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Worrell, could I venture to go to that house ?” “ Why, ma’am, it’s very wet; but if you were as far as that big stone, there’s a sort of path from that up to the door.” “Come John, let us try,” said the la dy, jumping from the caa. And she did try, and reached the low door with her husband,-and stooping, went in. Grace was sitting at the fire mending some thing ; the children were crouching over it; the : r mother w r as sleeping on the bed. Grace coloured as she recog nized the lady, and stood up, giving her mother a push. Mrs. Saunders looked round in astonishment. The bed of straw, without bed-clothes—the half dressed woman on it —the naked child beside the fire, and the other hardly better off’!—the smoky atmosphere, and the damp floor and walls! Mr. and Mrs. Saunders looked at each oth er with looks of pitying commisera tion. “A nice place you’ve come to to choose a servant!” said the former smiling. John ! Is it not horrible?” Mrs. Kennedy had by this time roused herself, and stood up. “ O, me lady, an’ I haven’t a chair or a sate to offer ye.” “My good woman,” said Mrs. Saun ders, “are you the mother ot this little girl?” pointing to Grace. “ Yes, yer ladyship.” “Will you allow her to come to my house for a month; and if I like her, and she proves honoet and obodient, and truthful, I may teach her to be a servant ?” “ (), I II <jo bail for her bein’ honest, yer honour.” “ It is because she honestly brought me back a cap which she was tempted to steal, that lam induced to take her on trial. Will you allow her to come?” Her mother darted a look at Grace. “ Ye’ll be givin no hire, ma'am ?” asked Mrs. Kennedy, thinking perhaps ot ihe generally successful foraging of Grace. “O, come, Ellen,” said Mr. Saun ders, going to the door. “ O, mother dear ! —O, ma’m !” cried Grace,springing forward with her hands clasped —“1 don't want hire; I’ll go with ye ma’am dear; I love ye. Nivir mind mother.” “ 1 can’t take you, though, without your mother’s consent; and as I will not undertake to give you any wages, she does not appear to wish you to come.” “O, in God’s name take her, ma’am,” said her mother. “ I didn’t mean any thing whin I spoke of hire. Take her wid ye.” “ 1 am not going to take her now,” said Mrs. Saunders, smiling. “ I will send for her to-morrow, and my mes senger will bring some clothes for her, and she can give those on her to the poor little children there.” Thus it was arranged. And Grace felt her father’s cheek wet with tears as she kissed him, and told him, that night, when he came home from work. And he hugged his little daughter, and tried to think of some prayer he had been taught in the bright days of child hood, long ago. And he saw a gleam of happiness to cheer him through the dark mist of misery. The next day Grace went to her new home. (P i nr nil <l-rlrrtir. BEING IX LOVE. The epoch of being in love, notwith standing all, is the most agreeable in the whole course of life. The soul has then no craving to gratify. Existence is at its hightest premium for it is then we are furthest from indifference. lie who is in love cherishes life, and but enjoys it the bette-- for little drawbacks other affairs, which only heighten love’s relish when we return to it. It is a better and pleasanter thing than money getting, or courtship, or sullen study, or maddening ambition, or a thousand grasping desires that engross us w holly without our feeling satisfaction in their pursuit. I hese are solitary objects; being in love is participated with anoth er, and therefore is a more social plea se re. dhe romantic tinge which often colours our conduct is agreeably char acteristic ; it increases the attraction and confers a hallowed charm upon the passion. Being in love is a restraint upon evil feelings—a situation favour able to virtue. The love of woman is a correction of our perverse natures, and, while its season lasts, always mends the heart. Let an unbiassed and discriminating cenleiwire answer, what part of life he could look back upon with the most kindly feelings— what portion of his departed years he most cherished in his remembrance, and he will doubtless answer the time when he was in love. The memory of that delicious season—its little adventures, hopes, fears, and enjoyments, always come over us with a rush of pleasing warmth —a sunbeam piercing the clouds of departed time, and irradiating for a moment our tottering steps and gray hairs. Being in love mingles us with the better things of life—keeps beauti ful forms perpetually before the eye— gives us pleasing dreams —elevates the spirits—exalts our views. It tempers our harsher dispositions with the gentle nesss of beauty—subdues our proudest pretensions to the government of tears and caresses, of mildness and persua sion. II e who has never been in love is a miserable block-head, who is igno rant of the highest joy this distemper ed life posseses for mortals. Being in love is, in fact, a sort of rnillenium far above all life’s other good. I would desire no better state than that of be ing in love a thousand years; and I would demand the temperament of youth from seventeen to twety-five for the above space of time, and all its lessons of innocence and happiness. LORD DUCIE ON MESMERISM. Earl Ducie has consented to become President of a “ Mesmeric Institute,” which has just been formed in Bristol. His Lordship stated, “ He felt bound to tell them the history of his conver sion, for he used to laugh as much at mesmerism as any person in that room could do. Some years ago he had suf fered much from gout and other affec tions. (Jne day a clergyman, a friend °f his, came to him in great glee, and to ( him that he had it in his own powei to be cured. His informant went on to tell him that he had been cured by clairvoyance of a nervous at tac* he had suffered from for many >ears. It he was not afraid, he was recommended to go to a curative clair voyant. Being piqued on his being afraid of going, he sent for the lady, laughing, he must confess, at the whole affair. He was, how’ever, cured after being mesmerised regularly for some time. The very first time the lady operated on him, by taking his hand and making the passes, he went sound ly to sleep, and every time after he did not know r when the lady left the room. He then went daily for about four months to a London surgeon, who prac tised mesmerism,and every day he saw proof of the science. On one occa sian, when he still rather doubted the truth of clairvoyance, this surgeon ask ed him (Earl Ducie) to accompany him to see an interesting case of clair voyance on whom he was going to ope rate. He explained his wish to do so, but the necessity for him to leave on other business. The surgeon rang the bell, called in a girl of about 18 years of age, and, mesmerizing her, left the room. He (Lord Ducie) then finding her clairvoyante, began to question her. They then travelled mentally to the railway station, the clairvoyant ex pressing her wish to go into the coun try, as she had not been there for many years. He then, selon le regie asked her to go into Gloucestershire, and went down to his mansion. She de scribed the gravel walk, the iron gates, the hall—she described its checkered pavements, the musket and cartouche boxes on the wall, the carved fire-place of his Elizabethan house. They then went over his farm, and she described the crops of his fields, occasionally seeming puzzled at the plants, and mis taking, as a Lonooner might, turnips for potatoes. The singular proof of her clairvoyance was, that she noticed, to him that one field in particular was planted with two diflerent crops; she noticed this, and told him that part of the field was cut and carried, and the other remained ; he found this after wards to be true, although he actually at the time did not know it himself.— The lady by whom he was cured told him several things about himself which he thought no one in the world knew. There could be no collusion in the case, for he had never seen the girl before, and she did not know his name or resi dence, and, if she had been informed, she conld not have known all the details of his farm in Gloucestershire. He might mention that the same girl al luded to a fine chesnut tree on his es tate, and mentioned that it was sur rounded by an iron fence, describing the long fanlike leaf of dark green with the most perfect exactness, al though perfectly ignorant, as a girl liv ing in London would be, of the sort of tree.” LONGFELLOW The muse of Mr. Longfellow owes little or none of her success to those great national sources of inspiration which are most likely to influence an ardent poetic temperament. The grand old woods—the magnificent mountain and forest scenery—the mighty rivers— the trackless savannahs—all those stu pendous and varied features of that great country, with which, from his boyhood, he has been familiar, it might be thought would have stamped some of these characteristics upon his poe try. Such, however, has not been the case. Os lofty images and grand con ceptions we meet with few, if any tra ces. But brimful of life, of love, and of truth, the stream of his song flows on with a tender and touching simpli fy, and a gentle music, which we have not met with since the days of our own Moore. Like him, too, the genius of Mr. Longfellow is essentially lyric; and if he has failed to derive inspiration from the grand features of his own country, he has been no unsuccessful student of the great works of the Ger man masters of song. We could al most saucy, while reading his exquisite ballad of the “Beleaguered City,” that Goethe, Schiller, or Uhland, was before us; and yet, we must by no means be understood to insinuate that he is a mere copyist—quite the contrary. He has become so thoroughly imbued with the spirit of those exquisite models, that he has contrived to produce pieces marked with an individuality of their own, and noways behind them in point of political merit. In this regard, he affords another illustration of the truth of the proposition, that the legendary lore and traditions of other countries have been very serviceable toward the formation of American literature. About the year 1837, Longfellow, being engaged in making the tour of Europe, selected Heidelberg for a per manent winter residence. There his wife was attacked with an illness,which ultimately proved fatal. It so hap pened however, that some time after ward there came to the same romantic place a young lady of considerable per sonal attractions. The poet’s heart was touched, —he became attached to her ; but the beauty of sixteen did not sym pathize with the poet of six and thirty, and Longfellow returned to America, having lost his heart as well as his wife. The young lady, also an Ameri can, returned home shortly afterward Their residences, it turned out, were contiguous, and the poet availed him self of the opportunity of prosecuting his addresses, which he did for a consi derable time with no better success than at first. Thus foiled, he set him self resolutely down, and instead, like Petrarch, of laying seige to the heart of his mistress througn the medium of sonnets, he resolved to write a whole book; a book which would achieve the double object of gaining her affec tions, and of establishing his own fame. “ Hyperion” was the result. His labor and his constancy were not thrown away: they met their due reward. The lady gave him her hand as well as her heart; and they now reside togeth er at Cambridge, in the same house which Washington made his head-quar ters when he was first appointed to the command of the American armies. These interesting facts were communi cated to us by a very intelligent Amer can gentleman, whom we had the pleasure of meeting in the same place which was the scene of the poet’s early disappointment and sorrow. — Dublin University Magazine. Hints to Beaux. —To please the old folks while you court the daughter, agree with the father in politics, and keep the mother in snuff. To please the brother lend him your rifle and buy him a dog. To please her sister, buy her a dress. To please your dul cinea, keep her in jewelery, and call her an “angel.” To please yourself, be a fool. SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE. Clj i IBnrlii nf Jl-'nsljinn. THE WINTER FASHIONS. We copy the following important (to the ladies) announcement from the Tribune. —[ Gaz. Congress and Conventions and news from all nations have mouopolized our room and attention almost entirely for a long time ; but news from the Couit of Fashion is matter too important to be thrust aside any longer, so we give some General Observations on Fashion and Dress from a source of high au thority in the beau mondeau. The re cent mild weather has tended to retard the preparatins which were in progress for the fashions of Winter. However, a few bonnets, intended for the ap proaching season, have been received from Paris. Some are of satin and others are of black and coloured velvet. Those of velvet are trimmed with a small feather on each side, the inside trimming consisting of velvet flowers and foliage in tints harmonizing with the colour of the bonnet, when the lat ter is of coloured velvet. Several of the satin bonnets are of bright colours, such as pink, lilac and green, and they are covered with black lace of a pat tern at once rich and light. These bon nets are trimmed on one side with a bouquet of flowers of the same tint as the satin, or of velvet foliage, black and coloured intermingled. Pardessus of the same material as the dress are very generally worn. Owing to the ad vanced period of the year,these pardes sus are now frequently lightly wadded. They are often ornamented with braid or embroidery, and when trimmed with lace have the addition of rows of narrow velvet-ribbon. Embroidery is likely to become more fashionable than ever. Vast numbers of dresses, man telets, and other articles of costume now in course of preparation, are in tended to be ornamented with braid and embroidery. Avery elegant em broidered silk dress has just been com pleted. The silk is gray, shot with white, and the front of the skirt is beau tifully embroidered with wreaths of flowers and foliage in gray silk, the stems and tendrils being in white. The corsage is low, open in front, and has a shaw berthe embroidered in the same manner as the skirt, and edged with white and gray fringe. The sleeves are demi-long embroidered, and edged with fringe, like the berthe. Anew material, recently introduced by the French manufacturers has become a great favourite with the Parisian ladies. It is well adapted at the present season for plain walking or in-door dresses, as it consists of a mixture of silk and wool. This fabric is manufactured at Lyons, and is called amure. It is made in dress lengths, each dress being of one colour, as gray, violet, green, &c., but shaded ; the front breath and cor sage are ornamented with narrow satin stripes of a tint different from that of the dress; for instance, these stripes may be blue or green on gray. These dresses are usually made with the cor sage to fasten in front,and with basques. This shape has been styled the corsage veste, as it presents the appearance of a jacket of the same material as the dress. Valencia, poplin, merino, and the materials intended for plain cos tumes may be made up in the same way. Many ladies find it convenient to have the skirt of the dress separate from the corsage, the latter consisting merely of a jacket which may be either of the same material as the skirt, or of any other. For dinner costume da mask silk is much employed. Dresses of this material are made rather plain, the trimming consisting merely of light passementerie, revers of black lace, or rows of narrow velvet, &e. A dinner dress of chine silk has been made with two japes, the upper one open, in the tunic form, and with the edges pinked. The corsage was open and edged with double revers, pinked and terminating in a point at the waist. Sleeves, demi long, reaching just below the elbow, edged with pinked frills. Lace under sleeves. Thin under-sleeves are gradu ally disappearing in out-door dress as the chilly weather advances. For walk ing dress many ladies now wear close under-sleeves of the same material as the dress ; even for evening costume the Parisian dressmakers have devised a sort of modification of the open pagoda under sleeve; it is called the Manchette Louis Quinze, and is a demi-pagoda, slightly confined at the wrist,and edged with two rows of lace which fall over he hand. THE DRESS REFORM. We cam mend the following to our readers as worthy of their considera tion. We are for a revolution in the wardrobe. Under the tyrannical im positions of Fashion, “our sufferings is intolerable.” Let editors who are fa vourable to “ the cause ” pass the fol lowing along: * Let us Improve our Toggery.— The Industrial Show of London is suggest ing a variety of new thoughts to the people, here and there. The artists of that metropolis are getting up a demon stration in favour of some change in the existing costume of the European peo ple —that of the better classes; for the dress of the lower classes, in various countries., is poetical and picturesque enough. These artists wish to bring some practical result from the opinion, long entertained, that the tight and rigid toggery of the civilized nations has sinned a great deal against the laws alike of personal grace and personal convenience. Our painters and sculp tors (for we, of course, are in any cate gory which includes the English peo ple) have been always puzzled how to reconcile their artistic ideas of grace fulness with the tailor work of modern times. Hence the multitude of in stances in which they have utterly im paired the personality and identity of great men, by representing them— particularly in sculpture —wearing to gas, sandals,and what not. No sculptor would be mad enough to represent a modern man “in his habit, as he lived.” Suppose Canova sculptured a man in the most graceful costume of London, Paris, or New York, with trowsers, coat and hat, and put him on a pedes tal ; what would be the consequence? Why,Canova’s best friend —the mother that bore him—could not keep from an involuntary desire to laugh at the figure. All this is more curious than we imagine. Why should the Greeks aud Romans admire so much the sac similes of themselves, in sculpture, and we tolerate ours so little ? These Lon don artists have taken it into their heads to obviate this anomalous state of things, by the introduction of a more easy and graceful costume, to be gen erally adopted by the civilized nations. Certainly, any revolution which will banish, knock off, and utterly discrown, the dreadful, tight, rigid, inconvenient hat, silk or felt, black or white, such as is now worn, and abolish the pillory of the scanty fashionable coat, in which you cannot safely fling your arms above your head, would be* a good one —a consummation devoutly to be wished. Os all the people in the world, we, the redoubted liberty-loving Anglo-Saxon race, are the greatest slaves to the de spotism of the fashions. We really think it would be no detriment to our Christian comfort, if we imitated the Turkish looseness of toggery. It may be said that a certain closeness of dress is necessary to a nation that works actively, and that has to guard against the chills of a northern climate. But we think a happy mean could be hit, which would leave our costume much looser, and more flowing, and yet an swer all the purposes of our avocations and the changes of our climate. We sincerely hope, therefore, that these wardrobe revolutionists in London will bring about the abolition of the high crowned hat and the body coat. These tyrannical impositions first, and the rest will follow. We think the hat as pre posteious, awkward and useless a su perfluity, in one direction, as the horri ble old high-heeled shoe used to be, in another. The taste and the sense of the graceful, which belong to all our rigidly-dressed people, have tacitly pronounced sentence of condemnation against their mathematical toggery, in refusing to have it perpetuated in sculp ture and painting. In portraits, to be sure, a bit of the coat is tolerated ; but that does not tell against the general rule, which makes the ungraceful cos tume of the present day unfit to clothe our ideas of beauty and dignity. We hope, in fact, before we are much older, to see a certain idea of caps, easy caft ans, brave, loose continuations, and so forth—which has been long running up and down the cage of our brain—grace fully and pleasantly developed in our streets, offices and apartments. [ Yankee Blade. lilt Spirit XDorlii. INTERVIEW WITH THE SPIRITS. Mysterious Rappings in Boston and Charlestown.— We find the follow ing communication in the Springfield Republican of Sept. 17th. The editor remarks, in introducing it: “It is hardly necessary to call attention to the article over the signature of Mr. Elmer, which we have compiled from his written notes and verbal narration. Mr. Elmer is well known, has the cred it of being a shrewd man, not easily to be imposed upon, and a man whose truth and honesty are certainly not to be questioned in this community, w here he has resided for many years : We give the communication here referred to. Mr. Bowles : Perhaps it w ill inte rest your readers, if you will allow me to recount to them some of the wonders which 1 witnessed last week, in a series of interviews with what are claimed to be “Spirits.” On Wednes day evening, I very gladly accepted an invitation from my friend, Mr. La Roy Sunderland, to witness the rappings at his office in Boston. After several gentlemen, who, with myself, were thorough unbelievers, had intimately examined every part of the room, fur niture, &e., we were requested to form a circle around the table. Mr. Sunder land then stated that his daughter, through whom the spirits usually res ponded, was not present, and he should be obliged to put several of those around the table into a state of trance, and then see if he could get the spirits to communicate through them. This he accomplished, and they commenced calling on the spirits of their departed friends. They were also answered by the “raps,” which I heard distinctly, and which appeared to be produced under the table, at different points. I placed my hand upon the table, being theonly individual who touched it atall, and felt the vibrations, corresponding with the raps. Numerous questions were correctly answered. Mr. Sunderland asked the spirit of his departed son, by my request, if the spirit of my daughter was present, and was answered that it was. This daughter was one at whose death a singular phenomenon was witnessed by several persons, and which I only allude to to recal it to the memory of those who knew it at the time. It was sometime before I could muster faith and courage enough to consult some body who appeared to be nobody. I finally asked if the spirit of my daugh ter was present and would respond to me, and was astonished to hear some thing respond promptly, with a difle rent sound from any I had hitherto heard. I asked her several questions, which I very well knew no one present but myself knew how to answer, and was answered with uniform correct ness. What purported to be the spirit of my daughter, told me that the halo of light that filled the darkened room at the time of her death, was spiritual manifestation. On Thursday evening, I visited Mr. Sunderland’s house in Charlestown. Mr. S. was not at home but his excel lent family told me if I wished to hear the rappings, I could hear them. Mr. Sunderland’s daughter, through whom the spirits respond, is a married lady, and was sitting by the cradle, with a young child in her arms. After I had examined the cradle, floor, &c., we formed a circle around the cradle. Someone asked if the spirits w r ere present, and was immedi ately answered by the raps upon the cradle, much louder than those I had heard the night before. During the evening, we had many of the manifest ations which have so frequently been described as having occurred at Roch ester, Auburn, New York city, &c. On Friday, I called on Mr. Sunder land, at his office, in Boston, and ex pressed a desire to test these things in the day time. He very kindly accom panied me to his house, where he, his daughter, and myself seated ourselves by the cradle. After I had faithfully examined it, and everything about it, as well as everything about the room, the questioning and responding com- menced. Mr. 8. stated previously, however, that he would go into any room in the house, if it would be any more satisfactory, or to any room in any neighbouring house, but 1 was sat istied with regard to this. 1 put the questions in every possible way, ques tions which l had fixed upon as tests all of which were promptly and cor’ rectly answered. Having been placed in communica tion with what assumed to be the spirit of my daughter, 1 asked her to tell me how old she was when she died, and to signify the number when I mentioned it. I commenced and called numbers above and below the real one, in every variety of manner, until at last, calling the real number, the rap was made promptly. iShe also told me how old her brother was when he died. These two facts 1 knew were known to no one within a hundred miles of me, except to myself. Then the being who claim ed to be the spirit, of my daughter, by the use of the alphabet, spelled out: “Dearfather, I love you.” 1 asked her if she had any message to send to her mother. She replied in the same man ner : “Tell mother lam happy.” Mr. Sunderland, being partially deaf, requested the spirit of his little son to raploude.i. 1 then saw the cradle move, at least three inches, though not a visi ble hand touched it. Mr. S. asked if his son would communicate by sight in stead of sound, moving the cradle as the means, and was answered that he would. I took up the cradle, examin ed it and the floor, in every possible way, without finding any apparent means by which it could be moved. 1 afterwards saw it move more than fifty times, and once, at least six inches. Now, as the preacher says, “with a few remarks I close.” And first, allow me to say that as the fear or the odium of being considered a fanatic will not shock my nerves very much, 1 do not hesitate to say, there was no deception, fraud, or trick, about the “ lappings” which I witnessed. I think I know Mr. Sunderland and his family to be truth ful and worthy people, and 1 do not be lieve, under the circumstances, that t hey could have deceived me, if they had attempted it. Ido not know that these mysterious responces were spirit ual, but to believe any explanation 1 have yet heard, would certainly require a larger tax upon my credulity', than it would to believe they are what they assume to be. 1 certainly have no ob jections to urge against the establish ment of a telegraphic communication between those in the dody and those out of it, for I have no religious creed, and belong to no party, which would be likely to sutler from such a commu nication. It would clash with no arti cle of my faith, nor would it effect me unpleasantly in any manner. Mr. Sunoerland is now perseveringly investigating this subject, and gives the result of his investigations in his “Spiritual Philosopher.” lie believes his children are all together, four in the body and two out, and the latter are around him, touching him so that he can feel them, and communicating with him in various ways. He says that he knows that they thus commu nicate. RUFUS ELMER. Illirrllniuj. Southern Florida. —Ancient In habitants. —“ The early history of the Southern part of the Peninsula of Flo rida, shoAs that when discovered by Ponz de Leon, in 1512, it was numer ously peopled by Indians living in towns under their dominion and that they were of an intrepid and enterprising char acter, possessing the same qualities in war, that have recently rendered the Seminoles such troublesome foes.” This section of the Florida Peninsula was then called the country of Calos, the name of the Cacique wno ruled over many chiefs, and w hose dominion embraced the Everglades, part of the coast, the Florida Keys, (known then as the Martyr Islands ,) and a portion of the Bahama Islands, it is supposed. At the mouth of the river entering into the Straits of Florida, was a town called “Tocobago,” in which, when first visited by the whites, there were fifteen hundred inhabitants. The inha bitants of this town were hostile to the dwellers in the Calos country ; and the location of the town of Tocobago is supposed to have been on the St. Lucie Sound, near the mouth of St. Lucie river, which forms a junction with the Sound and then empties into the sea, so as to make the figure of a cross, the St. Lucie sound and the Indian river forming the beam, and the St. Lucie forming the arms. There was also a town on the Miami river. The Indian towns of the Glades, when first discovered, contained each about forty persons; Calos, the King, reigned over forty-eight towns —the names of more than half of w hich are given by a Spanish captain, Picalante, who, by shipwreck, was thrown among this people, within fifty years of the discovery of Florida. [Florida. Republican. Singular Trap. —They have a sin gular contrivance for catching wolves in Norway. It consists of a circle of about six or eight feet in diameter, in which stakes are driven so close to each other that a wolf cannot creep through, and which are high enough to prevent his leaping over them. In the midst of this circle a single stake is driven, to which a lamb or a young kid is bound. Around this circle a second is formed, of which the stakes are as close and as high as the inner one, and at a distance not greater than will permit of a wolf to pass conveniently, but not to allow of his turning round. In the outer cir cle a door is formed, which opens in ward, and rests against the inner circle, but moves easily on its hinges, and fastens itself on shutting. Through this door the wolves enter, sometimes in such a number as to fill the enclo sure. The first wolf now paces the circle in order to discover some open ing through which he can get at the lamb. When he comes to the back of the door, which is in his way, he pushes it with his muzzle, it closes and fastens as he passes by, and goes the round for the second time, without being able either to enter the inner circle or to re treat from the outer. At length he perceives that he is a prisoner, and his hideous howding announces to those who have constructed the trap, that he is taken, who immediately come and dispatch him. It is said that this sort of trap is also used for foxes, und even occasionally for mice. Morals in Llayti. —The New York Journal oj Commerce says : “In the official part of a late num ber of the Moniteur Haytien, is a docu ment giving the number of births, deaths, marriages and divorces during the first quarter of the present year, in the follow ing named towns: In the Pro vince of the West—Porte-au-Prinee, Jacmel. Croix-des-Bonquests and Ar cohart; in the Province of the South— Miragoane, Petit-Trou and Tosbeck; in the Province of the North —Cape Haytien, Fort Liberte, L’Aeul du Nord, Limbe, Plaisance, Jean-Rabel, Porte- Margot, Li monad e and Plainedu Nord. In these towns the whole number of children born in three months was 1,863, of whom 1,700 were born out of wedlock and only 163 were legiti mate. Such a monstrous disproportion between these two classes of children exists in no other country, we venture to say, on the face of the earth where the institution of marriage is recog nized. In the same towns, in that pe riod, there were 408 deaths, 65 mar riages and one divorce. In Porte-au- Prince alone, the capital of the empire, there were 413 children born, and only 28 of them in marriage; 77 deaths and 20 marriages. English vs. American Girls. —The English girl spends more than one half her waking hours in physical amuse ment ; which tend to develope and in vigorate and ripen the bodily’ powers. She rides, walks, drives, rows upon the water, runs, dances, plays, sings, jumps the rope, throws the ball, hurls the quoit, draws the bow r , keeps up the shuttle-cock, and all this without having it forever pressed upon her mind that she is thereby wasting her time. She does this every day, until it becomes a habit which she will follow up through life. Her frame, as a natural conse quence, is larger, her muscular system better developed, her nervous system in better subordination, her strength more enduring, and the whole tone of her mind healthier. She may not knovv as much at the age of seventeen as the American girl; as a general thing she does not; but the growth of her intellect has been stimulated by’ no hot-house culture, and though matuiity comes later, it will proportionally last longer. Eight hours of mental appli cation each day, tor girls between ten and nineteen years, or ten hours each day r , as is sometimes required at school, with two hours for meals, one for reli gious duties, the remainder for physi cal exercises, are enough to break down the strongest constitution. Sottiiern Cotton Goods in Boston Market. — We learn from the Travel ler that the Tuscaloosa Manufacturing Company, located at Scottsville, Ala., has recently nold goods manufactured at their factory, in this market and also in New York. The goods are of a coarse fabric, of the kind denominated Osnaburgs. The factory at which they’ were made is now’ in successful opera tion, notwithstanding the high price of cotton; and last year the company made a dividend of 8 per cent. They have made dividends as large as 40 per cent. The factory has been in opera tion since 1836, and is managed in person by Mr. David Scott, who is also the largest shareholder, and w'ho last year caused extensive additions to be made to the machinery and buildings. The goods are sold in this city by r one of the largest houses in Pearl-street. Professor Agassiz is still lecturing in Boston, on the Unity of the Human Race. On Friday last, in the course of the lecture, he pointed out many differences between the forms of the negro and the white race, a large pro portion of which have not been previ ously remarked ; and in proof of his statements, he exhibited a large num ber of daguerreotypes of individuals of various races of negroes. These he procured during his visit to the South, last spring, during which he paid much attention to the anatomy of the negro race, as there exhibited in individuals of the purest African blood. Rules for Preserving the Health. Rise early and never sit up late. Wash the whole body every morn ing with cold water, by means of a large sponge, and rub it dry with a rough towel. Drink water. Avoid spirits and fermented liquors of every kind. Keep the head cool, and sleep in an airy apartment. Eat no more than enough, and let the food be plain. Let your supper be light, if you take any. Study to preserve a tranquil mind and a cheerful temper. These are golden rules for health. Too White. —The Milwaukie Dem ocrat tells 11s that Frederika Bremer, the other day, in Wisconsin, was invi ted to sit near the fire, where some other ladies were seated, hut replied, “No, no, you American ladies are very handsome, hut you are too white. You sit down bv a fire of your own making, and neglect the great fire that God has placed in the Heavens, which would give you health and better colour.” Quite right. Urbanity in Death. — The King, (Charles the Second) blessed his cliild dren ; spoke a word of remembrance touching his mistresses; begged par don of his wife; and then apologized to those who had stood around him all night, for the trouble he had caused, lie had been, he said, an unconsciona ble time dying, but he hoped they would excuse him for it.— Church of England Quarterly R'evieio. Admonition to Boys. Never mistake the soft-soap barrel for apple-sas; nor beleive that algebra can be learnt with out rattan and raw hide. Parties in New’ Orleans are pushing the Tehauntepec project of a connec tion with the Pacific, with energy. Appartments have been engaged for Mile. Parodi and her attendants, and also for Mile. Nattalie Fitzjames and suit at the Union Place Hotel, New'- York. The Chancery suit, in England, of the Attorney General vs. Treschyan, is now one hundred and sixty-four years old. €l }t Incrti) lltnr. From the Western Literary Messenger. SONNET Written on reading of the burial of the Rer. Jldoniram Judson, in the Indian Ocean. BY J. CLEMENT. Humbly, in a sea-weed for a winding sheet, The bravest hero of the cross is dress’d ; ’Neath Indian waves has laid him down to rest, Where rolling billows will his praise repeat In anthems for the Christian warrior meet, Till dies the latest wave on ocean’s breast. W'hen summoned from the field at Death’s behest, He made a glorious, since a sole, retreat, Leading the way to Burmah’s iron gates, He formed tne van of Christ’s uncowering band Where goaded Error all his vengeance sates He battled with his minions, hand to hand, And, conquering, glory on no victor waits Like him who struck for Truth in Burmah’s gloomy land. EARTH AND HEAVEN. Flowers that bloom to wither fast, Light whose beams are soon o’ercast, Friendship warm, but not to last— Such by earth are given. Seek the flowers that ne’er shall fade, Find the light no cloud can shade, Win the friends that ne’er betrayed— These are found in Heaven. Lesson for Sunday, October 27. THE CHRISTIAN’S DESIRE. “The desire of the righteous shall be granted. ** —Prov. x. 24. What a contrast is there bet w ecu the righteous and the wicked ! They and tier in their principles, feelings, pursuits, prospects, and final destinies. Let ns observe here respecting the Christian The character he bears. “ Right eous.” None are so by nature. This is founded in reason, stated in Scrip ture, and proved by experience. Many are so in their own imagination ; but some in reality', by God’s grace. Such individuals bear two marks; the one is wrought within them. The other is shown without. Righteousness is im puted to the soul, and exhibited in the life. The desire he cherishes. It is ex cited by Divine grace, and therefore very different from that which arises from corrupt nature. He desires Increase of knowledge. This feeling will strengthen in proportion to the ad vances he makes. What is the highest point of know ledge to which we can at tain here, compared with that which shall be possessed in glory'? Here there are but a few scattered rays of light, which only discover to us more clearly the dark clouds of ignorance and imperfections that still envelope the mind ; but there shall be the full blaze of immortality, dispelling every shadow, and chasing away the last mist that would gather around the soul. Growth in grace. Many figures are employed in Scripture to set forth the pleasing truth of progression in the Di vine life. “Forward” is the Christian’s watchword. Enjoyment in duty. Too many’ are contented with the formal observance, w ithout the spiritual enjoyment, of or dinances. Support in trial. It is a good evi dence when we feel the desire to be purified in, rather than to be delivered from, the fiery furnace of affliction. Rest in glory. This is the consum mation of all. When this is granted, the Christian has nothing more to de sire ; his prayers are ended. The satisfaction he obtains. His desire shall begranted, but how ? Free ly, gradually, and entirely. THE RAILWAY LAMP. “ Light in darkness.” —Psalm cxii: 4. When the traveller steps into the railway car, in the bright summer’s day, his attention is drawn to the friends who stand to bid him good-bye ; and as the train moves on more and more rapidly, the mile, and half, and quarter mile posts, seem racing past him, and the objects in the far distance, appear so rapidly to change their’place, as to move oft'the scene almost as soon as they have been seen by the eye upon it. Now% the long train, like some vast serpent, hissing as it moves swiftly along, suddenly plunges under ground. The bright sun is suddenly. lost; but the traveller's eye observes, for the first time, perhaps, the railway carriage lamp ; and though it was there all the while, yet, because the sun made its light needless, it w r as not observed.— God’s promises are like that railway light. The Christian traveller has them with him always, though, when the sun is shining, and prosperity beaming on him, he does not remark them. But let trouble come —let his course lie through the darkness of sorrow or trial, and the blessed promise shines out, like the railway lamp, to cheer him, and sheds it gentle and welcome fight more brightly when the gloom is thick est, and the sunshine most entirely left behind. — Prot. Churchman. THE DEATH ON THE CROSS. The Head, the Hope, the Supporter of those who gave their bodies to be burnt, drank himself of a bitter cup.— Os all the devices of cruel imagina tions, crucifixion is the masterpiece.— Other pains are sharper for a time, but none are at once so agonizing and so long. One aggravation, however, was wanting, which 4 owing to the want of knowledge in painters, is still, we be lieve, commonly supposed to have be longed to the punishment. The w eight of the body was borne by a ledge which projected from the middle of the up right beam, and not by the hands and feet, which were probably found une qual to the strain. The frailty of man’s frame comes at last to be its own de fence ; but enough remained to pre serve the pre-eminence of torture to the cross. The process of nailing was ex quisite torment,and yet worse in what ensued than in the actual infliction.— The spikes rankled, the wounds in flamed, the local injury produced a gen eral fever, the fever a most intolerable thirst; but the misery of miseries to the sufferer was, while racked with a"o ----■ 7 “ ny, to be fastened in a position which did not permit him even to writhe. — Every attempt to relieve the muscles, every instinctive movement of anguish, only served to drag the lacerated flesh, and wake up new’ and acuter pangs; and this torture, which must have been continually aggravated, until advancing death began to lay it to sleep, lasted, on an average, two or three days. [Quarterly Review. Meekness of Leighton. —Of Bishop Leighton, Bishop Burton declared that during a strict intimacy of many years, he never saw’ him for one mo ment in any other temper than that in which he would wish to live and die. <£>ngittnl For the Southern Literary ‘ i messilla. *’ I. She died at last,—’twas sweet to dlc . , ness ever came, * To sooth a heart, so lost to all, Sav „ and shame, A scorned heart in its early love,-., dearly known, Surviving joy, and every hope, ands all were gone ; A single word had slain her; a word liest spell— And what a mocking curse to l lr same word, farewell ! She saw the lips that spoke it, and beneath the blow, How could she fare a moment well deserted so ? 11. She died at last—she lived not 1 0| ,, that weary hour, Yet twas a lengthened time to her had lost its flow’r ; Yet tears were never in her eyes, th OUg ,, they might have been, For with a spirit fine as here, the gr „ within ; But the bloom had left her cheek, the] fled her eye, And the airy lightness of her step, and 4 cent warm and high : She had no more the spirit, so true i n years, Which hung around her childhood’s hea never taught her tears. 111. She died at last, and gladly died in % and shade, E’en as some flow'er that sinks away, autumn sweeps the glade ; A swelling tone the lyre gave forth, br the night wind’s thrall, As long untouched by hand of hers, it upon the wall,— It came upon her heedful ears, like some: accents sped, From the lands of time’s affection, where rove the happy dead ; There is a spirit’s faith which warms j earthly care is past, And like that lyre’s protracted note, the maul died at last. iDrigittnl feoi)s, Forthe Southern Literary Gazette. EGERIA: Or, Voices from the Woods and Ways;:? THIRD SERIES. LX 11. Worship. There never was a 1 pie yet who having built the tern stood long in waiting for the pr The conscious wants of the people] always produce the endowment. | LX 111. Mature. The pictures of Nat though done in water colours never lose their freshness. LXIV. Woman. The woman who goes 1 from her sex is always in danger. 1 true secret by which Virtue is kept safety, is never to be forgetful i weakness. The devil watches allii the eager interest of a proprietou that class of persons who confidal say “I dare!” LXV. Ruins. It is but too frequently: case that we know where a God 1 been, only by the ruins of his altar. LX VI. Oracles. We apply to the w only in the failure of our hope. ‘ call in the physician when it is the I dertaker only who can be o*| How sad are the accents of that 1 1 of which we had no consciousne-l til awakened to the truth by its 1 agonies. llow’ mournful that v I counsel, which rebukes us for Li sought for it in vain. LXVII. The Affections. Did we e.'tl our affections as sensibly as ou’l sions, we should be the more pert® masters, not only of our happino-i of our hearts. Os these, however! really know quite as little as we! those of other people, and it is on! the ruin of our resources that “ I informed of their extent. LXVIII. The Heart. The heart has it’ o season for maturing and for frult suffering that season to escape we plant but vainly for the future I LXIX. Occasion. Occasion is the aecw* of genius; but he surely is nog'* who is content to wait for tin sion. LXX. Counsel. The world which si I vils at the fortunate, as certain'.' 1 1 sels the defeated. Exhortation i'*l as spontaneous and prompt 3’ j The vanity which breeds the ■ equally fruitful of the other I same lips that denounce succe* 5 ■ audacitv, as confidently teach J I in what its error has lain. u lent, wise world, that equal!) ‘ r6 , I derstands how to censure triumph and defeat—triumph® I fends pride, and defeat as 1* F provocation to vanity. LXXI. I Guilt. The Guilt that feel 5 own shame is wholly i nClira ‘ B was the redeeming promise 1 ■ of Adam, that, with the eon ■ of his crime, came the sense of j kedness. LXXII. H Virtue. How sublime is <V| that still plants w ithout an fl tion that it shall ever reap. B emulates the Deity who pl atlt ’ ture generations.