Newspaper Page Text
company to feel no uneasiness from his
visit, for he was neither a spy nor a
still-hunter, a proctor nor a process
server on a professional tour. As he
left the room, he noticed that the op
posite apartment was used as a stable,
and contained three horses ready sad
dled in their stalls. Having passed the
most difficult part of the road, “ Good
night, my fine little fellow,” said the
traveller, “you have conducted me
safely —and here is a shilling for your
trouble.”
The boy closed his hand fast upon
the coin ; and, running home, entered
the room, exclaiming, “mother, mother,
look what the gintleman sint you —a
white shillin’!”
“ A shillin’, you gossoon !” cried the
woman, holding it up to the light; “for
a shillin’ its mighty heavy an’ yallovv
intirely.”
“You omadhawn! isn’t it a suvrin
—a raal goolden one,” shouted the pale
man, as rising he snatched it from her,
and, in his impatience, struck with a
hazel switch his astonished compan
ions. “Blood an’ fire, boys,” he con
tinued, “what are yees at? Don’tyees
see the gintleman is gone, that threw
away his suvrins as if they were fardins,
an’ carries no smaller change than yal
low r goold. What a beautiful dish of
throut we let slip through our fingers,”
and he bit his lip in vexation.
“ It’s not too late yet,” said one of
tuuilttJoi , “ail* it CttUtlier Will uo
us no harm.”
“ Thrue for you. a bouchal; sol’ll
just fresh prime the poppers, an’ be with
yees in no time. Whelan, bring out
the horses.”
In two minutes the robbers were in
full speed, and taking a short cut, they
reached a part of the road running
through a moor, across w hich the tra
veller must pass on his way to the vil
lage. Having dismounted, and tied
their horses to a tree, at some distance
from the place, they prepared their fire
arms, and fixed upon them their bayo
nets. Thus prepared, they silently
aw r aited the traveller’s approach.
“Ha ! the three of them !” exclaim
ed he, as, turning an angle in the road,
they broke upon his view. “The long
odds are against me ; but the knowing
ones may be taken in.” He then drew
out a pistol and cocked it.
“Stop!” shouted two of the villains,
striding furiously up, and halting one
at each side of him, while the third held
back in the rear.
“Who dares stop me? Cowards,
stand olf!” exclaimed the traveller,
sternly.
“ Be aisy now, my darlind,” said the
pale-faced ruffian, “an’ we’ll be civil to
youand, at the same time, both the
robbers were covering him with their
carbines. “We only want whatever
loose cash you may happen to have
about you; an’, to save both of us
throuble an’unaisiness.give it dacently.”
A shot from the traveller cut short
this harangue ; and the robber fell dead
upon the ground.
“ Oh, ye murdherin’ thief,” roared
one ofthe remaining assailants, “you’ve
kilt my brother; but it’ll be the dear
est shot you ever firedand, as the
echo of the traveller’s pistol died away,
a ball from the carbine passed through
its victim’s back. The gentleman
reeled, but fell not, and, with instinctive
courage, wneemig rounu ms norse, ne
sprung the bayonet of his discharged
weapon, and, with all the energy of
coming death, stabbed his slayer to the
heart. They fell together to the earth,
gory and lifeless.
Early next morning, the inhabitants
of the village of B were surprised
at the appearance of a horse straying
through the street, with a broken bri
dle, and a saddle stained with blood.
The alarm spread; and search being
made, the bodies were found lying as
they fell—the clothes of one of them
torn, and his pockets rifled. But none
of them could be recognized. The re
quisite forms ofthe law were complied
with; and, after the inquest, the re
mains of the unfortunate gentleman
were decently committed to the earth.
A case of handsome pistols were found
on the fatal spot, which were deposited
with the sheriff of the county —sole
memorials of the dead. Time rolled on
and mystery still dwelt upon the mat
ter—until even the memory of the dead
had well-nigh passed away.
About seven years afterwards, how
ever, a man having been condemned to
suffer the extreme penalty of the law,
in the assize town of T , sent for
the governor of the gaol the night be
fore execution, and presented him with
a small copy of “Faleoner’sShipwreck,”
as a memorial of his sense of the kind
ness he had experienced from him; but
he made no confession. In a blank
leaf were the initials, “ W. II,” which
were found to correspond with those
engraved on the pistols that had be
longed to the murdered traveller.
The Greatest Works Extempore.
The greatest w T orks of human genius
have thus been ever in part extempore
and occasonal works. They have been
rooted in the need of the hour, though
their blossom renews itself from year
to year ; and to the end of time with
their philosophical or artistic work an
historical interest is blended. Men of
ambitious imagination retire into their
study, and devise some “ magnum
opus ‘ which, like the world itself, is to
be created out of nothing, and to hang
self-balanced on its own centre: —af-
ter much puffing, however, the world
which they produce is apt to turn out
but a well sized bubble. Men of anoth
er order labour but to provide for some
practical need; and their work, hum
ble, perhaps occasional in its design, is
found to contain the elements that
make human toils indestructible. —
Homer sang, no doubt, in part to kin
dle patriotism among his countrymen,
in part to amuse his village audience,
and in part to procure a good night’s
lodging, as he wandered on Grecian
and Asiatic shores ; but the great idea
of his song was stout enough notwith
standing to fight its way through all ob
structions, and to or!) itself out into
completeness. Shakspeare wrote in part
for practical objects of a less elevated
nature; Hooker’s Ecclesiastical Polity
was intended to compose the strifes of
the time; and Burke’s great work on
the h rench Revolution was but thrown
out as a bastion to protect the British
cna< cl from French jacobinism ; al
though, working in haste and prodigal
o is wealth, he inserted into it manv
a passage of poetry or philosophy too
good for its place—passages in one
sense as misapplied as the fragments
of sculpture in the wallofThemistocles.
€lje (Essatjist.
HOW TO MAKE HOME UNHEALTHY.
BY HARRIET MARTINEAU.
IX.
FRESH AIR.
Philosophers tell us that the breath
ot man is poisonous; that when col
lected in a jar it will kill mice, but
when accumulated in a room it will kill
men. Os this there are a thousand and
one tales. I decline alluding to the
Black Hole of Calcutta, but will take
a specimen dug up by some sanitary
gardener from Horace Walpole’s let
ters. In 1742 a set of jolly Dogber
ries, virtuous in their cups, resolved
that every woman out after dark
ought to be locked up in the round
house. They captured twenty-six un
fortunates, and shut them in with doors
and windows fastened. The prisoners
exhausted breath in screaming. One
poor girl said she was worth eighteen
pence, and cried that she would give
it gladly for a cup of water. Dogber
ry was deaf. In the morning four were
brought out dead,two dying, and twelve
in a dangerous condition. This is an
argument in favour of the new police.
I don’t believe in ventilation; and will
undertake here, in a few paragraphs, to
prove it nonsense.
At the very outset, let us take the ven
iiiuiion-iuongers on then own ground.
People of this class are always refer
ing us to nature. Very well, we will
be natural. Do you believe, sir, that
the words of that dear lady, when she
said she loved you everlastingly, were
poisonous air rendered sonorous by the
action of a larynx, tongue, teeth, pal
ate, and lips? No, indeed; ladies, at
any’ rate, although they’ claim a double
share of what the cherubs want —and,
possibly, these humps, now three times
spoken of, are the concealed and mis
sing portions ofthe cherubim torn from
them by the fair sex in some ancient
struggle. There, now, lam again ship
wrecked on the wondrous mountains.
I was about to say, that ladies, who, in
some things, surpass the cherubs, equal
them in others; like them, are vocal
with ethereal tones ; their breath is
“the sweet south, stealing across a bed
of violets,” and that’s not poisonous, I
fancy. Well, 1 believe the chemists
have, as yet, not detected any differ
ence between a man’s breath and a wo
man’s ; therefore, neither of them can
be hurtful. But let us grant the whole
position. Breath is poisonous, but na
ture made it so ; nature intended it to
be so. Nature made man asocial ani
mal, and, therefore, designated that
many breaths should be commingled.
Why do you, lovers of the natural, ob
ject to that arrangement ?
Now let us glance at the means
adopted to get rid of this our breath,
this breath of which our words are
made, libeled as poisonous. Ventila
tion is of two kinds, mechanical and
physical. I will say something about
each.
Mechanical ventilation is that which
machinery produces. One of the first
recorded ventilators of this kind, was
not much more extravagent in its
charges upon house-room, than some
of which w r e hear in 1850. In 1663,
11. Schmitz published the scheme of a
whiHi rtaeoonrlirt£f through
the ceiling, moved to and fro pendu
lum-wise, within a mighty silt. The
movement of the fanner was establish
ed by a piece of clockwork more sim
ple than compact: it occupied a com
plete chamber overhead, and was set
in noisy motion by a heavy weight.—
The weight ran slowly down, pulling
its rope until it reached the parlour
floor ; so that a gentleman incautiously
falling asleep under it after his dinner,
might awake to find himselfa pancake.
Since that time we have had no lack of
ingenuity at work on forcing pumps,
and sucking-pumps, and screws. The
screws are admirable, on account ofthe
unusually startling nature, now and
then, of their results. Not long ago,
a couple of fine screws were adapted
to a public building ; one was to take
air out, the other was to take air in.—
The first screw, unexpectedly perverse,
wheeled its air inward ; so did the sec
ond, but instead ofdirecting its draught
upward, it blew down with a great
gust of contempt upon the horified ex
perimentalist. There is something of
a screw principle in those queer little
wheels fastened occasionally in our
windows, and on footmen’s hats—que
ry, are those the ventilating hats ?
the rooms are as much ventilated by
these little tins as they would be by an
air from “ Don Giovanni.” I will say
nothing about pumps; nor, indeed,
need we devote more space to mechan
ical contrivances, since it is from other
modes of ventilation that our cause has
most to fear. Only one quaint specu
lation may be mentioned. It is quite
certain that in the heats of India, air
is not cooled by fanning, nor is it cool
ed judiciously by damping it. Profes
sor Piazzi Smyth last year suggested
this idea : Compress air by a forcing
pump into a close vessel, by so doing
you increase its heat ; then suddenly
allow it to escape into a room, it will
expand so much as to be cold, and,
mixing with the other air in the apart
ment, cool the whole mass. This is the
last new theory, which has not yet, I
think, been tried in practice.
Now', physical ventilation that
which affects to imitate the processes
of nature —is a more dangerously spe
cious business. Its chief agent is heat.
In nature, it is said, the sun is Lord
High Ventilator. He rarefies the air
in one place by his heat, elsewhere per
mits cold, and lets the air be dense;
the thin air rises, and the dense air
rushes to supply its place ; so we have
endless winds and currents —nature’s
ventilating works. It is incredible that
sane men should have thought this sys
tem fit for imitation. It is a failure.—
Look at the hot department, where a
traveller sometimes has to record that
he lay gasping for two hours upon his
back, until someone could find some
water for him somewhere. Let us call
that Africa, and who can say that he
enjoys the squalls of w ind rushing to
ward the desert ? Let us think of the
Persian and the Punic wars, when fleets
which had not learned to play bo-peep
with ventilating processes, strewed
Mediterranean sands with w'recks and
corpses. Some day we shall have
these mimics of Dame Nature content
w ith nothing smaller than a drawing
room typhoon to carry of the foul air
of an evening party ; dow agers’ caps,
young ladies’ scarfs, cards, pocket hand
kerchiefs, will whirl upon their blast,
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
and then they will be happy. Now
their demands are modest, but they
mean hurricanes, rely upon it; we must
not let ourselves be lulled into a false
security.
A fire, they say, is in English houses
necessary during a large part of the
year, is constant during that season
when w*e are most closely shut up in
our rooms. The fire, they say, is our
most handy and most efficacious venti
lator. Oh, yes, we know’ something
about that: we know too well that the
fire makes an ascending current, and
that the cold air rushes from our doors
and w indows to the chimney, as from
surrounding countries to the burning
desert. We know that very well, be
cause every such current is a draught;
one cuts into our legs, one gnaws about
our necks, and all our backs are cold.
W e are in the condition of a pious man
in Fox’s “Martyrs,” about whom 1 used
to read with childish reverence: that
after a great deal of frying, during
w hich he had not been turned by the
Inquistion-soyer, he lifted up his voice
in verse :
“ This side enough is toasted ;
Then turn me, tyrant, and eat,
And seo whether raw or roasted
I make the better meat.”
We, all of us over our Christian fires,
present this choice of raw or roast, and
w r e don’t thank your principles of ven
tilation for it. Then say these peril
aaoiouo people, tltab tlicj alaU cli j>-
prove of draughts; but they don't
seem to mind boring holes in a gen
tleman’s floor, or knocking through the
sacred walls of home. This is their
plan. They say, that you should have,
if possible, a pipe connected with the
air without, passing behind the cheeks
of your stove, and opening under your
fire, about, on, or close before your
hearth. They say, that from this
source the fire will be supplied so well,
that it will no longer suck in draughts
over your shoulders, and between your
legs, from remote corners of the room.
They say, moreover, that if this aper
ture be large enough, it will supply all
the fresh air needed in your room, to
replace that which has ascended and
passed out, through a hole which you
are to make in your chimney near the
ceiling. They say, that an up-draught
will clear this air away so quietly that
you will not need even a valve; though
you may have one fitted and made or
namental at a trifling cost. They would
recommend you to make another hole
in the w r all opposite your chimney,near
the ceiling also, to establish a more ef
fectual current in the upper air. Then,
they say, you will have a fresh air, and
no draughts. Fresh air, yes, at the
expense of a hole in the floor, and two
holes in the wall. We might get fresh
air, gentlemen, on a much larger scale
by pulling the house down. They say,
you should not mind the holes. Win
dow's are not architectural beauties, yet
w r e like them for admitting light; and
some day it may strike us that the want
of ventilators is a neighbour folly to
the want of window's.
This they suggest as the best method
of adaptuig our old houses to their new
ideas. New houses they would have
so built as to include this system of
ventilation in their first construction,
and so include it as to make it more
effectual. But really, if people want
to know how to build what are called
well-veil tilo-tovl lioviccoj t/koY niuoi nob
expect me to tell them ; let them bin
Mr. Ilosking’s book on “ The proper
Regulation of Buildings in Towns.”
Up to this date, as I am glad to know,
few architects have heard of ventilation.
Under church galleries we doze through
the most lively sermons, in public
meetings we pant after air, but w'ehave
architecture; perhaps an airy style
sometimes attempts to comfort us. —
These circumstances are, possibly, un
pleasant at the time, but they assist the
cause of general unhealthiness. Long
may our architects believe that human
lungs are instruments of brass ; and let
us hope that, when they get a ventila
ting fit, they will prefer strange ma
chines, pumping, screwing steaming ap
paratus. May they dispense then,
doctored air, in draughts and mixtures.*
Fresh air in certain favoured places
—as in Smithfield, for example—is un
doubtedly an object of desire. It is
exceedingly to be regretted, if the ru
mors be correct, that the result of a
Commission of Inquiry threatens, by
removing Smithfield, to destroy the
only sound lung this metropolis pos
sesses. The wholesome nature of the
smell of cows is quite notorious. Hum
boldt tells of a sailor who was dying
of fever in the close hold of a ship.—
His end being in sight, some comrades
brought him out to die. What Hum
boldt calls “the fresh air” fell upon him,
and, instead of dying, he revived,
eventually getting well. I have no
doubt that there was a cow on board,
and the man smelt her. Now', if so
great an effect was produced by the
proximity of one cow, how great must
be the advantage to the sick in Loudon
of a central crowded cattle-market!
*ln the ventilation of large buildings destined
to admit a throng, it may be also advantageous
to the aegritudinary cause if heat be at all times
considered a sufficient agent.
[To be continued.]
A Cunning Fox. — An English paper
relates the following:—A farmer had
discovered that a fox came along a
beam in the night to seize his poultry.
He accordingly sawed the end of the
beam nearly through, and in the night
the fox fell into a place whence he
could not escape. On going to him in
the morning, he found him stiff, and as
he thought, lifeless. Taking him out
of the building, he threw him on the
dung-hill, but in a short time Reynard
opened his eyes, and seeing all was
safe and clear, galloped away to the
mountains, showing more cunning than
the man who ensnared him.
\\ hich is the Fool? — A gentleman
in the habit of occasionally using in
toxicating drinks, took up an able tem
perance address, and sat down in
his family to peruse it. He read it
through, without saying a word, when
he exclaimed, “This man is a fool, or 1
am!” lie then read it again, and
when again he had finished it, a second
time, he exclaimed, “This man is a
fool, or I am!” A third time he read
it with still greater care, and as he fin
ished the last sentence, exclaimed, “/
am the fool!’' 1 and never tasted a drop
of ardent spirits afterwards.
UST'The artistic value of the works
of art contained in the churches of Ant
werp, eleven in number, is estimated at
nearly $10,000,000.
®ijt jam’ll Altar.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE PROFUSION OF PROVIDENCE IN
NATURE.
Cast our eyes around us wherever
w'e may be, whenever we will, and we
have the most abundant evidences of
the beuevolence of the Creator, in the
profusion which he has bestowed on
Nature. The warming and fructifying
power of the Sun, the delicate tints
shed by its light on shrub, grass, tree,
flower and fruit; on man, animal anc
insect; on the birds of the air and the
sis es of the sea; on the clouds that
gather over us, and the waves of the
dee]) blue ocean; in the soft-breathings
of the Air in Spring-time, in its sooth
ing gentleness and its refreshing influ
ences on animal and vegetable life in
Summer, its dry and ripening power in
Autumn, and its bracing and elastic in
fluence in Winter ; in the unnuuiberec
plants, flowers and fruits, that spring
up and clothe the earth in a robe of
beauty, and cover it with their abund
ance, for the gratification and suste
nance of man and beast, birds, insects,
and all created things, in their variec
seasons; in the storms that purify ant
renovate the atmosphere; in the gentle
showers that refresh and enliven the
earth; in the vast, powerful and rest
less, yet available and healthful ocean,
calm and gentle in repose, cheering anc
animating when its billows are stirrec
into a healthful action by pleasant
gales; sublime and terrible, when oc
casionally roused into tremendous mo
tion by the storm and the tempest, the
typhoon and the tornado; the home of
the albatros, the gull and the petrel,
the whale, the sword fish, and the
thrasher, and the unnumbered tribes of
its finny and shell-protected inhabitants
in its untold depths; in the treasures
which are embosomed in the bowels of
the earth, and in the soil that covers its
surface. Nature everywhere speaks
with one voice, proclaiming the profu
sion of His providence, and the unmea
sured extent of his bounty. We are
in no danger here of an extravagant
expression of its illimitable extent anc
all-pervading richness. When we have
taxed our powers of description to their
highest limit, the half has not been told.
Where deep blue Ocean rolls its waves,
When gentle gales its billows fan ;
Or tempests rage, and opening graves,
Reveal their depths to feeble Man.
When Earth her treasures warms to life,
Or hoards within her bosoin vast;
And hillside caves with joy seem rife,
As echo sweet her voices cast.
When lofty mountains, green clad hills,
And cheerful vales enriched with fruit,
Melodious birds their matin trills,
Their vespers soft our ears salute.
When coursing seasons wend their round,
And Nature smiles with carpet green;
When frosts and ice the streamlets bound,
And snow rifts bold in winter’s seen.
Where rushing river, mighty lake,
Pour forth their treasured waters free,
At times their hounds in fury break,
And swell their courses to the sea.
Where -massive rocks in might are piled,
And winding caverns earth pervade ;
Where pleasant glades in beauty smiled,
And forest trees in green arrayed. .
I’ve wandered forth, the strand to trace,
That spreads them round, below, above,
And decks them all in beauty, grace,
His children’s hearts to swell with love.
Then tune the warm, the gushing heart,
In notes, that like the JSolian lyre,
Breathe soft and swelling, without art,
The simple child of song t’ inspire.
His name to praise ! His works to love !
Who made them all our race to bless,
While toiling on to worlds above,
Through this our bright’ning wilderness.
Charleston, Dec. 10, 1850. P.
■ w m
Lesson for Sunday, December 22.
PREACHING J P:SUS.
“Preaching the Lord Jesus,”—Acts. xi. 20.
How true is it, that the blood of the
martyrs is the seed of the church ! The
history of the cause of our Redeemer
presents many instances in proof of
this. We have one in the context. A
persecution arose on account of Ste
phen, the first who suffered martyrdom
after Christ’s death. Those who were
scattered abroad at that time went
forth with their lives in their hand, —
“preaching the Lord Jesus.” Observe
IHE SUBJECT THEY PREACHED. But
what is included in it? It is to pro
claim Christ.
In the glory of his Person. Who
does not feel his own utter unworthi
ness, in the contemplation of such a
subject as this ? The sacred writers
have employed various images in or
der to set forth the glories of the only
Begotten of the Father. They have
brought the loveliest objects in nature
to their aid, but
“All are too mean to speak his worth,
Too mean to set the Saviour forth.”
The perfection of his uork. He came
to take away sin, and bring salvation.
He came that the storm of Divine
wrath, which was long gathering, and
threatened to burst on our guilty heads,
might be hushed, and pass away from
us; that our sky might be bright and
serene; that, instead of the thunder
bolts of his anger, we might have the
still small voice of his love, and in
stead of the flashing of his vengence,
we might have the light of his counte
nance.
The loveliness of his example. Thus,
as his death is our substitution, his life
is our pattern. In him we have the
only perfect standard of moral excel
lence for our imitation. “The conduct
of Christ,’ says Harris, “is a copy, a
living map of the immense expanse of
the Divine perfections, reduced from
its infinite dimensions, and subdued to
a scale studiously adapted to the feeble
vision of man.”
The triumphs of his c ross. The very
circumstance which his enemies thought
would extinguish his fame, and exter
minate his cause, established them more
securely. Already its conquests are
great and glorious, multitudes have
been attracted to the sacred spot, and
found countless blessings ; ere long all
nations shall flow to it, recline under
ts shadow, and eat of its fruits. Am
I one of its trophies ?
£J)f Start] Cellar.
Forthe Southern Literary Gazette.
MUSICAL NEIGHBOURS.
PART 11.
“Ah!” said Lucy Lane, enthusiasti
cally, “this is indeed charming,” and
she gazed around at Mrs. Lee’s new
domicile, with a pleasant smile, for she
could be very pleasant sometimes, not
withstanding it has been insinuated to
the contrary. “How fortunate you
are,” she continued, “inhaving located
yourself in this house, and your garden,
too, how ‘redolent of sweets’ it is;
you may consider yourself peculiarly
happy, dear Mrs. Lee, in having made
this selection, thereby escaping the tall
mansion in street.”
“Ah! Lucy,” -ighed Mrs. Lee, with
a troubled countenance, as she sat
rocking herself disconsolately, “ you
know by sad experience that
“ Some flowers ot Eden we still may inherit,
But the trail ofthe serpent is over them all.”
“Indeed,” asked Lucy Lane, enquir
ingly, “ I hope that you are not the vic
tim of any particular nuisance. Does
‘music, heavenly maid,’ wander too
about these parts? What disturbs
your waking dreams and nightly slum
bers, Mrs. Lee?”
Mrs. Lee closed her eyes, and look
ing the picture of injured innocence,
articulated slowly and with apparent
difficulty:
“ Hand Organs.”
Then ensued a pause; Mrs. Lee was
too unhappy to speak, and Lucy Lane
had not one word of consolation to
offer; she could but sympathize, and
that in silence. At last Mrs. Lee spoke.
“Your ‘grievous tribulations,’ Lucy,
were 1 melodious trifles, light as air,’
compared to mine. I love music, as I
told you before, but oh, call not that
melody which is ground out from a
hand organ. Quiet moments I have
none, for scarcely does one organ cease
when under my window there tunes up
another; I dare not even open my
piano to amuse myself, for its notes
give indication that there is life within
the house, and very soon I am accom
panied from without by the saddening
strains of a hand organ, and the shouts
of the rabble who follow it.”
Scarcely had Mrs. Lee finished
speaking when Mr. A called, and
so interested was Mrs. Lee in her con
versation that she again repeated it.
Now, Mr. A was a highly benevo
lent gentleman, and very fond of music,
consequently he was not “ fit for trea
son, stratagems and spoils,” and he
could not enter into the feelings of Mrs.
Lee when she requested him to shut
the window as a hand organ had just
commenced its melody without. His
benevolent heart could not understand
or approve the stratagem, whereby
Mrs. Lee wished to convey the impres
sion to the grinder that there was no
one at home.
“ Madam,” he said, reprovingly, to
Airs. Lee, “I am sorry to see that you
are inimical to that very estimableand
highly melodious set of individuals
termed organ grinders. You appear
to desire to ‘depreciate the industrious
and worthy labours necessary to pro
fessional success,’ and why should you
too ‘dampen the ardor’ and ‘depress
the efforts ’ of that unfortunate class of
quadrupeds who, playing off their an
tics, accompany these musical instru
ments ?”
Mrs. Lee remained silent, though
she felt in her inmost heart the convic
tion that she had not designed to do so
much mischief to ‘seekers in the paths
of science’; and she cast an imploring
look at Lucy Lane.
“I have nothing to say on the sub
ject,” said this lady; “1 once dared to
send imagination out on the wing, and
give as my own experience a few musi
cal miseries, when lo! to my astonish
ment, 1 found that my imaginary cap
lit on some real cranium, fitting as if it
had been made for it: fancy my mirth
when the musical sounds I had myself
been instrumental in getting up, sunk
deep into some music-loving heart;
and when disposed to be a little mirth
ful, I was accused of pouring out vine
gar from the vials of old maidenism
upon the devoted heads of others.”
“Confess, Lucy,” said Mrs. Lee,
“ that from your own house emanates
more music than from any other in the
street.”
“Certainly,” said Lucy; “and re
form, like charity, should begin at
home, but not end there. Now, as
my house was ‘the head and front of
the offending,’ I have succeeded in a
partial reformation there, and my Mu
sical Neighbours assure me that they
are using the most strenuous efforts to
correct their faults; so that after this
we will all be very ‘merry when we
hear sweet music.’ ”
Mr. A stood by in silence du
ring this conversation, so rapt in thought
he had forgotten all about his philan
thropic efforts in behalf of the organ
grinder. But he felt some twinges of
conscience, for he remembered that he
had raised his voice in wrath against
Miss Lucy Lane. And he said at last:
“So ‘Musical Neighbours’ wasnot a
‘true and true’ tale, Miss Lucy? and
all those people you talked about were
‘ unreal mockeries?’ Have I, like Don
Quixotte, then, been only fighting ima
ginary windmills ?”
“ Indeed, Sir,” said Miss Lucy Lane,
“ I fear you have, and you wasted your
manly energies in cudgeling ‘an airy
nothing,’ to which I gave ‘a local habi
tation and a name.’ ” E. B. C.
Charleston.
(Ditr Trttrrs.
THE FLIT CORRESPONDENCE.
SECOND SERIES-NO. 2.
New York, Dec. 1 to 14.
Sunday Night, Dec. 1. —The winter
quarter comes in with a blandness
which reminds me of the verse in the
psalm, “December’s as pleasant as
May.” Indeed that bepraised and be
sung season, in this latitude,can boast of
but very little such weather as we have
lately been blessed with, and are still
enjoying. With us, May is one of the
most unpleasant periods of the year,
wet and chill, and to be borne only by
the aid of a trusting faith in the suns of
approaching summer. The poetical
weather-cock of the Tribune thinks the
present amiable temperature and the
smiling skies nothing but a radiation
from the late presence of the Lind, now
gone, alas! to cast her spells o’er other
scenes. By the way, looking into town
last sum mer,d ii ring Mademoiselle’s first
visit, 1 found that fashion had voted it
intensely heterodox to make the least
allusion to that lady, or to have the
very remotest idea of her presence. It
would scarcely have been more shock
ing to have taken an interest in the
weather—thought it warm—was sure it
was dusty, or sighed for a shower;
hence my coupling the two themes in
this paragraph. This affectation of in
difference to the Nightingale, is of a
piece with the whole bearing of our
soi-disant fashionables toward her from
the first to the last day of her sojourn.
As. you well know, the tlite looked
upon her coldly during your visit last
season, and very many carried their
prejudice so far as to deny themselves
to the last, the pleasure of hearing her
gentle voice. Perhaps they will be
more gracious, should she appear in the
Spring, as it is hoped, before the foot
lights of Astor Place.
The evening service at “Tripler
Hall,” “Bishop Bochsa” officiating, aid
ed by his grand orchestra, the saintly
“Anna,” and others, is gaining upon the
favour of the public. Looking in brief
ly to-night at this magnificent church
of St. Cecelia, I found a crowded audi
ence, evidently impressed with the con
viction that they were passing their
Sabbath evening in its true spirit—
mingling elegant and happy recreation
with high intellectual enjoyment! The
six days’ ponderings over mutton and
broth is not unpleasantly relieved on the
seventh, by the glorious strains of Han
del and Ilayden; and if the entre of
our temples of art and literature were
added to the privilege, society, I fanev,
would find itself the gainer.
Last night the St. Andrews Society
held its annual festival at the Irving.
Always excepting the “mountain dew ”
and other humanities, the best thing of
the hour was the felicitous speech of
Sir Henry Bulwer, in which he paid
numerous happy compliments, both to
old Scotia and America. If, said he,
Waverly and Guy Mannering have im
mortalized the name of Scott on one
side of the Atlantic, the battles of
Cerro Gordo and Cherubusco have
equally emblazoned it on the other,
lie made, also, pleasant allusion to the
rapid progress of ocean steam naviga
tion, speaking of the struggles of the
two continents against the great sea—
Cunard and Collins versus the Atlantic.
The St. Andrew’s Society of this city
is of ancient date, and numbers now
more than two hundred members.
Monday , Dec. 2. —The publishers.
Appleton, are removing to-day from
their temporary den to the beautiful
edifice just completed on the site of
their old store. The new establish
ment is built of brown stone, and, with
the ground, cost eighty thousand dol
lars.
1 met Mr. J. T. Headley to-day. He
is passing a short time in the city. Ex
pects soon to ‘warm’ his now nearly
completed villa in the highlands of the
Hudson.
Visiting the studio of a fastidious
artist, I found him in great perplexity
as to the precise point in his picture
where he should inscribe his name.
Said he had tried all sorts of geogra
phy for a week, but to no purpose; had
written “Brown, pinxit,” on the wave,
and swallowed it up; on the sandy
beach—washed it out; and put it on
the drift-wood without result. I left
him with the advice to cut it deep in
the massive rock.
If the adornment of your sanctum
with classic gems of the burin is among
your weaknesses, I would commend to
you an exquisite new lithograph—such
a lithograph as the French only can
produce—of Mucke’s sweet picture of
Saint Catharine borne to Heaven; and
a rich line engraving from Delaroche’s
“Youth of Pic de la Mirandole.” Miran
dole, a learned French theologian of
the sixteenth century, was an astonish
ingly wise child , and the picture repre
sents him as an infant sitting on his
mother’s lap, one little leg profoundly
resting upon the other; his thumb
thrust cogitatingly into his mouth, and
his whole pose, action and expression,
offering the most winning picture of the
union of aged gravity and thought, and
childlike ignorance and innocence,which
you can possibly imagine. These ad
mirable works have been just published
by Messrs. Goupil & Cos., of Paris, and
imported by the branch of their famous
house in this city.
The late intelligence from England
of the election of Mr. Eastlake to the
Presidency of the Royal Academy of
Arts, has been received here with gen
eral.satisfaction. When the chair was
made vacant by the death of Sir Mar
tin Arthur Shee, Mr. Eastlake was
at once and every where spoken of
as the only gentleman whose united
artistic talents, scholarly abilities and
general accomplishments, fully deserv
ed the honour of the succession.
Tuesday , Dec. 3.—The staple of talk
to-day is of course the President’s An
nual Message, which was scattered over
the city in ‘extras’ yesterday after
noon. It meets the general approval
of our community and press. The
Courier d’ Enquirer carps only at the
passage touching the veto power, which
it regards as a ‘ threat,’ uttered in bad
taste. The Post turns up its nose at
the suggestions in relation to the tariff,
and at the unqualified endorsement of
the peace measures of the late Con
gress. The Tribune is grievously dis
appointed in not finding in the docu
ment a solitary word of ‘Eree Soil’;
the Sun mourns over the official indif
ference to the fair “ Queen of the An
tilles”; the Journal of Commerce quar
rels about the specifics, ad valorems
and protectives; the Express swallows
it down whole, as though it were an
oyster; and the Herald esteems it a re
markable budget, and promises, as
usual, to let us know in what respect,
by and by.
Much as a disciple of the “ dolee far
niente ” school, like myself, might have
cotton’d, this rainy evening, to a snug
sanctum and a glowing hearth, the nu
merous extra magnets without have
been irresistible. In the first place,
the monthly rations of “paper” and
coffee, at the Historical Society, have
had to be digested. Then, Truffi in
Sonnambula, on the special occasion of
the benefit of the Hebrew Benevolent
Society, has imperatively claimed an
hour at Astor Place ; and last and chief
est, comes the complimentary exposi
tion, to artists and literary men, of
Lessing’s noble picture of the Martyr
dom of Huss. I must not trust my
self, to-night, with more than a chroni
cle of the advent among us of this last
and greatest work of one of art-loving
Germany’s chief painters. It repre
sents the instant in the fate of the fa
mous Reformer, when he kneels to
Heaven for the last time, and the stoical
executioners in the back-ground, await
his arrival at the stake. On a lower
plane of the picture, on the right of the
victim, whose serene and holy counte
nance continually draws the eye to the
centre, is a group of State officials, and
a scoffing mob; admirably balanced on
the other hand, by an assemblage of
more sympathizing spectators. The
work, in its whole conception and exe
cution, is a wonderful mingling of the
purest simplicity and the truest poetry.
“If,” said a mischievous friend to me, I
to-day, as we were looking at anew
print of the great German Pianbt, seat
ed at his instrument, “if that odd file
drumming away in the middle is Listz,
the surrounding groups, I presume, are
listeners .”
Friday , Dec. 6. —My necessarily fre
quent allusion to the Arts, this week,
in noting the most interesting items of
city occurrence, speaks pleasurably of
the growth of public taste in this great
capital. Ihe Journals, to-day, give us
hopeful accounts of the proceedings at
the first of a newly instituted series of
conversaziones of the whole Art pro
fession in New York. On Wednesday
evening, nearly all our painters, togeth
er with amateurs and connoisseurs, as
sembled at the rooms of the National
Academy, and after the passage of an
hour in social converse, Messrs. May
and Richards having been appointed
respectively as Chairman and Secretary,
the primary movements were made in
measures which must greatly affect the
position of Art and Artists and the
condition of public taste in this country.
“Thecompany,” says a morning paper,
“ was very numerous and unanimous.
Mr. Duggan spoke with force and
spirit, suggesting memorials to Con
gress and to the State Legislature for
the adornment of the public buildings
with works of American art, and a
committe (Messrs. Durand, Edmonds,
Hicks, Gray, Craneh and Brent,) was
named to prepare and report such docu
ments at the next re-union. It was
further determined to establish a course
of popular Lectures upon important
Art subjects.” These profitable gath
erings had their origin in a suggestion
made by Wm. C. Bryant, Esq., at a
general meeting of the Academicians,
Associates and Hon. Members of the
National Academy of Design.
The Exhibition of the “Great Fair,”
it is whispered, is about to be antici
pated by Barnum at his Museum. Ilis
contemplated display is just “sweet
seventeen,” and tilts the scale to the
tune of four hundred. Trot her out,
Captain B.
lii the way of weather just now,
Jupiter Pluvius reigns supreme. “All
heart and hope is fairly washed away,”
says our chief ‘clerk.’ Yesterday, as
to-day, was a very ‘bridge of sighs.’
Eminent philosophers declare all moral
responsibility suspended, and that to
those who are graciously pleased to en
dure life, it will be accounted unto
righteousness!
Monday , Dec. 9.—The Courier des
Etats Unis accuses Mile. Lind of dis
courtesy at the fete given in her hr,,’
at one of our suburban villas- of
per contra, the Home Journal an d,(
her to have been the very pink of
ability, as far as the knowledge off
language goes! So the English tonlf
is the scape-goat for all sins of
sion and commission on the part oft
of the gentle Jenny’s. The last-ms
tioned journal considers Truffi. (J.
her marriage with the handsome telu
Benedetti,) to be altogether too haj
to give full play to her tragic p oWe f
Founts of sorrow, it thinks, must f
opened in her heart, as a tide U j„„,
which her genius may reach its flood*
In default of this desideratum. j\[,
Willis suggests loose dresses and ■
glass of champagne as a preparation
for the foot-lights! In the same spim
a profound metaphysician once ,V
pressed to me his conviction that \
would never reach the height of ■
great argument, unless its professor’
were unceasingly goaded by the r ,..
morseless spur of want and misery’
A chaiming doctrine for ye— poor silt
worms of the intellectual and ideal
world ! Give me rather, the healthful
genius nurtured upon content and hm,
piness.
On Thursday and Saturday nights,
Bettini, a distinguished tenor, en routt
for the Havana, disappointed the audi
ence of Astor Place, on the plea of
indisposition. He is to make another
trial, after consulting Madame Jervis.
Maretzek has made quite a faux pat
not in introducing the ballet at his
palace, but in mixing it up with the
opera, placing it between acts, so as to
make it impossible to drink in the
strains of Donizetti, Verdi and Mozart,
without swallowing, in the draught, a
half-dressed danseuse, with her toes a
sentiment above her head. If the bal
let simply followed the opera, those
who relish the music, yet find the dance
distasteful, might retire; but it would
better advance the growing disposition
to except the opera from the ban under
which the Drama rests among certain
classes, to keep it entirely distinct from
all such questionable association. Max
still builds his hopes upon Parodi and
the two dollar tickets; bet although the
prima donna is not objected to, yet the
price keeps the sofas empty. Miss
Kimberly, who was very tolerably re
ceived some time ago as a reader of
the poets, made a dfbutwt, the “Broad
way ’ last week, and has since been
the card of that establishment. She
has much yet to do, but the critics
speak encouragingly of her. To-mor
row evening a grand complimentary
benefit is to be given in Tripler Hull,
to Mr. Rice, the original “Jim Crow.”
The programme offers a savoury admix
ture of Opera—ltalian and Ethiopean,
with sundry songs from the Crow him
self, by way of dessert. Niblo’s has
just re-opened with the favourite old
pantomime of “Mazulme, or the Night
Owl.” The dedication of Broughams
new’ Lyceum is anxiously awaited by
the funny ones.
The Tribune has made its first visit,
for years, to the Theatre; and has come
to the profound conclusion that it—not
the “ Broadway ” particularly—is a by
gone, essentially a thing of thepast.no
longer contributing to Human Pro
gress: in which office, the newspaper,
( Tribune especially, of course,) the Ly
ceum, and Public Meeting, have super
seded it. Plato reasoneth well; for it
must be granted that the stage does
not much affect the fancy philosophies
of the Tribune. The buskin remains
untarnished by the dust of Free Soil:
no mesmeric prescience has yet reveal
ed to its sight the social millenium
towards which we are speeding; the
foot lights continue to shine upon Kath
arine and Petruchio in their old rela
tive positions; it still tells the simple
and practical story of Life’s history, it
smiles and tears, instead of shadowing
forth its idle visions and utopian dreain
ings. Drop the curtain !
In the record of a casualty this
morning, we are told that, “throwing
himself from the fifth story, he struck,
in his descent, an open blind of a third
floor room, occupied by Mrs. Clara P-
Green and her husband .” Is this to be
taken as a shadow of coining events,
or is the reporter an Hon. Mem. of the
illustrious “Woman’s Rights Associ
ation ?”
Sa/urday, Dec. 14.'—Since my la-4
record, Gotham has jogged along very
quietly, running against no extraordi
nary incident; scarcely even stumming
upon a pebble of adventure. &og and
Magog looked exceedingly amiable on
Thanksgiving day, and the glad sun
shine and gentle breeze fully shared
their merriment. Thursday was a joy
ous holiday in old Manhattan, and the
streets w ere as crowded with pleasure
hunting pedestrians as were the tables
with all the varieties of “ temporal
blessing.” During the day very mac)
gaily-dressed Military Companies pass
ed to and fro, and among them aver)
martial-looking squad of negroes. The)
are called the “I Sew York Dark Guard.’
and make an excellent pendant to ‘>
•‘ Curb-Stone Light Infantry.
flit.
- --r - A
25if“In the difficulty with France,the
French Ambassador at Washington,
hoping to frighten General Jaoksotb
asked of him, when he demanded R
passports —“ What shall I tell the
of the French, Monsieur President,-
“Tell your master, the King, that -
drew Jackson says he must pa) 1
fight!” There was no misunderstan -
ing such displomacv, and the nmia.
was soon after forthcoming.