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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.