THE SACRED MOUNTAINS, by J T. HEADLEY, author of Napoleon and his Marshals, &c.—Mr. Headley's characteristics as a writer are so well known and favorably appreciated, that we need not bespeak public attention to anything from his pen. There is about the present volume, however, an unusual charm, a peculiar attractiveness, especially to the serious, meditative reader, which will secure for it ample audience and lasting popularity. The moral tone is elevated and sustained throughout, the coloring vivid and lifelike, and the entire impression upon the reader's heart, not unlike what would be produced by an actual pilgrimage among the scenes it describes. The artistical accessories are in the most finished style of modern excellence. The engravings, eleven in number, are by BURT. The taste and liberality of the publishers, Messrs. Baker & Scribner, deserve high praise and a generous return from the public. Persons wishing to make a truly beautiful present to a friend during the approaching holidays, should not fail to purchase Headley's Sacred Mountains. Baker & Scribner, 36 Park Row and 145 Nassau street, New York.

THE ECLECTIC COMMENTARY.-We regard the Eclectic Commentary now in course of publication by Mr. Shannon, of this city, as especially deserving the patronage of Protestant Christians. Its cheapness, beautiful finish of mechanical workmanship, and its comprehensiveness, embracing as it does the cream of all the ablest com-* mentaries, all entitle it to very high consideration. For family use, it has no superior. The utility and interest of family worship would be greatly enhanced by reading, in connection with the Sacred text, the comments of this work.

PRESENT BOOK.-The Youth's Cabinet, edited by F. C. Woodworth, has been put up in various elegant bindings by the publisher, and forms a beautiful and instructive presentation volume, exactly suited to the season of gifts. It is abundantly embellished with fine cuts and engravings, illustrative of the various topics in the book. Whoever would desire a really valuable book for Christmas or New Year presentation, should examine this volume. D. A. Woodworth, 135 Nassau street, publisher.

AMERICAN SUNDAY SCHOOL UNION'S PUBLICATIONS.-We have a number of excellent works from the press of this society, among which "Robert Dawson;" "The Gospel among the Bechuanas, and other tribes of Southern Africa;" "The City Cousins;" "Sketches of the Waldenses;" "Amos Armfield, or the leather-covered Bible;" all of which indicate the sound judgment

and taste which preside over the publishing department of the Union. We take this occasion to observe that there seems to be a wrong impres sion abroad in regard to the publications of this society, and we suppose that this is mainly produced by the plain and humble garb in which the books are brought out, and not unfrequently, too, by the way in which they are sometimes editorially noticed to wit., they are frequently called "neat little books," "books for children," and it is said that "Sunday Schools should be supplied at once." "They should be in the hands of all our children." Now all this is good, and true besides, but only goes to belittle the highly valuable and exceedingly important labors of a great and comparatively venerable national institution. The majority of their books may be small, but our attention has been lately called not only to the vast number of them, but also to the size; and while such books as Holy War," by the immortal Bunyan; "The Way of Life," by Dr. Hodge; "Good, Better, Best," by Dr. Alexander; "The Great Change," by Redford; and a host of others which we might mention, are on the society's list, a different impression than that alluded to above should be entertained. The whole library of bound volumes comprises noW nearly six hundred. Some fifty to sixty of these have been added within a year past, and some of them of the very best character. Mr. Meeks has charge of the Depository in New York, Brick Church Chapel.

POEMS, BY AMELIA, second edition, enlarged; D. Appleton & Co., 200 Broadway.-Of this volume of delicious fancies and exquisite music, we have spoken at some length in the Editorial Miscellany of the present number of our Magazine. We need not add anything to our remarks in that place to induce any reader of taste and feeling to obtain the book. Unless the present edition be a very large one, it will very soon be disposed of. No American poetess enjoys so high and deserved a popularity as Amelia. Appleton & Co. have taken care to put her gems in a casket of fitting richness and beauty, worthy of the contents and of their own reputation for good and liberal taste. To this notice we may add, that a glance at the shelves and the catalogue of this very respectable publishing house, shows that, during the year now closing, they have issued a very large number of books, of great value and beauty, in every department of literature and science, which, with their ample importations of all that is choice in the markets of Europe, make up a stock as rich and perfect as can be found on this continent.

LAURA GRAHAM was beautiful-perfectly beautiful; everybody thought so, everybody said so; and the mirror which reflected her image many times in the day, whispered in her ear the same pleasant story. A profusion of glossy ringlets shaded a cheek where the rose and lily were harmoniously blended; and a pair of large dark hazel eyes beamed from beneath the long silken lashes, which softened without diminishing their lustre. In person, too, Laura was tall and well formed, and her figure displayed to the greatest advantage, by the aid of every outward adornment, for her doating father loved to deck his darling in the array which most became her, and Laura, with his purse at her command, indulged in the most extravagant fancies. The rarest fabrics of the looms of France or India were purchased with reckless expenditure, and worn with childish delight, while she bowed down, a willing votary, at the shrine of that hydraheaded monster, Fashion, to which so many rational and accountable beings yield their undivided homage.

But Laura Graham, despite these apparent advantages of wealth and beauty, was, in reality, an object of the utmost pity. Her mind abstracted from better things, her

thoughts fixed on the veriest trifles that could employ them, and her heart engrossed with the pleasures of the passing moment, who that looked on life in its true aspect, could fail to mourn over her? Vain and giddy as the butterfly, her existence seemed like that of the brilliant insect itself, but a summer day's enjoyment, with its winter unlooked for, unthought of a fluttering thing, that would sport for awhile in the sunbeams, and then die and be forgotten. Yet, had her lot been cast in a rougher mould, or had God appointed her a lowlier station, Laura might have been a different character, and adorned a humbler home with those graces which now were slumbering in her breast. Her intellect was good, and capable of improvement; but its powers, untaxed, lay dormant, or were crushed beneath the weight of worldly prosperity, and in her was exhibited that saddest of all sad spectacles, a human soul unmindful of its own high destiny-a prisoner closely fettered, yet hugging its chains, and submitting to be a slave a creature formed for the noblest pursuits, but wasting the best hours of her existence in chasing the shadows which eluded her grasp. To walk, to dress, to frequent those places of public amusement where the

gay and fashionable were to be met-these were the objects for which Laura Graham lived; while to appear in the most becoming costume, that she might rival or outshine her neighbors, and for which neither trouble or expense were spared, her constant aim. Yet happiness came not at her bidding. Satiety and fatigue were the result of all her efforts, and not unfrequently disappointment and regret the inevitable consequence of her brightest anticipations. The world cannot give us peace, and Laura found it so. The immortal spirit is not, will not, rest contented with an earthly portion. It is ever craving something more-something that is beyond, above it; and when man has vainly tried to slake his thirst at the "broken cisterns" here, he is taught at last, by bitter experience, that they are unavailing, and then he turns to the pure waters of the river of life.

Laura Graham had tasted of all the fountains of earthly enjoyment-had drank deeply, indeed, of each; yet, although she found them unsatisfying, she sought no other, and it was destined by Him who cannot err, that the sharp ministry of affliction should be employed to lead her to those never-failing streams, which have their source in heaven, and can alone supply the need of earth's weary and care-worn children. It was in the midst of her enjoyments, when, like King Belshazzar, her heart was merry, that the handwriting on the wall foretold the threatened evil. Laura had appeared at a brilliant party, where she shone the fairest and the gayest; but coming from the heated rooms into the cold air of a winter's night, she contracted a violent inflammation of the eyes, which confined her for many weeks to a darkened chamber, and when she came forth again it was as a helpless child, leaning upon her father's arm, and doomed, it would seem, thenceforward to be numbered among the blind.

When

It was spring-time, beautiful spring-time; but alas! for her the earth wore no beauty, the heavens gave no light. An impenetrable veil of thick and abiding darkness was spread over all things, and the flowers yielded their perfume, but their tints were unseen. first it became probable that her sight would fail entirely, Laura had given way to the most passionate grief; but as the certainty of her misfortune became more evident, this feeling subsided into the calmness of despair. She would sit for hours, with her hands

clasped passively in her lap, and if spoken to, only reply in monosyllables, uttering from time to time the most piteous sighs. Earth could give no support in this hour of trial, and she knew not of that which is unfailing; she felt the rod, but could not discern the hand which had appointed it, and her soul was sinking in the deep waters. Her father, overwhelmed by such a calamity, watched over her with the utmost solicitude. He rode with her, read for her, and left no means untried to while her into a partial forgetfulness of her sorrows, but it was all in vain; the books failed to interest her, and the flowers he brought were unvalued, or thrown aside with the pathetic exclamation, "Ah! take them away, father; I cannot see them now, and they make me long so to tear off these bandages, as if then I might look once more upon them" and the withered roses, as they lay crushed beside her, seemed indeed the emblems of her own sad destiny. Mr. Graham mourned in agony over his fair but stricken child, and joyfully would have bestowed his entire wealth, could he have met once more the expression of those sightless orbs, or that she might have gazed again, if but for one hour, upon the broad blue heavens or the glorious world, now hidden from her view.

In the sunny days of her past existence, Laura had thought herself surrounded by friends; but now she realized the want of that true and abiding friendship which her former gay companions could not afford her. They came, but their conversation had lost its charm; they could speak only of those scenes and pleasures from which she was now excluded, and the afflicted girl turned, weary and heart-sick, away. Laura's quiet chamber, too, was so different from what it had once been; so dull, and so mournful, that her young acquaintances soon reduced their visits to an occasional call, and she was left to feel how little worth was the world's friendship, and to sigh, though hopelessly, for something more tangible, and more enduring.

Three tedious months of darkness and sorrow passed away, and Laura was beginning to grow, if not more resigned, at least a little more patient under her misfortune, when Mr. Graham received a letter, the contents of which he hastened to communicate to his daughter.

"I have some news for you, my dear," he said, approaching the sofa where, as usual, poor Laura sat, melancholy and unemploy