Ubiquitous Mathew Mizzle, yet invariably out of place. Open the door suddenly, and Mathew Mizzle is almost knocked down. Throw out a bucket of water at night, and Mathew Mizzle is there to receive its contents. Pass a stick through the key-hole, and it's Mizzle's eye that suffers the detriment. You stumble over him in dark entries--you find him lying perdu in the closet. Go where you will, there is Mizzle, if it be in the wrong place for Mizzle's presence. Behold him prowling round the scenes to investigate the mysteries of a theatrical performance. There he is, just where he was told not to be, and William Tell was not in fault that his arrow has stricken Mathew Mizzle breathless. What business had Mizzle there in Switzerland, lurking near the walls of Altorf? Mizzle's last catastrophe, like the last catastrophe of many other distinguished citizens, was effected by means of a ladder, which he had ascended cautiously by night, after the painters had left their work, to see what was going on in the chamber of a second story. Suddenly, there was a dog at the bottom of the aforesaid ladder, and a cudgel at the top, presenting the alternatives of a dilemma. Switches above and bark below, what could the unfortunate Mathew Mizzle do but surrender himself a prisoner of war? Poor Mizzle! They put him under the pump, and made him acquainted with the nature of ducks. Is it not a pity that the system of "espionage" does not obtain in America, that Mathew Mizzle might have a field for the exercise of the qualities which are so remarkably developed in his constitution? It would be a perfect union of duty and of pleasure, if he could be employed to find out every thing that goes on in town and about, and it is a great pity that means could not be devised to save so fine a young man from the waste of his genius. "People are so fussy about their secrets," says he, "as if there were any use of having secrets, if it were not for the fun of finding them out and talking about them. It's mean and selfish to abridge intelligence in that sort of way, and if I knew of any country where they manage matters on a different system, I'd emigrate right away, I would. A pretty piece of business, to put a man under the pump, because he seeks after knowledge." SHAWANGUNK MOUNTAIN. BY ALFRED B. STREET. Before the plough had scattered fields of grain And grassy orchards midst the oaken woods Of Shawangunk, upon the mountain's top Stood a wood-cutter's hut. Himself and wife Shared it alone. The spot was green and sweet. The earth was covered with a velvet sward, Grouped with low thickets, here and there a tree Rearing its dark rich foliage in the heavens.