s a
force at bottom which will ultimately work itself clear, and produce
good and substantial fruits. There is a force somewhere, or no foam and
dust would rise: but there is little force in the foam and dust
themselves. And the immediate instruments are _only_ instruments,
working without knowledge what they do, like puppets, dancing and
swinging their arms, while far behind resides the force that works the
wires. All wonder bestowed upon _them_ is, most certainly, foolish
wonder. But there is no ground for discouragement, or for any but good
hopes, although ignorance and pretension stand in high places, and
vainly babble concerning things beautiful and profound. This uproar
comes only from the troubling of the stream--the foam and roar will not
continue always; the smooth plain lies below, along which it shall soon
flow, quietly, but strongly, murmuring sweet music. And for the
ambitious rainbows painted in the mists above, there shall be the sweet
reflection of earth and heaven from its calm bosom."

OLD TIMES IN NEW-YORK.

Governor William Livingston, of New Jersey, "poet, philosopher and
sage," in a letter written November 17th, 1744, gives the following
insight into life, as it then was, in New-York. He is describing a
"party:"

"The feast as usual was preceded by cards, and the company so numerous
that they filled two tables; after a few games, a magnificent supper
appeared in grand order and decorum--the frolic was closed up by ten
sunburnt virgins lately come from Columbus's Newfoundland, and sundry
other female exercises; besides a play of my own invention, which I have
not room enough to describe at present; however, kissing constitutes a
great part of its entertainment."

In 1759, Livingston's father died, and his funeral obsequies were
performed in all the pomp and attended with all the expense customary in
colonial times. These took place in New-York. The lower apartments of
most of the stores in Broad-street, where he resided, were thrown
open--a pipe of wine was spiced--there were eight pall-bearers, and to
each was presented a pair of gloves, a mourning ring, scarf and
handkerchief, and a spoon. These services were repeated at the manor,
his country-seat, and a handkerchief and pair of black gloves presented
to each of the tenants.

ROSSINI IN THE KITCHEN.

The last accounts of Rossini, if we are to credit the pleasant stories
told of him by the Parisian wit, Louis Huart, are hig