reading-room the other day, have haunted our memory ever since: 'There are moments, I think, when the spirit receives Whole volumes of thought on its unwritten leaves; When the folds of the heart in a moment unclose, Like the innermost leaves from the heart of a rose.' MOORE never conceived a more beautiful simile than this. . . . NUMBER TWO of the '_Reminiscences of a Dartmoor Prisoner_' will appear in our next issue. We have received from the writer a very interesting and amusing manuscript-volume, filled with patriotic poetry, containing vivid pictures of scenes and events in the daily routine of the prison, as well as sketches of Melville Island Prison, and reminiscences of striking events in the lives of sundry of the prisoners, in the progress of the American war. We shall refer more particularly to this entertaining collection in an ensuing number. . . . THE Lines on '_Niagara Falls at Night_' are entirely too terrific for our pages. They are almost as 'love-lily dreadful' as the great scene itself. 'M.' _must_ 'try again,' that is quite certain; and we are afraid, _more_ than once. . . . TU DOCES! Doubtless many of our young readers, especially in the country, have often pondered over the zig-zag hieroglyphics which covered the tea-chests at the village-store, and marvelled what 'HOWQUA,' which was inseparable from these inscriptions, could mean. It was the name of the great Hong merchant, 'the friend of Americans,' who died recently at Canton, at an advanced age, leaving his vast wealth to two sons. Here is an elegy written upon his death by his brother-merchant TINGQUA, which is now being sung about Canton to a dolorous air, accompanied by the _yeih-pa_ and the _tchung_, a curious sort of guitar and harp in common use. The elegy comprises a little outline, together with hints and allusions, prettily conveyed, of the principal biographical events of HOWQUA'S career, and is entitled TINGQUA'S TEARS. I weep for HOWQUA. He was the friend of my youth. We often rose before day-break, and gazed together at the soft blue clouds round the retiring moon. At that time I smiled on HOWQUA. We both grew old together. We often went to the tombs of our fathers, side by side, and thought tenderly of the loving dead. Weep friends of the Hong. All friends at home (literally _Celestial_ friends,) and all natives of outside countries weep; weep excessively. For HOWQUA is no more. HOWQUA was a fixed man. He had reason. Loving old laws, old customs, and all things long since established as wise, he therefore hated change. HOWQUA was very rich. He had no half-thinkers and third-smokers (meaning _no partners_,) and no branch-breakers to his universal tea-dealings. Also he had lands for rice and pasture, and to play at ball, and villas, and ponds of fish, and fifteen field-bridges of carved wood gilt, and seven domestic bridges inlaid with ivory birds and dragons.