Judge Conrad occupies, perhaps, the first place among our Philadelphia _literati_. He has distinguished himself both as a prose writer and a poet—not to speak of his high legal reputation. He has been a frequent contributor to the periodicals of this city, and, we believe, to one at least of the Eastern Reviews. His first production which attracted general notice was a tragedy entitled “Conrad, King of Naples.” It was performed at the Arch Street Theatre, and elicited applause from the more judicious. This play was succeeded by “Jack Cade,” performed at the Walnut Street Theatre, and lately modified and reproduced under the title of “Aylmere.” In its new dress, this drama has been one of the most successful ever written by an American, not only attracting crowded houses, but extorting the good word of our best critics. In occasional poetry Judge Conrad has also done well. His lines “On a Blind Boy Soliciting Charity” have been highly admired, and many of his other pieces evince ability of a high order. His political fame is scarcely a topic for these pages, and is, moreover, too much a matter of common observation to need comment from us. His MS. is neat, legible, and forcible, evincing combined caution and spirit in a very remarkable degree. [Illustration: signature of J. Q. Adams.] The chirography of Ex-President Adams (whose poem, “The Wants of Man,” has, of late, attracted so much attention,) is remarkable for a certain steadiness of purpose pervading the whole, and overcoming even the constitutional tremulousness of the writer’s hand. Wavering in every letter, the entire MS. has yet a firm, regular, and decisive appearance. It is also very legible. [Illustration: signature of P P Cooke] P. P. Cooke, Esq., of Winchester, Va., is well known, especially in the South, as the author of numerous excellent contributions to the “Southern Literary Messenger.” He has written some of the finest poetry of which America can boast. A little piece of his, entitled “Florence Vane,” and contributed to the “Gentleman’s Magazine” of this city, during our editorship of that journal, was remarkable for the high ideality it evinced, and for the great delicacy and melody of its rhythm. It was universally admired and copied, as well here as in England. We saw it not long ago, _as original_, in “Bentley’s Miscellany.” Mr. Cooke has, we believe, nearly ready for press, a novel called “Maurice Werterbern,” whose success we predict with confidence. His MS. is clear, forcible, and legible, but disfigured by some little of that affectation which is scarcely a blemish in his literary style. [Illustration: signature of T R Dew.]