----'ALL things seem So happy when they love; the gentle birds Have far more gay a note when they unite To build their simple nest; and when at length The 'anxious mother' watches o'er her young. Her mate is near, to recompense her care With his sweet song.'
Our fair correspondent has exalted the attractions of her heroine 'to a degree,' as the English cockney novelists have it: 'Every look of her beaming eyes penetrated to the heart; every motion of her moist coral lips gave ecstasy; and every variation of her features discovered new and ineffable beauties!' Good 'eavens!--how 'THEODORE' _must_ have felt, as he 'gradually recovered from the hurt of his fall,' (_was_ his 'limb' amputated?) and found that angel 'lifting his head from his pillow, and touching his eye-lids with awakening light!' * * * THANKS to the kind '_Incognita_,' to whom we are indebted for a beautiful worsted butterfly, destined to a 'literaneous' sort of destiny! Verily, it is a beautiful fabric; so vivid and life-like in its brilliant colors, that it seems, while hanging by the thin ear of our iron gray-hound, as if about to rise and float a living blossom of the air. How deftly the Ettrick Shepherd ('the d--d HOGG!' as BALLANTYNE called him,) has limned its counterpart: 'Perhaps a bit bonny butterfly is resting wi' folded wings on a gowan, not a yard from your cheek; and now, awakening out of a summer-dream, floats away in its wavering beauty; but as if unwilling to leave the place of its mid-day sleep, comin' back and back, and round and round, on this side and that side, and settling in its capricious happiness to fasten again on some brighter floweret, till the same breath o' wind that lifts up your hair sae refreshingly catches the airy voyager, and wafts her away into some other nook of her ephemeral paradise!' Answer us, all ye that ever _saw_ a summer butterfly in the country, is not that a _perfect_ picture? * * * WE have a prospectus of a new series of the '_New Mirror_,' which can now be obtained in _complete_ sets, weekly, or in monthly parts, 'with four steel-plates, and sixty-four pages of reading matter.' When we add, that the MIRROR has many of its old corps of writers, with several new ones, and that General MORRIS and N. P. WILLIS are also diligently laboring at the oars, we have said all that is necessary, to indicate the claims of the work. Success to ye, gentlemen! By the by: the first number of the new series had a full-length portrait, by _the_ JOHNSTON, of the eminent and deeply-lamented painter-poet, WASHINGTON ALLSTON. If it is at all like the original, we can well believe the statement of an indignant writer in the 'Boston Post,' who avers that 'the engraving from BRACKETT'S beautiful bust of Mr. ALLSTON, in the last 'Democratic Review,' bears no resemblance whatever to the bust itself, and might as well be called a likeness of one of the numerous JOHN SMITHS, as a portrait of the great artist.' Speaking of likenesses: we would venture to ask, what is the thing at the end of the right arm of a figure in one of the Philadelphia 'pictorial' monthlys intended to represent? Is it a hand, (no, _that_ it isn't!) or the end of a tri-pronged beet or radish? It is 'a copy' from the end of _some_ diverse-forked vegetable, _that_ is quite clear. * * * IT is a very interesting work, the History of ELIZABETH of England, recently published by Messrs. LEA AND BLANCHARD, Philadelphia. Proud, powerful, and haughty as that imperial potentate finally became, her infancy was distinguished by the want of even comfortable clothing. An uncommon intellect she certainly possessed, and she had her wrongs, no doubt; but who can think of her without at once reverting to poor MARY of Scotland? After an imprisonment of nineteen years, that unhappy Queen was left alone, without counsel and without friends; betrayed by those in whom she had trusted, and confronted by the representatives of the power and majesty of England. 'But she evinced in the last sad scene of her mournful life the spirit of the daughter of a long line of kings, and exposed to the wondering world the spectacle of a helpless woman, enfeebled by long confinement, 'gray in her prime,' and broken down by sickness and sorrow, contending single-handed against the sovereign of a mighty realm, who sought her blood, and had predetermined her death.' * * * OUR entertaining correspondent, the '_American Antiquary_,' has given elsewhere some account of the stalwart citizens of a portion of New-Hampshire. They _are_ 'good men,' no doubt, and 'honest as the skin atween their brows;' but 'where two men ride a horse, one must go before.' Our friend should see a specimen or two of our western and southwestern noblemen of nature.