not so with the confessionals in Belgium, most of which are composed of an assembly of two, three, four, and even six confessionals united. Imagine a suite of cells separated by a thin partition, and large enough for a penitent to enter and kneel. But let it be understood that, although thus connected with one another, all secrets can be kept, if spoken in a low tone; not so, however, if made in a loud voice; then the penitent would have three or four confessors instead of one."

And now I leave my friend to continue his recital. "I had been installed in my lurking-hole a good half hour when a young man appeared. He looked to the right,|| he looked to the left, and seemed highly surprised that he had to wait. Between ourselves, I must own he displeased me at first sight. I have ever professed a deep hatred to that race of individuals whose whole merit consists in a well-tied cravat, carefully-polished boots, smoothly-fitted coat, spotless gloves, and a physiognomy proudly in love with itself. Now the personage who strutted within two steps of my confessional was a beau, in all the acceptation of that word. I began to hope the fair girl would not come. "Heaven troubled itself little with my wish. She came. “A very animated and ardent conversation commenced between them, which I could hardly hear, but which I could divine too well. The beau urged, insisted, supplicated; his gestures, his supplications, his entreaties could be resolved in three words- Let us fly! The lady hesitatingly refused, still she refused. Ah! if I had dared cry out to her, 'Courage !'

"During this long debate night came. In the month of December, night falls quick and dark. It seemed to me this time it fell far more promptly, far more darkly than customary, and cursing the obscurity that hindered me from continuing my role of observer, I prepared to leave my retreat, explaining in the best way I could for my intervention in a tete-a-tete in which I was not concerned. All at once the lady exclaimed-' Heavens, a light! Persons! Where conceal ourselves? Then, as if a sudden inspiration had directed her, and, with a motion full of piquant vivacity, she pushed her lover on the shoulder and said- In this confessional! You here, I there, and may God protect us! She ceased speaking; two doors opened and shut. I heard nothing more.

of grief she endeavoured to repress, so, what was intended
as a confession, was only a loud lamentation, sent forth by
despair to the echoes of the sonorous chapel. It was im-
possible not to hear; I took my part; I listened.
"My father! my father! Why did you hinder me from
dying? Why did you cross my path when I was going to
demand death to heal the scars, the wounds that men had
given my poor heart? Why make me live on earth since I
have my child no longer? They have killed him, the cruel
men! My child so beautiful, so good! my child, whom God
gave me in days of clemency; and now, when he was my
hope, my happiness, my life, God snatches him violently
away! Is that just, my father?'

"I could not hear the priest's reply to these accusations of frantic grief against Providence; but it appeared to me that the eloquence of the holy man did not entirely fail of success, since it was with less rashness than resignation the penitent continued-Yes, my father, yes, I believe in your consoling words. God is punishing me for the fault I committed! It was very great, I know it. A mad affection had carried away my whole being. A man told me I was beautiful, and charming above all women; he intoxicated me with his adoration; and, as my mother had no faith in him, she refused to approve our love, I lent an ear to his culpable suggestions, and fled from my mother's house at night—my mother who lived only for me and in me!'

"Oh! that was horrible. But since then I have been a prey to the keenest torture, so that I thought I had been punished sufficiently, and had purchased it by the most terrible expiations! I deceived myself; I see it.

"And yet, did not my mother die of despair when she found herself abandoned by her child? Dead, without it being permitted me to receive her last look of love, to fling myself on my knees before her, to beg indulgence and pardon! Not to receive the benediction of a mother on her death-bed, to fear that her last words were to curse her daughter! What a punishment, father!

"And he, for whom I left all; he, for whom I killed my mother! he, for whom I had sacrificed everything, life, and honour, a thousand times more precious than life itself! did he not treat me with perjury and infamy? Did he not give the lie to all the promises, to all the oaths of love, that he swore to me before the altar? Did he not load me with his

mize our union, by flinging in my face this horrible sentence- Whoever is a bad daughter, will be a bad wife; and whoever deceives her mother would deceive her husband!'

"What! was that not enough yet?

"A moment after, I saw the church beadle enter, carry-indifference and contempt? Did he not refuse to legiti. ing a lantern, and walking two or three steps before a priest, of venerable aspect, white hair, and gait slackened by age. At the side of the priest a woman with difficulty advanced, seeming overwhelmed with grief. Deep groans escaped her breast, and tears inundated her face. I comprehended that this woman, smitten by the rude hand of misfortune, came to implore the mysterious consolations of the word of God, and I cursed the curiosity that had placed me in a situation not less difficult than ridiculous. If they should discover me, what could I say?

"I had a son, a living witness of my crime, it is true; but still he was my son, my joy, my all! And he is taken away from me! The wicked killed him, after having dishonoured him! He was reproached publicly with the shame of his birth; the shame, alas! his wretched mother had en

"Chance came to my aid-the priest entered the only tailed upon him; and then the miserable bullies shed his unoccupied confessional.

blood, which was mine! And, when sinking under my grief, I wish to tear myself from this world, where there was nothing left to retain me in it, you, father, place yourself between me and despair, and, in God's name, forbid

"A lamp hung from the ceiling of the chapel, the beadle lighted it, and, with a slow and heavy step, went into the sacristy. "At that moment profound silence reigned throughout me to dispose of my life, which is not mine but God's. You the vast cathedral.

"Soon words uttered with effort reached my ears. Half. stifled complaints succeeded the murmurs. She then burst into sobs, in spite of the touching exhortations of the priest, who vainly tried to restrain the overflowings of her desolated soul. Her voice rose louder and louder, as painful avowals and bitter remembrances gave more strength to the outburst

bid me live, doubtless, that other women seeing me bearing the empty title of mother-I, who have a son no longer, seeing me a widow-may learn from me how many tears, how much regret and despair follow the commission of one crime!'

"From that moment I heard nothing but tears and groans, at times mingled with the pathetic accents of a tender and

penetrating voice. Then the tears ceased to flow, the groans were hushed, and I supposed the priest and the penitent lifted their souls to God. In a few moments after, both left the chapel.

"Soon one of the confessionals opened. A woman passed the one in which I had taken refuge; through her hands, with which she covered her face, I saw her tears flowing. Her lover followed her. Both walked with hurried steps. I sprang out and followed them.

"I overtook them at the Marché du Vendredi, where I first saw her. Not far from them, behind some ruins, a postchaise awaited them. There a new struggle was to take place. The young man called heaven to witness the purity of his intentions; the lady refused to listen to him, and, in a grave and solemn voice, said to him:

"It is all useless, Monsieur, you cannot convince me; for, while I live, the awful words I have heard this night will never cease ringing in my ears-- Whoever is a bad daughter will be a bad wife, and whoever deceives her mother will deceive her husband!'

"The young man insisted, he even attempted to seize her hand; but, turning from him, she saw me, ran, took my arm, and said, with energy- Monsieur, if, as I believe, you are an honest man, conduct me to my mother. My mother and God will bless you.'

"We directed our steps towards the hotel of the Count de D, and the postchaise rolled off on its way to Germany. In 1840, Eugenie D― became my wife. Since that time we have never repented having overheard the secret of the confessional. In the eyes of a good Catholic that is a great sin; but it seems to me that a great sin which has made two persons happy is almost worthy of absolution. What do you think, my friend?"

"Alas!" said I, modestly, "I am no casuist; but, since you ask my opinion, I shall tell you that I think that the sin which has made you two happy, singularly resembles two good actions. Go, then, in peace, and sin always in the E. P.

same manner.

DIARY OF TOWN TRIFLES.

like other unswept apartments, but ground into circles of fine powder by hurried and twisting footprints. No culprit was before the court, and the judge's terrours were laid on the desk with his spectacles. We looked about in vain for anything note-worthy. Even the dignity of "the presence" was unrecognized by us, for (not being in the habit of uncovering where there is neither carpet, lady, nor sign of holy cross) we were obliged to be notified by the "hats off, gentlemen," of the one other person in the room-appa. rently a constable on duty.

A side door led us downward to the watch-house, which occupies the basement of the Egyptian structure. It is on a level with the street, and hither are brought newly-caught culprits, disturbers of the peace, and, indeed, (so easy is disgrace,) anybody accused by anybody! It is not an uncommon shape of malice (so the officer told us in answer to my query) for the aggressor in a quarrel to give the sufferer in charge to the watchman and have him locked up! The prisoner is discharged, of course, the next morning, the complainant not appearing, to prosecute; but passing a night in a cell, even on false accusation, is an infliction which might fall with some weight on an honest man, and the power to inflict it should not be quite so accessible-" thinks I to myself." (I made the Mirror a mental promise to get better information on the subject of arrests, and generally on the subject of the drawing of the first line between "ourselves" and the guilty. With Miss Lucy Long's privilege, I shall duly produce what I can gather.)

On application at the door of the prisons, we were informed nonchalantly (and figuratively, I presume) that it was "all open," and so indeed it seemed, for there was no unlocking, though probably the hinges would have somehow proved reluctant had a prisoner tried the swing of them. We walked in to the prison-yard unattended, and came first to the kitchens. A very handsome woman indeed was singing and washing at a tub, and up and down, on either side of the large boilers, promenaded a half dozen men in couples sailors and loafers, " in for a month," as we were afterwards informed. They looked as happy as such men do elsewhere, I thought, and wearing no prison-dress, they seemed very little like prisoners. It is considered quite a privilege, by the way, to be employed in the kitchen.

The inner prison door looked more like one's idea of a "Toibooth," and by it we gained the interiour of the Tombs. Gadsby's Hotel at Washington is a very correct model of it, on a somewhat large scale. The cells all open upon a quadrangle, and around each of the four stories runs a light gallery. In the place of Gadsby's fountain is a stove and the turnkey's desk, and, just as we entered, one of the prisoners was cooking his mess at the fire with quite an air of comfort and satisfaction. It chanced to be the time of day when the cell-doors are thrown open, and the tenants were mostly outside, hanging over the railings, smoking, chatting with each other and the keepers, and apparently not at all disturbed at being looked at. Saunders, the absconding

(KEPT REGULARLY FOR THE NEW MIRROR.) Visit to the Tombs-Police office-constable's hint-watch-house -facility of imprisonment-the Tombs' kitchen-prison yard -inner prison-resemblance to Gadsby's Hotel-occupation of prisoners-Saunders, the absconding clerk, and his accomplice Raget-Madame Raget's devotion-passer of counterfeit money-swindler-the cells carpeted-prisoners' luxuries-fe male prison-dislike to solitary confinement" Black Maria" -prevalence of scratched faces-Five Points by daylight population swarming out of doors-police officers and culprits Dickens Place-Murdering alley Query for the National Academy-purchase of an expensive piano by a carman-Stuart's new drygoods palace curiosity-shop of Tiffany and Young-sudden outbreak of genius by Mrs. Hunt of the Park. I GAVE in to a friend's proposition to "poke about," lately, one afternoon, and, by dint of turning every corner that we had never turned before, we zig-zagged ourselves into a somewhat better acquaintance with the Valley of Poverty lying between Broadway and the Bowery. On our descent we stop-clerk, whose forgery made so much noise not long ago, was ped at the Tombs, making, however, (as many do,) rather an unsatisfactory visit. We lacked an Old Mortality to decipher the names and quality of the tenants. It is a gloomy access to Justice, up the dark flight of steps frowned over by those Egyptian pillars; and the resolute-looking constables, and the anxious-looking witnesses and prisoners' friends who lean and group at the bases of the columns, or pace up and down the stony pavement, show, with gloomy certainty, that this is not the dwelling of "Hope, with eyes so fair." We turned out of the dark portico into the Police Court-a dingy apartment with the dust on the floor-not

pointed out to us, and a more innocent-looking fair-haired mother's boy you could scarce pick out of a Freshman class. He has grown fat in the Tombs. His accomplice, Raget the Frenchman, is not much older, but he looked rather more capable of a clever bad trick, and Frenchman-like, he preserved, even in prison, the dandy air, and wore his velvet dressing-cap with as jaunty an air of assurance as if just risen to an honest man's breakfast. He is handsome, and his wife still voluntarily shares his cell. A very worthy-looking old gentleman leaned at his cell-door, a celebrated passer of counterfeit money; and a most sanctimonious and theo

logical-student-looking young man was pacing one of the galleries, and he had been rather a successful swindler. Truly "looks is nuffin," as Sam Weller was shrewd enough to discover.

We looked into one or two of the cells. To a man who has ever suited his wants to the size of a ship's state-room, they are very comfortable lodgings, and probably a sailor would think quarters in the Tombs altogether luxurious. Punishment of this kind must be very unequal, until it is meted out by what a man has been used to. (Till then, at least, it is better not to steal!) Two or three of the cells were carpeted and decked with pictures, and the walls of one I looked into were covered with drawings. Friends are permitted, of course, to bring to prisoners any luxuries except liberty; and on the small shelf of another cell we saw a pyramid of gingerbread-the occupant, probably, still a youth.

We passed over to the female prison. The cell-doors were all open as in the other wards. But here were strong symptoms that, however "it is not good for man to be alone," it is much more unpalatable to woman. A poor girl who had just been brought in, and was about to be locked up, was pleading piteously with the keeper not to be shut up alone. Seven others who had just been sentenced and were "waiting for their carriage" to go to Sing-Sing, sat around the stove in the passage, and a villainous-looking set they were. It is a pity women ever sin. They look so much worse than we-(probably from falling so much farther)—and degradation in dress is so markedly unbecoming! Most of the female cells were double-bedded, I observed; and in one, which was very nicely furnished, stood a tall and well-dressed, but ill-favoured woman, who gave back our look of curiosity with a ferocious scowl. It struck me as curious, that, out of nineteen or twenty women whom we saw in the Tombs, two-thirds had scratched faces!

One of the police-officers joined us in the latter part of our rounds, but too late for the thorough inquiries I wished to make; and promising myself another visit to the Tombs, accompanied by some one in authority, I made my envied and unobstructed exit.

gination) the culprits of to-morrow have no apprehension till apprehended. A viler place than the Five Points by daylight you could not find, yet to the superficial eye, it is the merriest quarter of New-York. I am inclined to think Care is a gentleman, and frequents good society chiefly. There is no print of his crow's-foot about the eyes of these outcasts. Who knows how much happiness there is in nothing to dread-the downfall well over?

We strolled slowly around the triangular area which is the lungs of the Five Points, and, spoken to by some one in every group we passed, escaped without anything like a rudeness offered to us. The lower story of every second house is a bar-room, and every bench in them had a sleeper upon it. There are some houses in this quarter that have been pretentious in their day, large brick buildings with expensive cornice and mouldings-one particularly at the corner of the famous " Murdering Alley," which would bring a six hundred dollar rent, "borne like Loretto's chapel through the air" to a more reputable neighbourhood.

We wound our way into the German quarter, which occupies the acclivity between the Five Points and the Bowery; but as I wish to connect, with a description of this, some notices of the habits and resorts of foreigners gene. rally in New-York, I shall drop the reader at the corner.

Query for the National Academy-whether it would not pay to remove their exhibition to a more accessible alti. tude? The climb to that fifth story is toilsome to young and well people-particularly in the Spring, when there is less strength and more walking than at any other season of the year-but to invalids and old people it is a formidable achievement and not likely to be attempted more than once, however strong the temptation of good paintings. A Gallery should be a resort-a lounge for the idle hour, else not so well improved. If the annual exhibition were, for instance, on the ground-floor occupied by the Apollo Associciation, it is quite safe to say that it would be four times as much frequented. We trust the New Gallery, of which the Reed collection is to be the basis, will be situated on the west side of Broadway and on the street floor. An accessible lounge will then be open, in the using of which, public taste will be improved without urging or labour.

It is right and wholesome that a new country should be the paradise of the working-classes, and that ours is so may be seen very readily. A wealthy merchant, whose family is about leaving the city, sold out his household furniture last week, and among other very expensive articles, a magnificent piano. It was bid off at a very fair price, and the purchaser turned out to be the carman usually employed at the merchant's warehouse! He bought it for his daughters. The profits of this industrious man's horse and cart were stated by this gentleman to approach three thousand dollars a year!

It was a sunny Spring afternoon, the kind of weather in which, before all other blessings, to thank God for liberty. With a simultaneous expression of this feeling as we cleared the prison steps, my friend and I crossed the rail-track which forms the limit of the New-York Alsatia, and were presently in the heart of the Five Points—very much in the same "circle" of society as we had just left, the difference probably consisting in scarce more than cleanly restraint without want, and dirty liberty with it. Luckily for the wretched, the open air is very nearly as pleasant for half the year as the inside of a millionaire's palace, and the sunshine is kept bright and the sky clear, and the wind kept in motion-alike for the pauper sitting on his wooden door-step and the rich man on the silk ottoman in his window. Possibly, too, there is not much difference in the linings of their content, and if so, the nominal value of the distinctions between rich and A drygoods palace is now going up in Broadway, which poor should be somewhat modified. At the Five Points, to will probably exceed in splendour even the celebrated shops all appearance, nobody goes in doors except to eat and sleep. which are the prominent features of London and Paris. The streets swarm with men, women and children sitting" Stuart" is the projector, and when it is completed, he will down. The negro girls with their bandanna turbans, the leave the low-browed and dingy long-room in which he has vicious with their gay-coloured allures, the sailors tired of amassed a fortune, and start fresh in this up-town "bezes. pleasures ashore, the various "minions of the moon" drow. tein." A noble dwelling-house has been completely torn sing the day away-they are all out in the sun, idling, jest-down to yield its site, and extending back to a great depth, ing, quarrelling, everything but weeping or sighing, or com- the new structure is to open by a right angle on another plaining. The street is dirty, but no offence to their nos- street, giving the facility of two entrances. "Shopping" is trils! The police officers are at the watch-house door, al- to be invested with architectural glories as if its Circean ways on the alert, but (probably from possessing little ima-cup was not already sufficiently seductive!

Even this chrysalis-burst of Stuart's, however, is a less forcible exponent of the warrant for the importation of luxuries, than the brilliant CURIOSITY SHOP of TIFFANY and YOUNG. No need to go to Paris now for any indulgence of taste, any vagary of fancy. It is as well worth an artist's while as a purchaser's, however, to make the round of this museum of luxuries. The models of most of these fancy articles have been the perfected work approached with slow degrees, even by genius. Those faultless vases, in which not a hair line is astray from just proportion, are not the chance work of a potter! Those intricate bronzes were high achievements of art! Those mignon gems of statuary are copies of the most inspired dreams and revelations of human beauty! The arts are all there-their best triumphs mocked in luxurious trifles. Poetry is there, in the quaint and lovely conception of keepsakes and ornaments. Even refinements upon rural simplicity are there, in the simple and elegant basket furniture of Germany. The me chanic arts are still more tributary in the exquisite enamel of portfolios, the contrivance of marvellous trinkets, the fine carving and high finish of the smithery of precious metals. And then, no-where such trim shape and dainty colour in gloves-no-where such choice dandy appointments in the way of chains and canes-no-where such mol. lifiers of the hearts of sweethearts in the way of presents of innumerable qualities, kinds, values and devices. I think that shop at the corner of Broadway and Warren is the most curious and visit-worthy spot in New-York-money in your pocket or no money. And-(left out of our enumeration)-these enterprising luxurifers have lately opened a second story, where they show such chairs and work-tables as are last invented-things in their way gorgeous and unsurpassable. If the gods have any design of making me rich, I wish it might be done before TIFFANY and YOUNG get too old to be my caterers.

The theatrical astronomers have been much interested in the birth of a new star-lovely Mrs. Hunt of the Parkwho has suddenly found her sphere and commenced shining brilliantly in a range of characters seemingly written for the express purpose of developing her talent. Her arch, halfsaucy, and yet natural and earnest personation of Fortunio has "taken the town." She has made the success also of a very indifferent piece-a poor transfer of the celebrated Gamin de Paris-in which she played the character of a young rascal with a very good heart. The increasing ap. plause with which Mrs. Hunt is nightly greeted, after hav ing had her light so long "hidden under the bushel" of a stock actress, must be a high gratification to "Strong-back," her husband. Indeed, his undisguised enjoyment of her clever acting, (as he plays with her in Fortunio,) is as "good as a play" and much more edifying. Success to her, pray I!

The rock, struck by the rod,
Shed streams of gladness on the desert plain,
So from my ruder heart flows forth the strain,
Touched by thy grace, O God!
The saddest day has lost its gloom for me,
If I may sing at eventide to Thee.

Thou, who the bird hast taught
Its tune, the brook to gurgle, and the breeze
To make sweet music with the forest trees,
Within my soul hast wrought

The charm divine, to cheer me on my way,
To that bright world where angels sing for aye.

Mine is no lofty lyre,

Nor lute voluptuous-nor the poet's meed
Of laurel crown-a simple pastor's reed
Responds my meek desire

To breathe, obscure from men, into Thine ear,
My God, the strain which they may scorn to hear.
Yet, if its numbers might

Win back unto thy fold some wandering sheep,
Or bid some pilgrim sad forget to weep,

I shall have rich delight,

Nor need to envy then the proudest name
That stands emblazoned on the roll of fame.
Another writer of undoubted genius, whom we only know
by seeing his name appended to what he writes in the news-
papers, is JAMES H. COLLIER, of Binghamton. We cut from
the Tribune a short time since the following admirable trans-
fer of the Princeton calamity to the rhythm and frame-work
of Childe Harold's description of the battle of Waterloo. It
is a transfer which required almost as much genius as the
original die, being entirely fused over and harmoniously re-
cast.

There was a sound of revelry and mirth—
Columbia's Capital had gathered there

Her love and pride, her beauty and her worth;

And Childhood's laugh, and voice of maiden fair,
Rang sweetly out upon the sunny air,

The bright hued flowers of youth's first blossoming;
And manhood threw aside its weight of care,
With the light thoughts that Woman's smiles e'er bring,
To gaily welcome back the first glad breath of Spring.
Ha! 'tis a gallant vessel, yon proud ship-
As on its way unconsciously it leaps,
Scarce in th' unruffled stream it seems to dip,
Though ceaseless vigils o'er the sea it keeps;
Not on the wings of sluggish breeze it creeps,
But like a spirit onward it doth move
When the wild wind in its dark cavern sleeps,
Seeming a thing of beauty and of love,
Gliding so calmly on, as gentle as a dove.
It is the love-feast of its gala morn-

And like the roses on a young bride's brow,
The pennants gay its tapering masts adorn,
And spotless streamers deck its swan-like prow;
And its bright sides, as fast it dances now

Over the waves, are wet with specks of foam,
Like virgin tear-drops shed above the vow
That tears her from the quiet of her home,
O'er life's storm-billows and dark sea to wildly roam.
And light feet tread upon that snowy deck,

And light hearts bound new pleasures still to find;
No fear to dream of, and no care to reck,
And whisperings of love, and words that bind
The links of friendship and of feelings kind,

And witching music that the heart loves best,
Floating in gladness on the summer wind;
And well-turned compliment and merry jest
Flow round the jovial board, and to the feast give zest.

And now they listen to the mellow strain

Of some sweet song, that makes the thoughts of yore;
And now they mingle in the dance again,

Or view the scenery of winding shore,
The lovely meadow, or the mountain hoar,
The columned clouds, that in the sky afar
Seem like the giant forms of things no more;
And now admire the nicely balanced spar,
And now the pomp and panoply of horrid war.

"Come, lads! bring forth once more that booming gun,
And while the merriment runs high below,
Ere yet in splendour sinks the setting sun,
Once more in echoing thunder shall it show
The iron death it deals our country's foe;

When black War spreads his wing o'er earth and sea,
And bloody Murder, Misery, and Wo,