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1852.] In the thickets sing no thrushes ; Arbour near me there is none ; Through the maple branches leafless, PallTd shines the Autumn sun ; And no maiden says, “I love thee,” While her eyes upon me shine ; In no tender smile I bask me, And no hand is clasped in mine. Banks of the Merrimac, Oct. 22, 1852. (Bititor's Dejnutmnit. CHARLESTON, S. C SATURDAY MORNING, JAN. 10, 1852. EDITORIAL TOPICS. The themes of the newspaper editor are almost invariably themes of necessity, rather than of choice. This is especially true at the present day, when events of public interest succeed each other with such rapidity, that one is displaced by a suc cessor before it has enjoyed its legitimate nine days’ reign. At this moment, to illustrate, what daily, or weekly, political or news journal, of any pretensions to metropolitan character, makes its appearance without a leader on Kossuth ? lie is the spirit of the American press—he the great embodied idea of our journalists. In the broad, bright glare of his presence and fame, all things else are swallowed up, as the stars are absorbed in the flood of noon-tide radiance. Without amplifying the suggestion, the fact remains—self evident and irrefutable—that there is but one theme in journaldom just now, and that theme is Kos suth ! This fact impressed itself almost painfully upon our mind a few moments since, as we sat down to our Sysiphean- toil in the editorial chair. We say painfully, because it revealed to us the almost utter hopelessness of our quest in the wide domain oJ I hougnt, for some other topic with which we might reasonably expect to interest our readers. It any one ot them should be disposed to ask U3, why we would fain resist the force of circum stance which perpetually obtrudes the great Hun gatian upon our vision and our thoughts, we can only leply, that we think the tide of crude and ill-digested utterance on that theme, already full, and last enough without any impetus, however humble it may be, which our pen could impart to h. \Y e have briefly said what we have to say, at pie>entat least, about Kossuth and his mission— the one an enthusiast, and the other a chimera ; an d yet both of them appealing, by many con gelations, to our best and most generous im pulses. Hence it is, that we felt embarrassed a httie while since, when we darted the eye of en quhy the catalogue of “editorial topics,” and saw every theme, whether intellectual, artis t*o, moral, religious, or social, fantastically dis- like the figures of a magic lantern into tlm one only word— Kossuth ! To no purpose did we shut our eyes to think. The darkness itself became luminous, and throughout’ clasped fingers saw, in wavy undulations of light, the same haunting word Kossuth ! The vision would not away t In vain did we imagine ourself to be forty dines Macbeth, and with the accumulated energy SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE. of such a multiplication bid it “avaunt.” It was I there st hl—and when in hopelessness we unclosed out eyes, the chandelier mocked us, by casting i u P on tho snowy sheet of paper which lay beneath it a flood of tremulous tight, whose multitudinous : flickerings assumed the shape of that one word— Kossuth. from that moment to this, we have guided our pen with a vain endeavour to avoid the charybdis ot the day. Unconsciously,however, we have been i diawn within its influence, and while earnest and firm in our purpose to show our microcosm, that I are other topics than Kossuth for editorial | leaders, we are compelled to acknowledge that we have not been so fortunate as to find one. | CON SISTENCY IN DRESS. V\ e are not a “Lady’s Book,” nor do we pre | tend to be oracular, but there are certain things : which one notices, and which we may be par doned for alluding to. At any watering place where there is a fair representation of the princi pal cities in the Union, nearly all the ladies cun be distinguished by the style of their toilettes. The Boston lady, rich and sombie as to material, stiff and ungraceful in making up,—New-York, with less costly, less unique fabrics, but in the j latest style, light, gay, and decidedly French, — Philadelphia, neat to plainness, and the best fit ting, best harmonized dresses of all, while Balti more shows a warmer tone and greater pro fussion of trimming. Still further South, come the rich deep colouring, costly ornaments, and expensive laces. But elegant materials, and even elegant gar ments, can be spoiled in their effect by a want of | harmony, with time or place, or other artieles 1 worn at the same time. For instance, a white ! satin evening dress, and a badly fitting morocco slipper—a fine Valenciennes chemisette—and un ; dersleeves, a coarse pattern of embroidery ; or a - brocade silk in the morning, with short sleeves. We do not advocate bending to every fashion, or the changes of the mode, but there are a few broad rules laid down, which our fair readers would do well to remember. It is often remarked that most ladies look best in mourning, and it is not gen erally known that the reason lies in the absence of all glaring contrasts of colour, and the general neatness of forms observed in so plain a dress. We know that a lack of harmony in colouring is not confined to ladies alone, for during the holi day week just passed, it was our fortune to meet a youth rejoicing in a sky-blue brocaded vest, and bright green gloves,—but that is the most positive and obvious error into which they fall. A sombre dress should have a blight ribbon, or delicately tinted gloves to relieve it, —a green cloak finds it appropriate contrast in a white bonnet, but mixing colours, as a pink bonnet, yellow gloves, Maza rine blue cloak, and purple and cherry coloured neck ribbons, would make a showy, rather than elegant toilette. We have alluded to mixing costly with inferior articles of dress, —vve have often seen velvet cloaks and Aheap bonnets, or a thick mousseline de lainc. Unless all can be costly, all should be plain ; and, after all, more depends upon the making up than upon the material itself. Ruffled bombazines, or flounced brocades, would be an overloading to any figure, and large plaids takes away even from a moderate height. Above all, morning and street dresses should be particularly neat and simple, as it is in them our country women are apt to be too prodigal of or nament. S Steb of do^ip. Ballooning. A recent number of Household Words con tains one of the most interesting miscellanies, upon the above topic, which we havo met with in our late readings. It is full of graphic description, startling incident, and playful philosophy. We were particularly struck with the following ac count of the adventurer’s sensations upon first mounting into the air. It is quoted from Mr. Poole’s capital brochure, entitled “Crochets in the Air.” Mr. Poole went up with the intrepid aero naut Mr. Green, who lias made nearly five hun dred ascensions, and carried up nearly fifteen hun dred “passengers,” without a single fatal accident, though not without some “hair-breadth escapes.” Mr. Poole says: “‘I do not despise you,’ for talking about a balloon going up, for it is an error which you share in common with some millions of our fellow creatures; and I, in the days of my ignorance, thauglit with the rest ol you. I know betiernow. The laet is, we do not go up at all; but at about five minutes past six on the evening of Friday, the 14th of September, 1838—at about that time, Vauxhall Gardens, with all the people in them, went down ! I cannot have been deceived, 1 speak from the evidence of my senses, founded upon re petition of the fact. Upon each of the three or four experimental trials of the powers of the bal loon, to enable the people to glide away from us with safety to themselves—down they all went about thirty leet!—then, up they came again, and so on. There we sat quietly all the while, in our wicker basket, utterly unconscious of motion ; till, at length, Mr. Green snapping a little iron, and thus letting loose the rope by which the earth was suspended to us —like Atropos, cutting the connexion between us with a pair of shears— down it went, with every thing on it ; and your poor, paltry, little Dutch toy of a town, (your Great Metropolis, as you insolently call it,) hav ing been placed on caste rs for the occasion—l am satisfied of that —was gently rolled away from under us.” The Spirit of Punch. The coup d'etat of Louis Napoleon is likely to prove a great card to Punch, who has already be gun to play it with his wontcu spirit, llis chief picture for the 13th ult., represents Louis Napo leon “cutting up his goose for the golden eggs.” It is a most “clever” hit. He has also “a bill of the French Flay,” with Louis Napoleon as sole man ager—and the piece, “The French Republic, or Freedom in Fetters.” Besides the principal char acters, the performance will be supported “by the entire strength of the French Army,” and “to en sure just criticism, the free list— not excepting the Press —entirely suspended !” It announces also as “in preparation,” a revival ol the serio-comico-molo-dramatic spectacle of The Empire.” He gives us, moreover, the follow ing emphatic and elaborate “ Leader” on the French Revolution. “Louis Napoleon is a school-master, who find ing that young France has got his sum all wrong, 19