He is exposed to the malicious accusations of men, who are neither able nor anxious to see his actions in their true light; his slightest faults held up on high to become marks of scorn among men--buts at which every vindictive slanderer may wing a poisoned shaft--even his very virtues distorted and perverted till they become in appearance vices. This I grant, _is_ the life which all public men must lead; but let not this picture startle you. If really innocent, he will rise above the abuse which is poured upon him. Confident in the great decision of a candid _world_, he is superior to this sort of scandal. And have we not reason to believe that here as in other cases, custom renders one indifferent to that which at first would make him miserable? And that the most sensitive mind may soon begin to look on these as troublesome insects, which may at the time incommode, but which should create no lasting disturbance. The best proof of this, as I have before told you is, that men who have succeeded at all in public life, will, however disagreeable it may appear, cling to it as strongly as if in this, lay the very light of their existence. How sweet it is to have one's name in the mouths of all--to be the theme of admiration and wonder with the crowd--to have power. But there is even a purer and better enjoyment. How perfect the pleasure which animates the bosom of the statesman when he knows that to his talents--to his efforts--millions are indebted for their greatest comforts--that a whole nation looks up to him as their benefactor--that through his means"---- My visiter had proceeded thus far, when a villainous log of wood became suddenly discontented with its situation and rolled out upon the hearth, scattering its sparks over me. Though deeply interested, my first and most natural impulse was to grasp the tongs and set every thing to rights. At the next instant my recollection returned and I carefully replaced them. But it was too late. I saw nothing before me but the cold and senseless instrument. The mild expression of the features was gone--the quaint old figure had vanished, and the faint sound of that sweet voice melted away on my ear, like the dying ring of a harp, leaving me alone and disconsolate in my solitary room. For the Southern Literary Messenger. TO MRS. ----, Whose husband was absent in the United States Navy. On seeing her in a gay company. Canst thou forget, amidst the gay and heartless, One far away whom thou hast vowed to love? Thou'rt lovely, and thou seemest pure and artless, And innocent and gentle as the dove. Dost thou forget, or do thy blue eyes brighten Only with thoughts of his return to thee? Dost thou the pains of absence seek to lighten, In scenes like this of mirth and revelry?