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When a body met a body, the first topic of converse used to be the weather, or a pinch of snuff, or a glass of wine, a shrug, and a good day -- Tempora mutantur, sed cum illis mutamur. Now the hurry of the age cannot notice the state of the weather, and to the tables of the meteoroligist -sic- are committed the friendly associations connect-ed "with pleasant and unpleasant, heat and cold, stormy or calm, cloudy and clear," that little is left but to refer those important documents to the taste and judgment of our readers, and to recommend their very care-ful study to the minds of all who wish to range properly o'er the fields of unlimited space.

We way congratulate ourselves that we yet live, move and have a being in God -- and that amid the storms of life a kind Provi-dence has placed each person in the niche be was ordained to fill, and for that alone he should most be thankful.

The cold of winter, the mildness of spring, the singing of birds, the budding of the fruits and flowers, the tempests and wrecks of life, and the thousand ills that render the world a scene of suffering and toil, are well and often cast forth to the contemplation of the human race -- that the Opal would sit in sad civility, and present to its friends no unsul-lied sheet, for them to anticipate, and therein those thoughts that would best suit the age in which they live, and move in consonance with their spirit and manners. For to be candid, the more we think of ourselves, the more we look at us in the great State mirror, the more we are ashamed, and would, indeed, hide ourselves in the intellectual paradise, and among its green bowers, until our strengthfulness is renovated, and we recover from the shock incident to the sense of our deterioration, until the call from Heaven -- " Where art thou?" shall be answered, not in the shrinking effeminacy of Father Adam, but in the filial confidence of children who love to do their duty as enjoined by a Father who knows the condition of every variety of his domain, and will mete out to each portion the very allotment that is best.

"Nullum magnum ingenium, sine misture dementiae," saith a heathen moralist, and we comfort ourselves with the experienced, who verify the truth of Seneca, by pointing to New-York Canals, and instancing Gov. Clinton as tinctured with its folly, until the triumph of his stupendous powers, determined his character, and the fruit of his study.

Our Legislature has adjourned, and provided most liberally and sagaciously for this her foster-child, and our Governor reposing on the good will and confidence his public life has engendered, commits the issue of the Canal policy to a magnanimous people, who will never do what will appear puerile before the world.

The world is gay and fair to us, as now we journey on,
Yet still it is sad to think, 'twill be the same when we are gone.
Some few, perchance may think of us, soon the transient gloom,
Like shadows of the summer cloud will leave our narrow tomb.

The desires of people to be considered of consequence is innate, a wish to be esteemed, is amiable and the good opinion of mankind desirable, but the approbation of Heaven, in the performance of a well ordered life and conversation, is the summum bonum of mortals hastening to the tomb; but we leave speculations on the vicissitudes, with which our country has of late abounded, and must felicitate ourselves, that the pages of the Opal do not record those astounding events with which the world abounds.

It is fashionable to praise, and it would be impolite to censure; and indeed the cogitations of the Lunas would not be authority at Westminster or Washington; nor would our opinions affect in the least Chief-Justice Taney, or Lord Derby, yet we know who they are; we read their productions, and of our own countrymen too, and we remember that Gen'l Cass said, Mr. D. Webster has more genius than Mr. Canning has, and that Mr. Webster said it was all pleasant to see Mr. Buchanan in his seat, when in the Senate. We have perused Mr. Lawrence's Ambassadorial Correspondence about the Prometheus, and think it no cause of war; but that the Captain who fired into her sho'd have been catted. We respect our Diplomatist, and think he gave great dignity to the affair. So much indeed that the New-Jersey Bishop mentioned the classic name of Prometheus in his Diocesan address. We laud the enterprise that leads to Japan, and hold in high esteem the presiding genius of or Naval Armament -- Ordnance is precious, and terrible in an army or navy with banners. We wish it always to be used with care, and governed with the supreme skill it now is.

Our souls are ever moved to sympathy with sweet sounds, and their innermost depths have been recently aroused by the presence of some of the sweetest minstrelsy that ever saluted mundane ears. There were several bands --

First came some gentlemen under the name and style of the "Nightingales," under Mr. Kunkel's management. The pains they took to interest our Brothers and Sisters were wonderful. They prepared themselves as "darkies," and performed such mirthfulness, as to chose away the melancholy of the Retreat, and inspire a sincere respect for the party who did so much in kindness and good will, to benefit their afflicted fellow-beings.

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A Stage was erected, and Scenic effect given to they appearance, and their music and dancing was the admiration and wonder of the whole house, wondering at their great politeness in coming to make such a war against sorrow, with determined, energetic sympathy, that the Asylumians were almost taken captive, and compelled, nolens volens, to lay down their griefs, and resume their positions and obligations in society. The "light fantastic" step of Fanny, will long be remembered as associated with the buoyancy and vivacity of a circle of accomplished artists, who, while they appear as the personifiers of the dark race, display a genius, and excite a sympathy that rivals the more exalted and refined ramifications of society. -- The next day we received the following effusion:

Ethiopian Nightingales, did you come from far,
To cheer the spirits whom grief doth mar?
Did ye come with your timbrel and sweet banjo
And songs to chase away our woe?

Did ye come with just and pleasant mirth,
And laughter and dance, and thus give birth,
To a thrill of delight in all around,
That caused with joy their hearts to bound.

Yes, minstrelsy gentle and pure and kind,
That diverted the sorrows of troubled mind
Came with ye all, and long will impart
A comfort, a joy to the troubled heart.

Remembered you'll be in the roll of years,
In the realms that often are sullied by tears,
As the means of dispelling the inner sadness,
With your interlude to the thrall of madness.

Go, Nightingales, go, with light hearts fair,
Go forth in a world of turmoil and care,
And bear in your hearts this happy thought,
For an hour you've sweetened the maniac's lot.

Next came the hero of sacred music, Mr. Taylor, whose lady honoured our sensations with the song of "Coming through the Rye," in a natural and unostentatious style, then a Spanish lady. Senora Paredes, whose Castilian notes thrilled through and through the hearts of her attentive auditors. This unassuming group present strong claims on the public interest.

The "Ethiopian Minstrels" of Mr. Fellowes, came in their whiteness, and charmed the whole of their auditors, whose applause was a sincere testimony of their delight -- The harmony of the music, the extraordinary representation of the character of the African race, and their politeness in affording such a treat left an impression of grateful tenderness, profound and sincere.

But the Blind Vocalists! Whose heart was not melted on beholding them? whose mind does not appreciate the triumph of the State in this Humanity? and what New-Yorker does not feel proud at the issue of the exertions, that hath placed the Blind the Deaf and Dumb, the Insane and Idiot in a happy train for comfort, as well as in comfortable and enviable positions. The Institution for the Blind has done its part well, and we remember the interest Dr. Russ's party excited on their visit to Utica years since. We remember what the Blind have done. We have read Homer, and Milton's Paradise Lost, the product of his old age, and Mr. Wirt's Blind Preacher, and we have known some of Mr. Nelson's pupils, all as blind as a Bat, and still the most critical scholar in New-York; and we have seen the Blind Vocalists, the proudest exhibition to the philanthropic eye of any we have beheld in a long while. Formerly the Americans sent their Blind, if they could afford it, to Liverpool, and an ancestor of the great Mr. Jay, was educated to the highest degree of sensitiveness.

We rejoice that America has a School for her Blind children, and we were so delighted with the display of its graduates at this Humanity, that we could illy express ourselves of them, and their effect on us. Their songs were chaste, their singing exquisite, their appearance interesting, and their reading of Scripture good and wonderful. -- Threading the needle, by a blind person, was quickly done, and excited mute astonishment. The Geometrical laws, were the execution of a blind person who had studied Euclid, and drawn those Diagrams, and at Diagrams drawn by the seeing for the blind to learn. This was a most remarkable intellectuality, honouring whosoever did it. -- We can't criticise the blind persons, if we would, our whole sympathies run toward them, with all our good will, and we commit them, with perfect confidence with ourselves, to the superintending providence of a just and merciful God.

In the song of our visitors' styled "O Jesus our divine redeemer," our prayers ascended with theirs, that their darkness might not be forever. Indeed, we wished that although the darkness had regained her old possession with them, yet we prayed that the light of immortal virtue might irradiate their path, unto the perfect and eternal effulgence of Heaven.

The day after the following verses weere handed in to us by one of our ladies:

Though the flowers of earth from you may be riven,
Oh, be not desponding, the gardens of Heaven
Have flowers so fair, 'twould ravish the sight --
There your eyes will be opened in regions of light.

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And here where the billows so fearfully roll,
And clouds of thick darkness envelope the soul,
All hushed was the tempest, to list to your song,
For the sweetest of numbers to you still belong.

With fingers well s-?-illed, and senses refined,
The pages of God are conveyed to your mind,
And fancy illumes, and has richly supplied
What God in his wisdom to you has denied.

Then light be your hearts, as the soft summer air,
For the angels of glory for you sweetly care,
They watch you by day, and at night in your dreams,
They'll come round your pillows, and fold their bright wings.

And last, among the Sylphs and Nainds, came the Hutchinson Family, whose minstrelsy is so pure and soul-absorbing as to subdue the soul into its symphony, and bear it along the tendernesses of its vale to the perfectnesses to which it conducts.

It was during the administration of Dr. Brigham, that this Family were introduced, when Abbey was with them, charming as if an angel all who heard her sweet tones.

In the sweetness, chasteness and skill of the music of this ever to be admired and cherished group, there is a presence that ensures the respect of all who listen to it.

It elevates, it encourages in the "good time coming," it lures to temperance in "cold water," it points to Heaven in "where shall rest be found," it inspires a respect and confidence in "the domain of our Uncle Samuel," and in imitations of the Crow, and the Scotch Bag Pipes, imagination loses itself in doubt as to the reality.

It were idle to say that the music of the Hutchinson Family was aught else than like dew of Heaven to the wearied and thirsty, refreshing and comforting beyond expression.

For the little books they sent, for us to look upon when they were gone, we are deeply indebted, as initiating us into a knowledge of themselves and their engagements, which their modesty forbids them personally to express. We will remember the children of the Granite State, as we love to cherish her most distinguished Son, and wish that these minstrels might awaken an interest in their travel, for one whose glory is not to be confined to the simple spheres of greatness in great scenes; but is prepared for the retired hamlets of his native hills, and for the palace-built cities and marts, and only needs our enthusiasm of remembrance, to arouse to action for the highest office of the republic the noblest of sympathies for the noblest of men. To one of our ladies' we are indebted for the following:

The wise and the good are entranced by thy lays,
And princes have offered their tribute of praise,
But language is cold, and faintly can tell
How bright was the hour and sunny the spell
When ye came to the home of the weary and sad,
And bid the crushed heart for a moment be glad.
May the Eden you make ne'er from you be riven,
Till ye sing "a new song' in the mansions of heaven.

But as our worthy Chaplain says, "we must hasten on with our subject."

We are not vain enough to item such great works as the English Reviews, and if we have heretofore expressed our opinions of them, and of our own dear country, in frank terms, they were honest.

There is the Westminster Review, the Edinburgh Quarterly and British Reviews, the Whig Review and Democratic Review, Graham's Magazine, Godey's Lady's Book, Littel's Living Age, and Journals of Medicine and Surgery, in all of which the intellect sustains itself, in its orb of saneness, so far as we are able to judge.

The intellect, in the pride of its domain, as it disposes of States and Empires, Kings and People, changes and conditions, scoffs at any departure from its own loftiness, and too often, like the Peacock strutting in the consciousness of its splendid feathers, is abashed on beholding the ill proportion of its understanding.

"The Brain, the material organ by which all the mental faculties are manifested is exceedingly delicate; and but partially developed in childhood," and lunacy, overexcitement of it, is exceedingly hazardous, and we must submit ourselves to the calm, the dispassionate judgment of our patrons, hoping that the ethereal mildness of spring will be welcomed to every heart; that the fruitfulness of these pages. will be enhanced by the promptness through which the public becomes as one person in all that comforts the heart, or encourages the minds, of the errant children, who are afflicted by God's fiat. Spare us, good Lord, from all things evil that our litany deplores. Spare us from the ills of a dependent state, a shrivelled, snivelling age, an ignoble maturity, a reckless youth, and charity that cheats us of years filled out in phantasies, rather than the spurring mementoes of rational existence, impelling to independent action, and to the performance of duties that meet the approbation of our God, and assimilate us to those whose buoyant hearts are palpitating amid the excitements and interests of a world, abounding with absorptions and expansions, and that rushes in its mighty torrent with unconscious travellers destined to the immensities of eternity. I

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Writing thus much of music there comes a gentle whisper from the grand old woods of Ireland, that her ancient and honourable songster has fallen covered all over with the light and beauty of song.

Tom Moore, is no more, "but still here's a double health to thee. Tom Moore," here too is a tear, and a sigh too that

"The Harp that once through Tara's halls,
"The soul of music shed,"

is suspended forever. The Harp of Erin melodious is hung upon the willows --

"No more to chiefs and ladies bright,
"The Harp of Tara swells --"

Bless the memory of Moore, for the legacies he has left behind to cheer "the stilly night," and to lighten our pathway of pain. We hope that the winter of his life was blessed with some of the friends of his sunshine, and that though

"A light that ne'er can shine again
"On life's dull stream --"

has left a sphere somewhat darkened, there is a consolation in the fact, that

"Darkness shows us worlds of light
"We never saw by day" --

Truly, truly do we wish that if he has slept in error's sleep, he has knelt like Mary, loved much, been forgiven, and waked in Heaven.

We must beg the attention of our readers, to a little book, "Religion in its Relation to the present Lire," by A. B. Johnson, and its author will accept our thanks for it. Its sentiments and style are characteristic of the man of sense, the true gentleman, and chastened rational views of human life and duty. A fit work for all minds, but especially for some within these hospitable walls, and containing suggestions, calculated to lead to the enlightenment of the conduct of the human understanding in its practical bearing on the interests and happiness of society. -- We are glad and proud of such a writer whose "leisure hours" record the reflections of as mature sense and refined taste as the annals of mind present on whatever subject is presented either for his private view, or that public who respect him as a citizen and delight in him as an author, doing honour to the American character. We quote a few remarks from the Fourth Lecture,

"THE ART OF CONTROLLING OTHER"

"So a man cannot deceive men. You are masquerading before others who have masqueraded themselves. They know every turn of the game as skilfully as you. We are, to every essential extent, repetitions of each other. If what you utter proceeds from envy, no disguise can prevent your envy from being detected. If your actions result from penuriousness, no ostentation of liberality can hide it, no protestation of munificence conceal it."

"Nor need you be anxious to make men observe your good qualities. Any agency which you thus exert will transform your reputable actions into disreputable. It will convert learning into pedantry; religion into pharisaism; humility into ostentation, condescension into arrogance; praise into flattery. Any action, how good soever, the worst man will perform if you compensate him for the performance; hence to the extent which a love of reputation influences your conduct, you are as little meritorious as he. His selfishness requires money, yours is satisfied with reputation."

"If we are lovely, we must be loved; if hateful, we must be hated; if contemptible, we be contemned; if despicable, we must be despised."

"To ensure the uniformity of such results, Nature has formed men much alike. A million of organs, manufactured from the same pattern, possessing the same steps and notes, responding to each other with more similarity of sound, on the pressure of any given key, than a million of men will respond to each other, in similarity of approbation and aversion on any given occurrence. When Queen Victoria, a very young maiden, arose from her seat during her coronation, and, disregarding etiquette, assisted an old nobleman, who was painfully endeavouring to ascend the steps of her throne, to yield her, according to the custom of the kingdom, his personal homage, the spectators responded to the action with acclamations. They needed no conference to ascertain the feeling which the action should excite in them. Providence had predetermined for them."

"We shall find that a principle like the above is general. If you feel complacency towards any person, it will dictate conduct that will excite in him complacency towards you. If you feel confidence in any person, it will dictate conduct that will excite in him confidence towards you. If you feel friendship for him, it will dictate conduct that will excite in him friendly feelings towards you. Sympathy will excite sympathy, respect will excite respect, liberality will excite liberality, forgiveness will excite forgiveness. In short, "as ye would that men should do to you, do ye to them likewise." This scriptural rule we are accustomed to estimate as a measure by which we are only to dispense favours; but it is equally applicable as a means for the obtaining of favours."

"The world, is, however, the most impartial of human tribunals."

Rev'd Mr. Gregg, (of Cheshire, we think) England, author of the beautiful hymn written on 1 Tim. iii. 16, "seen of Angels," or commencing "Beyond, &c.," had an insane brother who lived with him, and spent his time wandering about the yard, garden, and sometimes finding his way into his brother's study, but never seeming to take much interest in things about him. Mr. Gregg, therefore, used no precautions in reference to his manuscripts, generally allowing them to remain exposed on his desk, especially while in of course of completion. On this occasion, he had written the hymn, with the exception of the last two lines, and being unable to get a suitable climax, walked out to refresh himself with pure air, and contemplate his subject. After he left the room, the lunatic brother walked to the desk, read in the manuscript, took a pen, and wrote

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"Clapped their triumphant wings, and cried
"The glorious work is done."

As the hymn is in very few books, we will quote it.

Beyond the glittering starry skies,
Far as the eternal hills,
Yon heaven of heavens, with living light,
Our great Redeemer fills.

Legions of angels strong and fair,
In countless armies shine,
And swell his praise with golden harps
Attuned to songs divine.

Hail, Prince!" they cry, "for ever hail!
Whose unexampled love
Moved thee to quit these glorious realms
And royalties above."

While he did condescend on earth
To suffer grief and pain,
They cast their honors at his feet,
And waited in his train.

Through all his travels here below,
They did his steps attend;
Oft wondering how and where at last
The mystic scene would end.

They saw his heart, transfixed with wounds
With love and grief ran o'er:
They saw him break the bars of death,
Which none e'er brake before.

They brought his chariot from above,
To bear him to his throne;
Clapped their triumphant wings, and cried,
"The glorious work is done!"

This is but a single instance of the sublime thoughts and aspirations which so often play over the insane mind. When the world, with its cares and perplexities, is shut out, when the soul is withdrawn from all terrestrial objects, by the inability of this "house of clay" to perform its ordinary functions, and the Author of our being wraps his arms of protection about us, and we live in the future, is it vain to say that like the Apostle "our lives are hid with God in Jesus Christ"? that "our conversation is in heaven? No doubt many of our brothers and sisters in this sad "house of our pilgrimage" on whom the world looks with compassionate regard because the silence of that night of intellect shrouds them, are often thus thinking on Him who in the lines of the Psalmist, said "Cast thy burthen on the Lord," and in connection with the foregoing we present the following rhapsody of one in whom the light of reason we are told, if shining, shines far down, too recedent for ordinary ken.

"GOD -- I am encircled by those who trust friendship is not entirely begotten by man. In his extreme glory he wept. Not tears, but as humanity would say, He, incarnate, gave immortality to death. Imagine Divinity? Gather grapes of thorns? Unite Heaven and Hell! Go! But where are they? Where is eternity? Is Time past? Has Earth engrossed all of our desires? -- Shall we mortals enter the portals of day? Can you recall the spirits of those who have gone before you? Where are the friends who tabernacled with us in the flesh? They live. Will our spirits recommingle with theirs? Do we not recognize in all our transactions that Father of all? To be divorced from what seems most beloved, and I might say lost in the "Imis Fundis" (lowest depths) of iniquity is truly painful to human conception. "Why do we mourn departed friends"? Confide we in Him who was the Author and Giver of us? No man can serve two masters. Ye cannot serve God and Mammon. How are the mighty fallen? The faces that have seen us will see us no more. Death has triumphed once, and he will ever remind us of those whose lives were for our good. The Angel bore the Message, and Him, we delighted to venerate, was enchained by the strong embrace of that mild but unerring Guardian. The Guide of so many Sheep sleepeth. The Cattle on a thousand Hills were His. The heathen in blindness will atone. The ice-bound Peaks of Greenland and the solitary wilds of Asia, the Deserts where the howling simoom sweeps his aeolion Strings, Burmah with her Pagodas and Juggernauts, China in her artless yet temporary Towers, shall harvest what is more precious than Rubies, Emeralds or Roses. We may yet reflect where, when, and how all have squandered the inestimable gifts of Him who is the only giver of inexplicable good. The Upas itself would flee in dismay at such deeds. Well might we exclaim, "Oh, me miserable," when death has warned us repeatedly that we are naught but mere automatons, choosing not to be guards at the temple of honesty. Nay, rather be reveling in the plains of disobedience, and unmindful that Omnipotence reigns. Rolling in the pride and pomp of Oriental ignorance, basking in the sunshine of prosperity, living to be blest, not proving ourselves by the stern mandates of Him who speaks and 'tis done. Angels only can gaze and wonder when they with Golden Lyres touch the Heavenly strings, and usher back to the fountain, those tried in the fiery furnace of affliction, and God exclaims, "well done good and faithful servant, thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee Ruler over many." What raptures must fill our bosoms. When; Oh! When shall we meet in Heaven?"

Spiritual Rappings. -- We notice an article in the May number of Harper's Magazine, on this destructive popular delusion. -- While reading it we could not but feel deep satisfaction that this vicious mischievous thing was at length so seriously attacked, and its health and soul destroying evils so fully fairly exposed. We wish a copy of it could be placed in the hands of every reflecting man in the community, and especially do we wish, that it could be attentively read by deluded followers of this and its kindred errors -- mesmerism, clairvoyance, electro-magnetic-chemico-vital religion, this last a form of skepticism which is the legitimate offspring of these combined errors acting on illy-balanced minds. The views which the writer takes of the relations of all these popular delusions to skepticism in religion is fully sustained by facts, and is in remarkable contrast to those lately advanced by Henry James, Esq., of New-York.

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The readers of the Opal may expect a full explanation of our views of this subject in our next.

We have received several new exchanges during the past month, which we place in our swelling list with much pleasure.

We have heard that the inmates a Pennsylvania Hospital at Philadelphia commenced a paper styled the Entertainer. Can this be so, and we of the same school not know any thing about it? Come on Mr. Entertainer, if you are breathing, and if only emerging into the world of real, from your home of imaginary folly, still we say come on and bear us company. If you are strong, we will glory in your strength; if you are weak, we will lend our hand