The "Yankee," in travelling Southward, has evidently laid aside the general prejudices of a Yankee--and, viewing the book of Professor Ingraham, as representing, in its very liberal opinions, those of a great majority of well educated Northern gentlemen, we are inclined to believe it will render essential services in the way of smoothing down a vast deal of jealousy and misconception. The traveller from the North has evinced no disposition to look with a jaundiced eye upon the South--to pervert its misfortunes into crimes--or distort its necessities into sins of volition. He has spoken of slavery as he found it--and it is almost needless to say that he found it a very different thing from the paintings he had seen of it in red ochre. He has discovered, in a word, that while the _physical_ condition of the slave is _not_ what it has been represented, the slave himself is utterly incompetent to feel the _moral_ galling of his chain. Indeed, we cordially agree with a distinguished Northern contemporary and friend, that the Professor's strict honesty, impartiality, and unprejudiced common sense, on the trying subject which has so long agitated our community, is the distinguishing and the most praiseworthy feature of his book. Yet it has other excellences, and excellences of a high character. As a specimen of the picturesque, we extract a passage beginning at page 27, vol. i. "'Keep away a little, or you'll run that fellow down,' suddenly shouted the captain to the helmsman; and the next moment the little fishing vessel shot swiftly under our stern, just barely clearing the spanker boom, whirling and bouncing about in the wild swirl of the ship's wake like a 'Masallah boat' in the surf of Madras. "There were on board of her four persons, including the steersman--a tall, gaunt old man, whose uncovered gray locks streamed in the wind as he stooped to his little rudder to luff up across our wake. The lower extremities of a loose pair of tar-coated duck trowsers, which he wore, were incased, including the best part of his legs, in a pair of fisherman's boots, made of leather, which would flatten a rifle ball. His red flannel shirt left his hairy breast exposed to the icy winds, and a huge pea-jacket, thrown, Spanish fashion, over his shoulders, was fastened at the throat by a single button. His tarpaulin--a little narrow-brimmed hat of the pot-lid tribe, secured by a ropeyarn--had probably been thrown off in the moment of danger, and now hung swinging by a lanyard from the lower button-hole of his jacket.