dome of the Spring house, looked more white and beautiful, as refreshed by the morning's shower bath she reflected the beams of her venerable grandsire.[3] Down I went to the Spring--and whilst the throng which preceded me were eagerly quaffing the delicious beverage, I had leisure to survey their countenances and to gather materials for reflection. It was evident that upon the pallid cheeks of some, wasting consumption had fixed her fatal seal. Others bore the jaundiced and cadaverous marks of obstructed bile. A few were the hobbling victims of hereditary or acquired gout, and were either suffering for the sour grapes which their fathers devoured, or paying the penalties of their own luxurious indulgence. By far the greater portion however had the ruddy complexions and smiling countenances of health. "Wonderful elixir!" said I to myself--"incomparable panacea! which not only cures all diseases, but is even beneficial to health itself." I hastened to dip my glass in the flowing nectar, and realize my fond anticipations. Alas! alas! the saying of the wise man of Greece rushed upon my memory--"_Desire nothing too much!_" My dream of bliss was suddenly dispelled! Instead of nectar, I smelt and tasted a mixture of brimstone and eggs in a state of putrescency! What an extinguisher to my air-built hopes and delusive fancies! And is it for this, I exclaimed within myself, that hundreds and thousands toil up craggy precipices and swelter under August suns? _Is it worth eight dollars per week to partake of this "villainous compound?"_ Must we sacrifice home and comfort, and real enjoyment, in order to _sacrifice_ also to this heathen block[4] which sits upon the top of the dome? Reason, prudence and common sense forbid it! I left the Spring with a degree of disappointment bordering upon despair! In the fulness of time the dinner bell tolled. It was indeed the knell of sorrow rather than the merry peal which invites to innocent enjoyment. Shall I describe that dinner?--no, not for a thousand dinners, "with all their appliances and means to boot;" "I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, Whom you all know are _honorable_ men." Neither will I describe what occurred "about the sixth hour when men sit down to that nourishment they call supper." I went to my apartment, all desolate and fireless as it was, to prepare for the _Ball_. [Footnote 1: See Mr. Forsyth's Speech in the United States Senate.] [Footnote 2: The gift of Mr. Henderson, a wealthy gentleman of New Orleans.] [Footnote 3: Hygeia was the daughter of Æsculapius, and was granddaughter of Apollo or the Sun.] [Footnote 4: Mr. Henderson's White Lady was no doubt a liberal donation; but alas! it is nothing but a block of painted wood.] * * * * * (_To be continued_.) For the Southern Literary Messenger. JOSEPHINE. Suggested by a Scene in the Memoirs of the Empress Josephine.