ng articles in the four principal daily London morning papers
exhibit an amount of talent, energy, information, readiness, and
compression, which are not found in such perfect and wonderful
combination in the French press.

For the last three years, however, the press of France has wonderfully
deteriorated. It is no longer what it was antecedent to the Revolution.
There is not the literary skill, the artistical ability, the energy, the
learning, and the eloquence which theretofore existed. The class of
writers in newspapers now are an inferior class in attainments, in
scholarship, and in general ability. There can be little doubt, we
conceive, that the press greatly increased and abused its power, for
some years previous to 1848. This led to the decline of its
influence--an influence still daily diminishing; but withal, even still
the press in France has more influence, and enjoys more social and
literary consideration, than the press in England. We believe that
newspaper writers in France are not now so generally well paid as they
were twenty or thirty years ago. Two or three eminent writers can always
command in Paris what would be called a sporting price, but the great
mass of leading-article writers receive considerably less in money than
a similar class in London, though they exercise a much greater influence
on public opinion, and enjoy from the peculiar constitution of French
society a higher place in the social scale.

--We see by the last papers from Paris that Veron and the President have
quarreled.

From the Cincinnati Commercial Advertiser.

PROPHECY.

BY ALICE CAREY.

I think thou lovest me--yet a prophet said
To-day, Elhadra, if thou laidest dead,
From thy white forehead would he fold the shroud,
And thereon lay his sorrow, like a crown.
The drenching rain from out the chilly cloud,
In the gray ashes beats the red flame down!
And when the crimson folds the kiss away
No longer, and blank dulness fills the eyes,
Lifting its beauty from the crumbling clay,
Back to the light of earth life's angel flies.

So, with my large faith unto gloom allied,
Sprang up a shadow sunshine could not quell,
And the voice said, Would'st haste to go outside
This continent of being, it were well:
Where finite, growing toward the Infinite,
Gathers its robe of glory out of dust,
And looking down the radiances white,
Sees