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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.