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FRIEND RAYMOND: -- I am again in New-York, the city of lights and fountains. Again in the Institution, that is real, that is true, but not sad. -- Happiness does not so much depend upon circumstances as we think. Within our own hearts the fountain must dwell; else no number of tributaries can long keep alive its joyous gushings and laughing streams.

Our promenade grounds, in the rear of the Institution, covering several acres, are planted with trees from all quarters of the world, as are those who wander in their, shade. The Ailanthus from China, the Catalpa from Japan, the silver-leaved Poplar and Abele from the South, the European Linden and Norway Fir, and the Maple and Elm from our own forests. The front yard is laid out with beautifully gravelled walks, and circles set round with shrubs and flowers. Our best of friends, Mr. Dean, who planted them, comes often to tell us of their beauties, their virtues and their native homes. But the old gardener, who has been servant in the Institution from first to last, when the flowers faded and the Autumn winds had strewed the ground with leaves, dead honors of the trees, the old man laid him down to die. No more he comes to teach our truant feet where not to tread, and our hands to find the fairest blossoms. He was a son of Erin, green isle of the sea! and next his God, he loved his country. His history is to us all a mystery; but this we know, he had seen much of the world, knew much of men and manners. In his exile, books were his companions, and his well worn Bible still lies in the kitchen window, all unread and uncared for now.

The Croton is here, too, jetting its timeless waters in every part of the building; and the little boys say more birds come here to sing this summer than ever before; perhaps because the trees have grown thicker and higher. Prof. Root, the vocalist, sings with us two hours every morning. -- Prof. Reiff, a German, who has for many years had entire control of the musical department, is with us still. If the consciousness of making others happy is earth's purest happiness, Professor Reiff must be blessed indeed. To how many of the Blind has he given employment, and made their hearts vibrate for ever with the melodies of song? Oh, could you hear him play once, you would think as I often do: he will have little cause for complaint if, up in heaven, the angels do not present him with a new harp, but let him keep his old one.

Miss Swetland, our preceptress, has returned from her tour South. Escaping the rigors of a northern winter has somewhat improved her health. Our leisure hours she beguiles with amusing incidents of her travels, visits to the Capitol, Mrs. Folk's levees, etc. Miss S. divided the winter months between Charleston and Washington, and as you may easily imagine, gathered much to interest those whose little world lies almost within these walls.

Last week, Gen. Scott and his Aids paid us a visit. The Band received him with "Hail to the Chief!" When passing them, the General took off his hat and bowed, which they unanimously returned. The members of the Band are all blind, and how knew they when to return his bow? Were not their spirits conscious of the deference a greater spirit was paying them? The soul immortal has eyes independent of the body, which like the quick spirits of the Universe, do neither sleep nor slumber, and no blindness can darken them. The particulars of the General's visit the public prints have already given you. Mr. Chamberlain, after introducing the great Hero, addressed him so beautifully in our behalf, that I must give you a copy of his words as nearly as I can recall them.

"Allow me, sir, on behalf of the managers, the officers and the pupils of this Institution, to bid you a cordial welcome. Although cut off from many sources of information enjoyed by our fellow-countrymen, with the history of your life, identified as it is with some of the brightest pages of our country's history, we are not unacquainted. All have heard of Fort Erie and of the Heights of Queenston; of the plains of Chippewa and of the sanguinary contest of Lundy's Lane. With our fingers we have traced the progress of that brave army, which from the storming of Vera Cruz to the capture of Mexico, you have led to triumph and to glory; and we have heard, too, that when "red field was won," and patriotism had sheathed her victorious sword, the claims of humanity were not forgotten. We have heard that the same heart which in the iron tempest of battle was firm as adamant, could dissolve in tenderest sympathy by the couch of the wounded and dying. All this, sir, we have heard, and while we have not admired the Hero less, we have loved the man more. It is for this, sir, that we cherish the name of Winfield Scott; one of the noblest names that fame has ever inscribed upon our national escutcheon;

'One of the few, the immortal names,
That were not born to die.'

"But I am reminded that of these precious moments very few can be accorded to us, and; before we bid you adieu, I would crave one boon in behalf of my sightless charge. Some of these, when you shall have filled up the measure of your fame, and to you the praise and censure of man will be alike indifferent, will survive; and when they shall recount your achievements, and tell to coming generations, of Chippewa and of Cerro Gordo, and of Contreras, and the many other fields where you have covered the proud flag of our country with imperishable glory, I would have them say, too, that once, at least, it was their fortune to listen to the tones of that voice whose word of command was ever to the brave the talisman of assured victory."