"Three days afterwards I was at Gazbine, installed in the house of a certain Scherif-Khan, and received in his absence by his four sons, who were all dressed alike, and the eldest of whom was barely eleven. In the midst of the ruins of the town--all Persian towns indeed are mere abominable ruins of mud walls--I considered myself fortunate in obtaining a room and a fire-place. One of the walls of the apartment to which I was conducted consisted of small bits of colored glass, checkered at regular intervals with small squares of wood, for glass is both rare and expensive in Persia. As, however, the greater part of the colored glass was broken, and the wind came rushing through the holes and crevices, I was half frozen and nearly stifled with smoke, until an end was put to my sufferings by stopping the holes and nailing some felt on the doors. The children of the house came, under the guidance of a sort of servant who filled the office of tutor, to pay me a visit, and seated themselves on the floor. The second, who was about ten, and who by right of his mother's superior rank was to inherit all the paternal titles and wealth, inquired after my health; and on my asking him in my turn how he felt, replied with a very stiff little air, 'that in my presence every body must feel satisfied.' I then offered him some cakes, requesting to know if they were to his liking.--'All you offer is very good,' he said, 'and all you eat must be excellent.' I had a cap on my head, and another lay on the table; I questioned him on the value which he attached to the two articles, and asked which he preferred. 'Both are superb,' he replied, 'but the one you prefer is undoubtedly the best.' After this piquant specimen of the civility of the country, it may be supposed that I was not sorry to end the conference, and to get rid of such an excessively well bred child. I took care, however, to send a cup of tea to his mother, who, the tutor informed me, was young and pretty, and lived in the house with three other wives of Scherif-Khan. She found it so much to her liking that she sent to beg for a pound of it." One word more: Oehlenschlaeger used to complain that when he wrote in Danish he wrote for two hundred readers; Russians are very much in the same case, and Prince Soltykoff, like all his countrymen who desire to have a public, has been obliged to have recourse to a foreign language. But the misfortune is so easily and gracefully borne, that we can scarcely find pity for it. The drawings are well lithographed by French artists. Our neighbors are much fonder of lithographic illustrations than we are, and, it must be admitted, excel us in that branch of art. We have noticed especially the lithographs executed by M. Trayer, a young artist, who is also a painter of promise. From Leigh Hunt's Journal. DUELLING TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS AGO. SIR THOMAS DUTTON AND SIR HATTON CHEEK. BY THOMAS CARLYLE.