THE Oracle predicted the blind Orion should have his sight again, if unceasingly he would go to meet the sun. Ye searchers after truth! seek evermore the sun, and an eye will be given to you.

XL

To describe great deeds properly is well nigh as sublime as to enact them; and there is little difference between an author and a hero.

XLI.

AUTHORS dressing and hiding their thoughts in unintelligible language imitate cunningly those hosts who serve thick ale in untranspa

rent cups.

XLII.

EVERY love believes in a double immortality, that of itself and the other. If it fears ever to cease, it has ceased already. To our heart it is the same whether the beloved disappears, or only love.

XLIII.

EARTH, in which all of us are going to lay down our sunken heads for repose, is but the broad block of execution for pale and worn-out men coming from out the prison.

XLIV.

IF women converse about women, they will particularly notice mind where there is beauty, and beauty where there is mind; in the peacock, the voice; in the nightingale, the plumage.

ILV.

OLD age is not gloomy because our joys but because our hopes then will cease.

XLVI.

WHERE the end appears divine to us, the road to it must have been the same, because the end was the road, and because the road becomes the end. We perhaps are nearer to thee, Eternal Being! than we think, for thou only canst know it; and we live not only on Thee but in Thee, as our earth moves in the midst of the atmosphere of the sun, while it appears to turn far off around his brightness.

XLVII.

GIRLS should talk with their friends as though a man overheard them; and with men as though girls were present.

XLVIII.

THE greater love of God and men, the less self-love. The quicker a planet moves about the sun the slower it turns round itself.

XLIX.

CAN any thing be more lovely than beauty and innocence united? What charms still can a beautiful and innocent virgin borrow, that are not less than those she already possesses? Yet she borrows even the smallest; for she resembles the Roman who, according to Pliny, had the white lily and the white lamb painted in motley colors.

L.

THE true man opens himself still with faith and hope to heaven, though he no longer beholds or possesses it; even as the flowers that open to the sun continue so still, although he be clouded.

LI.

Too violent sorrow is suicide of the heart; and as in Silesia suicides are buried with the face turned toward the earth, thus he who grieves too much has his face turned in the same way toward the earth, although he be not in her, and though he ought to raise it to look about him, to gaze upon something higher, and something that is more cheerful than earth, worms, and the black mould. Not to enjoy but to be merry is our duty, and it ought to be our aim. In a soul full of gloominess and vexation, the sultry and heavy air chokes all mental flowers and all moral growth. To a soft melancholy and to compassion the heart should open, but not to cold ill-humor and dejection; as the flower remains open to the dew, but closes before the rain. To feel unwell is so little and to feel well so strongly congenial with our nature, that by the same degree of delusion we only are sorry for that which gave sorrow but not for that which gave joy.

LII.

OUR sufferings exist only in moments; for they form time. One most painful moment we readily would bear. Then why not the second and third, and every next that is just as short? Therefore all who perplex themselves give to every pungent moment two fresh thorns, those of the past and future; and thus bleed thrice at the same time. Shall we then like children ever fear the thunder, and even its lengthened roar, though the moment of the lightning shall have passed away?

LIII.

WHO is the greater? the sage, who rising above the stormy time gazes at it without action, or he who throws himself boldly from the summits of repose into the battle-crowd of time? It is sublime if the eagle flies through the thunder-cloud up to the serene heavens; but far more sublime if, soaring in the blue above the dark vaults of the gale, he rushes through it upon his mountain-seat, where his featherless family gather and tremble.

THOUGHTS OF THE BLEST.

O! SWEET is the thought of the loved who have flown
On the spirit's bright wing to a covert on high;
Where the sorrows of earth shall be ever unknown,
Where clouds shall ne'er gather, nor moaning winds sigh;

No! rapture's full song stirs those Eden-like bowers,
And the gush of Life's fountain comes soft to th' ear,

While the incense of praise is like breath from the flowers,
And Infinite Love is the light of the sphere!

But sweet is the thought that they do not forget,

.

Though affection's bright chain at this moment is riv'n,
That unbroken its links will encircle us yet,

When we meet, a blest band, in the mansion of heaven.

W.

THE QUOD CORRESPONDENCE.

NUMBER SIX.

DEAR SIR: I have just returned from the green fields, the blue skies, and the rich, glowing sun-shine of the country. I spent my time in lingering through the dark shadowy woods, or in sauntering along the borders of a brook that wound through copse, meadow, and woodland; sometimes gliding in unruffled smoothness between fringed banks, and at others indulging a very choleric sputtering where stones or rocks stood in its way.

All was so fresh and gay and glowing, that I could scarcely persuade myself it was nature and not myself that was young. The flowers, the fields, trees, birds, all seemed the self-same that I had seen when a boy. A small, busy, bustling wren had her nest at the window of my room, and the first note that I heard at day-break was the loud, joyous, gushing voice of that little bird. Oh! how my memory floated back on that tide of song to the days of childhood! A wren sang at my window then; and when I awake now, and hear the loud, glad note of this merry little chorister, I fancy myself still a child; that this long, long, weary life is a dream, and that I am not a decrepid, broken-down old man.

Yet when I once turned my face to the city, how I longed to reach my old home! With what an affectionate eye I looked at the old house! Its ruined walls, its small narrow windows, its creaking stairs and gloomy chambers, each had a corner in my heart; and it was with a glow of secret pride that I once more seated myself in my own chair, and felt that I was at home at last.

I found a number of letters awaiting my return; and among them the following from my former correspondent, Mr. Snagg:

'MR. JOHN QUOD, ESQ.

Sept. 9th, 1841.

'MY DEAR OLD Boy: Some folks like what's pathetic- some do n't; and I am one of them. Don't take it hard; but it's high time you should know you are going it too strong in that line. As for your heroine, she has done nothing but snivel and weep, from first to last. We found her at it, and left her at it. It's too much pork for a shilling. Now do give us something jolly there's a good fellow! Sprinkle in a few chaps like that Higgs; or give us a little more of him. He knows a thing or two. The way he come it over the man in the eating-house was not so bad: but I could have given him a few hints in that line, which would be very useful to one of his standing in society. Perhaps you do n't know it; but that dog Wommut is your great card. Bring him forward often; he's a general favorite: My bowels fairly yearn toward him,' as some one says, some where - he 's so like Slaughter! How he would pin a bull! 'As for Lucy-could n't you kill her quietly? If you could, it would be judicious; if you can 't, dish her up in small quantities, or by G d! you'll turn some one's stomach. I've a sister who hates the name. She took to her bed when she first saw it but now we scratch it out with a lead pencil and write Mary over it; and then with the assistance of a smelling-bottle she contrives to survive the reading of your correspondence. What's in a name,' etc., is all gammon.

'But all this is neither here nor there. I commenced this letter to say that several very respectable gentlemen of my acquaintance would be highly delighted to open a correspondence with you, on things in general: and that we have determined to make you a member of our club of Infant Roarers.' It would have been done at the last meeting; but one of our most distinguished dogs baited a bull in the upper part of the city; and two imported cocks were pitted against each other the same evening. So that no one was present except myself, (who came on purpose to nominate you,) and one other very respectable gentleman, who was unable to attend either exhibition, owing to an infirmity in one leg, which he lately broke in a fight with a watchman.

Of course, as you are an old man, you won't be expected to do much in the fighting way. Just drop in at the meetings, when it's convenient. The dog-fights, bull-baits, etc., of course your own taste will lead you to attend; and between you and I, if you should happen to be out on a lark with us, you might occasionally knock down a small watchman or a sickly one, just for the name of the thing. I'll attend to the big ones. Yours to the back-bone,

ISAAC SNAGG.

P. S. I copy an extract from the minutes of the last meeting of the Club of 'Infant Roarers: '

RESOLVED: That we have read with the highest satisfaction the letter of ISAAC SNAGG, Esq., to Mr. JOHN QUOD, contained in the fourth number of that last gentleman's correspondence with the New-York KNICKERBOCKER, and that with all due respect to that worthy gentleman, we consider the letter the most interesting portion of the correspondence, and that it does honor to the head and heart of the gentleman who penned it.

RESOLVED: That to show our high regard for the talents of Mr. SNAGG, and for the merits of the valuable animal whose virtues he commemorates, the said letter be recorded among the minutes of this Society.

I. s.'

About a week after the preceding letter, the following notice was left at my abode, as I was informed, by a small boy with one eye not a little damaged from having recently come in contact with some hard obstacle-possibly a fist:

'Sept. 25, 1841.

SIR: I have the honor to inform you that at a regular meeting of the Society of Infant Roarers, held at their Den,' on the 21st day of September instant, you were unanimously elected a member of that Society.

'By order of the Trustees.

TO JOHN QUOD, ESQ.

JOHN SQUAIL, Sec'y.'

'A special meeting of the members of the Society will be held at the 'Den,' on the first day of October proximo, to take into consideration matters of much importance. A punctual attendance is requested, as it is desirable that the meeting should be as full as possible. JOHN SQUAIL, Sec'y.'

A day or two afterward I received the following letter from Mr. Snagg:

MR. JOHN QUOD, ESQ.

'September 27, 1841.

'MY DEAR BOY: Before this you will have received notice from the Secretary of the Society of I. R's, informing you that you are one of us. You went in by an unanimous vote; for you 've no idea of the sensation your last number created among us particularly my letter. There's to be a special meeting of the Society, on the first of next month. Don't fail to be there. All the best bull-dogs in the country are to be produced, and a game-cock of a famous strain, the closest hitter and best mouther in the State; and it's said a match is to be made up between Big Ben and Raw Pete. Excuse my breaking off abruptly; but it wants a quarter to six, and I have appointed the hour of six precisely for a dun to call here, so that I might know exactly when to be out. Yours, t. t. m., ISAAC SNAGG.'

In reply to the critique in the first letter of Mr. Snagg, I can only say that the web of the story is woven in truth, and it must take its