ness, the oil of joy for mourning, and the garment of
praise for the spirit of heaviness; to bring back the lost to their
FATHER'S house, and raise the dead to life again.'

A BRACE OF PELLETS FROM 'JULIAN.'--Not one of our readers, we will venture
to say, has forgotten the spiritual JULIAN, whose 'Top of New-York,' and
the inquiry concerning 'the law' between man and wife, in regard to
getting up first in the morning, attracted so much attention and remark
two or three months since. We annex two late paper-pellets of his brain;
and must ask the reader to admire with us the fervent feeling of new
paternity wreaked upon expression in the first, and the ease and
simplicity of style which mark the unstudied sketch that succeeds it:
'HAVE you ever any nervous days, my kind EDITOR? Nervous, beyond
publishing days, or the want of copy; beyond excesses, the reaction of
excitement, fast-days, and the giving of thanks?--for these last are
animal only, and for such, doctors are made and abound every where. The
cure for them you may get in a brown-paper parcel; it is buyable; and of
late it is eatable; you may take it in a lozenge. But the days of which I
speak are such as you must endure patiently unto the end. 'They come like
shadows, so depart,' but the cloud that gives the shadow is beyond your
reach. A new doubt or apprehension, or an old one with an uglier face than
usual; a hideousness not before seen, a devilishness of malice flashing
upon you for the first time, or even an unkind word, added to your
previous gathering of materiel, may tip the balance of your pleasant
thoughts, and then, all colors changing into one, the black cloud rolls
over you, and dark thoughts, wholly foreign to your nature, throng round
and stab at you, till at last, by that old snakish sympathy of excitement,
your own dark passions rise and embrace them, and the sensitive guardians
of the brain, mingling in the fray, give you up, one by one, captive to
the devil. In the lighter hours of the day, the dead hopes of the Past,
the beauties of other days, throng round you, and shake their dry bones;
and oh, what efforts at sprightliness! what ravishing of graces! what
whirling and rattling of bare bones, as they waltz round to that music of
other days! And now, born of these, comes another group, with the laughing
eye of young years and a full heart; and ah! the tempting lip, the heaving
bosom, the light step of the perfect form; ha! ha! there is life,