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"It is reported of Sir Edward Sugdes, that when Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, he visited, somewhat by surprise, a lunatic asylum in the neighborhood of Dublin, to satisfy himself as to its condition. A hasty notification of his visit is said to have got there just before his arrival, but one a good deal colored by the waggish propensities of the sender, (whoever he was,) and the head of the establishment chancing to be absent, the notification, in all its coloring, was accepted as truth, and so acted upon by the subordinate official.

"In consequence, Sir Edward is said to have found himself somewhat unceremoniously treated while awaiting, in the parlor the return of the proprietor; and when his patience had become exhausted, and he signified his intention of going over the establishment without delay, he was struck aghast by being informed by the attendant that he could not be allowed to do it.

"'Can't be allowed to do it! What do you mean, fellow?' asked the indignant Chancellor.

"'I mean just what I say, then. You can't go; so you may as well be quiet.'

"'What do you mean by this insolence! Open the door, Sir, and shew me to my carriage. I shall report your conduct, and if your master does not punish you, I shall take steps to make both of you respect my authority.'

"'Oh, be asy now with your authority; keep quiet. I tell you. Divil a foot you'll stir out of this, till the Docthur comes back, and puts you where you want to be sadly.'

"'What's the meaning of all this? Don't you know who I am, fellow, or are you mad?'"

"'Oh, faith, there's one of us mad sure enough. Troth, I know you very well, if that's all that's throubling you.'

"'You can't know me, or you would'nt thus behave to me. I am the Lord Chancellor of Ireland,'

"'Lord Chancellor? Will, sure you're welcome home to us. We have three or four Lord Chancellors here already.'

"And the story goes that Sir Edward had to submit until the return of the proprietor and manager of the asylum, an hour or two later, when, with some difficulty, he established his identity and sanity, and was, more, a free man.

"'I know not how the case may be,
"'I tell the tale as 'twas told to me.'"

Musings of an Invalid, J. S. Taylor, New-York. -- "We are a wonderful nation," and in no respect more wonderful than in the quality of the books which are written, printed and read amongst us. When we consider the activity of our people, that ninety-nine out of every hundred are occupied ten or twelve hours of each day in some physical employment, which secures the subsistence and almost always results in some degree of independence, it is a question of serious importance, how we shall fill up, in the most profitable manner the remaining hours which are not given to sleep. A slight acquaintance with the literature of the country, the vast number of newspapers, pamphlets and books which circulate amongst us, serves to convince us that, by a very large majority, this leisure time is devoted to reading. But is it profitable reading? Are the character improved by the employments of those precious -- precious hours? Are the reader's sentiments refined and elevated, are his views enlarged and his sympathies made more comprehensive by the knowledge which he acquires -- and, above all, is he inspired with such wishes and hopes as will counteract the selfish, debasing, and earthward tendencies, of his ordinary employment?

The small portion of time, which is allowed for reading to the masses of our communities, renders almost no necessary a frivolous or superficial taste in those who purchase books, and a corresponding levity and shallowness in the attaiments -sic- and qualifications of authors. Universally, the supply of an article will be proportioned to the demand for it. If, light reading alone will pay, the writer will inevitably sink to the level of attainment and endeavor which will suffice to meet the wants of those on whom he depends for patronage. The standard of literature becomes debased. The author, descending from that lofty position, from which it was his privilege to adorn, instruct and reform his fellow-men, employs his powers, not (to use Bacon's noble phrase) in "promoting the glory of God and in the relief of man's estate," but in securing some petty advantage of personal popularity or emolument. No longer the leader, he becomes the follower of the public taste. The effects on the real interests of society is disastrous. The Lockes, the Cudworths, the Addisons and Miltons of past times are displaced and forgotten; and in their stead we have a swarm of multitudinous ephemera in the shape of lecturers or authors -- the former of whom undertake in an hour to furnish an audience with the accumulated wisdom or folly of ages; while the latter, by a kind of homoeopathic process, dilutes and dilute, some drop of ancient condensed wisdom, until it is weakened into a volume of verbiage and enervating illustration.

Nor is this superficial and vicious feature of our literature without its influence even on the professed collector of books. We have known an enthusiastic bibliopole as ignorant as another man, though walled round by thousands of cotton-covered tomes. -- Book-gathering has become fashionable. -- Excellence in the contents is no part of the treasure. And in many a proprietor of what fine library, we may find almost realized the description of a case, of Bibliomania by the great English Satirist: