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218 “ According to your account of him, this would be evidence, but for one fact. You know the little circumstances which preceded our foolish flirtation —flirtation on his part; sad, unrequited love on mine. We entered into it forewarned and forearmed. Os course he considered him -Belf_and leant blame him—justifiable in usipg any means, to get the best of the contest. A declaration of love undea such circumstances does not amount to anything, even from such a true hearted man as you describe Mr. Hampton to be.” “If you love Uncle Charley, Mrs. Holmes, on the honor of a gentleman, and one who has never flirted, I tgßfeou he loves you.” “LoveMpß? Alas, for my happiness—you are the sdn of your father, Mr. Hopeton, and therefore discreet ?” “ On my life, madam, I will be so.” “ Well, I love Mr. Hampton, madly, devoted ly I” And the unhappy lady hid her face. “ Then,” said a deep voice, and the speaker seated himself between us and took Mrs. Holmes’ hand, “ if the devotion of life, body, soul, to your service will render me worthy of that love, it shall be done.” It was Undo Charley, who had come during the night, by private conveyance—he would travel in fine style. Without even shaking hands with the gentle man, I left the parlor. So much for the happiness of others; but the next time I saw Mr. and Mrs. Bently, I was sure they looked coldly on me, though they treated me with scrupulous politeness. No smile, no cortiality of manner evinced the pleasure they used to exhibit when they saw mo. What to make of it I knew not. There was nothing in their bearing of which I could request an expla nation, but enough to convince me that some thing unfavorable to my happiness was at work in their minds. The ballroom was crowded again that night, and I was talking earnestly to Mrs. Holmes. Uncle Charley had told me how they had pledg ed mutual love to each other that morning. Turning to leave her, I saw Fitzwarren and Helen Bently talking together—at least he was addressing her, with an eagerness and animation entirely unusual witk him, while she was look ing in the direction toward where I had been standing. At first her face wore an expression rather sad than otherwise, but when our eyes met, she first colored aud then, as I approached her, with the proud and haughty bearing she knew so well how to assume, returning my bow, she immedi ately turned and sought another part of the room. I was thunder-struck and speechless. “There, Jack,” said Fitzwarren. “That is a specimen of feminine caprice.'' “I see,” was my reply. “I thought there was the very best under standing between you two.” “ There was.” “ Thank God ! no woman has ever yet had the opportunity to jilt me.” “Why, Fitz, do you suppose such an infliction is in store for me ?” “ I don’t know what such conduct on the part of a lady to whom one is engaged means. My education on this point has been neglected. I am entirely ignorant; but if I were in your fix th&t flight, if unexplained, would be sufficient cause for some jilting on one side or the other.” I was silent, for I was thinking. “ There is something the matter, Jack,” contin ued Fitzwarren. “ Miss Bently’s manner toward me was very cold, and I was, very calmly, try ing to divine the cause, when you came up.” “ And did you make any discoveries ?” “ No.” “ The parents, also, Fitz, treated me very cold ly to-day.” “Ah? And they did me. Well,” continued Fitzwarren, musingly, “ I can account for that, but why should Miss Bently treat me with re serve'merely,while toward you she showed actual repugnance?” “ How do you account for it ?” said I, eagerly, catching at the first part of the sentence. “Do you see that man ?” asked Fitzwarren, fixing his eyes intently toward a corner of the room. Following the direction of this glance, I saw Lorraine. “Yes.” “He is the arch agitator 1” And Fitzwarren left me, abruptly. Again I was near Helen, and this time she could not get away very easily. “ Miss Helen,” said I, “ will you allow me the honor of dancing the next cotillion with you ?” “ I am engaged,” she said, coldly. “Well, the next, then?” “ I am engaged for that also.” She had avoided looking at me, so far. For a moment I was silent, trying to catch her eye. At length she looked up and I gazed enquiring ly at her. At first her look was cold and haugh ty, but she read in mine, a sad and sorrowful surprise, and her’s faltered, while the tell-tale blood mounted to her forehead. “ May I,” at length I spoke, “ May I hope to have the pleasure of dancing with you any time during the evening?” “ I fear, ” she said in a low tone, “ that the cotillons 'for which I am already engaged will fatigue me so much that I shall bo compelled “True," said I. “Your excuse is sufficient.” “And now, Miss Helen,” I resumed after a pause, “ one more question; shall I ever dance with you again ?” “ I cannot say,” was the almost inaudible re plv. “ Indeed, Mr Hopeton," she continued, again, assuming a proud, offended look, “you put ques tions you have no right to ask.” “No right, Miss Bently ? but I beg your pardon.” I turned away with a feeling of bitterness at my heart to which I had before been a stranger. What a difference in my feelings one short day had produced 1 What can it all mean ? I asked of myself. To request an explanation of Helen, after her conduct toward me, would be too hu miliating. And when I thought of her injustice in not allowing me an opportunity of vindicating myself from the charge I knew must have been prefered against me, my indignation almost overcome every other feeling. But I sought diversion and forgetfulness in the dance. Several times I was in the same set with Helen. She was reserved and dignified. No word or look of recognition passed between us. I noticed, whenever I touched her hand, that it was icy cold, —that hand which the eve ning before was so warm and thrilling in its touch. If I sought my pillow twenty-four hours be fore, the happiest of mortals, that night I left the ball room the most miserable. As I passed along an ill-lighted corridor, to my room, I saw two men in close conference. As I approached, disturbed by my footsteps, . they botb turned, and the rays of my little lamp fell on their faces. They were Lorraine and Fitzwarren! (to be continued.) tmm sowohshx hip mms ixeesxbe. [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] THE GRAVE OF MRS. M . “ He giveth his beloved sleep.” Tread lightly here! for Jesus keeps Wateh where His “heavy laden” sleeps, With weary eye and dim; lie guardeth well the promised rest. And takes the sleeper to His breast, Who fell asleep in Him. Tread lightly—for the “mortal” clay That mingles with the dust to-day, In cold “corruption sown,” With “immortality put on,” Will join, upon the judgment mom, The throng about the Throne. Tread lightly here 1 Beneath thy feet A saint, in slumber soft and sweet, Awaits the trumpet's call. To rise, when graves give up their dead, With crown of glory on her head. To meet the Lord of All. Tread lightly here!—beneath the sod, Beposing in the “peace of God,” Let “His beloved sleep,” In mercy He has closed those eyes. Too loving for this world of sighs— And destined here to weep. Safely the gentle law of love, By which she walked, hath led above To virtue's bright reward. Too “pure in heart” on earth to stay, Her tears have all been wiped away, “ To gaze upon the Lord.” South Carolina. H. — [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] A LIFE HISTORY. BY LAVRA LINCOLN. A drunkard’s wife I “Oh I fate worse than death.” Would that the gift of eloquence were mine that I might pour forth, in “words that burn, ” the story of her wrongs. Even now be fore my mental vision rises the image of a fair young girl, whose youth and happiness was blighted by the fatal curse of intemperance in the being who had promised before God to “love and cherish” her till death did them part. Annie Melville was the daughter of wealthy parents. “ She was not beautiful: but her youn" face “ Made up in sweetnesß what it lack'd in grace.” Annio was high-spirited and wayward, but withal, loving and affectionate, and capable of the utmost devotion to the object of her affec tion. With a man of the right stamp for her life companion, she would have made a noble wo man. As it was, adverse circumstances called forth the evil as well as the good of her na ture. She had been a petted, an indulged child; and her parents had never taught her the diffi cult and much-needed lesson of self-control. Annie met Walter Carlton, and soon a mutual love sprang up between them. He addressed her and was accepted, and the maiden thought never was there bliss like unto hers. Hand some and fascinating—gifted with talents, which bado fair to give him a prominent place among the great of the land—the young man seemed well worthy a heart’s devotion. Her father and friends, while admitting the many noble qualities of her suitor, told Annie plainly that he possessed one failing, which if not speedily overcome, would prove the ruin of himself and all connected with him—viz: a fondness for strong drink. But the warm-hearted and impulsive girl would listen to no remonstrances. “ I will marry him,” she cried, “ and by my love and faith 1 will redeem him.” Oh 1 rash and headstrong youth 1 when will ye profit by the wisdom and experience of the aged, who have learned through bitter suffering what they would fain teach you 1 And in spite of repeated warming, Annie Mel ville did marry Walter Carlton. Alas! could she, with prophetic eye, but have seen the dis mal future, with all its weight of woe, sooner would she have cast herself from the highest precipice into the sea, than have allied her fate with that of Walter Carlton. For a time all went well, and Walter’s friends hoped that his marriage had effected a thorough change for the better in his character. Some six months after their union the young couple went to housekeeping—hitherto they had resided with Annie’s father. When Walter went from among comparative strangers to the associates of years the evil habit which had been more firmly fixed than his wife imagined, again began to assert its power. Again and again, would the young man re turn home partially intoxicated. Annie plead and wept, and endeavored to make home as pleasant as possible to her husband. Soon came a son to them ; and the young wife thought, “Now certainly Walter will stay more at home,” and for a brief period he did, evidently strug gling to resist temptation—but again he fell; and “ the last state of that man was worse than the first.” The human heart seeks for sympathy in its sorrows. Wo feel our burthens lightened if they be but shared by some friendly confidante. Thus Annie felt, when in the midst of her sore troubles, she turned to her relatives for sympa thy and consolation. But like Job’s comforter’s of old, they replied : “ You knew that he drank before you married him.” And here permit us a few words not altogether irrelevant: Often, when a young wife is made unhappy by some fail ig in the husband of her choice —perhaps such as the one of which we are now treating— instead of meeting with pity and kind forbear ance from those to whom she may confide her griefs, how frequently do they say—“ You knew this before you married him—as you have sown, so must you reap.” When has heedless, happy youth ever been known to calculate the consequences of their present acts, when influenced by love ? They believe that with love, all things are possible, and that their power for good is illimitable. — Exalted by their devotion, they believe them selves impervious to the darts of fate. Ere long —though affection be fond as ever—these ro mantic dreams fade away, and the cold, stem re ality stares them in the face. Then, unless up held by an arm stronger than of flesh, they faint and fall in the conflict, and the Pharisee passes by on the other side, saying—“ I have no pity for them—they did this thing with their eyes open.” Charity, we are told, is the greatest of all vir tues ; therefore let us be charitable to those in fatuated young creatures, who trusting to the promptings of their own loving hearts, rush— not blindly, perhaps—but no less surely to their destruction. Children were rapidly born unto Annie Carl ton, and her unhappiness increased. Not the least among her troubles, was pecuniary difficul ties, for it is notorious, that when a man drinks, he scatters his money broad-cast. Annie had ere this discovered a fact, of which before her marriage she had not been aware, viz: that she was very high tempered, and at times her outraged feelings caused “ Words of unkindness, as bitter as gall” to '* Bubble up front the heart to the lips. ’ Often, often did the poor wife feel that, but for her children, how gladly she would lay down the burden of life. But why protract this dra ma of real life ? It ended as such things nearly always do. The inebriate s constitution gave way beneath repeated shocks, and in the prime of manhood, surrounded by everything to ren der him happy, had he so willed it, Walter Carl ton went down to the [tomb —“unwept, unhon ored and unsung." And was it strange that Annie's grief was not deep nor lasting, for the being who had blighted her womanhood, and by his own misdeeds alienated her heart ? In the society and affec tion of her children, she found that happiness which had been so long denied her. Relieved from the pressure of anxiety and care, her face resumed its freshness, and her form its roundness, and people said she was handsomer than she had ever been. Suitors presented themselves as candidates for her hand, but to all she gave a positive denial. She had in girlhood risked her all upon a single chance and lost—never more would she place her hap piness in the keeping of mortal man. Sons and daughters of beauty bloomed around her, and as they grew in years she strongly im pressed upon their minds one thing—To her boys, to “ touch not, taste not, handle not ” of the poisonous draught. To her daughters, nev er—no matter what their talents or virtues might be—unite their destinies with wine-bibbers, lay ing “ the flattering unction to their souls,” that they could reclaim them, for she, their mother, had proved by bitter experience, that such a hope was founded upon the “ baseless fabric of a dream.” — [For the Southern Fiqld and Fireside.] THE ENCHANTED MOUNTAIN. BY L. VIRGINIA FRENCH. This singular natural curiosity is situated in the North eastern part of Georgia, near the Tennessee line. It derives its name partly from the traditions of the In dians and partly from the fact that agreat number of im pressions appear in the rocks, above the surface of the earth, which present to the eye the appearance of having been made when the rock was in a soft state, by the hands and feet of human beings, and the feet of birds and ani mals. The “ giant foot,” mentioned below, is seventeen and a half inches in length, with six toes, and near it is the distinct impression of a finely formed female hand. This mountain is the Ararat of the Southern aborigines. Pale daughter of the snow I Why stealing thus apart, with upturned brow, Bared to the sunlight, w ith thy clustering hair Dark waving on the wind, and folded hands Press'd to thy throbbing bosom, dost thou stand As wrapt in visions, with thine azure eye Centred on yon far summit t —Dost thou hope, With that unshrinking and far-reaching gaze To pierce the canopy of golden mist, Which shades that sacred summit from the eye Os all but the Great Spirit ? List! how deep Around thee now the voice of Nature tells Os au Almighty presence ! Up the height The torrent’s peal comes solemnly, and see This meek-eyed blossom bends, and stately boughs Os the old forest monarchs lowly bow, If but his breath pass over them. Our sires, Who long ago have sought the “land of souls,” Were wont to tell a story of this Mount To us, their children. Once, they say, of old, This pleasant world was drowned. Wild Tnmult trod The raging waters, rousing'from his bed That mighty Eastern sea, which from us hides The Bleeping sunrise; and, when wakened, he, Like a great giant, rose and clasped,the earth In his embrace, till tempest-surges swept All life from her fair bosom. Many days A world of cloud above o'erhanging, hurled Its driving rains abroad; and Thunder crouched Behind their folds, and shot his arrows through Down the deep darkness. For there was no light, The star-fires all went out, the moon had hid, And that great orb which brings the day, still slept In the red tents of sundown. Then, they say, All people perished, save one mighty Chief, And his fair bride, whom the Manitto loved, And placed them in a great canoe, with birds, And many beasts, that there they might be safe Till the dark days were over. Thus they lived, For they were good and beautiful, and both Served the Great Father, who had made them so. There are no forms among his sons which now Can vie with his, the stately and the strong; In stature we are children; nerve and might Have left our puny limbs, and the god-fire Has faded from our eyes. Our daughters now Scarce bear a trace of their magnificent And great queen-mother, whose bright loveliness Was like the Northern star's sweet, shining face, Far smiling through the storm, and from whose lips There flows a gentle, never-tailing stream Os eloquence and music. Still those strains, Whene'er the soul stands forth and lists alone, Come faintly stealing down the steeps of Time; But we —our cars are dull, our day is dark, We may not understand them. Night was o'er, The darkness broke at last, the rosy morn Peered through dissolving haze, and shadowy And slow the light poured in. The great canoe Upon yon lofty pinnacle, that far O'ertops its fellows, rested there. A path Was painted down the sky, with gorgeous hues, And, then, the chieftain and his bride first saw The world’s “ good angels” coming back to her. 'Twas down that path they came. Time passed away, The waters fell, the earth grew green anew, And they once more looked forth upon a scene Os grandeur and of beauty. Day arose. They saw the world awake, the valleys smile, The slumbrous shadows of the dewy hills, The clear, broad river flowing past the steep, A sea of glassy fire, as o'er its wave Rolled the red blaze of morning. Then, alone, Sole dwellers on a new and blooming Earth, The two went forth, and all the beasts and birds. Rejoicing, followed them. Palo child of snow 1 If now thou doubtest what the red man says, (This story told—by many sires to sons,) Go, climb the mountain's summit—thou wilt find So writ by Manitto’s finger on the rock, That what we say is true. There wilt thou see The proofs they left their children. Bedded deep In solid granite, still is kept the mould Os our queen-mother's haud, the giant foot Os her great lord, and numerous foot-prints too Os bird and beast, with closely circling coil Os scaly serpents. There 'tis all so plain As though in written record on that rock 'Twere registered, and this the signet stamp Os the Great Spirit! Oliver Goldsmith’s “Vicar of "Wakefield” has been translated into Armenian by T. C. Averoom, Esq., a distinguished Armenian scholar and an established merchant in Cal cutta. [Fo he Southern Field and Fireside.] FOEEIGN CORRESPONDENCE. Mrxicii, Bavaria, OetcLer, 1859. Mr. Editor: That Havre line of steam ers composed of the Fulton and Arago, is highly favored. The ships are strong and well formed, and the discipline is so well performed as to ensure confidence. Hence they have ever been well patronized, and I trust will continue to be. They are not remarkable for speed, though fast enough, and their complete success is a proof that there are Americans who do not think a difference of a day or two in a trans-atlantic voyage a thing of vast importance. The Fulton, in which we came over, shot out from her dock, at the hour of meridian on the 20th of August. The Atlantic—that most tempestuous of all Oceans that roll over the globe—is unusually quiet at this season, and as we were between the annual outward and inward throng of passen gers, we had a very restricted number to be looked after. It was my fourth voyage over, and candor compels me to say, that I never sailed in a cleaner or sweeter ship than the Ful ton. The event of the voyage was the aurora borealis , observed on the evening of the 28th of August—not particularly borealis, by the way, since all the best manifestations began in the S. W., and the whole display was pretty fairly dis tributed over all points of the compass. I think we were in latitude about 49 deg., 30 min., and longitude 39 deg. west, or thereabouts. I was walking the deck with a friend, at about three quarters past 9 o’clock P. M., when I observed a soft, pale light rising up from behind some clouds near the S. W. horizon, so much like moonlight, that my companion insisted it was nothing else. Immediately, a belt of streamers, two or three deg. in width, shot up from that quarter, passing with inconceivable rapidity over tlio zenith, and down to the opposite hori zon. It was like the sheaf of rockets you sometimes see sent up preparatory to a display of fire-works. The colors were red, with shades of green and blue passing into white. Then, for perhaps twenty minutes, a warm, blushing red covered the heavens, occasionally forming arches above, but looking so much like soft clouds, that it was astounding to see the whole pageant fade away, and the stars come out again. During this time, the ship seemed to be making her way through a sea of blood. Then succeeded streamers of pure white, sometimes from particular quarters, but more commonly from all directions. The effect was that of a well-defined dome. As soon as the streamers appeared towards the horizon,a white rosette was formed in the zenith, which sent down points to meet the ascending ones. This process was re peated more than fifty times in forty minutes. During this time, the light was as bright as that half an hour after dawn. At all events, a pas senger took from his pocket a testament printed in diamond type, and read it with facility, it being near 11 o’clock, P. M. The whole spec tacle was incomparable, and quite without a parallel in the observation of any one. Had this phenomenon not been so universal, I should have connected it with another which began at this moment. IVe were now entering that portion of the Atlantic which extends up towards the North, between Greenland and Ice land, and about midnight a tremendously heavy sea began to roll, which lasted three days. Then, immense waves came directly from the North, so that we, (being in calm weather all the time,) were exactly in the trough of the sea. It was immensely uncomfortable, and the racks were upon the dining-tablo all the while. In other words, a tremendous wind must have been blowing, perhaps 1,000 miles to the North of us, during near three days. The waves, not the wind, reached us. The following morning, the remark was common, that we had entered upon a tract where a gale had been blowing. But you will see at once that as the sea, when lashed by a tempest, will subside in five or six hours, this solution soon ceases to be satisfac tory. Now for another one: You will remember that some two years ago the Russian frigate, Diana , was wrecked during a frightful earthquake at Simoda, in the island of Japan. Great rollers, 60 feet high—three of them, I think—came in and overwhelmed her. Now, in five or six hours, these waves were registered on the tide-guage of the coast survey at San Francisco, as was shown by Prof. Bache, the superintendent of the survey. The waves themselves had not travelled over this vast ex panse, but they have the faculty of propagating an image of themselves along the ocean with astonishing rapidity. To conceive this motion, take an extended rope thirty feet long by one end, and give it a quick movement in a vertical direction—this motion is propagated to the other end in waving lines, though the rope re mains where it was. Such is the only apparent explanation of these formidable waves. As this sea began to rise about the time when the Aurora appeared, one is prompted to trace both phenomena to the same atmospheric dis turbance. The question remains: “ what is the Aurora?” I have always supposed it to be electricity, since it is pretty well established* that in Norway and elsewhere, a hissing sound, like that made by tearing some delicate silk fabric, has been heard to attend the shoot ing of the streamers. Such a noise would re sult from the explosions of positive and negative electricities meeting—when, as is known, the generation of these electricities is unequal near the tropics and around the pole. To illustrate this idea, it is necessary to regard electrical cur rents as we do the winds which, by a compen satory action, re-adjust their occasional distur bances. The wiuds themselves probably cause the generation of electricity, and a continued gale might create a vacuum great enough to ac count for some of these extraordinary appoar anees. Dupin was right when he said that Provi dence did not seem to have intended that the French should be a great maritime people. The wastern coast of France, swept by the S. W. gales has, I think, no harbors except artificial ones. Havre has its docks, but if you arrive outside on a falling tide, you must wait until near high water in an open roadstead before you can enter. How different from the natural entrance to Savannah, where you can bring in ships at all stages of the tide! Landing early in the morning, we could not get at our luggage to pass it through the cus tom-house until 5 o'clock, P. M. And then such a rush and such confusion, all in a restrict ed space! The officials did the best they could to get us oft’ in the express train for Paris. Some fast citizens succeeded, but I did not even attempt it. It was better to take tea comforta bly and go in the 10 P. M. train, arriving soon after daylight. lam a Napoleonist out and out, (first and third,) but I do think that the present Emperor ought to remedy these vexa tious delays, and not subject strangers who go to I ranee to spend their money, to be shut up like so many sheep in a pen—then to work like baggage-porters, or else be sure to come out last of all. Paris has changed immensely under this Na poleon. The drive to and in tho “Bois de Bou logne" is incomparable, and that portion of it v called the “ Pre^Catalan” —a miracle of beauty, where, in the distribution of hills, lawns, lakes, forests and glades, art has almost outdone na ture in her happiest moods. Before the revolu tion of 1789, this wood was celebrated for its immemorial trees. It suffered great depreda tions then, and when the Russians occupied the ground in 1814, the work of devastation was completed. The oldest trees now in the forest date from 1816, if I mistake not. We stopped three days in Paris to rest ourselves and look about, and left in the express mail train for Munich—through in 24 hours. Our route lay through Epernay and Chalons, Ac., to Stras bourg. There we crossed the Rhine by a bridge of boats, and came on by Bruchsaal, Stuttgardt, Ulm and Augsburg. We took first class pas sages through France, and second class in Ger many, the latter being far superior in comfort to the former. Indeed the second class in Ger many corresponds to the first in France and England. The one or two coupes in a whole train, called first class, are seldom used in Ger many. On leaving Stuttgardt, we found our selves for two or three hours in American care— the first I ever saw on this side of the Atlantic. A portion of our route lay along the romantic valley of the Neckar—the ruins of the feudal castles of mediaeval times crowning the summit of many a rocky or wooded steep. A return to Germany is pleasant, were it only for the incomparable coffee and the bread, which is a standing reproach to all American bakers. In most of the comforts of life, however, they are longo intervaUo behind us. Such beds!— boxes never long enough for a man six feet high, with narrow feather beds for covering. Os these, I do not believe there is one in all Germany now for sale, long enough to protect the shoulders and feet of- such a man at the same moment.— Mind, I do not speak of certain first class hotels in first class cities. That is not Germany; and having spent more than three years in this coun try, I know exactly where the English travelers or their wants have introduced better beds with woollen covers, Ac. What do you sup pose the custom is hero now in Munich in hired apartments with what are the summer coverlets, like our “comforter,” or else blankets? Why I to stitch on the sheet, which is to remain thus attached one month, unless you have it taken oft' sooner. The wash basins are of the depth and shape of some of our elliptical pudding pans, with a small glass decanter for the water. It is a strict fact that the use of carpets is al most unknown in Munich. I have thus far seen no carpeted rooms, even among genteel families —the only exception being at the house of an English acquaintance. In vacant suites of apart ments, of which I must have seen forty or fifty in a search of moro than two weeks, I saw but one suite of carpeted rooms, and they had been put down by an English family. Ac cordingly, we found that in purchasing carpets for our parlor and bed room, the supply for sale was absurdly small. I really had supposed that in large cities these wants had been sup plied since sixteen years ago, when I first came over. These are very grave and strange facts to record of a people, among whom the polite arts are so far advanced. The great day of the October festival has just passed over. On an immense meadow, known as the “ T heresienwiese," at least seventy thou sand persons must have assembled. The whole ground was gay with pavillions and flag stall's, with banners bearing the Bavarian arms and innumerable clusters of banneroles, Ac. Every where the Bavarian colors of sky-blue and white, or the yellow and black of the old Dukes of Bavaria, were fluttering. A band of 300 or 400 pieces (those of several regiments united,) played tho national air, the people’s hymn, se lections from the Trovatore and the German composers. There were horse racing, and the distribution of prizes by the King to those who had gained them by exhibiting tho best animals, the most skill as marksmen, Ac. In all this as sembly—the largest by far that I ever saw,all was quiet and gentleness—no pushing, no swearing, no drunkenness,and the few mounted hussars that kept the ground, had literally nothing to do to preserve order. I wish the boys of Georgia would imitate those of Munich. If you go to dine in a garden, the little sparrows will throng around you to receive the crumbs, and birds’ nests are everywhere—in passages, under city lamps, Ac. The doves are fed at the windows of houses. If you only invito them, they will come regularly to take their faro on a window seat or projecting moulding. I have counted 115 doves on the facade of one church at the same moment. Munich is as much the paradise of these birds as Constantinople. Yours, J. L. L. &T We conclude to-day, from our number of the 22d October last, (page 171,) the extracts promised from the sheets furnished us by the Rev. B. W. Whildex, a returned missionary from China, relative to the Chinese. We do not for a moment doubt tho perfect truthfulness of our respected contributor, nor the scrupulous ex actness of all the facts that he relates. But, we must say, we have not risen from the perusal of his statements relative to Chinese society and institutions, with such a strong feeling of re pugnance to Asiatic abominations, compared with abominations elsewhere, nor with such quickened gratitude and exultation that our own lot has been cast among the partakers of our Western civilization, as we had anticipated. In Europe and in America wo have not so much the advantage of the Chinese, in the matters of honesty and morality, of social, civil and poli tical condition, as wo had supposed. Many of our readers will smile—as, it is coufessed, we ourselves do, at the simplicity and naivete with which the Reverend narrator accumulates his facts to support his premises; seemingly unsus picious of the easy retort which the native of the East might, in almost every instance, make upon tho Western critic, mutato nomine de te fa hula narratur. In fact, sneering aside, an intel ligent, educated Chinese, resident for a year in France, Germany, England or the United States, could hardly fail, with his eyes and ears open, to collect numerous facts, and of the same kind with those specified by Mr. Whilden, in dispar agement of the Christian religion and of our Western civilization. The only exception to our advantage that occurs to us at this moment, is the destruction of female children, which can hardly be presumed to prevail in that country to any great extent, in view of the great density of Chinese population. THE CHARACTER OF THE CHINESE. They are money-loving and selfish. —One of the first things that a child is taught in China, is to hold out his hand for a piece of money. It is very common, too, for men and women, even