EDITOR'S TABLE.

'THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS.'. -A'friend and fellow-citizen' of ours has translated, so far as published, a serial novel, just now making a great noise in the literary circles of the French capital, entitled Les Mysteries de Paris, by EUGENE SUE. Premising that our readers will soon have an opportunity of perusing in an English translation some of the most striking of the very remarkable sketches of this DICKENS of France, we shall content ourselves for e prese t with a single extract, embodying a simple, but as it strikes us, a very touching and impressive scene. The RODOLPHE of the passage bel w is a German prince, who has come to Paris, and who goes forth in disguise to seek out worthy objects of benevolence. He encounters in La Cité,' a quarter of the town occupied by the most abandoned classes, a girl of a beautiful, melancholy countenance, called in the peculiar language of the inhabitants, 'La Goualeuse,' or ' Fleur-deMarie, who turns out, in the subsequent progress of the story, to be a child of his own, whom he supposed to be dead, but who had in fact been left in the streets by her nurses. He proposes to take her into the country with him; and the effect which rural objects produce upon her mind is very beautifully described in the little episode of 'The Rosebush,' which will be found in the opening of the story. The whole tale forcibly illustrates what a French metropolitan contemporary terms the 'inépuisable imagination' of EUGENE SUE:

'I BELIEVE you, and I thank you; but answer me frankly: is it equally agreeable what part of the country we go to?'

Oh, it is all the same to me, Monsieur Rodolphe, as long as it is the country; it is so pleasant; the pure air is so good to breathe! Do you know that for five months I have been no farther than the flower market, and if the ogresse ever allowed me to go out of the Cité, it was because she had confidence in me?'

And when you came to this market, was it to buy flowers?'

'Oh, no: I had no money; I only came to see them; to inhale their rich perfume. For the half hour that the ogresse allowed me to pass on the quai during market-days, I was so happy that I forgot all.'

'And when you returned to the ogresse-to those horrid streets?'

'I came back more sorrowful than when I set out. I choked down my tears, that I might not receive a beating. I tell you what it was at the market which made me envious, oh! very envious; it was to see the little 'ouvrières,' so neatly clad, going off so gaily with a fine pot of flowers in their arms!'

'I am sure if you had only had some flowers in your window, they would have been companions for you.'

'It is very true what you say, Monsieur Rodolphe. Imagine: one day the ogresse at her fête, knowing my love for flowers, gave me a little rose-bush. If you could only know how happy I was! I was no longer lonesome! I could not keep from looking at my rose-bush. I amused myself in counting its leaves, its flowers. But the air is so bad in La Cité that at the end

of two days it began to fade.

'No, no! Go on! go on!'

But you'll laugh at me, Monsieur Rodolphe?'

'Well then, I asked permission from the ogresse to take my bush out for an airing; yes, as I would have taken out a child. I brought it to the quai: I thought to myself, that being in company with other flowers, in this fine and balmy air, would do it good. I moistened its poor withered leaves with the pure water of the fountain, and then I warmed it awhile in the sun. Dear little rose-tree! it never saw the sun in La Cité for in our street it comes no lower than the roof. At length I returned; and I assure you, Monsieur Rodolphe, that my rose-bush lived perhaps ten days longer than it would have done without the airings.'

'I believe it; but when it died!—that must have been a great loss for you.'

'I wept for it; I was very sorry. . . .

Beside, Monsieur Rodolphe, since you understand how one can love flowers, I can tell it to you. Well, I felt grateful to it. Ah! now this time you are laughing at me!'

'No, no! I love, I adore flowers; and thus I can comprehend all the foolish things they cause one to commit, or which they inspire.'

Eh bien!' I felt grateful to this poor rose-bush, for having flowered so prettily for me — such a one as me!' The goualeuse held down her head and became purple with shame.

'Poor child! with this consciousness of your horrible position, you must have often . . .' 'Had a wish to put an end to it? Is it not so, Monsieur Rodolphe?' said la Goualeuse, interrupting her companion. Oh! yes; more than once I have looked at the Seine from the parapet. But then I turned to the flowers, the sun, and I said to myself, The river will always be there. I am only sixteen... who knows?'

'I do not know. I hoped- -yes, I hoped, malgré moi. At those moments, it seemed to me that my fate was not merited; that there was some good left in me. I said to myself, I have been very much troubled, but at least, I have never harmed any one... if I had only had some one to counsel me, I should not be where I am. That dissipated my sorrow a little. After all, I must confess that these thoughts occurred oftener after the loss of my rose-bush,' added la Goualeuse, in a solemn manner, which made Rodolphe smile.

This great grief always

'Yes; look here!' and la Goualeuse drew from her pocket a little packet, carefully tied with a pink favor.

You have preserved it?'

I think so! It is all I possess in the world.'

'How! have you nothing you can call your own?'

'Nothing.'

'But this coral necklace?'

'It belongs to the ogresse.'

'How! do you not own a rag?— a hat, a handkerchief?'

'No, nothing; nothing but the dry leaves of my withered rose-bush; it is on this account I prize it so much.'

'At each word the astonishment of Rodolphe was redoubled. He could not comprehend this frightful slavery, this horrible sale of soul and body for a wretched shelter, a few tattered clothes, and impure nourishment.

They arrived at the 'Quai aux Fleurs.' A carriage was in waiting. Rodolphe assisted his companion to get in, and after placing himself at her side, said to the coachman:

To Saint-Denis ; will tell you directly which road to take.'

"The horses started; the sun was radiant; the sky without a cloud; but the cold was a little sharp, and the air circulated briskly through the open windows of the carriage.

'Ar this moment they drew near to Saint-Ouen, at the juncture of the road to Saint-Denis and the Chemin de la Revolte.

Notwithstanding the monotonous appearance of the country, Fleur-de-Marie was so delighted at seeing the fields, that forgetting the thoughts which sad recollections had awakened in her mind, her charming face brightened up; she leaned out of the window, and cried. Monsieur Rodolphe! what delight! Fields and thickets! If you would only let me alight! The weather is so fine! I would like so much to run in the meadows!' We will take a run, my child. Coachman, stop!'

of kings; and one young presbyter that we know, has quitted his country, and now officiates as a chaplain in the dominions of her most gracious majesty, Victoria the First. Other blessings equal to these are continually manifested by our rulers and legislators, who give abundant evidence that they have profited by the continual influx of foreign mind. One great statesman, of the Virginia school of politics, a great patriot and a great orator also, profited to such an extent by his foreign books, that he could not even read a work that had been re-printed in this country. But we would not be thought to advocate so sublime and patriotic an extension of the great principle of pirating as this, because it would deprive our artisans and tradesmen of a very profitable business. Perhaps the most remarkable and beneficial effect of our independence of ourselves, is manifested by the clergy, who depend almost entirely upon England for their theology, and thereby become so thoroughly imbued with an independent spirit, that when they happen to be troubled with a thoracic disorder, or any other disease, immediately leave their flocks to the care of the great Head of the Church, and hurry off to Europe to consult foreign physicians, and inhale a mouthful of foreign air. But the real benefits of the present system of pirating English books, consist in the employment given to capital and labor. Our paper-mills, type-founders, printers, binders, and book-sellers, are kept in constant employment by the intellect of Great Britain. The brain of Walter Scott alone gave employment to a greater number of mechanics and tradesmen than that of any American since the revolution, with the exception of Fulton. It must be borne in mind that the imagination of a foreign author creates for us a source of employment, which but for him would not exist; beside furnishing for us a never-failing source of recreation and profitable enjoyment. Were it not for Scott and Bulwer, Boz and James, we should have no novels to read; were it not for Tom Moore, we should have no songs to sing; and but for foreign composers, we should have no music. Since the successful experiment of ocean navigation, we have become more and more independent of ourselves; and we now have the gratification of seeing London newspapers hawked about our streets, to the very manifest falling off in the manufacture of the home article. If we still remain true to ourselves, and resolutely shut our ears to the complaints of these interested and mercenary writers, both at home and abroad, the time will soon come when our people will be saved entirely from all literary drudgery, and even our newspapers be re-publications of London Times' and Chronicles, as some of our Magazines already are of London and Edinburgh and Dublin monthlies.

How absurd, how impudent, how mercenary and grovelling, it is in these British authors to require of us to pass a law that will deprive ourselves of such great advantages, merely to put a few dollars in their pockets, and encourage a set of men among us to supplant them, and so inculcate a spirit of base and servile selfdependence among our people! The great object of an author should be fame. No true genius will exert himself for filthy lucre.

It must be infinitely more grateful to a high nature to be read by thousands, than to be paid by hundreds; and therefore we benefit these foreigners in spite of themselves, by re-printing their works at a cheap rate, thereby greatly enlarging the circle of their readers, and adding to their reputation. It is very true that the British Parliament has passed a law giving to American authors the privilege of copyright as soon as a reciprocal law shall be passed by us; but are we to be dictated to by the British Parliament? Are we to be reminded of our duty by foreigners, who thus make a show of their magnanimity, only to entice us to follow their example? Shall we become mere copyists of another nation? Forbid it Justice! forbid it Independence!

If we concede to the foreign author a right of property in the productions of his brain, which after all is merely the distillation of other people's ideas expressed in some other way before him, or at best the promptings of Nature, which are the common property of mankind, like air and sun-shine, we shall next be called upon to recognize the inherent and indestructible right of an author to his works, for all time.

When a citizen purchases of government a quarter section of land in one of the territories, and pays for it at the rate of a dollar and a quarter the acre, it becomes his own property, and the whole nation would rise up like one man to defend him in the undisturbed possession of it to the end of time. But if this same citizen should devote the flower of his manhood, the vigor of his intellect, and even the land itself which he may have purchased of his country, in the production of a book for the benefit of humanity, he would have no right to the possession of his work but for a very limited number of years; and although he would be protected in the possession of his land, or the products of it, from foreign aggression, we would not allow him any protection in the enjoyment of the product of his brain, even though a foreign nation should civilly agree to respect our law for that purpose if we should think proper to pass one.

The reasons for these distinctions in regard to different kinds of property are so very clear and conclusive, so exceedingly simple and obvious, that we do not choose to insult the understanding of our readers by repeating them. Some of the advocates of an international copy-right have urged in its favor that a measure so just could not be otherwise than politic, and that it would be safe to adopt one, without any regard to expediency, but relying solely upon truth and justness. But such a principle as this is directly at variance with the genius of our constitution and laws; and were it adopted in one case would be urged as a precedent in another, and an entire overthrow of our system of government would be the consequence. Were so mischievous a principle as this once adopted by our legislators as their rule of action, what would become of those noble specimens of eloquence with which we are favored every session of Congress, when members who are perfectly agreed as to the justness of a measure, dispute for weeks and months in regard to its expediency or profit? What would become of our army and navy, and

our corps of diplomatists? What would become of many of t peculiar institutions of the North and of the South? In short, ho would our representatives contrive to lengthen out a session, or ev make a speech for Bunkum, to be read by their constituents?

The subject widens as we write; absurdities throng around o quill, striving to get down to the nib of our pen; and the very fulne of the argument chokes our utterance; we grow fustigatory and imp tient to lay about us; but we must conclude in the words with whi an ingenious cotemporary a few months since began an essay up the same subject, namely: Copy-right is a humbug!'