Editor's Cable.

THE printer says he must have our Table-not the veritable, scratched-up, venerable old piece of pine which holds up our sand-box and inkstand, but the full sum, and the sum total of one hundred and forty-eight lines of matter, with which to eke out the last page of this number that now, considerate lady, lies before you. "Must have copy:" well, of course, we must write some then, albeit we feel very little in the mood. "Of course"-whose hobby, except our own, are these words? How many men there are, specially public speakers, who are forever using the words "of course," "therefore," "wherefore," etc.? Every body has a hobby-some have it in words, some in one thing, and some in another. Of the philosophical Paley it is said that angling was his hobby. He could impale an antag. onist on the horns of a dilemma, although he much preferred impaling a minnow or fish on his hook. Of another excellent though less distinguished English clergyman, Rev. George Harvest, it is recorded that on his marriage morning, when he ought to have been at the altar in the gay trim of a bridegroom, he was found sitting in a state of dishabille, crowned with a worsted wig and a red night-cap, and his pockets crammed with pieces of bacon and fish-worms, by the side of a small brook, he having utterly forgotten the trifling engagement he had made with the lady, who from that time forth resigned her claims on George, and told him that, as he loved fish and fishing better than her, she should not trouble him, or in the least interrupt his devotions toward his finny friends.

Various as men and the tastes of men are the hobbies in this world. One man's hobby is his books. Every thing new or rare in the publishing line must be purchased and placed on his shelves, though the purchaser may never have time for any thing but a hasty perusal of the title-page. Another man's hobby is his pictures. Every nook and corner of his house has a painting or engraving in it. Every book and box is crammed with some rare, antique, or singular picture. He is learned, ay, extremely learned, in oils and paints, in brushes and canvas. His reverence for the old masters is profound; but if a modern painting have dust or cobwebs over it, it is possible his consideration for his hobby may even suffer him to be taken in. A third believes in autographs. Every man he meets he pesters for his handwriting. His old copy-book is full of lines, marks, and signatures. He is always alive to his subject-always wishing an introduction to some great man-always a bore. A fourth has music as his hobby. Nothing but sound suits him. Literature, love, the arts, nothing except his own selected art, has any attractions for him. But without swelling our list of hobbies to an unreasonable extent, are they of any use at all? Who will answer? Perhaps they answer some good end. For what would become of the printers and authors if no man bought more books than he could read? What would become of the multitude of pictures and paintings in the world if none but amateurs or good judges bought them?

Apropos to this subject, a correspondent asks why it is that there are so many men in these modern days who are seeking after large and beautifully sounding titles. "For instance in the use of the title D. D., Mr. Editor, I am just now in great perplexity. I am strongly desirous of honoring all men in the best way I know, and to the full extent of their merits. But how am I to proceed? What am I to do when two or more of our time-honored universities, in the superabundance of their good-will, confer the second pair of D. D.'s upon gifted clergy. men? How am I to act when I write to a great and good man, and I know several such, who flourish under the advantage of two sets of D. D.'s? Shall I, for example, in addressing a clergyman by the name of Theophilus Smith, write his name thus, 'Rev. Theophilus Smith, D. D., D. D.,' or 'Rev. Theophilus Smith, 4 D.,' or Rev. Dr. Theophilus Smith, D. D.,' or 'D. D. Theophilus Smith, D. D.? What is to be done? I am at a loss to know what to do. I see by some of the newspapers that this same subject which now puzzles me is also puzzling and distressing others. As you, Mr. Editor, are a man of sagacity-pardon any personal allusions or compliments-I thought I would write you, so as in some measure to unburden my mind, though I confess that your time, in my estimation, is

too much taken up to discuss the subject to that extent which its great magnitude demands."

Our correspondent is right in his guesses, and we must leave to less occupied pens and better heads the true development of the two topics just briefly alluded to in the foregoing paragraphs. So plenty and so cheap are titles nowadays, that a man with no title will, of necessity, have to be considered the honorable exception, and treated with that deference which his isolated position demands.

Our engravings for the month must proclaim their own merits. Cincinnati is entirely new, having been engraved from a drawing gotten up by our enterprising friend Middleton, Walnutstreet. It presents our city just as it now is, and will improve upon close inspection, although at first glance it does not make a bad impression at all.

When will parents learn the folly of frightening children in order to the proper management of them? In a recent number of a foreign monthly we find a long article on Child Fears, in which the writer cites several instances of the awful effects of using fright as a corrective of disobedience and the like. An incident is given of a small child being frightened to death by having an old white bag stuffed and placed at the foot of its bed. Its mother had gone out to spend the evening, and the servant-girl, wishing also to spend the evening with some of her friends who had called upon her, determined she would not be teased with the restlessness of the sleepy little child. So taking it into its mother's bed-room, the innocent thing was placed at the head of the bed, and the bag or apparition at the foot. At the return of the mother early in the evening, she hurried to embrace her infant, when what was her horror in beholding its hands outstretched, its eyes wide open and still and glassy, and life entirely fled! That servant-girl would have been served right had a death-warrant been issued on her, or had she been arrested and imprisoned for life. Nothing looks so absurd and contemptible as the practice common with many parents of telling their children when disobedient or troublesome that the black man will come and take them off. On the part of the child it excites a groundless fear, and on the part of the parent it is the commission of a deliberate falsehood, as no black man will come whatever the conduct of the child. Out upon the father or mother who, to purchase a temporary peace, or to stop a little peevishness or fretfulness in a child, will resort to such pernicious and ruinous measures of discipline!

Two numbers more and we complete the twelfth volume of our periodical. With regard to the future, or in reference to any particular circumstances surrounding us, we do not deem it necessary to speak at large. Competition, it is said in mercan. tile circles, is the life of trade. We hope, whatever of this we may have, to afford as heretofore to our readers the very best that we may be able to procure, and to make due recom. pense of all that we receive. We shall spare no effort to render the Repository instructive and attractive. In order to success, however, we must have the hearty co-operation of our patrons and friends. We trust that all such will lend us a prompt helping hand. Now more than ever we need their co-operation, and most cordially will we thank them for it. Friends and brethren, unite with us in making the Repository all that such a periodical should be, and all that our wives and daughters demand of us. It can be done. Nothing is wanting but a vig. orous, united effort to place it in the front rank of American periodical literature. Let us not see it fail for want of proper exertion on the part of the members and ministry of our Church. Let us do what we can do and what we ought to do, and not yield ourselves to supineness or indolence in this good

cause.

Mrs. Stowe's "Uncle Tom's Cabin, or Life among the Lowly," has surpassed in its circulation any other American work with whose title we are familiar. Several editions have been gotten up in England and Canada, and over one hundred thousand copies, or more than two hundred thousand volumes, as the work is two-volumed, have been disposed of. She has netted some twelve or fifteen thousand dollars cash herself already, and the end is not yet. Mrs. Stowe is a daughter of the venerable Dr. Lyman Beecher.