There is undoubtedly a sensation in travelling into foreign parts that is to be had nowhere else: but it is more pleasing at the time than lasting. It is too remote from our habitual associations to be a common topic of discourse or reference; and, like a dream or another state of existence, does not piece into our daily modes of life. It is an animated but a momentary hallucination. It demands an effort to exchange our actual for our ideal identity; and to feel the pulse of our old transports revive very keenly, we must "jump" all our present comforts and connexions. Our romantic and itinerant character is not to be domesticated. Dr. Johnson remarked how little foreign travel added to the facilities of conversation in those who had been abroad. In fact, the time we have spent there is both delightful and in one sense instructive; but it appears to be cut out of our substantial, downright existence, and never to join kindly on to it. We are not the same, but another, and perhaps more enviable individual, all the time we are out of our own country. We are lost to ourselves, as well as to our friends. So the poet somewhat quaintly sings, "Out of my country and myself I go." Those who wish to forget painful thoughts, do well to absent themselves for a while from the ties and objects that recall them: but we can be said only to fulfil our destiny in the place that gave us birth. I should on this account like well enough to spend the whole of my life in travelling abroad, if I could any where borrow another life to spend afterwards at home. A FEW LITTLE MATTERS. LET us out of this great stone oven! The city is intolerable! Oh, from these heated bricks and stones, what moistureless, what wilted, what fainting air comes to the nostrils! The two river-breezes, doing their best to meet across the island, swoon in Broadway. The pores gasp, the muscles droop, the mind is blank and nerveless. Let us out somewhere! We had such a fever upon us as is expressed above, when a friend offered to drive us to ROCKAWAY, last week. With a mental repetition of the affecting prayer of the poor woman in the ballad, ("Take a white napkin, and wrap my head softly, And then throw me overboard, me and my baby!"). we crept into his wagon, and bowled away silently on the road to Jamaica. It was a hot evening, but the smell of the earth, and the woods, and the dairy-farms, roused our drooping petals a little. Jamaica lies somewhat in the island's lap, however, and it was not till we began to sniff the salt of the open Atlantic, that we were once more" capable creatures." But what a revivification as we approached Rockaway! The sea-breeze nudged up our drooping eyebrows, gave a pull to the loose halliards of our let-go smiles, crisped our pores and restored every thing to its use and its activity-the irrevocable starch in our shirt-collars alone incapable of rally. Rockaway (we write only for those who know nothing of it) is part of the snowy edge of the Atlantic-St. George's Hotel at Portsmouth, England, being all but next door to the Rockaway Pavilion. Of course there is nothing to take the saline coolness out of the breeze, (unless by chance it has come across St. Helena or the Azores,) and the difference between the " entire quadruped" in the way of a sea-breeze, and the mixtures they get in some other sea-side places, is worth taking pains for. But let us tell, in plain language, what sort of place Rockaway is for the benefit of those who are choosing a month's resort for health or pleasure. The Pavilion of Rockaway is an immense Hotel whose majestic portico forms the centre of a curving beach of two or three miles in the bend, on the southern shore of Long Island. From this portico, and from the windows of the Hotel, the delightful sight and sound of the beating surf are visible and audible-eternal company to eye and ear. The beach extends for miles either way-a broad floor as smooth as marble, and so hard that a carriage-wheel scarce leaves a print, and this, as a drive, we presume to be the most delightful and enjoyable in the world. The noiseless tread of the horse, the even and unheard progress of the wheels, the snowy surf along the edge of which you keep your way, and the high exhilaration given to the spirits by the seabreeze and the enlivening beat of the waves upon the sand at your feet, form, altogether, an enchantment to which, in the way of out-door pleasure, we scarce know a parallel. And, as a walk, the pure hard floor of that interminable beach is, of course, equally delightful. The arrangements for bathing are very well managed. There are some twenty bathing-houses on the beach near the house, and, between the hours of ten and twelve in the forenoon, the ocean-side is guarded and kept exclusive to ladies and their attendants. An omnibus constantly plies between the bathing-houses and the Hotel, and to ladies and children, to old men and young, the hour spent in the invigorating surf is the pleasure of the day. All, alike, come back elated and animated, and the society of the place shows very markedly the fillip given by the seabathing to health and spirits. Children more especially, who have drooped in the city, pluck up appetite and vigour immediately at Rockaway. As the favourite and regular resort of many of the best families of the city, the society of the Pavilion has always been acknowledged to be of a more refined quality and on a more agreeable footing than that of any other wateringplace. It is equally removed from useless ceremony and undesirable freedom. Those who wish to combine gayety I with the pursuit of health and the enjoyment of luxury, have facilities for all these at Rockaway, in a degree as desirable as it is unusual. The table is not surpassed by that of any Hotel even in the city, and this, in a watering-place, is a peculiarity! Mr. Cranston the keeper of the house thoroughly understands his business. As to facilities of getting to Rockaway, the Railroad from Brooklyn ferry takes you to Jamaica in half an hour. From Jamaica, on the arrival of the cars, starts regularly a mammoth omnibus with six horses, and other roomy conveyances are supplied if necessary, which bring you to Rockaway in an hour. All delays included, it is about two hours from the city. Certain coolness and certainly improved health thrown into the scale, the desirableness of Rockaway as a summer resort, far outweighs that of every other watering-place in the country. The last number of the Southern Literary Messenger contains two poems of uncommon merit for the drift of a periodical. One is by Mr. Gilmore Simms, (whose muchworked mine has now and then a very golden streak of poetry,) and the other is by H. B. Hirst,—a poem of fifty-seven stanzas on the subject of ENDYMION. This latter is after Keats. It is very highly studied, very carefully finished, and very airily and spiritually conceived. Its faults are its conceits, which are not always defensible-for instance the one in italics in the following beautiful description of Diana as she descended to Endymion : A crescent on her brow-a brow whose brightness Now we know as well as any body what the "round of a period" is, and we have seen here and there a goddess's knee, and we declare there is no manner or shape of likeness that justifies the comparison! With the exception of two or three of these lapses away from nature, however, it is a beautiful poem-this "Endymion"-and will read well in a volume. By the way, let us wonder whether the sweet poetess by the same name is a sister of Mr. Hirst. New-York is the Castaly-so acknowledged by the National Magazine, of Philadelphia, which has put forth a very sparkling number, with a page devoted to a New-York Editor, our sparkling friend "Croton." Croton has a most industrious pair of eyes, item industrious ears, and what he sees and hears, he puts down with great sprightliness and readableness. The National Magazine sparkles with him. We consider Niblo's garden one of the chief "broideries" upon our woof of probation in this dirty planet, and if there are to be offsets for good things enjoyed this side of Cocytus, we expect to pay for Mitchell. Oh, thou pleasant Mitchell! And he to grow fat under the exercise of such a wand of industrious enchantment! What is the man made of, besides brains! We sat through the "REVOLT OF THE HAREM" a night or two ago, and saw all its funny sights, seriatim. The ballet, as intended to be seen, was excellent-for the time and material, indeed, quite wonderful. But we had our little pleasures, (not down in the bill,) and one of them was to see pretty Miss Taylor, the clever opera-singer, figuring as an Odalisque danseuse! If that pretty actress be not abducted, and sold to the Sultan within a year, we shall think less of the enterprise of Salem privateers! She only wants to forget that she is Miss Taylor, indeed, to dance uncom monly well-the consciousness of her silk stockings being at present something of a damper to the necessary abandon. But, modesty and all, she is very charming in this ballet, and one wonders what Mitchell will make of her next! Korponay, too-the elegant Korponay-figuring as an Abyssinian eunuch! That, truth to say, had for us a dash of displeasure! He entered into it with all his might, it is true, and played the nigger with Jim Crow facility; but the part, for him, was out of character, and we shall not be content till he is dis-niggered by appearing once more in the role of a gentleman. The bath-scene was well arranged, though the prettiest girls were not in the water(pray why, Master Mitchell?) And the military evolutions. of the revolted ladies were very well done, and will be bet ter done with a little more practice, and the mending of that corporal's stocking with a hole in it. The town seemed pleased, we thought. husbands, fathers and guardians, who shall rebel against the preference, by wife, ward or daughter, of Nunn's boots at $3 50, over Middleton's slippers at ten shillings. The em bellishment is worth the difference! We have received a very testy letter from some old gen. tleman, requesting us to reform the gait of the New-York ladies. He manages to convey what peculiarity it is that offends his eye, but he is mistaken, as to the stoop. The lady within stands straight enough! If he knows this, and means covertly to attack the artificial portion of the outline, we can tell him that he rashly invades, not merely a caprice of fashion, (which in itself were formidable enough,) but the most jealous symbol and citadel of female domination! There are thousands of ladies who would resign carriages and satin without a sigh, but who would die by fire and fag. got rather than yield the right to mount on horse back in the masculine riding habit!" Wearing the breeches" is a worn. out figure of speech, but does anybody in his senses believe that the usurpation has not taken refuge in a new shape? Need we open our correspondent's eyes any farther? What bird is the most pronounced and unequivocal type of martial and masculine bravery? What bird is the farthest remove, in shape, air, and habits, from his female partner? What bird lives up systematically to woman's ideal of a herc-a life of fighting and making love? Draw the outline from the comb of a fighting-cock to the feather-tip of his bustle, and you have the eidolon of male carriage-and the dressmaker's ne plus ultra! We warn off our correspondent! Our favorite place for bestowing our idleness of a hot afternoon, the spirit-cooling Alhambra, is treated like a painted violet" by the addition of one more attraction. Exquisite music there, of evenings! The proprietor will soon want more room, and we recommend to him to send to Araby for the "enchanted tent" that expanded as wanted. He gives us indeed, (in the way of ices)" the cream of the cream," and his juleps-"some spell or periapt" is at the bottom of them! Great place, the Alhambra ! We would inquire of "Clio" whether the Furies were ever treated with particular delicacy on account of their sex. Sapphira was " a lady," but St. Peter has very indiscreetly mentioned that she was struck dead for lying! This "attack upon a lady" by the Apostle was inexcusable! Many thanks for the courteous letter of "Wm. W. C." We will give him a copy of the engraving he speaks of, with great pleasure. The "plays" he wishes for are just out. We do not know what "we or our fathers have done" to deserve all the good-will shown us by Editors-but we are bountifully, most bountifully well-used. (We feel it the more perhaps, from having known what Sam Weller calls the "wisy-wersy.") We wish to say a word to our brother paragra'facturers. The postage on "Pencillings" has prevented our sending it to many of those who would otherWe have not yet mentioned the premiére danseuse, Ma-wise have received it, and we beg those who expected it demoiselle Desjardins, who did very well in the way of her vocation, but from whose feet have departed, with the boots she wore, the exquisite symmetry we admired at Simpson's benefit, (vide an eloquent paragraph thereon!) Ah, ladies, you should wear boots! Here were two feet, in tightly sandalled shoes, looking like two tied-up parcels from Beck's, which, a night or two before, in brodequins bien faits, look ed models of Arabian instep! Can boots do that? We hereby excommunicate, from the church of true love, all and were disappointed, to charge their loss to the atrocious exorbitancy of the Post-office exactions, or to send by pri. vate hand for the copy at their service. They may charge to the same overpaid department the loss of the missing numbers of the MIRROR LIBRARY, which do disappear and miscarry with a most unaccountable alacrity! We thank the Editorial corps bodily, and most gratefully, for their kind. ness to us, and beg them to acquit us of any slackness in our duty to them. The Fifth Annual Commencement of this Institution was celebrated on Friday, the 12th inst., in the Rutgers-street Church. An imposing procession, consisting of the Trustees, the Committees of the various Departments, and invited guests, together with the teachers and some four hundred pupils, proceeded from the Institute to the Church, where multitudes had already assembled, filling every foot of space in that commodious edifice not appropriated to the members of the Institution. The pupils entered in regular procession, and occupied the body of the church in front of the platform. On the stage, besides the Trustees and Instructors of the Institute, were his Honor the Mayor of the city, gentlemen of the Committees, Professors of Literary Institutions, and many distinguished citizens. The exercises, consisting of singing, reading of the Reports of the Committees, reading of the Prize Essays and the distribution of honors, were conducted by the Rev. Dr. Ferris, President of the Board of Trustees. On Mathematics. Charles W. Hackley, Prof. of Math. in Columbia College. John W. Draper, Prof. of Chem. New York University. On French. Rev. Robert Baird, D. D. On Penmanship. Hon. James Harper, Mayor. On Calisthenics. On Paintings and Drawings. J. Whitehorne, Esq. After singing by the young ladies, and an appropriate prayer by the President, George Folsom, Esq. in behalf of the Committee on Compositions of the First Department, read the following Report: The undersigned to whom was referred the examination of the exercises in English Composition, of the First Department, for the purpose of designating the one best entitled by its merits to the award of the medal, respectfully beg leave to report: The number of exercises submitted to them, was twenty. eight, all of which the committee have carefully read, and critically examined as to their several merits, as specimens of English composition. They were gratified to find, that all the pieces were written with a nearly uniform degree of excellence, and characterized by elegance of language, beauty of thought, and general correctness of composition; and that, where any defects appeared, they were such, as greater experience would inevitably lead their authors to remedy. It is also quite apparent, from the character of these exercises, that a due degree of attention has been paid at the Institute, to this important branch of education; so important, that it reflects much of the proficiency made in other branches, most of which, co-operate to produce excellence in the art of composition. To gain ideas, study as well as observation is requisite; and unless the mind is furnished with the material of thought, facility of expression is of little value. The greater the attainments one makes in knowledge, the more satisfactory will be his efforts as a writer, and to a full mind the proprieties of language and style are of easy acquisition. The student should not, therefore, imagine that the art of composition stands apart from the other branches of education; its attainment, on the other hand, should be regarded as evidence of proficiency in all, and as resulting from the successful pursuit of knowledge, and the general improvement of the intellectual faculties. The task of selecting the best exercise among so many of great merit, was attended with no little difficulty and embarrassment; but the committee finally decided to award the meed of superiority to the poem, commencing with the line: "Soft as the glance of a seraph's eye." But while the command of language, the correctness of style, and the light, airy fancy, that pervade this poem, entitle it to their preference, they would be guilty of injustice, if they neglected to mention, with high commendation, the prose pieces, "Excelsior," " The Artist's Wife," and "The Postman," the last of which, is distinguished by a fine vein of humour, and the other two, by unusual power of thought and expression. Of the other exercises in this department submitted to them, the committee have nothing to add to the general remarks already made; they are all well written, and in every respect creditable to their authors. But in conclud. ing their report, they cannot forbear the remark, that an institution which produces such fruits, cannot fail to secure the confidence and respect of the community; since by elevating the standard of female education, it renders an important service to the moral and intellectual condition of our native land, and sows the seeds of social improvement wherever its influence extends. May there be no obstacle to its continued growth and prosperity. And the sun looks down, from his noonday height, Haste, we fays, to our queen, and tell We who dwell in the honied flower, We who chime the fair lily's bell, But scarce had they finished the parting note, And prayed from the depths of a saddened heart, "Pleadings of thy earnest prayer, From some deep, heart-rending grief? But the saddened heart is aye cold and chill, At the tearful eye that she heav'nward raised. She ceased-a smile of hope lit the maiden's eye, As the fairy whispered her soft good-by. Rev. Mr. Scott, in behalf of the Committee on the Compositions of the Second Department, read the following Re. port: The committee appointed by the trustees of the Rutgers Female Institute, to the discriminating duty, of awarding the gold medal to the best literary production, among the twenty-four prose compositions of the Second Department, respectfully report: That before entering on the critical reading of the manuscripts, they considered it indispensably requisite, to unite on certain principles of excellence, by which every piece should be judged. This was found to be the more neces sary, from the circumstance, that no two essays were composed on the same subject. Some are biographical-some purely descriptive-some entirely scriptural-some senti. mental—one sarcastic-one or two on abstruse topics and one, the embodiment of personal feelings, views and emotions; and also, because the titles of some are more calculated to interest and to excite than the others, and thus betray the judgment of the umpire, to overrate the positive merit of the composition. The points determined on by the committee, were simply these: the literary claims of the argument or premises: and secondly, the rhetorical character of the entire essay. While among the peaks of the Andes, Chimborazo is the highest, yet the others are not without a name and a place. On the contrary, many of them, like the smaller stars, have a greatness and an importance, only less than the greatest. This is exactly the case with the compositions under review. Though one of them is first and best, yet there are others of high merit. Indeed, all do honor to the young and fair, literary aspirants and competitors. The exordium, the subject and peroration, are distinctly marked. Perhaps the prevalent fault, is the use of the fervid, poetic style, for the pure, idiomatic and genuine prose. Among those demanding special notice, or as the Christian poet, Pollock, has better expressed it, "Those which seek admission" into our report, is "Willoughbey's journey to India." It is a well written historical fragment. "The Dying Mother," "Incidents in the Life of the Saviour," and "The Marys," are productions, exhibiting no small amount of artistic and graphic talent. "The First Murder," is sketch. ed in a dramatic and perspicuous manner. "The Poetry 3 of Nature," to be fully appreciated, should be read at sun. set, in some sequestered and elevated place, on a mountain ridge, which overlooks the ocean, and has in the background a varied landscape. The authoress has proved, that she possesses true poetic taste. "The Song of the Brook," ," "The Forest leaf," and "The Spirit land," are also among this class of productions, reminding us vividly of nature when we were all young. The piece entitled, "My Wishes," is distinguished from all the others, by the absence of meritricious ornament. The style bespeaks the authoress to be young; it is sententious, simple and pathetic. The writer wishes neither fame nor wealth, but to be like her mother-her deceased and sainted mother. Affectionate daughter, may her holy aspirations be realized. This production, we have assigned the second place, and had the execution, been equal to the design, it would not have been second. The committee close their report by stating, that, with a deep sense of their responsibility, they unanimously agreed in adjudging the golden honor to the essay, designated, "The Vision of Dreams." All of which is respectfully submitted. JAMES SCOTT, Jos. C. HORNBLOWER, H. N. BRINSMADE. Newark, N. J., July 11, 1844. The Prize Composition of the Second Department was also read by Rev. Mr. Scott. PRIZE ESSAY OF THE SECOND DEPARTMENT. BY MISS SARAH C. CLARK. A VISION OF DREAMS. O! spirit land! thou land of dreams! A world thou art of mysterious gleams; A world of the dead, and the hues of life.-HEMANG. SEATED beneath an old and sturdy oak, with a volume of this gifted poetess in my hand, I had long been musing: nature became overpowered, and a vision passed across my soul. Methought I wandered in a fairy land, 'mid trees and sparkling fountains. The ground beneath was decked with flowers, and from bough to bough hung the woodbine and honeysuckle. Soft, silvery tones, such as visit us in dreams, floated through the perfumed air, and filled my soul with melody. The pale moon had just risen, and by her light I saw upon the greensward groups of tiny fairies, who seemed to be offering their homage to one who sat enthroned near them. So silently had they assembled, that, till now, I was not aware of their presence. Soon, at the command of their queen, they vanished, and I was left alone with her. "Child of earth!" said she, "listen! before thee none have ever visited these realms, or learned the secrets of this enchanted spot." "I am the Spirit of Sleep. It is to me that mortals owe their dreams: and none, who have ever visited my kingdom, have been able to withstand my influence." The fairy arose and plucked a flower, which she placed in my hand. "To this blossom," said she, belongs the power of revealing to you the visions of mortal dreams: and it will retain its virtues only as long as you are silent Farewell!"—and she vanished. Amazed, I gazed upon the flower, and behold! the dream of an innocent and beautiful child passed before me. It dreamed of Heaven, and that it wandered there with angels. Sometimes a smile flitted across its face, like the trace of some beautiful vision; and then, calmer thoughts |