GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. The proceedings of the great Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Property, held at Brussels in September, have been made public in English and American journals. There would seem to be little reason to doubt, that great good will ensue from the deliberations and action of this important Convention. It was the business of the assemblage to discuss the subjects before them only, and to advise such legislation in relation thereto, as should be deemed proper. It was decided, among other things, by a very large majority of the body, that the right of an author in his works should extend to fifty years after his death. The remainder of the discussions of the Congress turned upon various details of the proposed legislation. Our American delegate to the Congress, FREDERIC S. COZZENS, Esq., so well known to the readers of the KNICKERBOCKER, was elected a Vice-President by acclamation, and acquitted himself with his accustomed ability. Apropos of Mr. Cozzens we cannot resist the inclination to quote a few passages from a familiar, gossipping epistle, just received from our old friend and correspondent, dated 'The Hague, October Fourth.' It is exceedingly 'Sparrowgrassy' and characteristic: and we trust there is no impropriety in permitting our readers to share with us the great pleasure which we, in common with a few select friends, have enjoyed in its perusal :

'MY DEAR CLARK: Here I am in Holland. I promised you a letter-here it is. Of course this country reminds me of our KNICKERBOCKER Magazine; of the Saint NICHOLAS Society; of WASHINGTON IRVING; of long pipes, long speeches, gin-punch, Dr. SCHOONMAKER, orange ribbons, VERPLANCK's cockéd-hat, HENDRIK HUDSON, and my own beloved lust-haus' on the bank of the river that bears the name of the famous skipper of the 'Haalf-Moon.' Yes, here I am, in a wilderness of weather-cocks, and a maze of wind-mills. The country is all ditch and dyke; the latter to keep the water out, and the former to keep the water in. The ij (in Dutch pronounced eye) wanders over an expanse of green, far as the edge of the horizon, in which the most elevated object is probably a gigantic cabbage: wind-mills and other flatulent vegetables, are as common as lamp-posts: the ditches take the place of fences: the stork builds in the roof; and the bull-frog, the Dutch model of unbreeched beauty, whistles his love-notes to the amorous tulip.

'You will probably want me to give you my impressions of England. Well then, I saw many of the old towns and castles. Oxford made the greatest impression upon me of all the rest. After the richness of Oxford, even London pales its ineffectual historic splendor. I saw Greenwich Hospital; the ‘Leviathan;' the Tunnel; Thames; and I saw a BEADLE! CLARK, you never saw a beadle!-a real original BUMBLE! Something flamed forth from a middleage church-porch in Warwick; it blazed down the street, a figure in trappings of scarlet, and I thought it was the W. of Babylon-of the Apocalypse. But no; it held a bell, and wore a cocked hat; it approached me-stopped; raised the cocked hat, and uttered these remarkable words, 'Werry fine mornin', Sir' replaced the chapeau, and walked away, like HAMLET's father.

'I have seen Bruges, Ghent, Brussels, Mechlin, Antwerp, Rotterdam, Delft, and the Hague. I have seen the tombs of ADDISON and BUTLER, of Admiral TROMP

and ERASMUS; the ever-burning lamps in the crypt where repose the ashes of NELSON and WELLINGTON; the sculptured sepulchres of CHARLES the Bold, and WILLIAM the Silent; the stone slab over the grave of RUBENS, and that where sleep forever SHAKSPEARE'S honored bones. Nay, more: I have worn the steel caps of WARWICK and of CROMWELL; have held the crozier of the Prelate, and the sceptre of the King; have sat in the chair of JAMES L. and looked upon the bear and ragged staff embroidered by the fair hands of AMY ROBSART. Is Kenilworth not known to me? Nay, I know its ruined battlements, as I do the house where the Duchess of Richmond gave a ball, which was interrupted by the cannon of Waterloo.

'I came to this place by the trekschuyt, a boat on the canal between Delft and the Hague. The former place is particularly interesting, as the scene of the Pilgrims' embarkment. It reminded me often of WEIR's great picture. But more than all, was I reminded of MOTLEY'S 'Rise of the Dutch Republic' in the various scenes that met my eyes. The Netherlands are as eloquent of MOTLEY, as Spain is of IRVING. The trekschuyt is a horse-barge, for passengers only: it is drawn through the canal at the rate of four miles an hour. A very pleasant thing is it, to travel at a meditative pace through the heart of a rural country like this. And it is very beautiful too, this Holland; this bulbous parterre, planted with stately avenues of trees, green hedges, villas, and flowers of all hues. A sail on the treckshuyt upon the canal, is through a continuous grand garden.

'Next to Oxford, the Crystal Palace at Sydenham surprised me most of any thing I saw in England. Our own little affair of that name is as a wren compared with an eagle. It is the loftiest monument of English greatness in her possession, saving the memories of her illustrious dead. No, I must qualify that : it is her most striking edifice- that is it!

'I looked down upon busy London from the top of St. PAUL'S, and saw the arterial currents of her trade radiating from the Bank. Do you know that Bank of England seems to me to be the heart of the financial world: but her youngest rival begins to pulsate also. There was a commercial throb not long since, that sent a shock throughout the Rialtos of both hemispheres.

'Here comes the garçon with the gin-and-water: I drink gin in Holland, because the water is bad and dangerous.

'Good night: you see I am ready for my night-cap: my kind regards to all at Cedar-Hill Cottage. 'Ever yours truly,

F. S. c.'

Mr. COZZENS is 'at home' again. We hope that many of our readers surveyed, as we did, night after night, in the clear amber-cerulean of an October sky, the Great Comet of Donati. The emotions of sublimity, the grandeur of the conceptions, which it awakened within us, are past all expression. The thoughtful beholder could only exclaim with TENNYSON:

'OH! would that my tongue could utter

The thoughts that arise in me!'

To see on each succeeding night that awful OBJECT, in size so overwhelmingly vast, in velocity so terrible, sweeping through the heavens, trailing its luminous glories, travelling its 'appointed' course a visible embodiment of the CELESTIAL SUBLIME! The sun, the moon, the planets, all the distant hosts of heaven, have their metes and bounds: 'we know when they shall darken or

grow bright:' but this erratic wanderer of the sky, whence came it, and for what end? The Infinite BEING who created it alone knoweth! It hath flamed upon the forehead of the evening and the morning sky, and now is momently rushing away from the great orb of day, into the vast realms of endless space! 'Whither, oh! whither?' Who shall answer? When they who are now living, and have looked upon that 'streaming courier of the skies,' are in their graves and out of them, in particles of dust, impalpable to human sight, it shall come again—again to speak the praise of its great CREATOR. What have we poor earth-worms to do, save to gaze in awe and wonder, and bow our heads in adoration? One night, after a long survey of this celestial visitor, overwhelmed with the contemplation of its wonders, we took up from the sanctum-table a work upon entomology, and read upon one of its pages these brief sentences: 'We are acquainted with animals possessing teeth, and organs of motion and digestion, which are wholly invisible to the naked eye. Other animals exist, which, if measurable, would be found many thousands of times smaller, which nevertheless, possess the same apparatus. These creatures, in the same manner as the larger animals, take nourishment, and are propagated by means of ova, which must, consequently, be again many hundreds of times smaller than their own bodies! It is only because our organs of vision are imperfect, that we do not perceive creatures a million times smaller than these.' 'Surely,' thought we, the hand of the ALMIGHTY is as sublimely visible in the least, as in the greatest of all His works!' - - TRIFLES in knowledge, in the every-day affairs of life, are sometimes important: and little maxims, written from little minds, by little men, in a little room, on a little piece of paper, are often observable and noteworthy. Witness TUPPER, the myriad-minded, whose philosophy is proverbial:

'WHO sees a pin, and lets it lay,
May want a pin another day.'

Nothing could be truer than this, if there were any degree in truth, which there is n't. Of this most useful maxim we have 'availed' from our youth up. Mr. CHARLES L. ELLIOTT, who is a philosopher, as well as the best portraitpainter living at this moment in Christendom, objects somewhat to this: having, as he conceives, a better way. 'If you want a pin,' said he, the other morning in the sanctum, 'look on your carpet for it: you will always find one.' We did and two 'shining ones' rewarded the hasty search: although our beautiful 'snuggery' had just been swept and garnished. Also, dear departed 'AUNT DOLLY' once said to us, when we were trying to look the sun out of countenance, to accomplish a sneeze, 'touch the nerve with the head of a pin.' We did it: such ecstasy! The diaphragm arose within us, collapsed, turned itself wrong-side out, and subsided to repose. Such are simple maximous hints, which are heedworthy. THERE was an excellent column in The Tribune' daily journal, the other day, upon the Literary Criticisms of the London Athenæum. But was 'the game worth the candle?' We are informed, on the best authority, that 'at 'ome' that sheet has the least possible influence, by reason of the uniform unappreciative and nil admirari spirit which it manifests, especially toward all American works, which 'The Tribune' condemns. Its circulation is very small: at the outside not more than twenty-five

hundred; and its weight with its readers (save avoirdupois) is even less than its diffusion. Take the case of LONGFELLOW, for example: how do its adverse comments affect the literary reputation of that gentleman abroad? One would suppose, to give his works an increased sale in England; for not less than one hundred thousand copies, in editions costly and cheap, have been sold in Britain during the last year. The 'slashing style' of reviewing has gone out, especially with feeble pens, guided by ambitious but feeble minds. To us, it seems only amusing, to read the criticisms' of the Athenæum upon such writers as BRYANT, HALLECK, and LONGFELLOW. Even its stinted praise is accompanied by a protestando, and its confirmatory quotations are generally preceded by an adverse innuendo: reminding us somewhat of the eulogy bestowed by the pastor of a church upon one of his new deacons, in a conversation which he held with a neighboring pastor: Deacon B—,' said he, 'has but one fault in the world: he has a propensity to be a little quarrelsome, when he is drunk!' According to our ARISTARCHUS of the Ass-ineum, as BULWER named it, PRESCOTT, BANCROFT, and MOTLEY possess little more than 'laborious industry;' HOLMES has 'neither wit nor humor;' WASHINGTON IRVING lacks geniality;' (think of that!) - BRYANT is an 'imitative WORDSWORTH:' and LONGFELLOW has written one pretty line,' in his last volume!' A-bas! such a critic' is not worth talking about. But while upon the subject of Mr. LONGFELLOW's last volume, which has met with such characteristicallyunworthy treatment at the hands of the Athenæum, let us briefly express our sense of the merits of The Courtship of Miles Standish, which lends it its title, commencing with a clear resume of the story:

MILES STANDISH, the first captain of the New-England settlers at Plymouth, was a stalwart but somewhat stumpy man; terrible in war, but not framed for ruffling in the dove-cots. Being a widower, he shares his domicile in the rude shanties of the rising village with his bosom friend and protege, JOHN ALDEN, a scholarly, quiet, graceful, and GoD-fearing young Puritan. To him the soldier dilates of his old campaigns in Flanders, not without a dash of self-conceit, shown particularly in his reiterated protest and counsel that whoever wants any thing well done must do it himself. This is MILES's rule of life and of action, though it fails him at a critical pinch. He desires to replace his lost wife, and casts his eye upon a comely maiden, one PRISCILLA; yet, despite his favorite maxim, he commissions JOHN ALDEN to do his wooing for him. JOHN, himself a humble worshipper of the fair girl whom the blunt soldier thinks may be had for the asking, is grievously troubled by the commission. His conscientious scruples are however put down by the strong will of the matter-of-fact man of war, and off he goes on his errand. Its result is easily foreseen. PRISCILLA, whose quick eye has not failed to read the true state of JOHN's feelings, and who is amused by his perplexity, gives a decisive negative to the proposal for the rough captain's hand. Then the honest fellow pleads with self-sacrificing earnestness in behalf of his rejected friend, making bad worse by every word he utters, until the maiden finally discomfits and puts him to flight, by asking him archly why he does n't speak for himself: thereupon a terrible conflict between Love and Friendship. Stung by self-reproach, he hurries off to MILES STANDISH, and blurts out unreservedly to him the tidings of his ill-success as a messenger, and the still more unwelcome truth that he himself is the accepted one. This is more than the choleric captain can stand. He blasphemes, and reproaches JOHN ALDEN with treachery; nor do we know how his indignation would have found vent, had not a threatened irruption of Indians called off the soldier to his fitting avocation, and made for the moment an end of him. But though thus rid of MILES STANDISH's reproaches, JOHN ALDEN's sensitive nature cannot reconcile him to his own position as the lover of PRISCILLA, though a deprecating look from her had sufficed to prevent his immediate return to England in the bark May Flower,' then about to sail. He cannot clear himself from the charge of having broken faith with his friend. Suddenly, however, come tidings that STANDISH has been killed in a fight with the Indians, and that the settlement is threatened by them. The imaginary obstacle thus removed, and a sense of imminent

danger drawing together these loving hearts, JOHN ALDEN claims PRISCILLA as his bride, and they are married after the old fashions of Holland. At the wedding, stalwart MILES reappears, not as a ghost or an avenger, but forgiving, congratulating, blessing and so all ends well.'

We fear that it will take a long time to 'inure' us to English imitations of Latin hexameters. LONGELLOW has well mastered the task of their composition, and his 'feet' go trippingly, with seldom a slip or mis-step. But the love of hexameters must come like the love of Spanish olives: some these delight: othersome regard them as 'sour green plums.' But the form of the poem aside it is replete with the most exquisite natural images and comparisons; it contains a succession of descriptions which are as much beautiful pictures to the eye, as if they were upon canvas in color before the reader. Quiet humor there is, in quaintest garb, and touches of natural pathos, which take the heart captive: while the story itself is admirably and most dramatically told. Among the shorter poems which close the volume, is the subjoined, which is as excellent in the great lesson which it teaches, as in the grace and harmony of its execution. It is entitled 'The Ladder of St. Augustine :'

'SAINT AUGUSTINE! well hast thou said,

That of our vices we can frame
A ladder, if we will but tread
Beneath our feet each deed of shame!

'All common things, each day's events,
That with the hour begin and end,
Our pleasures and our discontents,
Are rounds by which we may ascend.

The low desire, the base design,

That makes another's virtues less; The revel of the treacherous wine, And all occasions of excess :

The longing for ignoble things;

The strife for triumph more than truth; The hardening of the heart that brings Irreverence for the dreams of youth:

'All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds,

'We have not wings, we cannot soar;

But we have feet to scale and climb By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time.

"The mighty pyramids of stone

That wedge-like cleave the desert airs,
When nearer seen, and better known,
Are but gigantic flights of stairs.

The distant mountains, that uprear
Their solid bastions to the skies,
Are crossed by path-ways, that appear
As we to higher levels rise.

The heights by great men reached and
kept

Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night.

That have their root in thoughts of Standing on what too long we bore

ill;

Whatever hinders or impedes

The action of the nobler will:

'All these must first be trampled down
Beneath our feet, if we would gain
In the bright fields of fair renown
The right of eminent domain.

In all respects, admirable.

With shoulders bent and downcast eyes,
We may discern-unseen before-
A path to higher destinies.

Nor deem the irrevocable Past,
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,
If, rising on its wrecks, at last

To something nobler we attain.'

A FRIEND has called our attention to the following paragraph in 'Ka Elele Hawaii,' of Honolulu, Oahu, Sandwich Islands, under date of 'Okatoba 6.' The 'Buke' and 'Pepa' numerical designations are indistinct, from the wear and tear of the journal in coming so great a distance: but doubtless the sheet is of last year:

'E HOOKAA ia ka hookupu i hoakakaia maluna ae; penei, he hapaumi i ka hookomo ana i na holoholona iloko o ke kula, a he hapaumi i ka pau ana o na malama mua eono. Pela no i kela Kakahikiikeia Makahiki, e hookaa e ia ka hapalua o ia hookupu, a o ke koena i ka wa e pau ai ka hapalua mua o ko makahiki. Ina aole e kaa ka kekahi hookupu a pau na malama eono, e kau hou ia