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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.