SOCIETY IN NEW YORK. Society in New York has been much laughed at and abused. I do not feel that my experience would warrant me in doing so. Many a delightful day have I spent wandering on the banks of the Hudson, with kind, intelligent, and hospitable friends, whose homes were surrounded with every comfort and luxury, and whose doors were never closed against those who had a fair claim to enter them. They were, it is true, branded as "Aristocrats," which, in America, means simply that they did not interfere in politics or municipal elections; were not at home either on the platform or the stump; used some little discretion in the choice of society; and were content to live quietly and unseen amid the turmoil of the world around them. To differ, or to affect to differ, with the tastes and habits of the majority, is in America a crying sin; it is considered an assumption of superiority, as conveying an indirect reproof, and as indicating that their conduct and opinions are open to exception. SCENE IN MALTA,-ST. PAUL'S BAY. I visited, both by land and by water, the celebrated St. Paul's Bay. There is no reasonable doubt that Malta is the "Melita " described by St. Paul as the scene of his shipwreck; and to hint even a doubt of this would be here the concentrated essence of treason. There is, perhaps, rather more uncertainty as to the exact spot; but there is a bay with an island at its mouth, which answers the description given of the scene of his shipwreck by St. Paul in the last chapter of the Acts of the Apostles; and therefore it is fixed upon reasonably enough as the place, and named accordingly. On the island is a colossal statue of St. Paul.. Of course, too, there is a chapel dedicated to him, and the very spot is pointed out at which the vessel touched the ground. Here, as elsewhere, scepticism is invited to step in by an attempt to prove too much. This is an error almost universal at places of traditional interest. The day, though early in spring, was very hot; and I think I have rarely seen so many lizards racing over the rocks. As the weather was calm, I could not form much idea of what the place would be in a strong east wind or Gregale doubtless dangerous enough. The immediate country round the bay is desolate, and almost if not the only building visible, except the chapel, is a fort garrisoned by a small detachment of the Malta fencibles. These forts are scattered here and there all round the island, and the officer in command must lead a sadly dull life. The road to the bay by land is rocky and bad, and offers no inducement except an extensive view over a great part of the island at "Casal Nasciar." CONSUMPTION, AND ITS SORROWS. Ir is most sad to watch the fall Like a rain-beaten violet! Become the wanderings of each vein ! The shadowy hand, so thin and pale! The languid step, the drooping head! The long wreaths of neglected hair! The lip whence red and smile are fled! And having watch'd thus, day by day, Light, life, and color pass away, To see, at length, the glassy eye Fix dull, in dread mortality; Mark the last ray, catch the last breath, Till the grave sets its sign of Death! L. E. L. TIME AND SPACE. IF OUR FOREFATHERS COULD ONLY SEE US NOW, and view what we really are doing, how they would stare! They would not want a second peep. We have no wish to speak seriatim on a subject that would last till doomsday; but the following "amusing" facts are worthy a passing thought. They make us ejaculate, "What next?" Time was, when the London City merchant lived within the City, and even locked himself up within the walls. And long after the City gates were thrown open, the City mansion of the rich banker and trader was not only a house of business, but a home. Those were the times when City men were perhaps in reality what the caricaturists now describe them. But those days are over; and now perhaps there is no class of men in the world who see more country than the chief citizens of London. They live in the country. They keep their dogs and their horses in the country. They have their fields, their gardens, their sheep, and their oxen; and they know as much about rural affairs as the rustics themselves. The cockney caricatures are no longer a reality. Even the clerks and the shopkeepers' assistants have got beyond the elements of rustic education. The sea-coast town of Brighton is upwards of 50 miles south of London. But this is not at all alarming to a City man. He transacts business within the walls daily, and sleeps at Brighton nightly. There are about 250 season tickets out for London and Brighton alone, at fifty guineas per annum ; and express trains run daily, Sundays The consequence is, that London is rapidly surrounded with villas, especially in the neighborhood of the great railway lines. And as this process of transformation, on the present diffused and extended system, only dates from 1840 at the farthest, it can scarcely be said to be of fifteen years' duration. Perhaps it is not even ten years since the conviction first began to be generally felt, of the possibility of realising the dream of a business life in town and a residence in the country. Even now there are thousands of metropolitan citizens that either do not believe it; or are too conservative to listen to the innovations of the era of railways! ten. And can it be realised after all? Let us look at one or two of its prominent features. A City merchant residing in Brighton enters the train in Brighton at a quarter to nine, and is at London Bridge at five minutes past In a few minutes more he is in the City. He attends to business till four o'clock, or even a little longer; and is once more in the train at five o'clock. He is in Brighton at twenty minutes past six. In ten minutes more he is" at home." He dines at seven, and spends the evening with his family, or in a club, or in a reading-room at Brighton, inhales the sea breeze, sleeps in the fresh, pure, and saline atmosphere, breakfasts with a keen appetite, and is once more on the wheels at a quarter to nine. There is no apparent hurry in any of his movements. The hours of the train are fixed on purpose to accommodate him. There is no stoppage by the way. It is one con. tinuous uninterrupted roll from the beginning to the end of the journey. Even in his own private carriage he could not be so comfortable; and the only objection that can be made to the arrangement is, that he runs the risk for fourteen hours every week of having his neck broken, or his bones fractured or dislocated. But every sportsman does the same; and what is life without a venture? Even the expense is nothing; it is a positive saving of money. If it were a hundred pounds instead of fifty, he would still be a gainer in his own health and in the health of his family, in the saving of his own private carriage and horses, in the saving of a house rent in town, or its economical maintenance if he keeps one for the season as the merchant princes do. But without the latter, his social circle is not in town at all. City man though he be regarded, he is not a City man; and whenever he dines in town it is at a public dinner, or privately in an hotel when he has business that prolongs his stay, or is too late for his own express train and is waiting for another. These hotels for accommodating City gentlemen have lost nothing by the railway system. The farther men live away from their places of business, the more frequently they dine in hotels; and the families in the country all know that if the governor does not arrive with the dinner-train he is not coming to dinner. So there is no waiting for him. There is even less waiting than if they were living in town, and might expect him every minute. He either comes at a definite period, or he is not coming to dinner at all. The regularity of the system is even conducive to domestic order, for the farther a man lives from his place of business, the more punctual he is to all his meal hours, and the more regular he is in his times of rising and going to bed. He becomes a machine,-wound up like a clock, and going like the same. Whether this quick mode of transit be desirable or not, is a question. People seem to delight in it; and if they think the risk of broken bones, or a dislocated neck worth incurring, who but themselves have any right to decide the point? Railway accidents are now so very common,—and will be more so every day-that one gets "used to it." So far as we are individually concerned, none of this flighty, scampering work for Us. We love to see the country as we pass through it, and to enjoy the beauties of Summer as they pass in review before us. Chacun à son goût. A SONG FOR MAIDENS. BY C. J. DAVIS. YOUNG LOVE, a little pedlar boy, Packed up all his stock in trade ; With costly gem and glitt'ring toy He tried to lure each thoughtless maid; But when the nymphs from every land All flocked to share the welcome booty, His goods were seized as contraband, Because the rogue had paid no duty! Arraigned at Hymen's judgment seat, No friend had he to put in bail. Again Love sells his wares to beauty; And puffs them off with fearless tact, Because they've paid-a heavy duty! ТО МУ ВАВЕ. BY DELTA. THERE is no sound upon the night- Hallow'd for ever be the hour To us, throughout all time to come, Which gave us thee, a living flower, To bless and beautify our home! Thy presence is a charm, which wakes The wither'd green, the faded bright. Pure as a lily of the brook, Heaven's signet on thy forehead lies, And Heaven is read in every look, My daughter, of thy soft blue eyes. In sleep, thy little spirit seems To some bright realm to wander back; And seraphs, mingling with thy dreams, Allure thee to their shining track. Already like a vernal flower I see thee opening to the light, And day by day, and hour by hour, Becoming more divinely bright. Yet in my gladness stirs a sigh, Even for the blessings of thy birth, Knowing how sins and sorrows try Mankind, and darken o'er the earth. Ah! little dost thou ween, my child, The dangers of the way before; How rocks in every path are piled, Which few unharm'd can clamber o'er. Sweet bud of beauty! how wilt thou Endure the bitter tempest's strife? Shall thy blue eyes be dimm'd-thy brow Indented by the cares of life? If years are spared to thee-alas! It may be-ah! it must be so; Yet ah! if prayers could aught avail, And ever on thy thoughts, my child, Who liveth best, God loveth best. Across thy path, Religion's star Should ever shed its healing ray, Shun Vice-the breath of her abode How much we lose, for want of thought!-CECIE IF WE WOULD DO any real good to ourselves or others, we should commence with "number one," and introduce a radical reform in our own private families. Family reform is the very pivot upon which every other reform turns. Novel principles have their birth in family circles. It is the great seminary for power, greatness, love, wealth, friendship, and their concomitant virtues, vices, and talents. The smallest beginnings have great endings, and the spirit of charity, instilled with tact into the bosom of a child, bursts forth enlarged in the actions of the man, and perhaps by sympathy may have ultimately a large share in the future policy of a nation. And if We may look to the difference betwixt a man brought up from his earliest infancy in a rebellious, thoughtless, or extravagant household; and another who has lived in peace, and felt the glow of filial love. Contrast them; how different the bearing of their minds! If the former be good and tolerant, it is only because, being pestered and worn by bickerings, he has been led to compare his home with the homes of others. the latter person be unjust, he never fails to show a wayward disposition instigated by evil communion, which makes his repentance still the more acute. Often do we hear a penurious man exclaim, by way of a compromise with his conscience, as he turns his back upon some starving wretch, Charity begins at home!" How little is that man aware of the mighty truth which he utters! because in the fullness of contentedness he can afford to pity rather than hate; in short, imbued with all the better feelings, because he daily sees their blessings. When Selfishness is laid aside, then shall we get on nobly through the world. PROFOUND TALKERS. There are profound talkers as well as profound writers; and your profound talkers have the best of it, for it is impossible to find them out. What is written and printed may be read over again, canvassed, sifted, and examined; but that which is said, vanishes, evaporates, is gone; leaving not a single idea in the mind of the hearer. A profound talker will tell you that he can think, and that he can talk, but he cannot write. Very true, because he has nothing to write about; and the nothing is not so easily detected in talking, and in thinking, as it is in writing. Writing is a substance, that you may take by the nose and bring to a confession; but talking is a mere ghost, a flitting shadow-which is here, there, everywhere, and nowhere. You try to get it, but you get only a handful of air. Profound talking has the advantage over profound writing; because, in talking, you may select your audience, and take care that no profane anti-mysterialist shall question your oracles. When you write profundities and give them to the world, you don't know who may get hold of them, and condense your ocean of froth into a thimbleful of slop. The shallower a man is, the more intensely he admires profundity; he who understands nothing, understands all things equally well; and when a man fears lest his ignorance should be detected on subjects that everybody understands, his best resource is to plunge into profundities, and then, when he is completely out of sight, he is quite safe. Thus have I known ambitious simpletons, who not having capacity for Greek and Latin, or other delectable studies, have betaken themselves to the inscrutabilities of Orientalism, and have looked marvellously wise in Arabic, Sanscrit, Bengalee, and all that sort of thing. I So again, those whose understandings have not been strong enough to bear them safe over the Pons Asinorum in Euclid's Elements, have cut a very pretty figure in gabbling and prating about transcendentalism. know a very ingenious gentleman, who has never read a line of Newton's Principia, and knows nothing about mathematics, who is perpetually propounding new theories of the universe, new doctrines of the motion, quality, and use of the planets, and new notions of the comets. In proposing these theories, and in starting these profundities, he, for the most part, keeps clear of mathematicians; seeing that in his mystic and twilight flights, their demonstrations have sometimes knocked him down, as boys knock down bats by throwing their hats at them. Surely the flights of profundity may be not inaptly compared to the flitting movements of these ambiguous animals; they are a kind of something-nothing; seenbut not seen; quick-but not progressive; a sort of black lightning; a shadow that has no substance; you never see where they come from, nor where they go to, nor what they come for. They are animal comets-in the system, but not of it. But the safest profundity of all, is profound thinking. Write profoundly, and find everybody may talk profoundly you out; and somebody may find you out; but "think" profoundly, and nobody can find you out. It may be asked, how is it to be known that you "think" profoundly, unless you make known your thoughts by talking or writing? Easily enough. Shake your head as Lord Burleigh does in the "Critic." You will be astonished, after a few of these "ambiguous givings out," with what ease you have obtained the reputation of being a profound thinker !" was a golden day in the calendar,' an event never to be forgotten by us, nor by them. We dare avow as much; for we hold proofs innumerable, traced in letters of black on white, that there exists between us and our correspondents one heart - one mind-one interest. Here is something to rejoice in. We have now travelled on in sweet company together, until our collected thoughts, carefully noted down, have occupied the bulk of FIVE handsome volumes. Often do we find ourself poring over the leaves of some of these; and as often, if truth be spoken, may a pleasing smile be seen to play upon our features. This smile is not the less "expressive," from the happy belief that our labors are not doomed to slumber in oblivion. There is nothing ephemeral in what has been sung It was good, it is good, it will be good for ages. We speak not at all of our own performances-assuredly not; but of the vast mass of contributions which have come ready to our hand, to immortalise our pagesthese, too, from the best and choicest spirits of the world we live in.† or said. If we have any pride about us,-and we It would be an act of culpable neglect, did we fail to note here the very kind assistance we have ever met with from our brethren of the press. They have made, month after month, week after week, copious extracts from our pages, and given them a world-wide popularity. We would not be invidious; yet must we SPECIALLY thank the Editors of the Hampshire Advertiser, and Lowerpool Mercury, for their unwearied endeavors to serve us. This, from purely disinterested motives. † All labors of love are amply requited, when any great known good has been accomplished. In this matter, OUR JOURNAL stands pre-eminent. It has been the direct means, in a number of instances, of working quite a reformation in the hearts of certain people who before held the most lax notions with regard to this world and the next. They are now as disinterested and free, as formerly they were selfish and constrained. This is the magic we like to practise; and as OUR JOURNAL is found in nearly every corner of the world, let us hope that its influence is becoming, daily, more and more powerful. VOL. V.-22. all have "some" weak point,-it is the pride we feel at having won our way to public favor, and that, through an antagonism of Booksellers and "the Trade," unparalleled, perhaps, in the whole history of literature. Our pecuniary loss has been indeed fearful. We are not going, however, to sing a sorrowful song about that, to-day. Oh no! Our triumph over envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness," has been a signal one. We forgive our enemies right frankly, and hope that, at last, they will condescend to read what, in its progress, they have so long and so virulently abused by word of mouth. "Anger resteth only in the bosom of a fool." WE have been angry,--very. That anger resteth not with us. We are to-day, and mean to continue (D.V.), "mild as a moonbeam;" for we have lots of promised visits to pay, and lots of sweet faces waiting to greet us all over the country. a These few preliminary remarks bring us to "great fact." WE TO-DAY CLOSE OUR FIFTH VOLUME; and with it, we feel compelled to close also our labors for the present. Our friends and readers well know, from several "hints we have from time to time thrown out, that the entire weight of the commercial and literary departments of OUR JOURNAL have devolved on OURSELF ALONE. In plain language, the work of at least six active persons has, ever since we launched our bark, been faithfully, scrupulously, and exactly performed by ONE individual.* This may be doubted by some, but we reassert it fearlessly; and having no printingoffice of our own, the labor has been thereby more than quadrupled. Details are not requisite. We have fairly stated our case in few words. The exertions we have alluded to, very naturally begin now to affect our constitution; and more particularly our brain. We need quiet and repose. The horrible noises ground out of the bowels of certain organs (so called) by gigantic Italians, just below our window, (twenty times a day at least); the indescribable tortures inflicted on our nervous system by the stentorian lungs of passing costermongers, &c., &c., &c., bawling out the wares in which they traffic-these, and certain other legalised street nuisances, uniting in " cert pitch," are too many for us to stand up against. Our natural disposition is,-placidity, an even temperament, and an habitual "happy" frame of mind. These, if we continue our labors, will be fearfully jeopardised. Our mind, therefore, is made up. con |