whether certain it is, that lamps began to figure at some period, and still perform their office. It must have seemed a startling thing to the old man who had duly laid himself down with the feathered creation at twilight, when he saw the 'rising generation' so desperate in their defiance of established usage and the wisdom of their fathers, as to drive back the darkness of night with torches and lamps; yea, betake themselves to sitting up late to enjoy them, even at hours when their fathers would have been snoring in grand harmony. Dreadful innovations these, on the kingdom of Darkness and old Night, enough to make those venerable potentates look uneasily on their royal prospects! Whoever may have been the Prometheus who taught men the art of prolonging the days of their lives,' certain it is, that the lesson once learned, mankind have made notable advancement in reducing the same to practice. Hour after hour has been taken from the night, and Night has indemnified herself by subtracting a like number from Day for her purposes, as if jealous of the balance of power.' 'Tis not impossible, if the fashion makes its present rate of progress, that the sun will become superannuated and be voted out of respectable society. We need not pursue these speculations longer, for days grow long.'

Yes! these night-days are fast going, and will soon be the mere objects of memory and contemplation, until another revolution of the great wheel of nature shall bring them again. Mean time another summer will swallow up the early hours of evening in the radiance of her tireless vertical sun. Night shall turn to day - and such days! Days that, amid the life of awakened nature, shall enshroud us in the imagery of some more celestial sphere; when, between sunrise and sunset, lingeringly floateth by what is felt in its bliss and beauty to be a whole golden age!

L. E. 8.

BEAUTY.

We know not BEAUTY; what we do adore
At distance, steals from her essential power.
For Beauty is perfection, fresh from God,
Unstained by earth, unburied by the sod:

Bright forms to which the fleeting hours give birth;
O rose! thou sweet conception of the earth!
And oh thou form of Woman! in whose eyes
Our very poetry of being lies;

Where all we know of life, of light is thrown
Around the sphere of thine enchanting zone;
Ye are but emblems fair, to mortals given,
The shining characters that point to Heaven.
These are but shadows of the Form above,
And these are lovely, but they are not Love.
And these are beautiful, but BEAUTY'S shrine
Is builded by the Oracle Divine;

And beams not in the purple light of youth,
And knows no form but of IMMORTAL TRUTH.

SOME of the big daily papers devote one of their columns to what they call a City Article,' meaning thereby an essay on the subject of money, which is supposed to be more particularly interesting to that portion of the world called 'the city,' than to any other; people who live in rural districts being notoriously indifferent to money and money matters. But these Articles' of ours will not relate to money at all, excepting the small quantity of that article which they may procure us, but to articles which are eminently city articles, and which cannot be found in any other district whatever. For instance: an alderman is a city article; so is mud, so is gas; but money, trees, houses, humbugs, and-so-forth, may be found in city and country. Are grapes, then, city articles?' asks somebody. Of course not, exclusively, although there is hardly a habitation in the city which has not a trellis in the back-yard, with a snaky-looking vine trailed over it, from which glorious bunches of Catawbas or Isabellas may be gathered in September. But The Grapes' is a city article exclusively. The world, too, is a city article; people who spend their lives in the country are supposed to be profoundly ignorant of the world;' and whenever they wish to see it, to learn by actual experience what it is, in fact, to mix with it and in it, they always come to the city. Nobody ever went into the country to see the world. The denizens of our city perhaps can see more of 'the

world' by remaining in their own wards than many travellers do in going over half the globe. For what makes one part of the world different from another, but the people who inhabit it? Coelum, non animum, mutant, qui trans mare currunt,' is the motto of our friends from Albion's Isle, and a very proper one it is. The Spaniard, Frenchman, German, and so on, bring hither their habits as well as their tongues and complexion; and wherever they congregate, there they form a New-Spain, a New-France, a New-Germany, and so on, which differs from the old only as a new potatoe differs from a transplanted old one. There is no greater need of going to Connemara to make the acquaintance of a real vegetable paddy than of an animal Paddy. Cœlum, non animum' will apply in one case as well as in the other. Man makes the manners as emphatically as manners make the man. One can become a 'picked man of nations' without quitting the Battery. It is as short a step from Broadway to the Boulevards as from the sublime to the ridiculous. You can pop into Dublin, Edinburgh or Vienna by turning a corner, and Seven Dials may be visited by going down Anthonystreet, as carelessly as though you were Tom King; 'facilis descensus averni;' or you may drink Spanish chocolate, without going to Vigo, like the illustrious Mr. Titmarsh; or enjoy a trip to London, and a toby of ale and a rabbit, as we did, (namely, ourself and a friend from the country,) by merely turning out of Broadway into Chambers-street, and opening the door of

The Grapes.

'LET us go in here and refresh ourselves,' said Verdaunt; ‘I am weary of fine ladies and Gothic churches.'

Why here?' I replied, knowing the austere habits of my companion.

Those grapes over the door look so tempting,' he replied. 'It's a fruiterer's, of course.'

I said nothing, but followed Verdaunt, who wears glasses, which do not render him the keenest-sighted person in the world; and he did not at once discern his mistake, but seated himself at a little mahogany table, on which was lying a late copy of 'The Times.' 'What will you have?' said Verdaunt.

Just what you choose,' I replied, watching very curiously for a dénouement, as the novel-writers say.

What do you wish, gentlemen?' said a smart-looking lady, with a jovial, ruddy countenance, which was heightened by a lace cap and pink ribbons, who emerged suddenly into our presence from a kind of closet with a half-door and a window.

For my part, I will take some grapes,' said Verdaunt. 'Grapes, Sir!' said the lady, with a bewildered look.

'Yes,' said Verdaunt, emphatically; 'grapes, if you please!' 'We do n't keep grapes,' said the lady, all at once turning as sour as though she had been changed into a bunch, and suddenly retreated into her closet again.

'What is it, gentlemen? what is 'e matter with the missis?' ex

claimed a ponderous gentleman, wearing a ponderous gold chain with a ponderous pair of gold seals, who rose from a table close by, where he had been pondering over a Weekly Dispatch,' and dragged himself, rather than stepped, toward us. 'What 'll 'ee 'ave?' I believe we have made a mistake here,' said Verdaunt, as he scrutinized the room and glanced from the figure in the closet to the figure before us.

Will you take it in a mug or a toby, Sir?' said the ponderous gentleman, inclining his ear to catch the reply; 'you can 'ave pewter or glass, whichever you loike.'

'What in the world does he mean?' said Verdaunt.

'Old or new, or 'alf-an'-'alf mixed?-that 's the best, I think,' continued the figure. 'I do n't feel very smartish to-day, and I am going to try some o' that myself. I'ave got four 'ogsheads on tap; you can 'ave whichever you loike, but I do n't think you'll find a better glass of ale in any nobleman's cellar in England, not to say

London.'

'O! I see how it is,' said Verdaunt, catching his breath; this is an ale-house. I am ashamed of myself. Do n't laugh; but let us make the best of it. Mixed, if you please, Sir, mixed.'

Two tobys of 'alf-an'-'alf, William,' called out the landlord, with his great gruff voice; and then reseated himself gradually, with a half-smothered grunt, which seemed to say, 'Thank heaven! I'm down again!'

The two tobys were brought directly by William, and placed before us on a little japanned salver, accompanied by two tall drinking-glasses, which might have been copied out of a Dutch painting. The tobys were little brown mugs, bearing some resemblance to a pursy old gentleman in a bob-wig and three-cornered hat; and were so-called in honor of Toby Fillpot, who is the patron saint of such places, and has a nimbus of foamy ale, instead of one of tin foil, like many other saints.

In truth, this is good stuff!' said Verdaunt, while the foam of the toby beaded his upper lip like a budding moustache. Did you say, Sir, that this came from a nobleman's cellar?' he continued, looking at the landlord, who immediately hobbled toward us again. 'Another?' said the landlord.

'No,' said Verdaunt; I understood you to say something about a nobleman's cellar and a tap, and

'O, ah! two rabbits, William!' said the landlord, and was just preparing to let himself down again, when Verdaunt repeated his question about the nobleman's cellar.

'Yes, I understand,' said the landlord; 'I 'ave four 'ogsheads of that in my cellar, as good ale as ever you tasted in your life. Any body that says that aint a good glass of ale do n't know what ale is. Oi think I ought to know summat about ale. Oi was born in Kent, and my father before me.'

But, my friend, you did not understand me,' said Verdaunt, seriously.'

O, ah! that's it. Well, the rabbits will be here presently.'