Newspaper Page Text
244
LITERARY.
WILLIAM W. MANN, Editor.
SATURDAY, DEC. 24, ISSD.
TRAVELING AGENT.
.lons L. Stockton, of this city, is General Traveling
Agent for the Field and Fireside, anil the Const rrr-
TIOXALIST.
NOTICE TO SUBSCRIBERS.
We do not send receipts bv mail for subscriptions re
mitted. The receipt of Tiik Southern lield and
Fireside, after the m#nev is remitted, will be evi
dence to each subscriber that his money has been re
ceived and his name duly entered on the mail book.
TO CORRESPONDENTS AND CONTRIBUTORS.
We have received, during the week—
Lady Graduates —an Essay—byZiola.
The Demi-Poet—by Veil of Rubies.
Wealth and its Influences—by A. 11. G., (de
clined.)
We have also received from the author of
“ The Slaveholder Abroad,'' several additional
advance sheets, which we shall soon take occa
sion to transfer to our columns.
——
CHRISTMAS!
Before the appearance of the next number of
our paper, another Christmas season will have
come and passed. It is the season, of all in the
year, for the interchange of cordial greetings
and the expression of kind wishes. In com
pliance then, not merely with time-honored
custom, but witli kindly suggestions from our
own heart, we heartily wish to one and all,
patrons of our enterprise or strangers to it, into
whose Hands this sheet may fall—to our friends,
aye, and to our enemies, if we have any—
Health, Happiness, and a Merry Christmas!
Ous readers will find below, on this page, a
beautiful Christmas Story, written for this nunr
ber of our paper, by a lady of our city, whose
charming pen, not a stranger to our columns,
seems to have a special adaptedness to occa
sions like the present. More than once before,
at the Christmas season, has this charming pen,
at the dictation of a heart filled with Christian
benevolence towards all, and overflowing with
the kindliest womanly affection for children es
pecially, produced stories for the young that
would adorn the pages of the first author of our
land. The story that we publish to-day, “ The
Orphan,” though written for the reading of
children, particularly, will be perused with
pleasure by all.
“Jack Hopetox and his Friexds ; or, The Au
tobiography of a Georgian by Wm. W, Turner
With the present number is concluded the in
teresting story under the above title, which was
commenced with the initial number of our paper
in May last. It has regularly, and most accep
tably, at intervals of a fortnight, occupied our
second page, till the conclusion of Judge Long
street's story of “Master William Mitten/
since which date it has appeared, weekly, on our |
first page. We are sure that none of our read
ers will deem that we have, in the termination
of this story, matter of congratulation with
them. On the contrary, they will heartily join
us in felicitating the author on the successful
completion of this admirable production of his
literary talent, which ought, we say it delibe
rately, promptly to secure for him an honorable
and high place among the literary men of the
South. We can recur with pleasure to the
promise respecting it, with which we presented
its first chapter to our readers: “This story of
the South, by a Southerner, will be found
graphic, true to life, and interesting.” All will
agree with us that the complimentary in
troduction seems, now that we have the story
before us as a whole, and finished, very mode
rate and insufficient praise. We think it far
above the newspaper literature of the day. We
know of few modern novels which, as first pro
ductions, evince an ability in authorship supe
rioa to this. It is marked by variety of inter
esting incident, graphic description, and diversity
of well-sustained character. Its faults are few,
and eminently such as appertain to young wri
ters, and which time, study, care, and maturing
taste will assuredly remove.
We repeat the expression of a hope that Mr.
Turner will be a frequent visitor to our columns;
so we will not say to him adieu , but— au revoir.
We ought not to have omitted, two or
three weeks ago, to call attention to a second
Foreign Correspondence, which is, from time to
time, appearing on our pages, and which will
probably continue to enhance their interest and
value for some time to come. These letters are
from the pen of an accomplished gentleman, an
able and well-known writer of the South, who,
of late years, has spent most of his time abroad.
He writes on the wing, as the dates of his let
ters will show. His route, at present, is through
a portion of Europe to which late events have
given especial interest, and which seems likely
to be the scene, in a near future, of a yet more
stirring historical drama. We could hardly have
upon the ground a more keen and sagacious ob
server, or a more discreet, ready and able pen.
We consider his letters as possessing real histo
rical, as well as literary value.
——
ISP It is with much gratification that we pro-.
sent to our readers to-day, the able essay on
Bacon and Baconianism, from “Cancellarius," a
new contributor. This writer is evidently a
sound and logical reasoner, a lucid, scholarly, j
and severe writer. We hope that the essay pub- j
lished to-day will prove the first of many pro
ductions emanating from the same mind and
pen, with which we shall be allowed to adorn ■
our columns.
—— .
GT We shall publish, in the first number of
January, an interesting short story of Virginia
lifer from the pen of John Estex Cooke, of Vir
ginia.
XKE BOVVSSMf ASH IXKSSXHX.
OUR PARIS CORRESPONDENCE.
Paris, December 2, ISSO.
The week lias been a quiet one. The Tines
is (no mistake at the singular. London Times is
singular number here.) jieacefully spirited and
speaks kindly of France, since Minister Billaut's
circular requesting prefects to request French
papers in their respective departments to speak
less harshly of England. Emperor Napoleon,
out at Compiegne the other day, “ galliantly" re
garding the elegant hand of Lady Cowley, wife
of the English ambassador, observed that it bore
no bride's ring; the absence whereof that lady
explained by the hurry and bustle of her mar
riage—whereupon majesty orders a magnificent
bride’s ring, or rather betrothal ring, what the
French call a boyue (Valliance, enriched with no
end of diamonds, which he presents to the am
bassadress with these words: “I beg you to ac
cept this ring as a new pledge of the alliance of
France and" England.” The story is pretty,
neat and important, if true —which, it is to be
feared, is not the case, for its authenticity is
guaranteed by a Paris correspondent of a Bel
gian paper. Be that as it may, the relations be
tween the two countries are evidently grown
more amicable of late The Emperor lias ac
cordingly sent.out (last Tuesday) the invitations
to the other Powers to meet in congress. Invi
tations of this sort are not sent, when much
doubt exists as to an accepting answer. The
Congress will probably meet at Paris some time
in January. Some conjeeturers think that the
Italian Question will lie the only one in order;
while others suggest as probable subjects of de
liberation. the question, asked by Russia, wheth
er the treaty of 1850 cannot be revised? —The
question, whether Turkey Lad not better be
protected a little harder ? * The Isthmus of Suez
question, urged by France: the question of pa
rental rights, presented in a respectful memoir
by the unhappy father of the kidnapped little
Jew boy Mortara; the question, presented by
Switzerland in a long and able diplomatic memo
randum. whether the Congress will not more
thoroughly define, sanction and confirm the neu
tralization of a large part of Savoye ? This last
is a very grave question, os any one can see by
looking at the map and supposing a war, say
between France and England for example, in
which England should have Piedmont for ally.
If the Swiss question be answered affirmatively
by the Congress, the Swiss government would,
in such case, be master of the land routes lead
ing to Italy, while an English fleet would block
the way of French troops going to Italy by sea.
There is considerable reason for believing that,
since Napoleon has taken the Suez canal under
his government patronage, England has con
sented to withdraw or at least greatly mod
erate her opposition to the great scheme of M.
Lesseps, and that poor wretch, the Sultan of
Turkey, will be permitted to permit a resump
tion of tlie work.
If Signor Mortara could so much as get his
memoir accepted or even read and rejected by
the congress, it would be an important point
gained. But that is not probable. As for
recovering his child, that is not possible
through the congress, whose powers will not
extend to an interference with the Pope’s
sovereign right to do wrong within his own
dominion, although most of its members will not
hesitate to play pitch and toss with the natural
rights of some millions of Italians of the centre.
.4 propos of the Mortara affair, Edmond About,
the brilliant author of the Questim Romaine , has
just brought to light, in a long letter published
in a Paris journal last week, the Castellani Af
fair, which is likely to become equally famous.
I regret that my limits will not admit a transla
tion in full of this strange story. Abridged as
much as possible, at the sacrifice of the charm of
About’s style and of many interesting details, it
is essentially as follows: When M. About was
iu Rome, a year and a half ago, he was intro
duced to a young French student in art, named
Castellani, who told him: “I am the legitimate
son of a French woman and a Roman priest.—
My father is now living and is sub-prior of the
convent at Bracciano. At an early age lie en
tered the order of Augustins and was after
wards ordained priest. During ‘the troubles
that followed the revolution of 1830, he escaped
from the convent and reached Marseilles. He
learned the trade of confectioner and after a
time established himself at Rheims, where he
courted my mother and was wedded to her in
the cathedral church there. She was an orphan
and brought him a property of about 30,000
francs. This was in 1837. lam the eldest and
only survivor of his three children. Not loving
labor, lie gradually spent in travelling and bad
speculations my mother’s little property, sold
out his establishment, and finally, when reduced
to the necessity of working for his livelihood and
our support, disappeared. He came to Rome,
asked and received pardon from the Pope and
resumed the idle life of the convent. My moth
er supposed him dead, but had no proof. A
noble, strong-hearted woman, she was enabled
by her own efforts to provide for my education,
concealing from me even her want of means, so
that I studied the art of painting for several
years without knowing that it was to be my only
means of living.
“ Three years ago. we learned through the
French police where and what my father was.
My mother wrote to the French ambassador
then at Rome, and to the general of the Augus
tins, demanding that they should restore, if not
her husband, at least her little fortune which lie
had squandered. The Augustins are rich, and
my father, on entering their order, had brought
an entrance gift. We did not receive a favora
ble answer to either letter. After other useless
attempts to obtain justice, my mother sent me to
Rome. I knew that my father was sub-prior of
the convent and official confessor to a neighbor
ing convent of Augustin nuns. My mother has
, diminished her just claims, and now only asks
] that my father's convent should furnish me with
\ the trifling means necessary to live here and
complete my studies.
“ I have just come from an interview with
Cardinal Antonelli. He received me most amia
bly. If lie had given me a crown every time
he called me his dear son, I should have enough
to live on for a month. But in answer to all
my history, to my presentation of the hardships
of my case, to my cry for justice, he replied iu
substance :* I can do nothing for you ; j r our fa
ther is no longer at Bracciano; it would be an
act of impiety to seek him and disturb his soul's
peace : go back to France, and ask comfort of
j God.' I finally lost patience, and told him that
' I would try to push my cause with the aid of
law: that there were undoubtedly generous law
yers. M. Cremieux, for instance (a Jew, and one
of the most eminent and eloquent members of
the French bar) who would undertake it. ‘My
dear child,’ lie replied, with unchangeable mild
ness, ‘if you use scandal against us, we shall send
your father to the galleys.’
“Itis an odd way of rendering justice. But
I have another idea. I will set off on foot, to
morrow, for Bracciano. [About approved this
purpose, which was forthwith put in execution.
A week or so later, the young Castellani called
on him. The history goes on :] “ I found my
father, who is sub prior and confessor of the
neighboring nuns, although his past errors are
uot unknown. lie kept me with him a week,
and is to furnish me an allowance of twelve
crowns a month. I can live and study on that.
[Presently, after this. About left Rome. In
writing his famous kook on theßomau Question,
he omitted mention of Castellani. from a proper
regard for the interests of the young student at
Rome. M. About has been living for some
months past in the country. The story goes on
nowin Ins words:] ‘-The poor boy writes me
now from Paris, that the sub-prior did not keep
his promise : that while the father was enjoying
abundance, the son was reduced to the last trials
of poverty : without shelter, without bread. In
his extremity, lie waited upon the Count
de Noiie, a French general, and the best
of men. who procured for him a free passage to
France.
“ Madame Castellani then boldly undertook to
plead her case in person, and went to Italy for
that purpose some months ago. She was in
formed that her husband had just died, and her
rights were dead with him. As, however, her
presence in Rome was a living reproach, and
she had not the means to return to France, the
Holy Father agreed to settle the business, by
offering a thousand crowns, which she grate
fully accepted.
“ The son, however, does not recognize this
sum as sufficient indemnity fora mother’s mis
fortunes, and the ruin and disgrace of a family.
He has accordingly written to Cardinal Berardi
a letter, of which I enclose a manuscript copy
in liis own hand.”
Then follows young Castellaui's letter, in
which he demands justice, and in the alternative
of its being refused, informs the cardinal that an
eminent lawyer has undertaken the case and
will push it to a suit against the convent; he
closes with a request that his letter may be laid
before the Holy Father. He has received no re
sponse. What is more singular, no response to M.
About's long letter stating and proving these facts
has appeared in the clerical journals here. I
“proving these facts.” In the abridged form ix
which they are presented here, some of the proofl
are omitted, as well as the explanation of some
seeming improbabilities. But it will be enough
to say to any one at all acquainted with French
laws and institutions, that if the above state
ment were an invention, in any one of its main
points, it could be proved to be so, and would
have been proved to be so within forty-eight
hours of its publication; and that to-day, young
Castellani, whoso address is given, sheet and
number, along with his signature to the letter,
Monsieur About, and the gerant and printer of
the Opinion A Rationale newspaper, would all be
held to trial before a legal tribunal, with the
smallest possible chance of escaping heavy pen
alties of fine and imprisonment.
The Spaniards have had their first brush
with the Moors, of Morocco. latter
fought alarmingly well, it would seem, even
from the Spanish report, the only one we had, of
the fight. The Spaniards confess to eighty kill
ed and four hundred wounded, estimating the
loss of the enemy, of course, much greater.
But the fighting part of this Spanish expedition
is not its most hopeful part. * Here is a pleasant
feature. The unhappy Jews who have quitted
Morocco to seek refuge on the Spanish territory,
are treated with the utmost kindness, not only
by Marshall O’Donnell’s orders, but at the ur
gent exhortation of Spanish Catholic priests and
bishops.
To change the subject. It appears from offi
cial tables just published, that the receipts of
the French railroads for the first three-quarters
of the current year are forty-one million francs
larger than for the corresponding period of 1858.
The aggregate length of French railroads in op
eration is eight thousand nine hundred and sev
enty-six kilometres. The average receipts are
thirty-two thousand two hundred and nineteen
francs to the kilometre. The kilometre is a
fraction more than six-tenths of a mile. Are
our roads as profitable ? That is a question to
interest stockholders. The accidents that hap
pen to travelers on French railroads aro: One
death to two million twenty-one thousand pas
sengers, and one wounded to five hundred and
fifty-eight thousand passengers. Deducting,
however, from this account, two grave accidents
that happened many years ago under circum
stances that, with the actual arrangement of the
| cars, can hardly possibly occur again, and their
: proportion of dead and wounded is greatly di
j minished.
Are our railroads as safe ? That is a ques
, tion that interests ticket-holders. It appears
, from another authentic official tabic, that in the
diligences and other public conveyances corres
ponding to our stage-coaclies, the proportion of
killed and wounded to the whole number of pas
sengers in France was, (from 1846 to 1855,) as
one dead to three hundred and fifty-five thousand
four hundred and fifty-three, and one hurt to
twenty-nine thousand eight hundred and seven
ty-one travelers. Whence we fast-going mod
erns arrive at this cheerful result, that we are
eighteen times less exposed to bruises and
broken limbs, and five times less exposed to
! sudden death in a rail-car than our predecessors
; used to be in a diligence.
The following statement of the sums gained at
I the French, Belgian, and Baden race-courses
; this year by a few of tli# chief horse-owners, is
not entirely irrelevant here. Should it interest
j any of your Field readers, it is perfectly apropos.
! Baron Niviere, with twenty horses and thirty
' prizes, has gained three hundred and two thou
j sand francs. Count de la Grange, fifteen horses
: thirty prizes, two hundred and twenty-six thou*
! sand francs. “Baron de la Moth and Co.",
I steeple races, ten prizes, five horses, forty-seven
j thousand francs. M. Auguste Lupin, twelve
I prizes, five horses, forty-five thousand francs.
And now for the Fireside readers: New books
abound. Madame de Longueville, by Cousin, (1
voL, 8vo.;) Correspondance de Beranger, (2 vols.,
8vo.;) Le Bouddah et sa Religion, (1 v 01.,)
! by the learned Barthlemy St. Hilaire; La Femme,
j (1 vol., 18vo.,) by Michelet, the brilliant bis
; torian, the French Carlyle, a continuation of his
L'Amour; a new edition of George Sand’s Nov
els of Country Life, the best, because the purest,
of her works; a new novel just completed by
her in the Revue des Deux Mondes, and still a
newer one, announced by her to bo published in
the feuilleton of La Presse; Masques et Bouffons,
(two magnificent 8v05.,) by her son, Maurice
Sand, one of the most entertaining of books, on
the old Italian comedy, and its personages, the
types of all the vices and absurdities of human
ity. The letter press of this work is curious
and entertaining, sufficiently erudite on the ar
chseological side, and amusingly anecdotical.
But its essential merit is not in the text, that
lies in the fifty engravings after Sand’s admira
ble drawings of Columbine and Fantalon, and
Sganarelle and Harlequin and Punchinello, and
the rest of that merry company. It is “as good
as a play,” vastly better than most plays, to
look at them on these pages —they wear about
them all the light, fantastic air of their parts,
the light, suuny, laughing Italian air—all the
sharpness and nono of the sourness of satire on
human weakness—all the —but I am beyond my
limits—drop the curtain.
[For the Southern Field ami Fireride.]
THE ORPHAN.
A CHRISTMAS STORY.
BY T. r.
Little Carlos was an orphan. Hj s father
and mother had brought him from Italy—warm,
sunny Italy, where the skies are always blue,
and the sun always shines. They had taken a
long voyage, and Carlos could remember many
beautiful things on ship-board ; how his father
would lift him up in his arms, to shew him the
flying figjj aIK [ the white sea-gulls ; and then,
there i, a{ i come a greatstorm, and the ship had
gone to pieces on the rocks. He did not know
how they had reached the shore, but they were
safe ; only they had lost everything they
°wned in the world.
For days they wandered about in strange
countries,’ and, although lie could not under
stand what the people said, Carlos was happy,
for his father and his mother were with him, and
he had his two little white mice, which be had
brought from Italy, and which he had saved in
his bosom, when he left the ship.
At last, in their wanderings, they reached a
great city, and, because they had no money,
tney had to live in a house with a great many
poor people, where there was much sickness; and
Carlos’ father and mother being worn out with
fatigue and sorrow, in a very few days sickened
and died; and men came and put them into
black coffins, and carried them away, and Car
los followed them, with his mice in his arms.—
Nobody hindered him, for there was no one in
the world to care what he did. No one spoke
kindly to him, or if they did, he could not un
derstand them ; he could not speak their lan
guage, nor they his; so, he sat down on the
ground, close by the graves where they had bu
ried his father and his mother; and the men
looked at him and dropped one or two pennies
in his hand, and went went away and left him ;
and he laid his head upon his mother’s grave,
and cried himself to sleep.
While he slept, he had a dream; he was back
in Italy with his dear father and mother, and it
was Christmas time, and they were in the old
Church, and he saw the “ Holy Child ” all dress
ed with flowers, and He smiled on him, and lie
heard the bell calling to midnight service, and
ho counted the strokes, one, two, three, even to
twelve.
Then, he was on the wide ocean, in his fa
ther’s arms, looking at the sea-gulls.
Then his dream changed; he was by his moth
er’s grave, all, all alone in the wide world, and
the tears rolled down his cheeks even in h's
sleep; when suddenly his father and his mother
stood by him, more beautiful than he had ever
seen them, for their robes-were as white as the
snow, and they had shining wings, and the
beautiful “Holy Child” was with them, and all
around were multitudes of angels, and he saw
their bright eyes look lovingly at him, and he
awoke. Little lonely Carlos! The soft summer
breeze alone fanned his cheek, and the quiet
stars alone seemed to keep watch over him, but
the God of the fatherless had been with him,
had given His angels charge over him, and little
Carlos was comforted.
Many sad days followed that one—sad, weary
days, when little Carlos wandered up and down
the streets of that great city. He did not beg;
ho did not know how to beg, but he showed his
little white mice, which were very tame and un
derstood what he said to them, and people felt
touched with pity, when they saw his pale, sor
rowful face, and sometimes they gave him food
and sometimes pennies. When night came, he
would go to his mother’s grave and sleep there,
or if the gates were shut, on door steps or un
der them. He was such a little fellow, that once
or twice the watchmen took him to the station
house, thinking he must be a lost child; but no
one claimed him, so they let him go again. One
thing he never forgot; that was, to say the pray
er his darling mother had taught him; only at
the end he would say: “ Please God take me to
my dear mama.”
As the weather became very warm, Carlos
wandered from the city into the country around,
and here it seemed to him very pleasant. Some
times kind-hearted people would let him sleep
in their barns on the sweet new hay, and very
often he wonld. get a bowl of fresh milk and
bread and sometimes a piece of cheese for his
little pet mice, and Carlos liked the country, and
loved God for taking care of him.
But now the winter was come, with its sharp,
biting winds. The red and yellow leaves had
fallen from the trees, and the bare branches
looked cold and desolate. Carlos did not fare
so well; his clothes were very thin and ragged,
, his shoes were all worn out, so that he could
not wear them, and his feet were cut with the
sharp stones and the frozen ground, and were
very sore. , When night came, sometimes, he
was far away from a farm house or a barn, and
had to creep under a fence or a hedge and sleep
on the cold ground. So Carlos thought he would
try and go back to the city; door steps were
warmer than the open fields, and besides, he be
gan to feel as if Christmas was coming—the
days were so short; and he thought, if lie could
only get to a church on Christmas day, the “Ho
ly Child, Jesus” would take care of him. He
came on Christmas day, his mother had taught
him, to seek and to save those that were lost;
so Carlos turned back to the city.
Ho walked very slow now, for he had a sharp
pain in the breast; his cougli was very bad, and
his little round cheeks, that used to look like
red apples, had become thin and hollow. The
box in which he kept his little mice, had grown
heavy, so he left it by the roadside and put the
mice in his bosom.
One very cold day the ground was covered all
over with snow ; there was neither grass nor
bare earth to be seen; the tops of the houses
were all white—the trees were bent with the
weight—the fields which, but a little while be
fore, had been green and beautiful, now looked
as if white sheets had been spread over them—
the poor sheep and tender lambs crouched up in
corners, close to the fences, and bleated pite
ously.
Men shivered with the cold, though wrapped
up in warm cloaks; and women and children
hovered over warm fires, and told dreadful sto
ries of people who were lost in snowdrifts. As
the day closed in, and snowflakes fell faster,
doors and windows were shut tight, and great
logs were thrown upon the fire and blazed and
crackled merrily, while the dog, which Whined
outside the cottage door, was pitied and taken
in from the merciless storm.
Over the cold bleak common which skirted
the great city, little Carlos struggled on. The
gray leaden sky above him, the old frozen earth
beneath, the fast-falling snow, driven by the
sharp wind, almost blinding him. But on, on,
—he has almost reached it. That bright light
which lie secs through the storm before him,
that must be the church ho is seeking. There
lie will find the “ Holy Child.” There, He will
smile on him. There, will be warmth, and food,
and comfort. On, on, but slower and slower.—
The light retreats before him. The long street,
which he lias reaeheed at last, seems to stretch
out hope-essly ; and the little frozen limbs tot
ter w earily from side to side. "White, cheerless
snow, everywhere. Houses are shut tight, but
sometimes the glazing eye catches the sparkle
of a Christmas-tree, through some unshuttered
window, and sounds of music flow out upon the
night. Yes, now he knows—it is Christmas!—
The angels are singing. He put his hand in
to his bosom; he felt the soft fur of his little
pets—there is hope and strength in the touch.—
One more effort. The church is before him, the
great stone building with the white steps. He
has reached it. The lights flash before his eyes
and then where are they ? Is it all dark ?
He sinks upon the ground, his head rests upon
the cold marble ; but a smile is upon his face—
for there, in the fierce, pitiless storm —there, in
the dreary night, in the driving sleet, is warmth,
and light, and comfort. The “Holy Child,
Jesus,” has taken the little frozen child into
His bosom. Angels have gathered around him;
again he sees their bright eyes; again he hears
his mother’s voice, and it seems to him that she
is wrapping him in soft white fur. Sweet music
is around him. Sorrow and care have passed
away, and, through much tribulation, little Carlos
has been taken home.
Brightly rose the sun that next, Christmas
morning. From tree-top and house-top the white
snow shot back his glances in diamond rays—
clear, bright, grand—a glorious Christmas every
where. Friend meets friend with glowing heart,
and burning words of love and joyous wishes,
and troops of happy people—young men and
maidens, old men and children—throng the old
church, fragrant with “ the Fine tree and Box
tree, and the Fir together,” to sing His praises,
who came, as on that day, to save a lost world.
But—what checks the happy crowd? Softly,
each little child enters, gently treading—then
stops. Softly each gray head is bowed, for
there—on tlio altar steps, dressed in white, and
crowned with flowers—lies the little child who
had gone to sleep on the church step, and on his
breast lie the little pets, taken dead from his
bosom. There are sobbing and hushed voices
around him, and murmured words of: “Ah,
thus He came—the ‘Christ-cliild’—in poverty,
and great humility. Thus, like this little child,
the ‘Virgin-bornfhad not where to lay His head
—and from softened and overflowing hearts,
that day there went forth for His sake, “Who,
though He was rich, yet for our sakes became
poor”—words and deeds of love to all. The
poor and needy were made rich, the hungry
were fed, the naked were clothed, the orphan’s
and the widow’s heart sang for joy; for to all
that day, in the most touching form of human
suffering, had the Christ-child come.
NEW PUBLICATIONS RECEVED,
Messrs. Thomas Richabds A Sox have kind
ly laid op our table the following works:
A Popular History of the United States of
America, from the discovery of the American
Continent to the present time, by Mary Howitt.
Illustrated with numerous engravings. This is *.
a work of some 800 pages, in two volumes, bring
ing up our history to the late date of 1850. It
is illustrated by twenty-one engravings. It is
intended chiefly for the young, but must be
useful, as a book of reference for dates, facts and
skeleton-history, to persons of all ages and pro
fessions.
The Diary of a Samaritan, by a member of
the Howard Association, of New Orleans. The
purpose of the author is to show the rise, pro
gress, and working of the Institution above nam
ed, and of other kindred associations. Both the
above works from the press of Harper & Broth
ers, New York.
We have also received the “ Fifth Aunual Re
port of the Supervisors and Superintendent of
the Mississippi State Lunatic Asylum,” in Jack
son, Miss.
— -
The Home Journal.—Of all our literary co
temporaries at the North, The Home Journal is the one
which welcomed the advent of The Southern Field and
Fireside in the kindest terms, and which has since, dur
ing the first anxious half-year of our existence, laid us un
der renew ed obligation by liberal notice of our enterprise,
and kind words of encouragement. We are glad that it
so happens; for we say in all sincerity,there is not in our
whole country a Literary and Family Weekly with
w hich we could with more pleasure exchange compli
ments anil commendation, reciprocating expressions of
friendly feeling and kind wishes.
The Home Journal almost realizes our idea of a perfect
family i»a|ior: yet it promisesfor the future improvement
on the past. With the January number will begin the
publication of a new and beautiful original work of fact
and fiction, written expressly forthe paper, entitled Jen
tt Proudeoot, a romance of American history, by a dis
tinguished writer. The romantic events on which this
story is founded, belong to the troubled times of our rev
olutionary war. Manly heroism and womanly devotion
are wrought to the highest degree, through a chain of
events not less exciting than strange—not less strange
than true. This story w ill be succeeded by a brilliant
Venetian Tale, translated from the French of Octave
Fleillet, by Mrs. Marian M. l’ullan (expressly for the
Home Journal). Feuillet is the celebrated author of the
“Romance of a Poor Young Man,” and the name of the
lady translator sufficiently guarantees the purity of stylo
in w hich his new work will be rendered into English.
All the former peculiar features which have given this
popular journal such deserved reputation, will be contin
ued, while several new ones will give infinite variety to
its ever diversified pages, Gf.obge P. Mokkis, besides
his usual constant labors upon the several departments
of the paper, will make it the woof on which to broider
many Sketches, Songs, and Ballads, suggested by the
events of the passing time: and N. P. Willis will give
n continuous series of Photographs of the Hour,embodied
in his journal.of the prominent persons and productions in
the Fashionable,Artistic, and Intellectual world. Mr. Wil
lis will also continue his picturings of home-life, and the
Memoranda for Invalids.
Barry Gray will supply a new series of sketches to be
entitled “My Friends and 1.,” in which several
well-known literary characters and artists will figure.
Thus the Home Journal will continue to be what it has
been, an elegant Repertory of Literature and Art.
As no more copies of the new volume will be printed
than are ordered, those who desire to begin with the
commencement of the year will be able to do so by for
warding their subscriptions at once.
Terms—For one copy, $2; for three copies ss—or one
copy for three years, $5 —for a club of seven copies, $10;
for a club of fifteen copies, S2O; and that rate for a larger
club—always in advance. Address Morris A Willis,
editors and"proprietors, 107 Fulton Street, New York.
——4«l
NEW BOOKS
The Female Skeptic ; or, Faith Triumphant—by a La
dy of New England. New York: R. M. DeWitt.
A Fallen Faith ; being a Historical, Religious, and So
cio-Political Sketch of the Society of Friends. By Ed
gar Sheppard, M. I), Licentiate of the Royal College of
Physicians, and Fellow of the Royal College of Sur
geons. London : Piper, Stephenson & Spence.
The Primer Names of the Old Testament; arranged
from the Original Text, with their Derivations, Histori
cal and Geological Illustrations, for the use of Hebrew
Students, Schoolmasters, and others; with an appendix
of the Hebrew and other Arable Names in the New Tes
tament. London : Williams A Norgate.
Dies Inc, in Thirteen Original Versions. By Abra
ham Coles, M. I). 1 vol. 8 vo. Illustrated with two
Photographic Illustrations of the Last Judgment, by
Michael Angelo, anil Ary Scheffer's Christian Bemnnc
rator. New York: D, Appleton & C’o,
Harper's Illuminated and new Pictorial Bible : Em
bellished with sixteen hundred Historical Engravings,
exclusive of an Initial letter to each chapter. ByJ. A.
Adams ; more than four hundred of which arc from ori
ginal designs, by J. O. G. Chapman. From $25 to slo,
according to binding, etc, New York; Harper & Bro
thers.
Spiritualism, and the Age we Live in. By Mrs. Crowe
author of “ The Night-Side of Nature.” London : New
by.
The Home and the Priest By Signor Volvo, author
of “ Memoirs of an Ex-Capauchln. 1 ’ London : Xewby.