The others 'will do.' They bide their time; as also the 'Night on Lake Erie.' * * * THE recent death of WASHINGTON ALLSTON, the painter, the poet, in all respects the man of genius, has left a void which will not soon be filled; and _one_ there is, in a foreign land, who will feel this sad event in his very heart of hearts. WASHINGTON IRVING and WASHINGTON ALLSTON were for many years friends of as confiding a faith and firm an attachment as DAMON and PYTHIAS. They rose to fame abroad together; were constant mutual advisers in literature and art; and at one time, when they were residing temporarily in Rome, we came near losing our renowned author, through the love he bore his friend, and a desire to unite with him in the common pursuit of his delightful art. We shall hope to obtain for these pages a tribute from the pen of Mr. IRVING to the memory of his illustrious friend. * * * HERE is a fact related by an eastern correspondent, that raises HANDY ANDY'S character for truth and veracity greatly in our estimation. It matches the best blunder recorded by that amusing narrator: 'Not many days since, a little child, two years old, the son of a poor Irish widow, lay in the middle of a new road, kicking up a dust, and roasting in the sun. Presently came along an Irish teamster, who in the most deliberate and careless manner walked his team over the little fellow, and crushed him to death. Some dozen or twenty Irish shanties were in full view of the catastrophe; and as might be expected, there was a rush and an ullulloo from a hundred women at once. While some took up the dead body, others shouted after the teamster, who, apparently unconcerned, was making slowly off. They forced him back to the scene of the catastrophe, where they did not hesitate to accuse him of having caused it purposely. Pat of course denied it strenuously, declaring that he did not see the child, and was therefore wholly blameless. But with a hundred fierce eyes glaring upon him at once, and fifty tongues hissing in his ear, he became confused, began to waver, and finally gave up the point entirely, probably as a peace-offering to his tormentors: 'Thrue, thrue, Mistress CONOLLY,' said he to one of them, while he scratched his head sorrowfully, 'I _did_ see the boy lying there, 'pon me word; _but I thought he was asleep!_' This, Mr. C., is a positive fact.' * * * DID you ever peruse these '_Lines written upon a Watch?_' We derive them from a favorite contributor, who informs us that his honored father, in winding up his watch, used often to repeat them: 'COULD but our tempers move like this machine, Not urged by passion, nor delayed by spleen, But true to Nature's regulative power, By virtuous acts distinguished every hour; Then Health and Joy would follow, as they ought, The laws of motion and the laws of thought: Sweet Health, to pass the present moments o'er, And endless Joy, when Time shall be no more!'