LIFE IN ABYSSINIA: Being Notes collected during Three Years' Residence and Travels in that Country. By MANSFIELD PARKYNS. In two volumes: with Illustrations. New York: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.

WHILE the question whether ALEXANDER SMITH is or is not a great poet is still an open one, no one who reads the volumes before us will be inclined to doubt that MANSFIELD PARKYNS is a born traveller. Since poor Ruxton's Life in the Far West,' we have seen no more readable book of travels than this. From a child,' says our author, 'I never knew a good dinner from a bad one, so long as there was plenty: and this is a taste, or rather a want of taste, almost essential to a traveller.' 'Of course a man who cares a straw about what he eats should never travel in Africa. It is not sufficient to say I can eat any thing that is clean and wholesome. You will often have to eat that which is neither, especially the former. I have eaten of every living thing that walketh, flieth, or creepeth lion, leopard, wolf, cat, hawk, crocodile, snake, lizard, etc., and I should be sorry to say what dirty messes I have at times been obliged to put up with.'

We don't think Mr. PARKYNS is at all inclined to squeamishness about his food, and imagine that he would have been a good average cannibal, if he had been brought up in that 'line of life.' But he had, on the contrary, a Christian education, and we attribute to this circumstance alone the fact that he has not given us in his comprehensive bill-of-fare, 'missionary, on the half-shell.' We find farther on, however, that Mr. PARKYNS don't like 'missionary.'

Thinking the following receipts for blood-letting, etc., which we quote from page twenty-four, may be useful to our readers, we do not hesitate to impart them: For my part,' says Mr. PARKYNS, 'I have never been bled, and I hope I never shall, especially in a hot climate. Local bleeding, such as the natives practise, are often highly advantageous, and firing with a hot iron, at their recommendation, may also be adopted. For severe inflammation of the bowels, when you cannot bear to be touched on the part, some boiling water poured on it will be a ready and effective blister, a wet rag being wrapped round in a ring, to confine the water within the intended limits. For bad snake-bites, or scorpion-stings, bind above the part as tightly as possible, and cut away with a knife; then apply the end of an iron ram-rod heated to a white heat. There are, however, I believe, many snakes whose bites can scarcely be cured any how.'

The above receipts are given for the benefit of future tourists in Abyssinia. Here are some hints about the climate of that delightful country which may be timely: 'In a conversation about the comparative heat of different places, an officer of the Indian navy remarked that he believed Pondicherry to be the hottest place in India, but still that it was nothing to Aden, while again Aden was a trifle to Massawa. He compared the climate of the first to a hot bath; that of the second, to a furnace; while the third, he said, could be equalled in temperature by nothing but · place which he had never visited, and which it is to be hoped neither he nor any of us will.'

Mr. PARKYNS exhorts those who have satiated themselves with every kind of enjoyment here, to leave for a time their lives of luxury, shoulder a rifle, and try a few months' experience of hardship in a hot climate. You will suffer much at first, but in the end will learn what true enjoyment is. You will sleep soundly when you throw yourself down on the bare ground, while in your bed of down at home you might have been tossing about in a fever all night. You will find more pleasure in a draught of water, even if it be a little dirty, or flavored with tar from the leather bag in which it has been carried, than you ever did in the choicest wine to be got in England. You will devour a half-burned piece of gazelle, and find it more palatable than the cuisine of the greatest gourmand in Paris. And, as for fruit, it is true we have none to speak of in Abyssinia, but a good raw onion is not a bad thing by way of luncheon.' We counsel our readers to procure these travels and read them; but do n't all go off to Abyssinia at once; some of our 'constant readers' cannot well be spared from home.

PHOTOGRAPHIC VIEWS OF EGYPT, Past and Present. By JOSEPH Р. THOMPSON. In one volume: pp. 358. Boston: JoHN P. JEWETT AND COMPANY.

THE author of this volume is well known to our metropolitan public as an eloquent and popular clergyman, attached to the 'Tabernacle' Congregational Church: and he has shown in these pages that he writes as well as he preaches. 'In the month of January, 1853,' says our author, in a brief and well-written preface, 'I found myself afloat upon the Nile. Six months before, I had left New-York in the uncertainty of pulmonary disease, to try the benefit of a year of travel in more genial climes. The balmy air of Egypt brought healing to my lungs, and with this came an almost boyish gush of life; so that in the soul, as in the outer world, it was the 'Season of Vegetation' after the 'Season of the Waters.' For three months the light of each morning without clouds' pictured in the mind the scenery of the Nile, the passing scenes of Egyptian life, and the lingering monuments of Egyptian history, in lines that can never be effaced; and in the abundant leisure of boat-life these views were transferred from the mind to paper. Each view was taken by the light which itself threw upon the mind; photographed by the outward upon the inward, and again transferred from the inward to the outward. These impressions, as taken at the time, were laid by for future reference; and now the whole are bound together in a volume for whoever cares to look at life-pictures of a distant land. If the picture is gay or grotesque, it is because the reality was gay or grotesque; if the picture is sombre, it is because the reality was sombre. If in turning over these leaves any shall find innocent amusement for a passing hour, the humble copyist of Nature will be glad of such a measure of success in transferring her mirthful phases; if any shall be saddened by these life-pictures, why he too was often sad at seeing, under the sunniest sky, deeper shadows

than clouds can throw; if any shall find instruction in the pictures, he will b thankful that he did not see and study Egypt for himself alone. For this, his first attempt in the photography of nature, of history, and of human life, his only claim is that the pictures are faithful; taken as they were, and given as they were taken.' Although books of travel in Egypt have somewhat multiplied of late months, we have yet met with no one of them which possessed more interest than the volume under notice. The style is easy and flowing, and being a ready and accurate observer, the author could not well avoid making an entertaining and instructive book. The illustrations of the volume, which are very well engraved, are copied chiefly from the works of BARTLETT and LANE, which in this respect are the common plunder of American authors.

NOTES FROM THE LETTERS OF THOMAS MOORE to his Music-Publisher, JAMES POWER. With an Introductory Letter from THOMAS CROFTON CROKER, Esq., F.S.A. In one volume: pp. 176. New-York: J. S. REDFIELD.

THE publication of this work was suppressed in London, and it is quite casy to see why: for it represents the gay poet and pet of the aristocratic circles of London as a very different man from the tender, sensitive and unselfish genius which his friends delighted to depict him. Mr. CROFTON CROKER, in an extended letter to the American publisher, expresses great dissatisfaction with the course adopted by Lord JOHN RUSSELL, in his memoirs of the poet, in clipping his correspondence, and thereby injuring the reputation of persons who were MOORE's warmest friends and benefactors, at a time when he needed them most. Complaints are made of many painful and unfair paragraphs having been allowed to appear, which should have been suppressed: 'MOORE's autobiography of his boyhood, full of childish reminiscences, has been printed by the noble editor of the poet's remains without any attempt to explain or illustrate it. From documentary evidence, which could easily have been procured, it can be shown to be most unsatisfactory and deceptive, to use no harsher word.' Records are left in MOORE's. diary especially, that do the greatest injustice to the memory of 'Honest JAMES POWER,' his music-publisher, with whom he had passed twenty-five years of the closest professed friendship on MOORE's part. The rupture between them was occasioned by a business-affair: 'MOORE, after fourteen years of procrastination in facing pecuniary difficulties, through which POWER helped him to flounder creditably, at last takes courage to look into them; and, in doing so, fancied that he discovered an improper charge in long-standing-over accounts, by an annual payment made to another for doing that which Moone himself was unable or unwilling to perform.' 'Ard that's the way the quarrel began.' Particulars in relation to this affair, with numerous passages from MOORE's letters concerning this and other matters, make, as we have said, an interesting brochure, which will be read with even more interest in England than in this country.

LETTER FROM THE LATE EDITOR OF THE 'BUNKUM FLAG-STAFF.'- We have Intercepted the following letter, on its way to the present editor of the 'Flag Staff' monthly gazette, published at Bunkum, Long-Island, of which the writer is now its regular Nebraska correspondent. It will be seen that Mr. WAGSTAFF, the former able and popular manager of that renowned sheet, has become a Spiritual Medium;' and that his 'experiments,' since the accidental discovery of his wonderful power, have been of a very extraordi nary character:

'DEAR BROTHER: There is one thing you never took me for. I'm a mejum — a writing, tipping, knocking, rapping and speaking mejum; which is as true as the Nebrasky bill has passed both houses. I send you the partick'lers for the 'Staff,' of which I have seen no copies for some years, because the country out here is yot wild and sour, but I suppose the 'Staff' is still itself—a poplar mejum of information in your parts. It was an excellent paper when I took it, containin' the best readin' and about the best organ for patent-medicines and such like that I pretty near almost ever seen. It ought to cirkelate some out here, as it will be I think, when we get our saw-mill agoin', up to which time we are pretty much at a standstill.

But I was going to tell you about my being a 'mejum.' The other night I was sittin' alone in my log-cabin, and had fastened the latch, and was pulling off my stockings on the chest, having just wound up my silver watch, which almost skeered me, it ticked so loud, and eat a potatoe, and went and put my pocket-book Into the bureau-drawer, when, what should I hear in that still hour of the midnight hour, but three raps. Says I. jumpin' up, with the blood rushin' about my heart, 'Who's thar?'

'No answer. I thought it was an Indian, with a Tommy Hawk, coming to scollop me. 'Who's thar?' Then I heard the falls. We have some considerable water-falls near here, and with that I got into bed and popped out the lantern, and fadcied myself safe in Main-street, Bunkum, when what should I hear again but three loud knocks, which made my heart leap up into my mouth. I jumped up, and struck a match, and looked out of the window, expecting an Indian, but could n't see any thing, when suddenly the thought struck me, I'm a mejum!' Says I, bracing myself up against the bed-post, 'If any of my departed friends have come

from the seventh heaven to this miserable digging, where a saw-mill is not yet established, will they please to knock again three times, by way of a firmation?' 'Scarce had I done so when I thought my log-cabin would be pretty near knocked down. That pint is settled,' thought I. 'I'm glad it is n't an Injun. Now let's prick up the lamp, and knock off the alfabet:

"A?' 'No.' 'B?' 'No.' 'C?' 'No.' 'D?' No.' 'E, F, J?'

Rap, rap,

rap. 'O?' Rap, rap, rap. 'Well, let the Seph go. It's JOSEPH, isn't it?' Rap, rap, rap. 'A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P' Rap, rap, rap! 'P,' says I, 'I'm glad it is n't an Injun. What's the uset of wastin' time. It's JOSEPH PIPKINS, is n't it?' Rap, rap, rap! 'I thought so. Well, JOSEPH,

what do you mean by coming to my hut at this time of night? I always treated you well, did n't I?' Rap, rap, rap! Now tell me; if you are in the seventh heaven you will rap again three times.' To this interrogatory of mine JOSEPH returned no answer, and I heard only the ticking of my watch (bought for fifteen dollars in your town) and the soundin' of the water-falls. Says I to him, 'Are you in a low sphere? If so, have the obleeging condescension to rap only oncet at the head of my bed-stead,' which he did so.

The fact is, he ust to be a bad neighbor of mine, and a disgraceful fellow, who was killed in a riotous tumult, while dashing about in a fit of the delirian trimens with a bowie-knife in his hand. Said I to him, 'JOSEPH, go home;' and he went, so that I was troubled with no more knockings for that night.

"This circumstance led me to a good deal of reflection, and, among other things, that a great many low spirits, who had already cursed this earth, and who warn't able, on any wings that they had, to aspire any higher, were very willing to come back here and hover about their old haunts. At the same time they could n't do so if they didn't find certain uneasy folks, without any Christian faith, still willing to dabble in the ancient and wicked crime of witchcraft. On these people they impose most shamefully, signing themselves 'GEORGE WASHINGTON,' or 'DANNEL WEBSTER, or your affectionate wife,' or by whatever signature you please. You may depend upon it, my dear brother, that it is all folly for people to be botherin' their heads so much about the futur', and teasing and goadin' their minds about it, so long as they will do up accordin' to righteous laws the business of the present day. Let 'em be good men this morning, and ten to one they will not be miserable to-morrow morning. What do you want of more revelations than what you have? Ain't we flesh and blood, and ain't we made to associate with flesh and blood? Most certainly. Go to work. Plough your field. Love GOD. Love your neighbor. Fulfill the duties of your present sphere.

'The fack is, we want to know too much and to do too little. You don't want to have any think to do with spirits, until you get to be a spirit yourself. Be industrious; be virtuous, and you will be happy. Day-time warn't made to dream in. Not at all. If I am a mejum, it will be a mejum of common-sense, and I don't want to see the slavery of superstition settin' its cloven foot on the Nebraska Territory before we get the first crop of corn reaped. If these dictates appear to you accordingly, I wish you would give them a slight insertion into the 'Staff,' and say that your brother WAGSTAFF done it. I was the fust settler here, and when I see the spirit-rappings comin' where we want nothin' but solid materials, I felt mad. We don't want dreamers here; we want good hard workers. We want bone, and muscle, and sinoos, and not spirits, and, least of all, ardent spirits. I wish that people would be more teetotal than what they are. Tell Mr. GREELEY to include all vagrom spirits, who go roaming abeout the confines of creation, in the