every succeeding age. He is among the ancients what the Queen of night is among the starry hosts that follow in her wake. But that there has not risen an orb of greater magnificence, I shall not be convinced, till the sun of Shakspeare's genius has vanished from the horizon.

We return to passing incidents: another of Capt. Read's elegant entertainments occurs this evening; youth, beauty, and many festive hearts will be there, but I am too sad for such a brilliant scene. The last night of the year is mingling with the past! Would that I could recall some of its misspent hours and be permitted to escape a recollection of its ills. As for its moments of happiness, I say with sadness they have been few: I have grasped at substance, and found it shadow.

ray

"By expectation every day beguiled,

Dupe of to-morrow even from a child."

How are we here to-day, but to-morrow the places that have known us are to know us no more! The flowers will bloom as freshly as before, but it will not be around our steps; the sun beam as brightly, but his will not reach our narrow home. The stream, by whose margin we have strayed, will still rush between its green banks, but it will not be beneath the vision of our eyes. The stirred forest, where we have so often wandered at the twilight hour, will still breathe its music, but it will not be our ear that shall be turned to its mystical hymn.

Yet there is a spirit-land, of which these relinquished beauties are only the faint type-there the flowers never fall, and not a withered leaf mars the beauties of the eternal spring. Ah, when shall this barque of being, which has wintered and summered so long in time, be safely moored there, the storms of life all weathered, and the ocean crossed, through the skill and conduct of our gracious Pilot? Mine, yet, is the lot of the gentle Cowper:

Always from port withheld, always distressed,
The howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed,
Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost,
And day by day some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.

My thoughts now wander with solicitude from this distant isle to my native shore, to the home of my friends, and hover, with anxious affection, around each endeared hearth: are there not seats there which the last year has made vacant? Shall I not on my return look fondly for some, inquire where they are, and echo only answer, Where? Will the one who once bent over me with a sister's solicitude, in an hour of weakness and pain, be there? Shall I again greet her whose tears fell so warm and fast over the farewell words? Fond memory! thou callest up this scene in all the tenderness of a fresh reality. I seem again to be parting with that shore, looking back to its hills, and murmuring in the breeze that may reach the ear of that ONE, more lovely in sadness!

Blest be the soft seraphic hour
That first betrayed to me

The unadorned, and priceless dower

Which Heaven conferred in thee.
I would not, for a fleeting day,
This single gift resign,

For every gem that sheds its ray
In rich Golconda's mine.

For thou hast been to me what ne'er
In ruby's ray hath shone—

A sister, from a purer sphere,
To lure me from my own:
And I have watched the rising light
Of each inspiring word,

As they who track the farewell flight
Of some ascending bird.

Through every night of doubt and ill,

And every darksome day,

A sunny smile was round thee still,
To chase their gloom away;

And when the world in rudeness spoke,

Thy voice was heard above

The tones that from their murmurs broke,

In its unchanging love.

But now the freshening breeze is near

That parts me far from thee;

I go, with no sweet voice to cheer

A pilgrim o'er the sea:

A pilgrim through the surging sweep

Of every wilder wave,

Rushing remorseless o'er the sleep

Of many a pilgrim's grave.

THE works of Mr. Colton have outlived most American books of this character, simply on account of their raciness and beauty of style. The Superintendents of Ohio, Indiana, and Michigan, have recommended most of those volumes for the libraries of their States.

SHIP AND SHORE,

In Madeira, Lisbon, and the Mediterranean. By Rev. Walter Colton, U. S. N., late Alcalde of Monterey. It was in this work that Mr. Colton made his first essay as an author without a name. The favor with which it was received was a prophecy of the success of his after works, for it procured him an honorable fame, both as a poet of promise and a spirited author of lively prose. Illustrated. 12mo, cloth. Price $1.

"This is one of the most charming books of travel that ever was placed before the American public. Probably more beautiful passages and pages have been transcribed from this book than any other American work."-Boston Cour.