have more imagination than they think, and that which they consider as the attraction of pleasure, as a sort of effeminacy which more properly belongs to a child, is often the best trait they posscss; while they are viewing scenes of imagination, they are true, natural, moved; but when they mingle in the world, they are marked by dissimulation, calculation and vanity, in their words, their sentiments and their actions. But do those men feel all that a really fine tragedy inspires, who consider the portraiture of the most profound affections, as nothing more than an amusing dissipation? Have they any idea of the delicious agitation which passions chastened by poetry produce? Ah! how many pleasures fancy affords! It interests us without giving birth either to remorse or fear, and the sensibility which it developes, has not that keen anguish, from which real affections are seldom exempt.

What magic poetry and the fine arts lend to the language of love! How beautiful it is to love by heart and thought in unison! to give a thousand-fold variation to a sentiment which a single word can express, but for which all the words of the world are only misery! to imbue our being with the master-pieces of the imagination, all of which partake of love, and to discover, in the mysteries of nature and of genius, additional expressions to reveal our own hearts!

What have they experienced, they who have not admired the woman they loved, they in whom the sentiment is not a hymn of the heart, and for whom grace and beauty are not the celestial image of the most touching affections? What has she felt, she who has not seen in the object of her choice a grand protector, a strong and gentle guide, whose glance commands and solicits, and who on his knees receives the right of disposing of her destiny? What inexpressible delights serious thoughts occasion when blended with the liveliest impressions! The tenderness of that friend, depositary of our happiness, must bless us at the portals of the tomb, as in the hey-day of youth; and all the solemnity of existence is changed into delicious emotions, when love is charged with the duty, as among the ancients, to kindle and extinguish the torch of life.

If enthusiasm intoxicates the soul with happiness, it also sustains it in misfortune with a singular power; it leaves behind it a certain indescribable luminous and deep trace, which does not allow even absence to efface us from the heart of our friends. It also affords us a refuge from the bitterest pangs, and it is the only sentiment which can calm without chilling.

The simplest affections, those which all hearts believe they are capable of feeling, maternal love, filial love, can one believe they are known in their fullness, when they are not mingled with enthusiasm? How can one love a son, without entertaining the flattering hope, that he will be noble and proud, without wishing for him the glory which will multiply his life, which will make us hear every where the name which our heart repeats? Why may not one enjoy

with transport the talents of a son, the charms of a daughter? What singular ingratitude towards the Deity! What indifference for his gifts! are they not from heaven, since they render it easier for one to please those they love?

If some misfortune, however, should deprive our child of these advantages, the same sentiment would then take another form: it would arouse within us pity, sympathy and the pleasure of being necessary to its happiness. In all circumstances, enthusiasm animates or consoles; and even when the most cruel blow is aimed at us, when we loose the one who gave us life, the one who loved us like a guardian angel, who inspired us at once with a respect without fear and a confidence without bounds, enthusiasm then comes to our relief; it gathers in our breast some sparks of the soul which has taken its flight towards the skies, we live in its presence, and we promise ourselves to transmit hereafter the history of its life. We believe that his paternal hand will never, no never altogether abandon us in this world, and nis gentle form will lean towards us to sustain us before calling us away.

At last when the great struggle comes, when we, in our turn, must join in the conflict with death, the weakness of our faculties, the loss of our hopes, that life once so brilliant, now obscured, that crowd of sentiments and ideas which dwelt in our bosom and which are enveloped by the darkness of the tomb, those interests, those affections, that existence which is changed into a phantom before it vanishes away, all that, is doubtless afflicting, and the common man appears, when he expires, to have less of death to die! But thanks be to God for the assistance which he affords us in this moment; our words may be vague, our eyes no longer see the light, our reflections, which once were brilliantly linked together, may wander in isolation only over cloudy traces; but enthusiasm will not abandon us, its brilliant wings will hover around our dying couch, it will raise the veils of death, it will recall to our mind those moments when, full of energy, we felt that our hearts were imperishable, and our last sigh perhaps will be like a noble thought reascending to heaven.

"O France! land of glory and of love! if enthusiasm should ever be extinguished from thy soil, if calculation should dispose of all things, and reason alone inspire a contempt for perils, what would your beautiful heaven, your brilliant intellects, your fruitful nature avail thee! An active intelligence, a shrewd impetuosity may render you mistress of the world, but you will leave on the / world only the trace of torrents of sand; terrible as the flood, barren as the desert."* ""*)

*) This last expression is that which excited the strongest indignation of the police against my book; it seems to me, however, that it should not have displeased Frenchmen.-Madame De Stael.

SONNET TO GOETHE.

(Selected.)

Thou art the Master Spirit of thy time,
The universal genius, grasping mind,
Who, from confusion, order hast combined,
And flung thy eagle glance o'er every clime.
From earliest youth, to manhood's rarest prime,
By thee, the labyrinthine web's untwined,
Of secret springs, that agitate mankind,

That promise bliss, or urge them on the crime.
In vain Germania claims thee for her own,

O'er the wide world, broods thy creative spirit,
Compeer with Shakspeare, thou, the glorious throne
Of lofty thought, forever shalt inherit;

For wisdom thou hast gathered from a stone,

And in the meanest plant, discovered wond'rous merit.

GIRLS.

LOUISA, a little girl, who was born on the 19th of September, 1841, and who lives not very many squares from the Court House in St. Louis, began about New Year, 1851, to work a quilt-partly for fun-partly for use.

She was going to school the same time, learning to spell, to read and to write, and studying grammar, arithmetic and geography; and so she worked on her quilt only during her spare time, and mostly at night, while sitting by the side of the lamp and the fire, with her Father and Mother.

How large do you think the quilt was? 22 yards each way-square. There were 9 worked blocks each way and 8 pieces in each block. There were also 8 plain blocks each way, one between each one of the worked-blocks. Besides there was a border 9 inches wide, all the way around, except at the corners, which were filled out with four blocks, one on each corner-each of these blocks being 9 inches square. So the whole quilt was made of 720 pieces. It was all worked in wave-quilting. She worked it all herself; and in two months it was done. Louisa has also made other kinds of needle-work-in worsted - letters, mottoes, roses, an anchor, a church and other articles.

What is more than all, besides being lively as a cricket, she is gentle as a dove.

Now is there another little girl in St. Louis, who so honors, and is such an honor to her Father and Mother, as Louisa? Is there one who will not love Louisa for her taste? Mothers may remember that the wife of the Grecian hero Ulysses was distinguished for the work of her own hand, and that the wife of Napoleon made, and prided herself in making, ornamental needle-work a fashionable occupation.

May not Louisa also win a hero, as well as Josephine of France, once a little Creole girl of America? May we hear often hereafter of other little girls as tasty and lovely as she; and only think what a comfortable world we would soon have, if all the girls were like LOUISA!

HOMAGE TO THE ARTS.

POESY.

From the German of Schiller

No chain can hold, neither can limits bound me,
Freely I soar, and every realm I gird,

My kingdom is wide thought, within and 'round me,
And my swift winged weapon is the word,
What on earth, or e'en in heaven is moving,
What nature deep in mystery may do,
Must be revealed to me, in spirit loving,
For the free poet's power's unbound and true.
Yet nothing can I find fairer than duty-
In Beauty's form-it is the soul of Beauty.

The money spent in behalf of the Fine Arts flows like water from the fountain, refreshing not only those at the source, but also all among whom the proceeds may pass. Let the Artist then be encouraged, cheer his heart and foster his genius, by kind attentions and liberal patronage; we are endeavoring to do our part.-BAUER, who has made neat wood cuts, and who was engaged to make one of the "Ruins of an Old Pueblo" alluded to in the V article of this number of the Journal, has been prevented from completing it by sickness in his family. "The Deer" and "Falcon's Head" here presented are his work. Look at the air of life in these figures, the accuracy of the draw. ing, the faithful delineation of the details, even to the hairs of the one and the fibers of the feathers of the other. We hope to have still finer specimens from his hand soon hereafter. *** BINGHAM.-well known in the East as the Missouri Artist, and being "par excellence" the American Artist, has come to spend the winter in St. Louis. BINGHAM'S style is one which is now rapidly forming a School of pure American Art. He has no occasion to copy the old masters, for their genius is original in himself. He him. self is a Master-one of the New Masters. "The Election Scene" now in his studio on Market Street, opposite the Court House, is one among many evidences he has produced going to maintain this position. Let every friend of Art pay it a visit. He will be richly repaid in the refined pleasure it affords. *** POLYHYMNIA has been deservedly popular a long while and has just begun a new series of Concerts PARODI and PATTI are sustaining their distinguished reputation in song, commanding high prices, full houses and enthusiastic applause. And as music is far in the van of her sister Arts in St. Louis we take the liberty of hinting that this Art might be somewhat Americanized. Let American feelings and thoughts-sturdy sentiments linked with honey-flowing syllables be set to original melodies, and let such songs be sung oftener at the Concerts. Let them reach into the heart of the people, and as the French were aroused and led by the Marseillaise in the struggle of death, let our people be aroused and led by a song of spirit to victory in the struggle of life. An old sage has said: "let me make the songs of a nation, and you may make their laws." We would add: let the friends of music feel the respon sibility, as well as the honor of their Art, since we have such high authority for considering it a rival of the laws of the Land. We would be glad to hear one of Longfellow's Voices of the Night sung as above suggested, especially the one in which this verse occurs:

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,-act in the living Present!

Heart within, and God o'erhead! ***

MISS JULIA DEAN.-The dramatic heroine-of American Art, has just realized all we anticipated of her, last month. As the Poet is born for his vocation, so she seems born for hers. She acts from her heart, with all the confidence of genius and nature, guided by the delicate dictate of her own pure refined feeling-her own taste. This fine feeling she imparts to the multitude who witness her delineations of the traits of virtue, and its conflicts with misfortune. As the rough marble rock of the mountain is polished by the Art of the Sculptor and receives the smooth finish and brilliancy of a mirror, so many a rough human nature of 'true grit' is polished by the action of her Art till it shines with all the lustre of gentility, and the warm affections of many fearfully contracted and almost withered hearts are made to throb, bud and bloom with new life, love and beauty. *** THE CASKET. is filled with literary gems of various size and hue,

- original and select specimens-It is an or nament to a center table but what is more, it is admirably enlightening in its mental and moral influence. ** CASPARI'S HOMOPATHIC DOMESTIC PHYSICI AN BY HARTMANN, is just laid on our table, we have had time only to glance at its contents, which seem to point out cures for nearly all the ills that 'flesh is heir to." The friends of this new Healing Art, will find the work at Wessel. hoeft's 64. N. 4th St. ** The Dancing Art is being converted into a means of comfort for the poor, as fines for crime are into the School fund. The Genius of Humani. ty is at work in St Louis.

North Second street [Westside,] between Mathematical Instruments.