GARRIBALDI, the Italian general, is on his way to New York. He has written his "experiences," which will soon make their appearance in America, where, as in Europe, they will be eagerly read, as few men can throw so much light upon the recent important events in Italy. * * * * * Mrs. CHILD is passing the summer near Boston, and is still occupied with a book upon the History of the Religious Element in Society, which has several years engaged her attention. A new edition of her novel of _The Rebels_ has just been published, and the degree to which it has been known is illustrated in the critical announcements of it. The Albany _State Register_, like other journals, seems to think it a fresh book, and observes of the writer:--"The author of Hobornok has always been a favorite with the public, though it is a long while since we have had the pleasure of welcoming anything from his pen. The present work, however, bears the impress of the talents which have always marked his writings!" * * * * * [FROM THE LEADER.] OLD FEELINGS. Once in my childish days I heard A woman's voice that slowly read, How 'twixt two shadowy mountains sped Four colored steeds, four chariots whirr'd. I watched until she laid the book On the white casement-ledge again; My heart beat high with joyful pain On that strange oracle to look. Day after day I would ascend The staircase in that large old house, And still and timorous as a mouse I sat and made the book my friend. I saw the birth of seas and skies, The first sweet woman, first brave man; I saw how morning light began, How faded--over Paradise. I stood with the first Arab boy; I saw the mother and the child, Of Oriental vision wild, Laugh by the well for utter joy. I saw the youth go forth at morn, A traveler to the Syrian land, And in the lonely evening stand An exile weary and forlorn. I saw him by the roadside lay His sunken head upon a stone, And while he slumbered, still and lone, A dream fell on him, fair as day. I saw a golden ladder reach From earth to heaven among the stars, And up and down its gleaming bars Trod stately angels, without speech. What wonders did I not behold! Dark gorgeous women, turbaned men, White tents, like ships, in plain and glen, Slaves, palm trees, camels, pearls, and gold. Ah! many an hour I sat and read, And God seemed with me all day long; Joy murmured a sweet undersong, I talkt with angels, with them fed. It was an old deserted room; There was a skylight strait above, And the blue sky lookt thro' like love, Softening and coloring mortal gloom. No playmate had I, knew no game, Yet sometimes left my book to run And blow bright bubbles in the sun-- In after life we do the same.