I’ve often watch’d thy plumage glancing
    So evanescent in thy bower,
  And heard thy silver voice entrancing
    Soothe me, as music soothes the flower. 
  Although diminutive as me,
    Thy song is sweeter, who can doubt it? 
  So, as I cannot sing like thee,
    I’ll break my lute, and live without it.

  G.R.C.

THE SKYLARK.

BY L.E.L.

  Thou minstrel of the sunny air,
    Thy vocal fount is rich with song,
  And fragrant breezes softly bear
    Its silver melody along.

  I love to hear thy liquid note
    When bees are humming on the rose,
  And in their sapphire ocean float
    The stars prophetic of repose.

  Thou feel’st the sunny influence
    Like Memnon’s fabled lyre of old,
  And wanderest in the beam intense
    Which turns the liquid air to gold.

  The spirit’s bright imaginings
    Ne’er soar’d to loftier spheres than thee,
  And if I had, thy fairy wings,
    Afar from earthly haunts I’d flee.

  Insipid are the weekly themes
    Of ——­’s imbecile review,
  Whose page with adulation teems,
    And makes me “beautifully blue.”

  But cockney praise is ebbing fast,
    And Sappho’s lute has lost its power,
  And surely my career is past
    Like Summer’s brightest, loveliest flower.

  Arcades ambo, Moore and me
    Are Delia Crusca’s sweetest doves,
  And ours too is the poetry
    Which meditative beauty loves.

  Sweet bird, farewell! and be it thine
    To thrill the blue air with thy song;
  But fame will wreathe this brow of mine,
    If I am right, and Pope is wrong.

G.R.C.

* * * * *

DOMESTIC LIFE IN AMERICA.

(IN A LETTER FROM A CORRESPONDENT AT CINCINNATI.)

This town is far superior to our late place of sojourn, Pittsburgh, being spacious and clean, with handsome houses and wood for fuel.  Pittsburgh, on the contrary, is dirty and confined, abounding in iron works burning coal, which gives forth a denser smoke than English coal.  The houses in this place, when we visited it in 1818, were mostly of wood; these have been in general removed on wheels drawn by oxen and horses, and placed in the suburbs, whence they are now removing once more.  Here are four markets well supplied with the necessaries, and even the luxuries, of life, including almost everything you can think of, and many things which you have never thought of.  Apple butter, for instance, is one of the latter, and is made by stewing apples in new cider, after it has been boiled down to one-third of its bulk.  It is sold at 6-1/4 cts. per quart, and is very delicious.  The fruits of this country are abundant:  apples are excellent, and in profusion; peaches are plentiful