,
which hath no need of the sun, neither
the moon to shine in it, for the glory of
God doth enlighten it, and the Lamb is
the light thereof Let us obey the
voice that calls us thither; lei us seek
the things that are above, and no longer
cleave to a world which must shortly
perish, and which we must shortly quit
while we neglect to prepare for that in
which we are invited to dwell forever.
Robert Hall.
Confidence in God. —When Luther
was at Coburg, he wrote to a friend :
“I was lately looking out of my win
dow at night, and I saw the stars in the
heavens, and God’s great beautiful arch
over my head, but I could not see any
pillars on which the great builder had
fixed this arch; and yet the heavens
fell not, and the great arch stood firm
ly. There are some who are always
feeling for the - pillars and longing to
touch them ; and because they cannot
touch them, they stand trembling and
fearing lest the heavens should fall.—
If they could only grasp the pillars, then
the heavens would stand fast.”
(Driginal |*Brtrtj.
SUMMER EVENING IN MY STUDY.
I.
The ailanthus spreads beneath mine eaves,
Its palmy shoots of slender stem ;
And neath its shade, the jas’mine weaves,
Its vines with many a golden gem ;
And drooping twice beneath its fruits,
The modest fig, imploring place,
Sends forth at once its crowded shoots,
That humbly fill beneath the space.
Then, as the Western Zephyr steals,
With searching wing among their holds,
The bright glance of the sun reveals,
In mystic twines, and mazy folds.
His milder rays admitted, stream.
Beneath their leaves upon my flooi,
In golden patineseach, whose gleam
Makes all the wealth of earth look poor !
11.
How, from the embodied volume lifts
The wearied eye with study sad,
Glad, that in place of mortal gifts,
Some smiles from heaven should make it
glad.
Oh ! to its shelf consign the book: —
Why toil when slumber’s self is life ?
Why on the blessing scorn to look,
Which soothes the care, and stays the strife?
The heart, though doom’d to doubt, that pain,
May still some respite take from care,
And, in repose, not wholly vain,
Forget the daily toils that wear, —
That wear and vex—that would destroy,
But that some blessed moments come,
To cheer the wearied soul with joy,
Born of the breeze, and full of bloom.
The leaf that floats before mine eye,
The vine that waves so meekly bright,
The breeze that wantons fitfully,
With flowr’s that murmur to the sight;
These have a voice for human care,
Commission’d thus by power above,
When human lips no more can cheer,
And human hearts no more can love !
iDriginnl (Essntjs.
Forthe Southern Literary Gazette.
EGERIA:
Or, Voices from the Woods and Wayside.
THIRD SERIES.
XXXII.
Deformity. I can more easily un
derstand why deformity of person
should make one wretched, than why
beauty should make one vain. The
weakness which desires to please is an
amiable one, and there is no good rea
son why the recipient of God’s bounty,
should be vain of, rather than grateful
for it.
XXXIII.
Ghosts. I suppose that, but for a
purgatory, we should be permitted to
see more ghosts. The process of puri
fication must render the world which
they have left, exceedingly distasteful
to those who are about to be made
perfect; and if the danger did not ex
actly arise from this cuuse, it might
from the difficulty of urging forward
rne process with sufficient rapidity,
with so many familiar temptations for
ever present to their eyes. The old
wallow frequently invites the yearning
of him whom Fortune has enabled to
pass into a palace.
XXXIV.
Native Soil. That only is the native
soil of Genius in which it takes root
and flourishes. At all events, a nation
must show r that it has been the nurse
ry of its great man, or it takes no
credit from his growth. The care and
cultivation of a people can alone estab
lish their just right to the productions
of the soil.
XXXV.
Poetry and the Arts. Poetry and
the fine arts generally, are pursuits,
which usually disparage their professors
in the regards of vulgar people. They
are supposed by the ignorant to be in
compatible with the useful, as they
wear a less material aspect than all
other occupations. Beggary and ge
nius have become the proverbial synon
imes among the vulgar of almost every
nation ; and nothing is more distres
sing to the green grocer and the butter
merchant, than the dreadful apprehen
sion that his favourite son, Jacky,
may yet turn out to be a genius.
XXXVI.
The Poor. The poor, it is written,
shall never cease out of the land, and
for this reason, perhaps, if no other ?
that Charity is too precious a virtue to
be foregone in the exercise of those
by which the proud heart is to be kept
modest and in subjection.
XXXVII.
Independence. The secret of inde
pendence lies in ascertaining exactly
upon how’ little it is possible to live,
and in accommodating our expenditure
to this standard. When this condition
is attained, there is no wealth sufficient
ly great to persuade you to the barter
of a principle or feeling.
XXXVIII.
Popular Poetry. The great majori
ty of men have no sympathy with po
etry or the Fine Arts. It is mostly
an affectation when they assert their
sympathy. The poetry which ordina
rily pleases, and enters into the general
sense, is rather the expression of a fa
miliar sentiment which they can un
derstand and appreciate in common
use, than the utterance and embodi
ment of any ideal. Rhyme commends
to them in a portable form, a common
place which they acknowledge; and
appeals, in this way, rather to their
memories than their tastes. The origi
nal poet has a phraseology of his own,
which offends the unfamiliarear. This
accounts for much of the’ hostility of
contemporary criticism. Many of the
passages of Milton and Shakespeare,
which we now find so precious and hap
py, were discussed as offensive novel
ties, when uttered first, and censured in
due degre with their freshness.
XXXIX.
Policy. It is not so sure that he
who hurrahs for nothing will not gain
something by any hurrah. Where
there is no enthusiasm, there is apt to
be cunning, and he who lacks the im
pulses of a Scipio, may yet be familiar
with the most subtle policies of a Tal
leyrand.
XL.
Desert. We shall always find in our
secret consciousness, a sufficient justifi
cation for all the severities of fortune,
under which we suffer.
XLI.
Mental Vision. The snail is not less
a traveller, because his circuit is small
and his pace slow. The world always
accommodates itself to the capacities
of the creature. He who has noted all
within the compass of the vision, is
worthv to have circumnavigated the
globe.
XLII.
Moral Defence. Os all defences
there is none comparable to habitua
insignificance. Obscurity is the seven
fold shield of bull hides, tougher than
that of Ajax. If any where assailable,
It is only, like Achilles, in the heel.
XLIII.
The Criminal. Pliny, in one of his
celebrated letters, says, that though
there may be some use in setting the
mark upon the criminal by way of ex
ample, there will be more in sparing
him for the sakeof humanity. It is not
unfrequently the case that justice gains
at the expense of humanity. It does
not unfrequently happen that the laws,
in the operation of penalties, make
great out of small criminals,by putting
the offender so entirely without the
pale of civilization and society as to
render it impossible that he should ev
er again be able to enter within it. The
great difficulty in the way of criminal
justice, is so to proportion the punish
ment to the offence, as to make the
subject of its operations, himself, ad
mit its propriety. By overstepping
this limit, justice becomes harsh and
unnatural, and compels the criminal,
not uncommonly, into acts, propor
tioned in their extent to the penalty he
has been compelled already to abide.
Schilller has an admirable story, the
German title of which is ‘The Criminal,
because of the operation of the Laws,’
that is to say, one, who, though in the
first instance an offender, has been
made, subsequently, a criminal, by the
very laws which have been enacted as
a preventive of his crime. In imita
tion of the Draco-like system of Great
Br!tain AllJ* primi'nol Laura nnf unfi*A_
quently denounce the penalty of Cain
upon the offence of Jacob; and the
brand, which should be applied for the
taking of a brother’s blood, is also of
tentimes the punishment for partaking
of a brother’s pottage.
f'lir fentjisf.
WILL AND REFORM.
But there must be a strong will
wherever a reform is to be effected.
All virtue, to have any real value,
to be made available to any useful
purpose, must be coupled with a large
degree of courage. Our hope is in
this fact, as it suggests a distinct argu
ment to the pride of the people re
quired to perform. We must be bold
and resolute, even to attempt what we
think necessary. But the most essen
tial courage, in all reforms of a moral
nature is, first to make just confession
of our ow n deficiences. Could we al
ways have the daring to admit that we
only are what each knows himself to
be! This, and no more, as the times
go, calls for a more than ordinary de
gree of hardihood. Few of us are
willing to admit that our neighbours
can excel us in any respect. How sel
dom do we hear the confession that
one cannot afford to do what is done
by others. Who confesses his inabili
ty to do this, and to buy that ?—to
achieve this conquest, or enjoy that lux
ry This miserable cowardice, the
progeny of vanity wholly, runs through
the entire circle of society. The mise
rable trinkets which decorate our per
sons ; —our riotous and lavish modes of
living; —the constant changes of dress
and furniture; —the costliness of the
material employed for both; —these,
with a thousand other heads of expen
diture, have become almost universal
sins among us. The conceited husband
operates upon the money market, and
fancies that, by a judicious nod of the
head, or bend of the finger, which he
alone knows how to make at the right
season, he has possessed himself of
Aladdin’s treasure. That butterfly be
ing, his wife, would persuade the w orld,
by her gold and purple exhibitions,
that all his fancies are facts. The son
rates himself, under the same happy
system, as a millionaire, and spends
like one; and the daughter, if the board
ing schools have not already done all
the mischief, soon proves that the task
is one which society cannot find it dif
ficult to perform. And what, for a sea
son, at least, shall possibly set a limit
to the money follies, ani the world
follies, and the head and heart follies of
all these foolish people? Nothing but
that blight, as inevitable as the frost to
the flow r er at the usual season, which
bites the precocious mushroom to the
root, and consigns it to a poverty for
which no preparation has been made.
The whole life of such people is a lie
and must continue a hopeless lie, until
they gain sufficient moral couraga to
act the truth boldly, and to appear on
ly in habits of the truth. But, most of
these evils, the very evils of vanity,
arise from exaggerations of trade; the
illusions of which, like those of oriental
fable, beguile and bewilder, until all
the standards of comparison are utter
ly lost; and the poor dreamer, like
some painted vessel, with flags flying,
and all sails spread, rushes on, uncon
scious, careering, proud, head-long into
the dismal maelstrom, which is a real
vortex, to be found in every human
sea.
(Our i'rttrrs.
Correspondence of the Southern Literary Gazette.
NEW YORK, Oct. 12, 1850.
You will have some idea of the bu
siness activity of the last week, when
1 tell you that since the 4th inst., six
first class steamers, have arrived at
this port,the Cherokee and Empire City
from Chagres, by way of Jamaica, the
Georgia from Chagres, touching at Ha
vana, the Hermann from Bremen and
Southampton, and the Atlantic and
Europe from Liverpool. This is exclu
sive of the Charleston steamers, and
those of other American ports The
departures within the same space of
time have been still greater, no less
than six within twenty-four Imurs, in
cluding those which are now on the
point of leaving, all of them with a full
complement of passengers. These are
the splendid new steamer Franklin,
which sailed for Havre last Saturday,
the Cunarder Niagara for Liverpool,
the Georgia, yesterday, for Chagres,
the Pacific for New-Orleans and Ha
vana, at the same time, and to-day, the
Atlantic for Liverpool, and the Empire
City and Cherokee, for Chagres.
You see, in our daily journals, a re
port of the great extent to which the
building operations in various parts of
the city, are now carried; and this, l
am happy to say, with some very deci
ded architectural improvements. In
fact, Broadway is so fast losing its old
character, that many parts of it would
scarcely be recognized by the oldest
inhabitant, it he were to be absent for
a few months at a time. Everything
in the shape of fashionable residences
is crowded far up town, by the en
croachments of business in Broadway,
and even transient visitors, begin to
find that the hospitable Astor House
is too near the centre of Affairs for
quiet or comfort, and prefer t ie elegant
repose of the magnificent Hotels above
Bleecker. In many of the new private
rpsidpncf> now prpptinfr, louo
torn of making a dining hall on the
basement is abolished. The apart
ments are so arranged that the great
event of the day, acording to Dr. John
son, can come off in a cheerful room,
freely visited by the light of Heaven,
and capable of attraction and tasteful
decorations, instead of the dark, dingy,
subteranean localities, into which the
New-Yorkers have been compelled to
descend for their dinners, from time
immemorial, and often at the risk of
their necks.
The appointment of Bishop Hughes
as an Archbishop, is an indication of
the increasing prevalence of Catholi
cism in our city. The Church has to
thank Bishop Hughes for that. He
has filled his responsible position with
a most vigilant eye towards her inter
ests and displayed no small ability as
a politician in the management of her
delicate and often complicated tactics.
The Bishop is a man of two worlds.
Wielding an immense spiritual power
over the faithful, who are seeking Heav
en under his direction, he is a consum
mate master of secular policy, and, in
this respect, is probably not surpassed
by the most subtle Italian in the ser
vice of the Pope. Deeply religious,
he has no trace of fanaticism. Ilis
judgment in affairs is not warped by
the influence of dogmas. No man is
better versed in the current politics of
the day, both domestic and foreign, nor
exercises a shrewder instinct in regard
to their bearing on religion. Heseems
indeed, to have beqp born for an age
when statesmanship was more under
the control of ecclesiastics, and in fa
vourable circumstances would scarcely
have proved inferior in skilful diploma
cy to Cardinal Ximena. The Bishop
is about going to Rome to receive the
pallium in person. lam told that the
Pope regards him as the right arm of
the Church in the Western World, and
in his new function, he will prove a still
more valiant defender of the faith.
By the way, I notice the arrival last
evening, of several Catholic dignitaries,
from Liverpool, destined to California.
Among them are the Bishop elect of
that Diocese, and four Sisters of Chari
ty. I understand they are to proceed
at once to this new station. The strug
gle for religious pre-eminence has hard
ly yet commenced in California. It
will be a hard-fought battle, I fancy
when the time arrives.
The Mormon interest, I perceive, is
receiving great accession from foreign
emigration. It is announced in the
English papers, that 365 persons have
just taken passage in a Liverpool ves
sel, with a view to joining the Later
Day Saints in Deseret. Several other
vessels are expected to sail shortly
completely filled with enthusiastic as
pirants, who look for the “good time
coming,” under the auspices of the
Lord’s Annointed, Governor Brigham |
Young. Is there any end to the kal
eidescopic forms of human fantasy]
The Annual Commencement of ven
erable Columbia College, took place
this week, without even exciting a rip.
pie on the waters. Literature is not
the element to work with here in order
to produce a popular sensation. The
visit of the Boston troop of Lancers
w r ith their gay uniform, and noble char
gers, made a much more decided im
pression than the performances of the
“ingenious youth,” brought forward by
Mr. President King. This gentleman,
however, exerts an admirable influence
on the pupils of the College, and is re
garded with unusual affection and res
pect. His principal failing is too ar
dent an attachment to classical learning
as taught in the nglish seminaries,
but this is so strongly balanced by the
utilitarian, go-ahead tendencies of all
around him, that it cannot do much
damage practically.
The evening before Commencement
the Literary Societies of the College
celebrated their Anniversary, when an
Oration was pronounced by Charles
Eames, Esq., formerly of the Washing
ton Union, and a Poem recited by-
Bayard Taylor, the Prize Song Man-
Mr. Eame’s Oration was an able state
ment of the “mission” of the American
scholar, (to use the modern jargon,)
and was spoken with a good deal of
earnestness and effect, though it was
studded over with too many clap-traps
in a regular Fourth-of-Julyish tone, for
the purely literary character of the oc
casion. Taylor’s poem was a smooth
peice of versification, but a good deal
mangled in the deliverv.
Jenny Lind returns from her Boston
excursion in a week from to-dav.
Meantime, the Tripler Hall, as it is now
christened, will be opened by Madam
Bishop, who gives three monster Con
certs in it, commencing next Thursday
evening. She then vacates it for Jen.
ny Lind, who will have exclusive pos
session during her stay in the city. Ido
not find that Madam Bishop’s, or ra
ther Bochsa’s plan, excites any very
general enthusiasm, though doubtless
a good deal of curiosity is felt in regard
to the success of such a bold enter
prise. The violins alone of the Orches
tra, are to number fifty performers,
and other instruments in the same pro
portion. The expense must be enor
mous. One dollar each is the price of
the tickets. With this arrangement,
Willis remarks that “he should not like
to trust to the avails for his omnibus
money,” nor do I find that more skilful
financiers cherish any sanguine views
concerning the pecuniary results of the
operation-
Thf> Mercantile Library Association
which is usually the foremost in the
field, during the lecturing season,
has just issued an inviting pro.
gramme for the first course, commen.
cing on the sth of November. It is to
be opened by the celebrated Yankee
critic, E. P. Whipple, who gained some
applause last winter in New-York, by
the clever hits which he gave on the
subject of American character. I no
tice also on the list of lecturers, the
names of Rev. Dr. Ryder, of George
town, a Catholic divine of great celeb
rity, George H. Miles, of Baltimore,
the author of Forest’s Prize Tragedy,
and John S. Dwight, of Boston, who
bears a distinguished reputation as a
musical artist.
A panorama of Cuba, by Loomis, an
artist of decided talent, is now the
principal attraction in that department.
It is really a magnificent production.
- T.
EDITORIAL QUALIFICATIONS.
To be a good editor requires a very
high order of talent and merit. Al
most any one, now-a-days can become
a good lawyer, doctor, or preacher —
but how few there are of the thousands
who make the attempt to be good edi
tors, who succeed! Such success re
quires a strong substratum of knowl
edge —a good, thorough education, a
vast fund of general information —a
rare tact and know ledge of men, and a
constant watchfullnass and self-posses
session. There is no profession which
demands such a multiplicity and varie
ty of talents and attainments as that
~'f the journalist now-a-days. Those
who think that all that is necessary to
make a good editor, is the ability to
write well have but a poor and incom
plete idea of the duties and requisites
of the journalist. The most extensive
civil office and most complex adminis
tration, could not embrace a wider or
more difficult range of duties than that
of the editor of a daily journal, who at
tempts to satisfy the public demands,
in reference to the conduct of his jour
nal.—N. 0. Delta.
A part of the Turkish Mediteranean
Squadron is about to sail for England,
and part for the United States —the
latter being the longest cruise on re
cord of ships belonging to the Sultan.
The editor of Blackw-ood, in a dis
criminating review of the career of the
late Sir Robert Peel, says of him, that
“the correctness of his statement of
facts was such, that we do not recollect
a single instance in which it was ever,
in any material article impugned-’
It is the intention of the English gov
ernment to withdraw all sailing vessels
from the coast of Africa, sending steam
ers in their places.
Boston granite has been imported
to Havana, for the purpose of erecting
blocks of buildings.
Wild Rick. — The wild rice about
Green Bay, Wisconsin, this season, 1 9
unusally abundant, and the Menomo
nees are now busily engaged in harvest
ing and storing it for winter.