Sartain’s Magazine.--After a vigorous struggle for three years, against adverse fate, Sartain’s Magazine has been suspended and the list is to be furnished out by others. The publishers spent money with a lavish hand to American authors, but the tide had set in against them--the flood of foreign literature overwhelmed the gallant bark and she has gone down to rise no more. We do not intend to say an unkind word, but we trust that the readers of “Graham” will see in this the safety of standing by old friendships, and not go running after every new doctrine. This Magazine, which was founded in 1826, has gone on steadily and with a secure foothold. No number has ever failed to appear or been delayed in its appearing. But steadily improving in all its years we trust that it thus meets the approval of our large body of readers. We felt, a year ago, the demand for English magazine articles--the success of the reprint magazines confirmed what we felt, and we therefore nearly doubled the number of pages of Graham that we might give to our readers, in addition to our former supply of original American articles, such papers from foreign sources as struck us as of value or interest to our subscribers. How far we have succeeded in improving the tone and character of Graham it is for you--reader--to say. We shall only add, in answer to carpers generally, that Graham’s Magazine for the last ten years has paid _over $80,000 to American writers alone_, and that if we meet the public taste, by compulsion--in supplying foreign articles--that we have a right to say to all grumblers who control periodicals--Go and do likewise, or forever be dumb. Sartain’s Magazine, we understand, spent in _three_ years over $15,000 for original contributions, and it is wrecked--hopelessly wrecked. Will there never be pride enough in the American people to stand by those who support a National Literature? Or to urge upon Congress an International Copy-right Law? * * * * * The delicacy and rare seductiveness of a rose-tinted and almond-scented note, which comes to us all the way from Alabama, has awakened us to thoughts of beauty and flowers, of black eyes, rosy lips, and smiles of sunlight. In the very air we hear the rustle of rare music--the dress of our beloved that _ought to be_--and we wonder whether a bachelor has any right to be happy. The wood is all alive with birds singing to their mates, and from the very roof of our dwelling comes the challenge of a bold songster to some lady-bird, in robe of green and gold, to come and be happy. We are in the country now, and we are going home _with a wife_! What do you think of that--you vagabonds--who have been assailing our bachelorship in a hundred newspapers. * * * * *