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274 oifi* 6oy)lei~opoh)hes. The Literary World, lor Dec., 1852. [New- York : D. E. &L. A. Duyckink.] In this num | her there is the usual degree of variety and ability which distinguishes the paper. We recommend ’ the criticism upon Uncle Tom’s Cabin, as clever and impartial. Littell's Living Age, for Dec., 1852. [Bos ton : E. Littell &, Co.] The selections in this number are good, and from a sufficient variety of sources. Tite Western Literary Messenger, for Dec. } 1852. [Buffalo, N. Y.: Jewitt, Thomas & Co.] This number contains articles full of interest and information. £Siioriqi Srebiiies. We write this sentence with a new gold pen from the manufactory of Spencer & lieudell, of New-Yotk, and we hazard the asseition that a better one has never been made in the United States. * * The various editions of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, in the United States, have already reached the astounding number of two hundred thousand copies; and in Great Britain the still more astounding number of four hundred thousand. * * There is always something feminine (not effe minate) in the constitution of a poet. It is “man hood iused with female grace.” * * “Why is it, (asks Hawthorne,) that poets are so apt to choose their mates, not for any similarity of poet ic endowment, but for qualities which might make the happiness of the rudest handi-craftsman, as well as that of the ideal craftsman of the spirit ? Because, probably, at his highest elevation, the poet needs no human intercourse; but he finds it dreary to descend, and be a stranger.” * * Johnson says that “the true genius is a mind of large general powers, accidentally determined to some particular direction. Sir Joshna Reynolds, the great painter, had the first fondness for his art excited by the perusal of Richardson’s treatise.” * * Booth, the tragedian, died a short time ago, on the steamer J. S. Chenoweth, on her passage from New-Orleans to New-York. The body ! was put in a metallic coffin, and will be forwarded !to his friends. # * “I’ll take your part,” as the dog said when he robbed the cat of her dinner. * * Why was the first day of Adam’s life the longest ever known? Because it had no Eve. * * Thackeray’s definition of a snob is: “A man who meanly admires mean things.” * * Two examples from Cobbett’s Grammar: “The House of Lords; a den of thieves.” * * The balsam firs, which cover the Black Mountain in North- Carolina, are said to grow nowhere else in Amer ica, south of the latitude of Canada. * * An advertisement in the New-York Sun : “81 G 2 reward. Strayed away from the premises ot J. H. TANARUS., a young man, named A. H. S., supposed to be on a bust. The above reward will be paid for any information.” * * With a number of persons, a brilliant writer is always a shallow one ; perhaps because they cannot discriminate between j brilliancy and floweriness. They’ see the glitter SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE. of the star but do not understand how that glitter comes, in all probability, from a world larger and lovelier than their own. * * Professor Sparks, of Harvard College, has sent in his resignation as President, to take effect at the close of the present term. * * Upwards of X7OO have been raised in Van Dieman’s Land toward the expense of one of the private expeditions in search of Sir John Franklin, now fitting out in England. * * A five dollar gold piece loses one nine-hundreth of its value by circulating twelve months. * * Three million and a half of the inhabitants of Great Biitain depend for subsistence upon the va rious manufactures of colion. * * Trinity church was founded in 1696. Its present income lis 860,00 U a year. * * In China, a man is permitted to be divorced from his wife for seven causes, one of which is loquacity ! * * “Un cle Tom’s Cabin” has been translated into Ger man. * * All the tickets for Thackeray’s lectures were disposed of two days before the first was delivered. * * Why is a nursery a place for dauciug ? Becauce it is a batcl-ioom. For the Southern Literary Gazette. LINES. There wa3 a fire within my brain! I did not mean to give thee pain. I looked, I spoke—l know not what— -1 loved, and felt—that thou dtd’st not ; And I was mad—perhaps was weak, The consciousness is on my cheek lu blushes hot as molten lead, And tears I blush as hot to shed. God! that 1 could not hide my shame ! But needs must bare my heart of flame To hearts so cold and minds so tame. Aye think me weak, and smile with those Who saw and jested with my woes. Such still has been, such still must be The doom, the meed of Misery, When Misery permits the crowd To guess the woe it strives to shroud. Aye think me weak, and yet —and yet— What eyes have seen these eyelids wet, Though I have wept as guilt might weep, When Hell reveals itself in sleep. That night indeed—it was not long— I had no sense of right or wrong; That night indeed—thank God ’tis past! How could the reckless madness last And I be breathing here ! Henceforth I shut within my breast— A ghastly and eternal guest— Its deep and dark despair. And thou and God alone should know The inextinguishable woe, Intense, unmitigated pain Which weighs on sense, and soul, and brain. Oh, I will carry on my brow r , A smile like that thou wearest now, As careless and ; s gay As if this heart were brimmed with mirth— And had no cares upon the Earth Which Earth could not allay. Yet if the smile I’ll strive to wear, Should sometimes wither to a sneer, If what I look and what I say, Have aught that’s bitter in its play, Forgive it and forget— And think I speak not as I feel— I would not pain, but must conceal And cannot kill regret. Aglacs. A DEATH-SCENE. BY ELLIS BELL. “O Day ! he cannot die When thou so fair art shining ! O Sun, n such a glorious sky, So tranquilly declining: He cannot leave thee now, While fresh winds ate blowing, And all around his youthful brow Thy cheerful light is glowing ! Edward, awake, awake— The gol len evening gleams Warm and blight on Arden’s lake— Arouse thee from ihy dreams ! I Beside ihee, on my knee, My dearest friend ! I pray That thou, to cross the eternal sea, Would’sl yet one hour delay : I hear its billows roar— I see them foaming high ; But no glimpse of a further shore Has blest my straining eye. Believe not what they urge Os Eden Isles beyond ; Turn back, fiom that tempestuous surge, To thy own native land. It is not death, but pain That struggles in thy trreast— Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again ; I cannot let thee rest!” One long look, that sore reproved me For the woe I could not bear— One mute look of suffering moved me To repent my useless prayer: And, with sudden check, the heaving Os distraction passed away ; Not a sigu of lurther grieving Stirred my soul that awtnt day. Paled, at length, the sw-eet sun setting ; Sunk to peace the twilight breeze ; Summer dews fell softly, wetting Glen, and glade, and silent trees. Then his eyes began to weary, Weighed beneath a mortal sleep ; And their orbs grew strangely dreary, Clouded, even as they would weop. But they wept not, but they changed not, Never moved, and never closed ; Troubled still, and still they ranged not— Wandered not, nor yet reposed ! So I knew that he was dying— Stooped, and raised his languid head ; Felt no breath, and heard no sighing, So I knew’ that he was dead. A pert young lady was walking one morning on theSteyne, at Brighton, when ; she encountered the celebrated V^ilkes: I “You see,” observed the lady, “I have come out for a little sun and atr.” “You had better, madam, get a little husband first.” [December 11,