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294 At last the General “smelt a rat.” Ilis own chickens were missing, and the egg basket hung on the peg quite empty, to the utter astonishment of his good wife, who had never known a similar occur rence before. “Col. E.” said the General, as they met one day in the street, “have I killed all your liens yet!” “Killed all my hens, General,” slowly repeated Col. E. “Why, I have not owned a living hen these three years !” The General sloped. lie had shot and given to Colonel. E. nine of his best layers. For the Soatliern Literary Gazette. TAKE BACK THE RING. Take back the ring, but I demand, Before the pretty toy shall shine Aga n upon thy snowy hand, A stolen heart of mine. Take back the ring, but I require That glorious liberty of thought. The soul of unexhausted fire, With which the ring was bought. Take back the bauble—is it worth All that to thee was g'adly given ? The gem is but a star of Earth, And Love a star of Heaven. Correspondence of tile Southern Literary Gazette. MUSICAL CORRESPONDENCE. New-York, Dec. IG, 1852. Maeder’s new fairy opera ‘•'The Peri,” or the “ Enchanted Fountain ,” was first brought out on Monday evening last, and made a decidedly favourable impres sion. The character of the music is light and pleasing, but not remarkable for its orig inality. The piece is full of melodies land lias some of the most beautiful little ballads I have ever listened to. The two second soprano songs, “ Home of my Youth ’ and “ Come to the Forest ,” the opening tenor song, “ Thoughts that have for years been cherished , and the baritone song, “ Dark Eyes'f will, probably, be as popular English ballads as have ever been published. There is a want of va riety and strong points of contrast which takes off from the most effective points, and too many sweets are crowded to gether. Tor simple parlor ballads, 1 have never met with a more choice collection. The librette of the opera is a poor affair, weak in its design, and forced in its exe cution. The scenic effects are the most elegant I have ever seen—no expense ap pears to have been spared in preparing it for the stage, and the spectacle alone will make it have a good run. The perform- SOUTIIERN LITERARY GAZETTE. ers have very much improved since its first representation. Miss Eichings, the prima donna, has several fine songs, and acquits herself creditably for a debutante, though unfortunately the plot of the piece instead of giving her the sympathies of the audience, makes her merely an instru ment to bring about the happiness of the tenor and his affianced, who has not ten words to say, and only appears in the last scene of the last act. Notwithstand ing these dramatic defects the opera is having good and increasing success. Ma dame Sontag is in Baltimore, she goes from there to Washington, and then re turns to New-York to sing in opera, so you will not see her this winter. Alboni is, 1 believe, in Philadelphia—what she will do next 1 do not know, and 1 do not believe she knows herself. 1 very much doubt it either herself or manager, have ever known one week ahead what thev were to do next. Gottschalk, the pianist, will arrive in the Franklin next week ; I hope he will have all the success his European reputa tion (and no doubt his great talent,) de serves. lie is an American by birth, and though a very young man, has achieved a reputation hardly second to Litz and Thai berg. Jullien , the London Musical Lion, will also soon arrive with his entire orchestra. 1 believe lie has engaged Cas tle Garden, but be might as well expect people to take a cold bath off the battery, as to get them to Castle Garden in the winter. Our favourite song writer, Mr. Geo. E. Root, has accepted the call to the musical chair of the Union Theological Seminary. I hope he will make our next generation of Theologians both harmoni ous and melodious. Mr. Root is one of the most amiable, deserving, talented musicians we have in the city, and lie will give dignity and honour to the pro fessorship. The Last Concert Waltz, by Boulanger, is a work of very good merit. It is bril liant and effective, but a little too difficult for general sale. The u Fascination Polka f by Munck, the “ Afton Polka and Schot tischf by Fowler, are regular dancing pieces, they are easy and almost go of themselves. Wallace’s Annual, for 1853, is out, and it is a beautiful and valuable collection. Such a work will be of in terest long after the many trashy gift books have died out of memory. Mr. Lavenu has shown me the manu scripts of several beautiful little soivs, which 1 will tell you about as soon as they are published. Your’s truly, Cujus Summa Est. BOOTH, THE TRAGEDIAN. “Old Booth,” as he is familiarly termed by theatre-goers, is dead. Through good and evil report, through good and evil fortune, and through good and evil habits, he has maintained a Jong and strong hold upon the American stage. His life was commenced in London, in 1796, and has ended on a Western steam boat. No man who ever saw him as Richard 111., will forget him, or his mas terly representation of that character. His perlect bondage to his cups was the cause of all his troubles, but even through the most palpable guise of inebriety, his genius would often shine out showing the real stamp of a remarkable man. In connection with the name of Booth, there occurs to us an incident of his pro fessional life, illustrative of his disgust with the clap-trap of the stage, and his impatience with an audience that could not appreciate good pla) ing. After hav ing been extremely successful iu London, where bis professional life commenced, he made an engagement with a Manches ter manager. Manchester, then, as now, a manafacturing town, was devoted large ly to the manufacture of buttons. Booth appeared before his new audience, deter mined to make a bit. We have forgot ten the name of the play in which he tip peared—enough that he threw himself intuit with his whole soul. But, alas! the house would not “comedown.” His choicest efforts were thrown away, and his heart began to sink within him, and self distrust to steal over him. At last there came in the play a personal set-to, into which Booth went with such a hearty zest that the cheers and shouts thus far repressed, broke out a perfect storm. Booth caught the secret, and forthwith so belaboured his fellow ac tor that he fairly yelled with pain. The applause was unbounded. Then Booth sat down in his chair, and stretching his neck toward his audience, with a face on which was depicted the most utter con tempt and disgust, exclaimed in a way all hisown—“What do you think of that, you confounded button makers Y He was obliged to leave the stage as well as the city, with a mob of the but ton makers on his back. Every scene he has visited abounds in auecdotes, of his extraordinary sayings and doings, both on and off the stage. One night as he was playing Sir Edward Mortimer, in the “Iron Chest,” at Philadelphia, it be came very evident that his potations had been too deep, and to the manager’s hor- \J)ecember 25,