Mr. Vashon seems to have taken this view of what constitutes the thorough scholar, and has put his theory into practice. All of the productions of his pen show the student and man of literature. But he is not indebted alone to culture, for he possesses genius of no mean order--poetic genius, far superior to many who have written and published volumes. As Dryden said of Shakspeare, “He needed not the spectacles of books to read Nature; he looked inward, and found her there.” The same excellence appertains to his poetical description of the beautiful scenery and climate of Hayti, in his “Vincent Oge.” His allusion to Columbus’ first visit to the Island is full of solemn grandeur. Mr. Vashon is of mixed blood; in stature, of medium size, rather round face, with a somewhat solemn countenance, a man of few words,--needs to be drawn out to be appreciated. While visiting a distinguished colored gentleman at Rochester, New York, some years ago, the host, who happened to be a wit as well as an orator, invited in “Professor T----,” a man ignorant of education, but filled with big talk and high-sounding words, without understanding their meaning,--to entertain Mr. Vashon, intending it as a joke. “Professor T----” used all the language that he was master of, but to no purpose. The man of letters sat still, listened, gazed at the former, but did not dispute any point raised. The uneducated professor, feeling that he had been imposed upon, called Mr. D---- one side, and in a whisper, said:-- “Are you sure that this is an educated man? I fear that he is an impostor; for I tried, but could not call him out.” Mr. Vashon has long been engaged in imparting education to his down-trodden race, and in this path of duty has contributed much for the elevation of his people. We are somewhat surprised that none of the liberal colleges have done themselves the honor to confer upon Mr. Vashon the title of LL. D. WILLIAM H. SIMPSON. It is a compliment to a picture to say that it produces the impression of the actual scene. Taste has, frequently, for its object, works of art. Nature, many suppose, may be studied with propriety; but art, they reject as entirely superficial. But what is the fact? In the highest sense, art is the child of Nature; and is most admired when it preserves the likeness of its parent. In Venice, the paintings of Titian, and of the Venetian artists generally, exact from the traveller a yet higher tribute, for the hues and forms around him constantly remind him of their works.