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against him. As we could no longer fire our guns without a risk of injuring our own people, i led the remainder of our boarders on to the deck of the pi rate, when, seeing Green hard pressed, I hurried to assist him, and, with this additional strength we soon drove most of those who were opposing us over board. Others jumped down below\ where Green and I followed them. A lamp, suspended from a beam, was burning in the centre of the cabin, its light shedding a lustre on the silver utensils, the jewelled arms, the glass mirrors, and the rich damask coverings of the furn'ture. In an instant after, it was obscured by smoke, the mirrors were shivered by the bullets, and the furniture deeply stained with the blood of the combatants. The pirates driven to desperation, fought with the fury of demons; they felt that they could ex pect no mercy and sought for none.— But our brave fellows were more than a match for them, and few escaped the sturdy blows of their cutlasses. Many still stood at bay, when I heard Green’s voice above the din, exclaim— “ Back, men, back to the brig for our lives; she’s on fire and sinking.’ I repeated the orders to our people, and as 1 was making my way u > the companion-ladder, 1 saw Green carry ing a young girl in his arms, followed by two men bearing between them a female form. There was no time for explanation; as we reached the deck in the darkness of night, the scene ap peared doubly terrific, and for a mo ment the horrid thought appeared to me that the two vessels had separated. It was not the case, they still were fast by the main chains; and our people were rushing to regain the brig, fol lowed by the pirates, some fighting, others with the idea of prolonging their lives for a short time. The last of our men who had been below had just reached the deck, when a bright flame burst up from the hatch of the schooner with a loud explosion. I had reached the main rigging of my own vessel, my men had followed me, and two of the pirates attempted to leap after us. One was shot dead by one of our men, who turned round and fired deliberately at him. The other leaped, but the vessels were parting, his hand missed his grasp, and, as he fell back with a shriek of agony in the dark gulf below, the glare fell on his distorted countenance, his long hair streaming in the blast, his eyes starting from their sockets, his mouth wide open, and his neck bent back, while his sword still waved idly in the air. I shall never forget the horrors of that dreadful picture. It seems to this day more vived than any of the scenes of that terrific night. “Cut away everything—get clear of the schooner—up with the helm,” shout ed the captain. away the main yard—ease away the larboard braces.” The brig paid off before the wind.— The men flew to cut away the lashings which held the dangerous foe to us. “ Huzza ! we are clear,” shouted our crew as we tore avvaj’ from the schoon er. Then ascended a cry of agony, des pair, and horror, from the survivors of the pirates, as they stood on the deck of their fated vessel. They knew no mortal power could save them, and they had provoked alone the vengeance of heaven. The explosion had been only partial, for the magazine was drowned, but the schooner was on fire fore and aft, and sinking. One or the other of two dreadful deaths was to be the lot of all who remained on board. It was literally a struggle between the two elements, which should obtain the prey. The flames burned up brightly and fiercely, while the raging seas rose high above her sides, and swept over her decks with terrific fury. The waves were to be triumphant! On a sudden a vast flame ascended as it were to the sky, and some declared, though it must have been the work of the imagination, that they heard shrieks, and groans, and cries, with shouts of mocking laughter, uttered by no earthly voices. Then there was total darkness, and the waves danced up where the ship had been. The pirate schooner had sunk. We afterwards had reason to know that the pirates had run us on board, in conse quence of finding their vessel in a sink ing condition from the holes our shot had made. It was their only resource; they thought that they might take us by surprise, and perhaps capture us.— At all events, they expected to have their revenge, by destroying us with themselves. Ihe events I have been describing took place in the course of a few min utes. How short the lapse of time since I had seen the pirate schooner, like an evil spirit stalking through the night, approaching to destroy us—and now, a blackened hulk, she was many fathoms down in the depths of the ocean. AN EXCITING SCENE. [We copy the following lively ac count of a catastrophe of which we may say “magna pars fui,” —from the Cou rier. Ihe writer very generously of fered us the exclusive use of the inci dent, but we could not do less than mag nanimously decline it in his favour; and we are now very well satisfied with the result of our own self denial. For the graphsc picture of ourself ‘the Editor surrounded by tho disjecta membra of his darling magazine !’ we owe him our thanks, and our readers shall be told that some hundreds of the Numbers of the Schoolfellow, were destroyed in the fire. That ‘hapless bonnet’—which belonged to our friend Miss M —of Augusta, was elevated ‘on the top of a pine bush,’ by our own hands. The narrative is certainly ‘to the life.’ Ed. Gazette .] Git Saturday, the 11th inst., the cars going South on the Wilmington Rail Koad were the scene of one of the most exciting incidents which can be lmagmet . They were crowded with Seng ? rs ’ lhe accumulation of two f T eamnin / m< * at Petersburg, and camping o Ut near Halifax; some pas sing ‘he night in ,1,,, cai . a ’ nme “lli n |e‘ I HoW ide a B, rb tfe agie Hotel and others making the T Pn t M° C n’’ Wlth u C ? nCertsat the Lind Hall, a shelter of boards with a dirt floor, where “Aunt Charity” did the honours of her humble board to the wayworn travellers. About sunrise on the day referred to, when in the most dismal part of a very dismal region, while some were dozing and others try ing to follow’ their example, the train meanwhile running twenty miles an hour, the monotony was suddenly bro ken—doors were opened, then shut again—passengers rushed in and others rushed out. “ What’s the matter ?” w-as the startled cry of those within— “ What has happened ?” “Fire, Fire, Fire /” was the ominous response. — “ Where, where, where is the Fire /” — “ The baggage car,” said one —“the pas senger car ahead” cried another—“ the car in the rear” said a third. Then commenced a scene of indescribable confusion. Here was seen a gentleman with several ladies under his charge clinging to him for protection. There a father, with an infant in his arms, car pet bags, &c., hanging from his elbows, the mother of the infant following in the rear. Here one rushes frantic to the steps, and seems to meditate a plunge into the swamps below'. One wildly calls his wife, the wife calls for the chil dren ; all rush through the doors, the platforms are crowded, and yet no one knows whither to turn. “ Stop the en gine—why does not the engineer stop?” issues from fifty voices. It is taken up by others. Fire! fire! fire! re sounds in tremulous tones from many throats at once. “ Where is the bell ? ring the bell.” “There is no bell.”— “ Pull the cord, let the engine stop.”— There is no cord. The engineer has not heard. On, on goes the engine, rushing madly through the swamps, bellowing and blowing and hissing— the noise of the machinery resounding through the silent forests even above the terrific cry of “fire, fire, fire ” —and still the engineer has not heard —still he presses on; profoundly ignorant that he is followed in his mad career, by a tail of lire, rising larger and high er at every moment. Confusion, ter ror prevailing in the rear, w hile on the engine all is as undisturbed as ever— no sound to be heard but the clank of the machinery, to ears familiar to the sound, No alarm felt, no cause of ter ror known—and still on we go —the flames grow’ brighter, the smoke and the smell more overpowering at evey step and still no hope of escape— The passengers are becoming des perate —it is impossible to say what ef fects will follow—when a merciful Providence interposes. The train sud denly halts. The engine had run three miles from the time the flames were discovered. And then ensued the second scene in the drama, less terrific, but scarcely less exciting than the first. The baggage car next the engine was wrapped in flame—the doors fast locked—“where is the key ?”—no key is found—“ it was left at Halifax” —“break the lock” —“tear down the door”—“split open the car.” A dozen manly fellows strive in vain—the stout lock resists all their efforts—the door refuses to yield—no axe is to be had—every club or piece of wood is shivered in the contact. For a moment all seem to pause —hopeless of penetrating the car —then the at tempt is renewed, and after great ef forts the hinges burst open and the doors fall to the ground. With the opening, the wind rushes in and the flames burst out more brightly than ever. A mass of burning trunks, band boxes and carpet bags is blazing in the flames. Some mount the top of the car and cry for water. “ Hand water.” Some rush to the engine for the need ful element. One bold fellow (we wish his name was known to us) rushes into the burning car—a trunk rolling down strikes him and sends him headlong, from a considerable height to the ground, to the eminent peril of his life. Anoth ar takes his place and manfully battles with the flames. He, too, is a stranger from the far W est,%ve believe. One after another followshisexample,and by their united efforts the blazing trunks, &c., were dragged out and thrown to the ground. Those on the car pour in wa ter, deluging those within, and the flames are arrested with a loss of per haps one-third of the contents of the car. Scene the Third is the farce after the tragedy. One looks for his trunk con taining as he says $30,000 in gold.— Another rummages for his box in which he has $3,000 worth of lace—one trunk is burnt half in two —exhibiting to the uninitiated the half consumed myste ries of a lady’s wardrobe—the Editor is surrounded by the scattered frag ments ( disjecta membra ) of his* darling magazine—and to crown the whole a young lady from Augusta, draws from the burning pile the remains of three of the most captivating little bonnets Broadway could boast. See that pret ty Jenny Lind silk, which was to have done so much execution —burnt just in half, and presenting in its curtailed pro portions, a fashion rather more unique than any for which the great Songstress would have risked responsibility.— When we last saw the lady—she was turning over her hapless bonnet in eve ry way, for “a last fond look,” and the last of the unfortunate object of regret was on the top of a pine bush!! left in the solitude, was that coquettish little ornament, intended to be the covering for a lovely head—the envy of the fair —the admiration of the beaux. But we have trespassed toolong upon your columns and must forbear. We could describe, if we had room, the scene presented by the catastrophe— the mutilated and burning car—the grass and shrubbery trampled around fragments of sticks and clubs, and branches used as battering rams—here a leather hat box half burnt—there a large trunk torn off at locks and hinges —here a double barrelled gun with nothing left bu* the iron—a coat here —a beautiful mantilla, a changeable silk, left adorning a bush by the road side—and strange to say, a good deal of cotton amongst the other articles (from whose trunks it came,gentleman’s or lady’s, 1 know not.) All these to gether presented a scene not often to be met with. But all things must end, and so did this. We repaired damages, and went on our way rejoicing, many, 1 trust, with thankful hearts to the Great Giver of all good gifts for the mercies so signally exhibited in our de liverance. VIATOR. The Washington correspondent of the New T York Tribune states that the Hon. T. Butler King, of Georgia, has been appointed Collector at Jan Fran cisco, California, in place of S. li. Da vis, of Penn., who declined the appoint ment. SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE. HSisttllamj. A CHARACTER. Tommy Auldjo had his queer ways, too —a w T orld of Scotch caution peeped through his blue specs, and a world of Scotch rappee was continually drop ping from his fidgety little nose.— Nasty habit, snuffing—but with him it was policy. A literary man was Tommy, and like most of your “Glas gae lityraty” he was very sentimental, and the snuff helped it —tears are al ways interesting, spontaneous, snuffy, or crocodile! And he had his canny ways too —Sir Bouncing Buffer was cress-questioning him before the great St. Stephen’s 801 - Weft Committee, —“ D—n that drivel ling old fellow,” said Sir Bouncing Buf fer, “how dare you waste the time of the committee ? a plain answer to my question, sir, at once!”—“Mon,” said Tommy taking a deliberate pinch of Taddy—“Mon, if yere com my tee,” he laid great stress on the tee —“if yere commy tee will ask me weiss questions, I’ll may be, afford ye weiss answers — no till than—” Sharp fellow was Tom my. He hadn’t been often in London be fore, I guess—When my uncle took him home to dinner, Tommy was quite as tounded with the din of the knocker. “Maister Willim,” says he, with an other pinch from that everlasting pea green box —“Maister Willim, —di ye preefer rappin’ tae ringin’ ?” Tommy’s notions of propriety were shocked, for in the North all the gentle- folks ring, while the “serving-lassies” “chap” with their hands on the door. But he was undeniably alarmed one fine morning, when he found himself whirled along in one of the old-fash ioned perpendicular London cabs, dan ger around him and hard stones below'. “ Freend,” says he, thrusting his ago nized countenance bang up to that of the driver —“Ma freend—a’m in nae hur ry !”—Jehu, of course, spankled along like a telegraph message, capsizing oys ter-stalls at every turning. “ We re rather proud of that in our neighbourhood,” said my good old aunt Mary, pointing to the newly erect ed University College. “ Pettikerlerly gra-and, mum ! no to say wonderfu’,” says Mr. Tommy.— “ Superlative faw-kaw’ that, mum !” Tommy thought he had made a knowing criticism, and looked very weiss beneath his large, wide-awake, who-stole-the-donkey hat. Wasn’t Tommy a character ? La dies of London, what think ye of Tom my ? He was a great teetotal preach ifyer—attended public meetings, and made speeches (his speeches, by-the bye, were never very accurately re ported, owing to a nervous habit of saying, “Yeh-yeh-yeh-yeh,” far quicker than it can be written, in the middle of each sentence). Well, this Tommy, this teetotal Tommy, assured my dear aunt Mary that the Glasgow ladies were so profligate and so utterly de bauched, that their husbands could not trust them with the keys of the spirit cellar. Aunt, of course; was quitedis tressed at such an account of the Glas gow fair, and expressed her surprise. “ But, mum,” says Tommy, “ the Lunding leddies is far waur!” Much he knew about it —Eh ? Well, and after making such a talk about temperance and teetotal princi ples, for him to get so notoriously drunk after dinner, and insist on uncle ringing up his maid servant,at ten o’clock to hear him read prayers and sing para phrases ! Did you ever ? “ NO MORE OF THAT, IIAL !” Some of our exchanges at the South and West are poking a deal of fun at us Bostonians, on account of the Lind furore. They chuckle with great glee to see our grave, staid, long-faced citi zens thrown olf their balance, and losing their frigidity of feeling, and nice, de corous propriety of deportment, under the present excitement. But wait a bit, gentlemen, till you have been sim ilarly tempted, and it may be our turn to laugh. Perhaps you, too, may be thrown “off the hooks—far more irre coverably—by the marvellous vocaliza tion of “the Nightingale.” If we cold, unimpressible Yankees can be roused to such an intense pitch of enthusiasm, it would be no strange spectacle among your excitable population, to see the huzzaing throngs worked up to abso lute frenzy by her singing—so far as even, like the Berlin students, to take the horses from her carriage, and de liriously drag her home from the scene of her triumphs. For our part, we glo ry in the reception the Swedish song stress has met with among us, and the vehement enthusiasm she has awaken ed. The triumphs of the “Joan d’Arc of song ’ in Boston are another proof that we are not wholly the straight-laced people —the soulless icicles—the cold, grubbing, utilitarian earth-worms, that we are represented to be. It shows that the love of lofty excellence in art, and of unblemished purity in morals, has not yet died out among us—that we care for something more than the hard, mechanical routine of our daily vocations—that we are capable of a higher worship than that of the “al mighty dollar.” For these reasons, it is with no un easy twinges, but rather with a keen ap preciation and enjoyment of the jest, that we read such clever jeux-d ’ esprit as the following, from the New York Tribune : Alas, for Boston !— The Bostoni ans, after all their grave rebukes, their earnest Puritanic remonstrances against the honours paid to Mdle. Lind, in this city, have shown very strikingly their superior dignity and serenity of de meanor, since the arrival of the Night ingale among them, There is but one theme in the Boston papers—Jenny Lind ; but one house in the city—the Revere ; but one man worthy of no tice, “ Osssian E. Dodge, Vocalist.”— Os a verity, the Boston folks are mad. O! staid descendants of a rigid and un smiling stock, whither has lied that saintly decorum with which ve were wont to be clothed? Where Is the an cient dolour of countenance, expressive of a satisfied soul, victorious over the vanities of the world ? Gone, alas ! swept away by the allurements of a woman's voice, singing songs in an un godly tongue. — Yankee Blake. There are now three regular lines of steamers between San Francisco and Panama —llowland &Aspinwall’s line, Law’s line, and the Empire City line, employing thirteen powerful ocean steamers. €})t irnntti iltar. Lesson for Sunday, October 27. THE NATURE OF MEDITATION. Meditate upon these things.l Tim. iv. 15. Such was Payl’s charge to Timothy, but the words wffll admit of general ap plication. The Christian is to be a man of meditation. Let us look at this pleasing duty in The peculiarity of its nature. — It does not consist in the exercise of the memory, who know nothing about spiritual meditation. A good memory is a great assistance in this Christian duty, though not always connected with it. There is a distinction between study and meditation. By study we acquire learning, by meditation we turn it to account ; by study the mind is filled with knowledge, by meditation the soul feasts on it: study consists chiefly in the application of the mind, but meditation in the excursions of the mind. One has described meditation as the soul being rolled into itself. — You may be alone, and yet not engaged in this exercise. The Christian loves solitude, and feels that he is never less alone than when alone- Meditation makes the w'orld appear to him as a shadowy arch, through which he gazes on the bright and expansive sky be yond. It is an exercise, which, while it connects’ the soul with all that is solemn and sublime, produces the most elevating and reviving effects on the mind. While, therefore, we delight in seasons of social intercourse, let us never forget the charms of solitude, but prize its golden hours. One has beau tifully remarked —The good man soars to heaven in mind, though chained to earth in body : it is thus the superb ea gle, in the region of thunder, darts along on majestic pinion, and seems to say to mortals, “I was born on the earth, but 1 live in the sky.” PERSONAL RELIGION. To the neglect of daily meditation and prayer, may be mainly ascribed the low condition to which the religion of many professors among us is reduced. Prayer for spiritual influence must be frequent and habitual, as veil as fer uent while it lasts. Necessity, it is true, sometimes occasions much occu pation with the world, and pievents the desired abstraction of time for better objects. But it is not less true that this necessity generally comes far short of the extent to which it is used as an apology to conscience and to God.— Our worldly callings must not be neg lected : but can the excuse be admit ted when Christians, without satisfying themselves with food and lament, and such things as are needful for the body —all which things their heavenly Fa ther has engaged to provide for them to the last hour of their abode below', —pursue business with an intensity, and to an extent w hich have no object but the procuring of luxuries for pres ent enjoyment, or the laying up trea sures for future years. And while it is proper to speak with sympathy and consideration of the condition of mo thers of families surrounded by the calls of domestic duty, it is exceedingly to be lamented, in connexion more particu larly with the interests of religion, that their ttnxiotiea about temporal matters too frequently overwhelm, almost en tirely, the cares for the life which is to come. It is often deplorable to see to what an extent the time and thoughts of Christian females, particularly among the’middling and lower classes of soci ety, are withdrawn from religious con cerns, and to how low’ an ebb the life of religion in the soul is reduced.— Thus, w ith business abroad and domes tic concerns at home, the heads of Chris tian households conspire to drag down each other to a condition on the bor ders of spiritual death.— Dr. Wardlaw. €jr t Cfflrcqift. WORKING-MEN. The workingman is the only sub stantial citizen, all other things being equal. The nation is strong only in its working men. Every thing which goes to diminish the amount of positive performance among a people—which goes to lessen the grand results of hu man labor—is of necessity evil. Such are necessarily all stock companies, which, from being agents of social in dustry, by the accumulation and appro priation of capital, degenerate into pri mary conditions, and divert from their legitimate tasks and exercises, the minds and energies of a population which they thenceforth render superflu ous. There is unhappily, in our coun try a very universal distaste to labor. Our labor is but too much imported from abroad. We loathe and despise the severer tasks of that industry which removes mountains and fills the deserts with fruits and blossoms. Our people, afilieted with certain childish vanities, prefer to fill the ranks of the profes sions with useless recruits, who add nothing to their dignity or character and lessen, by just their own strength, the number of the legitimate producers of the country. This is to multiply unnecessary consumers of the capital they were intended to produce. So ciety is very much like a bee hive. If the drones are allowed to remain, even where they do not propagate, the contents of the hive will very soon be exhausted. That dependance upon foreign labor of which I have spoken, seems to me one of the most fearful signsof our degeneracy. It shows that a morbid vanity is almost the only thing willing to work among us. That society which dares not grapple hear tily with the essential tasks of field and highway, must forbear only with daily loss of its most wholesome character istics. With us the cry seems ever more for money. The want of money is the one want which w r e every where unite to deplore The proper subject of complaint is want of industry. We have money enough in proportion to our need, our industry and our deserts. It is only lacking in proportion to our profligacy and vain pretension. Nay, it is owing, in a great degree, to our having had so much money, or so much that put on the semblance of money and maintained it for a time as fairy gifts are said to do, that we are now suffering and now complaining. Money is one of the most dangerous of all social possessions. It is a wondrous power, the very use of which requires a previous training of head and heart which cannot be too careful or too strict. Few’ people know properly how to use it, keepinor moral standards before their eyes. Most persons not accustomed to its employment, not trained to the use of power, become gamblers with wealth, and the fancies and the appetites take the control of that w'hich can be used with safety only by a justly judging morality and a sage experience. The Americans, a young and consequently a poor people, were, of all others, the best prepared to use it judiciously. In many res pects, at one period in the history of the world, the Spaniards were the richest people in the world. But they were previously among the poorest, and their riches after a brief career of recklesness, pride, lust and other pas sions, engendered by this veiy sudden excess of wealth, brought them to something worse than their original condition. The Spaniards are now r not only the poorest and the feeblest, but the most degraded of all the powers of Christendom. The present is a fruit of their immediately previous condi tion. It was the discovery of Span ish America and its rich possessions, to which their poverty is due. They were not prepared to use judiciously their own resources, and squandered wastefully what they had unexpectedly acquired, but not till it had taught them wants, habits and indulgences w’hich they are no longer able to sup ply. As the descendants of the ex pelled Moors of Grenada still keeps the keys of the ancient homestead, still dreaming to get back; so the Spaniards, still waits dreaming that the Provi dence which brought him Mexico and Peru, will again restore them to his possession. The case of a nation is not improperly illustrated by indi vidual example. Take the instance of the youthful heir of the old miser— one w'hom the sordid passion of the sire has, while he lived, kept within the most contracted limits of a base and slavish economy. Let him, while still young, be admitted freely among the hoards of which he has only dreamed before, and note with what painstaking earnestness he dissipates them. It is his boast, indeed, that he does so, even as expensive frivolities and broad way life are become a boast with us. “Its gone at last!” was the half desponding exclamation of one of these profligates, a few’ years ago, as he acknowledged his ruin; but, suddenly looking up, w ith a sort of exultation in his manner, as if there had been some degree of merit in the very recklessness of his w r aste —“but may be 1 did’nt hum it while it lasted.” Was there ever a more perfect boy. That his top hummed while it was go ing, was a great consolation for its loss. A whole people become thus profligate at seasons, sharing the vices of the individual, for such excesses are % epidemical. The American people have presented for the last ten years,* the melancholy spectacle of a nation humming it, just like the silly boy; with the simple difference, in which w'e find a hope, that their humming is no longer a subject of congratulatory chuckle. For some ten years longer we shall be prudent euough to forbear to hum it; but there are periodical re turns for all such maladies, and a re turn of seeming prosperity for a longer period than usual, unless we learn to respect money less, and industry more, will be sure to bring us to our sack cloth again. Seriously, our levity of character is a great evil in our Consti tution. It can scarcely be otherwise until w e honor labor more. She meth odizes all the faculties and makes all the securities of virtue as well as lor tune. Mere slight of hand will not answer. We must shut up half of our shops at least, lop from the idle host that throng go back to the deserted fields, making our own corn and cabbages, and gathering in the harvest w ith our own hands. How many proper farmers have the last ten years converted into bankrupt trades men and desperate men! *This was written in 1836. (Driginul £map. Fortlie SouthernLiterary Gazette. EGEIiIA: Or, Voices from the Woods and Wayside. THIRD SERIES. XLIV. The Affections. —Did we exercise our affections as sensibly as our passions, we should be the more perfectly mas ters not only of our happiness but of our hearts. Os these, however, we really know quite as little as we do of those of other people, and it is only in the ruin of our resources that we are informe i of their extent. XLV. The Heart. —The heart has its own season for maturing and for fruit. In suffering that season to escape us, we plant but vainly for the future. XLVI. Occasion. —Occasion is the accouch eur of genius; but he su rely is no ge nius who is content to wait for the occasion. XLVII. Patience. —Are you slandered ? Be patient; —the viper will sooner tire than the file. XLVIII. Too Late. —“Too late” and“no more” are the mournful sisters, children of a sire whose age they never console. XLIX. Charity. —Men are always pleased to entertain the worst opinion of their neighbours. The world will never be lieve a man to be unfortunate or a suf ferer so long as it is possible to insist that he is a scoundrel. L. Purpose —There are some men whose purposes are so very magnificent that it may be permitted them to attempt nothing. LI. Moral Compromise. —The eompro mises which conscience suffers between vice and virtue deny them both the ad vantages for which they are enticed into; vice never wholly in possession of the enjoyment of the present life, as certainly baffles virtue m its posses sions of the future. But man is so essentially of two natures, that it may be permitted him to hope that the stipulations of the one may not be suffered always to impair the condi tions of the other. Excuse. —Our individual philoso phies are commonly nothing more than the ingenious excuses which pride offers for the wilfulness of all the other pas sions. LIII. Dreams. —Dreams seem to me to prove that the mind is always awake and at work, and that it never partakes of the sleep of the body. Our convic tions, which come to us like instincts, are thoughts which we have reached in our meditations during sleep. That we are conscious of our dreaming thoughts, and that they are usually disjointed, only proves an imperfect condition of physical repose. LIV. Youth and Age. —The eyes of youth look into the hearts of its neighbour* while those of age must be content with the melancholy survey of its own. The former contemplates a palace; the lat ter a ruin. The one sings like the mocking bird at the dawn; the other shrieks with the owl at the sun set. The one may be likened to a river when first breaking away through the fettering rocks and leaping gladly and triumphantly down the heights in foam and sunshine. The other to the same river hundreds of miles away from its place of birth, sluggishly creeping through marshy plains to subside finally in the drear abysses of the morass. LV. Patriotism. —He cares but little for the defence of the city whose goods are yet in the forest and the field. LVI. Equality -—God may have made all men free and equal, but I know not that he has ever promised to keep them so. LVII. Aqiplause. —No doubt it were very grateful always to make our exit with applause—the awkward doubt com monly is whether the applause is in” tended for our playing or our de_ part ure. lviij. Benefits. —That boon is the most precious which comes to us in the mo. ment of privation. The seasonable ness of the gift compensates for its poverty. LIX. Griefs. —Great griefs consecrate their victim in the sight of men. Even as the lightning which was supposed in an cient times to render sacred the tree which it destroyed. LX. Tears. — Were it not for the tears that fill our eyes.what an ocean would flood our hearts. Were it not for the clouds that cover our landscape, how insolent would be our sunshine. LXI. Folly. —The success which increases the fortunes of the fool, brings due in crease to his folly also; and annoyance makes that offensive which before was only ridiculous. There is no animal so impertinent, as that which shakes its head loftily, totally unconscious of its monstrous length of ears. (Dur i'rttrra. Correspondence of the Southern Liternry Gazette. NEW YORK, Oct. 19, 1850. The Tripler Hall was opened on Thursday night by Madame Anna Bishop, with the monster orchestra and chorus, which I have before described to you. This concert, you know had an unusual interest from the fact that it was understood to be an open com mencement of hostilities against Jenny Lind. It has been claimed for Madam Bishop that she was not only superior to Jenny Lind as an artist, but that she needed only to sing to a large au dience to putthe Swedish nightingale in the back ground, and perhaps com pel her to take her flight. This was ridiculous enough, to be sure, in all conscience, but the denouement of the plot puts on a few additional touches. Madame Bishop, no doubt is a sweet, charming, and scientific vocalist. I own she has always been a great favourite with us ; but after you have heard her a few times, you cool down some de grees in your admiration ; she does not take you out of yourself; nor do her tones linger in the memory, or haunt your dreams. I delight to acknowl edge the pleasure Madame Bishop never fails to give by her admirable vocalization, with its wonderful va riety from the most alaborate arias of the Italian Opera to the sweet simplicity of the Scotch ballad ; but when she comes forward and de fies Jenny Lind to competition a V ou trance, the case is different and stirs up the sense of justice to see that she re ceives no more than her due. Some thing of this kind, I have no doubt act ed on the public feeling, and prevented the attendance at the first concert, which one would suppose, would be tempted out by the programme. The magnificent Hall was not more than half filled, I think not over two thou sand people at the utmost. On com mon occasions, this would certainly have been a good audience, but com pared with the eclat which had preced the concert, it was a miserable falling off. The great attraction of the evening was Beethoven’s magnificent Sympho ny in C minor, which was rendered by the whole orchestra with admirable ef fect, Such a noble display of instru mental music was never before heard in New York. The critic on the look out for faults, I dare say, detected some inaccuracies, some want of proportion, some imperfections in the drill of such an immense band of musicians; but the whole effect on the audience was wonderful. It did some justice, if not full justice, to Beethoven. It was fit that those glorious strains should be the first to consecrate the opening of the new Temple of the Muses. Madame Biship sang with her usual sweetness and accuracy. She fully sus tained her reputation. She added noth ing to it. She was listened to with pleasure, but there w f as no enthusiasm. Her reception was friendly, kind, geni al, but the heart did not leap forth as at the first sight of Jenny Lind on the stage at Castle Garden. The same concert was repeated last night, but to a still more attenuated au dience. lam sorry for this. The plan ofßochsa, musically cons : dered is first rate —it is a pity it was so mixed up with professional jealousy,—placed on its own merits, it might have succeeded with the public. So far, it must have been quite a losing concern. Anew programme is announced for this even ing, but it will probably have no better luck. lam told it is contemplated, should the concerts be continued to put down the price to fifty cents, a plan that would hardly do more at the best than to pay expenses. Barnum takes possession of the Hall on Monday, and Jenny Lind’s first concert will be given on Wednesday evening. His surren der of the Hall for Madam Anna Bish op was entirely voluntary. Mr. Trip ler was bound by his contract to give him the use of it from its first opening, but Barnum consented to wave his claims, —an arrangement to which Jen ny Lind fully and freely acceded. Maretzek brings out the Freyschutz at the Astor Place on Monday night. Great success is confidently expected.— It is now stated on authority that Sig norina Parodi had engaged to sail for New York in the Pacific, which was to leave Liverpool last Wednesday. The story of her intended marriage to an English duke is said to be all gammon. She will arrive here before the close of the month, and will appear at once at Astor Place. She is reported to be a magnificent woman, just turned of twenty, with great tragic powers, and as a singer not inferior to Pasta or Cat alini. So prepare for another New York furor, for which the materials are always ready. Our friend John Timon has brought to a close his racy sketches of society and matters and things in general, which he has set forth with so much effect in “ The Lorgnette.” I believe that work is not discontinued from anv lack of patronage, but from the atten tion of the author being diverted to other projects. However, the fine per fume of his wit will not evaporate from the bound volume. Timon has made a mark with his diamond pen, and is not the man to be easily forgetten. It is now said that the author is Mr. D. G. Mitchell better known as Ik. Marvel. I presume he will not deny the frater nity. De Trobriand’s Revue du Nou veau Monde has gone by the board.— It was one of the most truly spicy things we have ever had—not a wooden nut meg concern but redolent of cinnamon,* spikenard, myrrh, cayanne pepper, and all other fragrant and pungent condi ments. The editor is a man of un rivalled taste in all aesthetic affairs, besides writing in a style of gay and sparkling humour. T. Mr. A formerly a member of the Constituent Assembly, has just died at Avignon. He ascended the Tribune but once. “Gentlemen,” said he, “Man is an animal;” awed by the imposing as pect of the Assembly, he stopped short A member exclaimed: “I move that the speech be printed, with the portrait of the Orator prefixed.” The Missourians are getting up quite a fever in behalf of a Pacific railroad. A public meeting in Lafayette county calls on the county to subscribe $150,- 000; and in other parts of the State, the enthusiasm is equally great. (©bitars’ Dtprtmtnt. WM. C. RICHARDS, Editor. D. H. JACOUES, Associate Editor Clinrlfsta, #. SATURDAY MORNING. OCT 2fi t- D > *oso THE SOUTH-CAROLINAmDUSTR,^ FAIR. A1 The anniversary of the South-Caroli na stitute is at hand, and its second pnblic n ., tion is looked forward to with no common • gree of interest and expectation. The festival of last November, so far exceeds its variety of objects, and in the degree of terest it awakened at home and abroad most sanguine anticipations of its f oun j. that they were instantly animated with f r zeal and new energy for the prosecution ‘! their important labours.Theiruunweariedn wwearieddand gence, and the more general diffusion, ihron out the past year, of information concerning objects of the Institute in holding this leave us no ground to doubt that the ing exhibition will greatly transcend the fi r ,, W e have heretofore expressed our viewsverv fully as to the influence which the South-Can lina Institute will, by means of their Industry Jubilees,exert upon the prosperity of the South We look upon its organization as the beginnir, of anew era in our history, the era of Progrt. and consequently of Achievement Hencefor. ward we are to realize the benefits of well and,. veloped physical energies, the wealth which springs from the infinite processes of Art, the power which a well organized system of man. ufactures and a liberal international commerce must inevitably create. Henceforward,our popu. lation will increase in a ratio never known to the palmiest days of our Agricultural era, and our towns will multiply in number and ex pand in magnitude with a rapidity almost nia gieaL The strong heart of that wonderful agent of power—the Steam Engine—will be heard to beat in now solitary places, and every pulsation will send the vital flood of prosperity, by a thousand channels, throughout the sur rounding regions. It is unnecessary to pursue this strain of reflection in words. The mind of the reader, seizing the idea, will anticipate the speed of the pen, and grasp the great result to which it points. But we have been somewhat beguiled from the immediate object with which we commen ced this article—simply to call the attention of our readers to the Second Annual Fair, an nounced to open on the 19th proximo. Itwill be held, as before, at the spacious Military Hall, and the note of preparation has already sounded loudly and far. Are all the Mechan ics and producers of the South awake, and ma king ready for the Exposition ? We fear not, and we would fain send our humble voice into their hiding places, and arouse them from their inaction—perhaps we might say with truth, their indifference. The generous rivalry among artisans which the Fair is designed to excite, is precisely what is needed to create the highest possible excellence in the various pro ducts of their Art, and to suggest new forms and new combinations for its further develop ments. We hope that none will allow themselves to be deterred from competition at the approaching Fair, by any apprehensions that the award of prizes will be influenced by local or any other unfair considerations. We have no hesitation in declaring our conviction that the most open handed justice will be done to all parties. The mechanics of Charleston will have no undue advantage over those of the interior towns, and those of South-Carolina, generally, none over those of Georgia, or any other Southern Stale We regard it as no unimportant feature of the proposed exhibition, that the articles to which first premiums may be awarded, will be sent by the Institute, to the great Exposition of Industry, to be held in London next Spring, there to compete with the congregated talent and ingenuity of the whole civilized world. The Annual Address will be delivered on the night preceeding the opening of the Fair. We consider it a happy omen of the Catholic spirit and design of the Festival and of the In stitute which fosters it, that Georgia sends us this year, the orator whose voice is to commem orate the return of Art's Jubilee. That orator is the Hon. Joseph Henry Lumpkin, whose name is proudly identified with the civil, po litical and moral greatness of our Sister State, and if his mission to us but half fulfils the prom ise which our anticipations find in the prestige of his reputation, it cannot fail of proving at once a triumph to him, and a benefaction to us. The industrial movements of the present day are among the most cheering indications of the “good time coming” which all the world seems to be looking for, though not as the result of one common agency or as a reward of a common sympathy. While philosophers and sectarians of different systems and creeds are loudly pro claiming the speedy advent of an ideal millen ium, to crown their peculiar anticipations, we are content to “labour and to wait,” —trushug to the blessings of an indulgent Providence upon earnest and honest effort, for a social mil leiiium, and to the richer blessings of Divine Grace upon humble repentance and faith for that spiritual reign of Peace, which the Bible foretells. THE GREAT FAIR IN NEW-YORK- Upon the eve of our departure from the Manhattan City, we visited the Fair ot the American Institute, and lingered there long enough to have our head set n-whir/mg by the ten thousand objects that were there grouped together, within the Amphitheatre of Castle Garden ! Such an “omnium gatherum we never saw elsewhere, though it is probably a “ small assortment,” compared with that which the World’s Fair will present to view in London. We have visited the New-York Fair, to. many successive years, and this may account) perhaps for the impression that the present ex hibition made upon our minds of a lack novelty, not of variety, certainly, but ot “ things under the sun.” We encountered th<- same monster telescope that pointed heaven ward last year—the same diving apparatus-” the same sewing machines—the same spei mens of tapestry —the same dogs in worsted” the same daguerreotypes, paintings, and wood cuts—the same quilts that we saw in Octol” 1849. For a while, we felt as if the l-‘ might merit the motto, Semper Eadent I J however, we will not u rge in seriousness, f> there were certainly a good share ot tainJ ia ’ things in new shapes and combinations, c° u spicuous among which were the multitut 11 -’ objects bearing the charmed name of J' ll, Lind, from a bottle of hair gloss, up to a trU ‘- magnificent chandelier! There were -h’ Lind bonnets, hats, gloves, shoes, capes. ali kerchiefs, sacks, and vve had almost • u 'd l he* pantaloons. Cigars there certainly wen shrew the foul taste which could desec re l name so pure, by connecting it with the weed ! and blacking, and ink, and tooth ] der—but the list is too formidable to bed ted in full, and we forbear. We might enumerate many things tb al warded our visit, but our limits will aU° w