Skip to main content

Full text of "Bizarre: for fireside and wayside"

See other formats

This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project 
to make the world's books discoverable online. 

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject 
to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books 
are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover. 

Marks, notations and other marginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the 
publisher to a library and finally to you. 

Usage guidelines 

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the 
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing this resource, we have taken steps to 
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying. 

We also ask that you: 

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for 
personal, non-commercial purposes. 

+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine 
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the 
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help. 

+ Maintain attribution The Google "watermark" you see on each file is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find 
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it. 

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just 
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other 
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of 
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner 
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liability can be quite severe. 

About Google Book Search 

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers 
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web 

at |http : //books . google . com/ 







.IfirfBih onii tSopi 



VOL m. 


«<BisiiBB, Bums, mux nkr tov, Mapoaf r*-^ fhyidbai^ 


4 RABff'i BOIUKm»» 






___ , 







f£, 2,23,85 

tiM N«wBo6k%12,24»43,58,n,88,121, 
18S» 150, 160, 186, 301, 210, 2^6, 260, 807, 366, 870 
Sebooi Bamfalmanrm, 885 

Ctenli IVoalilei, Wngnlw, in Albany, in 1680, 
CtaMM'LMb of GiMdet Y. 
f% nmghtir Otiariotto, 




91 te BouMT Hkmn, 

of tt»AM,^t^ 






^ 107, 181, 100, 9M» 290^214,260,202, 


B«r.m.W^D.D. 206 



lyoalMMAf (ffNmthelHMb,) 996 


19% 2M» m^ UB^ 911, 284| 96^ 986^ 806, 816^ 889^ 860, 

Life, The Price of; 
Leisure, Moments of, 
LUb Moments, 

Motherwell, sad his Foetiy, 
BQsoseof Leisure 
Mnsiesl Bisarre, 











PMmvylnnift Scenery, 

Paj of Authors, 

Panorama of New Tork, 

Philadelphia Odetemtlon of the PMMse of 1788, 

Poems by ^^Meditatos," 




BesOnrlosn, 217,261,282,828,848,860^268,876,808 
BmaaoeorToll,the» 941,247,207 

flaa^Sood, Editor's, 15,28, 44, 09, 75, 04, 127, 141, 156» 176, 

100, 207, 223, 280, 265, 971, 287, 808, 818, 882^ 860, 


Shakspeare, Oomplete Coneordanee tO, 60 

Syrian Tale, A, (ftom the German,) 278, 280 

SahMl for the Solitary, 970 

Six Months in Italy, 887 


The (M Woman who lired in a Shoe, 9 

The Tn n k eepe r and the Skull, 120 

TkUeMoTins^ 984 

Thonghts on an Alhwn, 891 


UaoltTomBeflewe^ 988|909 

Yeaoo, cr the Dmm of Idft^ «>!• of Phlladalphks 164 


Witt's DaifotloD, A, 184 

WQd Oats Sown Atooady 968 

8»ifaicWU9«% 68 

ToMkB, 907 


BuABBXy viu> BAJ Tov, Madcap? '—Farquhar, 


SATI7AI>AT» APRIIi 16, 1858* 



Among modem corions agsemblages of au- 
tographs, must be mentioned that confided 
hy the Emperor Napoleon to his brother Jo- 
Kfiix containing all the confidential letters 
tut had been addressed to him by the vari- 
ofos sorer^gns of Europe. This precious 
imt was stolen during the passage of the 
Cbamiel,and the letters were afterwards dis- 
posed of separately, in London, to the minis- 
ters and ambassadors of the respective Euro- 
peta poFwers, for an aggregate sum 700,000 
firaiics, according to Mr. O'Meara. The Rus- 
sian ambassador paid 250,000 francs for the 
letters of the Emperor, his master. 

An analogous event of more recent occur- 
reooe may a^tly be recorded here. A very 
hige collection of dangerous political and 
personal documents has, within a few months, 
been missed by the present Emperor, Napo- 
leon in., the importance of which may be 
flBtimated by the lar^ reward ofiered for 
tbar restoration. Their abstraction has been 
charged to Mrs. Howard, an American lady 
i^io, it is w^ known, has cohabited for many 
years with Louis Napoleon, but whose sepa- 
ration from him recent important interests 
rendered unavoidable. 

One oi the autogn^hic monuments of our 
epoch will be the famous copy of Ronsard, 
given by M. Sainte-Beuve to M. Victor Hugo, 
of which the latter, in imitation of the savans 
of the &Eteenth Century, made an album 
amcarum, in which all the cotemporary poets 
of France have inscribed something. 

The Duchess of Orleans composed a cele- 
brated aBmm of the most celebrated names. 
It escaped the notice of the mob, and having 
been found at the Tnileries some days after 
the 24th of February, it was unhesitatini^y 
restored to the Duchess. 

But of all the collections of signatures ever 
made, the most important, the most precious, 
the richest, was lately exposed at the Great 
Exhilation at London by the ^*Societi des 
Qms de Lettres Fr(mpais" This priceless 
dbmny in ilhi8trati<m of which concurred all 
the French writers — ^whether members of the 
Sodeii or not — all the members of the five 
daases of Uie Institut, the first of French art- 
ists, painters, designers, engravers, composers, 
iiaiaoiaiis» etc., forms two enormous volumes 

of the largest oblong form of books. A de- 
tailed description of it was given in the Steele. 

The taste for autographs has been greatly 
developed during the last few years. There 
are many very important collections now in 
Europe, and a few in this country. It will, 
perhaps, be interesting to give here a list of 
the principal collections known. 

And first, the ladies may be pleased to 
learn that Queen Victoria is one or the prin- 
cipal cdlectors of the present day. The ca*- 
binet, however, of M. Feuillet de Conches 
passes as the richest in the world. M. Feu- 
illet is not, as many others, a specialist. His 
cabinet, which he has been thirty years in 
forming, and to which he consecrates a large 
part of his fbrtime, abs(»rbs each year all the 
variety of the most important and precious 
matter which every sale ofiers. 

The principal French Collectors after M. 
Feuillet are MM. Boutron, d'Hauterive, d'- 
Aufiay, Chateaugiron, Lacu^Ue, D«us,'Nau- 
det, Martin, d'Hunolstien, de Biraicourt, de 
Fitzjames, de Flers, Granger de la Mariniere, 
Chambry, Boilly, Omant, and the Banmess 
James de Rothschild and MdUe. d'Henin. 

In London the important collectors next 
to the Queen are Mr. Rey, Mr. O'CaUa^^ian, 
and Mr. Hervey. 

At Brussells, Baron Stassart. 

At Berlin, General Radowitz. 

At Madrid, Count Esterhazy, Austrian 

At Turin resides the celebrated collector, 
Count Giberto Borromeo. 

At Munich, the King of Bavaria. King 
Maximilian, we have been informed, takes a 
livdy interest in the coUection of American 

To come to our own country ; the finest 
collection, perhaps, is that of the Rev. W. 
B. Sprague, of Albany. It is of very great 
extent, and contains, among other matter of 
great value, a complete series of the Signers 
of the Declaration of Independence, and of 
the Generals of the American Revdution, the 
latter series having been completed a few 
months ago, by the acquisition, in this city, 
of a letter ci General de Haas, which is ex- 
tremely rare. 

Another collection of the first importance 
is that of Mr. J. R. Teft, of Savannah, which 
is equally rich in American historical papers, 
and general autographic varieties. 

At Boston are the collections of Mr. Mellen 
Chamberlain and Mr. James T. Fields. 

Mr. Chamberlain's (entirely American,) is 
particularly interesting in such names as 
Winthrop, Bradford, and others connected 
with the early history of Massachusetts. He 
has also complete sets of the '' Signers of the 
Declaration," ** Generals of the Revolution," 
Members of the Confederation, Members of 
the Conventicm which framed the Conttita- 



tionofthe United SUtes, etc. Mr. Field's con- 
sists chidfly of automphs of literary men. 

At New York is the collection of Mr. Len- 
nox, ooa&taining the original manuscript of 
Washingtoa's Farewell Address. 

Some of the finest collections are to be 
found in Philadelphia. Mr. F. J. Dreer's 
comprises, in addition to his own varied ac- 
quisitions, all the material industriously 
nthercd during many years by the late Mr. 
Robert Gilmer, of Baltimore. This compila- 
tion is particularly rich in foreign autographs, 
comprising numbers of the most celebrated 
sovereigns of Europe, and of all most distin- 
guished generals, statesmen, naval command- 
ers, writers, and artists. In addition to these, 
his series of specimens of General Washing- 
ton's writing, from the earliest date to the 
time of his death, is remarkably complete 
and interesting. 

Mr. Henry 0. Baird*s cdlection is very 
full, in almost aJl the different classifications, 
of American names. His series of the officers 
of the General Government, comprising the 
Presidents, Vice-Presidents, and the several 
cabinets from the Administration of Wash- 
ington to the present day, lacks but half a 
dozen names of completion. His American 
militaiy and naval series, is also extremely 
valuable, embracing a majority of the leading 
names of the Revolution, of the Last War 
with Gbreat Britain, and of the war with 
Mexico. Of the naval men of the present 
century he possesses many letters, nearly all 
of which are addressed to the late Commo- 
dore Bainbridge. In addition to his regular 
collection of autographs, he possesses the 
correspondence of two officers of the army 
nearly entire ; one of the Revolution, the other 
of the Last War with Great Britain, — ^which 
papers cover almost the entire period from 
17o8 to 1828, and which, in connection with 
his more orderly port-folios, constitute a cor^ 
pus of the most formidable magnitude. 

Dr. L, R. Koecker's porte-feuiUe is remark- 
able for its elegant and perfect specimens of 
of autographic letters of distinguished Ame- 
ricans. Tnis nice collector is content onl^ 
to add to his stock letters as perfect in their 
appearance as upon the day when written ; 
and the soiled, torn, or rumpled leaf is sub- 
jected by him to every conceivable mechanical 
and chemical process to restore it to its ori- 
ginal beauty. What adds greatiy to the in- 
terest of this unique and coquettish collection 
is its characteristic arrangement, not to men- 
tion the elegant mechanism, and artistic 
workmanship displayed upon the binding of 
the volumes embalming these precious r«- 
tiguue of the preceding generation: (Dr. 
Koecker is himself the finest rdiewr amaievr 
in the country,) all the letters are ficed by 
portraits of the writers, some of which are ex- 
oeedin^y scarce. These engravings are also 

frequently earliest proof impressions, aad thus 
are oombmed in one assemUage many yarie- 
ties of two passkns. 

Besides these, in Philadelphia, are the col- 
lections of Messrs. E. D. Ingraham, Wm. 
Schott, J. H. Hedges, J. L. Mickley, and S. 
A. Allibone. 

At Baltimore, Dr. J. C. Cohen. 

At Washington, Messrs. James C. M'Guire, 
James H. Gausten, jr., and Peter Force. 

Mr. McGuire's American pi^rs are, per- 
haps more valuable than thoise in any other 
autograph collection in the country. He 
possesses an immense mass of the papers left 
Dv Mr. Madison, together with much that is 
of great value from the correspondence of 
General Knox. 

The remaining distinguished coUeotions in 
America are those ^Miss Arnold, of New 
Bedford, Mr. W. Mackenzie, of Toronto, Mr. 
John R. Thoifison, of Richmond, and Capt. 
Furman Seymour, of West Point. The latter 
is a specialist, confining himself to American 
autographs. His souS'Specialite of names con- 
nect^ with the Mexican war has nothiiig 
left for his further exertion. 

In conclusion — to analyse writings, to study 
their physiognomy and character, — such, we 
take it, is the true mission of the autographic 
science — ^will it be feared that this leaves not 
open a field sufficiently vast ? Let us sup- 
pose, (and in oiu* age of mechanical miracles 
this supposition is not chimerical,) that with- 
in a given time writing will be replaced by 
some mechanical accelerative process — ^may 
not electricity, photography, etc., afford some 
such result ? would not an art, which would 
enable us to authenticate writings bv assign- 
ing to them a date and an author, be of the 
greatest service to the future historian ? 




There is a vast amount of talent among the 
population oftheBlockley Almshouse. Many 
able workman may be found here, who in 
mechanical skill will bear comparison with 
the ablest and most successful artizans, the 
products of whose ingenuity add so much to 
our domestic conveniences and household ad- 
vantages. Some indeed, possess unquestion- 
able genius. If the reader should ever visit , 
Blocuev, he will find upon entering the ; 
Steward^s office, which is located in the cen- | 
tre of the building, a beautiful model of a , 
ship which was executed years ago by one of i 
the inmates since deceased. It is a perfect | 
gem of workmanship. No sailor could ftsten 
his eyes on it, or '' clap his peepers on it," to 
appropriate the nautical phnise without giv- 


ing orders to fori sail or feeling disposed to 
cTToat in mellow accents, " Yo-Heave-oh." 
A similar exemplification of eenins conld be 
feond in the exact model of the entire Alros- 
ho«9e, which was executed about two years 
ago by another inmate. With the plain and 
unpretending materials of glass, paste-board, 
&c., he constructed a fac-similie of the whole 
establishment. It was a complete specimen 
of native ingenuity, for the trade of the man 
who thus evinced a taste so ccurect, was that 
of a hoose-painter. 

It is not to be presumed that the large 
amount of artistic OMiowment existing in the 
White house should be laid aside as imavail- 
able. Neither reason, nor prudence would 
dictate the rejection of so effectire and potent 
a corps of laborers. And hence the estima- 
ble board of managers have turned into a pro- 
ductive channd the agencies which are fur- 
nnfaed all around them. Not &r from the 
Wash-house the visitor detects a low range 
of buildings, constituting a little emporium 
of Art, You enter one of them over whose 
door the words " Tailors' department" ^eams 
out in old-fashioned capitals, and you see an 
extensive shop-board constituting an area, 
^ not to be sneezed at," as Jack Downing has 
it, upon which twenty or thirtv knights of 
the needle are exhibiting their skill in basting, 
sewing, ironing, &c., while the major-domo 
stands at the huge counter with a roll of 
i coarse blue ware b^ore him, which he is ex- 
peditiously manipulating with the shears. 
Here are made up the clothes for the inhabi- 
I taats of the building. You step into another 
\ room and witness the operations of the tin- 
,i miths. You pass thence into the region of 
, the carpenters, and find yourself at once 
i surrounded by a pile of plain pine cofiSns of 
aU possible dimensions. Emerging from this 
I quarter which may be suppo^ to be the 
1 kast congenial to your feelings, you come 
' among the sons <ji St. Crispin, whose musical 
{ instruments are the awl, the last, and the 
J vax-end; puisant media for imparting physi- 
{ cal strenth to leather and buckskin. Adjoin- 
I ing Uiis you espy the painters and glaziers. 
i Goadgions to them are the Weavers. Thus 
I in a miall space are concentrated all the sons 
' of mechanic skill. When the horn blows for 
, labor, they all repair to their appropriate 
departments, with alacrity the most com- 
mendable, and with spirits as buoyant as the 
air. At a given signal in the evening, labor 
suspends its operations, and ^XL hands '* knock 
;i off** to the tune of ''Coming throueh the 
, Rjre," "Hwl Columbia," or the "Bay of 
I' Biscay, oh." It is indeed a jovial a^joum- 
I, ment to a cup of tea. 

I How lamentable the reflection that men 
!| who mipht each be carrying on an independ- 
li ant business, or oecupymg an honorable sub- 
I ordiiiate ci^p«city, should thus be enrolled 

among the members of an alms-house. This 
sad result has been brought about by Intem- 
perance. To that fell tyrant may be attri- 
Duted the prostration of two-thirds of the 
entire population. True it is, that adverse 
fortune or improvident management, has re- 
duced to this pitiable level not a few who in 
this spot pass their entire life. But in the great 
majority of instances, it is the Bowl of the 
Enchantress which has eclipsed the prospects 
of some of the brightest mmds. As we have 
watched the army of workmen filing oflf at 
the sound of the dinner horn, and noticed the 
muscles and athletic power of nearly all of 
them, we have thought of the force of that 
moral obliquity which not even self-interest 
could rectify or neutralize. Poor, helpless 
man, driven o'er the billows of passion, and 
wrecked upon the shoals of carnal inclina- 
tion! We can but sympathize with thine 
unenviable fate, while we take warning from 
thy demolition to restrain our impulses of 
wrong, and cultivate the heaven-descended 
virtues of prudence, temperance and forti- 

Next in importance to the Workshops 
stands that redoubtable citadel, the Wash- 
house. In this province feminine skill is laid 
under requisition to renovate the garments of 
the multiude by the process of the laundry. 
On the capacious green which skirts the en- 
virons of the spot, you may on a pleasant 
sunshiny-day, descry, without the aid of a 
telescope, a thousand articles spread out to 
catch the solar ray, and attest the value of 
its drying attributes. Scores of busy women 
are hurrying to and fro ; some rinsing, others 
belaboring at the washing-board with soap- 
suds spouting up into their faces like billows 
of the deep ; a group at one point sending the 
flat-iron with its capacious disk, across the 
continent of an ample blue shirt, while a host 
of talkative old grannies with sleeves rolled 
up, are espied retailing the oiewest dish of 
Almshouse gossip, which monopolizes all their 
&ncy. Draw near and listen. See the vivac- 
ity of that antiquated dame, as she whispers 
in the ear of her co-patriot an unmentionable 
item of intelligence, and catch the response 
from the other, as with eyes half closed and 
devated hands she savs, "Well now, you 
don't say that indeed V^ or some other stereo- 
typed expression which belongs as naturally 
to the old granny vocabulary, as nitric acid 
or hydrogen enter into the nomenclature of 
the practical chemist. If there is anything 
which exhibits strength and life it is the 
clandestine colloquies of a bevy oi old ladies 
on a washing-day. A Representative Assem- 
bly possesses not to a quarter degree the ele- 
ments of force and grace and energy. Women 
are always eloquent. But as thev grow older 
their stump-speeches have a pith and whim 
about them which oitea carry off the palm 


from Demosthenes himsdf. The antiquated 
form becomes erect, the lustreless eye oeams 
out like a star in its brightness, and the with- 
ered acm waves in the air with a gyration 
which is absolutely terrific. And tne more 
deeply spiced with scandal is the topic under 
immediate review, the greater is the quota of 
eloquence employed in its enforcement. The 
love of the marvellous increases as women 
increase in age. Perhaps we should not be 
too severe on the other sex ; but to tell the 
truth, their instinctive curiosity goes on from 
strength to strength, till they have no news 
to communicate, and no physical power to 
give utti^'ance to their burning thoughts. At 
least, it is so with the Almshouse women. 

Suppose we step across to the Barber Shop. 
As you enter the door which opens into the 
capacious ward where a thousand beards are 
mutilated, and a thousand heads denuded of 
their superfluous herbage, you are struck 
with a number of fancy pictures which are 
pasted up against the wall without any par- 
ticular reference to gracefulness of position. 
Look at this one which attracts your gaze at 
the very entrance. It is a comical delinea- 
tion of a thin and cadaverous fellow in the 
act of being shaved. The barber is repre- 
sented as a fine, &t, burly inquisitor in his 
shirt sleeves, who uses his impliment, the 
razor, as though he was mowing down grass 
in summer time. A little further on you per- 
ceive the likeness of the Prince of the estab- 
lishment. He is depicted as a grave old 
Frenchman with his head encased in a night- 
cap, and an eye as sleepy as that of a lobster. 
The rotundity of his paunch evidences the 
fiict that he loiows how to make good use of 
his grinders, and can speak from experience 
of tne juicy beef which gives his squp a fla- 
vor. The worthy old fellow whom the pic- 
ture repre^nts, is quite a character. He is 
<« boss^^ of the lodge, and no mistake. Viva- 
cious, fidgetty and always on an edge, he is at 
all points of the c(Hnpass with his hone and 
scissors. The shop wnose interest he studies, 
is the head-quarters for the men. There 
assemble the old ii^bitants, who have no 
hard manual labor to perform, and who love 
to talk about political questions whose merits 
they no more comprehend than they do the 
cUmate of Hershell. Yonder old man who is 
hard of hearing, and whose words reverberate 
like the gong of a hotel, fought under Zabulon 
Montgomery Pike. That other thin specimen 
of humanity, stood side by side with Scott in 
his campaigns. He who is asleep before the 
fire like a self-complacent descendant of 
Grimidkin, wajs once a respectable merchant 
in the oyster line. A worthy company indeed ! 
But each has his own deeply marked page of 
personal history, which is calculated to inter- 
est and please the philosophic mind. We 
believe that a number of Revolutionary inci- 

dents could be gathei^ from some of the 
veterans of the barber shop. Many interest- 
ing facts connected with the late War with 
Great Britian, and the recent Mexican cam- 
paign, as well as numerous Indian adventures, 
could be garnered here if a faithful chronicler 
could be found who would cheerfully under- 
take the task. Often has the writer seen the 
old man eloquent, as he shouldered his crutch 
and showed how fields were won. Yea, that 
badged pauper felt all the American stirring 
in biS soul, as he descanted on the tale of 
English domination, and portrayed the contest 
which was nobly carried on beneath the broad 
folds of the glorious banner, whose stars and 
stripes looked out like angels visitants in the 
dust and din of war. As the merits of an Amer- 
ican General are discussed, and his chiyalric 
bearing and aflaUe intercourse are dwelt 
upon, how the bosom has heaved with emo- 
tion, and the eye filled with tears of genuine 
devotion. The tie between a subaltern and 
a gentlemanly superior in the battle field, is 
enduring and tender. Common dangers and 
privations blend their hearts in one. The 
camp-fire and the bivouac, the hard-earned 
victory and the meed of glory, fuse together 
and assimilate the polished and the unlettered, 
and identify their interests and their hopes. 
And till the latest hour of his probation, 
the old soldier will cherish the memory of 
him who spoke to him kindly in the day 
of battle, and cheered him forward in the 
noble cause of freedom by words and looks 
of genuine sympathy. Such is the fellowship 
which is engendered between the lowly and 
the chivalrous. 

Reader, we have advanced to the Lock-up. 
The Lock-up ? say you. What ! have you a 
jail within the precincts of the white house ? 
1 es, friend ; but it is a very comfortable affair 
we assure you. It is nothing but a darkened 
room, plainly fitted up, and a padlock on the 
door, to keep delinquents in close custody. 
There are no manacles whatever, no irons to 
enter into the soul, no little packa^ of straw 
to answer the purpose of both bed and chair. 
No appliances of the room indicate a desire 
to torture the poor rascal who has been cau^t 
in some act which militates against the salu- 
tary regulations of the Establishment. The i 
culprit is simply c<Nid&ned a brief period, and | 
comes down to a low diet of bread and water, 
and is further deprived of the invigorating 
light of the sun. Four and twenty hours may 
terminate his incarceration, and then he will 
come out like a butterfly, cheerful and reno- 
vated. If he has sore eyes, the absence of 
light has had a sanative influence ; if laboring 
under an attack of dyspepsia, the low diet 
has materially assLsted nis digestive func- 
tions ; if he is naturally possessed of an indo- 
lent temp«>ament, he has had a glorious 
respitefrom the toils of office; and if, finally, 


^ inclines to an ascetic course, and loves 
Qoaker contemplation, he has had a fine 
cfaaoce to chew the end of reflection, and 
rerotre afresh his learned speculations. Now, 
» not the Lock-up a glorious spot, when you 
take into consideration the bland results 
which it may produce? Of course it does 
iK>t always produce these results. Many an 
irascible biped, comes out of the black nole 
irf Calcutta, Towing vengeance against the 
powers that be, and threatening to crack the 
scull of the redoubtable Spencer who has the 
power of the kefs, and is Sergeant-at-Arms 
with an emphasis the most appalling. Spen- 
cer does his duty, however, with the most 
onsfarinking fidelity. You could not deter 
him from prosecuting the straight line of duty , 
though he knew he were to be burned in 
effigy, or have his ears cropped in the pillory. 
Honest old fellow with his little dog at his 
heels, ready to second his commands by a 
consecutive series of barks and sundry snaps 
at the nether limbs of the delinquent who is 
bein^ marched off to the receptacle of the 
vilkmous and the irregular. Guardian of 
order, I truly respect thee! Thou bindest 
over the rufBum crew to keep the peace with 
majesterial gravity. Thou enforcest the blue 
laws with an emphasis. And when thou art 
gone to the Lock-up of the grave, we will cut 
ihy image out of granite, and represent thee 
ts turning the key of the padlock upon some 
of the motley crew who came beneath thy 
legal jurisdiction. Thus, so far as the record 
of thy goverenment is concerned — ^Esto per- 


niALOGUB xm. 

Bex Jonson. — Sam Johnson. 

W. the Elder. Well, well, doctor, notwith- 
Btnding this long dissertation of yours, I 
don't see why the word pattern is just as 
good, in this connexion, as the word modeL 

John, Just as you please, old gentleman. 
It is not very civil, however, after invoking a 
learned shade, and extracting a couple of 
pineas' worth of valuable information out of 
him, to turn round and dismiss his remarks 
in this off-hand style. If these are your 
American manners, all I can say is, I don't 
like 'em. 

W. the Elder y (aside.) The same domineer* 
nig, oracular old fellow as ever ! 

John. What are you muttering about? 
Speak out 

W. the Elder. Well, if I must say it, I 
dont think your own breeding is of the high* 
est order of excellence. Besides, the autho- 
I ritks are against you. Grabb says — 

John. Hang Grabb ! What do I care for 

W. the Elder. Webster, too— 

John. Bah ! How dare yon speak of Web- 
ster before me ? That rascally little, dried-up 
New Englander ; not satisfied with stealing 
my thunder, he must ne^ds walk off with my 
laurels, too. He be hanged, and his new- 
fkngled spelling with him! 

W. the EkSr. Jealousy, Doctor, sheer 

John. Jealous? The idea of my being 
jealous of such a creature; ay, or of any 
Yankee varlet of you all ! A vile crew of 
rebels ; why an't you all colonists this very 

W. the Elder. Fie, fie, Doctor! Hasn't 
death cured you of vour tory prejudices yet ? 

John. Don't talk to me. Out upon you 
all, I say a^in, fbr a miserable pack of de- 
mocrats ! Ye whittlers ! Ye tobacco-chew- 
ers ! Ye flint-skinners ! Ye surgar-sanders J 
Ye rum-waterers! Ye wooden - nutmeg- 
makers! Ye manufacturers of worthless 
clocks and suspicious sausages ! Ye turners 
oi shoe-pegs into oats ! Ye venders of bass- 
wood cucumber seeds ! Ye— 

W. the Elder. Doctor, doctor, doctor, 
what are you about ? Piling up abusive epi- 
thets here, faster and hi^er tnan old Jack 
Falstaff himself ever did ! You must have 
been having a talk with Mother TroUope 

Jckn. Don't speak disrespectfully of that 
worthy old soul, ifyou please. 

W. the Elder. Worthy old soul ? lying old 
hussy! The thermometer must be pretty 
high, I should say, where she is. 

John. You'll find it higher, when your 
turn OMues, you — ^you — ^you — 

W. the Elder. Why, what an mfemal 
temner you are showing, to be sure ! But 
111 nnd a sedative for thi^se irritable nerves 
of yours. Let me see — ah ! yes, yes ; just 
the thing. (Goes to the library and gets down 
the volume of the Doctor^s works that has the 
tragedy of Irene in it.) There, my old Iw, 
there's an A, number one, soothing syrup ror 
you. If a scene or two of that don't tran- 
quillize you, I don't know what on earth will. 

Jchn. Why, you impertinent old jacka- 
napes, to insult a ghost of my standing in 
this war! Under your own roof, too. {Throws 
the booK at his head.) 

W. the EUUty Idodcring the sams.) Well, I 
declare ! That 1 should have lived to see the 
author of the Rambler making such a dis- 
gracefiil exhibition of himself! Dear, dear, 

/o^, (after a pause.) I ask ten thousand 
pardons, my old friend, for this most unbe- 
coming display of tempr. 

W. the Elder. Donh mention it. Doctor, 
don't mention it. 



John, To think that I should have giyen 
way to my feelings in this abominahle style ! 
But if YOU knew, old gentleman, what a suf- 
ferer I have heen ; yes, yes, both sides of the 
grave. Oh! Lord, what with pneumonia, 
strangury, dyspepsia, and every now and 
then a touch of my old trouble, the St. Vitus, 
I have a pretty exciting time <^ it, I tell you. 
Do you wonder, my friend, that I growl some- 

W, the Elder, Why, under heaven, didn't 
you tell me so, before f To think that I, too, 
should have been so disrespectful to a ghost 
for whose genius and goodness I have so pro- 
found an admiration ! But, Doctor, you cer- 
tainly did throw about the old Saxon words, 
for a moment or two, in a style hardly to have 
been expected from one who makes so little 
use of them in his writings. 

John, Well, don't say any more about it. 
We aj^ a poor set, the best of us, ghosts as 
well as bodies ; a poor set, a poor set. 

W, the Elder, One thing however, that 
you said just now Doctor, supprizes and an- 
noys me beyond measure. I certainly did 
have a focdish kind of a notion that when the 
body died, these same disorders took a lasting 
farewell with it. 

John, A most terrible blunder indeed! But 
mortal, these themes are strictly tabooed to 
us spirits, as you ought to know by this time, 
so change the subject instantly if you please. 

W, the Elder, Most cheerfully. I wonder 
where your name sake is, though, all this time ? 

John, What name sake ? 

W. the Elder, Ah, speak of Beelzebub, 
and — (enter Ben Jonson.) And so you have 
come at last my dear ghost, have you ? 

Jon, So it seems my old boy, so it seems ; 
after a world of blunders and inquiries though. 
Why! God bless me. Doctor, is that you? 
How are you, how are you ? 

John. Benjamin my boy, I am delighted 
to see you. 

Jon, But what brings you to earth, Sam- 
uel ? What 's the best word, anyhow ? 

Johiu The best word, say you? Sure 
enough, what is it ? That's the very point 
that our old host here and I have been squab- 
bling about for the last half hour. Best word 

Jon, You talk in riddles. Doctor. Pray 
what is the meaning of all this grinning and 
winking? Take me with you lads. Propound, 
Rasselas, propound. 

W, the Eldir, Oh, no matter. Doctor, no 

John. I beg you pardon ; a thing that is 
worth sending for me about, half a cross the 
Universe too at that, is surely worth telling 
Brother Ben. 

Jon. What is it, what is it ? 

John, Well, you must know that oar friepd 
here, (old enough, certainly, to know better,) 

has been investing no small portion <^ the 
evening of his days, in the composition of a 
tragedy, which he has just completed, and 
about the fiite of which, he is evidently very 
anxious. Indeed, he says in his note to me 
on the subject that he has strong hopes of as- 
tonishing not only all America and Europe bat 
Asia and Africa likewise, in certain passages 
of it. Some few little matters of verbal crit- 
icism bothering him somewhat, he thought 
best to secure my assistance, as being of 
course, the great authority of the system, <m 
those points. We had not been very long em- 
ployed on our task when you entered. But 
what brings you here Ben ? Is it the mere 
feeling of auld lang syne, or an idle curiosity 
to see the improvements these Yankees are 
making in the Western Hemisphere of the 
planet f Or is it that old Inter-Planetary 
Copy Right business again ? Are you as copi- 
ous and eloquent as ever on that theme, eh, 

Jon, Nothing of the sort. I am here simply 
in compliance with the electric invitation of 
this old gentlemen and like yourself, as it seems 
on dramatic business. In his dispatch he re- 
quests me to come and look over the plot of a 
forth coming tra^y of his, and to make such 
suggestions as might present themselves : the 
identical work no doubt on which he has seen 
fit to consult you also. 

John, Why, bless me, my old host, why did- 
n't you mention this before ? We might have 
waited then for brother Benjamin, uid have 
had the benefit of his criticisms. He is a bet- 
ter Latinist than I am you know, and out of 
sight of me as a Hellenist. 

Jon, But why is it old gentleman that you 
can*t bring out a play without disturbing all 
Ghoastdom on the occasi<Hi ? / never had any 
such supernatural aid when I composed my 
master pieces, nor had brother Samuel here 
either. By the way, Sam, it is but yesterday, 
that I heard WiU himself, blowing you up m 
good round terms for what he was pleased to 
call your most pompous and shallow criticisms 
on some of his performances. 

John, Ratherstronglanguagefor Atm; all 
the more unbecoming too, seeing that I have 
more than once acknowledged their worthle>«- 
ness, and apologized to him about them in 

W, the Elder, You haven't happened to 
hear what he thinks about brother CoUridges 
notes, have you ? 

Jon, Oh yes, yes. He was perfectly cham- 
ed with them ; he found them a little too idol- 
atrous to besure, in certain passages, not to 
wound his modesty : and here and there a sligh t 
propensity to mysticism ; but on the whole, (I 
give you his own words,) he considered them 
the most subtle, searching, delicious speci- 
mens of criticisms that ever came fh)m earth. 
The exposition of Hamlet especially delight- 




dl him ; £u-, far ahead of Schleeel, he said, 
and worth ten thoosand earrets full of such 
lumber as Richardson and Company. 

W. the Elder. Has he seen sister Jamie- 
son's Chftracteristics? 

Jon. To besore he has. 

fF. the Elder, He liked them I hope. 

Jon. Could he help liking them mj old 
b^ ? IVe cried over them, myself, I Know, 
nure than once. 

W. the Elder. Indeed! You don't look 
meeh like a crying ghost. 

Jon, A trine too ruddy and rotund for 
aesttiment, you think, eh f I would 'nt give 
much, thcRigh, for the eyes, that her sketch 
cf Ophelia would'nt bring the pearls to. Ah, 
dear, when she comes to si>irit-land, Will has 
pt a glorious reception in preparation for 
her. £kit I forgot ; that was confidential. 

W, the Elder. By the way, my dear ghost, 
before you take your flight, IVe got a httle 
work here, that I should dearly love to have 
joa pres^it to the bard with my reverential 

Jon. And what may it be ? 

W. the Elder. Sister Clarke's Concordance. 
I can't help thinking that hell be more tick- 
led with it, after all, than with even brother 
Coleridge's Notes. Here it is on the table. 
Just cast your learned eye over it a moment. 

Jon. Why, what a labor of love, to be 
fore. This makes up for a whole ship-load 
oi impudent commentators. No offence 
meant, Sam. 

John. She'd much better have been 
searching the Scriptures, all this while. 

Jon. Oh, don't be crusty now. Ain't 
there a hundred Concordances, more or less, 
to the Scriptures, already 1 And doyou be- 
grudge poor Will his little one? Will, the 
feat lay-preacher of humanity ? For shame ! 
shall be delisted, my old host, to be the 
bearer of your gift. But where on earth is 
m^ Conoordanoe ? I might as well take that 
with me, too, and make one job of it. 

W. the Elder. I know of no such work, I 
am sorry to say, either in esse, or in contem- 

Jon. I suppose not. 

W. the Elder. You deserve one, undoubt- 
edly, glorious old poet that you are. But I 
don't think the world has f&iiiy waked up 
yet to a sense of your genius. Your day 
will come, thoneh, don't doubt it, and the 
Coiieordance with it. Some future Malone. 

Jon. Malone be 

John. Ben, Ben, Ben, don't be profane. 
Malone was a pretty decent sort of a fellow, 
after alL 

W. the Elder. An infernal old humbug. 
Doctor, .b^;ging your pardon. The idea of 
bis whitewashing that dear old bust ! He 
ought to have had a coat of tar and feathers, 
bimself, for his pains. 

Both Jonsons. Tar and Feathers ? What 
do you mean by that ? 

fv. the Elder. Ah ! I see ; the custom has 
sprung up since your day. 

Jon. What is it, what is it ? A summer 
or a winter garment ? 

W. the Emr. It is a playful manifestation 
of poptdar regard, and worn in all weathers ; 
but never mind it now. One remark, my 
dear dramatist, you must allow me to make, 
while I think of it, and that is to express my 
delight, not altogether unmixed, I confess, 
with surprise, at the hearty way in which 
you have spoken of our big brother, Shak- 
speare. There have been unpleasant rumors 
current on earth, Ben, that you were very 
envious and jealous of him, and that you 
were always glad of an opportunity of under- 
rating, nay, back-biting him. 

Jon. I know there are, I know there are. 
And let we tell you, once for all, my old 
friend, that more arrant and preposterous 
lies were never hatched in 

John. Oh, dont't get so excited. 

Jon. But isn't it so ? 

J(^n. It is indeed. Ben has been most 
foully and abominably belied in the premiseB. 

Jon. The idea of my slandering my con- 
stant friend and benefartor; the man who 
brought out my first play ; nay, who conde- 
scended to take a subordinate ipwi in it, busy 
as he was at the time, and having a severe 
attack of Influenza, into the bargain; the 
man in whose mahogany I have seen my old 

Ehiz, a thousand timCs ; nai^, whose pall I 
elped bear, when they laid mm in the earth ; 
the idea, I say, of my slandering his memory 
— isn't it too absurd ? 

iV. the Elder. 1 was never willing to be- 
lieve it, I assure you ; especially, too, when 
I thought of those elaborate and stately verses 
of yours, in his honor. 

Jon. I have been called a bully, too, and 
an halntual sot. 

W. the Elder. That is too ridiculous, that 
last charge. The ghost who can point to ten 
such massive volumes as those on yonder 
shelf, all filled with tip-top reading, needn't 
trouble himself much about such an absurd 
fib as that. Still, to be candid, you d^ii't 
look like an habitual teetotaler, even now. 

John. No, indeed, Ben. 

Jon. Don't i/oti talk, BocUat. You your- 
self, if I am not mistaken, have been accused 
of punishing the port pretty extensively while 
here below. 

John. Too true, too true. Yes, I am 
ashamed to confess it, I was quite too much 
in the habit while in the body, of running 
away from my troubles and pains, and taking 
refuge in the bottle, instead of standing up 
and facing them like a Christian. 

W. the Elder. {Impulsively,) You are a 
glorious dd fellow; doctor, and deserve the 



best glass of wine on the planet, for that 
speech. I ask your pardon, though. I am 
always making a fool of myself. 

Jon, You certainly are a queer customer, 
my old bachelor friend. 

W. the Elder, Widower, if you please. 
But come, spectres, what say you to sNiopping 
and taking pot-luck with me ? There are a 
few Yankee notions in this town of ours that 
I should really like to haye you see, and in 
the eyeniMwell to business. 

John. Well, really, my time is so very 
valuable at this particular juncture that — 

W, the Elder, Why, what makes you so 

John, I am getting out the 34th edition 
of my Polyglott Plutarch. 

W, the EUer, Whereabouts? 

John, In Geor^um Sidus. 

W, the Elder. The deuce you are ! How 
is King George about these times, if I may 
be so bold ? 

John, Rather poorly, I am sorry to say. 

Jon, Come, come, doctor, I don't see why 
you can't take a day's recreation as well as 
any other ghost. 7 shall stay and dine with 
the old gentleman, anyhow. 

John, Well, Ben, if you say so, — 

Jon, I do say so, Sam, most decidedly. 

John, So be it, then. But where are you 
goii^, 1andl<nxl ? 

W, the Elder, Only to make a suggestion 
or two to the cook. I'll be back presently. 
Meanwhile amuse yourself with that, {hams 
him a morning paper f Ben, Jonson loses himself 
at the same time in the pages of Doggett s 

W. the Elder, (Re-entering,) Well, friends, 
I have not kept you watting long, I hope. 
Ah, Ben, what poetry have you got there f 

Jon. Poetry? 

W, the Elder, Oh, I beg your pardon, I 
see ; hunting up your namesakes, eh ? You 
find a pretty large home circle there, do you 

Jon. Yes, indeed. Here are at least a 
score of Benjamin Jonsons, all in a row. 
They seem to be mostly men of color, how- 
ever, and in the white-washing line. 

Jhhn, What a state of things, to be sure. 
Such unblushing impudence, t^ ! 

Jon, Halloo, doctor, what are you getting 
80 excited about ? 

John. If this is your democracy, these 
the results of Independence, God save the 
King, say I, to all eternity. 

Jon, What are you grunting about, eh ? 

John, Why the scoundrel editor here, 
actually conmtulates the country on the 
election of a Bam-'humer to the gubernatorial 
chair. Think of that, Ben: a Dam-burner, 
— a wretch that in our time would have dan- 
ded at Tjrbum, made governor! There's 
Republicanism for you. 

Jon. Yes, and of a pretty rosy tint, I 
should say. 

W, the Elder, Poh, poh, doctor; wiiat 
afifectation ! X^u must nave seen at once 
that that is a mere nickname. 

John, Well, well, that alters the case. 
He soes on to say ' The Lieutentant Governor 
on the other hand, is a Hard^SheU Hunkevy at 
the worst kind. ' What, in the name of won- 
der, is a Hard-Shell Hunker ? 

Jon. Why don't you look it out ? There's 
your own dictionary, there right under yoar 

John. Pshaw! Ck>me> old gentl^nsa, 
throw a little light on this subject, if you 

W, the Elder, Well, doctor, a hard shell 
hunker means a thorough going old tory, and 
enemy of progress,— just what tfou woold 
have been, asking your pardon this very mo- 
ment, had you been a hve yankeo and voter 
in the empire State here, and not an ikiglish 

John. But why hard-shell? — ^why hard- 
shell ? 

W. the Elder, Well, I was about to add 
that the terms Hunker and Barnburner rdate 
to State questions, while the distinctions of 
soft and hard shell have reference to Federal 
difficulties, and more especially, to the fiun- 
ous Compromise measure of 1850. 

Jon. Oh, confound your yankee politics ! 
Sam, how the deuce does this interest us ? 

W, the Elder, So I say, besides it would 
take at least a century to explain the thing 

John, Well, well, hang the newspaper! 
But have you a monthly among you ? 

W, the Elder. Have we a monthly among 
us ? To be sure we have ; half a dozen tip- 
top ones. Here are some of them on the 
taole, now ; there's old Knick to begin with 
— the oldest and best of them all ; full of his 
fun, I can tell you, (hands him the Knicker^ 

Jchn, Ah, that print is too fine foi^ my old 
eyes. But what's that pleasant looking doc- 
ument in green ? 

W, th: Elder, Putnum. Its inside is quite 
as pleasant too, I assure you. 

John, It has a far more cheerful, sprightly 
look to me than the other. What superb 
cuts, too ! 

W, the Elder, But here's the boy. (hands 
him Har^,) What do you suppose now, 
doctor, IS the circulation of mis w(»*ld- 
searcher ? 

John, Oh, how should I know? Some 
six or seven thousand, perhaps. 

W, the Elder, 120,000. 

John. You amaze roe! Why that's at 
least a hundred and fifteen thousand more 
subscribers than brother Cave ever had in 
his palmiest days. 




W. the Elder. Bj the wvy, what did bro- 
ther Cttre chftrge a number f 

Joku. Why a crown; of course ; the old 

W. the Elder. And Eburper only charges a 

kika. HanjT your yankee currency ! How 

W. the Eider. A shilling. 

Mn. Whew ! what, all this for a shillmg ? 
It tooks like real good stuff, too. (Runs his 
tytover the contents,) Napoleon Buonaparte 
^Mimey a Moter — My Novel— The Last of 
the Bomrbons — Homes of American Publishers 
—Nero a Gentieman cmd a Scholar — Editor^s 
Drawer — Books of the Month, By the way, 
how are criticisms a bushel, now ? 

W.thelMer. What is it? 

Johm. I asked you how much criticisms 
vere a bushd ? 

W. the Ekler. I don't understand you Doctor. 

Jckn. Poh, poh ! none of 3rour nonsense. 
Tofu a literary man, and not know the market- 
ntes? Come, show us a few of your sam- 
^es. What do you expect to give now for a 
dozen first-rate puffit for your fbrth-coming 
ofiate, — ^I ask your pardon, — tragedy, I meant 
to say ? What ought I to nay an acre, for 
MoBKal Notices? sound orthodox Sermons, 
toe; what are they worth a barrel ? Why, 
what's the matter with the mant Come, come, 
haren't you a tariff of prices to show a ghost ? 

W. the EkUr. Doctor Jdinson ! 

Jchn. Well, what is it? 

W. the Elder. I am perfectly thunderstruck 
St the tone at your remark. Do you dare 
to insinuate that criticism has become an 
article of merchandise among us ? Fie, fie, 
for ihame ! Let me tell you, once for all, that 
however much you old Ehiglanders of the 
18th century may have disgniced yourselves 
in this way, we New Englanders of the 19th 
century luive a perfect scorn for all such 

John. Well, well, well ; no offence meant ; 
let's diange the subject. It won't do for us 
to be wasting the day, either, in chattering. 
What are these same lions that you proposed 
to show us? 

W. the Elder. First and foremost, there's 
the OrjTstal Palace ; then the Hippodrome : 
the Academy of Design : the Egyptian Anti- 
quities : in net a score of things that I think 
would interest you. By the wajr, what be- 
lated you so, Ben ? I was afraid you were 
not goiBgto respond to ray invocation at first. 

Jon. Well, the truth is, somehow or other, 
I took the wrong parallel, and so, instead of 
ttiikine Qotham, I came plump into Portland. 

W. &e Elder. Indeed! Ton might have 
got to a worse place. A fine, sprightly little 
dty ; you were charmed with it, I dare say. 

Jon. I beg your pardon, I was never more 
inhospitably treated in all my experience. 

W. the Elder. How so? 

Jon, Well, you must know, that being 
somewhat exhausted, after my long sqtM 
jaunt, presently after alighting at the hotel, 
I called for a little brandy and water ; and 
what do you think the landlord told me? 
Such a landlord too ; a long, lean, melanchdy 
looking person in purple spectacles ; the very 
opposite in all respects, of my host of the 
Mermaid. * Individual ;' said he, with marked 
solemnity of manner, and with a singularly 
nasal twang, * Are vou not aware that it is 
contrary to law V * What ?' said L * Why,' 
said he, * dealing in ardent spirits.' * What,' 
said I, * Do you really mean to tell me, that 
a respectable foreigner can't mix a little weak 
grog here in a gentlemanly way, without 
running against the statute-book?' *I do,' 
said he, * most distinctly.' * Off I ^, then,' 
said, I * posthaste. ' * Stop,' said he, < if you are 
positively unwell and under medical advice, 
follow me, without further remarks.* I did 
so. He straightway conducted me through 
a long, narrow passage, into a room with 
closed shutters, where, by gas-light, he ad- 
ministered unto me, under a name as long as 
himself, which I cannot now recall, some of 
the fieriest Hollands I ever encountered. 

John. That was no place for youy Ben, 

Jon, No, indeed, I was right gjad to get 
into anotherjurisdiction, I assure you. 

W, the Elder. Well, they are a pretty 
queer set up that way. Their intentions are 
good, I dare say ; but I've no great faith in 
such legidation, myself. Butcome spirits, let's 
be off while da^gbt lasts. (Exeunt,) 


Few of our readers, we opine, but have 
attained to the traditionary knowledge of the 

^old woman who Ilred tn aiboe. 

And had ro many cbildTcn, she did'nt know what to do," 

We ourselves possess a faint impression we 
have had the acquaintance of the old lady, 
and if never installed into her ancient habita- 
tion, have descried hs/t in a little red cloak, 
walking about in the oool of the evening. 
The fanciful impressions of childhood are in 
after years like realities. 

« The truth that is and truth thftt items, 
Mix in fantastio strife." 

But to pass from one allegoir to another, we 
have encountered a foreigh literary importa- 
tion, rare in itself and from a rare source, by 
which it would appear that in this da^ of 
railroads and steamboats, of caloric engines 
and universal suffrage, the old woman cannot 
be left in peace, but must be submitted to all 
the tortures springing firom public curiosity 
that win not be satiated. Her whole internal 



eoonomy is interfered with. Political Sur* 
yeyors, luid Architects, social Masons and 
Carpenters, all must have their say. If 

** Britannia needs no bulwark. 
No toworc akmg the itMp," 

she at least needs, it would seem, the officious 
interference of " the next of kin. " A learned 
and noble author it may be, and a learned 
and noble author we think it is, who has here 
donned the reverent garb of an apostolical 
adviser ; the speech is at once so crude and 
the words so heavily labored. Like Mark 
Brutus on the accusation preferred against 
him on the death of Caesar, we may say, 
** It is agrievbas charge, and grieToudy," 

because so laboriously and painfully hath 
this noble and learned author (in a few cc^ies 
made to circulate amidst his friends) set it 
forth. Now, first, of the old woman, partic- 

'* And for ages, ere St Augustine's foot had 
pressed the Kentish beach, bound <m a Chris* 
Uan mission to King Ethelbert who dwelt in 
a near vidley, where the rude gateway of the 
royal Sax<ni s palace now serves as entrance 
to a yeoman's farm— ere this Churchman had 
converted Britannia's early-bom to profess 
the Christian fiuth — Britannia had shown 
herself a partial mother. In short, since the 
ancient date of her first-bom's birth-day 
infant she has had her children elect. And 
the elect luLve ever fared at the expense of 
their despised brothers and sisters, and the 
latter, till within the last twenty years, have 
suffered their wrongs with enduring pa- 

But all power involves resistance: every 
depression, political, physical or moral, has 
its corresponding elevation, and action is fol- 
lowed by reaction. So listen : 

''But of late the snubbed of Britannia 
have raised a clamor in the shoe, which 
alarms her, and the prolific mother asks 
counsel of her elect in vain. Not knowing 
what to do with so many starving brats, yet 
anxious to qudl their rioting, she has locked 
up a few <3i the most turbulent and threat- 
ened to visit with the severest punishment 
all who may misbehave themselves for the 
future. She has crowded all her offspring 
into one shoe, and though she has many capa- 
cious shoes, almost emp^, she whines, and 
tells you that she can't afford to remove any 
of her progeny thither. Meanwhile the family 
lie huddled together, miserably clad and 
starving : and now and then you may hear 
oaths muttered against her who brought them 
fiMth to linger out a wretched li^ And 
within hearing of these heart-broken mur- 
murs Belgravia rides magnificently attend- 

But of the size, make and shape of the 
shoe ? Anticipating this astute questicm, the 

author replies, <' It is exactly in breadth and 
length, of the measurement of great Britaizi : 
in shape, most irregular; in make, thou^ii 
the Umd old woman asserts the contrary, 
how far off perfection \ as to fashion, remark- 
able. The French shoe, she will tdl jofx, 
and the Prassian and Austrian shoes cannot 
be borne after hers ; foreign shoes, she tells 
you, with a toss o£ her head, are alwavs 
bursting; whilst hers .may be wom by the 
most sensitive with the most perfect ease 
and freedom." 

Whilst the author protests agunst the 
dame's swagger, and allows that it has mmay 
and great advantages over those fashioned by 
the Napoleons and Mettemichs of the day ; 
that it is a stupendous manufacture ; mm^ 
nificent as regards material, he at the same 
time urges that it is of unequal workmanship, 
and though a shoe that looks marveUoosfy 
well it is calculated to remind one of the 
giant Wellingtons, of wondrous polish, 
wherewith plebeian snobs are wont to decor- 
ate Uieir shop-fronts. '* Its exterior is with- 
out flaw or memish, viewed from a distance, 
but it will not bear examination." 

Out on a walk with the old lady, on which 
she led the author through streets and squares 
where every house was fit for an empress, 
and in which she curtsied to a lump of lm>n3ie 
— a huge horse and a hooked nosea rider, he 
gather^ this tmth : 

'*That in Britannia's shoe, — as with the 
Amakosas and Amapondas of Kafi^land — 
the warrior ranks before the statesmen and 
the philosopher— the art of wounding rec^v- 
ing more homage than the art of healing. 
With no wish to depreciate the great services 
of F. M., the Duke, it simply occurred to us 
that statesmen were at least as worthy of 
their country's admiration, as successful gen- 
erals. However we suppressed our thou^ts 
on the matter, and with depressed spirits 
trudged onward in the steps of our matronly 
guide. We presently came up with Britan- 
nia in a fine park, where we staged some time 
to rest oursdves. With an air of triumph 
she pointed towards a palace of uriy exterior, 
built in a hollow; then, as wim a fairy's 
wand, she made the stuccoed walls as trans- 
parent as dass — revealing the most sumptu- 
ous magnificence. We saw men and women 
imbedded in their wealth — ^literally buried 
in jewels and gold and costliest clothes : and 
we beheld gidleries brilliantly lighted and 
furnished, as Britannia's playhouse managers 
have it, regardless of expense. We were 
dazzled by this display, and in our abstrac- 
tion showed our weakness, by muttering i 
within the hearing of Britannia. Magnifi- j 
cent!" I 

For the contrast : 

<* We had been watching some thousands of | 
crouching creatures stalking in the narrow 




I 1M>^ 

ys of a less merry part of the city, 

the dame addressed na, and we had 

pud due attention to her words; and 

rfaen she noticed our abstraction, and more 

pulicularly the objects of our scrutiny, she 

became uneasy, and sought again to direct 

our attention to the palaces in the west.'' 

The old lady never had such a rating as 

00 this occasion — a severe castigation inter- 
mixed with some oi the sagest advice on the | 
gcnereal subject of shoes, blacking and polish. | 
As oar readers, stout and numbeiiess as they | 
we, woold not be likely to survive any more, 1 
we win conclude therewith : 

** Ton must not give them up to men who I 
don't know how to polish them. Each shoe 
moat be allowed to af^oint its own ^ boots.' 
Tour Canadiari, Cape, Fort, Natal, and Aus- 
tralian shoes must be well made and well 
polished — ^that they .may be both creditable 
lod comfortable to the wearers. As it is, 
they are ontidy, neglected places, where men 
rmir as gamblers, and wnence they gener- 
^if return as soon as possible, large gainers. 
Madam, believe us, it is not by casting your 
most depraved, and your most wretch^ chil- 
dren upon luxuriant lands, without guidance 
lod without help, that you will rear abroad 
ftmiliee as great as that which remains at 
home. As Sie Greeks did of old so must you 
be prepared to do. You must depart to your 
immense territcnies, organize coionies com- 
frehending all the elements of your home 
society. In Australia, in Canadian back- 
woods, and in New Zeidand, the intellectual 

1 vigor as well as the iron muscle of your chil- 
dren are wanted. At present emigration is 
regarded by your chiloren as the desperate 
iHemative of starving men ; whereas, if pro- 
moted in a spirit worthy of your name, it 

I would be looked upon as the wholesome re- 
Bolt of that indomitable spirit of enterprise 
8Aid to be the characteristic of your race. 
Mmy among your well-fed children declare 

I emigration to be an unnecessary and uncon- 
8tituti<mal means of relieving your crowded 

j &ffiily; besides, they, say, no Englishman 

I win leave his country while he can keep body 
iad soul in her; and an Irishman would 
rather exist in Ireland on potatoes than in 
exfle on the daintiest food. And we believe, 
to a certain extent, that this is the feeling of 
vo<8r children : but pray, recollect that this 
love fji motherland and averseness to seek 
abroad the comforts denied at home, is the re- 
sult of colonial mis-government. The colonial 
subject should be in all respects the equal of 
the subject resident in England. If it be 
jtmr wish (as it is that <m every sensible 
person) that the tide ci emigration flow copi- 
ously to your distant and empty shoes, you 
must so regulate and furnish tnem that they 
mar give to year childen who repair to them 
all the politi^ advantages of the shoe from 

which they have emigrated. But so long as 
your distant shoes are at the mercy of * bc^' 
who have never seen them, but who, enscon- 
ced in Downing-street, give ignorant orders 
respecting them, so long will your children 
of substance turn a mistrustful eye towards 
colonial shoes, and carefully buttoning their 
pockets, remain content with the three per 
cents. You would do well to treat your col- 
onial family as independent, rather than de- 
pendent childr^. Uive them full freedom to 
make the best of their natural resources, and 
cease to leave them at the mercy of theorists 
at home. Your boy, Stanley, gets into your 
Colonial-office, and forthwith proceeds to test 
the soundness of his theories at the expense 
of New South Wales, when presently he is 
ousted by Grey, who does not happen to think 
with his predecessor, and so countermands 
his orders. This system must no longer be 
practised. It appears to us, in fact, that 
your expensive colonial office might be par- 
tially done awa^ with if you were prepared 
to ^ve up all interference in your colonial 
shoes, except in any case where the constitu- 
tion of either country was threatened. Why 
not allow your colonies to be entirely self-gov- 
erning, reserving to yourself (that is to say, 
to Parliament) the right of interfering if a 
colonial legislature pass any measure infring- 
ing upon the principles of your common con- 
stitution? Why not adopt the system of 
representing yourself in the person of a consul 
<Hr ambassador, directing your colonies to 
send their respective representatives to their 
mother country ? Treat your colonial chil- 
dren as men, not as so many puppets made to 
move at your beck. Give them a fair inde- 
pendence, and you will give them energy : 
make them seli-supporting, and you do jus- 
tice to your childen at home. You cannot 
in fairness to those who remain with you 
burden them with an annual payment of four 
millions of money. If you are prepared to 
treat your colonial children as becomes a 
mother, you may make an annual saving of 
three millions sterling, and for the next ten 
years you might with advantage, both to your 
colonial and home families spend two millions 
annually of the money saved in the promo- 
tion of a system of colonization founded on 
sound, and economic princijdes." 

** Treat them as becomes a mother ! How 
you talk ;" remonstrated Lady Britannia. 

** Madam," we answered apologetically, 
**we do not accuse you of wilful cruelty, 
but we certainly do hold you guilty of per- 
severing in a policy dictated in a spirit 
of feudalism, and adhered to with remorse- 
; less severity. Will no examples warn 
i you from your perilous course ? Can you 
calmly contemplate the mutual animosity of 
! your children t Can you c<mtentedly look 
I forward to the day when your children in 



your Canadian, Cape, and Anstralian shoes, 
will struggle to rid themselves of your ma- 
ternal rule; f«r, believe us, if you do not 
train yourself to treat your adult children as 
equals, they will rebd and disown their mo- 
ther. Taught by the high spirited example 
<^ that poor child, you must confess, you ill- 
treated sorely, they will disown you, and 
assert their perfect independence of your 
rule. If you are pre^pared to persevere dog- 
gedly in your present course, we would warn 
you to be also prepared for a decay and an 
old age of sorrow and loneliness. You have 
now the richest family and the finest shoes 
in the world; and while you loudly vaunt 
your pre-eminence, learn to act so that you 
may not forfeit that which is your boast. 
Your shoes include an area of between 4,000, 
000 and 5,000,000 of square miles, independ- 
ent of your own insular shoe ; and on this 
vast expanse lie scattered the scanty popula- 
tion of 5,000,000 of people ; whereas in your 
own home, which is scarcely 40,000 square 
miles in extent, you jam some 28,000,000 of 
souls. Does not your own sense tell you that 
this unequal distribution of your family, is 
preposterous and absurd! Well, on these 
colonial shoes, you expend annually upwards 
of £4,000,000 sterling, while your exports to 
them average but £9,000,000 sterling. Is 
this fact evidence of sound statesmanship ?'' 

^i^arre among % '$t\o ^aoh. 



wA-roMBa, o^ 
OROse~av e. 


— This collection of sacred Ivrics, evinces 
poetic talent of extraordinary character. For 
sweetness of diction, beauty of verse, terseness 
of thought, and exuberance of fancy, they are 
little l^hind, if not equal to, the most ad- 
mired pieces of Reble. A vein of quiet pa- 
thos is detected throughout. Among the 
gems of the volume we notice "Flower 
Thoughts," " The Pastor's Blessing, " **St. 
Peter^s Bells," The Mourner," "Wbyaml 
Sick?" &c. A striking feature of the book 
is the imique and novel application of Scrip- 
ture passages to particular subjects. Many 
verses are thus transfigured into sparkling 
jewels. The estimable and learned Rector 
of St. James' Church tells us in the neat intro- 
duction with which he presents the work to 
the favorable notice of the public that ** these 
poems were written during the progress of a 
nervous disease so distressing in its symptoms 
that the maintenance of a connected train 
of thought seemed wonderfiil, and its expres- 
sion in writing a physical impossibility. * ' We 
cordially commend these productions of a 
young and gifted female sufferer to the notice 
and regard of the literary public. The work 
is published by Hazard, of our dty. 


— ^This is a story of a Scottish life of decided 
power and interest ; one which portrays in 
striking relief the weakness of man, and the 
gentle, tender devotion of woman. We see 
much to commend in a novel when it carriea 
with it so good a moral as does, "Harnr 
Muir." Young men who are coming into the 
world may then read it, and pause at the 
threshhola of sense-gratification even long- 
enough to conclude to turn back. We ques- 
tion whether a work of more power has ema- 
nated fron Sootia since the days of the Wiz- 
ard himself. We know the reading of it sent 
the old-fashioned thriD through us. The 
author unquestionably demands a high posi- 
tion among her sister novelists ; indeed, tak- 
ing the avera^ of Miss Bronte, from «* Jane 
Eyre" to " Vilette," she is in no way inferior 
to that successfiil writer. 


— A new and veiy beautiful edition of this 
story has just been publi^ied by Redfield, of 
New York. The author, we presume, has 
now but little time, and less inclination, to 
devote himself to novel-writing ; being, as is 
known, the editor of the ** North American" 
newspaper, and the mouth-piece of a political 
party, whose principles require an immense 
de$X of labor and talent to define and sustain. 
He can, however, beguile an hour or so, now 
and then, by trimming up old works, and 
sending them forth with uresh-washed faces 
and new coats and pantaloons. The novels 
of Dr. Bird are all of a high order. It is a 
pity that he ever abandoned the field of liter- 
ature. If the truth were known, we doubt 
not he would gladly say adieu to the foetid 
atmosphere of partisanship in which he is 
now immersed ; for such an atmosphere must 
be wholly uncongenial to him ; while it is 
plainly one in wMch he was never made to 

^mrmm pl.ooov, 

— Messrs. Getz, Buck & Co. have got out a 
neat edition of this work which embraces a 
number of the best sketches of the late 
lamented Joseph C. Neal. Th^ embellish- 
ments in the volume are numerous and well 
executed ; indeed, the ensemble of the regen- 
erated Ploddy is of the most attractive char- 
acter. Neal, in his peculiar style as a writer, 
stands alone. His works, will, we think, 
grow more and more Taluable the older they 
grow. They contain not merely the excita- 
tives for laughter ; but also food for profitable 
reflection. They are, indeed, as was their 
brilliant author — ^we knew him well — ^the 
drollest compound of humor and philosophy, 
fim and earnest, imaginable. 




—A. Hart, late Carej & Hart, has just pub- 
Mied a very useful little work with this title. 
It is from thepen of James Larkin, conductor 
of the Brass Foundiy department in the P^m 
Works of this city, and is designed to furnish 
ft concise treatise of the art of Brass Founding, 
Moulding, &c., with practical Rules, Tables, 
and Receipts for Gold, Silver, Tin and Ck>pper 
Founding, Plumbers, Bronze and Bell-found- 
ers, Jewellers, &c. 

T-MK |^^OrvlAROHI8-r. 

—We presented an extract from this spirited 
American novel while it was passing through 
the press of Mr. A. Hart of our city ; and, 
doubtless, much to the gratification of our 
readers. Mr. J. B. Jones, the author, has 
retson to feel proud of the " Monarchist." 
It is truly one o( the best revolutionary sto- 
nes we have read for many a day. The pub- 
lic Hke it too ; for one edition is already ex- 
hausted, and another will shortly be issued. 
, Mr. Jones has a fine reputation as a romance 
writer. He gathers it, too, from a large num- 
. ber of works, among which his "Wild Western 
I Scenes" stand prominent. He enters into a 
'. 1 subject like the revolution, quite con amore. 
"Hie characters in the " Monarchist" are all 
I realities of the " times that tried men's souls," 
', and not creatures of the fancy. In other 
) words, they flourished in Virginia, where the 
j scene is laid. 

[ —This work is made up' of a variety of 

; sketdies, some of which have appeared in 

' newspapers and other *ephemeralitie8.' They 

tre of the Davy Crockett school, and we con- 

; teas not entirely according to refined taste. 

T%at they possess humor, and that the author is 

1 ri^t comical chap, no one can for a moment 

draij. He writes, too, after a fashion highly 

popular with the rather unscrupulous million, 

and hence his works must sell. Redfield, of 

Kew York is the publisher. 

BLKwisrre of -tmk lj^ws. 
; —This is a worit just published by lippin- 
i eott, Qfan^x) and Co. of our city, and em- 
, bnoes dements or outlines of the system of 
' dril and criminal laws now in force through- 
oat the United States. The author is Thomas 
L Smith, late one of the judg^ of the Su- 
preme Court of the State of Indiana. Lepl 
rii^ flmd privileges in all parts of the Union 
may be gathered from the volume. It has 
been iBtndaoed into the pnbhc 8dKx>ls of 


~ The following new books are on our table 

awaiting notice: — From the Harpers, New 

' York, De Bauchesne's <' History of the Dau- 

I phm of France;" *' Ellen linn, '^ a Franconian 

Story, by J. Abbott; *' Coleridge's Works," 
third and fourth vdumes ; «* Yusef, a Crusade 
in the East," by J. Ross Browne. Fnxn 
Crosby, Nichols, & Co., Boston— "Reason 
and Faith, and Easays," by Rogers. From 
Phillipfi, Sampson, & Co., Boston,— " Lectures 
on Life and Health," by Alcott. 

— The April number of ** Harper " is capital. 
A work so admirably sustained as is this 
magazine, well desei-ves the brilliant favor 
which it receives. 

— The " American Law Register " for April, 
has just been issued by the publishers, D. B. 
Canfield & Co., No. 9 Mercantile Library 
Building. It is filled with valuable decisions, 
as well as much other material calculated to 
attract the attention of legal gentlemen. The 
publishers are fiill of enterprise, and have our 
best wishes for success. 

— Mr. Thackeray has finished his Southern 
tour, and has announced his speedy return to 
England. It is not unlikely that he will pay 
us a second visit before many years have 
rolled away. 

— Rev. J. H. Ingraham, author of " Robert 
Kyd, " and other blood- and-thunder novels, ori- 
ginally printed tensor twelve years ago, in a 
letter to the " Churchman " disclaims all share 
in their recent republication. 

Professor Ingraham is now an Episcopal 
clergyman, and may well be ashamed of such 
boyish emanations as the works in notice. 
He has talent, very decided talent, and had 
he been contented, as a literary man, to rest 
upon his " South- West, by a Yankee," he 
would have been saved much annoyance, and 
the shedding of much ink. The "Home 
Journal," we note, by the way, makes Prof 
I. the author of " Nick of the Woods," a mis- 
take, of course, as Dr. Bird will testify. 

— The London "Daily News" states, that 
Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton hafl agreed to allow 
himself to be put in nomination for the office 
of Honorary President of the University of 
Edinburg. Lord Campbell, Mr. Macaulay, and 
Mr. D'Israeli had previously declined the 

— The Paris Charivari^ the London Athe- 
nssum informs us, has been formally excluded 
from the States of Austria,— laughter being a 
political offence in the new military codes of 
the continent— the more dangerous from its 
vagueness and mobility. The French humor- 
ists have not, however, lost mndi by the 
bum : for it is reported of them that u^ 
had only eleven suoscribers in the Austrian 
empire, and one ci these is Francis-Joeeph 



— The London papers inform us that among | 
the coming auctions of interest to literary 
men and odlectors generally, may be men- 
tioned the sale of the very fine library of Dr. 
Hawtrey, of Eton, which will shortly come 
off. Mr. Hawtrey has long been known as a 
well-read and lilieral collector of books, stu- 
dious about editions and condition of books 
as well. We presume Mr. Pennington of our 
city has catalogues of the collection. 

— The centenary of the birth of the elder 
Roscoe was celebrated in Liverpool by a pub- 
lic breakfast. A son of the historian wa^ 
present, and a paper was read on the style 
and hterary character of the most celebrated 
of Liverpool authors. 

— The English papers announce the death, on 
the 5th ult.,of Mr. Frederick Shoberl, senior, 
a German by birth, and in conjunction with 
old Mr. Ackermann, of London, the first to 
introduce the class of illustrated books called 

— The London Times says, " It has long been 
known to physiologists that ceilain coloring 
matters administered to animals along with 
their food, possess the property of entering 
into the system and tin^g the bones. In 
this way the bones of swme have been tinged 
purple by madder, and instances are on record 
of other animaLs being similarly affected. No 
attempt, however, was made to turn this 
beautiful discovery to account until lately, 
when M. Boulin speculated on what might 
have been the consequences of administering 
colored articles of food to silkworms just be- 
fore spinning their cocoons. His first experi- 
ments were conducted with indigo, which he 
mixed in certain proportions with the mul- 
berry leaves serving the worms for food. The 
result of this treatment was successful, — he 
obtained blue cocoons. Prosecuting still fur- 
ther his experiments, he sought a red coloring 
matter capable of being eaten by the silk- 
worms, without injury resulting. He had 
some difSculty to nnd such a coloring matter 
at first, but eventually alighted on the Big- 
nonia chica. Small portions of this plant hav- 
ing been added to the mulberry leaves, the 
silkworms consumed the mixture, and pro- 
duced red-colored silk. In this manner the 
experimenter, who is still prosecuting his 
researches, hopes to obtain silk as secreted by 
the worm of many other colors." 
— The London Athenaum has notices of 
Lowell and Reed — ^two popular American 
poets. The former it thinlut has an ''earnest 
spirit of love," and a '* passionate sense of 
wrong," is "skillful <rf hand," but "defi 
cient in tone." The "Summer Shower" of 
tiie latter, it asserts, contains " graphic mu- 
sic," a " rain measure," Ix. T^ Jthenaum 
in the course of its introductory remariu to 
these notices of Lowell and Reed, talks, and 

with reason, of the " foreign tone" which has 
too much pervaded American poetry hereto- 
fore. Now and then, it says, at long inter- 
vals, the sound of the " true harp, struck hy 
a mature and skillful hand, did come wafted 
to us over the Atlantic wave, — but it had for 
the most part a tone foreign to the scenes in 
which it played, and fell fkmiliarly on the 
English ear Hke a music uttered bsside our 
own streams." It adds: "The causes for 
this are easily traced, — and resolve them- 
selves, in fact, into so many reasons, explain- 
ing why the American muse was foreign- 
taught. But gradually she has been learning 
to walk her native hills, — to sit by American 
rivers, and hang her harp upon American 
trees to catch the touches of the free western 
breeze. This has for some time been very 
observable — though not perhaps in the more 
eminent American examples — even under the 
continued existence of some of those fetters 
which most restrained her home wing. But 
circumstances are combining for her emanci- I 
pation : and the prospect before us, under the 
new law of international copyright, of a rapid 
growth for America, and a rich harvest in I 
all her fields, attracts attention to this depart- 
ment of our theme when we pass an hour or 
two with the Poets." We certainly have 
subjects enough for poetry. Indeea, never 
did a land offer a history fuller fraught with 
incidents of romantic caste. 

— The large and valuable library of the late 
Baron Walackenaer is announced for sale in 
Paris on the 12th of next month, and forty- 
eight following days. 

— A new grave-stone has been recently placed 
over the grave of Chatterton and his family 
in the churchyard of St Mary, Redcliffe, 
Bristol, (Eng.), on which is the following in- 
scription : 

In Memory of 
Thomas Chatterton, Schoolmaster, who died 

7th August, 1752, aged 39 years. 
Also Thomas Newton, Son-in-law of the above, 
who died 29th September, 1785, aged 
40 years. 
Also 2 of his Sons and 1 Daughter. 
Also Sarah Chatterton, Widow of the above 
Thomas Chatterton, who died 25th 
December, 1791, aged 60 years. 
Also Mary Newton, Widow of the above Tho- 
mas Newton, who died 23rd February, 
1804, aged 53 years. 
Also Mary Ann Newton, ^inster. Daughter 
of the above Thomas and Mary Newton, 
who died 7th September, 1807, aged 
24 years. 
The old Tombstone having fallen into de- 
cay was thus replaced 

Anno Domini MDCCCLIH. 
Sholto Vere Harb, 






(Kditors' $M&Sm. 


—The etymdogy of this word we do not pre- 
cis^ know. It is one, however, which is 
applied to those who enjoy the privilege of 
fince tickets to oitert&inments of all kinds, 
whether h&Ting claim or not to a ^tiiity of 
^kind. We understand that the bst of dead- 
onr city is so considerable that 
groan at the very tiiought of its 
p c nderoaity ; particuburly, too, as it is eyeiy 
day growing. Formerly the honor of dead- 
hfaicHwn was confined to the press; now, 
howeTer, it embraces, in addition to these, 
laanagers of literary, mnsical, philosophical 
and other societies, hotel keepers and their 
aaristantfi, captains of steamboats, and officials 
cf all kinds, mnn mayor <k>wn to the tip-stave 
in an alderman's office, hangers-on of the 
freas, or gentlemen outsiders, who now and 
thea are permitted to write an editorial para- 
gr^ih, &c. When, indeed, one contemplates 
the length of ih& dead-head list ; when one re- 
gards its q)ecialitie8, item by item, class by 
diss ; one is puzzled to know how any money 
at an, is gathered at theatres and concerts. 
The receipts are very considerable, however ; 
ao much so, that several artistes have already 
acquired fbrtmies amcmg us, while others are 
rapdly following suit How is this? We 
reply : — Those who do pay, pay exorbitantly. 
Two, three, five, and seven dollars have b^ 
rea£ly given for a single ticket to a concert ; 
and even now, two dollars are required to hear 
Madam Sontag, Signer Badiali, and Signoc 
Pozndoni ; for when we have mentioned ttiese 
very 8uperi<»: artistes, we have sounded the 
wh^e «pths c{ the present operatic troupe 
at the NationaL Two dollars ! An amoimt 
widdi supports many a family a week, and by 
\ DO means meanlv either ; an amount, to earn 
whidi we are obliged to labor for many an 

We do think it the duty of the press to aid 
in abolishing these high prices — they are anti- 
r^blican, and degnuie us in the very ^es of 
tme for whose boiefit we are so anxious to 
disburse our cash. With few exceptions, the 
only result is to support the attach' s and rela- 
tioos of the hard-working performers in a life 
of inordinate luxury, if not debaucheiy, and 
often to sopply their reckless losses at the 
gamnag-tabie. Music, though the sweetest Qf 
the gins of the gods, should not be bought by 
us, though rich, when its purdiase induces so 
pomicioas a license. 

On the score of unprecedented attractions, 
y» Sontag troupe cannot claim Uie exorbitant 
prices ibey charge. It contains three or four 
a^erim* artistes we will allow ; among them, 
of course, the heantiftd Countess her^, and 
SgnoffS Badiali and PozzoUni. But what does 

the aggregate amount to, when compared with 
the late magnificent Havana troupe, who san^ 
for us, with Bosio, Steflanone, Vietti, Salvi, 
Badiali, Marini, and Beneventano, to say 
nothing of an ordiestra containing Botessini 
and Arditi, and yet charged only one dollar 
the ticket? 

How are these exorbitant prices to be reformed 
away ? We answer by renising to pay them. 
If managers continue to tax such rates, ke^ 
away firom their shows. It ib wrong for citi- 
zens who are without the bounds of dead-head- 
ery to pay for those who are within them. 
Let your Prima Donnas sing for a fair price, 
and look to the whole public to sustam them. 
Make every body pay who goes to an opera 
or other amusement ; editors and all. When 
an^ thing is wanted of newspapers, let it be 
paid for specifically, unless for the entertain- 
ment of his readers an editor choses to notice 
a performance. 

Some editors have told us that they counted 
themselves under no obligations to managers 
for tickets : that they gave throng their col- 
umns more than they received. This may, or 
may not be the fact. One thing we do know ; 
those gentlemen of the press, who really can 
do least, always think tl^ can do the most ; 
they hence are most imporUinate in the demand 
for free- tickets. So far as ** BizaArb*' is con- 
cerned it probably has as high a class of read- 
ers as any other paper in the city ; indeed our 
lists are made up mainly of educated accom- 
plished people, and specially those who pat- 
ronize the Opera. What might be done by 
our pages, hence, to benefit such an entertain- 
ment, will be seen at once. 


— The great musical and operatic sensation that 
prevailed quarter of a century ago in Europe, 
has been revived in this age, in Philadelpma, 
and by the same instrument. Madam Sontag. 
It is difficult for one who saw her during the 
period first mentioned, to credit his own ad- 
vance in ycMTS, as he now beholds her again 
at the foot^lights, radiant with beauty, youth- 
fulness and humor. This remarkable preser- 
vation of appearance, however, is not more 
the theme of general observation than the 
equally wonderihl conservation of that voice 
which, syren-like, enchants all who have once 
listened to its notes. 

It is difficult to make an^ distinction either 
in her delightfiil vocalization, or her superb 
acting, in any of the operas in which she has 
now appeared, La Somnambula, La Fi^a dd 
Reggimento, Lucrezia Boigia, Linda di Cha- 
mouni, II Barbiere di Seviglia, or Don Pas- 
quale. Perhi^ ^e looked the most charming 
as the mendacious little Rosina, but hsr voice 
has preserved its uniform fireshness and melody 
throughout the whole series. We were parti- 
cularly struck with her graceful rendering in 



La Figlia of Quando m mexzo, &c. ; though, 
strange to say, it was received without a par- 
ticle of emotion on the part of the audience. 

It is the fashion to abuse the<»era of Linda, 
but in our opinion it abounds witn more pretty 
isdatcd pieces of music than any other opera 
we can call to mind. The grand duet is itsdf 
sufficient to establish the character of the 
opera. Nothing could have been more effec- 
tiYo, in stace representation, than the scene in 
which Linda's wandering reason is restored, 
upon hearing the well-known music of her 
mountain-hcmie, breathed, too, by Pozzolini 
with a tender sweetness, that we believe to be 
unsurpassable. The voice of this tenor, though 
not powerM, we think is capable of producing 
a stronger effect upon the fedings than any 
other we have ever heard. A plaintive ten- 
derness pervades it, that, if united with a 
S3rmpathetic subject, we think might provoke 
an audience to tears. The effect is increased, 
too, by a face of the greatest refinement and 
beauty. Still, in flmcy, we hear the softly 
swelling strains of his voice. 

n Barbiere drew a tremendous house, and it 
can't be denied that the puUic, even the pick 
of it who attend these operas, prefer a large 
admixture of stage buffoonery with their mu- 
sic, to pure, unadulterated draughts of melody. 
The Barber, however, is full of capital music, 
in which is always conspicuous Una Voce ; in 
this, as given to us by ^udam Sontag, a world 
of new beauties and hidden meanings were re- 

The magnificent lyrical drama of Lucrezia 
was repeated a second time, although we think 
the character little fitted for the sparkling face 
of our charming prima donna ; but, as in Ro- 
sina, she shone again in all her characteristic 
espieglerie in the part of Norina in Don Pas- 

Badiali is a baritone singer, and an actor 
of established reputation; no fault can be 
found with him, except that his efforts at act- 
ing are too apparent : of course good acting is 
impossible without effort, but it is always the 
actor's business to omoeal it. 


— We have recdved another letter fix)m our 
old firioid Grant Thorbum— extracts from 
which we give in the following : 

<' Your very entertaining and veir amusing 
chapter on autographs, in a late *\ Bizab&e,*^^ 
(Busy-Bee, I think, would sound better,) 
brou^t to mind the following incident — 
About twenty years ago, I received a letter 
from a gentleman in Philadelphia, requesting 
myautogr^)h. I wrote by return of mail the 
following : 

*'Sir>-YounQfthelOthisathaQd. Ifyou 
are a bachelor, and your circiunstaaoes easy, 
pay over to a poor widow, having two young 

orphans, two dollars — a dollar on your account^ 
by way of remembrance— that when yoa asl 
a favor by letter, you may be sure to pcnf ma* 
tage ; and a dollar on my account £>r reaungaixii 
thee of th^ duty. No doubt the recording a 
gd will give us the proper credit. Yours, 

[No name.] 

'< P. S. As soon as informed of your con>» 
pliance with my request, I will comply with 

'' In a few days I received an answer full of 
apologies. He had done as he was told. He 
requited a sentiment over my name : said he 
was a bachdor of thirty, and rich. I gave 
him a sentiment from brother Paulas letter to 
the Hebrews, viz : * marriage is honorable in 
all,* and added, it is cheaper to live with an 
honest wife, than to buy play tickets, and sit 
staring at some French or Italian Nymfh de 
Pave, with a fix>ck of about the same longitude 
as that she wore when in her twdfth year. He 
wrote me a few months thereafter that he was 
married, and found it more profitable, noore 
comfortable, and more honorable to walk with 
a wife than to sit in a theatre." 


— A Sketch of Mr. Waterman, a member of the 
Philadelphia Select Council, appeared a ^ort 
time since in the Sunday Mercury. It does 
justice to the subject in all points, — a very 
worthy gentleman, and one to whom we are 
indebted for much kindness. Long may he 


— The Chrystal Palace will, it is said, not be 
ready for an opening until Jime next. Prince 
Albert is among the contributors of works of 
art. The portraits of Victoria, himself, and 
of the late Duke of Wellington, forming the 
picture painted by Winterhalter, is his con- 
tribution. We learn also, that the Baron 
Marochetti has completed a colossal eques- 
trian statue of General Washington, which is 
about to be embarked for the euiibition. 3fr. 
Carow has executed a colossal statue of the 
late Daniel Webster, for the same place. It 
represents the American statesman in the act 
of addressing the Senate. The State of Mis- 
souri has appropriated $4,000 for its proper 
representation at the opening of the exhibi- 
tion ; and Congress on the 26th of February 
last, voted $20,000 to defray the expenses of 
the Turkish steam frigate during her visit to 
the New York World's Fair. 


— We are promised a series of letters, em- 
braeixiK incidents of travel in Georgia and 
other Southern States, wherein certain mat- 
tera will be treated of, which cannot fiul to 
interest our readers. 




William Motherwell was bom in the city 
of Gla^ow, in the year 1797. At an early 
age he entered upon the study of law, and so 
rapid was his progress, such the stability of 
his character, and so great was the confidence 
icpoaed in him, that he was, when only 
tv«nty-<me years dd, appointed to fill the 
office of deputy to the sneriff of Paisley, at 
tbat time a highly respectable situation, 
y ffis knre for poetry would not, however, suf- 
? kt him thus to derote his attention exclu- 
2 sirely to the pursuit of a science which is at 
■ once arduous and almost entirely practical. 
The gay queen of fancy and of art, had 
marked him for one of her most willing and 
Ittf^y subjects — ^and now claimed his alle- 
giance. A taste for poetry he had early 
erinoed, and he accoitlingly engaged in a 
criltng more congenial to his disposition than 
the present one which he was then pursuing. 
^In 1819 we find him editing a miscellany, 
'i known as the " Harp of Renfrewshire, " which 
all agree in representing as haying been con- 
ducted irith much taste and judgment. A 
> relish for antiquarian research led him to in- 
i yesiigate the subject of ballad poetry in 
SeoUand, and the happy result of these labors 
he has giyen us in two yolumesj entitled 
""Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modem." The 
fidd was new, the task adapted to his capa- 
cities, and the harvest plentifiil. With care- 
fid hand he has culled the choicest fruits, 
rescuing from obliyion many noble ballads, 
which, handed down from sire to son, existed 
, only in the memories of the oldest inhabi- 
tasts — songs which told of that bold spirit 
which the sons of Caledonia haye oyer de- 
liC^ted to cherish — ^legends which will foreyer 
commemorate the ^ts and personages of 
whom the^ treat. This was certainly a ya- 
laahle addition to Scottish literature. Some 
oflhese, although grotesque in style and sin- 
gularly orieinid in concepticm, are deeply in- 
terestmg, because thonraghly imbued with 
the dimeter and feelix^ of the times in 
whiefa they appeared. The introduction to 
I these yolumes has been highly esteemed, and 
justly pronounced of a distinguished nature ; 
both on account of the purit^r of style, and 
the suggesticms contained, which must eyer 
[ pwre a d ir e cto r y to eyery one who anticipates 

laboring in a similar field. He was subse- 
quently engaged in editing a weekly journal 
and magazine in Paisley, to which he contri- 
buted man^ of his finest pieces. But we 
now find him entering upon a more extended 
field of influence, displaying his talents in a 
more remarkable manner, and that imder 
circumstances at once exciting and tr3ring. 
In 1830, he was invited to accept the editor°s 
chair of the " Glasgow Courier," " a journal 
of long standing, of respectable circulation^ 
and of the ultra tory school of politics." — 
His pen, so long used to conyerse only of the 
beautiflil, was now called upon to ^igage in 
grayer matters. The feyer of party poUtics 
raged high in the yeins of society, and, as a 
prominent member and exponent of his party, 
he was bound openly to sustain and defend 
his yiews. Admirably did he discharge this 
responsibility, entering upon his new ayoca- 
tion with zeal and power. Such was the 
sincerity of his actions, and the generosity 
of his intercourse with his fellows, that eyen 
from those opposed to him, he elicited spon- 
taneous tributes of personal regard, and es- 
teem for his talents. Five years did he fulfil 
the duties of the station to the entire satis- 
fiiction of all. But the shaft of the Pestroyer 
was already fitted to the bow, and he was 
soon to leaye his earthly ayocations. The 
account of his last moments is, briefly, as 
follows: Accompanied by a friend, in No- 
y ember, 1835, he had been dining in the 
country near Glasgow; and on his return 
home, feeling indisposed, he retired to his 
room at an early hour. Waking a few hours 
after, he complained of a piun in the head, 
which increased to so alarming an extent, 
that he was rendered completely speechless. 
Medical assistance proved of no avail. The 
apoplectic stroke had fallen, and the curtain 
descended over the life and fortunes of Wm. 
Motherwell. One universal feeling of sym- 
pathy pervaded the breasts of all the mem- 
bers of the community in which he lived, 
when the news of the unexpected and pre- 
mature decease of the able writer and ac- 
comidished poet reached their ears. The 
good and the great, the learned and the pea- 
sant — ^persons of every shade of political sen- 
timent, all united in paying their willing tri- 
butes to his memory, and in accompanying 
his remains to their last long home in the 
Necropolis of Glasgow. The place of his 
sepulture is described as well ntted for the 
grave of a poet. Bold masses of rocks, cover* 
ed with moss, and crowned with shrubbery, 
rise around it. Below, the broken ground, 
richly wooded, with its monumental columns 
scattered here and there, slopes gently down- 
ward to the edge of a beautiful lake, whose 
waters are forever rippling in sweet accents 
Along the shore. The wild-wood tree grace- 
fully overspreads his tomb, the native flower 



blooms around his grave, while the plaintiye 
carrol of the forest songster is ever heard 
mingling with the gentle sighs of the winds, 
and the murmurs of the lake. Thus the poet 
calmlj sleeps upon the soil which his own 
verses have hallowed, surround^ with all 
that his soul loved and admired — the beauties 
of nature. 

** The dead cannot grieve. 
Oh I sweetly they rlumbcr, nor lore, hope, or ftor: 
Peace, peace te the watchword, the only one here." 

Motherwell was emphatically the poet of 
feeling. As such he spoke, wrote and acted. 
He communed from the secret workings of 
his own bosom, and presented every emotion 
with such freshness, such simplicity, such 
fervency, that it immediately lodged in the 
mind of the hearer, winning his a^bniration, 
while it secured his sympathy. The measure 
is entirely free from constramt, and adapted 
to the thought. The idea itself is chaste, 
the language consistent, and the verse haroH)- 
nious. Few poets understood so well how to 
vary his theme and st^'le, proving himself 
equally at home whether he sang of love, or 
the storms of battle, of the prattle of the 
rivulet or the roar of ocean : and few are the 
hearts that are as susceptible as his was to 
the finer emotions, tenderer passions and 
purer feelings of the souL At one time nis 
strains fidl upon the ear like the plaintive and 
pensive notes of an teolian harp, nnely strung 
and played upon by the mild vespers of even- 
ing; again they cause the manly spirit to 
leap with pride at the recital of some ballad 
of stirring tone ; and again in notes of love, 
they warm the heart into a pure flame of 

He was also a national poet. Scotland was 
his home — ^her honor his heritage, — her beau- 
ties, her enjoyments, her prowess, his themes. 
Like Bums, he seeks no other fame than the 
honor of having sung her praises, commemo- 
rated her brave deeds, and wreathed garlands i 
of poesy around her natural objects and I 
scenes. There is no mystery, no love for the { 
marvelous, no search after strange passions, | 
artificial emotions and foreign glories : but 
all is^ust as a son would give vent to an ex- 1 
pression of his sincere regfuxi for the memory | 
of his mother-land, and sing in tenderest .' 
lines of her loveliness. In the " Battle Flag | 
of Sigurd,*' we find an example of his bolder 
and more heroic strains. It nas been aptly 
remarked, that the notes here are not those 
of a soft lute, from silken string or silver 
wire, but are tones wrung from one of the 
Norseman^ own rude harps, sinew-stnmg, 
whose measures are marked by the sword- 
struck shidd, and whose pauses are filled by 
the shout of the warriors or the roar of the 
keel-cleft wave. The poem ccMnmences tiius : 

««The «•(!« bcarto of aU the Xocth 
Hare l«ft tbafr atormy attand ; 
The warriore of the world are ftnrth 
To chooae anoflier UxA t 
Again their long keela ahaer the mf, 
Their bro^ sheeta oonrt the tareeae; 
Again, the reckleaa and the braTe, 
Bide lorda of weltering ■eaa.*' 

As it proceeds, we mark a nervous energy ap- 
pearing in every line, a reddess daring chta> 
acterizmg this adventurous land, an impeta- 
osity which nerves the aim of every Socal^ and 
infuses an \moommon vehemence into his voice 
and action, as in view of the approaching con- 
test he eagerly inquires, 

« Who Bhoreward,fthrougfa the swelling surge, 
Shall bear the scroll of doom ?** 

Young Harold, silent and sdf-dovoted, stood 
leaning upon his gleaming axe. His feariess 
soul was preparing for the post, and it wavered 
not in the trying hour. Lifting his giant form, 
planting his foot firmly upon the prow of his 
dashing bark, and tossing back tne '* yellow 
storm of hair'* which gathered thickly upon 
his broad brow, 

"The lips of song burst open, and 
The words of fire rvwh ont, 
And thundering through that martial eraw 
Pealed Harald's batUe shout** 

Seldom is it that we find the stem nicture of a 
warrior so powerfully presented. We can hear 
young Harald's voice mingling with, and ris- 
ing superior to the dashing waves ; see his pnmd 
form as it stands exultingly forth, and tod the 
pulsations of that heart which beats with un- 
diminished courage despite the death-rune and 
the presaged downfall. Follow that fleet as 
nearer and nearer it bears down to the shoare. 
At length upon those low-lving fields, hear the 
defying shout and the clash of steel. See 
younff Harald, how he wields his ponderous 
axe, dealing death at every blow, and at last fiUlfl 
beside that fatal scioU which he had sworn to 
defend. This poem is consonant from begin- 
ning to end, and Scandinavian in all its featmes. 
The doctrine of relentless fate is advanced, its 
potent influence exemplified, and a character 
produced, which cares neither for the hazards 
of battle nor impending death. His arm is 
still powerful, and wmle across that gorv 
fidd of strife, the '< Shadowy Three" like 
meteors passed, while they sung the war deeds 
of his aires and pointed also to their tombs. 
While in that trying hour his heart turned 
to his betrothed Brviihilda, who soon in rain 
will wring her milk-white hands above the 
salt-sea foiam, still high amid the fl*^>^iTTg 
storm he rears the flag of doom, 

•*Tai fell the young Harald, as of oM Ibll his stiea 
And the bright haU of heroes, hade han to his spMt* 

ThiB ineoe is remarkably oonaisteiit It on- 



feldfl the inflnence of mythology, presents us 
vith a complete trhimph of unflinching valor 
orer the severest of all trials, the doom of fate, 
exultingly does the hero in the "Sword 
Cbant cf Th^-stein Raudi," grasp his trusty 
ireapoo, and pointing eastf west, north and 
south, exdaim, "there am I Lord!" In the 
** Wooing song of Jail Egill Skallagrim,*' we 
fad no sickly sentimentality. The Scandin- 
■vian Sea King comes not with unmeaning 
hfctshes axid flattering tongue, with puling 
coDipliinents and senseless flattery, hut in the 
trae manly spirit of the Norse Warrior, he 
■pwkp the real yirtue of her whom he would 
wed, and thns sec^ her hand, 

"■ *Ti« a YiUngir uks tbee, 
Land maiden, to wed : 
lie aeoki not to woo thee 
In trembUog and fiwr : 
• # * • 

The endle he rocked in 
80 sound and so long, 
Hath ihimed him a heart 
And a hand that are strong. 
He cornea, then, at Jail should, 
Sword belted to side, 
To win thee, and wear thee, 
With glory and prida.** 

These and other pieces of a similar character, 
arc remarkable for their propriety of language, 
and the m'ce attention paid to the peculiar 
ciTCumstances of time, place, and personage. 
The distinctire features of national character 
arc clearly and forcibly embodied ; so that in 
the perusal of them, we at once see the bold, 
fiesrless, and steel clad warrior in every line. 
The words are his, the manner, that of one who 
hears life and honor in his hand, the deeds 
siKh as he would perform, who is jealous for 
the ^ory of his race, and the distinction of 
that profession of which he is a member. 
i^nJoune Morrison has justly been regarded as 
"^ one of the most touching effusions of the 
Scottish muse. We have here presented an 
RBtanoe of ardent and lasting devotion, of 
melting tenderness, and of the warmest love 
which Ae human breast is capable of cher- 
iflhing. The gentle attachment of childhood 
k seen mildly, yet firmly ripening into the 
eotatant aflbction of riper years. The plea- 
worts of that morning life, and morning love, 
of tiiose long and joysome days, 

** When hinnied hopes arooMl their he«rti^ 
Ltka aimmer htawoma q^tanfe" 

The thoossnd objects which charm the e^e 

I 6f the ittnocent child, the flowers blooming in 

|. fweetness around, the rustle of the summer 

kaves in the grove, the {dayine of the waters 

is the brook, the mirth and treedom of the 

Saturday holiday, are all beautiftdly described 

idnle over them all is thrown a veil of love, 

a unity of hcttrt and affection, which renders 

I the OBtirasoeM one of the most exquisite love- 

{b-'ii ■g>iiM^.*piii»-^..»ii.,i III ■ ■ II I ■ I. 

liness and attractiveness. When these two 
fair friends are parted, the teudemess of the 
feelings they express, of the reminiscences 
upon which they delight to dwell, and the 
professions of esteem for each other, are so 
earnest and afiectionate, that you might wdl 
conceive that their hearts were united by some 

gulden chain, whose links were wrought in 
eayen. Yes, with them, separation causes 
no diminution of the most sincere regard. 

** The fount that first hurst ftae this heart, 
. Still traTols on Its way ; 

And channels deeper as it rins, 
The luTo o* life's young day.'' 

Truly in view of this picture, we may unhes- 
itatingly adopt the language of Schiller, "Seas 
and hills, and horizons are between us, but 
souls escape from their clay prisons and meet 
in the paradise of love." In connection with 
Jeanie Morrison, we may appropriately intro- 
duce another of Motherwell's pathetic effii- 
sions, which appeal to the heart of every 
reader in strains so touching, that the efiectis 
irresistable and overpowering. K he had 
penned no other lines than those contained in 
"My heidisliketo rend Willie," he would 
have distinguished himself as a true Poet, and 
enshrined his memory as well in the bosom of 
the Scottish peasant, as in the affections of all 
who are capaole of appreciating expressions of 
the tenderest love. Few readers can even now 
calmly consider these lines and mark their ex- 
cellencies, without weeping. There is in every 
sentence such an abundant flow of true feding, 
so much of refined sensibility, sudi an outgush- 
ing of emotions of the purest character, such a 
knitting of heart to heart by the most delicate 
and 3ret the most pwerftd chords of love, that 
his breast must indeed be stony which beats 
not in sympathy with that heaving bosom : his 
eye must surely be dry, which weeps not at 
the warm tears that are coursing down that 
pallid cheek. It is a pleasant and agreeable 
thought, that love like this, exists on earth, 
as is nere represented, and that we have Poets 
who are able to embody the same in such ap- 
propriate terms. Isolated passages will con- 
vey no adequate conception of tne harmony 
and excellence of the poem, yet we cannot 
ibrbear extracting the following lines, which 
may be regarded as a specimen of the tender 
strain in which the whole is composed. 

** A stoun gaes though my held Willie^ 
A sair stoun thxough my heart— 
01 hand me up and let me kiss 
Thy brow, ore we twa pairt! 
inither, and anlther yet I 
How ikst my Ule^trings break! 
Farewcell fare wool! Through yon kirk-yaid 
Step lichtly for my sake. 

But 01 rtmember me WQlie^ 
On land where'er ye be. 



And 01 tbiiik on the leal, leal heart, 

That no'er luvit ane but the«! 

And 1 think on the cauld, cauld moalB, 

That file inj jellow hair; 

That klM the cheek, and kiss the chlo, 

Ye nercT rail kiM mair!" 

Can any thing be more touching than this 
scene of parting ? Let him whocavils with this 
world as a home for man devoid of life, love, 
and affection, read this poem and learn, that 
he need seek no Utopian realm to ftnd the 
heart in the happy exercise of those noble and 

)ure sensibilities which the God of all has so 

dndly implanted within us. 

Who that has perused the "Madman's love," 
has not felt a chill of horror creep through his 
veins at the delineation therein presented, of 
those fearful notions, unnatural desires, and 
imaginings, which plainly and mournfully 
indicate that reason, that faculty which char- 
acterizes man as the noblest of all sublunary 
beings, has forever taken flight and left but 
a wreck behind of all that was harmonious, 
a chaos of clouds and darkness, where once 
smiled peace and joy. How vivid the poetic 
portrayal of the '* Demon Lady," with that 
passionless hand, whiter than the foam of the 
sea, and like the finger of death falling upon 
the heart of the living * 'dull, clammy and cold. ' ' 
Motherwell's descriptive powers are certainly 
as superior as his imaginative. Take for ex- 
ample, his ** Sabbath Summer Noon." Here 
we find combined both grace of diction, deep 
toned melody of verse, and hieh devotiomd 
feeling. Beautifully indeed are the calmness of 
this noon tide hour, and the sacred silence of 
earth and all created beings delineated, as 
they then unite in "felt but voiceless prayer." 
Li "Midnight and Moonshine," vividly is 
pictured forth the heavenly in^uence of the 
season. The pale moon, "journeying high in 
mid air on seraphic wing," the melody oF the 
brook far down the dell, the weary soldier 
slumbering away his battle toils, the sleep- 
locked city, the echoless hall , the long shadows 
chasing each other over the fields, the disem- 
bodied spirits with pale, cold and mournful 
faces wandering by old walls, by ancient tomb 
and wizard oak, and above all, the unseen arm 
of the Almighty, protecting a defenceless 
world, are all presented with so much power, 
that we can fed ourselves surrounded on every 
ade by their influence. 

There is no feigned cry, but the genuine 
groan of a deeply wounded spirit that we 
hear in " 0, agpny, keen agony.^* The aflaict- 
ed soul knows its depths, and responds to its 
sentiments. Who has not fdt the truth of 
the thoughts embodied in " Moumfiilly ! 0, 
moumfidly this midnight wind doth sigh." 
Yes it is tnen that each breath stirs some cord 
of memoiy, awi^ens the remembrance of de- 
parted friends, of neglected opportunities, of 
hopes that "bloomed to die.'* In "What 

is Glory," and "What is Fame," we see ex- 
emplified those, who with disappointed am- 
bition, try to buoy themselves up by depre- 
ciating that which they most of all coret. 
How does the heart fail, and the spirits p»ll 
before the chilli!!^ view which the Poet has 
given of " The darkness of a nameless tomb. *' 
jji truly poetic and affecting language, has he 
depicted the march of time, in ** Change 
swe^th over all. " The leaves fall from the 
tall forest tree, day hurries to its close, the 
firmamental cresset li^ts droop on their 
thrones, dumb creatures graze over the mins 
of ancient cities, and thedcy-searchiug to'wer 
is levelled with the plain fh>m whence it arose, 
" oceans their wide-stretched beds are ever 
shifting," the man of renown dies, and his 
name lies in dim forgetfulness. 

** Nanght lackcth here a dofle, 

SaTe human woes. 

Tet, they too have on end, — 

Death is man's friend : 
I)o(»ned for awhile, his heart must go on hreaking 

Day after day, 
But light, lore, lifb-«]l, aU at last Ibnaking, 

Clay daspeth clay." 

While the lingering tones of these and other 
strains of a sinailar character are still falling 
sadly upon the ear, the poet, as if unwilling 
that the mind should long dwell upon subjects 
so sad, suddenly enchains the attention with 
happier scenes, causing the eye to kindle, and 
the spirits to flow joyfully at the pleasant 
picture presented in " They come, the meny 
Summer months," — touching the lively cords 
in the bosom of the young maiden, by his pro- 
fessions of love in " Certain pleasant verses 
to the ladjT of my heart," or amusing the 
fancy by his " Facts from Fairy -land," The 
effects pruduced by such changes of scenery 
and combination, is truly agreeable, and we 
may thus in his productions, find a verifica- 
tion of that well-known sentence of the dis- 
tinguished Roman, " Omne tulit punctum, 
qui miscuit utile dulci." 

It is needless to dwell longer upon the at- 
tractions of Motherwell's poetry, or to attempt 
a recital of its beauties. His works, to be ap- 
preciated, should only be perused, and then 
their excellencies will be tne more apparcut, 
the more carefully they are examined. Fine 
gold is never dimmed by age, nor does the 
diamond ever lose its lusU«. 

Upon the de^ of the Poet, just after his 
death, a touching piece was found. It ap- 
peared to have b^n recently composed, and 
commenced thus : 

** When I beneath the oold-Ted earth am deeping, 
Lifi»*s term o'er, 
Wni there for me be any brigbt egns weeping 

That I'm no more f 
WIU there be any he«rt still i 



I>Oiobttess in this, his last poem, he had 
heen commiming with the past, and lo(^ng 
sakmsij towa^ the future. No wonder 
tiieii, that as his eye rested upon* that great 
eT«nt, which is to call the living from time 
Bilo eternity, that the interesting anestion 
dKMild have presented itself—whether his 
monory woold be cherished by his friends, 
and he, rescaed from the *< Darkness <^ a 
naiDidess tcnnb." Were not that ear now 
dii& and heavy, it would hear the willing 
pnises of many, and find that his fame was 
■ot confined within that grave in the Necro- 
poKs of Glasgow, bat was spoken in far distant 
dhnes. Yes, his name is linked with the 
hoDor of Scotland, and is associated with all 
those scenes and characters upon which his 
pea delighted to dwell. The lovers of poetry 
will ever esteem it a privilege to pay their 
homage at his tomb, and that sacred spot will 
be biased with the smiles of her wh()se beau- 
ties he lived to commemorate. 




Works upon Shakspeare have multiplied to 
80 great an extent, that a library might almost 
he nrmed of these done. Their variety extends 
frotn Boyddl's Illustrations, or Drake's large 
Tohnnes, to the humblest sdection of <* Shaks- 
pevian Maxims," or ''Beauties of Shaks- 
peare." £very thing relating to the immor- 
tal bard is received with interest: and we 
nesd not wonder at the number of authors 
who have sought to gain money or fame by 
hnamg forth all their available materials to 
swell the collection. We have thought that 
an entertaining article for ** Bizarre"* might 
be writtoi on this fertile subject, by giving 
m aeooont of one of ^e most remarkable lit- 
erary forgeries ever executed: we refer to 
Ibb^nd's Shakspbarr Papbrs. 

WHliam Henry Ireland was, in very early 
life, artaded to a practitioner of the law in 
London. His fk^er was a most ardcait and 
CBthnsiastic admirer of Shakspeare ; and the 
ffm imbibed a similar veneration for every thing 
tfast bore a reference to the great baid. He 
was also a lover of antiquities of every kind, 
particalaiiy old books, rare pamphlets, tracts, 
•c The fate of Chatterton interested young 
Irdand to such a degree, that he even ardently i 
desared to terminate his existence in a similar 
mfloner ! About six months previous to his 
attempting the 9iaksperian papers, and before | 
ike hiHl even thought of such a project, he ' 
bon^t a smidl tract, written by a gentleman | 
of Linotto's Inn, and dedicated by him to 
Queen ESizabeth. It was bound in vellum, I 
with varioos ornaments, and the borders of 
the pages w&e beautifully illumiiiated. He 

iimnediately determined to make it appear 
to be the presentation copy fh)m the author ; 
and for this purpose he whote a letter to Her 
Muesty , re<jue8ting her acceptance of the book, 
and placed it between the cover and the inside 
paper. Before giving this to his father, he 
took it to a Mr. Laurie, a bookseller, and 
showed it to him, in the presence of two iour- 
neymen ; confessing the intended imposition. 
One of these men save him a mixture, resem- 
bling old ink much more nearly than that he 
had used ; and with this composition the man- 
uscripts were afterwards vmtten. Mr. Jreland 
received the book without a doubt with regard 
to its authenticity. 

After a tour through Warwickshire, this 
gentleman returned with, if possible, a still 
stronger predilection for every thing connected 
with Shakspeare : and he frequently asserted 
that he would gladly give half his library for his 
signature. This coveted treasure his son at- 
tempted to find, by frequenting the stalls of 
venders of old parchments, and by searching 
old deeds to which he had access. Not being 
succesful, the idea occurred to him of attenpt- 
ing an imitation of Shakspear's writing. In 
accordance with this design, he carefully traced 
the name from the will in the Ck)mmons, and 
placing a deed before him of the time of James 
1. he proceeded to imitate its penmanship. 
He then wrote a lease between William Shaks- 
peare and John Heminge, with one Michael 
Frazer and Elizabeth, his wife. The prepara- 
tion of the seals to this document, was a work 
of much care and thought, as they had to be 
formed frOhi old wax. At last everything 
was complete, and the reception of the paper 
by his father equalled his most sanguine an- 
ticipations. To evince his gratitude for the 
same, Mr. Ireland gave the keys of his library 
into his son's hand, with permission to sdect 
whatever he pleased. Crowds flocked to in- 
spect this wonderful deed, and all bdieved its 
genuineness ; suggesting at the same time, that 
perhaps other papers might be found, by far- 
ther investigation. These hints determined 
the young forger to produce a document writ- 
ten in the language of Shakspeare; and he 
forthwith produced a " Profession of Faith," 
penned by the immortal poet ! We will quote 
the first sentence from this paper, that our 
readers may have an idea of its style : 

**I beynge nowe offe sounde Minde doe 
hope thatte thys mye wyshe wille atte mye 
deathe bee acceeded toe as Inowelyve in Lon- 
donne ande as mye soule maye perchance soone 
quitte thys pooreBodye it is mye desyre thatte 
inne suche case I maye bee canyed toe mye 
natyve place and thatte mye Bocfye bee th«w 
quyetlye interred wythe as lyttie pompe as 
canne bee, ande I doe nowe inne these mye 
seyriouse moments make thys mye professione 
of fajttk and which I doe moste solemnlye be- 



After the production of this manuscript, 
many questions were naturally asked regard- 
ing the source whence these papers had been 
drawn ; and it became absolutely necessary to 
compose a story for the satis&ction of these 

The following narrative was framed and in- 
variably related to all who questioned Mr. Ire- 
land as to the oriein of the manuscripts. He 
informed them that he one day met a gen- 
tleman at a coffee-house, who, durii^ the con- 
versation, perceiving his antiquarian taste, 
invited him to visit him ; saying that he had 
many old papers, descended from his ances- 
tors; and promised to give Mr. Ireland any 
of these he might find of value. The latter 
complied with this kind invitation ; and on 
examining the papers, to his great astonish- 
ment discovered the deed before mentioned. 
He showed it to his fnend, who was equally 
surprised at the existence of such a docu- 
ment; but said that he would be as good 
as his word and allow voung Irdand to keep 
the deed, if he would nrst make him a copy 
of it. As the manuscripts became voluminous, 
it was thought very strange that any man 
should give awav such treasures. In order 
to account for this, it was stated that Mr. 
Ireland found among his friend's papers, one 
which established his right to a property which 
had long been disputed ; and on this account 
he considered the Shaksperian manuscripts 
only a proper compensation for the service thus 
rendered. The name of this mvsterious friend 
was of course anxiously sought for : and an- 
other lie was invented, to the effect that the 
old gentleman did not wish to be troubled by 
inquiries and impertinent questions, and had 
joined perfect secrecy on Mr. Ireland. Drs. 
Wharton and Parr were among those who at 
first credited these manuscripts, and their 
opinion could not fail to excite the vanity of 
a lad scarcely seventeen and a half years old. 
It is also stated that James Boswell, Esq., 
kissed the valuable relics, and said that '< he 
should die contented since he had lived to 
witness that day!'' Happy would it have 
been for young Ireland had his forgerv been 
at once discovered ; for the success he met 
with only incited him to further acts of du- 

He purchased the fly-leaves of old folio and 
quarto volumes from a bookseller, for five 
shillings. Having ascertained that a ''jug" 
was a common water mark, in the reign of 
Queen f^zabeth, he produced sucoe^Ung 
manuscripts on paper with this mark. His 
next attempts were, a letter from Queen 
Elizabeth to Shakspeare, a copy of a letter 
sent by the poet to Lord Southampton, and a 
love letter and verses to Anne Hathaway, 
with a braid of his hair* Numerous play- 
house receipts were also l»t)u^t forward, 
tied with string unravelled from a piece of 

M tapestry. A bold effort was then deter- 
mined UTxm: which was the re- writing <d 
one of Shakspeare '« plays, with alterations. 
He transcribed King Lear from a rare quarto 
copy in the pi^session of his £ftther, and made 
various interpolations ; avoiding also the in- 
sertion of the ribaldry so frequent in Shaks- 
peare 's works. It was immediatdy conceded 
that these objectionable passages musi have 
been introduced by the players of the day, 
and bdng inserted in their copies, were aftc»n- 
wards given to the worid. About this tone 
the whole deception might readily have been 
exposed, for a Mr. Montague Talbot, an ac- 
quaintance of Ireland's, became accidental- 
ly informed of the true state of affairs. He had 
suspected the facts from various reasons ; but 
one day he entered the room quietly, and sud- 
denly arrested Mr. Ireland's arm while en- 
gaged in writing one of the manuscripts, so 
that further concealment was impossible. 
He was, therefore, taken into his confidence, 
and induced to pledge himself never to divulge 
the truth. Mr. Talbot even went so far as to 
write a letter to Mr. Samuel Ireland, stating 
that he was present on the discovery d the 
papers by his son. 

"VoRTiGBRN AND RowBNA," a drama of 
unusual length was next written, and pur- 
chased by the managers of Drury Lane The- 
atre. After having perused it, Mr. ^eridan 
remarked, " There are certainly some bold 
ideas, but they are crude and undigested. It 
is very odd : one would be led to think that 
Shakspeare must have been very young when 
he wrote the play. As to the doubting wheth- 
er it is really his or not, who can possibly 
look at the papers and not believe them an- 
cient?" For some weeks previous to the 
performance, Mr. Malone had frequently in- 
timated that his inquiry into the validity of 
the papers attributed to Shakspeare, would 
immediately be published ; and it was said 
that he intended to have handbills circulated', 
proving the whole a forgery. Mr. Samuel 
Ireland had some cards printed, begging the 
public to lay aside all pMrejudice, and sul^ 
the piece to speak for itsdf. The theatre 
was crowded in every part ; the seats in the 
boxes having been all taken previously, and 
numbers paid box prices for a seat in the pit. 
Mr. Kemble personated '*Vortigem," and 
Mrs. Jordan was one oi the dramatis fersonct* 
Mrs. Siddons was requested to take one of 
the characters, but declined on account of a 
cold. There were various obstacles which 
combined to prevent the success of this play. 
First, a Mr. Dignum had certain laughable 
peculiarities which unfitted him aitirely from 
i4>pearing in tragedy. In a speech of his, 
when he gave the order for the trumpets to 
sound — '* let them bellow on," — his guttural 
tones produced uncontrolled merriment in 
the audience. Mr. Phillimore, a Saxon gen- 



tnlt who WIS kill«d in a combat, on reeeiTing 
his mortal wound, feU with one half of his 
boc^ towmrds the spectators uod the other 
bitf behind the scenes. The wooden roller 
at the bottom of the cortain, pressing rather 
hcarily, >&. Phillimore extricated himsdf 
from his uncomfortable position ; which was 
a lemaricable feat for a dead mofu Mr. Kem- 
Ma's conduct was obviously intended to ex- 
dtt soapicion. When the following words 
oecvrred in his speech, ** And when this sol- 
earn mockery is o*er," he uttered the line in 
■epnkheral tones; and with such peculiar 
emphasis that the i»t sent forth a discordant 
boiri. After the noise subsided, instead d 
proceeding, he repeated the same words, still 
more pointedly. It is said that Mr. Sheridan 
was much displeased with Mr. KemUe for 
thns evincing his private opinions on the 
stage. The morning after the fate of the 
play had been decided, Mr. Samuel Ireland 
was told that two hundred and six pounds 
remained in the treasury, exclufflve of all 
expenses. One half of this sum was given 
to the manager of the theatre, and but thirty 
pounds tb young Ireland, who had received 
sixty when the manuscripts were delivered. 
Had VoRTiGEBN AND RowBNA been published 
immediately, instead of waiting until the 
tothor coi^essed having written it, a large 
sum might have been realized. A bookseller 
m Russel St. said that ten days previous to 
its performance, he would have paid 1000 
guineas for the copyright. We find, however, 
that we nmst defer the conclusion of this 
nbject until a fbture number of *' Bizarre." 




We have heard of persons in Engjand who 
drew their first breath in a coal mine, and, 
ifter toiling for a succession of years in their 
subterranean workshops, died and were sepul- 
dired under ground. To such, how narrow 
tad circumscribed is the sphere of existence ; 
how limited their mental resources — brought 
ttp, as they have been, in ignorance the most 
mveterate. To them the very light of heaven, 
genial and garish, is a non-existence. Earth 
is bat a tomb, unlit by one beam of radiance, 
one ray of vital hope. 

Onr heroes, named in the title, Josey and 
Bin, though they have basked in the sunlight 
for thirty odd years respectively, and plucked 
the mangolds once in a while in the garden 
of the building, have still been confined to 
those little spots ; the one, the ancient Alms- 
house, located in Spruce street, in. by-gone 
days, — ^the other, the present more oommodi- 
OQB building, erected some seventeea years 

ago, — since they wwe ushered into the whirl 
and bustle of practical life. 

Bill and Josey are each on the wrong side 
of thirty. They look upon the two Alms- 
houses as the embodiment oi all that is sub- 
lunary. They have no conception of (Geogra- 
phical limits, except as they are indicated by 
various points of the building. The ice-house 
is to them the north pole, and the suracal 
ward the equator ; the four divisions of the 
building are the only continents of which 
they have the slightest knowledge, and the 
basin whence the water is sent mrough the 
Institution, peers up before them with its 
green summit in all the dignity of Mount 
Blandi from the vale of Chamouni. To 
them the bustling Almshouse is the great 
world of commerce, and agriculture, and man- 
ufacture. They have never, like the mouse 
in the fable, ventured out to the chest-lid, to 
take a hasty peep at the limitless expanse 
which lies beyond their little stopping place. 
Happy, however, in their ignorance, resigned 
to their fate, (we should not use the word in 
this connection, for Josey and Bill know no 
such word as fiate, and rather magnify their 
office than depreciate it,) and sedulously oc- 
cupied fix>m the break of day till the sun goes 
down in his pavillion of purple and gold, their 
months and years roll on calmly, tranquilly, 
usefully. They are respected by the old, 
reverenced by the young, and laughed at, so 
far as their whimsical oddities are concerned, 
by those who love them most. Look out into 
the long hall. Bill is standing there with an 
old flageolet in his hand, a finger on the key, 
and his mouth expanding, as if hoarding up 
a vdiume of air to create a blast When he 
brings the instrument within range of the 
wind, Jose^, with spectacles on his nose, 
and maintaining the ^vity of a tip-staff in a 
court of judicature, stands at his elbow, as 
if to sanction the anticipated musical over- 
ture. Now comes the tune — ^no, it is not a 
tune ; it is a species of irregular and fantastic 
notes, which would seem to jump out of the 
old flageolet as if they had taken lessons from 
a mountebank ; and as the sounds grow more 
hideous and nondescript, Josey rubs his spect- 
acles, puts them on again, strains his gaze in 
the direction of the hall-door, and at last 
gives utterance to his excited feelings by ex- 
claiming vociferously, "You have brought 
them, &11 !" Simultaneously with this am- 
biguous intimation, a throng of little ones, 
with their check aprons and neat little gar- 
ments, come bounding pell-mell out of the 
extensive play-ground, and file off with the 
decorum of orderly sergeants, with their 
hands systematically tucked up behind their 
backs, to the large dining-room on the left 
hand. Now you see the logical connection 
between the mellifluous notes of the flageolet 
and tJie sodden egress of the army of juve- 



nile rascals, who are bent upon despatching 
their meal in the most approved style, beneath 
the eye of that guardian of order, the estima- 
ble Matron. Bill formerly blew a fine large 
tin horn, to summon the youthful troop to 
their fodder; but his ideas becoming more 
classical, he repudiated an instrument which 
seemed to put his excellency into the same 
catalogue with Jimmy Charcoal, and betook 
himself to an approved flageolet, which, 
althogh partially dilapidated, was, in his e^e, 
equal to the re^ of Pan. The writer will 
never forget the day when Joe walked withm 
the manager's parlor, and asked him whether 
he had heard the flute ? " G^i^inly !*' said 
we, **and the notes were quite ravishing." 
" And do you know," said he, briskly contin- 
uing the conversation, *^do you know who 
taught Bill how to set forth his music?" 
** Well, no," said we, feigning a little sur- 
prise> for we anticipated the reply of the 
knight of the Specs. Putting his hand through 
his hair and assuming an attitude which we 
may suppose old Cavendish took when he 
made his orilliant discoveries in rdation to the 
elemental princi];des of water, poor Joe as- 
sured us in vehement syllables, as though he 
thought we might be tempted not to accord 
to BiU so great an allowance of original 
genius. " It was his own prevention, Chap- 
lain, altogether his own prevention !" 

Josey is somewhat superstitious. This of 
course is attributable to his ignorance, the poor 
fellow not knowing even how to read. One 
Sunday morning we had preached from the 
text, *'And l&tan answered, 'From going 
to and fro in the earth, and from walking up 
and down in it.' " It was a plain and fami- 
liar exhibition of the cardinal doctrine of 
Satanic agency. Josey was an attentive lis- 
t^ier. His occasicmal grimace and sudden 
twitch of the shoulder indicatckl the fact that 
we were portraying a character not veiy con- 
raiial to the iedings of our humble iriend. 
Weeks revolved and one Sunday morning 
Josey told us in the most lugubrious strain, 
that the Devil had been wiJking the whole 
blessed night up and down in the boys' dor- 
mitory where he always lodged, as the Super- 
visor general. "Did you hear him, Joe?" 
** Palpably I heard him ; he stepped along as 
if he was lame." "Did he approach your 
bed ?" " Palpably he did, and n4)ped on the 
head-board with his sulphur knuckles." 
"And were you not dreadfully alarmed at 
this unexpected visit from his sable majesty ?" 
" Yes, I labored for breath and cried mightily 
for deliverance. He stayed so long rapping 
that it seemed to be too contedious for my 
poor week nerves." " And how did you g^ 
rid of him, Joe?" "Why I b^gan to be 
frightened about the diildrcn, and thinks I to 
myself, I'll jump out of bed and see if they 
are allraafe and sound in their little beds. I 

pitched out of the blankets, and went from 
one to another, and sore enough he had'nt 
taken any of them yet. So thinks I, I guess 
the Devil intends taking me off first and foro- 
most, because I am the biggest; and with tbskt 
I runs to the bureau, and gets my little new 
testament frx>m the top of it ; fori knowed 
exactly where I had positioned it the day be- 
fore. So I grabs it and thinks to myself, 
if I hold up this ere gospel in his face, it will 
be exactly like a scare-crow in a com field. 
So I goes to bed, gets under the blankets, and 
the next noise I hears I cuts with my testa- 
ment and holds it clean up afore the vilUan's 
tamal physimognomy, am he walked down 
stairs as soft as a mouse treading on velvet." 
Such was Joe's adventure with the Devil i 
an adventure which in the simplicy of his 
heart he regarded as equal, doubtless, to the 
romantic exploit of Luther in the Castle of 
Wartburgh. We now transfer the story to 
the page of recorded history, and bespeak for 
it the attention of the philosophical. 


— The Appletons have issued another volume 
of their "Popular Library," containing 
"Jcames's Diary, a Tale of the Panic of 
1845," " A Legend of the Rhine," and " Re- 
becca and Rowena;" all from the pen of 
Thackeray, and of course good in the most 
emphatic sense. The first appeared in 
"Punch," and is a satire on those people 
who, humble in life and of vul^r minds, sud- 
denly acquire a fortune; while it preaches 
sound sermons on the follies of wild specula- 
tions. Jeames Plush has been a footman in 
a gentleman's family, but a happy turn of 
good luck in the investment of a small sum 
of money, loaned him by a fellow-servant, 
makes him a millionaire. Like the majority 
of ignorant and vulgar people who become 
suddenly rich, Jeames apes fashion ; deserts 
the companions of his humble life, and makes 
himself supremely ridiculous. How many 
such does one encounter in a large city, on 
the street, and at public places ! We know 
several Jeameses in Philadelphia, and have 
been often times at public amusements more 
entertained with them than with actors or 
singers. Cannot our readers find parallels 
to Jeames, as he appears in the following ex- 
tract given in his diary touching a visit to the 
* *Hopra. ' ' Hear him : 

"28r^.— BeentotheHopra. Music tdlod. 
That Lablash is a wopper at singing. I cooda 
make out why some people called out *Bravo,' 
some * Brava,' and some * Bravee.' * Bravee, 
Lablash,' says I, at which hevery body laft 

"I'm in my new stalL I've add new 



„ pat in, and harms in g^dd on the 

bttck. I'm dressed hall in black, excep a 
nU waiscoat and dimind studds in the em- 
fariderd busom of mj shameese. I wear a 
Camallia Jipcmiky in my button ole, and have 
a dfrnUe-barreld opera glas, so big, that I 
makeTimmis, my secnod man, bring it in the 

** What an igstronry exhabishn that Pawdy 
Carter is ! If those four gals are fanes, Tsl- 
uoNi is sutnly the fairy Queend. She can 
do an they can do, and somethink they can't. 
There's an in^Uscrible grace abont lier, and 
CAmLOTTT, my sweet Gablottt, she sets my 
art in flams." 

Hear Jeames, too, on the scene of his riding 
on horse-back, and readily you may make up 
your parallel from Philadelphia snobdom. 

" 2i. /w/i/. Rode my bay oss Desperation 
in the park. There was me. Lord George 
RiNGwooD (Lord Cinqbar's son). Lord Bal- 


serral bother yonng swells. Sir John's car- 
ridge there in coarse. Miss Hemly lets fall 
her booky as I pass, and I 'm obleged to get 
hoff and pick it hup, and get splashed up to 
the his. The gettin on boss back agin is nal- 
ways the juice and halL Just as I was hon, 
De^ration b^ns a porring the hai^ with 4 
feet, and sinks down so on his anches, that I'm 
bkst if I didn't slipp hoff again over his tail : 
at which Balltbunkion & the other chaps 
rord with lafter." 

Jeames did not enter his race after fashion, 
without making a dash for a coat of arms. 
He says in a letter to ** Punch," 

" I have ad my podigree maid out at the 
£nldHo£Bs (I don't mean the 3formng£raU), 
and have took for my arms a Stagg. You are 
cornet in stating that I am of hancient Norm- 
in fiunly. This is more than Peal can say, to 
whomb I applied for a bametcy; but the 
pranmier being of low igstraction, natrally 
Btiddes for his border. Gonsurvatiye thou^ 
I he, / monf chants my omnions before the next 
Eketion, when I intc»ia to hoffer myself as a 
CiDdjdick for Parlymint. 

*«lfeanwild, I haye the honor to be, Sir, 
" Your most obeajnt Survnt, 
<'Fitz-Jambs db la Pluchb." 

One more extract as to Jeames's household 
arrangements, so easily paralleled, too, in our 
great cities, and we hare done: — 

^/if% 24. — ^My first floor apartmince in the 
Halbrny is now kimpletely aiMl cfaasely fum- 
niiiied — the dnHing-room with yellow satting 
iod sflyer for the chairs and sophies — ^hemraU 
green fabbinet cartings with pink yelvet & 
goold borders & fringes ; a li^t blue Hax- 
miniter Carpit, emboyd^vd with tulips : ta- 
Uea, secritaries, cunsoles, &c., as handsome 
as godd can make them, and candlesticks and 
I of the purest Hormolew. 

"The Dining-room funniture is all hoak^ 
British Hoak ; round igspanding taMe, like a 
trick in a Pantimime, iocommadating an num* 
ber from 8 to 24 — to which it is my wish to 
restrict my parties — Curtings Crimsing dam* 
ask. Chairs crimsing myrocky. Portricks of 
my &yorite great men decorats the wall — 
namely, the Duke of Wellington. There's 
four of his Grace. For Ive remaked that if 
you wish to pass for a man of wei^t & consid* 
dratkn you should holways praise and auote 
him — ^I haye a yalluble one hckwise of my 
QuBKND, and 2 c^ Prince Halbbrt — as a 
Field Martial and halso as a priyat Gent. I 
despise the yulgar snears that are daily hul- 
lered aeinst that Igsolted Pottentat. Be- 
twigxt the Prins & the Duke hangs me, in the 
Uniform of the Cinqbar Malitia, of which 
Oinqbars has made me Capting. 

"The Liberv is not yet done. 

"But the Bedd-roomb is the Jem of the 
wh(4e — ^if you could but see it ! such a Bed- • 
worr ! lye a Shyyal Dressing Glass festooned 
with Walanseens Lace, and lifted up of eyen- 
ings with rose coloured tapers. Goold dress- 
ing case and twilet of Dresding Cheny — My 
bed white and gold with curtains of pink 
and silyer brocayd held up at top by a goold 
Qpid who seems always a smiling angiUicly 
hon me,has lay with my Ed on my piller hau 
sarounded with the finst Mechlin. I haye a 
own man, a yuth under him, 2 groombs, and 
a fimmale for the House — I ' ye 7 osses : in 
cors if I hunt this winter I must increase my 

Some of our readers haye doubtless read 
"Jeames's Diary," but a large number will 
unquestionably enjoy it in this pretty little 
bo(d£ from the Appletons for the first time. 
As we hay ^ hinted , it may be read not only with 
pleasure, but with the extraction of a capital 
moral. Many among us, too, as we haye also 
hinted, will find it an exo^ent mirror in 
which to see ourselyes at full length, and 
happily become as much disgusted with our 
own folly as with that of our silly nei^bors. 


— Three elegant yc^umes, with this title, haye 
been sent to us by Redfidd, of New York. 
They embrace a loost admirable history of 
the Crusades; emanating, as they do, from 
the pen of an author who deyoted twenty 
laborious years to the subject. Michaud was 
a r^;ular "workie," engaged in his labors 
heart and soul, and did many things at once 
with remarkable readiness. Thus, while he 
was prosecuting his historical researches, and 
writing poetry, he also managed " La Quoti 
dienne," a paper which was prominent in 
Paris, in the early part of the present cen* 
tury ; but which, during the reign of Napo- 
leon — ^Michaud haying fled— digenerated into 
the " Fueille du Jour," or, as a wag said, the 
"FueiUe de laVille," (last night's Journal,) 



from the fkct of it's being edited entirely by 
that supple tool of tyranny, arrant coward, 
and dull dolt — Monsieur Scissors. The < < Quo- 
ti dienne" was subsequently revived under 
its original brilliant editor, and resumed its 
prominence as an organ of government. Mi* 
chaud, while editor, during his last adminis* 
tration, held the office of reader to the Ring, 
at a salary of 3000 francs per annimi : anfil it 
is said, one of the stipulations he made on ac- 
cepting this office was, that he should not bo 
called upcm to perform its duties. 

Michiuid commenced the history in notice, 
durine the reign of Charles X., who bestowed 
upon nim 25,000 francs, in order that he 
might visit the Holy Land ; but he had hardlj 
arrived in Palestine before the reverses of his 
King reached him : at the same time he got 
news of the loss of 200,000 francs — it having 
been confided to unsafe hands at home. Mi- 
ohaud, like numy other literary men, was fond 
ai the glass, — ^not the loolong-glass, — and 
drank deeply at times. Still he was a scholar 
and a poet, blessed with warm friends idiile 
living, who mourned his death. His •♦ His- 
tory of the Crusades" is unquestionaUy one 
of the finest of its class, and* has been trans- 
lated in admirable style. Michaud, in addi- 
tion to writing this elaborate work, was the 
founder of, and a considerable contributor to 
** La Biograghie Univeselle," a splendid con- 
ception, splendidly executed. We have heard 
that this inmiensely valuable production of 
labor and talent, was bdng translated for a 
large publishing house in this coimtry : but 
if commenced, we suspect it has stopped on 
the way. 

The ffistory before us covers ibe entire 
story of the Crusades, from the earliest to the 
last pilgrimages to the Holy Land. It em- 
braces the greatest feature of the middle 
ages ; a feature involving a desperate struggle 
for mastery between Europe and Asia; the 
Cross and the Crescent ; a feature which has 
whetted up the energy of the gospel defender, 
imparted fresh fire to poetry and romance, 
and established a precedent of perseverance, 
in battling for religicm and right, which have 
unquestionably been attended with beneficial 
influences upon the world. True, as our au- 
thor intimates, in these battles of the cross, 
on the soil where the cross was reared, the 
sublimest virtues were mixed with all the dis- 
orders of the wildest passions ; but the end 
sou^t was a noble one. 

We have read this work with the most de- 
cided pleasure, and we doubt not, it will at 
once find a place on the library shelves of 

OLARA ^40ASLAND.-•V ■Mfllf««ON SSN- 


— This is a newspaper story, which Mr. 
T. B. Peterson, No. 98 Chestnut street, 
has published in fine stjle, certainly as to 

engravings and typography. It wn b rmoc s I 
vast amount of stirring adventure, — somi 
probable, and some ridionlously improbmlte 
Its industrious, and, in lus way, clever soth^ 
has never written a better romance, to oausci] 
quick-breathing excitement in the besoms of 
tne million ; ami we suspect both himself and 
his enterprising publisher, will greatly pro* 
fit by this crowning success in wild story- 
telling. Whether *' Clara Mordand*' is des- 
tined to take its place by the side of the 
"Ivanhoe," the "Spy" and <' Braoebritke 
HaQ," remains to be seen. Mr. Bennett, the 
author, if he writes not fbr the future, cer- 
tainly does for the present : and let ns add, 
he comes most fully up to the requirements 
of popular marvellousness. He reascMis well, 
too : ne says posthumous fiune is well enoagji, 
but present dollars are a good deal better; 
for, in the former case, one has a chance of 
sleeping in a grave, the sod of which is trod- 
den down by pilgrims to the tomb of genius, 
very pleasant under the ciruumstances, whilein 
the latter, one stands no chance of being hur- 
ried to one's last resting place by starvation. 


— A very handsome volume with this title, 
embracing essays from the pen of. Henry 
Rogers, has lately been published by Messrs. 
Crosby, Nichols, & Co., Boston. These es- 
says are extremely able ; and commanded 
great and deserved favor, when originally 
published in the " Edinbur^ Review." The 
author is well known by his "Eclipse of 
Faith," a book which, of its kind, is without 
a superior. 


— F. C. Adams, the author of this book, is 
understood to be a " Britisher," and the su- 
percilious and disdainful temper peculiar to a 
nation governed like his own is every where 
sticking out on his pages. He has collected 
all he could hear and read of wrongs or hard- 
ships among the slaves of the South — has 
commented on these, and on rumors of vice 
and convictions of crime for the last fifty 
years, and treats and uses them as indexes oi 

Sublic sentiment and common custom at the 
ou^. He has done what a man m^t do 
here, who should collect into a book all the 
instances of crime and vice recorded, or even 
dreamed of, in Philaddphia, for half a cen- 
tuiy past, and send it forth as a specimen of 
the general morality of the city — the true 
lights and shadows of puUio sentiment with 

None but a " Britisher," aocostomed either 
to be despised himself, or to despise others at 
home — ^none but one of a peqde o^nying 
about, in their capacious chests, sudi swollen 
disdain for inferior ranks of white men as the 
privileged orders of England, could have 
written such a book : a book so unjust, so 
forgetful of aU but the Uaok man, in treating 



of tbe nghts of htUBanity ; bl»ckemiiff what 
isiduie* and whitening what is blade: till 
the whole mmm is tendered unsightly wad con- 
fiind, bj- a smearii^ of his own. N<me bat 
a BMD aoonstomed to yield a seirile homage 
to soperiors, and to haye it enacted from him, 
oooid have such a q>ite at masters, when let 
loose fraoL the chains of custom, and the bonds 
of larth and home, as this book betrays. 
SaTery of whites ; disdain of them would not 
shock him, for both he has seen from his youth 
up ; both are the right and wont of his supe- 
riors : bom such, and likely to stay such, as 
modi from what he is, as from what they would 
l)e. IkfisB Martinau somewhere remarks, in 
rabstance, that nothing astonished her more 
than seeing how hiunanity was respected in 
this country, the dignity to which it attained 
W birthri^ts, contrasted yrith the disdain of 
uigtisfamen for inferiors— alms-takers, ready 
to thank yoa for the air they breathe, as if it 
were yours, or you might take it away. 

As a iiteraiy performance, this work has no 
decided merits except those of condemnation. 
Dry, and sometimes vulgar details, make up 
the sum of it, without any relief-touches of 
humanity ; without any recognition that a 
wMte ipan has any rights, any yirtues, any 
duurities, but all as bad as the most perverted 
specmen of the race. It may suit some 
people to read it, in the same way that it 
mi^t suit some to write it, but the id otnne 
g«mc5, the rar^B aves, are exceptions ; that kind 
of exceptions, too, which impart a lesson 
through the perversion <^ what is good, 
making that good so much the more admired 
hy omtrast of what it is. 

literarj anir Smntifit §mxf. 

—The wood engravers for "Harper's Maga- 
ane," if theyfiuiiish nothing very beautiftil, 
can at least claim the merit of originality. 
A few noonths ago they presented the readers 
of the magashie with a sketch of Moses com- 
ior down from Mount Sinai, carrying the 
tables of the law, and having a post-and-rail 
fence behind him, which the meek man has 
JQit climbed over. It is said that this wood- 
cut has given some ofienoe to our southern 
Wethren, who contend (with some show of 
probiiiiiity) that the Virginia or worm-fence 
ihoold have been engraved { being prior in 
I date to the post-md-rail variety. In the 
I ^rii nomber is an article on the Mormons ; 
I tte cats of whieh are taken from an Englidi 
. vork l|to|y puUished. One of them repre- 
•eats Joe amth, aoccnnpanied by his officers 
lod his harem, reviewing the Nauvoo Legion 
vho are drawn up in hne, presenting arms. 
The rig^t band scHdier (the only cme seen at 
ftiO iength and breadth) has his musket 

turned with the htUt mttwardst and his hand 
on the wrong part of the gun. 

— The Harper's announce the twenty-second 
thousand of "Villette." It is a pleasant 
novel. Had it not enjoyed an antecedent like 
" Jane Eyre," however, we think it could not 
have so soon attained an edition of twenty 
thousand copies. 

— "Ella Muir, or Love and destiny," lately 
published in London, has a peculiarity of 
versification, which, as well as its pathos, to 
match, may be best indicated by the specimen 
given by the " AnthensDum :" 

Here they must soTer, tbo* linger they may. 

As all have linger*!! who love and most part ; 
Tet, oh Uut BkomentI it will not delay* 
When thor must each take their amamte way, 
Ptom^ the Ibnd bosom where dwelleth thtir heart 

— Negro literature is so much in vogue in 
England, that writers are raking up all the 
black heroes of history, and giving them the 
benefit of every particle of romance of which ' 
their lives are capable. The last effort of 
this kind is the '-Life of Toussaint L*Over- 
ture, the Negro Patriot of Hayti!" Mrs. 
Stowe must look to her laurels. The work 
is thus spoken of hj the *' Athenaeum :" 

*' Careless c<^ection c^ facts, slovenly treat- 
ment, and apparent ignorance <^ all points of 
local color, manners, &o., have here spoilt a 
good subject and deprived a temporary appeal 
of such powers as it possessed to arrest the 
attention. <I am about,' runs the tune of 
Mr. Beard's pompous prelude, < to teU a most 
moring story — to wring the hearts of all and 
sundry — and to excite the indignation of 
every one save of those bom slaves, the mer- 
cenaiT lovers of slavery !' But though Mr. 
Beard may have fancied himself about to per- 
form brave enterprises like thi*se, he does not 
get beyond the merit which belongs to gener- 
ous purpose in this book. Few persons will 
be even deeply wrung or made bitterly indig- 
nant by his narrative, which is meagre and 
unreal. Panegyric without evidence, asser- 
tion without authentication, digressions which 
have the air of the sweepings of a sermon 
portfolio, rhetoric that leaves us cold — are all 
we find." 

— The London " AthensBum" tries to be very 
severe upon the works of our Spiritual Dia-* 
logue correspondent, viz : *' Musings of an 
Invalid," '' Fun and Earnest," and " Fancies 
of a Whimsical Man." The editors are, evi- 
dently dull judges of Fun, as most works 
which amuse greatly with us, are pronounced 
dull by them. The admirable '*Knick- 
Knacks" of Knickerbocker Clarke, they did 
not fancy ; and now our friend of the *' Spir- 
itual Dialogues" comes in for a poke of their 

— Thirty-three pages ci the April number of 
Brownson's Quarterly Review are devoted to 
a criticism on Theodore Parker. 



— T. B. Peterson, No. 98 Chestnut street, 
has lateljr published " Llorente's History of 
the Inquisition of Spain ;" three volumes of 
the English edition being compressed into one. 
It is a record of fearful doings ; and will be 
read with interest. The translator well says : 
" The curious will be amply gratified by the 
perusal of the history of this secret tribunal ; 
the man of leisure cannot fail in finding occu- 
pation and amusement in the pages of Llo- 
rente; and the philosopher wUl discover in 
them ample scope for reflectioui on the aber- 
rations or human reason, and on the capabil- 
ity of our nature, when under the influence 
of fanaticism, to inflict, with systematic in- 
difference, death, torture, misery, anxiety, 
and infamy, on the guilty and the innocent." 
And all these atrocities were committed under 
the name of the blessed Saviour ! There are 
people who think they see tendencies abroad 
leading to renewed persecutions on account 
of reUgioua opinion. God forbid that these 
tendencies, if they do exist, should take any 
decided form or substance. 

— Notices, of Brown's "Yusef—- a Gmsade 
in the East," published by the Harpers, — 
'* Dr. Aloott's Lectures on Life and Health," 
from Phillips, Sampson & Co., — " Clara Stan- 
ley," by the author of •* Aunt Edith," from 
Bob^t Carter & Brothers, through Martien, 
of our city, vrill Itppear hereafter. Apropos : 
we are preparing a notice of " Coleridge's 
Works," lately published by the Harpers, — 
will these very liberal gentlemen please send 
us the second volume ? 

— The story of the "trunk full of docu- 
ments," said to be in '< the possession of a 
lady in New Oiieans," touching the Dauphin 
question, as the papers say is " good enough 
if true." We have a strong suspicion, how- 
ever, that it is not true. 

— The " Home Journal" says of the " Bector 
of St. Bardolph's," Mr. Shelton's admirable 
novel, lately published by Charles Scribner, 
and already in its second edition ; ** the au- 
thor has presented us with a vivid picture of 
the varied annoyances and petty persecutions 
to which a mimster of the gospel is too often 
subjected in his parochial relations. The nar- 
rative is given in an easy, colloquial style, 
with evidently a thorough knowledge of cler- 
ical trials, and a deep well of sympathetic 
feeling, underlaying a vein of humor and the 
light knguage erf sprightly description. There 
is something peculiarly touching in the " Su- 
perannuated." The pastor vfears out, not 
with age, but with thankless labor. His im- 
agined life of idleness is one of incessant anx- 
iety and toil ; and when strength and spirits 
fail firom over-exertion, he is supcranuated. 
There have been many such cases. The Bec- 
tor of St. Bardolph's is not an isolated exam- 

— The " Bourbon Prince," lately published 
by the Harper's, is intensely interesting. 
We hope to give some extracts from it here- 

— The En^ish papers state that " Tentkyacm 
has thoroughly revised, considerably added 
to, and recently republi^ed his * Ode to Wel- 
lington.'" "Considerably added to,*' and 
recently republished !" Unmerciful acts, both 
these, towards the reading public. 

— Mr. (Jeo. H. Boker has a ballad in the Ajml 
number of Bentley^s Miscellany ^ entitled *• The 
Siege of Cabazon." 

— A new edition, with improvements, of 
Ghrimshaw^s History of the United States ^ has 
been published by Lippincott, Grambo & Co., 
Pluladdphia. The additions include the Mex- 
ican war, a brief chapter on the Discoyery of 
America by the Northmen, population, titles, 
&c. This work has been puolished for thirty 

(Mm Sans-Sottd. 


— Has gone, and has taken heaps of ixKmey 
with it. The prices were high, and, despite 
an army of dead-heads. Count Bossi and his 
accomplished lady have added largely to the 
new fortunes which they are building up in 
our country, and with which they propose to 
renew their old-time splendor at the Austrian 
court. Madam Sontag is, unquestionably, the 
artiste of all who have visited us, — that is, 
when we consider her as both singer and 
actress, — and those who have seen her will 
ever remember the impression she produced. 
Second thoughts convince us, that tne part to 
the performance of which we thought her least 
adapted, is decidedly her greatest — ^we mean 
Lucrezia Borgia. The effects she produced in 
this character, especially when aided by the 
superb Badiali, were oppressively great. 

It is said we shall not soon, if ever, have 
Madam Sontag with us again, ^lould she 
return, we hope she will bring along a good 
company, and put the prices down to a re- 
publican stan<£ud. If, in order to do this, 
she destroys dead-headism, editors and all, 
very well. We can willingly submit to our 
share of the sacrifice for pubUc good. During 
the late season, only two or three operas did 
BizABRB enjoy, and for these small slices of 
pleasure, he gave a quid pro quo. 

Madam Sontag goes to Boston, where she 
has promise of another brilliant harvest. The 
Bostonians pay liberally for amusei^nts of 
all kinds, especially when you coax them into 
an auction furore. Madam Sontag's smart 
little agent keeps his wits ever whittled off to 
a keen point, and he will nnquestioniMy 
there, as elsewhere, avail kimseu of every in- I 



fienoe calculated to 

'bring grist to the 

—TiiiB ctonposition was repeated on Sunday 
ercBing, at St. Augastine's church, and with 
increased effect. It is a work indicating a 
high order of genins, and its author will here- 
after he known as a composer claiming a place 
amoog the first in our land. 


—A Tocal and instrumental concert of blind 

popils of the Pennsylyania Hospital, was 

giren, at Musical Fund Hall, on Tuesday 

evening. The orchestra, conducted by Mr. 

E. Pfeiffier, — late of the Germanian band, and 

A Tery clever artist, — consisted of twenty-five 

biind pofnls ; while the programme embraced 

setectKms fi-om Robert le Diable, Masscmiello, 

}Bdsummcr NigkVs Dream, Emoaiiy and other 

classical compositions. In the course of the 

evening there was an interesting exhibition 

of reading the scriptures in raised letters ; 

and, upon the whole, the entertainment was 

one of peculiar interest. We shall probably 

I recor to it again. Certainly, the impression 

I made upon our mind cannot be easily removed. 

1 One does not regret that one lives in an age 

when even those deprived from birth of the 

! priceless blessing of sight, are still enabled to 

1 oeguile their dark hours with music, and re- 

I fresh their souls with draughts fresh from the 

foontains of the Gospel of the Saviour. 

LA PBTl-r OL^e BU1.I. 

— This very promising young violinist, the 
son of Mr. R. L. Goodall, a weU-known artist, 
is givinga sense of concerts at Musical Fund 
M. We heard him, in private, a week or 
two since, and with unequivocal satisfaction. 
He comes at a time not altogether favorable 
for a musician, and a performer on the violin. 
Still, he will attract gratified, if not full au* 
diences. His father has taken great pains with 
him ; indeed, he shows elements of decided 


—Br. Moriarty made qnite a fiowery lecture 
oa Senday evemng last, at St. Augustine's 
Cbuch, when he did full justice to the genius 
<tf Meignen, c<Hnpo8er of the new Mass, per^ 
finned with so much efiect on the occasion, 
ind gave a glowinr outline of ^e impressive 
^Muty of some of the chants and hymns by 
Koiniii, Mosart, Beethovan and others, as in- 
corporated in the service of the Roman 
Chordk. He did something more: He told 

I tht fast ooiigie|;ation, that a Protestant cler- 
gmaa of oar city, who had lateljr returned 

!i DMnai^iir in Europe, visited while on the 
^xatiBent, a cdebrated Roman Cathdio Oath- 
«dnl;aodhe asauied Dr. M. thai hewasso 
meh impressed by the a^rices, the swellings 
of the «rgaa, the serMhic beauty of the 
chuito, the murmurs of prayer, which 

from the worshippers, the streams of light 
gushing in frcnn painted windows, the upris- 
ing of incense, the ensemhUy indeed, of the 
moment that he prostrated himself in the 
dust : moreover, that on this occasion, he, for 
the first time in his life, felt the true inspira- 
tion of worship. Dr. Moriarty added, after 
relating this circumstance, that the reverend 
gentleman who made the confession to him, 
was periiaps, while he (Dr. M.) was speaking, 
telling quite a different stoiy in his own 
churdi. Many protestants heard this charge 
of Dr. M.'s agamst one of their own clergy, 
with indignant emotion; and particularly the 
closing sneer. Who could this Protestant 
d^^gyman have been? Will Dr. Moriarty 
enlignten ns ? 


— This Pianist, has had very brilliant suc- 
cess in his native city, New Orleans. The 
Picayune speaks of a sea of upturned heads, 
ril enthusiasm. He was callea for after everjr 
piece. "At the end of the first part, hw 
father thanked the audience for their kindness, 
and introduced the son, who, in a few happy 
words in Fi-ench, expressed hi^warm affection 
for this city (New-Orleans) and his native 
country, and his gratitude for the warm wel- 
come given to him." The opinion we formed 
of Gottschalk, on hearing him lately in our 
city, was unexceptionably good. He will 
doubtless be hailed, on his return to the 
North next month, by ardent friends and ad- 

QOOD. If? 1~RUB. 

— The following anecdote of Franklin may or 
may not be true. We eet it from a friend : — 
Franklin, when he was Ambassador to France, 
being at a meeting of a literary society, and 
not well understanding the French when de- 
claimed, determined to applaud when he saw 
a lady of his acquaintance express satisfaction. 
When they had ceased, a Uttle child, who 
understood the French, said to him — " But, 
grandpapa, you always applauded the loudest 
when they were praising you!" Franklin 
laughed heartily and explained the matter. 


— Respecting the sealing of letters and docu- 
ments before the invention of wax, good author- 
ity states that impressions in gold, silver and 
lead, oocnr in Tnyan and other Rcmian empe- 
rors in Ficoroni; among the Christian emperors, 
bishops, kc ; in the l^tft, Spain, Sicily, Italy, 
and in the south, but not the n(M*th of France. 
The Terra Sif^iariSf or sealing-earth, which 
was rather a bitumen, was brought from Asia 
by the Romans, and was first known, says 
Bedcmann amon^ the £g3rptians, and the spe- 
cimens are seemingly Si enclosed in leaoen 
oases. Pipe cUy was also used, as well as 
Maltha— a cement of pitchwax, jdaster and 
hi; iqpfdied likewise to make pipes waters 



tight. The Etroflcans even sealed treaties 
with blood ; and dough, or paste, has beun 
used. It does not appear that sealing-wax, as 
we know it, was mvented eariier than the six* 
teenth century. 'Ithas been conjectured, 'says 
Beekmann, '<that as the oldest seals came 
from England and France, and as the inyention 
is called ' Spanish wax,' it originated with the 
Spaniards ; but this is doubted. The first no- 
tice of sealing-wax occurs in a work by Garcia 
ab Orto, or Horto, entitled 'Aromatum et sim* 
plicium aliquot Historia,' &c., first printed in 
1563, and afterwards at Antwerp in 1574, 8to., 
in which latter edition it is mentioned at p. 33. 
The oldest printed receipt for sealing-wax is in 
a work entitled <Nea Titttderbuch, doc, Durch 
Samuelen Zimmerman,. Burger zu Augspurg, 
1579,' 4to p. 112." Gluten is supplanting 
sealing-wax, and indeed wafers ; It is quickly 
arranged, and hence up to the standard of our 
business days. 

The time will unquestionably soon oome 
when we shall see neither wa^ nor wax, 
unless it be on the desks of maiden ladies and 

— Speaking of Mazzini and the continental 
polk^, the London " Ttmcs" says : — " With 
a price set upon his head in half the kinfi;doms 
of Europe, and with a &ce so remarki^le as 
never to be forgotten when once seen, he, nev- 
ertheless, traverses the whole continent, passes 
in and out of cities under the strictest surveil- 
lance of Martial law; visits Milan, Vienna, 
Naples, Rome, crosses and re-crosses the chan- 
nel, where spies are always upon the watch, 
and issues his proclamations fearlessly every- 


— This kind-hearted and talented gentleman, 
whose travels through England, — entitled 
"Footpath and Highway," — have been so 
well received by the reading public, leaves 
us in a few days for London, where he pur- 
poses to settle himself as a correspondent of 
several American newspapers. We shall 
miss Mr. M. in the editorial ranks of Phila- 
delphia, to which he has been attached since 
his return from abroad, and of which he has 
been a member. He came here, howerer, 
tied bv heart-oords to Albion ; and, return- 
ing to her shores, is therefore quite a natural 
consequence. Apn^xM : the London AtkeiuBum 
of l»te date, has a notice of Mr. M.'s *' Foot- 
path and Highway," where it says the author 
'' appears to be full of that enthusiastic curi- 
osity concerning the haunts of our authors 
and poets whicn so generally distinguishes 
the American in Eng^d. IBte may well say 
that few of Shenstone's Gountrymen have 
made pilgrimage to the burial-place, in Hales 
Owen Churchyard, of tiie suthor of <The 
Schoolmistress,' and the adomer of tlie Lea- 

sowes. But from his boyhood upwards, Mr. 
Moran appears to have loved the high places aa 
well as the by-paths of Britishvimaginatioo, — 
since he recalls early years in which he read 
'Clarissa' by moonlight. In En^and, he may 
be assured, such a feat is not of firequent occur- 
rence. — A further flavor of individuality is 
given to Mr. Moran's book by the Socialist 
opinions which, it may be gathered, he eater- 
tains. But wiUiout an^ reserve or paltering, 
the expression of these is kindly, not rabid : — 
poetical rather than practical. Like other 
W(Mrks of the kind, his sketches were origi- 
nally addressed to a Jransatlantic Journal, — 
and the compensation for them auppears to 
have furnished him with means sufficient for 
travelling amons the people of England in his 
modest fi^ion.' 


— The Home Journal states that when oysters, 
not interfered with, or transplanted by man, 
take a natural position, and adhere to rocks 
and other substances, their deeper shell touches 
those substances ; and the flatter, thinner* or 
smoother shell, is presented to the water. It 
adds, however, that *< oysters, undetached, 
and loose at the bottom of the sea, lie with the 
round shell down, as the tide flows in, bat 
turn themselves on the flat shell on its reflux." 
Now, we would give something to see an 
oyster turn, would not you reader? It ap- 
peared to be as helpless as a newly-born babe, 
as we bdK>ld it super-sea; but according to 
the editor of the Journal — who dives down to 
the depths of all subjects which he discusses — 
it is quite another individual sub-sea, or at 
home. We have our doubts, nevertheless, on 
this subject ; and being in this state of uncer- 
tainty, we would gravely propound a new 
query, viz : Do Ofstebs tubn ?" 

— According to the coirespondent ci a Boston 
paper, the Empress of Russia, who is now an 
invalid, and threatened with an attack of pa- 
ralysis, takes every morning a milk bath. A 
large number of cows are kq)t for this purpose ; 
they are all milked at once, as hastily as pos- 
sil^, mto wann pails, the milk thrown into a 
marUe tub, heated to a little above blood heat, 
and in this the royal invalid is placed to^lie tili 
it cools. The correspondent adds that her 
majesty has been a woman of most exem^ary 
character, and is nrachbdoved. Herresideaice 
in the summer is at Tsarskoe Selo, a palace 
some eighteen miles from St Petersbiu^ 
The Emperor has, in many instoBoes, since 
her long illness, displayed the wanaest at- 
tachment to her, and is as unremitting in his 
attentions as the cares of state will permit. 
He goes to St. Petersburgh every day but al- 
ways retama to spend the nigfat with hk 




— We hare leceived from Messrs. Derby k 
Milkr a reply to ** Amenities of Literature," 
wlach appeiured in No. 25 of Bizab&b, and 
berewith present it to our readers. There 
are certain reflections on Dr. Schodcraft, 
in this communication, which we do not 
like, and to which we cannot subscribe ; but 
we hare giv^i the attack and aj?e bound also 
to offer the defence. Dr. S. can take care of 
himself, doubtless. It is proper for us to say 
here, that we never harbored any ill-feelings 
towards Messrs. Derby k Miller, as the fact 
of the ready offer to them of our pages for 
their ddence fuHy evinces. 

Aubwm, N. y.. April 6th, 1853. 
Mnnts. J. M. Ohuboh St Co. 

Gentlemen : — Our attention has been called 
loan article in your Magazine (the * Bizarre,') 
of March 19th, under the heading of *< Ame- 
nities of LitenUore," which bears evidence of 
a malicioas intention to injure us, by exhibit- 
iag a business relation with certain parties in 
a nlae H^t. Tou will oblige us by giving 
publicity to the following statement of the 
facts, — after which a diainterested public may 
draw its own conclusions concerning the grie- 
Tifices of Messrs. Schoolcraft and «kmes. 

About the first of January, last, we pur- 
cbsicd, firom the administrator of the estate of 
the late Qeo. H. Derby, the stereotype plates 
tod copyright of a work bearing the title, 
'' Ameneui Indians, their Ckmdition and Pros- 
pects, bv H. R. Schodcraft ; with an Appen- 
ds, Ac^* Having been made aware that this 
title was obnoxious to Mr. S. and his publi^- 
ers, Messrs. Lippincott & Ca, on account of 
its amilari^ to that of the large work in 
oovrae of pablication by them, under author- 
ity of Coi^resB; andb^nff desirous of paying 
doe respect to ** publishers^ rights,** as wcdl as 
tnthors', we decided to alter the title of our 
book before issuing a new edition. The new 
title we UKmght proper to submit to Mr. S., 
who had before made public complaint of an 
alterattOQ of the work oy its late owners. In 
K|iiy to a letter on this subject, from our house 
it Bofialo, Mr. S. says, in effect, that he will 
give it a new title, and an introduction, for 
/our hundred dollars I Not feeling disposed to 
accede to Utaa very tnodtst demand, and pro- 
bably not having a just appreciation of the 
writs of the wori£, we offered to sell him ste- 
reotype plates, copyright, and all, for that 

hi the meantime we had issued our semi- 
amnial ** Trade List,*' and in it placed the 
fropoted new title, not dreaming that by so 
doing we were treroassing on Uie rights of 
Mr. Jones, or any other partv. In filet, if we 
bid ever seen his book at all, it had entirely 
fiNaped our reooUection, until the receipt of 
Us ktter of Fetmary 1st. 

The letter which Mr. J. fbniished yon for 

nublioation diners from the one we received ; 
ne having omitted puldishing the postscript, 
for reasons which will appear on perusing it. 

** P. S. — I have just fimshed wnting a local 
romance, which wiU make some 250 pages, 
12mo. It has not been as yet offered to any 
oi the publishers. Would you Mke to treat 
for it ?^ (Signed,) J.B.J." 

How Mr. Jones can reconcile the above 
with his implied accusation of literary piracnr 
on our part, is a riddle we are wholly unable 
to solve. That a person who conceives him- 
self to have been unjustly deprived of his 
property should make complaint, and seek 
restitution, is not strange ; b^t it is *' passing 
strange," that, smarting under a sense of in- 
justice, the injured part^ should offer, volun- 
tarily, to place himself m the power of those 
whom he professes to believe would willingly 
do him wrong. 

In the letter of Schoolcraft to Jones, under 
date c^ February 2, '53, is a charge of '' fraud 
and misrepresentation" demanding, from us, 
a prompt refutation. 

Mr. S. writes,— "the firm [D. & M.] to 
whom you [Jones] allude, having purchased 
the stereotype plates of the ** Indian in his 
Wigwam" of a person who had no ridit to dis" 
pose of it, procured a copyri^t by fraud and 
misrepresentation,^^ &c. 

This statement contains two ddiberate false- 
hoods, known to be such at the time they were 
penned. We have already stated the manner 
in which we came in possession of this work. 
In the ** Literary World," of Sept. 13, 1851, 
we find a certificate signed by Wm. H. Gra- 
ham, setting f<»ih that he (Graham) " being 
the lawful owner," did sell it to Geo. H. Der- 
hy & Co. We have ascertained further that 
Ciraham purchased of a Mr. Benedict, who 
first issued portions of it in pamphlet form, 
seriaUy, and, as we are informed and have 
reason to bdieve, neglected to secure a copy- 
right for it. Portions of it appeared ongi- 
ndly in the columns of some of the New T<mc 
papers, and one article, at least, was contri- 
buted by the author to a leading " Monthly 
Review.'^' The serials, together with these 
fugitive pieces, were afterwards collected and 
published under the title of " Oneota." (The 
author, who has credit for being somewhat 
versed in Ab(»ri^nal literature, can proba- 
bly see some relation between the title and the 
stAject,) Bearing this name a single edition 
was issued, whi(£ in course of time found its 
way to the street stalls and auction rooms, 
and the work was finally considered dead. 

At the instance of Mr. Benedict, its author- 
parent re-baptised it, (for a less sum, we pre- 
sume, than ** four hwuhred dollars,") and the 
"In^an in his Wigwam" was bom d «* One- 

From this time Mr. Schoolcraft is guilty of 
the most cruel ne^ect of an offspring for 



which he noiv professes snch anxious solici- 
tude. Sold from one party to another, in some 
cases almost given awaify made to wear another 
name, (^*The Red Race of America/*) the 
work had finally hecome as destitute of value 
as it was originally of merit. In its transfer 
from one to another, the unfortunate possessor 
was in each case made aware that it was not 
originally copyrighted. Had this been othe]> 
wise, the author evinced a total disregard of 
his pecuniary interests, as we cannot ascer- 
. tain he ever asked for a single cent from either 
of three publishers who issued it prior to its 
purchase by the late G. H. Derby. In his 
hands and under cmother title, the work soon 
reached a third edition. Suddenly Mr. School- 
craft discovers that for this book, whose sale, 
finally, was owing entirely to the enterprise 
of its publishers, he had never been Mid ! 
Instead of seeking legal redress of Mr. Bene- 
dict, the original publisher, or of Mr. Graham, 
his successor, he comes before the public (vide 
Lit. World, Aug. 30, '51,) cautioning them 
ag»nst harboring his offspring, evidently be- 
cause fixmi its respeetable appearance,, there 
is room for a doubt as to its being legitimate. 

More rec^itly, fiuling to sell another title, 
he threatens us with a suit for " larceny, in 
altering my (his) title," unless we surrender 
to him the stereotype plates ! 

So much for the first specification. In rda- 
tion to the second, we have only to say— -our 
copyright is not for ovmership in any matter 
of which he (S.) is author, but for our arrange^ 
ment of it; — and had we been disposed to 
stoop to what he has the meanness to think us 
capable, there was no necessity for it. The 
title of a work, and the arrangement of its 
contents, we believe to be as legitimate sub- 
ject for copyright, as the material of whidi 
it is made. 

From many parties we should not quietly 
submit to the libellous accusations contuned 
in Mr. Schoolcraft's letter. He, however, who 
has spent most of his life in studying the 
manners, habits, and customs of the savage 
tribes, may be somewhat excusable if, in the 
meantime, he has forgotten what pertains to 
the ''amenities" of civilized life. We take 
the Ubcrty of expressing the hope that the 
more recent business intercocirse with his 
gentlemanly Philadelphia publishers, may 
teach him some of the courtesies of Modem 
American society. 

In conclusion, we believe that ** Western 
Scenes and Reminiscenses," if the title which 
a new edition of the work renrred to bears,) 
oonflicta with no work of Mr. Jones's ; and if 
objectionable to Mr. Sdioolcraft, his fiune is 
secure from any damage arising from its cir- 
o^riation^ as we have Uken his name off 1^ 
title-page, Very respectfully. 

Tours ic, 
Derbt & MiLunt. 


— The Home Journal editor, has hevd Fathef 
Gavassi, and describes his harangues as beii^ 
furious enough. He is " tall, well formed and; 
vigorous, his &ce not unlike the rounded and 
joviid one of Mr. Burton, with hair black and 
glossy as a raven's wing. He wears an ample 
black gown reaching from his neck to his feet, 
upon the breast of which is a large red cross, 
and anoUier smaller one to the left of it. His 
mode of speaking, as we have intimated, is 
extremd^ violent. He ranges freely all over 
tiie spacious platform of the Tabernacle ; — 
sometimes rushing forward, like Badiali to 
the footlights of the theatre, and stretching 
his long person as far over as the inexon^le 
laws of gravity permit, he ejects a volley of 
denunciation witn more than Badiali 's vehe- 
mence. Then he will start back a few feet, 
and, lifting up his hands as high as he can 
reach, invoke the Diety, or perhaps seize an 
unoffisnding chair, and dash it down upon the 
ca^t, as he would dash down the poor Pope, 
if he could as easily be got hold of. His ges- 
ticulations are all of the same extreme char> 
acter. His English is consideraUy Inroken, 
and not always understood/; but he occasioa- 
ally delivers a passage with an approach to 
eloquence, which is rewarded by long contin- 
ued appliuise. He has a singular way of mak- 
ing very little words very prominent, the pre- 
positions for example. We heard him deliver 
the humble word *to' as though he were 
hailing the mast-head in a gale of wind." 


— Mrs. Stowe has prosecuted P. W. Thomas 
for publishing a German translation of her 
book. The ground taken by her, is that she 
is the author of the original work, and that 
she has caused a German translation of it to 
be prepared and published ; with the sale of 
which, as well as with her essential woperty 
m the book, the trandation of Mr. Thomas is 
in conflict. 

NSW voRK orrv PA-ri-iKAe. 
—A Boston paper thus stirs up the New York 
City Fathers, by a parody M the (Ad song, 
" Gaily the Troubadour :" 

Vainly the Alderman 

Fumbled his key. 
As he was stt^gering 

Home from his—** tea :'* 
Smgin^, <* from City Hall 

Keelmg I come ; 
Good Mrs. Alderman 

Let me (Mc/) home!" 
Poor Mrs. Alderman 

Soblnngly prays — 
Thinking how sober he 

Was in old days ; 
Ere from the City Hall 

Drunk he did come 
Hiccoughing, *' Dearest (Hie!) 




WHJit SAT Toc, MAwapf"— /TarywAar. 


Ttm, THx WEEK xxunto 
SAT17RDAT, APRII. 30, 1§53. 




In oor first paper we gave some occonnt of 
tbeexecHtioQ and snccess of the various forge- 
ries of Shaksperian documents^ perpetrated 
hj Mr. William Henry Ireland ; and we now 
ialend concluding the subject. 

After the play of " Vortigem and Rowena" 
had been condemned, the young author, ftir 
from being discouraged, determined to write 
another drama, entitled "Henry IT." Ten 
wedcs were consumed in its composition ; but 
it WIS never re-written in a disguised hand, 
on old paper, because circumstances forced a 
oonftasion from Mr. Ireland, before he had 
time to copy it. The original manuscript of 
this play is now before us. It belongs to the 
libniy of the gentleman who owns the curi- 
008 Bible, described in ** Bizarre" several 
weeks ago. At the conclusicm of the folio, 
are the words " Huzza, huzza, huzza !" indi- 
cating tike rascal's exultation at having com- 
pleted the work. The following lines are 
ai|i^»06ed to be spoken by the King, when 
deeiiiming his passion for the fair Rosamond : 

• Hemry Y«s nreet 1ot«I but Veniu wati too bn«T i 
4»A wfaOct abe did bedeck thee wHh her ehanns, 
WuiloMed K) viih Uie work, tb«t she ne'er thouirht 
Ho* Phe berfelf hud rtrlpp'd. giving thee all I 
Ai I kiMtbe*, BMthinks, sww»t Lore bimrelf 
8te«i thj front, pod wavee thy tkWty b«ir. 
Ai JMlouf, be would keep me firom the theA." 

The speeches put into the mouth of Becket, 
were much admired by persons who consid- 
ered themselves competent judges of Shaks- 
peare's style and mode of expression. We 
▼ill quote a few lines from one of these : 

'' ^•^et, Man hath h]« day of joy and misery. 
How thort the onat bow la«ting \b the othcrl 
jnth M, the ftmt in long Mown o'er, and now 
JM Mcond conie«, to mork my tortur'd ttool 
jnth Uky| laufchter, ringhig to mine ears 
■ J loM of power, B^ fiuled glorjr 1 

Tub. tnch! the ileep of death will cure all thoogbts. 
Jod yet, nn^t thla my wholesome goodly flenh 
Rot and wrra to fced the crawling earth-worm, 
Wbo nothing aaTOurtbnt of duit and day? 
Jt»«ible at tha Uumght I And een but now 
They wind aboat my fleeh. and to the feel 
^ dan^ ami oold as that nme hnmM aweat 
"bicfa beta from oat the front of dying manl 

A passage in the Bcognniftta Dramatiea, 
tended greatly to strengthen Wief in the ori- 
gmility of the drama. The writer referred 
to the jdaya of Henry 1. md IL , by Wlliam 

Shakspeare and Robert Davenport, and sup- 
posed they were destroyed in the Are at Mr. 
Warburton's. The scorched appearance of 
all the manuscripts, caused by drying them 
in too great haste, was attributed to their 
having suffered in the same conflagration. 
The number of visitors to Mr. Ireland's house 
increased so rapidly, that it became necessary 
to have printed cards of admission, entitling 
the bearer to inspect the papers, with either 
one gentleman, or lady, on Mondays, Wednes- 
days and Fridays, between tfae hours of 
twelve and three. 

Much anxiety was expressed for the publi- 
cation of the numerous papers ; but against 
this, young Ireland strongly protested: saying 
that the unknown donor was unwilling to 
have them made public. At last, to rid him- 
self of constant importunitiesy the gentle- 
man *s consent was announced as obUiined ; 
and the prospectus of the work was printed, 
Mr. Malone, m the meantime, published a vol- 
ume of nearly 500 pages, to prove the forge- 
ry ; and, of course, ni^y incensed the guilty 
author, who dreaded the effect of this work. 
In order to increase the number of papers, 
young Ireland ^introduced about 80 tracts, 
acrostics, &c., with notes in Shakspeare's 
writing, and with his name on the title-pages. 
The Prince of Wales was desirous of inspect- 
ing the curiosities : and a day was ajmointed 
when Mr. Samuel Ireland repaired to Cariton 
House, in order to give his Hi^ness an oppor- 
tunity of examining them. He displayed a 
surpriang knowledge of anti(|uity, and asked 
numerous questions which evinced a depth of 
penetration remarkable for one who had not 
particularly studied the subject. The Prince 
did not, however, pronounce decidedly upon 
the authenticity of the papers ; but expressed 
himself gratified at the proposed publication. 

The interest felt regutling the mysterious 
gentleman, increased to such an extent, that 
attempts were made to discover his residence 
by following Mr. Ireland when walking in the 
street. Little did they suspect, that when 
alone in his chambers, the whole was exe- 
cuted. Ritson, also, examined the manu- 
scripts; his silent scrutiny, piercing gaze, 
and laconic questions, caused the young im- 
postor to dread his verdict, particularly as he 
left the house without delivering any opinion. 
Some of the visitors stated, that if a descend- 
ant of Sliakspeare could be found, he might 
cbum all the papers. To prevent such a mis- 
fortune. Mr. Ireland resorted to a most d&ring 
expedient He composed several documents, 
proving that Shakspeare had been closcAy con- 
nected with a person of his name, and even 
of the same Christian name^^WiUiam Henry. 
Among these was a deed of gift to this indi- 
vidual, who had saved Shakspeare^s life, when 
almost drowning in ihe Thames. The un- 
known gentleman who so generously gave the 



papers to Mr. Irdaxid* had done so, it was 
now stated, because he was ccmvinced of his 
being a direct descendant of the man to whom 
the bequest was made in the deed. 

Not long after this a storm arose around the 
daring impostor, which rendered his situation 
far from enviable. Mr. Samuel Ireland was 
regarded, by many, as the fabricator of the 
manuscripts, and much odium was thus un- 
justly heaped upon his character. Deeply 
mortified at such suspicions, he constancy 
entreated his son to reveal all that he knew of 
the concealed donor, who was called Mr. H. 

A committee of gentlemen was, at last, 
assembled, in order to investigate the matter 
thoroughly, and to demand answers to certain 
interrogatories. Mr. S. Ireland also wrote to 
Mr. Talbot, requesting him to communicate 
all Ins information on the subject; but his 
letter met with no response. 

At the first meeting of the committee, 
Toung Ireland was asked, if he would take 
his oath that he believed the papers to be 
genuine productions of Shakspeare. He re- 
plied, that as it was their business to investi- 
gate his father^s concern in the affair, he 
would swear that he knew nothing whatever 
of their origin. A list of names was then 
made out, from which Mr. H. was to select 
two persons, to whom he would confide every 
fhct respecting the manuscripts; and these 
individuals could then declare their opinion 
to the world, without revealing his name. 
This was agreed too by young Ireland ; and 
as his mind was now in a dreadful state of 
anxiety and perplexity, he reserved to make 
a full confession to two gentlemen from whom 
he anticipated leniency. When the list was 
returned to the committee, however, these 
persons declined receiving the important se- 
cret Mr. Ireland then informed the com- 
Saxy, that he thought he could prevail on 
r. H. to confide it to Mr. Albany Wallis, 
who was then {n^esent. This gentleman ac- 
ceded to the prcMMsal; and a day was 
appointed for the disclosure so ardently de- 
su^. After summoning sufficient coura^, 
Mr. Ireland detailed to Mr. Wallis every cir- 
cumstance connected with his forgeries ; and 
was heMrd, as we may suppose, with the 
greatest astonishment. He also delivered into 
his hands, the r^nainder of the ink, some 
unfinished manuscripts, and the plans of sev- 
eral plajrs, which showed the identity of the 
hand-writing. Mr. Wallis recommended per- 
fect silence, as before ; and promised that he 
would answer no questions as to the validity 
of the papers. 

Paragraphs Booa ilppeared in the daily 
prints, Utterly censuring the impostcH: for 
allowing hia father to appear in such a dis* 
graoeAil lieht before the world: and this 
gentleman himself wrote a most toudiing let- 
ter, entreating his son to clear up the myiiei^. 

Rather ihxn make such a disdosure, yoang 
Ireland determined to quit his home forever ; 
which he did before his &ther*s return to 
London. This conduct did not mend the 
matter; and Mr. Samuel Ireland continued 
so distressed, that his son wrote to him ac- 
knowledging himself as the author of the 
manuscnpts, and begging his pardon lor hav- 
ing caused him so much trouble. The old 
gentleman positively refused to credit this 
statement ; saying it was utterly impoesiblo 
for any set of men to produce the evidence he 
possessed with regard to their genuineness ; 
and so obstinatd^ did he adhere to this opin- 
ion, that Mr. Wallis could not even induce 
him to examine the papers written in a shnilar 
disguised hand. This being the case, Mr. 
Ireland published a pamphlet of forty-three 
pages, confessing the trutn. Those who had 
credited the manuscripts, now denied that 
this volume could be from the same pen ; as 
the style was so totally different Mr. Ireland 
replied, that he had only attempted a plain 
statement of facts, and had written it too 
when his mind was unusually agitated. The 
Morning Chronicle contained a paragraph 
nearly to this effect: "W. H. Irdsnd hks 
come forward, and announced himself author 
of the papers attributed by him to Shaks- 
peare; which, if true, proves him to be a 

His &ther dreaded lest the worid should 
suppose that he countenanced his aaa in any 
way, and he therefore published a statement 
that he had had no intercourse with, the cause 
of his domestic misfortunes, for neariy three 
years, except on one occasion, in the presence 
of Mr. Albany Wallis. 

Far from expressing any penitence on ac- 
count of his guilty conduct, young Irdand 
considered all who refused to bdieve the forge- 
ries, as his persecutors ; and towards Mr. Ma- 
lone he showed the most resentful feelings. 
It was even a matter of sdf congratulation 
that he had successfully deceived so many 
scientific men : and he thought no blame 
whatever would have attached to him, had 
not these persons felt instated at the imposi- 
tion exercised by a mere boy. He also assert- 
ed that, as those who credited the papers were 
delighted, and those who did not, flattered 
themselves that they could not be deceived ; 
therefore, in either case, no injmy was done ! 

In a newspaper published at the time of Mr. 
Ireland's death, we find the following notice 
of him: 

*'' This strange and unfortunate person died 
the other day in an obscure lodging in town, 
in great want and suffering. We do not know 
that sufficient interest survives about him to 
warrant even this word of public mention ; 
but his fate 1^ been instruotiTe enough to 
call for it on other grounds, ffis inanity 
was considerable, and would unqnestionab^ 



hmwt earned faiin 8afi3ly and honorably throngli 
life, bat that its first exhibition was A Lis. 
The indulgenee of such a singular ambition 
was fiilJd toeveiy other. May it neyer be in- 
dnlged in any ivalk of life or literature with- 
out a result as &taL" 

The forgeries ?rere pm>utrated in 1795 and 
1796, and the guilty author died in 1834. 



If there is any biped whose general appear- 
aace, when nniifiMrnied in his working habili- 
me&ts, creates i^easurable cmoticms in the 
nind of the beholder, that biped is the one 
indept baker. We look at the butcher with 
bia slnrt, upcm which sundry red drops take 
the place of spangles, and our incipient Uiought 
ia wat of tl^ slau^ter-honse. Fan^ takes 
to herself wii^, and pictures the unoffending 
OK, or quiet, passiye lamb, led from the mea- 
dow green by a redoubtable cord, which 
presses, rather too closely to be comfortable, 
aramd the sinews of the neck, and domicili- 
ated, temporarily, in the execution fabric. 
Theo we hear the bleating and the lowing, a 
blended symnhony of sounds which strUces 
Iflce a dei^-knell on the tympanum of the 
ear, and finally, we haye a distinct yision of 
the uplifted Iniife, riyalling, in sharpness of 
ed^ the Turkish cimetar, as it gleams for an 
OBtant in the sunlight, and then comes down 
Vke a levin bolt into the yitals of the poor 
aahnal. Eyen the epicure, who dreams of a 
airkin, and goes into raptures at the sight of 
a atandiiig rib, sometimes looks upon our 
frimd — the butcher — as though he were a 
liaeal descendant of Robespierre, Danton, or 
Marat, and internally sighs that no Charlotte 
Oordaj can be found, whose puissant arm, 
clothed with masculine energy, would des- 
patdi the man of blood, and send him head- 
ian^ into the throng of the shades, where the 
manes of sheep and cows would haunt him 
through an interminable duration. 

ToUlly dissimilar are the feelings of the re- 
fleeting man, as he turns his gaze upon that 
other estimable functionary, who conyerts the 
floor into the broad wheaten loaf, or luscious 
rolL Sadi an one excites only pleasurable 
emotions. He is a bloodless man. He has 
nerer eyen gone the same length in actual 
cruelty as the farmer, for the latter has 
threshed the grain at a most merciless rate, 
while the former has but metamorphosed the 
p ow dery contents of the barr^ into i^mme- 
trieal eompoonds ci yeast, water, and flour. 
Tbe milier has exceeded him in seyerity of 
treatment, for he has put the anoffineiding grain 
into the mill, and amid its eternal clickHdaok 

has drowned the cries of his yictim, as the 
Jews did those of their children, when they 
placed them in the glowing arms of the brazen 
Moloch, (Tophet, as the Hebrew has it,) and 
brought out their rascally drums to neutralize 
the yocal utterances of the youthful crew. 
He, on the other hand, has nnrely subjected 
the lifeless remains of the grain to the action 
of a temperate fire, which sayors no more of 
cruelty than would the transfer of an Eg^t* 
ian munmiy to the grate, thousands of years 
after its vitality was extingmshed. 

We love to look at our alms-house bakery. 
There they are, a neat, jovial band of fdlows, 
hard at it in the huge cellar immediately be- 
neath the centre building. Descend the stairs 
and survey them. You perceive that each 
head is encased in a white paper cap, a little 
a la turban. Let not this, however, lead you 
to think that they are at all inclined to Islam- 
ism. That delicate head-gear is only put on 
to keep up the analogy wMch exists betwe^i 
white flour, white aprons, and a snowy coro- 
net. On one side of you can be seen a dozen 
barrels, perhaps, of the most excell^it flour. 
They stand together with an unanimxty whidi 
might impart a salutary lesson to a discOTdant 
band of politicians. They constitute the 
tangible exponents of good eating. They 
whisper in the ear of the sentimentalist a 
ditty of the staff of life. They assure the 
grumbler, who would have the world believe 
that a board of managers have hearts like the 
upper and the nether millstone, that he is al- 
together on the wrong scent, so &r as our 
Blockley supervisors are concerned ; and they 
tell the flour-merchant that aome brothjar in 
his line has had a good pull from the treasury 
department, in thus catering to the wants of 
the million. Immediately in front of you can 
be espied that formidable board, extending 
fvcm east to west, upon which the dough is 
kneaded by a dozen of as lusty arms as ever 
Hercules dould boast of. While thus mani- 
pulating the dough, their owners sing, in bold 
and manly accents, of the Faderland. If you 
look a little closer at the knights of the dou|;h, 
you will find a few drops of crystal, which 
well up from that deep fountain of hidden 
sensibilities, the heart. That stem man, 
shoulders huge enough to sustain a couple of 
fifty-sixes, is thinking, perhaps, of his little 
cottage on the Rhine, as he sings, with falter- ' 
ing accents, the good old ditty — 

'*ners meln horz warum so traurlg." 

That young fellow who is drawing out a 
fresh loaf from the oven, and wiping it off 
with the capacious piece of flannel, to remove 
any stray ashes which may determine to 
amiere to its smooth and shining crust, is re- 
calling the home where, in boyish wayward- 
ness, he stole firom his mother's side and 
oroeaed the main, as a saitor, before the mast. 


That old man, who has just completed his 
task of filling a hamper with fine fresh loaves, 
and is now intent upon perusing the German 
newspaper, the " Botschafter," which weekly 
unfolds to him its fund of good religious in- 
tdligence, goes hack, in memory, to the 
Wartburg forest, where he rambled on a ho- 
liday with his little troupe of younglings, who 
withered one by one, some in youth and more 
in manhood, till, scathed and blighted, he 
owns no kindred here on earth. 

But our alms-house friends do not give too 
free a vent to those softer emotions which be- 
speak for them the tender interest (^ the con- 
siderate. Look yonder, and you will see a 
young black rascal, who, because he has 
nothing else to do, is tumbling into the dough 
with his Ethiopean digits, as if he was bent 
upon the task of amalgamation. Pomp, or 
Pompey, td use his full classical designation, 
loves to pass a stray hour in the cellar among 
the wortny functionaries of the yeast. One 
moment his frizzled head is bobbing so dose 
to the furnace Uiat you anticipate the singeing 
of his wool ; the next, and he has upset a 
hamper of bread on the floor, and drawn upon 
his poor trembling heart a profuse shower of 
the Dutchman's ever-handy, ever-potent, yet 
harmless malediction of "Bonder und Blit- 
zen." Anon, he is half immersed in a keff of 
water, and assumes the appearance of a 
drowned rat, while the risible faculties of the 
Overman fraternity are in full exercise at his 
expense. Thus he capers about till some one 
of the crew, getting a little vexed, helps him 
up the stairway with a certain application of 
boots and muscles, which enables the little 
black fellow to rise without the puissant in- 
tervention of yeast or salseratus. 

If there is on earth an embodiment of mis- 
chief and glee, it is to be found in a young 
descendant ef Canaan. Roll him in the dust, 
or crack him on the back till he winces, and 
the next minute, if your back is turned, his 
comical grimaces and ludicrous gesticulations 
attest the fact, that although he has been 
sadly belaboured, you have not yet knocked 
out o( him that fimd of drollery upon which 
he is continually drawing, when others, of a 
temperament more choleric, are at the lowest 
point of mental dejection. There is not, how- 
ever, much affinity between the stem Teutonic 
characteristics and the buoyant and effervesc- 
ing gaiety of the young African. They may 
for a few minutes laugh at his pranlLS, and 
even help him on with a few of his hair- 
brained capers, but it will not be long bdbre 
the gravity of the Heidelburgers will suggest 
the cessation of all such Merry-Andrewism. 

Now, the bread is being piled upon the 
wheel-barrow for speedy and sure oonvejrance 
to that citadel, the storehouse. Did you ever 
put your eyes on m(»e capacious loaves? 
Why, their jovial circumfiereDce almost makes 

one merry. They are none of your meagre, 
milk-and-water ccmbinations, whidi look aa 
starched, and demure, and prim, when they 
emerge firom the oven, as if they were desUned 
for some rascally miser, who would chip them 
off by the inch, and only cut them when his 
stomach cried ** rations." No, they look Ukc 
stout honest yeoman ; admitting that there is 
yeomanry among the bread, real sdid Dutch 
Hamburgh burghers. They bring up the 
shade of old Peter Stuyvesant, when he sat in 
his porch and ate his bread and molasses, 
flanked by pork and redoubtable sourcrout ; 
in a word, they call up the recollections of 
those sunny hours when our grandmothers 
silenced the clamours of our appetites by 
cutting us an entire slice across the continent 
of an eight-cent loaf, and sprinkled it with 
that blessed quieter of noise — ^the light brown 
sugar. Such are our reflections as we watch 
the bread being wheeled over to the store- 

One barrow is being wheeled by our friend 
Josey — he of the green spectacles — ^who has 
figured in a previous paper. He is taking 
the allowance of the children's asylum to its 
destination, and many a little hand will soon 
part the broad ^des of those lusty loaves 
wlien they reach the kitchen. Nothing so 
invigorates an urdiin as the sight of bread, 
especially if it be fresh. Its strengthening 
fragrance is to him like sales from Araby, the 
blest ; and if, by a oomDination of felicitous 
events, he can get between his teeth a piece of 
the smoking hot, he asks no collateral recom- 
m^dations of butter to make him the happiest 
of human kind. Oh ! for the halcyon hours 
when the height of the writer's ambition was, 
like that of the alms-house children, to get a 
slice of bread, real home-made bread, fresh 
from the oven ! Stem realities of actual life 
have now usurped the place of innocent en- 
joyment ; and grief and care sit, in a fearful 
brotherhood, by the portals of a heart once 
gay and bounding as the birds of spring. 



Julius Cjesab— Zaohart Taylor. 

CiBs. I beg your pardon, General, I covi- 
sider myself the honored party on this occa- 

Tatf, No, no, no ! dont't talk so ; the idea 
of putting an old-&shioned Yankee Scddier, 
like me, on the same platform with the great- 
est fighter of all antiquity ; I — 

Cos, Your too modest, by half. I tdl you 
again, nothing I ever did in Gaul, or Parthia, 
or AfHca, is to be named in the same eemtuiy 
with that affair at Buena Vista. 

Joy. Oh, you're joking. 




Ccs. I am nof joking; nor am I alone in 
the opinion. Twas but yesterday that I 
beArd Epaminondas and Marlborongfa both 
saying the Tery same thing. Leonidas, too, 
who oaght to know what good fighting is, ex- 
pressed himself most emphatically, on the 
subject : and also concernrag the capture of 
Monterey. He looked upon both performances, 
be said, as among the very happiest military 
hits on record. 

Toy, Well, well ; after snch authorities, 
it wotdd be sheer a^ectation in me, to say 
othenriae, I certainly tried to do my duty on 
that occasion. 

Ctfs. Ton did it, too, most nobly, glorious- 
ly, my old friend ; ay, and on all other occa- 
mim&, civil and military. I have been longing 
tar an opportunity to tell you so. I know all 
aboot you, you see. 

Toy. Through what channel, may I ask ? 

Ccts. Well , the military part of your career 
was recited to me, not long since, and with a 
ddigbtfiil enthusiasm, by your gallant bro- 
flier. Worth, the American Murat, as we all 
caS him ; while the civil portion of it, was 
rendered ample justice to, let me teU you, by 
that choicest of choice spirits, £[ekrt Clay 

Ta*t. Indeed? That was very magnani- 
moQs in brother Hal, considering tnat I, (most 
innocently, it is true, nay reluctantly,) stood 
so in the way of his earthly ambition. He 
alluded then, did he, to the Presidential cam- 

Ctts. He told me the whole story : and so 
&r as I could judge, with perfect frankness 
and good-humor. He wound up his narra- 
tive, I remember, by remarking, with great 
emphasis, that he w(mld rather be right than 
Preadent or Em^t>r of the best star in the 
universe. A glorious sentiment, Zachary! 
Ah, dear ; I wish I had acted up to it in my 
little day on earth. I should be in much bet- 
ter spirits this very hour, I assure you. 
That all-grasping, guilty ambition of mine 
was a terrible corse, both to me and to Rome. 
Candidly, now. General, don*t you think, it 
would hiave been far better for the world, if I 
had never been bom ? 

Tciy. The Lord saw fit to send you here, 
JoHos, and ^lat I conadera sufficient answer 
to yoor question. 

Cets, A most soldier-like one, certainly. 

Toy. Why he permitted you to raise the 
old boy, as you did, is another matter. But 
Pve no doubt the mystery will be cleared up 
an in good time. I*m but a novice yet in 
tilings spiritual, and should rather seek light 
fhxn jrou on these points, than venture on 
any opinion of my own. But be that as it 
may, I can't hdp fiking you, anyhow, CsDsar, 
wiui an yoor imperfections. 

CtBs. Ditto, ditto, with an my soul! Yes, 
I was quite in love with yon, Zachary, at the 

very first blush. And so I was telling our 
earthly friend here, before you came, while 
studying that tip-top bust of yours. Hum- 
bug apart, I consiaer it worth a journey 
across a score of milky-ways, to shid^e such 
an honest old fellow by the hand. 

Tay. Well, it certainly is most gratifying 
to be talked to, in this style, by so illustrious 
a spectre : so, so, — 

6<gs, Brilliant alike in the bondoir and in 
the cabinet, on the stump and in the field. 
That's what you were going to say, General, 
is it not ? 

Tay, Precisely ; only you have put it in 
as many words as I should have used sen- 
tences. I was going to add, however, by one 
whom I can't help thinking, (asking Plu- 
tarch's pardon,) a far greater Commander 
than Alexander himself. 

Cos. Inter nosj Zachary ; I don't think 
much of Plutarch. 

Tay. I'm sorry to hear you say that ; — 
Why so? 

CcBs. Oh, he's such fk superstitious, senti- 
mental old twaddler. And, then, so inaccu- 
rate, and, above all, so full of his (Grecian 
prejudices! Confound the fellow: do you 
know that he actually accuses me, in that lie 
of a life vf his, of cutting a million of men to 
pieces, in my time ? I was bad enough, hea- 
ven knows ; but not quite such a wretch as 
that comes to. 

Tay. I remember the passage. I dropped 
a cypher, mentaUy, when I read it, as being 
probably nearer the truth : and, as you say, 
bad enough at that. 

C(ES. Too true, too true : and yet I can't 
help regretting, now and then, General, that 
I had'nt a little of your flying artillery with 
me in Gaul. I should have dearly loved to 
have given Ambiorix, and Vercingetorix, and 
the rest of those gallic rascals, an occasional 
shower of that same grape that you threw 
in, to such purpose, among those trumpet- 
blowing Mexicans ; eh, Zach ? 

Tay, Fie, fie, Julius; don't talk so. — 
These are no themes to be trifled with. I say 
again, you made quite havoc enough, in your 
day, without resorting to the murderous con- 
trivances of modem times. That one afiair 
with the Nervii, alone ; what a terrible, terri- 
ble day's work that was! Think of those 
sixty thousand brave fellows that bit the dust, 
between sun and sun! Fighting for their 
own friends, too, at that ! Bad, bad business, 
Caesar ! I almost wished, when I first read 
about it, that you had shared their fate : but 
perhaps another cypher ought to be dropped 
here, too : how is it ? 

Ca,%. No, no; the statement is quite too 
correct. Tou'U find the same figures in my 

W, the Elder, Here is the volume, ri^t 
by, if you would like to refer to it. 



C<ES Never mind, never mind, old gentle- 
man. (After a short pause,) Yes, yes, take 
it for all ; that was the hardest day's fight, 
and the narrowest escape, that I ever had. 
The old Tenth, too ; Jove hless *em : how 
they covered themselves with glory on that 
day. Your own Kentucky volunteers, Gen- 
eral, could 'nt have done greater wonders. 

Tay. As a mere specimen of [duck, I grant 
you, it was a brilliant affair; the prettiest 
thing you did, perhaps, in all your Gallic Cam- 
paigns ; unless the putting up of that fiunous 
bridge — 

W. the Elder, Oh, General, don't speak of 
that infernal bridge, if you please. It recalls 
altogether too many sound thrashings, I as- 
sure you. 

Cos, Thrashings ! what does the old gen- 
tleman mean by that? You smile. General. 
What is the mystery ? Explain, explain. 

Tay, You are not aware then, Cseaar, it 
seems, that these same Commentaries of yours 
have, for many centuries, been a text-book in 
our schools ? 

C(Bs, Indeed ! You surprise me. 

Tay. Even so ; and that same passage, 
wherein the construction of the aforesaid 
bridge is described, being a right down tough 
one, has caused a great many lazy boys a 
great many severe whippings. IVe had a 
taste of the hickory, myself, more than once 
on that score. 

C(Bs, Ah ! that's it ; is it ? I am heartily 
sorry that I should have been the cause of 
any such suffering on your part, General ; or 
on that of our old friend, here. So much for 
being a Classic ! 

Tay. Oh, don't mention it, CsBsar. I be- 
lieve in thrashing, myself. Boys need it as 
much as grain ; depend upon it. 

Cccs, (Aside to Tay.) But what a queer 
old customer this seems to be of ours ! 

Tay. An eccentric person, very. Soesk 
out, landlord ; there is evidently something 
on the tip of your tongue, that you, want to 
get rid of. 

W. the Elder. An absurd fancy, nothing 
more. This old noddle of mine is quite too 
full of them. 

C<w. Out with it now ; out with it. 

W, the Elder. Oh, I was only thinking 
what a tremendous army Caosar would now 
be commanding, this very day, could he get 
together all the individuals that have been 
flogged on his account. All Gaul would hard- 
ly hdd them. And were he to add thereto, 
lul the n^roes, dogs and horses, that have 
been christened after him, he might prescribe 
terms to the Holy Alliance itself. 

C<es. Well, tlus is &me, with a vengeance ! 
But is'nt our old friend here quizzing, Gener- 

Tay. Not at all. He speaks within bounds. 
I myself left at least a score of Cffisars in my 

service, when I died. Yes, Julius, I have 
straddled Csesars, hunted with Caesars, been 
shaved by Caesars. Both you and Pompey 
have been amazin^^ useful to me, all my Hfe, 
in the way of blackmg my boots, driving my 
teams, getting in my sugar-crc^, etc., etc. 
But we are frivolous. To revert to Plutarch. 
I was right down sorry, my fnend, to bear 
you spei^ (^ him in the way you did. He 
always struck me, as being a most amiable 
old philosopher and moralist ; and I think 
that s his reputation amongst most readers. 
At any rate, he has made many a long day 
seem short to me, in camp and on the fron- 
tier^ with those lively biographies of his. 
Commcm gratitude, therefore, will not allow 
me to say anything disrespectful to his nM- 

CcBs. My dear €Jeneral , had I known ihst — 

Tay. Never mind, never mind. He cer* 
tainly has not done you justice, however. 

W. the Elder. No, indeed ; the theme was 
altogether beyond his powers. Ah, Your 
Highness ; if we only had your autobiogra- 
phy, now : that would have beoi a Tolume 
for the auctioneers to keep knocking down by 
the tens of thousands ! IsW there such a 
work somewhere, hid away under one of those 
seven hills of your's ? If so, pray let us into 
the secret. I should make a fortune by it in 
less than no time. Are you sure you did'nt 
write such a book, and stow it away in some 
place that has never been found out ? 

C<Es. Indeed, indeed, my old friend, I did 
not. I fully intended to liave done so, how- 
ever, had I lived. Confound those rascally 
assassins, they caused me a world of disap- 
pointments ! i, 

Tay. By the way, Caesar, haver you seen 
much of Brutus, since th^ affiur ? 

Cos. A good deal. 

Tcy, And did he explain it at all to your 
satisraction ? 

C<ES. Perfectly, perfectly. A glorious fd- 
low, Zach ! No lortier spirit ever breathed 
on earth. As to the other conspirators, how- 
ever, they were a miserable set of wretches. 

Tay. What, not Caasius ? 

Cas. Well, I never had much &ith in his 
integrity. A bitter creature. General, and 
a fri^tened mercenary one; and as for the rest, 
they were little better than mere money-muj^ 


Toy. While I think of it, Caesar, I should 
hke to ask you a question or two, on points 
that somewhat interest me. 

CiBs. Name them, name them, my dear 

Tay. Well, then ; suppose you had lived 
out your days, and died quietly in your bed. 
how would things probably have gone ? How 
would your own career, and that of Rome, 
nay, of the woild, have been affected by it ? 
What were your plans and fedings, at tbe 




time tiiat yon were thus crnelly taken offt 
I eonfess I should like to have some exi^aiu^ 
tkoB on these p<Miit8, if f^reeable to you. 

C«». Your questions. General, are certain- 
ly somewhat difficult and embarrassing : es- 
pedally when we reflect how deceitful all 
MTtii, how doubtful all futures, have ever 
been on earth. I will endeavor to answer 
them, however, and honestly. That I had 
a foolish, guilty passion for the name and 
power of Kiz^, I mav not pretend to deny. 
The evidence is overwhelming against me on 
ihai pmai, Tes, I should have left no stone 
unturned, to have secured the throne. Well, 
mppose the people had succumbed, the con- 
spTOtors been thwarted, and the coronation 
had duly taken place, how would King Julius 
I, have behaved himself? That's t& ques- 
tion. Well, if I know myself at all, Zachary, 
I flfaould have been guilty of no small acts of 
meaiiDefla or of treachery. Overbearing and 
imperious I should have been undoubtedly ; 
Imt as for staining my name with any of 
those deeds of beastly debauchery and dia- 
b^c cruelty, that have made forever infam- 
ooSy some of my dependants, I am sure, my 
dear friend, you will believe me, I was utterly 
nncapaUe of them. That I should have un- 
dertaken to enlarge my Parthian and German 
acquisitions, and have made more Gallic con- 
qiiests> and invaded Britain aeain, it is of 
ooorse unnecessary to add. Nor should I 
have Deflected the gentler arts and emidoy- 
ments of peace, nor the strengthening and em- 
beUidnng of the imperial city. I had already 
arrangements, indeed, for the erection, on a 
grand scale, of several buildings, both useful 
and ornamental ; such as a Grain Depot, and 
Iferdiants' Exdiange, and Oustom-House ; a 
new Library on the Esquiline, and a School 
for Architects, the design of which I furnished 
mjaelf, and had given to mv friend, Servilius, 
ttte mdile, the very day be/ore my assassina- 
tion. A superb theatre, too, hardly inferior 
in size and el^ance, to the Colosseum itself; 
and a Grecian Opera House ; but, above all, 
a magnificent Observatory, on the Coelain hilL 
Tliat, my dear General, was quite a hobby of 
mine-— the perfecting of our Roman Astrono- 
my ; a subject, indeed, which I had spent a 
good deal of time and money on, while in 
fjgypt. I had also planned the construction, 
on im^yroved principles, of several new roads 
in various piuis of the empire ; some modifi- 
cation also, in our system of draining and 
sewerage, a branch of engineering, you know 
for wh»ch we Itomans were always famous. 
The great subject of Rivers and Harbors, too, 
occupied my thoughts a good deal, at that 
time : and the founding of a Military Hospital 
for my brave dd legionaries. I actually made 
arrangements for laying the comer-stone of 
this last structure, in person, and with appro- 
priate ceremonies» on the very morning of 

my taking off. But I must not weary you, 
General, with all these details. 

Toy. Not at all, not at all ; go on. I am 
quite interested, I assure you. 

C(Es, Well, I might add, that the subject 
of the Currency was one, in which I was also 
deeply interested. Some six months before 
my E^rodus from the flesh, I had drawn up 
and submitted to m^ friend, Dolabella, the 
plan of a grand National Bank, both of cir- 
culation and discount, with a capital of twen- 
ty-five millions of sestertia, and branches, of 
course all over the empire. D. approved of 
it, I remember, with some slight modifica" 
tions, and was, in fact, to have been its first 
Presid^it. Anthony, too, liked the idea, and 
would, no doubt, have been a leading Stock- 
header. There was another matter, too, Zach- 
ary, that I had quite at heart. 

Toy. Ah. what was that ? 

CcBs The immt>vement and enlargement 
of our Common Scho(4 System. 

Tay. The deuce you nad ! Why, Julius, 
your brain seems to have been perfectly crowd- 
ed with grand and noble ideas. What a pity, 
what a pity, that you had no opportunity to 
carry them out ! 

CcBs, Well, I was certain, General, after 
the above statements that you would give me 
credit for some good intentions, at least. But 
there was {mother thought, stiU granaer and 
nobler, mj* friend, that crossed my mind oc- 
casionally ; though, I confess, I doubt whether 
I should have ever had moral courage enough 
to have acted up to it ; if, indeed it had been 
at all practicable. 

T(hf, And what thought may that have 

Ccts, That of voluntarily resigning, after 
a few brief years of prosperous rule, the im- 
perial crown and pur^e, and of recommend- 
ing to the Senate and People, the re-organiza- 
tion of our glorious repuolic, on newer and 
better principles. Yes, Zachary ; a republic 
somewhat like your own, though, of course, 
far, far inferior to it, as a piece of legislative 

Tay, What! a federal government, based 
on representation, and with a written Consti- 
tution ? You amaze me. 

Can. Even so ; as I said before, however, 
I fear I should hardly have had magnanimity 
enough to carry out the idea, when the time 
came. But suppose it had been so, my fnend, 
and the people had accepted the proposition, 
and pernaps have chosen me for thdr first 
President — ^would'nt it have been ^orious? 
How it would have read in history ! Julius 
CsBsar, first President of the United States of 
Italy ! After a term or two, perhaps, of peace- 
fiil and beneficent government, under the Con- 
stitution, to have retired and spent tbe evening 
of my days in quiet, and have oied, at last pla- 
cidly in my bed, and with an approving con- 

40 ^ 


science, as you did, my friend, and haye been 
followed to the tomb by millions of loving, 
weeping countrymen! Ah, dear, on how mncn 
pleasanter a footing should I have then stood 
with posteritv ! How different probably would 
have been the fate of dear Rome, too ; nay, 
as you said, of the whole world itself. 

Tay. Would to heaven that it had been so 
decrc^ ! But really, Julius, had you matured 
this same idea <^ your^s, so far, as your re- 
maricB would seem to imply? And, pray, 
how was the Executive Department ofVour 
government to have been organized ? Would 
you have had a corps of Constitutional ad- 
visers about you, or would you have been 
your own Cabinet ? Between ourselves, my 
friend, that was altogether the most trying 
part of my whole public life, the selection of 
that same Cabinet. I would rather have 
fought twenty Buena Vistas over again, than 
to hAve had a second one to construct. 

C«f, Ah, you were too honest for your 
own good- That was your trouble. If you 
had been more of a rogue, Zachary, I have 
no doubt you^d have been in the body this 
very hour. But to reply to your question ; 
I should have had a Cabinet, by all means ; 
nay, I had even gone so far as to pitch upon 
thepersons who were to compose it. 

lay. Ah, who were they, who were they ? 

Cms, Well, Brutus, of course, would have 
been Secretair of State, Dolabclla, of the 
Treasury, Sulpitius Rufus, of the Interior, 
Anthony, dissolute dog that he was, IHn afraid 
I should have had to have made Secretary of 
the Navy, while Calenus would have presided 
over the War Department. As for the Attor- 
ney General — but, holloa; what's our old 
host so busy about ? 

Tay, Why the old gentleman seems to be 
taking notes right smart. 

W, the Elder. To be sure I am. Do you 
suppose I am going to let such startling dis- 
closures as these, go unrecorded ? No, indeed, 
— positively must and shall he informed of all 
these things. But, really, Caesar, I must say 
that I have been a good deal startled, I might 
add bewildered, by some of your statements. 
I had not the remotest idea, that such things 
as Banks and Bank Notes, were known to 
you classical boys, any more than penny 
papers ; or that you were familiar with tele- 
scopes, or lorgnettes, or librettos. 

(Jsa. And yet, my aged friend, I am giv- 
ingyou the naked, unvarnished facts. 

Aoy. But, come, Julius : if we*re going 
to see that Washington Exhibition, I was 
speaking to you about, it's high time we were 
off. Daylight is going fast. 

C«s. True, true ; I would'nt miss it for 

Tay. And suppose we get our (Ad friend 
here to act as cicerone. 

W. the Elder. I am quite unworthy of such 

an honor. Toull be delighted with the pic- 
tures, though, I'm sure. 

Tay. I am told that there are no less than 
a dozen heads of the Pater Patriffi there, and 
all by artists of note. 

W. the Elder. Even so ; heads by Staait, 
Pine, WertmuUer, Carrachi, Houdon, Powers, 
and others, to say nothing <^ Leutze's magni- 
ficent composition, the Crossing of th€ Rubi' 

Tay. What, what, what ? 

W. the Elder. Pshaw ; I'm alwajrs making 
6uch blunders, — Delaware, I should have 

CaEs. I'm afraid, my old boy, that was 
meant for a sly cut at me, if the truth were 

W. the Elder. Oh, how can you ? 

Cscs. No matter; I deserve it. In fitct. 
General, I almost shrink from being, confront- 
ed with the great patriot. The contrast incur 
careers here bdow, was so painfully marked* 

Tay. Oh, don't be so squeamish. Besides, 
you'll find plenty of other attractions there. 
WiU he not, landlord ? 

W. the Elder. Yes, indeed ; quite an assort- 
ment of fancy pieces, and some ^orious land^ 
scapes. Gignoux^s Seasons ^ saoong the rest; 
and, above all, the ever-charming Course of 

Cos. Indeed ! I was somewhat of a land- 
scape painter myself, in my early days. 

Tay. What were yoii not, Csesar? Poet, 
wit, nne gentleman, orator, statesman, war- 
rior ; and, moreover, unless Suetonius b^es 
you, a terrible fellow among the girls. 

Cos . Well, I was somewhat (m a pet among 
the petticoats, it must be confessed. 

2 cm. A sad do^, I fear. Csesar, allow me 
to ask you one plain question. 

Cws. Certainly. 

Tay. Suppose now, after this same imagi- 
nary coronation of yours, that you have had 
so much to say about, that that wicked and 
bewitching syren, Cleopatra, had come over to 
your Courts, would you had have the courage 
to turn your back on all her fascinations? 
Would you have been a faithfVil husband to 
your loving Queen, Calpumia ? I fear not. 

Cii s. \\ ell, well , General, those were wick- 
ed times : there's no denying that. I was 
surrounded by pretty hard characters during 
most of my stay on earth. But, oh, what a 
comfort it is to know that all these things 
have changed, since ! 

Tay. Rather sarcastic Csosar, that last 
reniark. But come, let's be off. I shall insist 
however, on our old host's accompanying 

W. the Elder. As you will, Coounanders. 

CsES, Bene andiamo. 




Jittrarj anb Scientific Gossip. 

-AK4ErMI-neS of UTERATURB,' Nn.S. 

—A third draught of "Amenities," and 
AS will be seen, a reply on the part of Mr. J. 
B. Jones, to the letter of Messrs. Derby & Mil- 
ler, pahlished in our last, has been sent to us, 
and is as follows : 

Messrs. Editors :— Will you permit me to 
suggest to those who have not seen Nos. 1 and 
2 of this correspondence, the necessity of pro- 
caring them, if possible, that they may be 
cnaUed the more perfectly to comprehend the 
merits of No. 3 ? 

No. 2 contains a certain P. S. which will 
be likely to attract the reader's attention; 
lod which, if interpreted as Messrs. Derbv & 
^filler interpreted it, will be apt to make him 
anile. Let me copy it here : 

** P. S. I hare just finished writing a local 
romanee, which will make some 250 pages, 
12 mo. It has not as yet been offered to any 
of the publishers. Would you like to treat 
ferh?'*^ (Sifrned) J.B.J. 

And this P. S. Messrs. D. & M. say was 
omitted in the very remarkable corre^xmd- 
enee, designated as No. 1. Admit it. It was 
foRign to the sul^t. But since it has been 
deecned worthy of preservation, it is humbly 
submitted that a true version ought to l>e 
transmitted to posterity. A sli^t omission 
must be sof^ied, for the benefit of the mil- 
lions unborn. The last sentence of the P. S. 
most be read as follows: " WouWnt you Uke 
to treat fbr it?'' 

Mr. J. may safely own to some degree of 
shame for making use of so vulgar an eipres- 
aen to such grave and high-minded gentle- 
men; but it is strictly vernacular, and not 
without signification. It may be presumed 
that the one uttering it does not look for favors 
at the hands of the party spoken to. And 
1 what are the favors grantoi by such publish- 
ers to aatfaoTS ? 

Refer to their statements ('* Amenities'' No. 
2,) in the Bizabrb of last week. A Mr. Ben- 
edict eoQects some of Dr. Schoolcraft's pro- 
ducdona, and sells th^n to a Mr. Graham ; 
Mr. Qraham sdls them to G. H. Derby ; and 
Derby k Miller purchased them of the admin- 
istrauvr of G. H. D. Derby k Miller bestow 
upon them a new title, make up a table of 
contents, and procure a copyright. They say 
in No. 2, " The title of a work, and the ar- 
nu^gement of its contents, we believe to be 
ts lM;itimate 8ul:ject of copyright, as the ma- 
tenalof which it is made !*' 

CSood. Did Mr. J.^reveal his title in the 
P. S. ? And wiU he not be certain to make 
sn ^* nrrmngement of its contents" himself, 
Ufore Messrs. D. k M. shall set their eyes 
upon it! 

Messrs. D. & M. do not deny that the sub- 
stance of the book is the production of Dr. 
S. But cm bono ? Did they not " arrange its 
contents," and does not that entitle them to 
the copyright ? They say, fiirthcr, that the 
book was "originally destitute of merit." 
So, then, their new 'title — ^which in truth was 
our's — and "arrangement of its contents," 
made it what it is, and made it sdl; and 
hence, they have the exclusive right to the 
profits of it. 

The author (say thev,) " never asked for a 
* single cent' " until his book " reached a 
third edition." What impudence, then, to 
ask for a " cent !" Messrs. D. & M. exclaim : 
" Suddenly Mr. S. discovers that for his book, 
whose sale, finally, was owing entirely to the 
ehterprise of its publishers, he had never been 
paid .^" The admiration mark (!) was placed 
there by D. & M. Who does not admu-e it ? 
Is it not admirable ? 

We cannot too often recommend Nos. 1 and 
2 to the reader. They are to be sent to the 
committee in the Senate having charge of the 
copyright treaty, and will be preserved for- 
ever in the arcmves of the government. Pub- 
lishers can frown upon authors dumg their 
lives ; but when both are dead, and money 
and bargains are no longer taken into consid- 
eration, justice is awarded impartially. There 
may be those, however, who would prefer an 
ounce of gold in life, to an eternity of fame 
after death. But who would be infamous ? 

The conclusion of Messrs. D. & M.'s candid 
confession in No. 2, is almost exciting. They 
say : " In conclusion, we believe that * West- 
em Scenes, etc." [the last edition was enti- 
tled * Wild Western Scenes,'] conflicts with 
no work of Mr. J.'s ; and, if objectionable to 
Mr. S., his fame is secure firom any damage 
arising from its circulation, as we have taken 
his name off the title page 

Yours RcSpectfullv, 

Debst & Miller."^ 

Very well, and so be it It is to be hoped 
Mr. S. will derive comfort from the assurance. 
He wrote the book. That is not doubted. 
He did not ask for ''a single cent" until a 
third edition was issued. This is admitted. 
Alas, it was then too late ! And nowffis name 
is to be stricken off the title page of his own 

Is it surprising that Mr. J. wrote that Pv 
S. ? Might he not have had a presentiment 
that the Auburn publishers were destined, 
** by hook or by crook," to get his local ro- 
mance. Any deficiency of merit in the work 
could form no obstacle, — an ** arrangement 
of its contents" would secure the sale of three 

Seriously, an humble, dependent, indigent 
author, must be the most miseraUe creature 
in existence! It is to be hoped Dr. S. is 
comfortably provided for, aside firom the pro- 


ducts of his labors. Pcmt our own part, for- 
tunately for us and for those dear to us, we 
have no reason to apprehend any evil conse- 
quences flowing from the injustice or tyranny 
of the Auburn publishers. 

J. B. J. 

— Our New York correspondent thus notices 
Grahain's Marine for May, a copy of which 
we have received from the publisher : 

" Graham^s Americcm Monthly j for May, has 
been received here hy the enterprising Agents, 
Messrs. Dewitt & Davenport. The recent im- 
provements made in the general appearance <^ 
that popular work, especially in reference to 
its literal^ character, is as creditable to the 
public spirit and taste of the proprietor, as it 
IS acceptable to its numerous fri^ds and pa- 
trons. The present number contains many 
interesting articles, both original and sdectcd, 
and the illustrations in proper keeping with 
the ^irit and design of this favorite Magazine. 
We are pleased to learn that the future num- 
bers will be occasionally embellished with 
a fine Steel Engraving and Mezzotint from the 
accomplished artist, Sartain. They will be 
an agreeable aid to the very attractive wood 
cuts which have become so popular with pe- 
riodical publishers.^' 

— Godeyt for May, is on our table, and main- 
tains its well-known character. 

— The Pen and PencHt published at Cincin- 
nati, is a handsomely printed and tastefiilly 
conducted journal, — the best, decidedly of thle 
kind at the west. We hope it may prosper. 

— The City Ittm^ conducted by the indefa- 
tigable Fitzgerald, is going on swimingly us 
usual. The editor has lately installed mmself 
into a new office, where he looks fresher and 
brighter than ever. He is one of the ** hand- 
some," they say, of Philadelphia. Now this 
" they say" we are not disposed to gainsay. 
We coula'nt do it if we would ; for we are 
no judges of masculine beauty, readily as we 
think we can appreciate feminine charms 

— Mr. Putnam ar^es in favor of an interna- 
tional copyright with great enemr, in a letter 
published in the last number of Norton's Lit' 
ercary Omtette, and addressed to Mr. A. Hart, 
of this city. 

— In Norton's Literarif Gazette we learn that 
the World's Fair, in New York, in addition 
to its display of art, will embrace the esta- 
blishment of mineralogical and chemical de- 
partments; the former intended mainly to 
illustrate the products of our various mines 
and quarries, the specimens being geographi- 
cally arranged, and the other being designated 
to show to what extent and with what success 
the preparation of drugs and chemicals are 
prosecuted in this country. Prof. Silliman, 
jr., and Mr. Wm. P. Blake, have been ^>point- 
ed to the charge of these departments. 

— The London Literary Gazette^ expreeses the 
Opinion that the literary remains of Napoleon 
Buonaparte, preparing for the Press in Paris, 
will embrace a large number of literary 
productions among them : for Napoleon, when 
young, was not unambitious of a literary 
reputation, and employed his pwi in writing 
sundry essays and tides, which have been 
preserved and vrill now be pnUished. 

— A collection of specimens of Book Binding, 
from the earliest days of thetirt, is to be formed 
in the Louvre at Paris. M. MotUey, recently 
deceased, has started it by bequeathing a large 
collection which he himsdf had gathered. 

— Grote's eleventh volume is about to appear. 
The Speeches of Sir. Robert Peel are reprint- 
mg from Hansard, Those of the Duke (£ 
Wellington are to follow. A Translation of 
Mr. Auicaulay's Essays, etc., in 6 vol., has 
appeard at Brunswick. 

— Wellington Autographs — ''original and 
characteristic" — are advertised in Lond<m, at 
five guineas each. An autograph of Shi^ 
peare is said to have brought, in Paris, at a 
recent sale, £111, and one of Sir Walter 
Scott, thirty-five pounds. 

— The following new books are on our table, 
and will be noticed hereafter: From J. S. 
Redfield, New York, '* Notes and Em^ida- 
tions to the Text of Shakspeare's Plays^ by 
Collier.— From Lij^ncott, Grambo & Co., of 
Philadelphia, <' Simon Kenton," an histori- 
cal novel W James Weir, and *' Travels 
in Egypt and Palestine," by Thomas,-— From 
A. Hart, (Ute Carey & B[art,) of PhiladV 
"The Year Book of Facts for 1853," and 
"Essavs and Miscdlanies," by Graee Agui- 
lar,r— From Charles Scribner, of New York, 
" The Old Man's Bride," by T. & Arthur,— 
From J. W. Moore, of Philad'a, " Chambers' 
Repositorv," (Vol. 2) and "Pictorial acetoh 
Book of Philadelphia. The last work is pub- 
lished by William Bromwell. 

gi^arw ammt0 \\t |tfl0 Joofes. 

— Mr. J. Ross Browne, an author who has 
made himself known by man^ tales of romantic 
adventure, among Califomians and whalers, 
as well as among the haunts of the veritable 
Crusoe of De Foe, is the ftither <rf this book. 
He is a daring, aye, and a clever Browne : an 
honor, in many good points, to the whole 
family of Brownes. A desire for scenes, and 
scenes of various latitudes, seems to have taken 
possession of him a fev^years ago ; and he has 
gratified that desire, Uiough opposed by ob- 
stacles which to most other men would have 
been insurmountable. Ba says : 
" Ten years «go» after having rambled all 



orcr the IJiitted Statses — nx hundred miles of 
tfe disUnce on ibot, and sixteen hundred in a 
flM-boai — I set out fiom Washington with 
fifteen dtflars, to raakea tour of the East. leot 
isfiureast as New York, where the last dollar 
tad the prospect of reaching Jerusalem came 
toa conclusion at the same time. Sooner than 
retnm home, after harinff made a good hegin- 
mfig, I shipped before uie mast in a whider, 
and did some senrice, during a voyage to the 
Indian Ocean, in the way of scrubbing decks 
and catdiing whales. A mutiny occurred at 
the Island St Zanzibar, where I sold myself 
out of the yessel for thirty dollars and a chest 
of old clotbs ; and spent three months veiy 
pleasantly at the consular residence, in the 
vkimty of his Highness the Imaum of Mus- 
cat On my return to Washington, I labored 
brd for foor years on Bank statistics and 
Treasury reports, by which time, in order to 
take the new administration by the fore-lock, 
I determined to start for the £ast again. The 
ody chance I had of getting there was, to ac- 
cept of an appointment as third lieutenant in 
the Berenue service, and to go to California, 
lod thence to Oregon, where I was to report 
for duty. On the voyage to Rio, a difficulty 
occurred between the captain and the passen- 
gers of the vessel, and we were detain^ there 
neaily a mcMith. I took part with the rebels, 
becaasel belieyedthemtoberight. Thecap- 
taia was deposed by the American consul, and 
the eommand ci the vessel was offered to me ; 
hot having taken an active part agunst the 
late captain, I oould not with propriety accept 
tbeoffier. A whaling captain who had lost 
kis vessel near Buenos Ayres, was placed in 
the command, and we proceeded on our voy- 
age round Cape Horn. After a long and dreary 
passage we miade the island of Juan Fernandez, 
m oompany with ten of the passengers, I left 
the ship seycnty miles out at sea, and went 
ashore in a small boat, for the purpose of 
gathering up some tidings in rewa to my 
old friend Robinson Crusoe. What befell 
ai oo that memoraUe expedition is fidly set 
fcorth in a narrative recently published in 
""Harper *s Magazine. ' * Subsequently we spent 
fione time in Lima, the ''City of the Kings." 
It wars my fortune to arrive penniless in Cali- 
tanUy and to find, by way of consolation, 
tiiat a reduction had been mtAe by Congress 
ia the number cf revenue vessels, and that my 
ttrvices in that branch of pohlic business 
were no longer required. While thinking 
serkm^ of taking in washing at six dollars a 
<)ozen, or devoting the remainder of my days 
to muie-driTing as a profession, I was unex- 
pectedly elevated to the position of post-office 
(gent ; and went about the countiy for the 
forpose of making post masters. I only made 
OQe--the post master of San Jose. After that, 
tike Convention called by Qeneral Riley met at 
)(«lcrey, and I was appended to report the 

debates on the formation of the State Consti- 
tution. For this I received a sum that enabled 
me to return to Washington, and start for the 
East again. There was luck in the third at- 
tempt, ibr, as may be seen, I got there at last, 
having thus visited the four continents, and 
trayeUed by sea and land a distance of a hun- 
dred thous and miles, or more than four times 
around the world, on the scanty earnings of 
my own head and hand." 

There, you have the whole story of the 
roving Browne, done up in brevity ; or rather 
an epitome of his desire to see the world, and 
the struggles he made to accom^dish that de- 
8i;«. Ifyou would possess yourself of the 
details of his Eastern trampings, of course yon 
must appeal to '* Tusef," the book in notice. 
It will well repay you for your trouble, im- 
parting no little information, in a rather loose, 
out at the same time pleasing, style. Our 
author travelled with pencil in hand, and 
giyes us drawings of persons and things which 
are very spirited, and which the publishers, 
Messrs. Harper, of New York, have presented 
in a series of very well executed wood-cuts. 

Mr. Browne truly says, he has not made a 
desponding pilgrimage through the Holy 
Land. Other travellers have gone over the 
whole road with solemn emotions, probably 
the most natural for such a journey : but he 
has tripped along, whistling or humming 
merry tunes—as it were, determined to laugh 
and grow &t. He does gloom, a little, as he 
stands near Jacob's well, and Joseph's tomb ; 
he is serious in the Garden of Gesthemene, 
where Saviour was agonized, or on the hill of 
Calvary, where he died. 

Touching Jerusalem, he says, — 

" It is deplorable and melancholy to see how 
pro&ned are the precepts of ffim who preached 
peace and good-will toward all men in this 
very spot ; whose voice still lingers upon Zion 
and the Mount of Olives ; to witness in their 
worst form envy, hatred, and malice practiced 
in his name, and the outward worship of God 
where sin and wickedness reign triumphant. 
Perhaps upon the wh(Ae hce of the globe there 
could not be found a spot less holy than modem 
Jerusalem. All the fierce bad passions that 
drive men to crime are let loose here in the 
struggle for immortality ; all the better traits 
of human nature are buried in fanaticism ; all 
the teachings of wisdom and humanity are 
violated in brutish battle for spiritual so* 

" In Uie Holy Sepulchre the hatred between 
the sects is fierce and undjring The Greeks 
a^ Roman Catholics, the Copts, Armenians, 
Maronites, have each a share in it, which they 
hold bysufRBrance of the Turkish Government ; 
but this union of proprietorship, instead of 
producing a corresponding uni^ of feeling, 
occasions bitter and constant hostility. The 
QredoB and Romans, who are the two largest 



sects, and in some sort rivals, hate each other 
with a ferosity unparalleled in the annals of 
religious intolerance. The less influential 
sects hate the other because of their power 
and repeated aggressions ; the so-called Frank 
Catholics hate the Copts and Armenians, 
whom they regard as mere interlopers, with- 
out any right to ei\joy the Christian mode iji 
worship ; all hate each other for some real or 
imaginary cause, and each indulges in the 
self glorification of bdiving itself to be the 
only sect that can find fayor in the eyes of the 
Creator. Such is the bitterness of this sec- 
tional hostility that for many years past it has 
been impossible to keep the building in a state 
of repair. The roof is dilapidated, and the 
rain pours in through the windows ; yet so it 
remains. The Latins will not permit the 
Grcdcs to undertake the necessary repairs, lest 
the mere act should give an implied ascendency 
of power ; the Greeks refuse to give the Latins 
permission for the same reason; theCo{>tsand 
Armenians are too feeble to contend with the 
more powerful sects ; and the more powerful 
sects refuse to grant them the liberty which 
they do not alr^y hold in despite of them 
through the Turlush Government. During 
the ceremony of the Holy Fire, which takes 
place once a year, the scenes of ferocity and 
violence that occur are indescribable. Reli^ous 
insanity, and all the horrors of blood-thirsty 
fiinaticism, destroy many of the devotees. 
Crimes of the darkest character are committed 
with impunity. Half -naked men and frantic 
women stru^e madly through the crowd 
with live coals of fire pressed to their breast : 
bodies of the stabbed and maimed are dragged 
out dead ; the chanting of priests, the howling 
of the burnt, the groaning of the crushed, 
fill the thick and suffocating air ; and fix>m 
the swaying mass arise dying shrieks of Im- 
manuel ! Immanud ! Glory to God I Sickened 
with the disgusting and humiliating spectacle, 
the bdiolder turns away with startling words 
of Ferdinand upon his Hps — 

' Holl la empty and all th« derils are here* " 

Mr. Browne commences his notes in Sicily, 
and he closes them at Beirut, on the Mediter- 
ranean, whence he started for Jerusalem. 
He has for his chaperon a Syrian dragoman, 
named Yusef Sinum Badra, and it is this very 
peculiar individual who furnished him with a 
title for his hook, as well as with a large 
amount of its interesting materiel. Upon 
Yusef is hung many a good story ; whether 
true or not is quite un autre chose. Marvel- 
seekers are apt to be marvel-makers; and, 
therefore, if we pronounce as pure romances 
many of the adventures of our author, we do 
a most natural thing under the circumstances. 
His book is, nevertheless, a very pleasant one; 
making up in dieerftilness and humo)* what it 
lacks in pr(^undity. If it were more reliaUe, 
it would probably be less engaging ; if it wwe 

more scholar-like, it would be leas adapted to 
the million who read in our country. The 
&ct of the author bdng a contributor to the 
pictorial department of'' Harper's Magagine/' 
IS an evidence that he knows how to ** spin a 
first rate yam," We do believe there is xik»« 
romance about the biographical, historical, 
and voyage and trav^ writers of that Tcry 
entertaining monthly, than was ever before 
concentrated in one spot. 


— Robert Carter and Brother, New York, 
have just published a prettily bound volume 
with this title. It is from the pen of " Aunt 
Edith," embraces the incidents of a summer 
among the hills, and contains nothing but 
what is calculated to improve the mind and 
heart, while it ^ratifies the imagination. 
Such books as "Clara Stanley," we cannot j 
too highly commend ; not as specimens of a 
high order of literary attainment or striking 
^nius, but as a combination of simple natural 
incident, bearing in its bosom that whi<^ is 
calculated to develope the better impulses of 
the human heart. " Aunt Edith" is a lady 
very much to our taste ; good and sensible, 
full of substantial wisdom, and yet sugaring 
up the pill of counsel with enough of romance 
to make it grateful to the palate. 


9v fsAmm, OAua-no. 

— This is the title of ft neatly-printed volume, 
of 316 pages, which comes to us from M. W. 
Dodd, New York. It professes to tell of love 
affairs in the author's village twenty years 
ago, which it does well, as a matter of course, 
or the book would never have passed, as it 
has done, to a second edition. Matrimony is, 
Mrs. Caustic informs us, not a novel ; but a 
series of sketches of private life, with just 
enough fiction to *' set them off." It bears a 
good moral, certainly, and, call it by what 
name you may, if read attentively, will be of 
decid^ service to all, and especially to such 
as are entering what is denominated ** so- 
ciety ;" in nine cases out <^ ten, an organiza- 
tion fair without, but within, fiill of dead 
men's bones. The writer handles her pen 
with great adroitness ; and the use which she 
makes of fiction is a most beneficial one. 
She has figured, heretofore, in good fields as 
book-maker, and if appreciated, as we incline 
to think she is, will be encouraged to labour 
still longer in the useAil sphere she has se- 


— In the third volume of the ** Documentary 
History of New York," a work which does 
honour to the state wtdoh planned it, and to 



tfat editor (Dr. O'Callagfaan) who execnted it, 
m tbe foUowing copy d an adyertisement, 
dftoving the style or trayeUing between New 
Tork wskd Philaddphia in the year 1776, see- 
JDg *' the market days ^ was then one of the 

: oli^ects of m visit to Philadelphia. Elm street 
vas what is now called New street, in that 

I part between Second and Third streets. 

I " This is to give notice to the Pnblick, that 
the Stage Waggons kept by John BurrowhUl, 
in Elm street, in Philadelphia, and John Mer- 
seremx, at the Blazing Star, near New Tork, 
intend* to perform the journey from Philadel- 
phia to New York in two days, also to continue 
seven Months, viz : From the 14th of April 
to the 14th of November and the remainmg 
frre months of the Year in three Days— The 
I Waggons to be kept in good order, and good 
I Horses, with sober Drivers. They purpose 
to set off from Philaddphia on Mondays and 
Thursdays punctually at sunrise, and to be 
tt Prince- Town the same Nights, and change 
ftifisoigcrs, and return to New York and Phi- 
ladelphia the following days ; tbe Passengers 
ire desired to cross Powlass Hook Ferry the 
Evening before ; the Waggon is not to stay 
tibo' sunrise; Price each Passenger from 
Powlass Hook to Prince Town, Ten shillings, 
from thence to Philadelphia, Ten shillings 
also ; Ferriage free : Three Pence each Mile 
any Distance between. Any Crentlemen or 
Laities that wants to go to Philadelphia can 
SD In the stage and be home in five days and 
be two Nights and one Day in Philadelphia 
to do business, or see the Market Days. All 
Geatlemien and Ladies who are pleased to fa- 
vow Qs with their custom, may depend on 
doe Attendance and civil Usage by those 
Homble Servants 

John Mbkseebax, 
johk burbowhilu 
Jnie 23, 1776." 

—Puil Julien's troupe were to give a second 
ooneert in Richmond on Tuesday fortnight. 
The Examiner speaks thus of the professional 
aid he conveys with him : 

** As to the people who are advertised as 
hta assistants — they can neither sing nor play. 
Valtentini has not made her appearance at all; 
hot she. is no great loss. Signer Amoldi re- 
joices in the voice of a cow and the vocaliza- 
tion of a cow. Herr Charles Becht is equally 
odioQa in his grand piano-forte solos and his 
icoompaniments to the boy's violin — around 
whose neck he hangs like a mill-stone. His 
trip thus iar has proved a failure, owing to 
the bad management of his father, and will 
end, we fear, not only ^sastrously for his 
poeketf but his repntation." 


ROVnriOikl. OfFKMINO. 

— A friend sends us the following, which he 
thinksr as do we, contains very simple 
thoughts. The author is Miss Fanny John- 


Calm, beantifu], glorious night, 

Quiot and iweet ia the stOl twilight; 

Ere the rise of the moon o*er the silvorf lake, 

Ere the twinkling liars are up and awake. 

h09tij and pure la the twillgfat boor, 
Whan a soft r«fk«shlng sommcr ahower, 
naa mdataned the peUU of crery flower; 
When the bloeaoms aradoaed and gone to deep, 
When gnardian^angelfl their Tigilc keep, " 
Oh, how sweet is the shadowy light. 
Ere the moon has arisen in beanty so bright 

Bat solemn and deep Is the midnight boor I 
Tis then that the fairies exert their power, 
Tis then the tUw dance in their airy bower; 
Bathed in a flood of the moon's silvery ray, 
They revel In Joy till the dawn of now day. 

How potent the oharms of midnight deep, 
When thonaands are looked in the arms of sleep. 
Some peacefully ratting in cottage and hall. 
Others gaily enjoying the summer night balL 
When rw4^ solemn music sounds on the still air, 
(Not from the wing*d songsters, who dally are there,) 
^ben lovers proclaim, by their serenade strain, 
Tis the hour their goddess devotion doth claim. 

Midnight 1 Oh, tis a magic sr«11I 

VThat *tlfs let its enchantments tell. 

The heavens, the stars, the moon so bri^t, 

Shfddlng a halo of softened light. 

When all save tha sephyr is quiet around. 

And hearts In sweet unison eloaer are bound — 

When the flowers are dosed, and tha birdUngs cower, 

Thaaa mn tha«pella of the midnight hour. 


— When Peter Stuvveeant, the renowned 
Dutch Governor of the colony of New York, 
left with his army for an encounter with the 
Swedes, who settled at an early day below us 
cm the Delaware, he bade his subjects an af- 
fectionate farewell from the stem of the ves- 
sel that bore him off to the wars. He told 
them *' to comport like loyal, peaceable sub- 
jects :'* to go to church regularly on Sundays, 
and to mind their business all the week be- 
sides. He nrged that the women should be 
dutiful and affectionate to their husbands — 
loddng after nobody's conoems but their 
own; eschewing all gossiping and morning 
gaddings— and carrying ^ort Umgues. That 
ih% men shcHild abstain from intemieddling ill 
public concerns, entrusting the cares of the 
government to the proper officers — staying at 
home< like good citizens, making money, and 
and bi^iging up numerous families for the 
benefit of the country. Above all, he ex- 
horted one and all, high and k>w, rich and 



poor, to ** conduct themsehts mwdl as they 

How far this oonnsel was observed by Pe- 
ter's subjeots we do not know ; but judging 
from present doings in New York, we should 
think not to any great extent. The people in 
primitive Knickerbocker times, the times of 
cocked-hats and swelling short-breeches, had 
their bouts ; their drinks of Schiedam, their 
boisterous hilarity midst the fumes of many 

Sipes ; but then, all was accomplished during 
aylight and eariy evening hours. At ten 
o'clock, P. M., every body was in bed> and 
nothing could be heard in the streets but the 
slow, deepy tread of two or three watchmen, 
varied, perhaps, now and then, by the crow- 
ing of a cock, or the barking of a dog. Nieu 
Amsterdam was, as it were, drugged, and 
snored away the whole night long, wrapt in 
perfect obliviousness. 

Come down two hundred years or so, and 
what a change one encounters ! The city has 
run oflf north some six or seven miles, while 
it fills the whole space, east and west, be- 
tween the two rivers, by which it is flanked. 
Half a million of inhabitants it now contains 
instead of a few thousand ; and every thing 
is in keeping. The old^ stolid, pipe-smoking 
Netherlander has become nearly extinct ; you 
rarely see his heavy dull features, among the 
people who jostle you. The principal ex- 
pression is that of the cute, calculating Yan- 
kee, mingled with a large dash of French, Ger- 
man, and Italian. The Yankee it is, though, 
who now holds New York between his thumb 
and finger ; he it is, who has imparted to its 
business the nervous activity which charac- 
terizes it. So &r as pleasures are concern^. 
New York is eminently Freneh. There is an 
intense fondness for fantastic and extravagant 
dressing, and light, profitless pastime <H all 
kinds. The streets and squares are filled 
with loungers ; the theatres and amusement- 
halls of all kinds, are amply patronized, 
and with a people who loodc as if they had 
nothing else to do. Restaurants and cafee 
swarm with both sexes, even to the latest 
hours of the night We have seen young Mid 
delicate girls, and beardless striplings, par- 
taking of their champagne and oysters to- 
gether at Thomson and Son's, or Tayl(n*'s, 
and after having eaten and dnmk to the fru- 
ition of desire, we have observed them 
throw themselves into luxurious carriages — 
which have been awaiting th^ooi — and t3i off, 
in by no means an enviable state of sobriety, 
where, we will not say. One can readily 
guess what may be the results where two 
young people, of opposite sexes, are thrown 
together, under such circumstances ! 

We think Peter iStuyvesant, could he rise 
iq> and look upon "New York, as she now is, 
would dart back into his grave again as if 
sent there by a thimder^bolt. ** Doi^er ! vat 

ashaag^! yat % peepiigh ?" he would gxd«m> 
in the auocessors, too, of good substantiai 
Dutch progenitors such as he governed. Not 
al<nie Peter, — some hundreds of years dead — 
may open his eyes with astonishment, on re- 
visiting the glimpses of the moon, as she 
throws her rays upon the city of Manhattan. 
We, who go there as oftcsi as cmce a fortnight, 
are oblig^ to stare and exclaim on each suc- 
cessive visit. Some striking changes always 
confront us. We have, indeed, now b^un 
to say to ourselves, as we sail up the beauti- 
ful bay in the John Potter, or dart across the ! 
Jersey marshes at the tail of the fire-horse, 
and the spire of old Trinity tells us that the j 
great Gotham is at hand, " What now ?" 


— The Rev. James W. Cooke, a native of 
Providence, R. I., died in New York on the 
12th, of disease contracted on his way from 
Chagres to New York. Mr. Cooke had been 
to Central America, for the purpose of making 
investigations in regard to missionary opera- 
tions. He was Secretary of the Episcopal 
Board of Foreign Missions, and a most efficient 
laborer in the vinyard of the Saviour. 

NOT' IN *rowr4. 

— Hon. Henry B. Anthony, late governor tX 
Rhode Island, and editor of the Providence 
Daily Joumdj has, with his accomplished 
lady, been passing a few days at Jones' Hotd, 
in our city. The governor never looked 

Lewis Gaylord Clarke, editor of "Old 
Knick," has also been with us for a short pe- 
riod, during the past week, stopping at the 
Washington House. Mr. C. came to our city 
on the ^A errand of attending the (nneral of 
the only child of his lamented poet-brother, 
the late Willis Gaylord Clarke ; and, as might 
be expected, had not his wonted vivacitjr and 
happy-heartedness. Consigning to the cold 
earth the only survivor of the idolized " 01- 
lapod," was well calculated to renew the sor- 
rows which the death of the latter excited. 


— Of the many excellent hotels in New York, 
we think the "Irving," under the direction 
of Mr. William H. Borroughs, late of the 
Franklin House in our city, is one of the best. 
An evidence, too, of its prosperity with the 
travelling public is, that it is always crowded. 
Great fbss is made over some of the later built 
hotels of Gotham, but there is not one of them, 
which, in aU the comforts and elegancies pe- 
culiar to public houses of our times, surpasses 
the "Irving." 


— We have another beaotifbl article from our 
(dd and valued correspondent "Eda," which 
will appear in our next. Other favours, from 



lanoiis Teiy clerer frienda, await a pIa<^ in 
l^*ft»T ; amoDg them» a tale of deaded ex^ 


— There arc hundreds of idle young men who 
expect to keep themselres out of the work- 
boose br marrying a fortune ! They don't 
caie for "beauty nor mind, but they idolize mo- 
nqr. Beauty, mind, and money make a rare 
oomhination ; yet what are they worth when 
associated with a small spirit I Very, ver^ 
seldom is it the case that women have a combi- 
oatiOD of alL A proposition for you, reader : 
Men who are men, will not marry for money, 
and hence, there being many such men, there 
are many poor but pretty and intelligent 
ladies who get husbands, and good husbands. 
Only think of a man planting himself down, 
tod 1<Mifing on a wife's money. What a thing ! 
Are there any in Philadelphia ? A few, they 
^. Note tnem, as thev shuffle along Chest- 
not street What is their standard among 
sabsUntial, true men ? 


—In Potter County, is, we learn, coming on 
▼ay well. One of these days it may be a 
great feature in our state. The intention of 
Ole Bull is to have it emlmice two villages, 
between which there shall be a handsome 
wide avenue. This avenue was commenced 
last Ml. For a time bears and panthers may 
occasionally be seen promenading there, but 
in good seas<ni there may be fast horses, driven 
by Cut young men, ana aU the appointments 
of adyancement in civilization. Ole Bull's 
coDcerts throughout the coimtry, we under- 
stand, have been veiy wdl attended, and he 
bis, by them, added largely to his fcnrtune. 

—Of the Pittsburgh Saturday Visiter y pays a 
verj pt^ty compliment to Bizajuub. She 
ttys it has commenced its new career *' with 
great spirit, and in the best possible manner.'' 
Thanks, madam ; Bizarre is most happy to 
return compliment for compliment; indeed, 
be fecfe as if he could, in the fullness of his 
gratitude, pat dear little baby's cheeks, and 
cffi it '* b^utifhl," even though it might be 
—which is not probable — any thing but beau* 
tifid. We love babies, particularly good ba- 
bies. The tender little stranger who gladdens 
the borne of the lady in notice, though, we 
bciieve, a late comer, wrought out the most 
maiked good results ; not the least of which 
GcenM to be the restraining of its mother from 
tfaoK nnfeminine displays which clever wo- 
men, unblessed with young folks, are disposed 
to make in the world, as moral reformers; 
and in which, but for the darling little baby, 
3fra. Swisdidm herself might have indulged. 
lloir, the little charmer occupies the main 
tkn^t : nay, gives a tone to all the thoughts 
ad acts. It is a chord which binds the mo- 

ther to the hearth-stone, a willing prisoner * 
it is a priceless gem, which lies locked in her 

**'Br\gbt M a dew^rop when U first deso^ods. 
Or as the plumage of an angel's wing, 
Where eveiy tint of rainbow beauty bl^ids.** 


— Father Gavazan, in a late address to the 
Italians of New Yerk, at the Tabernacle, de- 
clared himself as to the Temperance move- 
ment. He also spoke against women-preach- 
ers, and gave a side-long hit at politicians. 
Hear him on the cause of Temperance : 
'' Do not take me for a temperance orator ; 
that would be a mistake. [Laugh.] I mean 
only justice. I do not intend to preach against 
temperance in America. Total abstinence 
has the approbation of a large amount of peo- 
ple and some legislatures ; and Paul tells us 
not to take wine if mv brother would be 
scandalized. But now 1 speak to the Italians, 
and I do not disapprove or wines and liquors. 
I must preach the whole Gospel, and not as 
some do, only those portions which please 
them. Christ says, it is not what enters into 
the mouth that defiles a man, but that which 
Cometh out of the mouth. Also, the first 
miracle he performed was turning water into 
wine, and not wine into water, — [laughter,] — 
and it was really good wine. Paul directed 
wine to be taken as a means to keep out of the 
doctor's hands. How, then, could I preach 
the Gospel and prohibit wine." 
Now of women-preachers hear the Padre. 
"All the texts of Paul are not so rigidly 
adhered to, for the Apostle wrote some strong 
remaiks respecting women which zre not paid 
great attention to. I would not speak against 
the women, but they certainly are to be seen 
here in the present day in situations very dif- 
ferent from the position marked out by the 
Apostle. We have even Curates — a Reverend 
Antoinette. Well, they will doubtless take 
good care of their flock." 
And now mark what he says of politicians : 
** In England I was told, politicians preach 
peace snd tolerance. And why? Because thej 
expect the votes from Romanists. This is 
really strong self-independence ! And I also 
find in America some public writers — some 
members of the press, some editors and pub- 
lishers of newspi^rs, who speak always with 
great deference for Romanists, but who keep 
silence upon all Protestant subjects. They 
are ever anxious to get all the information 
respecting the consecration of every new 
Catholic Church. This is great independ- 
ence ! They fear to lose some four or five 
cents from their avarice. But my dear Amer- 
icans, why are these editors and politicians so 
subservient to the Papist system ? I do not 
speak about wUticians^ because they have not 
iiuth or religion at all ! [Laughter.] Chris- 
tians, Turks, and Mohammedans, are all the 



same to them. The religion of politicians is 
only their pfcice— $20,000 if they go on an 
emoassy to London or Paris." 

THe l_AIM~rSRN. 

— This very clever American Punch comes to 
us with great regularity. The last number 
has some very hard digs at Uncle Tom, among 
which is the following : 

" We see announced on some hundreds of 
booksellers* signboards, * The Ke^ to Uncle 
Tom's Cabin.' Now all t^ese Keys cannot 
be real. There must be some false Keys 
among them. But even allowing that one 
among them is the real original Key, then is 
there danger. There have been enough dis- 
gusting objects already let out of * Uncle Tom's 
Gabin.^ and we therefore hope that the holder 
of this Key, whoever he may be, will lock it 
up, and throw the Key were Solomon threw 
the wicked genii — as told in the Arabian 

The following Conundrum should consign 
its maker to the &te of a man convicted of 
wilful murder : 

"When does a young lae(y wish to win 
more than seven beaus at once ? — ^When she 
tries to fascinate (fasten-eight.)" Well may 
Diogenes exclaim, " Oh, my ! 

Another hit, nalpable, and we are dcme for 
the present, with our lively cotemporaiy ; 

" A rumor is in circulaticm that the Empress 
Eugenia of France is about introducing Bull 
Fi^ts into the sports of the Hippodrome, at 
Pwis. This wiU certainly be a novel enter- 
tainment for the denizens of the gayest city 
in the world ; but the fights a Frenchman 
takes most especial delist in, are the battles 
of the barricade — that is me only truly nation- 
id sport, and perhaps before very long the 
Empress may have the pleasure of seeing them 
indulge in that time-honored pastime." 


-In a late numberof the Revue des deux Mondes, 
M. Ampere continues his American " Prome- 
nade," having returned from Cincinnati to 
New York by the Erie Railroad. The Tribune 
translates a few of his rapid sketches of men 
and things in New York : 

" Bryant.— Mr. Bryant is the Democratic 
poet of New York, as Mr. LongfeUow is the 
Whig poet, and the jjoet of Boston. Each of 
them has his enthusiastic partisans, and are 
sometimes uigust toward the rival of their fa- 
vorite. I shall endeavor to avoid these pre- 
posessions, and to remain impartial. Like 
Longfellow, Bryant is an English poet, bom 
in America. 1 should say thAt, in regard to 
poetic form, Longfellow is the more European, 
and Bryant the more English. The first has 
received the imprint of all the literatures of 

Europe, and especially of the German lit 
ture. The other is more exclumvely und 
the influence of E^lish literature. He i 
not that kind of originality which gives 
rival a familiarity with the most diffei 
classes of poetry. Mr. Bryant, although 
has translated poems from the Spanish, Pa 
tuguese, French and G^erman, has before I 
eyes only the models of the nK)ther countr 
It would seem as if he had wished to vie wi0 
the cotemporary poets of England, and \ 
his place amoi^ tnem as an American \ 
In his poem of The Agesj he has employe 
the old Spenserian stanza, as reproduced b|| 
Byron in Childe Harold; but if compare! 
with Longfellow, Bryant is the more excld 
sively English in form, he is perhaps the inoa 
American in substance. He oflener treats d 
national and patriotic themes. • * * ♦ < 
** I met vri th Mr. Longfellow and Mr. Bryani 
under vexy different circumstances, hoii^ 
fellow received me with a graceful hospital]^ 
in an elegant abode, in the midst of works ol 
art and souvenirs of every country. I found 
Mr. Bryant in the office of his newspaper, 
covered with dust, and with the busy air of i 
man who is engaged in a struggle. This aC" 
cidental circumstance describes to destiniec 
and two poetic tendencies — the Whig a pro- 
fessor ana a man of the woHd, preserving 
in the bosom of a quiet life the serenity whici 
breathes in his verses — the Democrat, an 
honorable and decided public man. minglinj 
in action, in strife — the one more European, 
more complete — the other more American, 
more concentrated : the one original in th( 
diversity of his inspirations, the other pow* 
erful by the intensity of a small number d 
sentiments, thrown into a mould not so new 
but in fact, perhaps, more individual ; the first 
cosmopolite in some degree like a German, th( 
second national like an Englishman: botl 
Americans at heart and in popularity." 

WAsmNGTON Irving. — "I also visiiec 
Washington Irving. • • • Like Long 
fellow he is half jSaencBJi, half cosmopolite 
Like him, he represents that alliance witl 
Europe which is the most predominant trai 
in the manners and the literature of the Unit6< 
States. I found him in a beautiful hou» 
which has almost the air of palace. His con 
versation, like his style, is easy and polished 
Already of an advanced age, as have beei 
told, he still appears ^oung, an spoke wit) 
animation of his excursion among the prairies 
which circumstances obliged him to tenninat 
sooner than he had wish^. 'Once launched, 
said he, 'I should have gone to the end. 
Thus, excited by the recollection of ttie desert 
awoke the adventurous instinct of the Ameri 
can in the writer formed by European culture 
and the diplomatist accustomed to our man 



Bn*iBf, WHAT lAT Tov, UAJtcAFV-^Foo^iukar, 



SATHRDAT, MAT 7» 1853* 


▲ TALK. 

Joseph, opening the door of the saloon, in- 
finned us that the post-chaise was ready. 
Mj mother and sister threw themselves into 
ST arms. '* It is not yet too late/' said the^ ; 
"^ bh ! do renounce tms journey, and remain 
with us." 

^ My mother, I am twenty, and bom a gen- 
tkman: I must win renown — ^I must gain 
£stiiictioii, either in the army or at court." 

^And when thou art gone, Bernard, what 
win become of me ?" 

" You will be happy and proud in learning 
the success of your son." 

"But what if thou art slain in some 
battle r 

^ What of that ! what is life ! who values 
it? One thinks only of glory when he is 
twenty, and bom a gentleman. Fancy me 
returned, my dear mother, in a few years, 
cokmel, (mt lieutenant general, or with a fine 
charge at Versailles." 

" And what will result from that ?" 

** I shall be esteemed and honored." 

"And what then 1" 

" Every one will take off his hat to me." 

"And then— " 

" And then 111 marry my lovely Henriette, 
Bid make good alliances for my sisters, and 
we will live with you, tranquil and happy, on 
my lands in Brittany." 

"My son! what hinders thee from com- 
mencing now 1 Has not thy father left thee 
the finest fortune in the country ? Is there 
in ten leagues around a richer domain or a 
finer chateau than Roche-Bern^ ? Art thou 
not honored by thy vassals 1 When thou 
nasest through the village, is there one that 
kils to take off his hat f Do not leave us, 
my son : remain with thy friends, with thy 
listers, with thy old mother whom on thy 
return thou wouldst perhaps see no more. 
Do not expend in vain glory, or shorten, by 
cares and torments of all kinds, the days 
which fly so swiftly ; life is sweet, mv son, 
and the son of Brittany is so beautiful !" 

Saying this she showed me, from the win- 
dows of the saloon, the beautiful vistas of my 
park, the old chesnut trees in blossom, tlte 

lilacs, the honey-suckles, embalmmg the air 
with rich perfhme, and sparkling in the 

In the antediamber was the gardener, with 
all hk fiunfly. Sad and silent, they also^ 
seemed to say, " Do not dqiart, my young 
master; do not leave us.'^ 'Hortense, my 
elder sister, pressed me in her arms : and my 
little Amelie. who had been turning over tlie 
engravings ai La Fontaine's fables, approach- 
ed, and presenting the book, " Read, read, my 
brother," said she, weeping. It was the fiibfe 
of " The two Pigeons !'' I rose>bmptly and 
thrust them aade. 

"I am twenty, and bom a gentleman, I 
must win glory, renown, — let me depart;" 
and I darted into the court. 

I was entering the chaise, when a lad^ ap- 
peared in the doorway. It was Hennette; 
she wept not, she spoke not ; pale and trem- 
bhng, she could scarcelT support hersdf. 
With her handk^t;hief she miule the last 
sign of adieu, then fell without consciousness. 
I ran to her, raised her, pressed her in mjr 
arms, vowed love while life lasted, and the 
moment consciousness was returning left her 
to the care of my mother and sisters, and ran 
to my carriage, not daring to turn my head. 
If I had looked at Henriette I could not have 
gone. In a few minutes the carriage was 
rolling over the great rcMul. 

Awhile I thought only of Henriette, of my 
sisters, of my mother, and of all the happiness 
I was abandoning, but these ideas were^Btu^ 
in proportion as the turrets of Roche-Bernard 
faded irom my sight, and soon the dreams of 
ambition and of ^my alone had possession 
of my mind How many projects were ^ 
formed ! how many castles buut m the air ! 
how many fine actions performed in my post- 
chaise ! Riches, honors, dignities, success of 
all kinds : I denied myself nothing, I merited 
and accorded all, in mie, elevating mysdf as 
I advanced on my route, I was duke, governor 
of a province, and maraud of France, when I 
arrived in the evening at my inn. 

The voice of my servant, who modestly 
called me Monsieur le Chevalier, recalled me 
to mysdf, and forced me to abdicate; but 
each day I enjoyed the same dreams, and m^ 
journey was long, for I was goinff to the vi- 
cinity of Sedan, to the house of the Duke de 
0—, an old friend of my father, and patron 
of my family. He would take me to Paris, 
where he was expected soon, would present 
me at Versailles, and obtain for roe a com- 
pany of dragoons. I arrived at Sedan too late 
m the evening to go to the diateau of my pa- 
tron ; so, deferring my visit till the morvow, 
I went to the Armes de France, the finest 
hotd in the fdace, and rendezvous^ (^ all the 
officers, for Sedan is a garrisoned city, a 
strong place ; the streets have a military as* 
pect, and even the citizens have a martial air 



which seems to say, "We are fellow-citwens 
oi the great Turenne.'* 

I supped at the table d'hote, and asked 
some questions respecting the road to the 
Duke de C— 's chateau, three leagues from 
the city. " Any one can direct you," said 
they ; *' it is \frell known — there died a great 
warrior, a celebrated man, the Marshal Fa- 
bert. ' And, as among young officers was 
very natural, the conversation fell upon the 
Marshal Fabert. They spoke of his battles, 
of his exploits, of his modesty, which caused 
him to decline the patent of nobility, and the 
colhu- of his order which Louis XIV. offered 
him. Above all, they spoke of his inconceiv- 
able good fortune, that though only a private 
soldier, he had attained the rank of Marshal 
of France ; he a man of no family. 

This, the only example that could then be 
cited of such success, appeared, even during 
the life-time of Fabert, so extraordinary, that 
the vulgar confidently assigned his elevation 
to supernatural causes. They said he had 
been occupied, from his infancy, with magic 
and sorcery, and had made a compa^ct with 
the devil. Our host, who to the stupidity of 
a Champerois joined the credulity of our 
Breton peasants, averred, with the utmost 
sanfT'froid, that at the chateau of the Duke 

de C , where Fabert died, a black man, 

whom no one knew, had entered his chamber, 
and disappeared carrying with him the soul 
of the Marshal, which he had formerly bought, 
and which therefore belonged to him: and 
that even yet (in the month of May, the epoch 
of Faberts's death,) a little light was seen to 
appear in the evening, carried by the black 
man. This recital enlivened our dessert, and 
we drank a bottle of Champaigne to the fa- 
miliar spirit ci Fabert, and prayed him to as- 
sist us m gaining such battles as Collioure 
and LaMaHee. 

I rose early on the morrow — and soon was 

on the way to the Duke de C 's chateau, 

an immense gothic manor, which at another 
time would perhaps have scarcely attracted 
my attention, but which I now regarded, I 
acknowledge, with mingled euriosity and 
emotion, while recalling the recital that our 
host of the Armes de France had given ns the 
evening previous. 

The valet to whom I addressed myself, re- 
plied that he knew not whether his master 
was at home or would receive visitors. I 
gave him my name and he went out, leaving 
me alone in a large hall, decorated with relics 
of the chase, and fiunily portraits. 

I waited some time and no one came. This 
car«er of glory and honor, of which I have 
dreamed, commences then in the antechamber, 
aaidltomysdf; and, a discontented sdicitor, 
impatience took possession of me. I had al- 
ready counted, two or three times, all the 
family portraits, and all the beams in the 

ceUing, when I heard a slight nmse m the 
wainscot. An unlatdied door was blown half 
open ; turning towards it, X saw a very pretty 
boudoir, lighted by two laige windows and ar 
glass door, which overiooked a magnificent , 
park. I took several steps into this apart- j 
ment, and stopped at sight of a spectacle that 
at first X had not perceived. A man, whose 
back was turned towards the door by which 
I had entered, was l^ng under a canopy. 
He rose, without perceiving me, and ran ab- 
ruptly to the window. Tears streamed down 
his fiirrowed cheeks, and a profound despair 
was imprinted on all his features. He re- 
mained some time immovable, with his &ce 
buried in his hands, then turned and strode 
rapidly across the apartment ; seeing me, be 
stood trunbling. 

Mortified and confused, I attempted to re- 
tire, stammerine some words of excuse. 

"Who art thou? What wishest thou?" 
said he in a loud tone, holding me by the 

'* I am le Chevalier Bernard, de la Roche- 
Bernard, and I have just arrived from Brit- 

** I know, I know," said he, and pressed 
me in his arms ; then, seating himself beside 
me, talked with animation of my father, and 
all my family, whom he knew so well that I 
doubted not he was the master of the cha- 

" You are Monsieur C ," said I. 

He rose, and regarding me with deep emo- 
tion, replied, "I was; I am no more." 

Seeing my astonislmient, he cried, ** Not a 
word more, young man ! Ask me no ques- 

'♦Having, sir," said I, "unintentionally 
become the witness of your grief, if my devo- 
tion, my friendship, can ameliorate— 

"Yes, yes, you are right; you cannot 
change my lot, but you can at least receive 
my last wishes, my last vows, it is the only 
service you can render me." 

He closed the door and resumed his seat. 
Agitated, and trembling, I listened to his 
words; they were grave and solemn; his 
countenance had an exmression that I had 
never seen in any one. His face, which I ex- 
amined attentively, seemed marked by fatal- 
ity. It was pale, his dark eyes darted light- 
ning, and, at times, his features, worn by 
suffering, were contracted by a smile, ironical 
and infernal. 

"What I shall tell you," said he, "will 
confound your reason. You will doubt ; you 
will not believe. I myself often doubt, at 
least I wish to, but there are proofs; and 
there are in all that surrounds us, in our or- 
ganization even, many other mysteries that 
we are obliged to acknowledge, though unable 
to comprehend." 

He stopped an instaot at if to cdlect his 

* ftn^riwi 



passed his hand over his forehead, and 
ooBtiimed, * I was horn in this chateau. I 
have two brothers, my seniors, to whom 
wodbi rerert the weidth and honors oi onr 
kanae. I had nothing to expect but the gown 
and bands of an abbe ; yet thoughts of ambi- 
tion And glory fermented in my brain, and 
laade xny heart beat faster. Unhappy in my 
ebecori^, eager for renown, I dreamed only 
of means to acquire it, and thus rendered my- 
sdf insensibie to all the pleasures and sweets 
of yfe. The present was nothing to me, I 
existed only in the future, and the future pre- 
sei^ed itsdf to me under the most sombre 

** I was nearly thirty years dd, and had 
jet done nothing ; then, xrom ail sides arose, 
m the capital, those literary characters, the 
music of whose fame resounded eyen through 
oar province. Ah ! sighed I often to myself, 
if I oould but win a name in the career of 
kUers, I shoidd at least gain renown, and in 
it akpe is there happiness. The confidant of 
ray grief was an ancient domestic, an old nCf 
gro, who was in this chateau before my birth ; 
he was certainly the oldest person in the 
bouae, for no one could reooUect when he 
came; the people of the neghborhood asserted 
even that be had known the Marshal Fabert, 
and bad been present at his death." 

At this instant, my interlocutor seeing me 
make a gesture of surprise, stopped, and in- 
quired what was the matter with me. 

^Xothing,'' said I. But inyoluntarily I 
thought of the black man of whom our host 
had spoken the preceding eyening. 

Monflienr de C continued; 

«« One day before Tago, (this was the name 
of the negro,) I gave way to despair at my 
<^Mcurity» and the uselessness of my days, 
and cried, * I would give ten years of my life 
to be idaced in the first rank of our authors.' 
* Ten years,' said he coldly, * is a great deal, 
it is paying yery dear for a trifle, neyerthe- 
kss I accept your ten years, I will take them : 
remember your promise, I will keep mine.' 
I cannot describe to you my surprise at 
hearing him speak thus ; I thought that years 
had enfeebled his reason; I shrugged my 
iboulders and smiled, and some days after I 
kft this and went to Paris. I was introduced 
into the society of literaiy men ; their ex- 
ample encouraged me, and I published seyeral 
worn. I will not detain you by relating 
their success. All Paris was eager to see 
them> the journals resounded my praises, the 
aame I had assumed became celebrated ; and 
eren yesterday, young man, you would haye 
admired — " 

Here * new gesture of surprise interrupted 
hia recital: ''You are not then the Duke de 

C r cried I. . 

" No," replied he coldly. 

And I said to myself, ''A oelebmted man 

of letters, — ^Is this Marmontel? is this d'- 
Alembert ? is this Voltaire ?" 

My unknown «gfaed ; a smile of regret and 
scorn passed oyer his lips, and he resumed his 

''This literary reputation that I had so 
much desired was soon insufficient for a soul 
as ardent as mine. I aspired to a more noble 
success; and I said to Tago, who had fol- 
lowed me to Paris, and who never left me, 
there is no real glory, no true renown, but 
that which is acquired in the career of arms. 
What is a literary man, a poet ? He is a no- 
body. Talk to me of a great captain, of a 
general of an army; that is the destiny I 
wish ; and for a military reputation I w<Mild 
give ten of the years which remain to me.' 
* I accept them,' re^^ed Ti^ ; * I take them, 
thev b^ong to me ; forget it not." 

At this part of the recital the unknown 
stopped, and seeing wonder and perplexity 
depicted in my countenance, remarked, *'I 
have told you, young man, that this ' would 
seem a dream to you, a chimera-^it seems 
even so to me — and yet the rank, the honors 
I have obtained, were not an illusion; the 
soldiers I have led to the combat, the redoubts 
captured, the colors, the victories with which 
France has resounded, all this was my work, 
all this glory was mine." 

While he marched back and forth, speaking 
with warmth, with enthusiasm, surprise 
seized all my senses. I said, " Who then is 
he? Is he Coignyl is he Richelieu? is he 
the Marshal de ^e ?" 

From this state of exaltation my unknown 
had fallen into dejection, and approaching toe, 
said with a sombre air, 

'' Tago was right ; soon disgusted with the 
vain smoke of military glory, I aspired to 
what alone is real and positive in tiiis world ; 
and when, at the price of five or six years of 
existence, I desirfd riches, he accorded them. 
— Yes, young man, yes ; I have seen fortune 
second, even surpass, all my wishes: lands, 
forests, chateau. Even this morning all was 
in my power, and if you doubt, doubt me, 
doubt Tago; wait, wait, he is coming and 
you will see for yourself, with your own eyes, 
this which confounds your reason and mine, 
which yet is unhappily but too real." 

He approached the chimney, observed the 
clock, made a gesture of fear, and said, in a 
low voice, 

** This morning, at day-break, I l^t so de- 
jected and feeble that I could hardly rise : I 
rang for my valet, and Tago appeared. * What 
is this that I feel V said I to him. * Master, 
nothing except what is very natural; the 
hour approaches, the moment arrives. ' * What 
moment?' said I. *Do you not know?' he 
re];died ; ' Heaven had destined to you sixty 
years of life, you had passed thirty when we 
made our compact' 'Tago,'saidIinaffiright, 



' dost thou speak serkmsly ?' *Tes, master, 
in ftre ye&rs you have expended in g^ory 
twenty-nve years of existence; yon haye 

S' ren them to me, th^ are mine ; and the 
ys of which yon are depriyed wiU be added 
to mine.' ' "What ! was this the price of thy 
seryices?' 'Others haye paid dearer for them: 
witness Fa\)ert, who was also m^ prot^e.' 
' Silence, silence/ cried I, ' this is not pos- 
sible, it is not true.' * Prepare, without de- 
lay, for there remains to you but half an hour 
of life.' * Thou sportest with me, Tago, thou 
deoeiyest me.' *Not at all! calculate for 
yourself: thirty-five years you have actually 
jived, and twenty -five years you have lost — 
total, sixty. Am I not correct?' He was 
going out ; I felt my strength diminish. I 
felt life leaving me. * Tago ! Tago !' I cried, 

* give me some hours, some hours yet.' * No ! 
no ! ' he replied, ' that would now be to 8h<vten 
my own account, I know better than you the 
value of life ; no treasure could pay for tv*o 
hours of existence.' I could scarcely speak ; 
my eyes became dim, the coldness of death 
fi*oze my veins. * Ah !' said I, making a last 
effort, *take back this wealth for which I 
have sacrificed every thing. Four hours 
more, and I resign to you my gold, my riches, 
all Uiis opulence that I have so much desired. ' 

* Be it so ; thou hast been a good master, and 
I wish to show some &yor to thee ; I consent 
to it.' 

'* I felt my strength return, and I cried, — 
'Four hours! that is very little! Tago! 
Tago ! four hours more, and I renounce my 
litmry glory ; all my works, all this which 
has placed me so high in the esteem of the 
world.' 'Four hours for that!' cried the ne- 
gro with distain ; ' It is a great deal, still I 
will not refuse thy last request' 'No, not 
the last,' said I, joining my hands. ' Tago ! 
Tago! I supplicate thee, give me till Uiis 
evening, the twdve hours, the entire da^, and 
let my exploits, my victories, my military 
renown, let all be forever effaced from the 
memory oi man, let naught of them remain. 
This day, Ti^, this entire day, and I will be 
content.' ' Thou abusest my bounty,' said 
he, ' and I do a foolish act : yet I will give 
thee till sunset Ask me nothing more ; this 
evening I will come to take thee.' He is 
gone !'''^ cried the unknown in despair, " and 
this day is the last which remains to me." 

Approaching the glass door, which was 
open, and commanded a view of the park, he 
cried, " I shall see no more these bsautiAil 
heavens, thi» velvet turf, these sparkling wa- 
ters. I shall breathe no more the balmy air 
of spring. Fod that I was! These gifts 
whicn God has given to all, these blessings to 
which I was insensible, and of which only 
now I comprehend the sweetness, I mi^t 
have ei\joyed twenty-five years longer. I 
have wasted my days, I have sacrificed them 

: for a barren glory which has not rendered me 
I happy, and which dies with me. See, see," 
I said he, pcMnting to some peasants who tra- 
, versed the park, sindi^ as diey returned fimn 
i work, " what would I not give to share their 
I labors and their hardships. Bot I haye«o- 
I thing more to hope for, not even misfortmie." 

At this moment a ray of the son, a mm oi 
the month of May, shone upon his face, pale 
and haggard, fife seized me by the arm with 
a kind of delirium, and said, " Bdiold, be- 
hold how beautiful is the sun ! And must I 
leave all ! At least let me ayoy it yet : let 
me relish this entire day, so pure and beaati- 
ful ; for me there will be no morrow." 
I He darted into the Pfu-k, and disappeared 
I before I could follow him. In truth, I had 
no strength ; I threw mysdf into a seat, be- 
wildered, confounded by all I had seen and 
heard. I rose, I walked to convince myself 
that I was awake, that I was not under the 
influence of a dream. At this moment the 
door of the boudoir opened, and a servant 

" My master, sir, the Duke de C- 

A man of sixty, of distinguished 
nomy, advanced ; and presenting his 
asked pardon for having detained me so long. 

" I was not in the chateau," said he, " I 
have just returned from the dty, where I have 
been to consult for the health of the Count de 
C , my younger brother." 

" Is his life in danger ?" said I. 

"No, thank heaven," replied the Duke; 
" but in his youth Mb imagination was ex* 
cited by projects of ambition and glory, and a 
serious illness that he has lately h&d, in which 
he came near dying, has affected his mind 
with a kind of delirium, or alienation, causing 
him constantly to think he has but one day 
more to live. 

All was explained to me. 

" Now," continued the Duke, changing the 
subject, " I will see, my young man, WMt I 
can do for your advancement We will co, 
at the end of the month, to Versailles, and I 
will present jrou." 

" I appreciate your Grace's kindness, and 
though I must decline it, am most gratefiil." 

" What ! will you renounce the Mlvantages 
you might expect at court ?" 

" Yes ! My views have recently changed. 
I will live, useful and hi^y, on my paternal 

"But think that, by my assistance, yoa 
can rapidly attain distinction ; and that, with 
a little assiduity and patience, yoa may in 
ten years — " 

" Ten lost years /" cried I. 

"Indeed I''' replied he with astonishment; 
" is that pavine too dear for glory, fortune, 
honors ? Think asain, my young man ! Let 
us be off to Versailles P' 

" No, your Grace, I will return to Brittany ; 



I I pty ym wccJTe my flianka md those of my 

is feB^," cried the Duke. 
And I, tlimkniff of wb«t I had just heard, 
mad to aiiyBelf, « It is wisdom." 

Tke BCKt day I set off. and with what de- 

Kgiht I saw again my fine chateau of Roche- 

^ Bcnaid, the iM trees ef my park, the sun of 

I BrittanT. I regained my yasBals, my sisters, 

mj- Bkouier, ana happinesss ! which since has 

neT«r 1^ me— lor eig^t days after, I married 


P *ne oMmmoaiUi, and from tlMdM]>hMTon(/eraM 

f' Tbm foldm lUi^Usbi ftreanu; 

^ 3I7 beut in we^rj tnd It pineib fbr thee, 

J Tfao« Holy Load ot Dreou.** 

' I often wonder what one class of day- 
j dreams are, and where they come from, and 
! ttie end of my wondering, generally, is an 
.; aiua iice that they are hrwiyit by the dream* 
' aacd to the heart ready to receive him. It 
is he who supplies the heart with the Ian- 
raage it has need of : he, who, taking the soul 
hom the visible, and what we call the real, 
giTCS it glimpses of the unseen, and of the im« 
aginative. As gentle roan is made better by 
cSerisfaing the dream-angel, though exactly 
the reverse if he indulges in dreams woven 
by hia own restless nmid and over-heated 
bram; the dream-angel takes us a little while 
from tiw practical, to send us back to it 
strengthened for the conflict. He keeps the 
heart young, the fedings simple, and when 
the ittteOeot is soaring above ev^-day things, 
and mar philosophy is scouring simple things, 
he tcOs us of the prime wisdom, while revaid- 
iag tlie ftitore^ our gaze . he whispers that 
ample things are the most beautiful — ^that the 
cfaflfHah heart is the purest — ^while he brings 
imauB of our childhood's home to us, and 
reminds ns of our former happiness. 

Heased dream-angel, who comest to all who 
win receive thee, and addest a glory to their 
kiy. or pourest a balm on their sorrowing 
Mafia, and pointest to a g^rious future: 
eeme to us often ! Thou who teachest the 
irae vahie of what the worid most prizes — 
that removest the gilding from base things, 
and dottiest the amplest things with a garb 
of beauty; ccnne to us often! Come to us: 
if we ^ not always appear to welcome yon ; 
bear with us, but, oh, do not desert us. 
WHhoot thee, bright-eyed visitant, comforter, 
consoler, what wcmld Moome of us ! Thou art 
like the flower that gladdens the earth : thy 
voiee is Hke the sweet singing of birds ; thy 
wiaga drop light; — surely, surely. He wlio 
snt thee is gowL 

There are times— every one has known them 
—when we are visited by bright and glorious 

visicma— visions of angels* tuning thdr harp- 
strings to such dehoious music, that when it 
comes floating to our enraptured senses, we 
die away to idl shrrounding objects, and are 
borne away from the earth tiy a very flood of 
melody, and then we hear : 

** Dtrlnely warbled Toloe, 
Anawariag tb« atrlnged uoIm.** 

And at other times we wander forth into 
green valleys, and we walk there in <* the light 
of a sunless day," where flowers are, bright 
and glorious ; but these are not of unearthly 
hue ; they are our own sweet flowers we see 
— the flowers that a>angle our fields and beau- 
tify our homes; than which, Fancv herself 
cannot present us with more beautiral. But 
there they never die. Death, nor decay, ap- 
proach our dream-flowers ; and the songs of 
the birds are never hushed in those green val- 
leys ; nor the tin^e of the stream ceaseth ; 
nor the bellii^ dreamy sound of the waterfidl : 
nor the murmuring of the bee ; neither do the 
colors fade from uie butterfly*s wine. The 
lark, upspringing from his green embowered 
home, chants a lay of most unearthly music ; 
and, though the ^ow-worm's lidit seems 
needless, the nightingale still sings her thanks 
for it. The tindd hare fears not to come forth 
from his fbrm and eat the sweet-soented clo- 
ver : and the cuckoo builds her own nest, and 
watches over her young ones. In those val- 
leys many a weary foot has trod and forgotten 
its &tigue ; and many a weary heart has found 

At other times, friends we once loved and 
cherished — ^friends that we still love, and that 
love us, although they are dead — come to us : 
and, of all visions presented to our souls, none 
are more purifying than those in which de- 
parted friends talk with us. In their pre- 
sence all sorrow passes from our hearts, as a 
dream passes from the mind: then we feel 
how utterhr vain are all earthly aspirations. 
Hope and fear cease from their wild combat- 
ting — all is calm and holy peace. Over their 
graves the blue dome df the sky bends lov- 
ingly, and the sun calls into life and light the 
flowers we planted there : and the birds chant 
no longer their requiem ; but, instead, they 
sing of the time whoi the spirit shall le-clothe 
itsdf in its cast-off garment that now lies in 
the grave. But, if wordly feelings sleep at 
the graves of our loved ones, our souls live 
there; they soar away to a brighter land 
than earth^ lovliest spot can give us a fore- 
taste of; and, entering throu^ the gate that 
death has opened, fed that there is a place 
where all our desires for the good and the 
true can be more than realized; where the 
truth of the feeling we sometimes have is 
proved— of our apparent life heins but a 
dream, and of there oeing an inner life, which 
is the onlv reality. 

We all have sQch visions sometimes, and the 



fHirer our souls are, and the more ehast^ied 
our imadnations, the more frequently we hare 
them, les, we all dream sometimes. If the 
dream-angel does not Tisit us undor the coyer 
of the dark shroud of night, or hidden be- 
neath the grey mantle of twilight, he comes 
in the day-time, and uses his magical spell 
to banish all our surroundings from our sight, 
to drive all thoughts, all speculations, from 
our minds, and to substitute for them his own, 
sometimes i^ild and weird-like, sometimes 
simple and beautiful, suggestions. The dream- 
angel comes to every one,— or he has come, — 
from every soul he is willing to remove the 
veil of worldly feelings; to every heart he 
would fain present bright visions of ddight. 

Memory and Hope are his companions. 
When M^nory comes with him, his sugges- 
tions are of the past ; his pictures are brought 
from the home of ibe dreamer — the home 
where he first learnt to syllable affectionate 
words, to win a kiss from his mother — the 
home where he was danced on his father's 
knee — his home, from which he is now far 
away, on which he may not hope ever to look 
agun.. No more to gladden his eye, runs the 
streamlet down at the end of the rich mea- 
dow — ^no more bunches of flowers, picked in 
the woods, to ornament his- vase — no more 
greeting voices, nor fond clasping hands for 
him. The home of his childhood — ^his home 
— ^wherever he may live, is far away. Its 
walls echo to the voices of strangers — ^its halls 
are trodden only by strangers' feet. Long ago 
it was not so. It was not so when he left it 
with buoyant hopes of success in the imtried 
. world of action. 

He was happy and light-hearted ; he wan- 
dered in other lands — Gleamed to doubt — to 
look in the heart of the brightest blossom of 
hope for some canker — to expect disappoint- 
ment under the fairest seeming. He learnt to 
talk as other people talk — to still the beating 
of his heart — ^to suppress the ri^g tear — to 
be a man, calm, cold, and unimpassioned. 
But to him — to Jiim, even, the di^eam-angd 
comes hand-in-hand with Memory; wMte 
Hope waits patiently to get admission. 

In a spacious room, surrounded with all 
luxuries for both mind and body, sits the 
world-worn man, to whom the dream-angel 
has come with Memory : a book is on the ta- 
ble before him, and on its opoi leaves rests a 
dried "forget-me-not." 

A flower is a sacred thing. Yes, a flower 
is sacred ; and especially so, is the blue " for- 
get-me-not" In the pleasant Rhine-land 
wasit linked with the words •* forget-me-not," 
the last words he spoke who, winning the 
flower for his beloved, gave his life as its price. 
What the name of the flower was before that, 
I dont know : I do not care to know : none 
can be more beautiful than the name it has, 
— ^none more fitting, — and many a time since, 

has its l^ue petals aobbed forth the words — 
** forget-me-not." And now it was this little 
flower proved the spell to open the doeed 
heart m Memory ana the dream-an^L 

Then came bright visions to his seared 
heart, and tears came into his eyes : for he 
was clasped in his mother's arms, and his sis- 
ter's vcMoe was calling him fond names. He 
was happy, for he trusted and loved. A 
change came. He was away from home when 
sorrow and trouble visited it, and its gentle 
hearts had to go into the strife of the world, 
when the strong heart fafled; and gentle and 
strong were now reposing quietly in the 
church-yard, though nor son, nor brother, 
planted a flower on their graves. Absent firom 
them in life, he had not gone to them in death, 
but now they were come to him, and be re- 
membered how many wasted years he migh< 
have devoted to them, and perhaps (oh, the 
agony of that thought,) saved their lives as 
well as gladdened them. 

Ah! who disbelieves in ghosts, let him 
come here and watch them thronging into the 
room where sits that mwi — ghosts of dear 
friends neglected-— ghosts of talents wasted — 
ghosts of hours misspelt, than which no ghosts 
are more terrible. 

The dream-angel took pity on the haunted 
man, and wove a poppy-wreath for his brow : 
80 he slept, and Hope took the place of Memo- 
ry, and with a soothing voioe told how he 
might yet meet his friends in a glorious coun- 
try and a bright, where angels are, and harp- 
music, and where sorrow is no more, and ne- 
glect is forgotten. 

Far away on an Irish green hill-sido dwelt 
a poet, unappreciated even in that land of 
song, because unknown. To him the dreaai- 
angcl went, and told him of a time when his 
songs should become household words, axid 
the heart of the boy-poet was gladdened. 
The words of cheer inspired him, and for his 
country's sake he toiled on until the echo of 
his word-music resounded fW>m other lands. 
For his country's sake he toiled — ^well might 
he win ; for it was she who inspired him, and 
it was her beaut f rewarded him. His poems, 
as well as almost all Irish poetry, bears evi- 
dence of an exceeding love of country ; and. 
when it was his sad fate to dwell amon^ [ 
strangers, the visits of the dream-angel in- ' 
spired him, for Memory helped him to weave I 
lAight visions. They well loiew what Iroland 
was to the poet. ! 

It was the glorious fields on whidi tibe snow j 
descended to keep the grass always green ; in 
which bright birds were ever singing ; gay ^ 
butterflies ever hovering ; lovely flowers, cow- 
slips, and prim-roses, and daisies, ever spring- 
ing. It was the hawthorn hedge: the old 
diureh ; the consecrated burial-n^d, whore 
his fore-fathers lay interred. It was the 



mills <^ nMe ftbbies ; the oaitellated rook ; 
tfae eainis : the pathways across the mea- 
dows ; the hrooks, shaded with trees. It was 
riorkmssiiiisetsaiidloTeiTsaBrisnQgs. It was 
3ie beath-eoToed hill ; the river whose course 
is m beautified bj Nature and by Art, Uiat 
Imagination, in her wildest flight, falls &r 
short of the reality. It was the lakes, whose 
beauty is world-wide. It was the warm 
ga sp ing of hands ; the festivities of the Holy- 
ude ; the time-hoeored customs ; the ancient 
rdifpoQ. It was the old home in which gen- 
cfstkiBshad been bom, and lived and paised 
aw^. It was the May-pole, garlanded with 
flowers — or in the city — the streets hong 
with gre^i boughs* It was the grandeur of 
former days to be restored ; the harp whose 
nmaic bad ceased to be reawakened. It was 
ttie bjid of his birth, beautifbl and love^; 
Ms oountry; the birdi-place of great men, 
whose memories the world would not willing- 
ly let die : his country, whose sons are brave, 
whose daughters fair, whose language is poe* 
try— ^e bright and beantiAil green-robed 
Enn: loved all the same by that poet-soul, 
I whether the thom-eatwisted coronet of sorrow- 
was placed on her brow : or whether it was 
decorated by a bri^t coronal of roses and 
laard-flowers of hope, and type of victory. 



One of the most striking illustrations of 
tte mutability of human affairs, has been re- 
eaUy di^layed to the world, in the change 
of tlie fcHTtunes of Louis Napoleon Bona- 
parte. Equally instruetive was the unexpect- 
ed ftU Off his predecessor, Louis Phibppe. 
Bfsigiriitg power, ahnost without an effort to 
leteiB his sceptre, we behold the mighty king 
**• a lacittve upon the £ftce <^ the earth ;'* and 
lo I as Dy magic, the needy adventurer assumes 
tbeTaoaat throne, and surrounds himself with 
a toger power, and with |preater splendor ! 
We BOW seek, with great mterest, to know 
nope than we have done of the former life, 
«, to use a favorite word at present, the an- 
tesedents, of this individual, whose daring 
atls have <hrawn on him the gaze of the world. 
it is especially interesting, now, to peruse the 
ti^flvle elicited by the new Monarch's former 
ttloHipts at empire. Some writo-s, a|^n, 
even then thought highly of his abihties. 
From an article in the £onaon Review^ re-pub- 
^Aed m " LitteWs Musmm,'' for July, 1839, 
we shall make some extracts, wliioh can hard- 
ly fiul of being aoceptaUe to the reader. 

"Bonapartiam is dead— ^one, we believe, 
forever: but among all the dead and dying 
flf 1S30, who, thanks to Louis Philippe, are 
striving hard to revive, this is, incontestably, 

the one most deserving our attention. * * * 
Amongst, all the pretenders, too, we must ad- 
mit that Napoleon Louis is the one who, to 
our certain loiowledge, combines the greatest 
number of the personal qualities calculated 
to win over any man who should not have de- 
voted himself, in heart-felt worship, to some- 
thing greater than all names<-tmkt is, to a 
princi]Se. He is, evidenUy, a man of courage 
and capacity. Far different from the men of 
the Bourbon race, whether of the elder, or the 
younger, branch, so orrteres, so ineorrigiMe, 
he has learned something in his exile. He 
unites in himself, so fetr as it is possible, the 
modem ideas oi liberty, with the ambition 
of hereditary power. Before he turned his 
thoughts to France, he thought of connecting 
his name with the struggles c^ the nationid 
cause of Italy, andof the Polish insurrection ; 
and we feel ourselves warranted, while retrac- 
ing his past conduct, in giving to the man a 
mention, which, perhaps, we should not have 
yielded to the pretender.^* 

Charles-Loms Napoleon Bonaparte was bom 
in the year 1808. He was baptized by Car- 
dinal Fesch ; the Emperor and Empress, Ma- 
ria Louisa, being his sponsors. Napoleon 
Louis was a great favorite with his uncle. 
When Napoleon returned from Elba, his little 
nephew stood beside him during the holding 
of the Champs-de-Mai, and was presented to 
the deputations from the people and the army. 
When his uncle embraced him for the last time 
at Malmaison, the child displayed much feel- 
in|^; he was andous to follow him and 
oned out in tears, that he would go and fire 
oS the cannon. It is to be noted, that he is 
now, according to the provisions of the sena' 
tus consuUum, (1804) the eldest son of the 
imperial family, and heir of the tlnrone. 

At Augsburg, he pursued his classical stu- 
dies, which luul been commenced at Paris 
under the cdebrated Hdlemst, M. Hage. He 
applied his mind to the study of the German 
language, natural philosophy and chemistry, 
engineering, and artillery. The latter, under 
Gen. Dufour, a Colonel in the grand army. 
In one of his letters to Hortense, (Sept. 2, 
18^, ) he speaks of being engaged in ** military 
reconnoitring in the mountains, widking ten 
or twelve lei^es a day with his knapsack at 
his back, and sleeping under a tent, at the 
foot of a glacier." At the occurrence of the 
revolution of 1830, he folly believed that 
Louis Philippe would perform the promise 
which Hortense declared he often maoe, only 
a year before his accession to the throne, — 
that he would recall the imperial fimiily to 
France. Louis Ni^Mleon wrote a letter to the 
king, asking permission to serve in the French 
army, as a common soldier. The reply to 
this petition was a fresh act of banishment. 
Jan., 1831, he took part in the movement in 
the Papal States ; (tether with his brother) 



and aided in establiahmff the line <^ defence 
firom Foligno to Civita CSstellana. When this 
insurrectioii was suppressed, he was in immi- 
nent danger ; — ^to quote the words of the arti- 
cle to wUch we are indebted for these £Mts, 
'* Tuscany notified to Hortense, that he would 
not be received into its territory : King Je- 
rome and Cardinal Fesch wrote fr<Mn Rome, 
that should the Austrians lay hxAd of him, he 
was lost : an Austrian flotilla, the same which 
in contempt of all law, captured and seised 
seventy Italians and General Zucchi, (stiU 
confined, notwithstanding the famous amnes- 
ty, in a Hungarian f<»ir«3s) was cruising in 
the Adriatic : and all this came upon the poor 
mother [Hortense] while in the Palasao at 
Ancona, where she was keeping her sick son 
concealed: two rooms only, separated her 
from the Austrian Ck>mmander-m-Ohief, to 
whom she had been obliged to ^ve up some 
of the i^rtments. In these circumstances 
she took a resolve, worthy of Napoleon him- 
self, and determined to save her remaining 
son, by means of that very France, which on 
pain <» death, the meml>ers of the fiunil^ 
were firbidden to enter. In a state of trepi- 
dation which she has simjdy and afifocttngly 
described, she travdled across the Italian 
Peninsula to Genoa; and from thence, by 
means of a passport furnished her by an Eng- 
lishman, she boldly entered France, arrive 
at Paris, drove to the Hotel d' HoUande, and 
wrote with her own hand to inform Louis 
Philippe of her arrival, on the very day that 
M. SBoastian, that finished statesman and 
diplomatist, of insight unerring into the course 
of affiurs, announced 'positively in full council, 
that ^ehadjust landed at Malta.'* But the 
new kins would '' brook no brother near the 
throne," and sent marching orders to the en- 
ergetic mother, and the still invalid son. 
They left Paris on the 5th of May, and on the 
8th arrived in London : and then left again 
for Switaerland. On their arrival, the envojrs 
from Warsaw, General Kniasewicz and Count 
Plater, invited Louis Napoleon to embrace 
the cause of Polish freedom. *'A youi^ 
Bonaparte, appearii^ on your shores, with 
his tri-colourea flag in his hands, would pro- 
The Prince accepted the invitation, and was 
on the very point of departure, when he heard 
of the fkll of Warsaw. On what slight events 
sometimes depends the &te of an individual, 
and a nation ! Had the courier been up an 
hour earlier in the morning. Napoleon might 
have finished his day« in Siberia, and France 
have had an Knperor the less ! 

An Emperor, doubtless, Napoleon always 
intended to be : Ibr it is a curious fkct that, 
in his Reveries PoHtiques Mb proposed consti- 
tution (although democratic) expresses, in the 
first artide, uiat the republic shdi have an 
Empsbob ; and in the last, provides that the 

iMPBBiALGuiSD shall be re-^atablished. Kot 
only so; but some sabre blades seised at Stnw- 
bttig, before the movement of 30th of Ootober, 
have upon them the eag^e, and the words, 
<« Garde Imperude.^* The attempt of Sb-as- 
burg was not * hasty extempore affiur. It 
had been planned, and laboured for, during 
two or three years before the moment of ac- 
tion. In 1833, it is asserted, Lafayette ad- 
vised the Prince, to seise the first opporiunity 
of presenting himself in France. Strasbim 
was hostile to the ^vemment ; its natioiial 
guard was no longer in existence; it had some 
12,000,000 in its treasury; and ten thousand 
troops, whom, it was expected, were not io- 
corruptiUe. This was the door of France 
for the ambitious Prince. But before he raised 
his standard, he determined to mingle with the 
lAtitary chiefs, and gather some opinions of the 
prospects of success. '* One evening, after one 
of those brilliant /efes, common to a place of 
sudi fofihionable resort, he mounted his horse, 
in company with a friend, and traversed in a 
few hours the distance between Baden and the 
French frontier. He entered Strasburg, just 
after night-foil. There in a spacious apart- 
ment* one of the Prince's friends had assem- 
bled together, on some pretence or other, 
twenty-five officers, belonging to various de- 
descriptions of force, and whoot honor oould 
be relied on, although they were not bound 
by any engagement. On a sudden it was an- 
nounced to them that Prince Napoleon was 
at Strasbui^, and was about to present ym- 
self before them ! They all received the m- 
telligence with transport, and in a few mo- 
ments the Prince was in the midst of them. 
The ofiicers all respectfblly gathered round 
him ; a solemn siloice was preserved, more 
eloquent than an^ protestations of devotien ; 
and when the Pnnce had overcome his first 
emotion, he delivered himself in these terms : 
— *' Gentlemen, it is with fhll confidence that 
the Emperor's nephew entrusts himsdf te 
your honour : he comes before you to learn 
your sentiments and opinions from your own 
lips. If the army be yet mindful of its great 
destinies — ^if it feel fcr tiie miseries of our 
country — then I bear a name which may be 
useful to yen : it is i^beian, like our gloryjC^T 
the past ; it is glorious like the people. The 
great man, indeed, is ne more : but thecanse 
remains the same: the eagle, that sacred sym- 
bd, renowned by a hundred battles, repre- 
sents, as in 1815, the disregarded rights o^ the 
people, and the national glory. Exile, gentle- 
men, has heaped upon me many cares and 
sorrows ; but as I am not aotii^fVom motives 
of personal ambitkm, teQ me whether I am 
mistaken as to the sentiments of the anny ; 
and if requisite, I will resign myself to living 
on a foreign soil, and awaiting better times." 
<«No," replied the offioers, «*you shall not 
languish in exile ; we ouradves will restore 



vM to joor coontrj ; all <mr iyiiip«thie0 have 
Mtg been with yen ; we, like yonnetf, art 
wemry of the inaciwity m v&idk oi«r wmtk is 
left; we are adkamed cf the part which the ar^ 
B9 foade to pby." 

Ilie Prince left them to await the formida- 
Ue moment. The attempt waa made <m the 
30lh of October. We shall not Ihiger orer 
the particulars of this, as it proved, prema- 
ture moTemeot. It will be remembered, that 
a moat ingemous trick was put in requisition, 
to stifle the enthusiasm which followed the 
PriBDe's harangue to the 4th regiment The 
CTf was raised that it was not the Emperor*s 
nifk i W j but an impostor, a eonnecticni of C6I. 
Ttndrey^s, who was excitinc the rebellion. 
The bnef triumph, was ended by capture and 
ifi s aum ent ! We must not forget that he 
bad Btnmg encouragement from great authori- 
ties* in his ambitious aspirations. 

Chateaubriand wrote mm (Sept. 1832,) :— 
'^ P i i n ee : I have read with attention the 
pamphlfi which jon were so kind as to put 
uto my hands ; and have set down in writ^ 
ing, as you desired me, some reflections na- 
tanlhr arising from vour own, and which I 
had aheady submitted to your consideration. 
Tott know. Prince, that my young Ring is in 
Seotiand, and that, while he lives, I can deem 
BO other to be sovereign of France. But 
dieald God, in his inscrutable designs, have 
rgected the r%ee of St. Louis— should our 
cooftry cancel an election which she has not 
s ame tion ed — and should her manners be found 
to resder it impossible for her to become a 
repuUiC — then, Prince, there is no name bet- 
ter har mon i wn g with the glory of France, 
your own. I shall retain a deep im- 
m of your hospitality, and of the gen- 
reception given me by the Duchess of 
SLLea. I Deg you to present to her the hom- 
age of niy respectful gratitude. " 

Lei, us turn now to Lafayette. He sought 
la interview with the Prince ; received &m 
with great cordiality, and avowed his repent- 
laecef his agency in the revolution of Julv, 
1830. He urged Louis Napoleon to seize the 
fiiBt fiurorable opportunity of returning to 
FkiDce : «* for this rovemment cannot stand, 
sad jrour name is the only one that is popu- 
lar. ''^ He promised to do all that he oould 
to assist the Prince in his designs. The an- 
ther of the article to which we have been in- 
debted, indulges hi the following sage ratio- 
nn a ti o ns ; which, perhaps, he would not wh^ 
tochumjust now. '* We do not believe in 
the future destinies of the Napoleon dynasty, 
hi oar opinion, as we have already declared 
at the outset of tins notice, Bonapartism is 
DO more : it passes away with the comple* 
tiflB of that task of fusion and eoualisation, 
whidi was Napoleon's mat wonc, both in 
France and Eimpe ; at this day, France has 
^ to expeet firom Bonapartism, and En- i 

rope would have every thing to fear. • • 
Wnen she [France] shall one day lift up 
again her degraded head, it will not be for 
the expulsion of a man, but of a principle, 
that or a finandal and tradmg anstoOTScy. 
It will be to organize, through national insti- 
tutions, a continuous exercise of ner liberty 
and sovereignty ; so secured, as not again to 
be lost by any mistake she may commit as 
to an individual, or a dynasty. In short, it 
will not be to repeat expmments which have 
cruelly disappmnted her, but to try a new 
one ; the stnime for which, indeed, she has 
already gone £rough, but hss never yet real* 
ized its peaceable enjoyment We believe 
Napdeon Louis deceives himself, when he 
thinks of affecting a revolution in France by 
means of the army. 

In France, especially, a Pnetorian revohi* 
tion, is no longer pra^icaUe. There, for the 
last twenty jrears, the army has been subor- 
dinate to the nation ; and a movement begun 
by the army, in the name of any indivi(ktal 
whatever, would excite suspicion and ap* 
prehensions of another tyranny. * * The 
nation is not Bonapartism, except tovrards 
him who erected tM grand column. Napo* 
leon Louis might have succeeded at Stasburg ; 
he may yet gain over a few r^;iments, and 
besuccessfm atsomeotherpoiBt: but the in- 
surrection cannot grow to a revolution ; and 
all the effects of Bonapartism will end in no- 
thing beyond ruining Louis Philij^, by un- 
dermining the fidelity of his army. Is no fii- 
ture career, then, open to this young man, 
possessed, as he has shown himself to be, of 
a vigorous intellect and a noble disposition ? 
Is no career a worthy one, it may oe asked 
in return, but the pursuit of supreme power ? 
Here we gladly avail ocurselves of the words 
of Carrel, who by dint of reflection, and by a 
thorough knowledge oft he spirit of his time, 
bad conquered in himself an original tendency 
decidedly Bonapartist ; and who resisted iht 
overtures of N^xdeon Louis's emissaries. * If 
this young man,' said he, * can comprehend 
the real interests of fVance, — ^if he can forget 
his title of Imperial Witimacy to remember 
only the sovereign^ of the people, then, and 
only then, he may be destiiied to pli^ a dis^ 
tineuished part.' "—J. M. » 

What the future of France shall be, who 
will venture to predict ? That the new £m- 
pMoror now sits firmly on his throne, we con- 
sider certain. Has he the wisdom of preser- 
vation, as well as the craft of acquisition? 
This subject we may consider in a future 

Lewis Cass, Jr^ our consul at Rome, is not 
recalled, as has been reported, but will re* 
main at the Papal Court, at least during the 
administratian of Gen. Fierce. 



§i^arre among tje |leio Joob. 


— For this book which Redfidd has just pub- 
lisl^ed in a handsome 12ino. of 533 pages, the 
pnblic are indebted to Mr. J. Pajne CoUler, a 
distinguished English 8hakspearian commen- 
tator and annoti^tor. It is a masterly work, 
come from whence it may have done originally. 
It dears up doubts and surmises whidi have 
forever hung over oertain passages of the 
great bajnd. Readings of a peculiar class, 
wiiich have been always received as orthodox, 
it annihilates; while passages whi<^ have 
hitherto been shrouded in darkness, it illumi- 
nates with palpable daylight. 

We imd«*8tand that the commentators of 
England are, some of them, down upon Mr. 
Ck>llier ; indeed, he himself, in a letter to a 
London literary paper, speaks of certain gen- 
tlemen — editors and would-be-editors — ^who 
are vehemently whetting their knifes to cut 
him open for a carbonado. One of th^n has 
already '* rushed into print," and the others 
are preparing to follow up tiie first blow. He 
adds, *' I shall soon have so much ink spilt 
upon me, that I expect to be bladder than my 
own name." 

A reasonable man has, we think, only to 
examine Mr. Collier's book to pronounce it 
the best, of its kind, ev^ issued. It bears, 
every where on its pages, the strongest clauns 
to authenticity. We can readily imadfie 
that those gentlemen who amuse themsdves 
but puQish type, by making vasUy obsourer 
the obsQurities of Shakspeare, through end- 
less Hotiss and comments, should war upon 
a darkness-dissipator like Collier's fdio. It 
reduces the per{»exities of years to plun A B 
C ; andy so far as it goes, leaves them '< not a 
loop to hang a doubt on." They might just 
as wdl print folios to elucidate the fact that 
two and two makes four, as longer to indulge 
in donbtff as to any points trei^ed of on its 


r. Collier gives, in his tntnxiucti(m, par- 
ticulars as to the procuring of the sin^lar 
volulne from which his materials are derived. 
It was a copy of the folio of ** Mr. William 
fihakspeare's Comedies, and Histeries, and 
Tragedies," first published in 1632, and a re- 
print of a previous impression, in the same 
form, in 1623. It was again reprinted in 
1664, with additional plays ; and again, for 
the fourth time, in 1685. The volume is not 
perfect. It wants four leaves at the end of 
** Cymbeline," and there are several defi- 
ciencies in the IkmH' of the work. The entire 
volume consists of 900 pages, divided between 
36 plays. Besides the correetion of literal 
and verbal errors, the punctuation has been 

set right throoehoot There is no page with- 
out ten to thii^ emendations ; and their a^ 
grqnrte does not fall short of 20>000 ! 

The volume also contains considerably 
more than a thousand chiinges, where letters 
are add^ or expunged, whore words are sup- 
plied or stricken out, car where lines and Ben- 
t^ioes, omitted by the early printer, have 
been inserted, together with all the emcnda* 
tions of a similar kind. Mr. Collier does not 
adopt all the changes suggested by the volune, 
and plainly states his reasons why he docs 

The history of the manner in which Mr. 
Collier's rare folio came into his hands, ho 
thus gives : 

** In the spring of 1849, 1 happened to be 
in the shop of the late Mr. Rodd, of Great 
Newport st^^eet, at the time when a package 
of books arrived fit)m the country : my im- 
pression is that it came from Bedfordshire, 
out I am not at dl certain upon a point whidi 
I looked upon as a matter of no importanoe. 
He opened the pared in my preseoce, as he 
had often done before in the course of ray 
thirty or forty years' acquaintance with him, 
and looking at the backs and title-pages of 
several vdumes, I saw that they were ckkAj 
works of little interest to me. Two folios, 
however, attracted my attention, one of thea 
gilt on the sides, and the other in rou^ calf: 
the first was an excellent cppy of florio'i 
" New World of Words," 1611 , with the name 
of Henry Osbom {whom I mistook at the mo- 
ment for his odebrated namesake, Francis) 
upon the first leaf; and the other a copy of 
the second folio of Shakspeare*s Plays, much 
cropped, the covers dd and greasj, and, as I 
saw at a glance on opening them, miperfoet at 
the beginning and end. Conduding hastily 
that the latter would complete another poor 
copy of the second foho, which I had bought 
of the same bookseller, and whioh I had for 
some years in mypossessioB, and wanting the 
former for my use, I bought them both, the 
Florio for twelve, and the Shakspeare for 
thirty shillings. 

As it tum^ out, I at first repented my 
baigun as regarded the Shakspeare, beoaose, 
when I took it home, it appeared that two 
leaves which I wanted were waiit for my pur- 
pose, Qot merely by being too shcMt, but 
damaged and defaced; thus disappointed, I 
threw it by, and did not see it again, until I 
made a sdeotion of books I would take with 
me on quittii^ London. In the mean time, 
finding that I could not readily remedy the 
defidencies in my other oopy of the folio, 
1632, 1 had parted with it ; and when I re- 
moved into the country, with my family, in 
the spring of 1850, in order that I might not 
be without some copy of the second folio for 
the purpose of reference, I took with me that 
which is the foundation of the present w<»k. 



It was whik fwUiar my books together ior 
nmanl^ that I first obfieired some max^LS in 
in the »aigui of this folio : bat it was subse- 
qnMBlly placed npon an npper shdf , and I did 
Bot take it down until I hul oecasimi to eon* 
sidt it. It then struck me that Thomas Per* 
kins, winee name, with Uie Addition of '< bis 
BedDe»" was upon the cover, might be the old 
actor who had perfimned in Marlowe's '' Jew 
of Mait^" OQ its rerival shortly bdore 1633. 
At this time I fimoied that the binding was 
of ahavt that date, and that the volume might 
have been his ; bat in the first place, I foimd 
that his name was Richard Pcnrkins, and in 
the next I became satisfied that the rough 
catfwaanot the orinnal binding. Still, Tho* 
mas Perkins misht haye been a descendiant of 
Bidiard ; and uiis circumstance and others 
iadDced me to eiamine the rolume more par- 
tieolarly : I then discovered, to my surprise, 
that there was hardly a page which did not 
praeBt, in a hand-writing of the time, some 
eoiflDdatioiis in the pointing or in the text, 
while en most of tnem th^ were fi-equent, 
and on many numerous. 

Of cooise I now submitted the folio to a 
most carnal scrutiny : and as it occupied a 
coBsiderabk time to complete the in^>ection> 
how much more must it have consumed to 
make the alteratioas ? The ink vras of vari- 
oisriiades, difiering sometimes on the same 
page, and I was once disposed to think that 
two distinct hands had been employed upon 
them: this notion I have since a^mdoned; 
and I am now decidedly of opinion that the 
Mae writing prevails from beginning to end, 
botthat the amendments must have been in* 
trodaeed from time to time, during, periiaps. 
the course of several years. The changes in 
pasotoation alone, always made with nicety 
and patience, must have required a long po- 
lioA, considering their number; the other 
alliratkos, sometimes most minute, extending 
em to turned letters and typographical trifies 
of that kind, from their v^ nature could not 
hare been introduced with ra^^ditr, while 
maiiy of the errata must have severely tasked 
the industry of the old corrector." 

The cause of these numerous errors in 
Shakspeare are explained — we use the lan- 
guage of the Tribtme reviewer : 

**The first edition of his plays was not 
poblisfaed until seven years after his death, 
which took place in 1616. The copy was 
made for the printer, in the first instance, by 
penons who wrote down the dialogue as they 
iieavd it on the stage. Instead of receiving 
the last touches of Sxe author, it was in fact 
the crude sketch c^ a reporter. K was diffi- 
cak to obtain a play for the press. The ort- 
ginals were sidd to theatrical managers, who 
didtheb utmost to prevent them from ap- 
pearing in print, and when they were brought 
out, it was usually by sorr^titious means. 

During the life time of Shakspeare, nearly 
half df his productions remained in manu- 
script, and not one can be pointed out in the 
publication of whidi he was coneemed. He 
seems to have lost all interest in his works 
after his retirement to Stratford, and no doubt 
thought they were beyond his controL Under 
these drcumstaneest it is remarkaUe that the 
text is not disfigured by a greater number of 
errors than even those with which it bow 

We have no space at present to give speci- 
mens of the character of these enuendations ; 
indeed, a few disjdnted extracts hardly suf- 
fice to show the admirable diaracter oif the 
book, as a whole. It most be exunined page 
by page to be fully appreciated. The great- 
est excitement has been caused by its appear- 
ance in England, while lovers of Shakspeare 
in our own country are all on the qui vive re- 
garding the same. We learn that many dis- 
tinguished dramatists with us have already 
adopted its suggestions. One of them. Miss 
Kimberlv, the clever tragedierme now or lately 
at the Chestnut f has been solicited to read one 
<^ Shakspeare's plays for the benefit of a cha- 
rity in New York city, and we are asMired 
that if 1^ does so, she will adopt the text of 
Collier's old folio. Charles Keam, it is added* 
has adopted it at his theatre in London ; in- 
deed, we hazard nothing in prophecying that 
it will, eventually, be unexcepti<«iable and 
everywhere approved authority. 


— Messrs. Lippiiusott, Grambo A^ Co., of oar 
city, are the publishers of this workl It em- 
braces 172 very handsomely printed pages, 
and is fi^m the pen of Dr. J. Thomas. It 
possesses the merit of being a ver^ modest 
record of travds, done up in the familiar style 
of letters, and oSeTS many very sensible views 
and impressions. 

The writer was fortunate in being among the 
first to witness the lately discovei^ and sin- 
gular ruins of Hadjar Khem in Malta, as well 
as the vast subterranean halls, near the site 
of the ancient city oi Memphis. He also vis* 
ited Palestine at a season, when the beauties 
both of cHmate and country were exhibited 
to the greatest advantage, and writes of all 
he saw briefly and sensibly- He seems to 
avoid any thing like extravagance; indeed 
his matter-of-fact way of telling a story, which 
his predecessors have related with so many 
flourishes, is yery striking. He goes from 
Jaffii to the Dead Sea, indeed, with apparently 
as much ooolness and composure as we would 
foot it to West Philadelphia or Man^nk. 
This is worthy of mark, as an originakty in 
this book. We are inclined to note it as a fea* 
ture, indeed, demanding attention. 

But let us give a specimen or two. Here 
we have the autiuyr's first sight of Jemaalem : 

'* Our road to Jerusalem, lay through the 



soQtb part of the i^un of Sharon. Rarely, if 
erer, haye I seen a more fertile or delightifal 
region. On every side were orchards of fig 
aid apricot trees, and pomegranate grores, in 
Inxnnant bloom ; although to the right d us, 
plain in sight, was the desert which separates 
Palestine &om Egypt, with scarce a solitary 
shrub to relieve the wide and dreary waste 
6i ydli>w sand. That afternoon we passed 
an extensive field or meadow, in which we 
saw upwards of a himdred camels, of all 
ages and sizes, grazing ; as for the herds of 
donkeys and flocks of Uack goats that we 
met, they were not to be numbei^. After a 
ride of about three hours and a half, we ar- 
rived at Ramleh, and put up at the Latin con- 
vent, there being no inn or hotel in the place. 
This town contains a pretty good fruit mar- 
ket, and a number of palm-tiecs. We saw, 
just as we were about entering the place, sev- 
eral exceedingly fine fields of tobacco, such 
as would have been no discredit to the most 
fertile districts of Old Virginia. But what 
most interested me, was a remarkable and 
somewhat extensive ruin, the base of which 
was perhaps eight or ten feet below the sur- 
hce of the ground ; the roof or ceiling was 
formed by a series of fine arches, and sup- 
ported at the points between the arches, by a 
number of columns of mason work. The 
building, as we afterwards learned, was con- 
structed by the Crusaders as a storehouse for 
grain. Ramleh has probably from one to 
two thousand inhabitants, and although it 
now presents a miserable dilapidated appear- 
ance, the character of its different ruins, show 
that it was once a place of considerable wealth 
and importance. Early on the following 
day we passed the eastern line of the plain <» 
Sharcm, and the rest of our way lay for the 
most part through an exceedingly rugged and 
hilly or rather mountainous country. Ehiring 
this journey, we saw great numbers of storks, 
both on the plain of ^aron and after we had 
Altered the mountains. They appeared to me 
to be about the size of our wild geese, though 
their legs are much longer. Their wings are 
dark, but the neck, breast, and the greater 
part of the body is white or light colored. 
The hills between Jaffa and Jerusalem are 
composed chiefly of solid-lime stone rock, the 
strata of which vary exceedingly in inclina- 
tion; sometimes they are neany horizontal, 
and not unfirequently exhibit an undulating 
or wave-like appearance. As we apjHroach 
Jerusalem, the hills or mountMns present a 
very singular aspect. It would seem as if the 
whole country had been furrowed by vast ai^l 
deep ynXLeys running nearly parallel to each 
other, and that other valleys, also nearly par- 
allel to each other, had crossed the first at an 
oblique angle. The mountains in the vicinify 
of Jerusalem present, at least at this season 
of the year, an arid, sterile, and forbidding 

aspect. In fiict, their summits are eenerally, 
if not always, nothijEjE bnt a naked mass of 
stones or rock* The hills are so steep, 
and the stones so abundant, that one is alinost 
at a loss to conceive how chariots could ever 
have been used in this region of country. 

At length we saw the walls and towers of 
Jerusalem in the distance, but tilie appear- 
ance was far less nu^estic and imposing than 
I had imagined. It should, however, be ob-> 
served, that the ap{M*oach from Jafia U not 
favOTable for seeing the city to the best ad- 
vantage. I have little doabt that, had I 
first viewed it fn»n the Mount of Olives, 
all my expectations would have been real- 

He does up the Dead Sea in a few para- 
graphs, as follows : 

'* The next morning, having a long and ar- 
duous journey before us, we rose at dayt»«ak 
and took our break&st by torchlight. We 
then directed our course south*eastward to 
the lower part of the Jordan, about three 
miles from its ^itrance into the Dead Sea. 
Our road lay across a level plain, partially 
covered with a variety of shrubs, among 
which a peculiar species of thorn was most 
conspicuous. Just as it was becoming light 
enough for us to trace distinctly the dark 
outlines of the mountains of Moab — who«e 
utter barrenness and desolation seem still to 
bear witness <^ the wrath of Heaven, from 
the time when the Lord rained upon Sodom 
and Gomorrah *' brimstone and fire," and the 
** smoke of ihe country went up as the smc^e 
of a furnace ;" — a black cloud, which had been 
gathmng on the neighboring hills, suddenly 
overspread the sky and discharged several 
dazzling streams of lightning upcm the moon- 
tains ami the sea. The deep booming aoiind 
of the thunder as its reverberations swept 
across the vast and desc^te valley, combined 
with the fearful associations connected with 
this region, added an indescribable charm to 
the magnificence and sublimity of the seene. 
There was soon after a dight eaower, the <uily 
rain that we saw while in Palestine. 

After a ride of rather more than an hour 
firom the site of our previous encampment, 
we arrived at the banks of the Jordan. At 
this place the stream is no more than fifteen 
or twenty yards wide, but it is deep and 
flows with a great deal of force. The w^er 
though turbid is entirely fresh, notwithstand- 
ing, such quantities of salt are found boUi on 
the plain aod on the banks of the Dead Sea, 
two or three miles farther south. As all those 
who viat the Jordan at this season, bathe in 
its waters, it is not necessary to say that we 
did so. This operation, I diould think, 
would be attended with some danger to such 
as are not good swimmers, as the current is 
not only deep, but very strong and somewhat 
irregular, sometimes producing eddies, and 



MMetnnes mshiiig from one side of tbe ohan- 
ad to the other. After gathering a few peb- 
bftei from its shores as mementos for oar 

'frioidsathome, and taking a specimen or two 
tf the reeds with which the banks, of the 

I rirer sffe lined, we rode southward to the Dead 

: 8ea. As the son had now become exceeding* 

; ]j hot, it was thon^t scarcely prudent to 
ba^e in these (as deemed by some) deadly 
waters. I had» howerer, a fancy to test the 
leoemd statements respecting their nature 
and quality. A single mouthful was abund* 
mtly sofBcient to satisfy my curiosity. Their 
bfttemess and pungency rally equalled my 
most sanguine expectations. The water is, 
nerertheless, most beautifully transparent, 
the pebbles at the bottom appearing exceed- 
io^j distinct at the depth of several fret. 
Dvmg our short stay, some pieces of bitu- 
mea were picked up on the shore, justifying 
the name formerly giren, of Asphaltic Sot." 

I The book is well worth a perusal, which 
can be accomplidied in an hour or two. We 
reeonmend it just for what it is — plain, brief 
matter-of-fact, and, we question not, rdia- 

I Ue. The author nerer expected to set the 
rirer on fire, it is evident, when he sent his 

' maonscript to his printers ; and, hence, nei- 
ther he nor his fnends will be surprised if 
wqA an erent should not follow the publica- 
tioB of the same. 
mmmtcrm and MiaosLLJMMiaa -bj onet Ac«iiw. 

— Ifr. A. Hart, of this city, has lately pub- 
liAed a very neat Tolume — 12mo., 310 pages 
^aabracing choice cnllings from the nusoel- 
laiMDOs writings of Grace Aguilar, author of 
the "Women of Israel," " Vale of Cedars," 
"Mother's Recompense," "Days of Bruce," 
ie. They were selected from the author's 
uMMcrip ts by her mother, and comprise a 
▼aritty of subjects. Some of them are her 
ewtter eompositions, And lack the ferror, 
itmgth, aiul finidi, which characterize her 
kle ^tiductions, while others are in her very 
best style. The Tolume must command the 
U^ faror which has been awarded to its pre- 
deeewDfs. Grace Asuilar stands in the lead* 
i9g naks of the brilliant writers of the 19th 
c«t«iy, though called to another worid at a 
p«ied of youth when her full genius could 
not have iknreloped itsdf. 


— This is a reprint of a London book, which, 
like Hs predecessor, is filled with the most 
rahiable materiel, bearing upon science and 

1 art. Mr. A. Hart, of this aty. is the pub- 

! liflher. The author is Mm Tunbs, editm* of 

the Arcana of Science and Art, His facts are 

gadwred fit>m all quarters of the ciyilised 

vorld, and especially from such a powerful 

as tibe " UniTersal Yankee Kation." 

Moore, Anderson, Wilstach and 

Keys, <^ Cincinnati, hare puUiriied a lif^ of 
Dr. Chahners, — 12mo., 435 pages,— a copy 
of which they have sent us tnmigh Messrs. 
Lindsay and Blackiston, of our city. It is 
edited by the Rer. James C. Moffat, Professor 
of Latin, and Lecturer on History, in Prince- 
ton (N. J.) College, and embraces but an out* 
line (^ Dr. Chalmer's career. The best au- 
thorities hare been consulted, howerer, in 
makine it up ; among them, the Memoirs of 
Dr. Hanna. Compressed within the limits 
above noted, but an outline of Dr. Chahner's 
career, of coulee, could be given ; but enough 
is offered, with abridged extracts from his 
journals, letters, and speeches, to ccmrey an 
excellent idea of the man. 


— This is an admirable work, a second edi- 
tion of which has lately been published by 
William Bromwell, No. 195 Chestnut street. 
It treats of Pennsylvania, her scenery, inter- 
nal improvements, resources, and agriculture ; 
all of which are described in a most pleasin||^ 
style ; and emanates from the pen of Mr. Eh 
Bowen, a gentleman of research and talent, 
until recently connected with the general post 
office department, as Washingtcm. It is il- 
lustrat<ki with over two hundred handsome 
engravings, and, altogether, is got up in a 
very beautiful manner. We notice, by the 
way, that it is dedicated to John Tucker, 
Esa. , President of the Reading Rail-Road Co., 
and a gentleman of enterprize and worth, to 
whom Pennsylvania is indebted for much of 
her present prosperity, certainly so fhr as the 
devdopment of her coal interests is concerned. 


— We have the first number of a wwk with 
this title, puUished by Alexander Moot^ 
menr, in New Yoric, and sold by C. J. Price 
t do.. No. 7 Hart's Building. The pUn of 
the work — an admin^le one--i^pears to be 
to give information in a popular style, as to 
language, natural history, matheniatics, all 
matters, indeed, whether of science or the 
arts, and to fhmish it, handsomely printed, 
at a low price. The number before us is em- 
bellished with a portrait of Washington. 
Such a work as this was wanted in our ooun- 
try, and certainly ought to succeed. 

f ittm^ anb Smntific §mxf, 

— We are indebted to Messrs. Getz, Buck & 
Co., for the May number of Harper. 

— A New Toik journal in the course of an 
article on the prominent newspapers which 
have existed in the ooon^ since the fbrma- 
tion of the government, wui speaks of the 
old Jiirora of PhiUdelphia: ''This Gaaetta 


9t one time was the Democratic Bible <^ its 
party. Its circulation, the times considered, 
was immense. Its hostility to Federalism did 
not pusilanimoual^ wait till the death of 
Washington, but it bearded even the noble 
lion in his den. When Washington's term of 
service expired, Tke Aurora said *Naw, 
Lord, let thj servant depart,' so great was its 
joy over the close of the * anti-French' Admin- 
istration. The accompanying rhetoric to this 
text, so exasperated the Spring Garden Butch- 
ers, who were Washingtonian Federalists, 
many of them veterans of his army, that they 
^tted The Aurora office, pitched the types 
mto the street, and wreaked Uieir huge mus- 
cular indignation on the printing materials 
which had blackened the nero of their wor- 

— A new work by Lamartine, a History of 
the age of the Medicis is announced. A good 
theme is this for the sparkling poet-historian. 
The work will be published in the feuilleton 
of the PeySf a Parisian journal. 

— Putnam for May is capital. We shaU be 
compelled, we think, to pronounce this new 
monthly, the Blackwood of America. The 
** Railroad Lyric" is good ; so is " Vilette and 
Ruth ;" so, in ^t, almost every article in the 
number before us. There is nothing about 
the Dauphin, nor yet a single "pictur." — 
Strange, this ! 

— Color-blindness, quite'a common infirmity, 
consists of the inability to distingush one co- 
lor from another. Professor George Wilson 
has an article in a London journal on the sub- 
ject, wherein he states many interesting facts. 
One doctor declares, that it occurs in one 
male among twenty ; another found five cases 
among forty youtlus in Berlin. Prof. Wilson 
has long suspected its prevalence from the 
errors which he found the students of his 
chemistry classes making in reference to the 
colors of precipitates a;^ the like, — and on 
making more imeeial inquiry he has found his 
suspicions rerined. Among his puf^ls he has 
encountered two marked examples of <K>lor- 
blindness, — and five other subjects of this 
affisction hare made themselves known to 
him. One of the two pupils has fonrrela- 
tires who have the same peculiarity of vision 
as himself. Prof. Allen Thomson, of the Uni- 
versity of Glasgow, states that about ten 
years ago he made some investigations into 
the frequency of color-blindness, and was led 
from the number of cases he encountered to a 
conclusion similar to Prof. W.'s, — ^namely 
that it rendered the employment of colored 
signals on railways perilous to the safety of 
the public. Prof. Kelland, of the Unirersity 
of ^inburg, has found among some 150 stu- 
dents, three examples of marSsd color-blind* 
ness :— one, however, of the cases winch he 
encountered occurs among these 150t but was 

not made known to Prof. Kellaiid. So that 
amcme the Edinburg students, so far as they 
have been examined this winter, 1 in S7 or 
38 is defective in appreciation of coknr. 

— The New York Review has been placed on 
our table by Mr. Wm. Brewster, agent for 
Philadelphia. It is admirable ; and we shall 
take pleasure in noticing its contents hereaf- 
ter somewhat more particularly. 

— Dr. Hooker has justpublished a handsome 
pamphlet, entitled **Tne Church of Rome, 
or the Babylon of the Apocalypse," embrac- 
ing a portion of the well-known Hulseian Lec- 
tures of Dr. Wadsworth, Canon of Westmin- 

— Our table is loaded down with new works, 
which we shall notice as fast as we can read 
them. Among them is Arthurs latest tale,— 
" The Old Man's Bride," published by Charies 
Scribner; several books from the Harpers, 
Stanford & Swords, and other New York pub- 
lishers, as wdl as several from Lippincott, 
Grambo & Co., Moore and others of our own 

— A new v(dume— the ninth— of the great 
edition of the works of Galileo Galilei, pub- 
lished by order of the Grand Duke of Tusca- 
ny, has just nmde its appearance at Florence. 
Its chief interest consists in the doc^unenbuy 
history of the celebrated Gahleo process, 
drawn from the original records preseved in 
the Vatican. It contains also, a large mass 
of correspondence, including letters to or fixwi 
Castelli, Cavalieri, Cesi, Campanello, Gassen- 
di, Micangio, and Torricelh. — This makes 
the forth volume of the Galileo Corr^pon- 

— The '' Correspondenu of the Revohtion,^* 
to be edited by Jabso Spabks, is amxHCOced 
at Boston. It will oontain letters fix>m more 
than a hundred individuals, who acted a con- 
spicuous part in our revolutionary drama^ and 
who were among the oorrespondents of Wa^ 

— M. Nbstob Roqttxplan, the manago* of the 
Grand^pera of FHsiris, has publish^, uhder 
the tiUe of La Vie Parisienne^ a ccdlection ef 
theatrical reminiscences, sketches of trav^, 
literary fragments, and such other intoUecta- 
al baggage as he has judged would interest 
the universe. 

(Mm Smrs-Smtd. 

TH4« K/ioo««-r>r Of hAmm, vto>a/k. 
-^ The London Athenaum doses up its second 
notice of Mrs. Stowe's ** Key to Unde Tom " 

<< The modesty which leads the writer to 
assume that her great success is exdusiTely 
attributable to the cause in which she labored 



is «lao worthy of remark. Aitogether, we 
most prcmounce the 'Key to Uncle Tom's 
C^m^ a most efiective book. The abettors 
of drnveiy hare not been wise in their genera- 
tioQ, in proToking a reply from HIm mere 
nOTclist ' so condusiye aini so crashing on 
all the really important parts of the contro- 
rersT in which they have engaged.'^ 

"The modesty" — ahem! " provoking a re« 
1^ from the mere novelist'* — ahem again ! 
1%e anihar of "Unde Tom's Cabin" is, at 
least, not consistent in her modesty, else how 
is it that Ae goes three thousand miles away 
from home to be lionized; among Englishmen, 
too, the bitterest enemies of her native land. 
We shall take leave to qnesti<Hi at least an ex- 
e«sj<jf modesty in the author of " Unde Tom's 
Oabm** for many reasons ; but principally be- 
canse she makes hersdf the oljgect of feastings 
and janketings all over EnglaiMi and Scotland, 
and accents gratuities — ^puroperly speaking, 
ahnB — of fifty pounds at a time ; JudM money 
— earned, as we maintain, by standers on her 
own country, her own home and fireside, 
bought by oceans of blood and tears, through 
the struggle of the RevoluUon ; wrested at a 
sacrifice of heart-breiUdngs, hunger, thirst, 
wearying toil, violent agonized death, from 
the enislaviilig hands of those who are now 
toasting, fee£ng, and rewarding the modest 
author of " Unde Tom's Cabin.^' " Provok- 
ing a reply !" Nothing provoked a second 
book from the author of *' Uncle Tom," we 
suspect, but the success of the first One 
lartane had been made ; another was wanted. 
It is our opinion Mrs. Stowe will be " pro- 
voked to reply" just so long as the people are 
disposed to buy her slanders on her country- 
men ; just so long as she can enjoy the de- 
tightfnl benefits arising from English ovations, 
and abns-givings of f^glish gold. 

V MjummtM Au-rooRAPMflk 

— Lord Nelson's correspondence with Lady 
ftnmlton, was latdy sold in London. The 
lettrarB in Nelson's own hand writing amount- 
ed to about 300 in number, and brought sums 
v«yiTC from lOs. to 23/. The treasure of 
the collection was the last letter which the hero 
of Trafalgar lived to write. The papers say 
it ia written on thick grey-blue letter paper, 
and was found in his cabin unfinished titer 
the battle in which he received his death- 
shot. Sir Thomas Hardy and Dr. Scott in- 
closed it to Lady Hamilton in a sheet of Ibols^ 
cap, and sealed the envelope with their seals. 
This treasure brought 23/.,— and was bought 
by the British Museum. It runs as foltows : 
" Victory, Oct n, 1805, noon, 
Cadis, £.&E. Id leagues. 
^ My dearest b^oved Emma, the dearfHend 
«f my bQeom.*-4he signal has been made that 
thftentmr'aoombfaied fleet ar« oonung out of 
port. We have very little wind, so that I 

have no hopes of seeing them before tomor^ 
row. May the Qod of battles crown my en- 
deavors with suooeas: at all events, I will 
take care that my name shall ever be most 
dear to you and Horatia, both of wbomllove 
as mxicAk as my own life. And as my last 
writing, bdbre the battle, will be to you, so I 
hope in God that I shall live to finish my let- 
ler after the battle. May Heaven bless you» 
prays your Nblson and Bbonte. 

" Oct. 20th. — In the morning we were close 
to the mouth of the Straits, but the wind had 
not come far enough to the westward to allow 
the combined fleets to weather the ajhoals elf 
Trafalgar ; but they were counted as far as 
forty sail of ships of war, which I suppose to 
be thirty-four of the line, and six frigates. 
A group of them was seen off Cadi^ this 
morning, but it blows so very fresh, and 'thick 
weather, that I rather believe they will go 
into the harbor before night. May Qod Al- 
mighty give us success over these felloe, 
and enable us^ a peace." 

It bears the following words in Lady Ham- 
ilton's penmanship : — " This letter was found 
open oh his desk, and brought to Lady Ham- 
ilton by Captain Hardy, Oh, miserable, 
wretched Emma — Oh, glorious and happy 
Nelson !" ^ 

The letters most cagerl v contended for were 
those, of course, in which, in the language of 
journalists, "the Nelson touch" was most 
characteristically exhibited; — such as, his 
thirst for battle — his burning desire to be up 
with the French and at them— or his calm 
and modest confidence that victory would not 
fail him. Others again, were eagerly sought 
—and these chiefly on the first day — which 
bore for their seal the large and beautiful pro- 
file of Lady Hamilton. Some which alluded 
to the hero's house at Merton, and to his de- 
sire to be on shore, were much in request, 
and brought good prices. 4/. 10s. were given 
fbr a letter written 1799, in which he says — 
** I long to be at the French fleet as much as 
ever a Miss longed for a husband, but pru- 
dence stops me. They will say, this cried-up 
Nelson is afraid with eighteen slups to attack 
twenty-two. The thought kills me." The 
sum of 8/. was well laid out in obtaining a 
long letter, with this Nelson-like writing in 
it : — ** John Bull, we know, calculates nothing 
right that does not place the Brtish fleet along- 
side that of France. I have now traversed a 
thousand leagues of sea after them. French 
fleet, Vrenoh fleet*-is all I want to have an- 
swered me. I shall never rest till I find 
them — and they shall neither, if I can get at 
them." * 

The total produce of the sale, including the 
breakfost service, was 5011* Gs. 6(i. 

There is more than one of our Sanctum vis- 
itors who would very much liked to have 
dipped into these Ndionian rdi^M. P«r- 



haps, some fciture explorings abroad, may 
bnng a specimen or two m>m the mine of 
treamires. Never did any creature watch for 
its prej more unceasingly than do those <^ 
our Sanctum autographiafiats for an old man- 
nscript or an eminent signature ; and when- 
erer one of them obtains a treasure in this 
way, it is fbnny to see with what delight 
he announces tiie fact to his fellow-chiffoniers. 
T'He coiMOER-re o^ "vm Rm-rrr oim mutjw 

— Have been, in point of credit gained by 
him, as a performer on the violin, very bril- 
liant. He certainly is a lad of rare musical 
penius ; and we have every reason to believe, 
if he continues on as he has begun, there will 
be, fiveyears hence, few violinists to surpass 
him. He executes the most difficult compo- 
sitionf of the masters, and with both ease and 
grace. His performances of '< Artot's arrange- 
ment of " Sonnambula," De Beriot's, ** Tre- 
molo,'* and the famous "Carnival," of Paga- 
nini, were surpassing fine. He has had Qie 
best of teaching, at the band of his excellent 
father, Mr. J. Goodall ; himself, not only a 
superior pianist and violincellist, but also a 
very fine performer on the violin. Mr. G. 
sings, we would add, very tastefhlly, and 
treated the audiences at his son's soirees with 
exquisite ballads. The entertainments were 
also enriched by the vocalism of Madam Ju- 
lien, a new but wdoome artiste. A compli- 
mentary ben^t to Mr. Goodall is talked of, 
when his brilliant son and Madam Julien will 
again have an opportunity of appearing. Some 
of the leading gentlemen of tne press are en- 
gaged in this movement, as creditable to them, 
by the way, as it is also one highly honorable 
to the beneficiary. Apropos : one of the cri- 
tics talks about yooi^Goodall's violin being 
a poor instrument. The ear, we think, mu^ 
be at fault with this knight of the quill. Got- 
tain it is, that the very violin in question, is a 
genuine Cremona, and oas been in use upwards 
of half a century I For sixty years, at least, 
it was the property of young Goodall's grand- 
fiither, a tmormer who enjoyed high repute 
abroad. It is indeed a gem of an instrument : 
an old Cremona, friend critic ; do you hear ? 
an old Cremona ! Rayed upon so {ong has it 
been that its every pore is filled with delicious 


— BiZABEB had occasion the other day to 
wait on a bustling ^booksdler of our city, 
when he had the pleasure (jf holdine » confab 
with him, touching a multitude or suhjects, 
among which that of magazines and newspa- 
pers wa# included. Our fHend was candid in 
all he said— very candid ; and we heard the 
wisdom which dropped from his lips, with 
pleasure, if not profit. He spared no one, not 
even oursdves, in his censures. He conld'nt 
endure Harper*s Magatine ; bat he ^oricd in 

Putnam. He revelled in the pages of the Ltf- 
erary World; "but he never read Bizabsb! 
*« Pbancy our feelinx !" Did we get up and 
leave the presence in a huff, when uiis candid 
confession was made ? Not at all. We atill 
sat, quietly sat, toe to toe, &ce to face, with 
our plain-speaking fHend, loddng him anxi- 
ously and earnestly full in the eye. We ra- 
ther think he set us down as a person who 
could listen to disagreeable— truths shidl we 
say? — announcements, about ourselyes, as 
cooly and philosophically as any man liv- 
ing. After a time our magnifico oondnded ; 
and, — ^what really did hurt our fodings,— he 
did'nt give us an advertisement. Booksellers 
may call Bieabrb *'weak," <* stupid,'' any 
thing they like ; nay, they may pronounce oar 
little dariing as big a humbug as Harper: 
only let them give us their advertising, for this 
very nicely makes the pot boil. What do we 
care if they do not like our catering. So feng 
as the aforesud pot belongs to us, we ^all 
fill it with meat or vegetables, just as suits us. 
Send along your tad, and cul us what you 


— At a soiree ^ven by Mr. Weld at the apart- 
ments of the RojmI Society in Londcm, ihe 
<< Newton Collection," h^V bequeathed to 
the Society by the Rev. C. Turner, was eidii- 
bited for the first time. Among the arddes 
is the philosopher's gdd watch, in a richly- 
chased ease, bearing a medallion with New- 
ton's likeness, and uie following inscription : 
"Mrs, Catharine Conduit to Sir Isaac New- 
ton, Jan. 4, 1708." 

New K/iueio 

— We are indebted to J. E. Gould, saocessor 
to A. Fiot, for the following late music : " Les 
Fleurs des Dames," a brilliant waltz, ocnn- 
posed by Ma^am Hertz, and dedicated to 
Mens. £. R. Scherr,— «« Adonis Polka»" de^ 
cated to Sfiss Harriet Taylor, b^ Herman L. 
Schriener, — " Les EtinceUes," six melodious 
fantasies, variations and rondos for the piaao, 
by Frederick Burgmuller,—'< Yalsede Salem," 
dedicated to Madam Franklin Peale, by Kraa- 
cis Groebel,-4md «< L'Entree au Salon," a 
collection of elegant meiceauz from favorite 
operas. All these pieces are beautifiiDy 

— CoL. WiLUAJc H. Maubioii has remored 
his stationary establishment from the old and 
time-honored stand at 108 Chestnut stitek» to 
a store bdow Fourth, on the opposite ^e. 
He has a beautiful place, and it is fitted up 
with Megant taste, peculiar to the Cokmel, as 
well as with that re^ud for utili ty, with wlOch 
he always makes ms business arrangemeats. 
Cd. M. enjoyed an immense trade at 108, and 
it will, doubtless, be greatly increased where 
he now is. 



»*—***■ BraAKKK, WHAT SAT Tou, Mabgap?**— FarTuAoT. 



SATVROAT, MAT 14, 1853. 



Tim. (aside.) Confound this old fool of a 
fdlow, for disturbing me in this way ! {toW, 
du EMer.) Well, mortal, here I am, and be 
hanged to you ! What, in Pluto's name, do 
you want of m« ? 

IF. %he Elder, (somewhat agitated,) Really 
I — I— 4eel — profoundly — 

Ttm. Bah, bah ! None of your humbug. 
I ask again, — what do you want, and why 
bare you invaded my spiritual right, in this 
most unwarrantable manner ? A plague upon 

W. the. Elder. I beg ten thousand— 

Tim. Pshaw ! Curse your impudence ! 

IF. the Elder. But, my dear friend,— 

Tim. Friend, say you? How dare you 
oame that word, in my presence ? I have no 
friraid ; no, not in the wide universe ; and you 
know it, you old coxcomb. 

W. the Eld' r. Come, come, Mr. Spectre ; I 
am not used to such language as this. A lit- 
tle more civility, if you please. I should 
think you were talking to Apemantus. 

Tim. Apemantus be , and you with 

kim I (Here one Judy^ a pet terrier, entereth 
amd barketh veheinently.) - 

W. the Elder. Come away, Judy, come 

sway* H^^ ^*''® y^" — 

Tim. This is your yankce hospitahty, is 
ifef Ah, if I had only served my guests in 
tkftt way ! Never mind, though, old fellow ; 
]0i her Ulk— let her talk. 

W, the Elder. You ytmng hussy ! I am 
pecfeeUy a^iamed of you. 

/wiy. Bow, vow, vow, vow, vow, (contin^ 
ueth her vocalization till put out.) 

W. the Elder. You must excuse the slut, 
Tiwfi ; she's not well to-day. 

T'im* Poh, poh ! what made you turn her 
oal ? I pr^er oer munc to your s, any time. 

W* the Elder. Wdl, you are, by all odds, 
the crabbedest ghost I ever encountered. 

JtM. Bat what made you send for me ? 
QooMy come, explain yoursdf, without further 


\ the Elder. Oh, only for a bit of spirit* 
iri rhat : nothing more. Besides, I thought 
A Eltle change might be agreeaUe to you. 

And then, brother Swift's society is always 
remunerative, you know. 

Tim. Swift, Swift ; who's Swift ? 

W. the Elder. What ! don't you know the 

Tim. Not I ; by Cerberus. 

W. the Elder. Indeed! You must have 
been having a pretty quiet time of it, since 
death, not to have heard of him. 

Tim. That may be. Meanwhile, I know 
no wretch of that name. 

W. the Elder. Wretch, say you ? Many, 
come up ! What I the brilliant Dean of St. 
Patrick's, the wit, the moralist, the classic, 

Tim. He might beidl that, old man, and 
yet be supremely wretched. But, I say again, 
I have not the pain of his acquaintance. 

W. the Elder. Fie, Timon, how perverse 
^ou are ! The pain of his acquaintance ? Is 
it possible, then, that your nature is so com- 
pletely soured as this, that you must twist the 
commonest expressions of civility into their 
opposites ? Do you really mean to say, then, 
that you still harbor, at the distance of more 
than twenty centuries, the same horrible feel- 
ings that you died with ? Have you, indeed, 
turned vour back forever and ever on all the 
sweet charities of the universe ? I can't be- 
lieve anything so shocking as that. 

Tim. And who the deuce are you, pray, 
to presume to cross-question me in this style, 
and to pry thus into the misteries of eternity ? 
You had far better be minding your own little 
earthly business, let me tell you. The idea 
of a shallow mortal's pretending to compre- 
hend spiritual experiences, or to measure tneir 
duration by the paltry time-pieces of earth ! 

W. the Elder, Well, well, old rapper and 
tipper, you need'nt be so infernally crusty 
about it. I meant no offence. 

Tim. Who cares whether you did or not ? 
But where is this same waggish spectre, 
whom you consider such valuable companv ! 
Is this the way he keeps his appointments f 

W. the Elder, Wdl, he certainly ought to 
have whizzed in sight before this time. Hol- 
loa, by Jupiter, there he is now. (Enter Swift.) 
Ah, my dear brother Jonathan, I am delight- 
ed to see you. I was afraid you were going 
to give us the slip. 

Sufift, Brother Jonathan ? What do you 
mean by that ? Do you take me for a yan- 
kee ? 

W. the Elder, Well, what do they call you 
in spirit-land ? Doctor, Dean, Lemuel, la- 
hoo, perhaps ; eh, old fellow, how is it ? 

Svnft. You are mighty familiar on short 
acquaintance, I must say. But who, in the 
name of Heraclitus, is that M sour-krout ? 
Of all the vinegar^isaged -^osts that ever 
set schoolboys scampering, he certainly bears 
the bell. Who is he^who is he 1 



W, the Elder, Quite an historical charaoier, 
let me tell you. 

Swift, I dare say : but who, who ? 

W, the Elder. A famous giver of good din- 
ners, in his day. But he overdid the thin^, 
poor fellow, got cornered, had to sell out his 
Athenian Fancy Stocks, at a frightful sacritice, 
hoisted the red flag ; in short, Doctor, the old 

Sunft, Yes ; but you have'nt told me who 
he is, all this time. 

W. the Elder. And instead of facing it, 
like a man, or turning Diddler, in self-defence, 
fell to cursing, made for the woods, peeled off 
his garments, and went about, for the balance 
of his stay on earth, in naturdibuSf and blas- 
pheming every man, or beast, that came with- 
m bow-shot of him. 

Stinft, Come, come; what nonsense is this, 
and why do you tease me me in this imperti- 
nent style ? If you don't introduce me forth- 
with, I'm off; that's all. 

W. the Elder. Why, Dean, Dean, how dull 
you are this morning. 

Tiin. {aside.) What are those infernal old 
fools chattering about, I wonder. 

W. the Elder. Not to know, after all these 
broad hints ! Why, who should it be, but the 
great Timon, himself. 

Swift. What! Timon of Athens? You 
don't tell me so. 

IF. the Elder. Even so ; the mighty mon- 
arch of misanthropes ; he, whose magnificent 
imprecations will live and glow, through all 
time, in the pages of the divine Inrd : whose 
epitaph will be shuddered over, while a grave 
is left to dig on earth. 

Swift. Well, you need'nt be so grandilo- 
quent about it. Come, come, introduce me. 

W. the Elder. Allow me, dear Timon, to 
make you acquainted with that most exemnla- 
ly friend and pitcher of a ghost, Jonathan 
Swift, Ex-Dean of St. Patrick's, and author 
of the famous Drapier Letters, The Tale of a 
Tub, Gulliver's Travels, and other pious vol- 
umes ; composer, moreover, of some of the 
very finest, perpetrator of some of the very 
filthiest verses in our languarge ; — 

Swift. What's that— what's that? 

W. the Elder. He who humbugged Vanes- 
sa, who mal-treated St^a, who — 

Sift. Lies, Timon, — most infamous lies. 

Ir. the Elder. In short, a tip-top good fel- 
low, and a ghost after your own heart. 

Swift. Out upon YOU, for such an absurd 
presentation as this .' I -say, old fellow, I'm 
right glad to see you. How are you — ^how 
have you been ? 

Tim. You be hanged ! 

W. the Elder. Timon, Timon ; do be civil. 

Tim. I shall do no such thing. I don't 
like his looks. I never saw a worse eye in a 
head, in all my spiritual days. 

W. the Elder, But he's my guest, remem- 

ber. Come, come, now, Timon; do foiget 
yourself, for once, and be decent; that's a 
good ghost. 

Tim. Well, well, as you will. What have 
I got pleasant to say, though ? I'm no com- 
pany for any body ; no, and never shall be 
again, I fear, through all eternity. 

W. the Elder. Why; what a dgh was 
there ! Cheer up, cheer up, old boy. Come, 
brother Swift, can't you manage to make 
yourself agreeable to our old Athenian friend 
here ? Suppose you preach us a sermon, now, 
by way of a change. You used to be a ffood 
deal of a wag, you know, in your time, ooth 
in and out of the .pulpit. 

Swift. Why, you pix>fane old wretch ! I 
Joke in the pulpit ? I never did such a thing 
in all my life. ' 

W. the Elder. You never did anything else. 
Oh, you need'nt stare so, ghost ; 1 have your 
own biographer's word for it, on the shelf 
yonder. j 

Swift. What, Mat ? Hang the felfcw :— 
he was terribly given to fibbing. 

W. the Elder. Sir Walter throws out the 
same idea, too. 

Swift. Well , perhaps I was somewhat flip- 
pant and frivolous, at times ; but I had'nt so 
bad a heart, after all, as some of my tra- 
ducers have ascribed to me. But that's nei- 
ther here nor there. Come, brother Athenian, 
and king of good haters, do brighten up. 
You actually look as if yon had b^ dining 
on unripe persimmons, for the last fifty centu- 
ries, and washing them down with red ink. 
Surely you must have a bit of spiritual news 
to tell a ghost. 

Tim. Not a thing — not a thing. 

Swift. Why, wfa^ro have you been all this 
while ? Why have'nt we stumbled over each 
other before ? 

Tim. Plato knows. 

Stcift. But what luminary do you hail 
from, anyhow ? 

Tim. Fogie. 

Swift. Fogie, fogie ? What coostdlation, 


Tim. Hardscrabble. 

Swift. Fogie, Hardscrabble? Are yon 
sure, Timon, you've got the right names f I 
never heard of any such part of the universe 

Tim. What signifies it ? You need'nt 
trouble yourself to inquire or to calL I shall 
certainly be out, if you do. 

Swift. What an incorrigible old crab you 
are, to be sure ! There's no getting anything 
out of him, landlord. 

W. the Elder. So I see. (aside.) Catch me 
asking such a ghost to tea again, m a hurry ! 
But, what route did you take, Timon, in thus 
honoring my invitation ? At what point did 
you cross the ecliptic, if it is a fair question I 

Ttm. Bah, how should I know 1 All ~ 



ronember, is that when your infernal planet 
hore in sight, I natnrallj made for Athens, of 
ooone, ami from there, blundered along, as 
best I oould, to this dast-hole of a town of 

W. the Elder, But why didhit you come 
direct to Qotham ? 

Ttm. Gotham? What the deuce did I 
know about Gotham ? Was'nt it all America, 
terra ino^nita, when I had the dyspepia on 

W. ike Elder. True, true. Well, you 
finmd some charming improyements, in and 
about Athens, did ^ou not, and a correspond- 
ing rise of prices, smce your last visit ? How 
were aU your old creditors ? You stopped at 
the Themistode House, I suppose ; or, at the 
Reverey may be ? 

Ttm. You*re sarcastic, old gentleman. 

W. the Elder. Well, then, in plain Eng- 
lish, you were delighted, were you not, Ti- 
moQt to see the filth, misery, degradation, 
nnn of the city, that you died cursing ? It 
did year bitter old soul good, did'nt it, to be- 
ll^ Bach a complete realization of aU your 

Tim. It certaiidy was gratifying; though 
not 80 much so as I expected. ' 

W. the Elder, [aside.) What an old sayage ! 

Swift. But, IS Athens really in such a 
Bfaodang condition ? 

Tim. It is so ; a thorough wreck, alike in 
trade, architecture and morals ; the old town, 
indeed, where I used to keep house, as dead 
as a ^k>or*nail, and its modem name-sake is a 
Tery dog-hole, presided over by a pig-headed 
Bavarian, plundered (under the name of pro- 
teetioii,) by a set of beer-swilline Austrian 
mereenarie^, and inhabited by Uie veriest 
tosfere and chicken-thieves. 

Swift. What ! no art there, whatever, or 
sdcDce, or literature, or prospect of any ? 

Tim. Bah! But hang Athens ! Whythe 
devil did you introduce the subject, land- 

W. the Elder. Well, well, let's change it. 
But, brother Jonathan, where are you from 
last, yourself? 

Siwtft. Oh, I've been knocking about 
Ancffica here, for the last three months. 

W. the Elder. Indeed! You must have 
frequented many of our best rapping and tip- 
pm circles, then. 

Swift. Yes, all over the Union. 

W. the Elder. Well, Dean, how do you 
fike mm Yankees, on the whole ? 

Swift. To be candid with you, not over- 
■nck. The old country for me — ghost or 

W. the Elder. But, surely, you see some- 
ii^h% agreeable and commendable in our man- 
■Ki and institutions ; some bonafide improv- 
iiiiBti, do you not ? 

8w^. Preeioui few, old feilow. 

W. the Elder. What, not in our unterrified 
democracy — our universal suf&age— our vd- 
untary system^— our — 

Svnft. Oh, you need'nt run over the list ; 
I consider them, one and all, mere high-sound- 
ing humbugs, that will never stand the test 
of time, or of a crowded population. Bub- 
bles, bubbles, just as sure to burst and to give 
way to the old regime again, both in govern- 
ment and religion, as they imiformly have, in 
all past ages. 

W. the Elder. Why, you hardened old 
Tory, you ! But, politics and theology apart, 
you certainly like our climate, doctor, don't 
you — and the scenery, and the women, and 
the oysters ? 

Swift. Out upon your climate! No lan- 
guage can express its caprices. As to your 
scenery, I have been most fearfully disappoint- 
ed in it There are some nretty girls scat- 
tered about, I confess ; and nere and there a 
healthy, well-developed oyster. 

W. thf* Elder. You do condescend, then, 
to admire our shell-fish, do you ? ( Asid e. ) The 
old crab ! 

Svnft. Yes, your oysters are as good as 
your manners are bad. 

W. the Elder. What? 

Swift. I repeat it. Wherever I have been, 
I have fbund a very low style of manners, 
alike in the social circle, the sanctuary, the 
parliament, and the halls of justice. Nine- 
tenths of your young men, that I have seen, 
have been swaggering and dissipated : and of 
your young women, hoydenish and extrava- 
gant ; while the old,people have, almost inva- 
riably, been thrust aside, like so much crack- 
ed crockery, or broken down furniture. There 
is a terrible lack of reverence among you ; aye, 
and of truly reverend objects. Nobody seema 
to look up to anybody or anything. Dollars 
and cents— dollars and cents; they are, at 
once, your peerage, your art, your science, 
your religion. 

W. the Elder. You atrocious old libeller, 
what do you mean ? You'll be saying next 
that Niagara is a humbug. 

Swift. I don't see much in it: — a good 
enough cascade for unwashed democrats : but 
the scenery about it is terribly flat and insi- 

W. the Elder. What the deuce would you 
have there? Mont Blanc? How absurdly 
you talk, doctor! As if moimtain scenery 
would'nt only injure the effect ! What other 
arrangement could half so well set off the 
beauty and majesty of the cataract? Ah, 
you're evidently bilious, Dean, and out of 
humor ; or perhaps you have'nt been received 
with that eclat, that you think was due to 
your genius. 

Swtft. Oh, no, no; I have been pretty 
wdl received, upon the whole. 

W. 1h€ £Uer. S(Mnething sticks in your 



crop, I'm sure. Somebody has been giving 
yon a rap over the Knuckles. Is it not so ? 

Swift, Not Sjt all, not at all. To be sure, 
I heard some pretty plain talk about myself, 
a few evenings since. 

W. the Elder. Ah! 

Sftift. Yes, I was abused in good sound 
terms, for a full hour and a half. / 

W. the Elder. Indeed! 

Swift. And, what*s more, I had to pay a 
crown, at the door, for the privily of hear- 
ing it all'. Think of that. Master Brook. 

W. the Elder. Why, is it possible that any 
yankee could be so — 

Swift. Ah, that's the vrorst of it. It was 
no yankee, but a countryman of my own, 
confound him ; let's see — what the deuce was 
his name? Whack — ^Whack — Whaek-away ; 
an individual who has been going about, lec- 
turing in these parts, of late. You must 
know all about him, surely. 

W. the Elder. Whack-away ? Poh, poh ; 
yon mean Thackeray. He does whack away, 
sure enough, and in magnificent style, too, at 
the follies and vices of his brethren. Thack- 
eray, Thackeray : a large ruddy man, with 
a white head, and spectacles, standing some 
seven feet six, in his stocking ? No ! 

Swift. The very fellow, and be hanged to 

W. the Elder. A capital lecture, that, Doc- 

Smft. You heard the libel, did you ? 

W. the Elder. To be sure I did, and 
would 'nt have missed it for a good deal. Ra- 
ther hard on you, old boy, though, I must 
say : and as it struck me, most unreasonably, 
savagely so. 

Swift. Curse his impudence! Why he 
would'nt allow me a solitary virtue ; no, not 
even that of filial piety; whereas, Heaven 
knows, if I was nothing else, I was, at least, 
a good son. 

iV, the Elder. You were so. Doctor ; and, 
more than that, — you ^ve away a large part 
erf" your income in chanty every year, if I re- 
member rightly. 

Swift. Indeed I did. 

W. the Elder. Oh, well : perhaps the lec- 
turer, if the truth were known, had a little 
lurking jealousy of your superior reputation 
and vigor, as a satirist. He certainly spoke 
most handsomely, though, of some of your 
cotemporaries, Doctor ; and, above all, of 
Fielding. A most delicious tribute, that. I 
could have hugged him for it. 

Swift. What, Harry Fielding. A broth of 
a boy, was'nt he ? ' 

W. the Elder. One of the most glorious 
geniuses Qod ever sent to bless the earth. 

Swift. And yet, do you know, that when 
I ventured to introduce his name at a recent 
spiritual maniiestation, nearly every morti^ 
{^resent protested against him, as altogether 

too gross a writer for this pore and < 
ened age? 

W. the Elder. What a set d phtfriflBioal 

Sivift. I thought so, and away I flew^ in- 
stanter. But we are rather neglecting our 
Athenian friend, here. Heavens, how i^om 
he looks ! He's in the brownest kind of a 
brown study, evid«itly. 

W. the Elder. Yes, indeed. Oh, how I 
should love to secure a daguerreotype, luyw, 

Sttfift. Holloa! my merry Greek, — ^wliat 
are you brooding over ? An obolus fat your 
thoughts. ^ 

Tim. Bah, bah, bah! 

Swift. What's the matter? Do] 
group of ghostly creditors in the 
What is it that annoys you thus ? 

Tim. Oh, let me go — ^let me go. 

W. the Elder. Whither away, old friend ? 

Tim. Back to my den. Don't keep me 
here, in torment. Out upon it, that we spinta 
should be compelled to dance attendance tlras, 
on a set of paltry earth-worms ! 

Swift. Come, come, Timon ; now we an 
here, let's make a day of it. MiUions of iAjn^ 
paids may elapse, befbre another such ^ea8> 
ant little party gets together again. 

Tim. I hope it may, with all my heart. 

Strift. Oh, don't be so infemaUy acid. — 
What entertainments have you to ofier, old 
host? What is tiiere at ^e theatre to- 

W. the Elder. Let's see. Ah, here's a 
pleasant little piece ; it would suit Timon to 
a T, I should say. 

Smft. What do they call it ? 

W. the Elder. The Six Degrees of Crime. 
By the way, old ghost, how many degrees 
must a fellow go through, before he comes out 
an A No. 1 Devil ? You ought to know, by 
this time. 

Tim. Only keep on in the road you are 
now travelling, and you'll bo pretty sure to 
find out. 

Sunft. You had better let him alone, land- 
lord. But what's this? Ptmlinei Pai^ine; 
that certainly has a far more cheerful sonnd 
than the other. 

W. the Elder. Cheerful, say you ? A per- 
fect raeout of horrors: some exquisite acting 
in it, though. 

Swift. What do they do in it? 

W. the Elder. What don't they do? <^iop 
each other up, shoot each other down, bury 
alive, and all the other little delicacies of the 
season ; and all in such a comme ilfaut, qmet, 
lady-like way. The hero of the piece is the 
most infernal, and at the same time, weQ- 
dressed, gentlemanly, scoundrd, I ever saw 
on the boards. 

Ttm. Let's go. I think I could relish an 
entertainment of that sort, amaringly. 

W. the &dir. WeU, its pteasant to aee 



ym^ Wigfatening up, ftt last. Bf the waj— » 
its too iMe, though, to-daj. 

!IVm. Howl 

W. the Elder. I (ftd think, for a moment, 
of aakh^ you for a sun-paintcKl copy of those 
leatares of yours. They would look so nicely 
akmside of that Flora, yonder. 

Ttm. Get oat, you infernal old — 

Swift. Come, come, friends ; do he decent. 
Let^ be off. I'm tired of sitting. 

W. the Elder. Whenever you say, Gulli- 
ver. Come, Timon ; why can't you he socia- 
hie, JQSt for this once ? 

Tim, Well, well : I supppoee I must hu- 
mor you. [Exeunt.] 


No writer, we may safely say, is so gener- 
tily quoted as Shakspeare. iktracts from 
his wofks, are to he found both in sermons, 
and lawyers' speeches, in newspaper editori- 
ala, as well as the contributions to magazines ; 
aad we bear the sayings of the great poet ap- 
plied to the most solram, and most joyous, 
occasions of life. With some of these we 
are aU fiuniliar : while the aptness of others 
■ibiJo; new delight, when met with on the 
title page of a volume, or quoted in conversa- 
tion, ** to p>int a moral, or adorn a tale." — 
If socb be the universal application of the 
wiffds of the immortal bard, how can we ade- 
qoatelj estimate a work which gives us the 
means of finding apt quotations, without dif- 
ficuhj ; and enables us to refer, instantly, to 
ov ikvorite passages ? Such a book is " The 
Cw^pfete Concordance to Shakspeare, being a 
T«rM index to ^ the dramatic works of that 
poet, by Mrs, Cowden Clarke." We intend 
giviiig some account of this wonderful monu- 
BKBiof female industry and patience, with a 
aoliee of the testimonial presented to the au- 
thoress by some Americans, who i^preciated 
herpersevering labors. 

we Concordance contains 860 pages, of 
% gft^itwmg each ; each column containing 120 
lines, or 360 lines on every page . and the en- 
tire work has the astounding number of 309, 
6d0 fines! There is not a word throughout 
Sbakspcare. which is not alphabetically ar- 
imged. The whole line is given in which the 
wmd occurs, and at the end of the line, we 
iU the name of the play, the act, and the 
SMBe. Twdve years were spent by Mrs. 
OmkAb in writing this volume, and four more 
iseorrecting the proof sheets ; besides read- 
iig it over Suree times, and comparing it with 
Ike HKMt correct editions. Even with all this 
cafe, we might expect to find a long list of 
tnala; but out of the 309,600 lines, there 
9n but twelve errata ; and these, more pro- 
perly, omissions. It is interesting to refer to 

various words, and see how much space they 
occupy. The little word " love, ' ' for instance^ 
fills sixteen columns of 120 lines each : so 
that it occurs (without counting any of its 
modifications) nineteen hundred and twenty 
times in the plays of Shakspeare. 

Robt. Babmanno, Esq., of Brooklyn, an 
enthusiastic admirer of Shakspeare, and of 
Mrs. Clarke's efforts to make him still better 
known, drew up a circular, soliciting sub- 
scriptions for a testimonial to be sent to that 
lady. The circular stated. *' It has been pro- 
posed to present to Mrs. Clarke, a handsome 
rose-wood library-chair, with writing and 
reading desk attached; and it is hoped the 
lovers ^ Shakspeare in America, who are 
constantly deriving benefit from Mrs. Clarke's 
labor, will have sufficient gallantry to present 
a testimonial, while it can be enjoyed, rather 
than wait, as is too often the case, till the 
lapse of time shall render it unavailing." * * 
**It is not expected that any subscription 
shall exceed five dollars ; but the carving and 
decorations of the chair will be in accordance 
with the amount received." This circular 
was sent to various well-known lovers of lite- 
rature, and met with a cordial response. — 
Most delightful letters were received in reply 
by the committee appointed for thispurpose, 
from Hon. Daniel Webster, Henry W. Long- 
fellow, and numerous others. Mr. Geo. Tick* 
nor says : " I feel that I owe it to her to add 
that I have used her Concordance to Shaks- 
peare unceasingly, from the day when I first 
saw a copy of it, and that it has never foiled 
in a single instance to satisfy my wants ; that 
I have recommended it in every way that I 
could with propriety, and have received only 
thanks, wherever I nave made it known ; and 
that, from its exceeding fullness and accuracy, 
I am convinced that it will never be super- 
seded. Twiss, Agscough, Dolby, &c., which 
I have long had, are entirely useless, and will 
necessarily remain so." 

Mr. Webster wrote : ** I shall most heartily 
concur, my dear sir, in a testimonial of ap- 
probation to the lady to whom you refer, and 
am quite ready to sign the subscription, first, 
last, or any where. Her work is a perfect 
wonder, surprisingly full and accurate, and 
exhibiting a proof of unexampled labour and 
patience. She has treasured up every word 
of Shakspeare. as if he were her lover, and 
she were his." The five dollar gold piece 
contributed by this great statesman, was sent 
to Mrs. Clarke, with his letter, and the auto- 
graph letters of many of the contributors. 
In acknowledging this package, she says, 
referring to the coin, ''It seemed hardly a 
piece of money, but rather some valuable 
medal, and tc^en c^ national and individual 
esteem. I fed inclined to have it mounted 
as ao ornament to a bracelet, or some such 
article of wear, that I may keep it about me. 



♦ * Looking at Bfr. Webster's golden gift, 
and reading his letter, and those of the other 
subscribers who have taken such a kind in* 
terest in an unknown stranger, quite orer- 
powered me ; I could not read them through, 
without weepine tears of mingled gratification 
and tenderness. ' 

To return to the testimonial chair. In the 
centre of the top, there is a head of Shaks- 
peare; beautifully cut in ivory, from the 
monumental bust at Stratford, encircled by a 
wreath of laurel and oak leaves, carved in the 
wood. The head w placed between two 
swans, in alto relievo, with extended wings 
meeting in the centre. On the lower rail, be- 
low the cushion, are masks of Tragedy and 
Comedy which, together with all the other 
parts, are most elaboratdy executed. The 
material covering the chair, is ^lendidly 
figured satih brocade. The inscnption on 
the silver gilt plate, which is immediately 
under the head of Shakspeare, is as follows : 
" To Mrs. Mart Cowdrn Clarke 
This Chair Is Presented, 
As a tribute of gratitude for the une- 
qualled INDUSTRY 

Which gave the readers of Engush, 

Throughout the world. 

Her Concordance to Shakespeare. 

New York, 15 July, 1851." 

Accompanying the printed copy of a letter 
to the sixty-four donors, there was sent to 
each, an autograph letter of thanks. It is 
proper to state, that the chair was transmitted 
to Liverpool, freight free, by Mr. Collins, and 
by the like generosity of Messrs. Edwards, 
Sanford & Co., the duty was paid, and it was 
conveyed to London gratuitously. 

It has been erroneously stated, that each 
line of the Concordance was written on a se- 
parate slip of paper, and put into baskets, al- 
phabeticidl^ arranged! It would be very 
gratifying if Mrs. Clarke should ever publish 
a full account of her method of proceeding in 
her arduous work, and of which we have a 
sketch in one of her autograph letters before 
us, together with twelve pages of the original 
MS. In concluding, we would advise the 
readers of Bizarre, who do not own the 
Concordance, to procure a copy immediately ; 
and they will soon acknowledge, that the 
praise here awarded to it, is justly merited. 


A fable. 

GoNZALMO, in early life, was strongly im- 
pressed with the importance of the trust con- 
fided to him, of securing a happy, perpetual 
residence for an immortal spirit, of wbich 
he was the recipient. His labors and re- 
searches were stimulated by the magnitude 

and duration of the object to be attaiaad. 
He studied the scriptures ; and consulted the 
opinions and productions of the wise and the 
ptous. He acquired a knowledge of the <»i- 
ental languages; and thus arrived at the 
fountain ttom which Christianity flowed, to 
direct the probationers here to future blisa, in 
the region beyond the ** Valley of the Shadow 
of Death. ' ' Having acquired a oorrec t knowl- 
edge of Christianity, by ascending to its 
source, he practised its duties with underia- 
ting constancy. Alive to the fatal effects of 
error in the momentous acquirements of reli- 
gion, he felt anxious for the happiness of pri- 
mogenitors ; as ignorance might produce dire- 
ful consequences. Stimuli^ed by pious BoAid' 
tude and filial affection, he prayed for a corpo- 
real resurrection of his forefathers, that he 
might examine them personally. An angel 
descended and addressed him : 

" Gonzalmo ! your prayers are heard, and 
your petition is granted. To-morrow voor 
race snail be arranged at your right hand." 

Gonzalmo directed his descendats to place 
themselves on his left hand. 

When Qonzalmo^s fbrefothers were arranged 
in a line, he was astonished at their grotesque 
appearance: he beheld a turbaned Turic; a 
red cross Knight; with a group of nonde- 
scripts ;— but his object being to ascertain tlie 
safety of their souls, he began an examina- 
tion. The Turk vociferated, <* Praise to Qod ! 
I am the slave of Ali." The Knights declared, 
that he who gave neither money nor personal 
services to rescue the Holy Land from the 
Infidels, was himself an Infidel. A Priest 
held up a cross, exclaiming, <' You deny the 
real presence,— and although you are my de- 
scendant,* for this heresy I would txMisign 
you to the sUke." A Doctor of the Sorbomie, 

five him a severe lecture for his aposta(^. — 
y another he was vehemently denounced for 
denying the doctrine of Election. Knowing 
that they were wrong, and being certain that 
ke was rieht, he felt irritated ; but S3rmpath7 
soft^ed his resentment. He informed them 
that since their time, researches had enabled 
sincere Christians to correct many errors and 
replace them with truth: new light had 
arisen, and dispelled the obscurity in which 
Christianity had been shrouded. Although 
they did not agree among themsdves. they 
agreed that he was an heretic, and regretted 
their having an apostate descendant. Grieved 
at the fatal errors of his line and race, he 
turned with joy to his posterity, to whom he 
had imparted the unchangeable doctrines of 
Christ in their purity; but he was over- 
whelmed with sorrow, to find that they bud 
abandoned the saving doctrines he had tanght 

• In ft oounca held ftt Rome, In tho year lOTi, it wu 
deddod that the eacredotal order iboold thereafter abetaln 
IWnn marriage. 



To his remooBiraiices they rejplied : — 

*^ Researches ktwe enabled sincere Ckrutians to 
mrrect many errors, and to replace them with 
Cfcf trmih ; new tight has arisen, and dispelled 
At obscurity in which Christianity has been 
dkfWttM." Cbieyed and agonized at the 
thought of being the parent of an apostate 
nee, «Dd at the awful consequences of their 
fii^ errofs, he was inconsolable: but thej 
were his offspring ; and* notwitstanding their 
stertling aberrations, he desired to rescue 
them. He therefore offered up a fervent 
pntTer for their admission into heaven ! The 
ngd i^gaiQ descended and announced to him 
tfa& his prayer had availed: "Your chil- 
dren are accepted; had your prayer been 
ceDeral, yoursdf would have be^ included ; 
out as it was confined to your own descend' 
aUSj you are excluded. The selfish and un- 
tkantable ar^ not admitted into Paradise. ^^ 

Ji^arre anuritg t^c |tchj §oolis. 

OF THON^AO K400R«.» 

— The third and fourth volumes of the Me- 
moirs, Journal and Correspondence of Moore, 
edited by Lord John Russell, have lately been 
pabbshed by Longman, of London, and pos- 
sess unusual interest. The^ embrace the 
restless, rapid-moving experience of Moore, 
dormg a period of three years, when 
he visited mnce, Italy, Ireland, and Scot- 
land ; and contain all the particulars relative 
to Lord Byron's fiunous autobiography, with 
tbt reasons for, as well as the circumstances 
of, its sale to Muny and ultimate destruction 
\f Lady Byron's friends. Byron, it seems, 
hsiided the document to Moore in 1819, during 
a 'Visit the latter made to him at Vienna. 
Ba broo^t it in, says Moore, in a white 
ktAer bag. Holding up the bag, ho said, 
*^Look here ; this would be worth something 
talfnrry, though you, I dare say, would not 
pt a sixpence for it." *' What is it 1" quoth 
Maoie. "My life and adventures," replied 
^fioa; " it is not a thing that can be pub- 
ined daring my life-time, but you may have 
it» if you like, — there, do whatever you please 
with it" In giving me the bag, adds Moore, 
h^ continoed, ** You may show it to any of 
anr friends you think worthy of it." 

Moore, in his diary, further records the gift 
of the document and subsequent circum- 
itanoeB, under date of May 28th, as follows : 

"28th. Received a letter, at last, from 
IqrI Bpon, through Murray, telling me he 
had io^med Lady B. of his having given me 
Ms Meokoirs for the purpose of their being 
published alter his death, and offering her the 
peraaal of them in case she might wi^ to 

* A pabliMtloD of the third part oomn to ui from the 
iyfinimM, ^knaagh Hradenon 4 Oo. 

oonfutrB any of his statements. Her note in 
answer to this offer (the original of which hd 
inclosed me) is as follows : — 

< Kirkby Mellory. March 10, 180^ 

* I received your letter of January 1, offer- 
ing to my perusal a memoir of part of your 
life. I decline to inspect it. I consider the 
publication or circulation of such a composi- 
tion at any time as prejudicial to Ada's future 
happiness. For my own sake I have no rea- 
son to shrink from publication ; but, notwith- 
standing the injuries which I have suffered, I 
should lament some of the consequences. 

'A. Byron. 

*To Lord Byron.' 

His reply to this, which he has also inclosed, 
and requested me (after reading it and taking 
a copy) to forward to Lady B., is as follows : 

'Kavennft, April 3, 1820. 

*I received yesterday your answer dated 
March 10. My offer was an honest one, and 
surely could only be construed as such even 
by the most malignant casuistry. I could 
answer you, but it is too late, and it is not 
worth while. To the mysterious menace of 
the last sentence, whatever its import may 
be — and I cannot pretend to unriddle it— 1 
could hardly be very sensible, even if I un- 
derstood it, as before it took place, I shall be 
where * nothing can touch him further.' .... 
I advise you, however, to anticipate the pe- 
riod of your intention ; for be assured no 
power of figures can avail beyond the pre- 
sent : and if it could, I would answer with 
the Florentine, — 

£t io, (die poeto ton oon loro In croce 

e certo 

Lft flera mogUe, pin ob' altro, mi nnoce. 


*ToL»dy Byron.'" 

Notwithstanding his wife's remonstrance, 
Byron continues his *' Menunrs," and sends 
continually to Moore. 

Moore now essays to sell the manuscript, 
and finally finds a purchaser in Murray, who 
gives him two thousand guineas, on condition 
that should he survive Byron, he (Moore) 
should be the editor. Murray takes an as- 
signment of the manuscript, as security from 
Moore for its printing when the period for its 
publication arrives. 

Lord Byron soon after dies, and the family 
of Lady Byron at once take steps to ^t pos- 
session of the ''Memoirs.'' Mr. Kinnaird 
moves actively in the matter, and offers to 
pay back to Murray the money he has ad- 
vanced ; the ostensible purpose being to get 
possession of the documents, to give Lady 
Byron and her family an opportunity " of de- 
ciding whether they wished them published 
or no." 

The result of the business must be given 
in the language of Mr. Moore's diary : 

"May 15, 1824.— A gloomy wet day.— 
Went to D.Kinnaard's. Told him how mat- 



ters stood between me and Muiraj^ and of 
my claims on the MS. He repeated his pro- 
posal that Lady Byron should advance the 
two thousand guineas for its redemption ; but 
this I would not hear of: it was I alone who 
ought to pay the money upon it, and the 
money was ready for the purpose. I would 
then submit it (not to Lady Byron), but to a 
chosen number of persons, and if they, upon 
examination, pronounced it altogether unfiit 
for publication. F would bum it. He again 
urged the propriety of my being indemnified 
in the sum, but without in the least degree 
conyincing me. Went in search of Brougham ; 
found him with Lord Lansdowne ; told them 
both all the particulars of my transactions 
with Murray. B. saw that in fairness I had 
a claim on the property of the MS., but doubt- 
ed whether the delivery of the assignment 
(signed by Lord Byron) after the passing of 
the bond, might not, in a legal point of view, 
endanger it Advised me, at all events, to 
apply for an injunction, if Murray showed 
any symptoms of appropriating the MS. to 
himself. No answer yet from Murray. Call- 
ed upon Hobhouse, from whom I learned that 
Murray had already been to Mr. Wihnot 
Horton, offering to place the ' Memoirs' at 
the disposal of Lord Barron's family (without 
mentioning either to him or to Hobhouse any 
claim of miile on the work), and that Wilmot 
Horton was about to negotiate with him for 
the redemption of the MS. I then reminded 
Hobhouse of all that had passed between 
Murray and me on the subject before I 1^ 
town (which I had already mentioned to Hob- 
house,) and said that whatever was done with 
the MS. must be done by 7ne, as I alone had 
the right over it, and if Murray attempted to 
dispose of it without my consent, I would 
apply for an injuncti')n. At the same time, I 
assured Hobhouse that I was most ready to 

Cthe work at the disposal, not of Lady 
Q (for this we both agreed would l>e 
treachery to Lord Byron's intentions and 
wishes), but at the disposal of Mrs. Leagfa, 
his sister, to be done with by her exactly as 
she thought proper. After this, we went to- 
gether to Kinnaird's, and discussed the mat- 
ter over again, the opinion both of Hobhouse 
and Kinnaird being that Mrs. Leigh would 
and ought to bum the MS. altogether, with- 
out any previous perusal or deliberation. I 
endeavoured to convince them that this 
would be throwing a stigma upon the work, 
which it did not deserve; and stated, that 
though the second part of the * Memoirs' was 
fhll of very course things, yet that (with the 
exception of about three or four lines) the 
first part contained nothing which, on the 
score of decency, might not be most safely 
published; I added, however,' that as my 
whole wish was to consult the feelings of 
Lord Byron's dearest fiieod^.his lister, the 

manuscript, when in mj power, should be 
placed in her hands* to be di^oaed of as abe 
should think proper. They asked me thou 
whether I would consent to meet Murray ftt 
Mrs. Ldgh's rooms on Monday, and there, 
paying him the 2,000 guineas, take the MS. 
from Lam, and hand it over to Mrs. Leigfa to 
be burnt. I said that, as to the burning, 
that was her affair, but all the rest I weuld 
willingly do. Kinnaird wrote down this 
proposal on a i»eoe of paper, and Hobhooee 
set off instantly to Murray with it. In the 
course of to-day I recollected a circumstaaee 
(and mentioned it both to IL and K.) which 
independent of any reliance 9h Murray's fiHr- 
ness, set my mind at rest as to the validity of 
my claim on the manuscript. At the tioBe 
(April 1822) when I converted the sde of 
the * Memoirs ' into a debt, and gave Muiraj 
my bond for the 2,000 guineas, leaving the 
MS. in his hand as a collateral security, I» by 
Luttrel's advice, directed a clause to be inserted 
in the agreement y giving me^ in the event of 
Lord Byron^s deaths a period of tiuree montha 
after such event for the purpose of raising 
the money and redeeming my pled^. This 
clause I (uctated as clearly as possible both 
to Murray and his solicitor, Mr. Tomer, 
and saw the solicitor interline it in a roogh 
draft of the agreement. Accordin^y, <m re- 
collecting it now, and finding that Luttrel 
had a perfect rec(^ection of the circumstance 
also (i. e, of having suggested the clause to 
me), I felt of course confident in my claim. 
Went to the Longmans, who pronused to 
bring the 2,000 guineas for me on Monday 
morning. * * 26th. Called on Hobhoum. 
Murray, he said, seemed a little startled at 
first on hearing of my claim, and, when the 
clause was mentioned, said ' Is there such a 
clause ?' but immediately, however, professed 
his readiness to comply with the ajian|;e- 
ment proposed, only altering the sum whK^ 
Kinnaird had written, * two tibousand j^ounds,' 
into * two thousand guincasy^ and adding *■ with 
interest, expense of stamps,' &c. &c. Kin- 
naird joined us, being about to start to-day 
for Scotland. After this I called upon Lut- 
trel, and told him all that had passed, adding 
that it was my intention, in giving the manu- 
script to Mrs. Leigh, to ptotest againai its 
being whoUy destroyed. Luttrel strongjly 
urged my doing so, and proposed that we 
should caU upon Wihnot Horton (who was to 
be the representative of Mrs. Leigh at to* 
morrow's meeting), and talk to him on the 
subject. The utmost, he thou^t, that could 
be required of me, was to submit the MS. to 
the examination of the friends of the family, 
9LDd destroy all that should be found objeo* 
j tionable, but retain what was not so, for my 
I own benefit and that of the pMic Went oif 
I to Wilmot Horton's, wh(»n we luckily fbund. 
I TM him the whole history of the MS. 



I po^ it inlo MnrTftj's haads, and nKiitNiied 
tlMB ideas that had occurred to myself and 
Laitrelwith reapect to its destruction; the 
i o f ust iee we thou^t it would he to Byron^s 
memory to condemn the work wholly, and 
without even opening it, as if it were a pest 
bag ; that eveiy ohject might be gained by 
our perusing it and examining it together (he 
on the part of Mrs. Leigh, Frank Doyle on 
tlie part of Lady Byron, and any one else 
wboai the fiunily might think proper to 8e« 
kei), umI, rejectiiig iSl that could wonnd the 
fe t to ga of a sin^e indnridnal, but preserving 
what was innoxiotis and creditable to Lord 
Bynn, of which I assured him there was a 
oooaiderable proportion. Was glad to find 
tlwt Mr. YFilmot Horton completely agreed 
with these views : it was even, he said, what 
he meant to propose himself. He undertook 
ate to see Mrs. Leigh on the subject, pro- 
pasng that we should meet at Murray's (in- 
stead of Mrs. Leigh's), to-morrow, at eleven 
o'do^, and that then, after the payment of 
Ae money by me to Murray, the MS. should 
be placed in some banker's hands till it was 
decided among us what should be done with 

Lord John Russell, editor of the work in 
notice, sums up the noatter thus: 

** I have omitted in this place a long account 
of the destruction of Lord Byron's MS. Me- 
moir of his Life. The reas(Hi for my doing so 
may be easily stated. Mr. Moore had con- 
seoAed* with too much ease and want of re- 
action, to become the depository of Lord 
l^mi*8 Memoir, and had obtained from > Mr. 
Minray 2,000 guineas on the credit of this 
wvk. He speaks of this act of his, a few pages 
osward, as *the greatest error I had com- 
mitted, in putting such a document out of my 
power.' He afterwards endeavored to repair 
tins error by raying the money to Mr. Mur- 
ray «nd securing the manuscript to be dealt 
vitli as should be thought most advisable by 
hbttelf in concert with the representatives of 
Lord Byron. He believed this purpose "was 
aaott^ by a clause which Mr. Luttrel had 
aMsed should be inserted in a new agree- 
■■Bt with Mr. Murray, by which Mr. ]m)ore 
was to hare the power of redeeming the MS. 
for ikste months after Lord Byron's death. 
But neither Mr. Murray nor Mr. Turner, his 
soBeHor, seem to have understood Mr. Moore's 
wish mod intention in this respect. Mr. Mur- 
ny^jm his side, had confided the manuscript 
te jfr. Gifford, who, on perusal, declared it 
too gross for publication. This opinion had 
beeome known to Lord Byron's friends and 
w i rtioM . Hence, when the news of Lord 
Byron's unexpected death arrited, all partte8» 
vitt the most honorable wishes and consSet* 
Ml vicwrs, were thrown into perplexity and 
af^arent diaoord. Mr. Mocnre wished to re- 
Ma the raannaeripit and submit it to Mrs. 

Leigh, Lord !^r^on's si^r, to be destroyed 
or published with erasures and omissions. 
Sir John Hobhouse wished it to be immedi- 
ately destroyed, and the representatives of 
Mrs. Leigh expressed the same wish. Mr. 
Murray was unUing at (mce to give up the 
manuscript, on repayment of his 2,000 gui- 
neas with interest. The result was, that 
alt^ a very unpleasant scene at Mr. Murray's, 
the mumscript was destroyed by Mr. Wilmot 
&rton and Gd. Doyle as the representatives 
of Mrs. Leigh, with the full consent of Mr. 
MocMre, who repaid to Mr. Murray the sum he 
had advanced, with the interest then due. 
After the whole had been burnt, the agree- 
ment was found, and it appeu^ that Mr. 
Moore's interest in the MS. had entirelv 
ceased on the death of Lord Byron, by whicn 
event the property became absolutely vested 
in Mr. Murray. The details of this scene 
have been recorded both bv Mr. Moore and 
Lord Broughton, and perhaps by others. 
Lord Broughton having kindly permitted me 
to read his narrative, I can say, that the 
leading facts related by him and Mr. Moore 
agree. Both narratives retain marks of the 
irritation which the circumstances of the 
moment produced; but as they both (Mr. 
Moore and Sir John Hobhouse) desired 'to do 
what was most honorable to Lord Byron's 
memory, and as they lived in terms of mend- 
ship afterwards, I have omitted details whidi 
recall a painfhl scene, and would excite pain- 
ful feelings. As to the manuscript itself, 
having read the greater part of it, if not the 
whole, I should say that three or four pages 
of it were too gross and indelicate for publi- 
cation ; that the rest, with few exceptions, 
contained little traces of Lord Byron's genius, 
and no interesting details of his life. His 
early youth in Greece, and his sensibility to 
the scenes around him, when resting on a rock 
in the swimming excursions he took from the 
Piraeus, were strikingly described. But, on 
the whole, the worid is no loser by the pacri- 
fice made of the Memoirs of this great poet." 


— The Hupers have just published a book 
with this title, emanating from the pen of 
Stephen Tracy, M. D., a gentleman who has 
had no little experience as a practitioner at 
home and abroad. Dr. Tracy dedicates his 
book to the ^oung mothers of the United 
States; and its pages contain much, very 
much, thftt it is valuable for them to know. 
He advocates no " new or old theory, -ism, or 
-pathy;" nor does he seek to teach his readers 
to become self-dosers, but he does seek to lay 
out a plaa or jsystem which shall enable them 
to avoid -flbany of the '* ills that flesh is heir 
to." ' The doctor tiiiinks the necessity for a 
work of this kind has increased of late, by 
the introducticni of i^ysiology and anatomy 
into aehoolst and by the frequent oconrrenoe 



of popular lectures on the sa):ject of both, all 
of which haye their evil as wdl as their good 

eroducts. We leave his book witfi this out- 
ne statement of its character. It maj be 
productive of great good ; while it also may 
create the very evil to which, in certain 
points, it takes exception. We have little 
confidence in universal guides to health ; little 
confidence, too, in books professing to pre- 
scribe a cure for all diseases. The best me- 
thod of keeping well is to live as naturally as 
possible; that is, plainly, temperately, and 
with abundance of exercise. If these do not 
conduce to health, then we advise the consul- 
tation of a good physician. Books are great 
inventions to give one general knowledge, 
whether it be of science, art, or literature ; 
but you can no more write one which shall be 
an unfailing reliance in avoiding or curing 
disease, than you can make a coat or a pair 
of boots which shall fit everybody. 


— J. W. Moore has sent us the second vo- 
lume of this delightful melange of amusement 
and instruction. It is printed from the Edin- 
burgh plates, and got up, altogether, in very at- 
tractive style, withits pretty pink blue-lettered 
cover^ its handsomely designed and executed 
embellishments, and its neat typography. 
•irwioN KSN-roN. 

— We alluded to this historlbal novel when 
it was passing through the press of Messrs. 
Lippincott, Grambo £ Co., and predicted for 
it a favorable reception. It is from the pen 
of Mr. James Weir, and, we believe, is his 
first — we cannot say maiden, when speaking of 
a pantaloons weiyrer--effort as an author. That 
it contains very stirring passages, is certain ; 
that it promises brilliant things for the future 
of its author is equally clear. We hope he 
will persevere in the neld he has sdected. 
There can be no doubt of his ultimately 
achieving the most brilliant results. His 
ability for characterization is excellent; he 
also lias no little skill in arranging dramatic 
positions and effects. 

— The Home Journal slates that Mr. Henry 
T. Tuckerman is engaged in collecting and 

greparing for publication the writings of the 
imented Horatio €h*eenough. Mr. Greenough, 
besides being an eminent artist, was an origi- 
nal and fluent writer, and he left many papers 
of great interest and value. The contemplat- 
ed edition of his works will be aiseotnpanied 
by a memoir from the pen of the editori who 
is well fitted, by his interest in art and his 
literary talents, to do justice to so attractive 
Mr. Tuckerman has been in BoiUKi 

for lonie 4i^, coUeoling tke nquiaite uifentt* 

— Mr. Henry P. Anners, of this city, an- 
nounces a " Child's ffistory of England, hy 
Miss Comer." This is an attempt to Comer 
Dickens. Will it not prove an attempt, 

— Mrs. Stowe created an unusual excitenoent 
at <<Edinboro' town." Gaping people fol- 
lowed her along the streets, and nearly upset 
the carriage in which she rode. A banquet 
was given in her honor, and for the promotion 
of the anti-slavery cause, when about 1500 
persons were pesent The Lord Provost 
(Mayor) occupied the diair, supported by a 
band of clerg3rmen, mostly " dissenters. " The 
"Uncle Tom Penny Offering" was, in the 
course of the entertainment, handed to Mrs. 
Stowe m the shape of £1000 steriing, with a 
request that she would expend it in whatever 
way she mi^t consider best to advance the 
abolitionist cause. The money was presented 
upon a silver salver, a gift to Mrs. Stowe per- 
sonally from the Edinburgh ladies. This 
further instalment <^ Judas money, was> <^ 
course, gratefully accepted, and will be ap- 
propriated for the benefit of the '' poor n^gro" 
— over the left. 

— Among other articles of antiquity lately 
sold in London, was a silver watch j)re.sent eld 
to the Whalley family by Oliver Cromwell : 
£5 10s. An episcopal ring, of the tenth cen- 
tury, found at Armagh, engraved and orna- 
mented, which was purchased for £17. A piece 
of ring money, ornamented, £4. A silver 
book-case or cover, very finely worked, £17. 
A Persian seal, inscribed, '* Joseph bees the 
grace of the most high and mighty C5d for 
everlasting happiness," and three others, in 
onyx, 128. A stone " celt " from the cousty 
of Meath, Ireland ; 10s. 6d. A pair of ancient 
spurs, £2 7s. Eight flint arrow heads, found 
at Clough, 10s. An ancient Irish drinking 
cup of wood, from Cavan, Ireland, 12s. 

— The GtueUe MusicaU states that MdUe. 
Marie Labladie, daughter oi the incomparable 
60550, has made her first appearance at the 
Court Theatre of St. Petersburgh, in *« La 
Fi^a del Reggimento." with great success. 

— It is stated that Mr. James H. Hackett, 
j the comedian, has at last closed an engage- 

i ment witji Grisi and Mario, at the tune of 
I $2500 the night, and that they will visit us 
early in the autumn. Immense price— alto- 
gether too much. 

— The Lantern states that the Messrs. Har- 
per are about publishing a ** EQstorf of Be- 
nedict Amdd,'^ by John a 0. Abbott, author 
<^'* History of Napoleon Bonaparte." It adds, 
" Mr. Abbott, we understand, takes an ortgi- 
nd view of the chmuster of AnMdd/*-a view 



iahied: he maintains that the General was 
actu at ed to his treadieiy bj the purest and 
moat heneficent motives, and that a desire to 
span the effusion of innocent blood lay at the 
root of the < Great Commander's ' life/' 

— A sale of the costly effects of Mk*. Lumley, 
late lessee of her Majesty's theatre, latdy 
took place in London. Amongst many articles 
of recherche character in the collection was 
the (Higinal bust of Jenny Lind, from the 
crush-room of her Majesty's Theatre, where, 
during the season of 1849 and 1850, it excited 
ereat notice, both as a work of art, and faith- 
ful representation of the Nightingale. Some 
paintings and drawings, including works by 
Croikshank and Count d'Orsay, toimd ready 
purchasers, although at low biddings. A 
water-color drawing of the Pas de Quatre, 
with groupings of the most celebrated dan- 
srases, Tagliona, Cerito, Lucille Grahn, Car- 
k)tta Grisi, ^., was knocked down at £40. 
£1000 might coyer the total produced by all 
the principal articles in the sale, including 
the wine and furniture. 

— Mr. Thackeray, we learn, is commin^ back 
next autumn for the purpose of continuing 
bis ooone of lectures — taking up, in all pro- 
bability, the Georgian Era, and sketching the 
Johnsons, Walpoles, and Miss Bumeys. The 
New York Albion sUtes that Mr. T.'s trip 
^deared" $12,000. 

— A correspondent of the Boston Evening 
Gazette J writing from New York, under late 
date, states that <* certain American authors 
luiye been notified, through an American 

. agent* that they were empowered to draw 
open Messrs. Clarke, Beeton & Co., publish- 
er8» London, for yarious sums, as thetr right- 
foi instalment upon the sale of their books in 
I London." The English house, it is added, 
I do this of their own accord, and they intend 
to carry out this principle in regard to aU 
American works issued by them. Any body 
win see, with half an eye, that Messrs. C. tf. 
k Co. can lose nothing by this stand, which 
they haye taken in beludf of the rights of pro- 
perty, which are the same, we presume, 
whether yested in cotton-bales or books. 

— (liaries Knight's new and improyed edition 
oC the Penny CyclopsDdia, under the title of 
ths "English Cyclopaedia," commenced on 
the 30th of April, in weekly numbers of 36 
pages, 260 of which will complete the work. 
It win be arranged in four separate diyisions, 
Geogr^hy, Natural Histoiy, Science and 
Arts, ffistory. Biography, Literature, Sec. 

--^Br. Alexander Mayer, a French physician, 
has written to the Presse, announdnff that 
hs had met with an intelligent and ^dlli\il 
who has sdysd the problem (^ ob- 

tsinuBg heat for all the purposes for whiofa 
Ibel is now employed by tae means of f rictioa 
and that he will soon be able to exhibit to 
the poblio an apparatus by which any quan- 
tity c^ heat may be obtained by friction, with- 
out toA of any kind, for the purpose of dfl^ 
mestic use, or for the generation of steam for 
steam engines. 

— Punch puts the following excise question 
to the rappers. Is Mrs. Hayden, the lady 
"medium who attends parties wishing to 
communicate with the other world — is she 
duly licensed to sell spirits ? Answer — No ; 
she only sells the dupes, who pay for what 
they don't get. 

—A letter from Madrid of the 13th of April, 
states that water has become so scarce in the 
fountains of that cit^ that the carriers can- 
not obtain the quantity required for the daily 
supply of their customers. A Madrid journal 
states that at Cordoya, on the 8th of April, 
the heat was excessiye, 28 degrees of Reau- 
mor (95 Fahrenheit). 

— Mr. Collier's recent publication has stirred 
up other of the Shakspearian editors. Mr. 
I>^ce is said to be ready to issue a ** yariorum 
ecution," in 10 or 12 yols. ; and l^fr. Moxon 
announces another (of the text only, we pre- 
sume,) in six. 

— A green and gold prospectus is out, in 
London, announcing a *<New and Splendid 
Library Edition, to be published by suoscrip- 
tion, 01 the Popular Poets and Poetry of Bri- 
tain." The publisher is Mr. James Nichd, 
of Edinburgh ; and the work is to be '' edited 
with biographical and critical notices by the 
Key. George GilfiUan, author of the * Gallery 
of Literary Portraits,* * Bards of the Bible,' 

— Messrs. C. J. Price & Co., of our city, an- 
nounce in press, " The Mind and the Emotions, 
considered in relation to Health, Disease, and 
ReUgion ; by William Cooke, M. D." 1 voL 
small 8yo. 

— Mr. James Roche, well known as a most 
learned and cofHOUs contributor to the Gentle* 
man's Magazine y under the signature of '' J. 
R.," died at Cork, in his eighty- third year. 
In ' The Prout Papers ' he was called '* the 

debitors' Sans-Soud^ 

ERpwzs won iNSTRUO-riOISI AMO I ' 

— An effort is about to be made in this oitj 
to establish an Institution for Scientific, lite- 
rary and Artistic entertainments ; which will 
oomlnne instruction and mental culture with 
aarasement. Theaidof thebe8tintdlect,ajid 



learning, as well as artistic talent, will be se- 
eored, in or^ to present the wonders of 
science, the beanties of art, and the refine- 
ments of literature, in a Hiannflr calculated to 
charm the senses while they instruct the 
mind. It is intended to make eloquence, poe- 
try, painting and music, the adornments as 
well as the illustrations of sober science : so 
that those who desire mere amusement will 
find such entertainments as will make the 
time pass pleasantly, and at the same time ex- 
ert a refining influence upon the mind and 
heart, while they will afibrd the most agreea- 
ble and interesting themes for after reflec- 
tion ; and those who desire solid information 
in any, or every, department of science and 
art, will receive it in its most pleasing 

The projector of this Institution has been 
engaged for ten years past in designing and 
perfecting a course of illustrations calci^ted 
to make science and literature attractive and 
interesting, and to create a taste for polite 

Among the novelties which will first be of- 
fered to the public, will be a course of lec- 
tures on En^sh Philology, which will be 
made interesting by a variety of original and 
amusing illustrations ; and will give a much 
better idea of the philosophy of words and 
the structure of our language, than can be 
got from the ordinary method of teaching. 

If this effort should meet with encourage- 
ment, arrangements will be made for the es- 
tablishment of a permanent Institution, in 
which instructive amusements will be pre- 
pared upon a scale of magnificence which nas 
not been heretofore attempted in this coimtry. 
No one can doubt of the refining influences of 
a taste for the fine arts ; nor of the beneficial 
effects upon the society of our city, which 
must result from the estaUishment of an insti- 
tution which will occupy the leisure time of 
our citizens agreeably, and cultivate a taste for* 
scientific recreations. 

There is ho element of human character 
which exerts a more powerful influence in its 
promotion than the amusements of a commu- 
nity: and when these are n^lected or im- 
im)perlyprovided, the effect is most perni- 
cious. We cannot, therefore too highly recom- 
mend, as matters of amusement, ** those pol- 
ished arts,'* which, as the poet says, " hiave 
harmonized mankind." 

The lover of science, the man of learning, 
the accomplished artist, will rarelv be a dis- 
orderly citizen ; and it cannot be denied that 
Oiuch oi the disorder which is so rife in all 
our large cities, arises from a want of mental 
eolture. Let us have amusements which will 
soften the asperities of our nature, r^&ne our 
feelings and elevate the moral sentiments. — 
The fine arts a£ford the most proper and the 
attiactive amusameDtSt when pit^peily 

exhibited ; and it n by such memos tfaa* w» 
skoold endeavor 

«<To w«k« tiM Krai Ij ttndtr strokM of alt. 
To rmJJM Um genius and to mcod tbe heart." 

There is ambiti<m enough in the heart of 
every individual to make s<Hnething respecta- 
ble of him, if it be properly developed ; an^ 
it should be the aim of public entertainments 
to stimulate a proper ambition in the minds 
of young persons, as well as to enable them 
to perceive that the fields of science and art 
afford the best, as well as the most agreeable 

There are very few who will not find grati- 
fication and instruction from a good course of 
lectures on the "philosophy of language;" 
and the novd manner in which this subject 
will be illustrated, will give it a charm which 
under ordinary circumstances it does not pos- 

We shall have occasion to speak of this 
matter again. 


— Is the title of the following very pretty 
stanzas which we have received from Cluurles 
Albert Janvier, of Philadelphia : 

(Son badda tha haarinc btUoir, 

lirtening to tbe aMrUrd'a atnlii, 
Xrar aite a gontla maiden, 

Gaaing on tha boondlew main; 
Erer, aver iadly gadng 

On tiba surging rolling main. 

At each taU that aha beholdetb, 

Swiftly coming to the shore, 
From her &oe tbe sorrow ftdeth. 

Bat too soon her joy is o'er; 
For, alas I the ship she widteth, 

Neyer, nerer! comath morel 

Where the bright^yed, long-haired merauUti 

Sing within the coral eayos. 
While the eyer restless ocean 

Barges round with ceaseless waTtat 
There, aflur, beneath the waters, 

Find her crew their quiet grayai. 

But tha maiden erer sttteth, 

Qaiing on the boundless sea. 
Fondly i^wildly, madly hoping 

That each saU her lore's may be : 
All in vain ; for him she walteth 

Calmly sleeps beneath the sea. 


— A work, entitled *' Sketches from the Min- 
eral Kingdom," gives us some very interesting 
facts, touching £amonds. Those of a quai^ 
ter of an ounce weight are extraordinarily 
costly, but still larger are met with ; and one 
of the largest known is that of the rajah of 
Muttun, in Borneo, which weighs nearly two 
ooneesandahalf; that of Oie Sultan of Tur- 
key weighs two ounces ; one in the Russwrn 
sceptre more than aa ounce and a quaitsr. 
The greatest diameter of the last is one iwchy 



tiM tUddM)88 SIX fines. The Empren Cathe- 
rine n, purchased H in the 3rear 1772, from 
Amsterdam, and for it was paid £75,000 and 
an amraity of £650. Diamonds weighing an 
oonoe exist also in the French and Austrian 
regalia. One of the mostperfect is the French, 
kMwn as the Pitt or Regent diamond. It 
was bought for Louis XY., from an English- 
mn named PiU, for the sum of £135,000 
sterling, but has been valued at half million. 
One of the stones most renowned in the East, 
is the K<^i-noor, or mountain of Light, now 
m possession of the Queen of England. It 
came from Golconda to Persia, and while un- 
eat weighed more than five ounces. It is 
Tahied at more than £2,000,000 sterling. If 
we look only to the common mode of estima- 
ting the Tfliue, a perfect brilliant weighing 
hi^ a pound, would be worth £20,000,000. 
Some have stated that such a diamond exists 
unong the luyal treasures of Portugal, as 
large as a hen^s egg ; according to others this 
is «il7 a topas. By the way, late foreign pa- 
pers state tnat a quantity of diamonds of the 
ralae of 20,000 florins, was stolen a short time 
ago from the Boudoir of the Countess Clary, 
in her residence at Vienna. There was no 
traee of yiolence, and the robbery was com- 
mitted hi the day-time. Although it was 
endent that the thief was wcill acquainted 
with the house, no suspicion fd\ on any of the 
domestics on account of their high character. 
Bvt the police, after making an investigation, 
cfisoovered that the thief was a woman em- 
l^oyed as a nurse in the family, and the dia- 
moDds were ibnnd in her possession. 


—Mr. Gould, successor to A. Fiot, Swaim's 
Buildings, sends us the following new music, 
whidi we particularly recommend to our lady 
mders: — ''I cannot live without thee," a 
UUad adapted to a favorite air, by Paganini, 
sad dedicated to Mrs. Harvey Smith, by Chas. 
JiTTia,—*' First Rate SchotUsche," by Fred. 
Winter, dedicated to Mrs. Mary Jane Smith, 
-^ Heed not the idle Tales," a ballad, sung 
by Madam Thillon, composed by Thomas Ba- 
ker^—" For love of Thee,'' a ballad sung by 
Vnoer, written and ctwnposed by Geo. Linley, 
— ^The Vocal beauties of Flowtow's new 
Open of Martha, translated and arranged for 
tfaft liDglish stage by Chevalier Bochssr— since 
tht paSioation of Madam Bishop's Travels 
ai tM land of MoDtezeuma, one of the heroes 
el Maxiool We find also in the budget 
:'0 famous '« Dance Ossianique." 

—A correspondent has called out attention to 
tttyartgragh copied from a New York Jour- 
iMBpal hito the last number of Bizarre, (p. 61) 
a TCtation to the Philadelphia Awtora, and 
iirihfs to have some errors therein noted. — 

a*tV« fSntA rtT "Wmm-ntrkiwi^^ r«ifiivnMknl>. fmm 

the Presidency there WW no district of Spring 
Garden, and consequently no Spring Garden 
butchers, and as to the butchers of Philadel* 
phia city and ooonty in general, they were a^ 
most to a man members of the l^puUican 
party, as every old citizen <:^ Philadelphia 
knows. There is not a word of truth in the 
statement that the Aurora office was attacked 
by any one, in consequence of theprovocation 
referred to respecting President Washington'^ 
retirement from the Presidency. It is a piece 
of pure fiction. An attack was threatened at 
another time, but Benjamin Franklin Bache, 
editor of that time, armed all the hands in 
his office, and the attack was indefinitely 
postponed. The piece " Now let thy ser- 
vant depart," Ac., which was in very bad 
taste, was written by Dr. Michael Leib. — 
Philadelphia has enough riots to answer for, 
without the addition of imaginary ones. 


— We received, a day or two since, the fol- 
lowing letter, with inclosures which are ap- 
pend^. Write again, good Christopher. 

Mr. Editor — There are some people in this 
world who have an invincible propensity for 
punning, and it is not a little remarkable that 
such persons seem to enloy bad puns quite as 
much as good ones. Your humble servant 
has a taste for such things, and sometimes 
ventures to perpetrate something desperate 
in this way. Being recently reproved, by a 
pious old lady, for reading your paper on Sun- 
day, he replied that he thought it no harm to 
read a paper that had so recently come from 
Church. You may imagine the sensation 
which this effort caused. 

I send you enclosed some of our most recent 
attempts : should they prove acceptable, we 
may feel encouraged to make more energetic 
essays in future. 

Respectfully yours, 

Christoper Crawfish. 

If Louis Napoleon knows which side of his 
bread is buttered he will not be too greedy 
for Sandwiches, 

General Lane, it appears, has placed him- 
sdf in an awkward attitude. If we may be- 
lieve iEsop or La Fontaine, it is not the first 
time that Vane (the*ass) has done so. 

A hundred years ago Boston would not 
have patronised Sunday (Sontag) operas. 

The Duchess of Sutherland has recently 
received two magnificent presents; viz., a 
lock of Mrs. Stowe's hair and the key to Uncle 
Tom's Cabin. 

Poly Gamy is Brigham Young's wife. 

The lonrat fishing-line we have yet heard 
of is the mnm line, from Philaddphia to Sa- 

A Uack tragedian has recently caused a 
vrPULt MnMtion in Hum garf. The literati and 



histriones of Pesth bftre mm him ft grand 
diiiner and a valuable album. The dinner 
was certainly an appropriate oompliment to 
a Hung{K)ry actor; but as for the album, it 
certainly would have been more apropos if it 
had been a nigrunL 

The Sloo Treatt.— Santa Anna has had a 
big blow out in honor of his return to Mexico. 
They say the whole party, got sloo^d on the 
first instalment from the Tehauntepec com* 

The Stowe ovation in England ap^ars to 
have turned out rather a sXeepish affair, es- 
pecially on the part of the masculine Stowe. 

Emblekatig. — The rays on the new (quar- 
ters are significant of the efforts sometmies 
made to raise a quarter, when a fellow is 
thirsty; and the arrow-heads are indicative 
of the rapidity with which American money 
flies to England. 

Ex-Senator Tallmadge is out in &vor of 
spiritual rappings. Congress men are very 
apt to favor spiritual manifestations. 


— The/Academy of Arts opened in our dty 
on Monday, the 9th. The collection of pic- 
tures is good, and will be noticed hereafter. 
Ne>A^ aooKB 

— The following new books await notice at 
our hands: — ^From Ticknor, Reed & Fields, 
Boston, *« ThalaU, a Book for the Sca-Sidc ;" 
fix)m M. W. Dodd, New York. ** Rachel KeU :" 
from Lippincott, Grambo &> Co., Philadelphia, 
•* Hart's Gredc and Roman Mythology." 

eoHooL. OP oesioN for won/ien. 

— The connection of this institution with 
the Franklin Institute has been dissolved, and 
it has passed into the hands of a committee of 
prominent citizens, among whom are John 
Gri^, Judge Kelley, John W. Claghom, J. 
R. '^son, Robert Hare, Elliott Cresson, and 
the firms of Howell & Brothers and Cornelius 
& Co. This committee have received the 
furniture and propertv of the school, and as- 
sumed its debts. They publish a card an- 
nouncing the fact, and urging a co-operative 
action on the part of their fellow-citizens, in 
order that the School may be placed on a per- 
manent footing. They say : — 

*' The School had its origin with Mrs. Sarah 
Peter, who, with characteristic discernment, 
perceived its great public importance in con- 
nexion-^with the benefits it would confer upon 
women, and upon the arts and manufactures 
of the country. It has now been tried for 
about four years, and the experiroait has jus- 
tified the high promises which its first esta- 
blishment excited. Patterns are produced 
of such excellence as to secure handsome re- 
turns to the pupils. Some younff women, 
whose knowledge has been acquired and skill 

formed at the schocd, obtain above thirty del* 
lars a month from the sales. The compensa- 
tion will be increasedas higher skill is attained, 
a^ the inventive power is strengthened by 
longer practice and study. 

* * • • « 

<' It opens to females a new and lucrative 
emf^oyment, requiring for its exercise those 
qualities in which they are peculiarly fitted 
to excd. It will raise the character of our 
fabrics, in imparting to them the aids of ori- 
ginal, tastefiil, and beautiful designs. In all 
that relates to useful, elegant, and omamoital 
art, the school possesses distinguished advan- 
tages firom the presence of such institutions in 
our midst as the Academy of Fine Arts and 
the Academy of Natural Sciences. We may 
add to this, the facilities which abound among 
us for every varietv of manu&cture, and the 
duty which these impose of making all rea- 
sonable efforts for its improvement. In short, 
it requires but that aid to female ingenuity 
and taste, which the cultivation of drawing 
and designs confers, to make this community 
excel in aU the arts which appertain to utility 
and ornament." 

Schools of this kind have been established 
in New York and Boston since our own ; and 
already have they advanced far beyond it, so 
liberal has been the aid which they have re- 
ceived from the citizens of those cities. These 
schools, we are told, are numerous in En^iu^ 
and France ; so much so, that in the former 
2000 pupils availed themselves of their bene- 
fits in 1847,— only twelve years after their 
establishment, — while in the latter, the scho- 
lars exceed 10,000 in number, from the work-, 
ing classes alone. Our own school has num- 
bered some 70 pupils, and unauestionably, in 
the language of the address before us, with 
ample funds '' it mav be made conducive to 
the higher aims of oil painting ; to most bene- 
ficial results upon the pecuniary conditi^m of 
women, and to the best effects upon the main 
ufiictuied fiibrics of tlie state and cottntry.** 

We are assured that $50,000 well invested 
will be ample to meet all the wants of tfaia 
noble institution, even if the scholarB were^ 
ten-fold the number they now are. And sliaU 
it die out for want of so small a sum ? We 
trust not ; particulariy in a city where there 
is so much liberality shown in matters of art, 
and where charities <tf all kinds find a willktt 
support. Boston gets time to attend to snob 
enterprises. Even New York can cease its 
cent-per-centabetracti(ni8, and lend a hand to 
woman in her aspirations towards the acqui* 
sition of an art which, while it affords hoaast 
means of livdihood, does not cast her into 
uncongenial associations. And shall I^iila- 
delphia, with her wealth, her eneigy, bar 
hearty and her universally acknowledged i9» 
fined taste, be left behind in such a wofk ? 
We earnestly hope not 

EDITOBS* sAiasksonci. 


^SDOw ev^ eyening brilliantly lUuminated, 
aad with its noe military band, and otiier in- 
miring proportieB, urgently inyites visitors. 
1%e walks are in beautiful order, the shrub- 
beiy and trees, in Uieir new spring green, im- 
part the most refreshing odors, while the play 
of tentains in ntariding jets of Schuylkill, 
yields a {feasant humidity to the atmosphere. 
Here is enjoyment for the senses of sight, hear* 
ing and sn:^ ; the sense of feeling, of course, 
win be well (leased if you are locked arm-in- 
arm with your wife or sweetheart ; while as 
for taste, may it not be regaled with many 
luxuries, not the least of which, at present, 
are rich, ripe, and juicy strawberries " smo- 
thered incrame?" 

msHioNAauK roAiv^ss. 
—It is a noteworthy circumstance that hard- 
ly ainr young ladies named Sarah or Eliza- 
beth hare been married in Philadelphia for 
seferal years past. To make up for this, 
bowerer, a number named Sallie, Bessie and 
liflEie, have been led to the hymeneal altar. 
This new Bomenclature must please every 
judieidds mind. It ought not to stop here. 
Other names should be treated in the same 
&d^on. Thus the name of Mary, the favor- 
ite of the poets, should be dropped at once, 
md PdUe or MoUie substituted for it ; Jane 
^loold become Jinnie; Susan, Sookie; Ellen, 
N^u; MarMret, Pegf^ie; Catharine, Kittie; 
nd &nily, Emmie. Nor is there any reason 
irty this brilliant innovation should be con- 
fined to the female sex. How pleasant it 
woidd be to read in the papers of Mr. Josie 
JboM to Miss Tabbie Taylor ; of Mr. Dickie 
IMggs to Miss Abbie Brown ; and Mr. Tom- 
mie Snith to Miss Annie Tompkins! Let this 
ddl^iftfnl system spread. Is not this the age 
of pogiress? 

nMLxre eoiREC 

Mifintrn Perelli gave another soiree on Sat- 
B iiaj evening last, which, we think, was the 
■Mt brilliant of the season. The pieces ex- 
•■liBd* taken from the most popular operas, 
wmB given with fine ^ect, and the very se- 
kofc and recherche companv present, testified 
tMr admiration by the heartiest plaudits. 
nwanch admired brunette-Contralto, gave 
ik» ^ Bird-song" and a romanza from Beatrice 
dlMlaJs," in her own exquisite style; while 
i^wo less finished soprano^ and heroine of 
CWBdcert's *< Swiss Song," performed her 

e^te the admiration of all who listened to 
bewitching notes. Several duetts, trios, 
tttf cbivnaes were sung : increased effect be- 
to them by the cultivated tenor voice 
Potvili, the very fiiU rich bassos 

of Messrs. D- — d and H tt, 

fiHmii(i,i1ii iK>tes of the two ladies already 
'^ * We fed bold in asserting that no 
entertainment was ever ghrea in 

Philadelphia to surpass the one in notice ; in- 
deed, we think we may venture to add, that 
very few concerts are got up by artists, having 
a tithe of the artistic merits of this modest 
re-union. *'Quanto Am(»re," from *<£iisire 
d' Amore," by our prima donna soprano^ and 
Mr. D — —d, won a warm round oi hands ; so 
did the trio, "Te sol quest anima" by a 

young lady, Mr. D d and Sig. Perelli. Es- 

peciaUy fine, moreover, was the grand 
" Schena," from * Robert,' by the stars. Miles. 
Soprano and Contralto, Sig. Perelli and Mr. 

H tt. We cannot omit noticing, too> the 

romanza^ " vecchio cor," from '* 1 due 
Foscari," the duoy from "Italiana in Al- 
gieri;" that from Lucia; the romance from 
the " Prophete," and the best rendering of the 
famous " Infeh'ce,"from •* Emani," which we 
have ever heuxl at an amateur concert ; and 
for which the company were indebted to Mr. 
Rainer, a late pupil of Perelli 's, and one of 
the prominent artists of Sanford's Opera 


— A correspondent of Moore^s Rural New- 
Yorker j— a very capital paper by the way, — 
published at Rochester, writes from Phila- 
delphia under a late date. We give our read- 
ers a taste of his notions : 

** Philadelphia boast of romantic and beau- 
tiful scenery. The majectic Delaware gives 
it commerce and life. Around Philadelphia 
cluster many associations of early colonial 
history. Here is the old Independence Hall. 
It heard the first discussions, which gave 
America to the Revolutionary issues, and to 
Independence. Its walls hewrd the lofty elo- 
quence of Adams, Hancock and of Jkfpeeson. 
When the fullness of the time had come, it 
saw the sublime faith — the heroic resolution 
— of those men who gave the Declaration of 
Independence to the world, and-their names 
to immortality. Here is the bell which rung 
the notes of freedom abroad to the world. — 
Here is the chair which Washington occu- 
pied, and all around the room are memorials 
and associations which linger around the heart 
and can never be forgotten. It is natural 
when one visits a scene like this, that bis im- 
agination should be roused, and his patriotism 
receive new life. Whoever would visit the 
cradle of American liberty without emotions 
of more than an ordinary nature, has not an 
American heart, and is less than a man, if 
more than a brute. 

" Philadelphia abounds in other objects of 
interest, iftie Girard College is the most 
splendid e^fice in the United States. The 
building alone cost over one million of dollars. 
The Girard Bank, the Merchant's Exchange, 
the Custom House, are all fine buildings, 
worthy of admiration. The United States 
Mint is well wo*thy (rf a visit" 

The following, touching our friends, Godey 



md Graham, will cause these gentlem^ to 
smile ; particularly as what is said about their 
lists and glories departing, happens to be the 
purest romance in the world. These maga- 
zines were neyer more prosperous we learn. 

" What young lady or sentimental young 
man has not read or heard of * Graham and 
Godey ?' Their Magazines, for many years 
before the advent of Harper and Putnum, 
were monarchs of the literary field. But now 
their glory and lists of subscribers is depart- 
ing. I was introduced, and spent a pleasant 
social hour with Mr. Godbt and T. S. Ae- 
THUK, veterans in the field of literary exer- 
tion. May their days be long in the land." 

^uskss anb pleasure. 

— Wiser's magnificent panorama of the " Cre- 
ation, Garden of Eden, and the De\uge" con- 
tinues to attract crowds of spectators to Ma- 
sonic Hall. The proprietor tninks the whole 
of the half-dollar gift tickets will shortly be 
disposed of, and that the distribution will 
take place in the course of a few weeks. 
Magmficent and costly artides make up the 
prizes, which may be seen in the window of 
Mr. J. E. Gould. 

— Messrs. Klaudbr, DEGiNTnER& Co., No. 
284 Chestnut Street, have lately mauufactured 
some beautiful suits of furniture for the par- 
lors and chambers of the new part of the Gi- 
rard House, as well as for the superb drink- 
ing-saloon lately opened on the lower floor of 
the same. The materials used are rose- wood, 
black- walnut, mahogany and oak: and all 
fashioned after the latest, most beautiful, and 
at the same time most unique designs. A set of 
chairs, with polished frames and green moroc- 
co backs ana bottoms we noticed particular- 
ly ; they were intended for taking one's ease 
in one's Inn. Considering that Messrs. K. D. 
& Co., have got up a set of the same pattern 
for the legislators at the capital of Texas, it 
may be expected they will nave rather long 
sessions there hereafter. The ware-rooms of 
these gentleman are situated at a point in 
(jhestnut Street where some of the most mag- 
nificent &ftablishments of the kind in the city 
are concentrated. They make a most impos- 
ing stand there, likewise, and hence, one which 
commands great attention. We hope they 
may continue to enjoy the high fevor which 
is now accorded to them ; yes, and with copi- 
ous increase. 

— Dbput, No. 41 North Eighth street, has 
just added to his stock a beautiful invdoe of 
light French goods. Observe his advertise- 

— CoL. Ward, of the Santag i^^c^n', had his 
head exumined the other ni^t by KUiott, the 
Phrenologist, Chestnnt, bdow Eighth, who, 
says the Colonel, ■" read him like a book."— 
Elliott is certainly a master of the profiBSsion 
he follows. 

— Sliter has been re-engaged by Sanford, and 
will, during the week, appear every evening 
in his wonder^ dances. Signer Foghd, the 
great violinist, is also retained, and will night- 
ly execute one of his superb solos. New songs 
are also added to the attractions of the pre- 
sent week, in which Lynch, Collins, Rainer, 
Kavanaugh and Sanford all take part 

— The distribution of the gifts which Perham 
has promised to all who buy dollar tickets of 
admission to the Panorama of California will 
soon take place. The Committee of Distribu- 
tion, we understand, have already hdd one 
meeting to make arrangements tlierefor, and 
contemplate holding another during the pr»> 
sent week, when the packages will be sealed 
and placed in a box and deposited in the vault 
of one of our banks to awiut the time when 
Mr. James H. Farrand shall distribute them. 

— Col. Maurice opened his new store on Sat- 
urday evening last, with a very pleasant lit- 
tle entertainment, when he was honored with 
the company of Gov. Biglcr, Hon. T. B. Flo- 
rence, Col. John Swift, Capt, Wylie, of the 
City of Glasgow, Alderman Elkington, Ser- 
geant Andrews, and several other gen^eman 
of distinction, including many editors and 
reporters. Toasts were drank and speeches 
made by Gov. Bigler, Col. Swift, Col. Flo- 
rence, Alderman Elkington, Sergeant An- 
drews, and Col. Maurice, himself. The Col- 
onel gave the following sentiment as a wind- 
ing up of his remarks : 

** Advertising. — ^What oil is to machinery, 
and oxygen is to animal life. Judicious but 
liberal advertising is to success in business." 

The Colonel himself well knows 'the bene- 
fit of liberal advertising, and this pithy senti- 
ment should be regarded as having Delphic 
sanctity. The Colonel's new place of busi- 
ness is at 123 Chestnut, below Fourth. 

— WiLLiAN T. Fry, 227 Arch Street, contin- 
ues to receive beautiful articles of the Ton- 
bridge Mosaic Ware, as well as other elegant 
fancy and toilet goods. His own maauiOic- 
tares, consisting of rose-wood and mafaogafi/ 
writing-desks, dressing-cases and work-boxes, 
are hard to surpass. 

— Whitb Hats, from the new Hat Con^^an/t 
at Sixth and Chestnut, and Messrs. Billings 
& Co., Girard House, are beginning to be a« 
thick as— -as — spiles of brick and mortar oa 
Chestnut street. Beaotiful, beautifiil S— the 
hats»— not the hrioks and mortar. 



WHAX SAT Tou, MA3>0Ari"^Fttrqtthar. 

SATURDAY, MAT 91, 1853. 



On the evening of the second of Augost, I 
md a number of young people, assembled at 
the house of a friend to celebrate the anni- 
versary of his marriage. Our host possessed 
that courtesy and gaietv of manner which 
never &ils to promote tne mirth and enjoy- 
ment of a party ; and as to his young wife, 
whose joyous and blooming countenance spoke 
the happiness of her lot, she was the first in 
every scheme suggested for the amusement of 
h^ guests. After having spent a most de- 
lightful evening, we were just about to Wd 
good-nigfat to our kind entertainers. When 
we heanl a carriage roll down the street, upon 
which I stepped to the window, and by the 
light of the carriage lamps, I saw a splendid 
chuioit stop at the opposite dwelling. 

** Who comes home so late ?" asked one of 
the party. 

"That is our beautiful neighbor, the Ho- 
fraadinde,^' readied our host, who seldom re- 
turns before midnight from her fashionable 

" Is she a widow ?" said one of the ladies. 

" By no means," replied our hostess ; ** but 
she finds little pleasure in having her husband 
always by her side, who might almost be her 
fiiUier from the disparity of their years, and 
who would find some difficulty in keeping 
pace with the dissipation of his young wife ; 
while she is amusing herself with the gaieties 
of the world, the old gentleman is shut up in 
his stody, engrossed with his pen and his po- 

Meanwhile the step of the carriage was let 
down, and an el^ant female alighted, whose 
eosUy attire showed the high rank to which 
she bdonged. The important business of bon- 
neting aiMl shawling being accomplished we 
departed ; but hardhr had we got without the 
door, when the window of the opposite house 
WW violently thrown open, and a female voice, 
m a tone of horror and anguish, exclaimed — 

"Help! Murder! Help, for the love of 

'^ What was that ?" exclaimed our host, as 
}» suddenly threw the light from his hand, 
with which he had lighted us down stairs. — 

• From the Bantoh. 

" Some villains must have got into the house 
of the counsellor — that is the voice of his 

With the shriek of horror still ringing in 
my ears, followed by my companions, I quick- 
Iv crossed the street and knocked loudly at 
tne door, which, after some time, was at length 
opened by a female, from whom we in vain 
endeavored to learn the cause of the disturb- 
ance, as she was too much terrified to bring 
forth a reply. We flew up stau^ and rushed 
into the saloon, where we found the Hofraa- 
dinde ; the flowers which had ornamented her 
beautiful hair lay strewed upon the carpet ; 
her dress was in the greatest disorder, her 
countenance was pale as death, her hands 
were clasped convulsively together, and trem- 
bling with agitation, she motioned us to pro- 
ceed to an adjoining department. 

We hastily obeyed, and approaching the 
bed, round which the curtains were careful- 
ly wrapped, we quickly drew them aside, and 
with horror beheld the strangled body of the 
counsellor. A rope was round his neck, his 
countenance was fearfully distorted and per- 
fectly black ; his under lip was swelled and 
covered with blood, and his eyes protruded 
from their sockets. One hand hung out cf 
bed, whilst the other appeared to have strug- 
gled hard with the murderer, who in the con- 
flict had torn open the vest of the deceased. 

A cabinet, which stood near, was burst 
open, the drawers of which were left closed, 
and a strange hand seemed to have discom- 
posed the papers. I instantly untied the rope, 
while my friend ran for medical assistance ; 
a vein was quickly opened, but all to no pur- 
pose, life was totally extinct, he was past the 
power of human aid. Just as I was about to 
leave the apartment, my eyes happened to fall 
on something steeped in Uood, which was ly- 
ing near the bed ; I immediately picked it up, 
it was a handkerchief. *' Has any one lost a 
handkerchief?" said I. All replied in the ne- 
gative, and I was just going to throw it aside, 
when I accidentlv noticed the letters with 
which it was marked. 

"Now we will discover the owner," said 
I ; it was marked D. L. 

" You need not go far," said my fiiend, " to 
find the owner ; these are your own initials." 

"It does not belong to me," I rej^ed, 
whilst I put it in a drawer of the bureau ; ** it 
may remain there till some one claims it." 

I now returned to the Hofraadinde. I 
found her somewhat recovered, though still 
much agitated : she warmly expres^ her 
acknowledgments for the kind interest we had 
taken in her distress, and her obligations for 
the very prompt assistance we had rendered 

The officers of justice now ventured to in- 
quire into the afiair, and the Hofraadinde hav- 
ing again thanked us for our attentions, and 


said she would no longer trespass upon our 
kindness, we took our departure. 

The streets were deserted, and a light only 
occasionally glimmered here and there from a 
window : the lamps burnt dimly, and as ray 
shadow flitted along I felt as if a spectre were 
pursuing me, and strode along at a more rapid 

rate. In Place I was obliged to pass a 

mile-stone, and as I approached, a man sud- 
denly started from beside it, as with the inten- 
tion of attacking me ; I started back — he 
came towards me, and laying his hand gently 
on m^ arm, and looking earnestly in my face, 
said m a significant tone : 

" It is not the shadow which follows your 
footsteps, which ^ou need fear; but the 
avenger of crime, if any lies upon your con- 

The countenance of the stranger made a 
singular impression upon me, it is still as 
vividly before me as that moment, grief seem- 
ed to have altered its natural expression. 

" What is the hour ?" said he suddenly. 

" It is not yet one," I replied. 

** The awfii stillness," he rejoined, "which 
precedes the hour is dreadful, but still more 
horrible is the tolling of that single one. I 
wish I were deaf that I might never hear the 
clock strike one." 

He spoke as if his mind was wandering ; 
but I felt as if there were truth and reason in 
what he said. 

** Qo home," he continued, " and pray to 
God to give you peaceful slumbers— every 
Uiing may become frightful in the midnight 

He left me, but suddenly returning, he 
whispered : *' he has breathed his last sigh, 
poor man, and I was in danger of doing the 
same — but tell this to no one. 

At this moment the clock of the neighbor- 
ing belfry struck one, upon which the stranger 
— exclaiming, " Dio I che questa vita e fun^ 
esta, (0 God ! how wretched is this life,") — 
hurried awa^. 

On reachmg home I threw myself in bed, 
and soon fell into a most disturbed and fever- 
ish slumber. The strangled counsellor, the 
agony of the Hofraadinde, the handkerchief 
marked with my initials, the mysterious looks 
of the officers of justice, and the wild looks of 
the Italian, were mingled together in a con- 
fused and horrible dream. J^ly the follow- 
ing morning I repaired to my friend. " WTiat 
do you think of this business ?" said I. 

" What should I think of it ?" he replied, 
" the murderer understood his profession too 
well to leave the widow a spark of hope for 
her husband's life. A physician has examined 
the body, and declares that the deceased died 
of apoplexy." 

" You jest !" said I, m surprise, '* and the 

" Even she," he rejoined ; " it was herself 

who told me, and with the most perfect com- 
posure too. It is incredible what this philo- 
sophical age will accomplish. A woman who 
yesterday was wringing her hands in the 
deepest despair, can to-day talk so composed- 
ly of the horrible adventure, and examines 
her husband's lifeless body as calmly as if he 
were some wax puppet. Louisa acknowledges 
she never met with so active a housewife ; she 
has already seen that every thing is prepared 
for the funeral, and with the most praisewor- 
thy composure, has given orders for her 
mourning, consoling herself with the thought 
how well her sable weeds will contrast with 
her fair complexion." 

I could not conceal my horror and indigna- 
tion at such unfeeling conduct. 

" Does that surprise you ?" said my friend, 
— '' I have still more wonders to relate. The 
money and bills which were in the bureau, as 
also a valuable brooch and gold repeater, which 
was set with diamonds, remained untouched ; 
but the will, in which the counseller left the 
whole of his fortune to his nephew, is no- 
where to be found. It would appear that the 
murderer had false keys to all the locks, as 
there was no marks of violence having been 
used, except to the bureau, the contents of 
which the counsellor kept secret even from 
the Hofraadinde." 

** Who is his nephew?" asked I. 

"You will be surprised," replied he, 
" when I tell you it is Mastorf, our toother 
soldier, who made the first campaign with 
us, and was taken prisoner by the iVench at 

" He !" I exclaimed in surprise, " as brave 
a fellow as ever lived, and one of my dearest 
friends. Has he been to the counsdlor^s ?" 

" The poor fellow is ill," he replied, ** and 
confined to bed." 

" Where does he live ?" a^ed I ; " I have 
a great desire to see him." 

" That I cannot tell you, but I think I shall 
be able to find him out ; but where do you 
go from this?" 

" To Conditor-street" 

"Good," he replied; "I shall meet yon 

As it was early when I reached Conditor- 
street, there were but few people in the oo£fee» 
room : however, I remarked, m one comer of 
the room, an elderly gentleman, who waa 
busily employed in reading a paper ; and in 
another, two young men, who were carrying 
on a whispering conversation, in which they 
appeared deeply interested. I knew not how 
it was, but I felt myself irresistibly impelled 
to approach them, and I placed myself at a 
table close beside them. One of them was 
a tall fine-looking man about thirty, his 
features were more expressive than hand- 
some, his eyes indicated a haughty and impe- 
tuous soul, and the whole countenance bore 



traces of deep and violent passion ; his dark 
mosUchios gave him a nulitary air, and al- 
thoogh his German was both elegant and flu- 
ent, yet from his foreign accent it was evident 
it was not his native tongue. The sight of 
the other surprised me, — ^yes, surely I had 
seen that hce before ; he was younger than 
his companion, and his appearance much more 
fenrinine ; an eye of fire glared from under a 
t pur of thick, shaggy eye-brows ; and 9S I 
continued to examine him, I soon recognized 
the strange apparition of the previous even- 
ing. I now gave my whole attention to the 
strangers, who appeared to have some secret 
nnderstanding together, and while apparently 
engrossed by my paper, I overheard a few 
sentences which gave me a clue to the purport 
of their conversatibn. 

"Do you still keep your resolution?" said 

" The carriage is ordered at five," replied 
the officer ; ** I cannot delay a day longer, the 
earth seems to bum under my feet, and the 
sooner I am upon my waythe better." 

" You will reach it on Wednesday," replied 
his friend, " and will lodge as agreed upon, 
in Kralowna Unice ; she will not expect you, 
and your arrival will surprise her." They 
whispered afterwards, but from what I could 
leam it appeared that their conversation re- 
lated to a beftotiful daughter and an old father, 
from whom something was to be concealed, 

"You will know her at the first glance," 
SMd the Italian ; " but in case you make any 
mistake, you may as well take another look ;" 
and he gave the officer a box, on the lid of 
which was the miniature of a lovely female. 

" I would have no fears, but all might yet 
go well," replied his friend, "were she but 
pradent ; but who can have any dependance 
upon a changeable woman ?" 

"* Leave that to me," said the Italian, " ful- 
fil joor promise ; my happiness in your hands ; 
pn me only that, and I shall never forsake 
yon; but remember, before you set oflf to 
l^e oat the letter ; she does not know, and 
^ not believe : tie a knot upon your hand- 
kerchief to remind you of it." 

"I shall not forget," replied the officer; 
but to make certain of it" — ^he felt in vain 
for the handkerchief; he reflected a moment 
—then searched again, and betrayed a con- 
«»derahle anxiety at not finding it " Yes," 
»Hi he, " yes, I must have left my handker- 
chief at hofoe. Come, come with me rather, 
wd I win give you the letter," and they de- 

My curiosity was roused, and I would have 
6>&owed them, had I not promised to wait for 
ay friend, who soon made his appearance, 
^ to whom I related all I had heard and 
neo: bat he thought I gave more weight to 
^ behavior and conversation of the straneers 
than the circumstances warranted. He had 

been fortunate to procure MastorTs address, 
which he gave me. 

'* Have you had no opportunity," said I, 
"of going over to the Hofraadinde.^" 

" She requested me to call for this evening, 
as she wishes to consult me regarding some 
family affairs." 

" Then I entreat," said I, •* that you will 
obtain the handkerchief for me;" this he 
promised to, do, and we parted. 

Mastorf had just wakened from a short 
slumber when I entered. I was shocked and 
grieved at the change which illness had made 
on his once robust and handsome counte- 
nance ; he was pale, and so exhausted as to 
be incapable of the slightest exertion. An 
inflamation of the lungs had brought him to 
the brink of the grave, and though all danger 
was now happily past, yet his physicians 
thought it would be long ere his health was 

I asked him if his uncle had visited- him 
lately, but he was so agitated as to be unable 
to reply ; and his attendant informed me, that 
not being aware of his relationship to the 
counsellor, she had told him of the dreadful 

" My poor fellow," said I, ** have you been^ 
so unfortunate as to leam this in your weak 

"You may imagine," he replied, "how 
much it shocked me. I thought it would 
have killed me. But, tell me, is there any 
thing of consequence taken ?" 

" Nothing," said I, " except a brooch and 
a gold repeater — ^the money is untouched." 

"My lot is cast," said he, "I dreaded 
what would happen ; what a malicious arti- 

Without inquiring the meaning of these 
words, I consoled him by assuring him, that 
we would do all in our power to serve him. 
He looked calmly upon me, and answered the 
pressure of my hand with silent emotion. 

On reaching home, I found a small box, in 
which was the handkerchief; and a notefh)m 
my friend informed me that he had nent a 
servant for it, as if one of his guests had 
dropped it, — it was found in the drawei: where 
I had put it. 

I now formed my plans, and determined to 
set out the following day, to endeavor to dis- 
cover the murderer ; but circumstances pre- 
vented me from carrying out my intentions ; 
and after arranging matters with my friend, 
on the fourth day set off on my journey. I 
travelled day and nieht until I reached Dres- 
den ; but as I could get no information re- 
garding the object of m^ search, and after 
resting a few hours, I agam setoff for Prague, 
where I arrived early the following morning. 
The first person I inquired for was a Mr. 
Henneberg, a rich merchant, who, on my re- 
turn from Italy, received me with great hos- 



Eitality ; he had been some years a widower, 
ut was now engaged to the younger sister of 
his wife, and was just about to celebrate his 

"You could not have come more oppor- 
tunely," said he, as he shook me by the hand. 
** You must be my guest this evening, when 
you will meet my bride, the musical com- 
poser, Deedesdorf, whom you admire so much, 
and another agreeable guest. We shall have 
a very delightful evemng — ^which your pre- 
sence will add to — but I wish to give them 
a surprise ; do^nt mention to any one that we 
are acquainted. 

I promised to come, and we separated. I 
made a thousand inquiries regarding the ob- 
ject of my journey, but no one could give any 
intelligence of the stranger whom I described. 
I found it necessary to think of other means 
to trace him out, and meanwhile sauntered 
along to view the city. There was a consid- 
erable crowd on the bridge, which forced me 
to stop a few minutes before a toy-shop, from 
which at that moment there issued an elderly 
gentleman with a young girl leaning on his 
arm, who was playfully patting his cheek as 
if thanking him for some present he had given 
her. She had a little lap-dog in her arms, 
and as she turned to the shop-people to say 
she would send for her pim;hase, I had a full 
view of her countenance, and inunediately 
recognized the original of the miniature I had 
seen on the lid of the box, in the coffee-house. 
Although not decidedly beautiful, yet she pos- 
sessed that species of fascination which is 
even more engaging than beauty itself;, ani- 
mated and expressive eyes, and a smile so 
irresistible, that it found its way to every 
heart. She was dressed with great taste and 
elegance, and her air and manner seemed to 
inoUcate a cultivated mind. Astonishment for 
some moments rooted me to the spot, but on 
recovering mysdf, I determined to follow 
them. They crossed the bridge, then bent 
their way towards the nuuparts cmT the town, 
where there was a pleasant promenade. — 
When they arrived below the trees, the giri 
put down her little favorite and seemed to 
enjoy its gambols. They took several turns 
up and' down, and the more I examined her 
countenance, the more I was struck with the 
power and fidelity with which the artist had 
depicted her. At this moment a young man 
approached with a greyhound, which ran at 
the little spaniel, and though but in sport, it 
hurt the little creature, which yelled 'njth 
pain* The young girl looked round and &n- 
cied her favorite wounded to death; the 
stranger paid no regard to what was passing, 
but coolly walked on I The opportunity was 
a favorable one ; I ran to the cu)gs, and seiz- 
ing the terrified little creature in my arms, 
carried it to itg mistress* who was so over- 
joyed at its escape, she could hardly find 

words to lliank me. The old gentleman made 
ample amends for the silence of \ds daughter, 
he warmly expressed his acknowledgments 
for the service I had rendered them, and I 
was too anxious to improve my acquaintance 
with my new friends to allow the conversa- 
tion to drop, and accordingly made good use 
of the adventure which fortune had thus 
thrown in my way. I remarked how veir 
attentive the young girl became when she 
heard I had come from B — — . We had 
not been long engaged in conversation when 
a gentleman, evidently a man of high rank, 
and who appeared to be intimate with mj 
new acquaintance, joined us : he took the old 
gentleman aside, saying he had some private 
intelligence to give him. 

"Are there many strangers in B— ?" 
said my companion. 

**A good many," I replied, " particulariy 

" Perhaps," she continued, with increasing 
curiosity, ** you have met with one of that 
country who gives lessons in Italian?" 

" Oh ! yes," I replied ; ** we have met fre- 
quently at the coffee-house, and had much 
pleasant conversation together, but I never 
thought of inquiring his name." 

" Caesar Buenaventura," replied my cwn- 
panion: but she suddenly checked herself, 
and seemed provoked at having committed 
herself thus far. 

** Quite right," said I. " I now recollect 
having seen a letter in his hand with that ad- 
dress — she blushed deeply — "I think," I 
continued, ** the poor man bears the traces of 
great unhappiness." 

*• Is that so very evident ?" she replied, and 
she was just on the point of adding more, 
when the return of the old gentleman inter- 
rupted her. 

" Excuse me, sir," said he, as he joined us, 
** that was my brother-in-law, the president, 
who followed me here on some particular bu- 
siness connected with his office ;" and giving 
his address and an invitation for the following 
evening, which I gladly accepted, they de- 

I found my fnend Henneberg waiting at 
the door to receive me — he led me to the 
drawing-room and presented me to his bride, 
a lovely young creature. Leidesdorf was al- 
ready there, and we soon renewed our ac- 

** You will meet a very talented' and inter- 
esting young man this evening," said my 
host, " who is also from B — — . I think you 
will be happy to make his acauaintancc ; his 
name is Lionkowsky , he is hignly accomj^sh- 
ed and draws beautifully." 

*' So, we shall have some disciples of the 
muses," said the bride. ** Here, Leidesdorf 
reigns supreme in the kingdom of harmony, 



ind I have already been indebted to him for 
mMT a pretty song." 

The loi^-cxpected guest at length arrived, 
and with a beating heart I recognised the ob- 
ject of my journey j he was most elegantly 
dressed, his manners were extremely fascinat- 
ing, and his behaviour to the ladies was so 
completely that of the finished gentleman, 
that they were all loud in his praise, and 
with one consent declared he was one of the 
most delightful companions they had ever met 
with; ai^ I mnst confess that, under any 
other circumstances, I too would have joined 
in their opinions. I remarked how very at- 
tentive he became when our host informed 

him that I had lust come from B , a piece 

of intelligence, however, which appeared far 
from grateful. He could not recognise me 
igiin, as I never uttered a word when I met 
him in the coffee-house, and indeed hardly 
once raised my eyes from the papers which I 
held in my hands. He entertained us with 
an animated account of the manners and 
cn«toms of the different countries he had vi- 
sited, and he appeared to have travelled 
through roost parts of Europe. With e<jual 
fidelity he described the most polished nations 
and the most savage hordes, and related many 
interesting scenes which he had witnessed in 
Italy, Prance, Hungary, and Poland. He 
gave us a most spirited account of the burn- 
ing of a Polish village, which he had seen in 
his childhood, the fewful countenances of the 
incendiaries — the merciless plunderers — the 
blazing roo& — the shrieks of the spectators, 
and the screams of the terrified children, were 
depicted with a vividness which made us 
shudder ; he talked most of those countries 
which none of us had visited, and it was evi- 
dent be wished to turn the conversation from 

I When the tea equipage was removed, the 
^ bride, who had a great deal of wit and fancy, 
opened the piano and said gaily — 

** Come, here are you, three disciples of the 
■ nrases, and I propose that each shall give us 
a specimen of his different talents ; let a theme 
be cboRen for the musician, the poet, and the 
pointer, and while you are at work, I shall go 
tod order refireshroents. As for vou, mv 
lore," ^e added, turning to her husband, 
"JOQ shall snuff the candles." 

** A noble employment really," said Henne- 
berg, with a smile ; " but come, what is the 
theme to be, on which our friends are to ex- 
errise their talents?" 

"The choice belongs to our friend from 

B ," she replied ; " he arrived first, there- 

fcre he shall choose." 

"Affreed," said I; "will you, gentlemen, 
*cceptbf the theme I shall give 1" 


(PoaUantA in mimbtr Qdriy-tlurM.) 

^i^arre among t|t |teio ^Dob. 


— This is the title of a domestic tale lately 
published by M. W. Dodd, of New York, the 
reading of which has considerably interested 
us. It embraces a net-work of tolerably en- 
gaging incident, and exceedingly wholesome 
moral. Sense is well blended with sentiment, 
and the influence of the union on the heart 
and mind should be decidedly health-giving. 
Rachel Kell was bom in shame, and grew up 
in its shadow. She entered the world doubt- 
ing, desponding, unelastic, and imhopeful. 
In the language of the author — 

" Often she might be seen standing for a 
long time in some lone place at nightfall, va- 
cant and absorbed, and heedless of the dews 
and shades that were falling on her. She 
marked gloomy passages, sometimes misan- 
thropic ones, in the books she read ; and at 
midnight hours wrote sombre passages in her 
album. The interesting pcnsiveness that, 
from a child, had come and gone in her face, 
like flitting clouds playing with the sunbeams 
on a vernal day, now seemed to be perma- 
nently there (or getting so), like the settled 
gloom that overcasts the sky universally, 
making the day rayless. 

" Her grandparents did what they could to 
make her cheerful. They contrived methods 
to divert her ; they reasoned with her : they 
encouraged her; they reminded her of the 
many pleasant things with whicn a kind pro- 
vidence had favored her, contrasting her con- 
dition with that of others, in many points, 
and by many degrees, less favored than hers. 
They sought especially to impress her vrith 
the cheerful sentimente of religion. But all 
these endeavors were at best but very imper- 
fectly relevant to the case, inasmuch as they 
could not change the manner of society, or do 
away the fkct of the poor girl's ostracism. 
They were sometimes worse than useless, ag- 
gravating the feelings they were intended to 

Rachel had the love of Hannah, her grand- 
parent's housekeeper, who the author de- 
scribes as a middle-aged woman, " hale and 
rather fleshy," a fixture in the family. Han- 
nah espoused Rachel's cause, and in her droll 
homely style cheered her up under the slights 
the world was disposed to extend her. 
She would say : — 

" * But never mind, Rachel : you are as 
good as the best of them, and they will find 
it out some day, the dunces. I do declare, it 
is nothing in the world but envy. And I 
don't wonder,' (in an under tone) — * things 
suffer by comparison.' " 

Yet Hannah never spoiled her pet " She 
could not bear spoiled children." 



Rachel grows older, yet the shadow still 
fdlows her. She meets friends of her own 
sex. and among them Rebekah Raymond. 
Most delicate are the attentions she pays to 
her, who still feels a sense of degradation. 
Rachel is relidonsly disposed, but she is un- 
blessed with uiat perfect communion with the 
Saviour, which lifts one above the world. 
She is *' still subject, at tiroes, to the depress- 
ing feeling of loneliness. Next to homesick- 
ness, which is similar to it, there is no more 
desolate transient feeling known to the human 
heart than that, — as some are constituted. 
She cannot say to herself, as another may, in 
a vacant hour, when work wearies and l>ooks 
are dull, come, let us go look in upon such or 
such a young friend. She cannot say to her- 
self, at the coming on of a delightf\il evening, 
when many are out enjoying it, I will go and 
meet those cheerful voices yonder. When 
the day is dismal, or the night dark, and the 
rain is beating against her windows, she can- 
not beguile the time by writing a loving letter 
to some fond mate. Through many a slow- 
pacing hour she is oUiged to pass, as drearily 
as possible, for want of those rdiefs which 
society alone affords." 

An incident soon occurs which gives her a 
living and breathing sense of her unhappy 
position. It is thus presented by the author : 

** A stranger called at the house, and asked 
if Mr. KeU was in, or Mrs. Kell. Mr. Kell 
was not at home, but Mrs. Kell was in ; and 
the stranger was shown into the parlor, where 
he was received by Rachel. He appeared to 
be about forty years of age, was well dressed, 
with a bland insinuating voice and manner. 
He might have been called a tine-looking 
man, decidedly, but for a certain equivocal — 
almost sinister— expression in his counte- 
nance, awakening sbght distrust. His dark, 
unsteady eyes looked up obliquely through 
their lashes at you, and then were averted to 
the floor. This, with some might have passed 
for diffidence, or modesty, but to a better dis- 
cemer would have been the index of an evil 
c<»iscience. Rachel herself felt at once that 
sinister look, and was chilled by it. Still his 
appearance was that of a gentleman. 

**He did not give his name. 

<*Mr8. Kell h^l lain down. Rachel pro- 
posed to call her : but the stranger desired 
tier, very emphatically, not to disturb her 
rest, saying he would call at another time. 
His hat was in his hand, and he rose imme- 
diately, as if to go ; but still lingered, detain- 
ing Rjkchel with varions indifferent inquiries 
and remarks, and some that were not indiffer- 
ent; all the while surveying her, in his 
oblique, but scrutinizing way, from head to 
foot, much to her annoyance. — with an inter- 
est deeper, evidently, than ordinary curiosity ; 
leas simple than complacency, too heartless 
f(Mr affection, but whose real nature it was 

difficult to determine. At times he looked 
her full and intently in the face ; and then her 
eyes, in turn, drooped and were averted. At 
some of his inquiries, indirectly put, she co- 
lored a little with surprise. They struck her 
as betraying more knowledge of her history 
than a mere stranger could be supposed to 
have, and more than he was disposea to avow. 
* What could suggest such inquiries to a mere 
stranger, if he was one, or. if not, what oc- 
casion, what business, had ho to make them?* 
She was puzzled with the man and with the 

"But the mystery was solved bj her 
grandmother coming in. uncalled and un- 

''He immediately addressed her, in his 
blandest manner, hoping she was quite wdl, 
and advancing to offer her his hand. * I was 
just leaving my regards for yourself and Mr. 
tCell,' he said, ' not being willing to have you 
called from your rest.' 

''Mrs. Kell made no response to this salu- 
tation, except by a painful look of surprise, 
which seemed to say, What assurance ! She 
trembled visibly, though slightly, as she re- 
mained on her feet, a step within the door at 
which she had entered. 

' You do not recognize me, madam — do not 
remember me, I presume,' said the stranger, 
in the same unabashed, bland tone and manner. 

" ' Oh, yes,' replied Mrs. Kell, with a sigh. 
*I do remember you,^-quite too well, Mr. 
Wentworth, — and always shall. I cannot 
hope to be so happy as to forget you— ever — 
in this world.' 

** A shriek, and a fall upon the floor, called 
her attention to her grand daughter. • Went' 
worth V That name, and her grandmother's 
manner, had disclosed the secret to Rachel. 
It was with her father that she had been 
holding, so unwittingly, this mysterious, 
strangely annoying interview. 

" Hannah rushed in, in an agony of con- 
cern ; the fainting girl was laid upon a bed, 
and camphor-spirits and cold water were used 
for her recovery. 

" The unworthy man — irorsf , our tender- 
ness for Rachel forbids our calling him — 
taking advantage of this confusion, inntantly 
left the house, no one knowing whither he 
went, or whence he came. 

" This was the first and last of Rachd's 
acquaintance with him : the first and last, 
probably, of his setting his eyes on her. 

" He had seen his injured offspring for once. 
He had seen how comely and how interesting 
she naturally was; how much she might 
have been a father's love, a father's pride, a 
father's joy, and he hers ; but how shocked 
she was at that father's presence! Whose 
curse follows him ? Not hers ; not ours. Re- 
morse, shame, and voluntary exile, are his 
punishment. It needs no addition. 



** Eb wfts a nftUye of the place, — the im- 
worthy scion of a better stock; and had 
highly respectable -rdations there. They 
were ashamed of him : and acknowledged no 
kindred with his child ; except, indeed, indi- 
rectly, by a more marked reserve towards her 
than others ; which was bnt natural. 

"Whether it was owing wholly to the 
shock which Bachel receired on this occasion, 
or in part to some oth^ canse^ she was fever- 
ish and indi^x)sed, and kept her bed for a 

Bachel finally hUs in with a person with 
die imrotnantic name o( Paddleford. They 
meet by accident, at a time when her horse 
"< Chamois" has just given her the benefit of 
a fresh pond bath. P»ddleford is ci^tivated, 
mipceeB marriage, and Rachel finall v rejects 
him. Paddleford buries his griefs in a new 
coortsh^, and before the gossips dream of the 
thing, is ** published," as they say down East, 
to Mss Mi^da Isabdla Pettigrew. 

There are some passages hereabouts in the 
siiB|de tale, touching the treatment young 
ladies should give gentlemen who are address- 
ing them, and upon whom they have made up 
thor minds not to smile. It comes, evidently, 
torn a lady ; — the author of Rachel Kell 
must be of the feminine gender — and one who 
talks very sensibly on this very important 

Rachel has another lover — ^if lover he may 
be called — a bachelor somewhat advanced, 
oae who has an eye to the more solid expee- 
tatioDs. At once he essays to win, and com- 
mences visiting her grandfather. This does 
not seem to carry the point, so he employs a 
Mrs. Fain, a neighbor and acquaintance — one 
(€ those good, easy people to be found in every 
community — ^to speak for him. Mark the in- 
terview between this ambassadress from the 
court of Avarice to Rachel : . 

•* • Do you know, my dear, what brings 
Mr. Morehouse to your grandfather's so often, 

" * No, ma'am, not very particularly. He 
had some business with my grandfather, re- 
lating to town affairs, I understood. I think 
it might have been a question of repairs on a 
bridge, which belonged equally to tneir town 
and ours.' 

'' * It wasn't that,' said Mrs. Fain, signifi- 

"'Perhaps not,' said Rachel; * though I 
heard the words, bridge, adectmen, costs, and 
the like. However, I did not pay much at- 
tention to what passed between them, as it in 
no way concerned me.' 

" « Perhaps it did concern you, Rachel.' 

"«Me,ltos.Fain? How?' 

** * Why, you canH be so simple, I am sure, 
as not to commhend, or, at least, to surmise 
what I mean," said Mrs. Fain, looking archly. 

** '(Ml, and besides the town busmess, what- 

ever it was, it occurs to me now,' said Raohd, 
'that Mr. Mordiouse said something about 
wanting a good 8addle-hoi*se : do you think 
he was after Chamois ? For that would con- 
cern me, in case he were sold to him.' 

" • That is nigher to it,' said Mrs. Fain. 

" ' But I have no idcA, Mrs. Fain, that my 
grandfather would thirJc of such a thing, 
without my consent.' 

" * But now, Rachel, are you really so in- 
nocent ; or do you afifect all this V 

" * Excuse me, Mrs. Fain, I am really just 
so obtuse. I have no more inkline of your 
meaning than the man in the moon. 

" ' To speak out plain, then ; what I sus- 
pect, Rachel, and what I wanted to see you 
about, as a friend, is, that Mr. Morehouse is 
after — ^not Chamois — but Chamois' owner !' 

" Rachel threw up her hands, and laughed 

" ' Excuse me, Mrs. Fain ; [coloring] it is 
my blunder that I laugh at But really your 
surmisings are quite groundless.' 

" * How do you know that V 

" * Judging from the extreme improbability 
of the thing in itself, and from his manner. 
He has been at oiu* house three tim^ — on 
town business, as I said, (the horse was inci- 
dental) — and there may have been ten words, 
possibly twice so many, passed between him 
and me, on the most indifferent subjects (I do 
not remember what) in the most mdifferent 
manner. That is the total of our intercourse ; 
and I am sure it looks quite the other way 
from that which you imagine.' 

" Mrs. Fain shook her head. ' The total 
oi vour intercourse in words, Rachel ; and in 
looks, perhaps, on ymtr part. But, mind, I 
do not say that he is positively thmking of 
you; but only that such is my suspicion, 
putting his calls at your house and several 
other things together. What I know for one 
thing, and for certain, and from himself, Ra- 
chel, (for he and I are old acquaintances) is, 
that he is thinking of a wife, and looking 
round to find one.' 

" ' It is time, I should think,' said RacheL 

"We shall not report this conversation 
further. Rachel, half amused and half in- 
dignant, forbore discussing the point with 
l^ Fain, and heard her quietly for the half 
hour or more that she had to talk about this 
'rare diance for her, provided Mrs. Fain's 
suspicions were well founded, and if it could 
be brought about.' " 

Next came, as a suitor, a young man named 
i^mer, who had been sent into the country 
by his parents — Bostonians — on account of 
dissipated habits ; but Rachel dismisses him 
with good advice, which he does not take. 
Then foUows the addresses of Forrest Wood- 
s<m. a young lawyer, regarding the treatment 
of which Rachel finds difficulty in deciding. 
He has a strong mind, but a coarse one ; is 


possessod of no eensibilities, no ddicate per- 
ceptions. Candid and hale, he yet lacks 
deep sympathies. He brags that he has no 
nerves ; and is indifferent to atmospheric in- 
fluences. He considers refinement of manner 
in men, effeminacy! Yet Woodson is po- 
pular with the people, and makes eloquent 
speeches at the bar. He likes to sit among 
loungers, and amuses himself and such a 
circle greatly. He has much in him to gra- 
tify a woman, as well as much also to try a 

Rachel hesitates when this new man ad- 
dresses her ; then she soon turns the matter oyer 
to her grand-parents, without coming to a 
conclusion ; then she consults her friend, Re- 
bekah ; then another neighbor, who tells her 
an affecting story, embracing the particulai*s 
of an unfortunate marriage. So she rejects 
Woodson, seeing in him a counterpart or the 
hero of this story. 

Rachel finally becomes pious, is courted by 
one William Geer well worthy of her, and 
marries him, first, however, receiving the 
wannest recognition as a relative from her 
guilty fiftther^s family. Her story is a natural 
one ; just, indeed, what every day happens ; 
and yet, it is full of engaging incident. The 
author has been an unquestionably close ob- 
server of nature. Those who rtid Rachel 
Kell may profit by it, if they choose. We 
consider it, in the counsel it gives to those 
who are coming up in the world, as posses- 
sins inestimable value. It is not a great 
book. No bold daring flights of genius does 
it contain ; no feature calculated to make a 
stir in the world of romance. Its great merit 
is its naturalness. One sees in it a reflection 
of the world in which the scene is laid. We 
commend it cordially, as containing good les- 
sons, happily presented to the reader. 


— When the old folio, containing the notes 
and emendations to the text of Shakspeare — 
already noticed by BizARaE, in connexion 
with the volume just published by Redfield — 
first came in Mr. Collier^s hands, he says : — 
" I imagined that the binding was the original 
rough calf, in which many books of about the 
same date were clothed ; but more recent ex- 
amination has convinced me, that this was at 
least the second coat it had worn. It is, ne- 
vertheless, in a very shabby condition — quite 
consistent with the state of the interior ; where, 
besides the loss of many leaves, as already 
mentioned, and the loosening of others, many 
stains of wine, beer and other liquids are ob- 
servable: here and there, holes have been 
burned in the paper, either by the falling of 
the lighted snuff of a candle, or by the ashes 
of tobacco. In several places it is torn and 
disfigured by blots and dirt, and every margin i 

bears evidence to frequent and careless peru- 
sal. In short, to a choice collection, no book 
could well present a more forbidding appear- 

The question arises, why were such extrft- 
ordinary pains bestowed upon this paHdcnlar 
copy, and are we warranted in crediting the 
changes thus made ? To this, no enti rely sat- 
isfactory answer can be given ; but there are 
certain facts, which may partially ducidate 
the mystery. It is most likely that the omis- 
sion of many passages which are struck oat 
with a pen, was for the shortening of the per- 
formance of the pli^s, by some company, 
about the year 1032. The numerous stage 
directions, too, can hardly be accounted for, 
except on the supposition that the folio once 
belonged to some one connected with the the- 
atre. Many of the corrections are so obvious, 
that it seems most surprising that the plays 
should have passed throu^ the hands of 
learned critics, without the blunders being 
detected. Such, for instance, is a passage fbom 
the "Taming of the Shrew," Act. 1, Soene 
1, where Luoentio is entreated by Tranio, 
not to apply himself too closely to study. 

** Only, Rood nuulor, whUo we do Mtmlre, 
This rirttie, and this'inor»l discipline, 
Lcfg be no (ttoicA, nor no utocltfl, I pnij. 
Or M> devote to AristoUe'ti checks. 
As Ovid'd be an ontcast quite aljur'd.'* 

'< Such has been the invariable text from the 
first publication of the comedy, in 1623, un- 
til our own day ; yet it is unquestionably 
wrong in the most important word in t^ 

a notation, as the old corrector shows, and as 
tie reader will be sure to acknowledge, the 
moment the emendation is proposed : 

* Let's be no stoics, nw no stocka, I pny. 
Or 90 derote to Aristotle's Ethics^ 
As Grid's be an outcajit quite abjnr'd.* 

** In the manuscript from which the printer 
worked, Ethics was no doubt written with a 
small letter, and with he near the end of the 
word, as was then the custom, and the care- 
less compositor mistook ethickesy for * checks,' 
and so printed it : * checks' is converted into 
ethickes in the hand-writing of the emend&tor 
of the folio, 1632 ; and it is hardly too much 
to say that this misprint can never be repeat- 
ed. " Another error of the same kind is found 
in ** Coriolanus," where is a still more glar- 
ing corruption : 

< Vi^y in thi^ woolvish toge should I ftand here. 
To beg of Hob and DIcii." 

Johnson, Malone, Steevens, Douce and others, 
have vainly puzzled their brains, and written 
notes on this word, "woolvish;" but the 
proper word was never guessed, until found 
in tne margin of the folio : 

** Why in this teooUen togo should I stand here," 

When popular dramas were printed, it was 
generally done by cq)ying the manuscript ^ 
short-hMid writers, who took down every 
word as it was uttored. This fact has been 


proven by Malone, «Eid satiBfihctorily exjdams 
mtjxy strknge mistakes. Actors were mnoh 
aTerse to the publication of plays, fearisg 
that the nnmber of readers would diminish 
their audiences. It is well known, that about 
half of Shakspeare*s productions remained in 
manuscript, until seven years after his death ; 
and of those pruited during his life time, not 
one can be designated to which he, in any 
way, contrilmted. (hie yery amusing proof 
of the errors which thus crept in, is found in 
" Coriolanus," where Menenius is talking of 
himself to the Tribunes. " I am known (he 
says in all editions, ancient and modem,) to 
be a humorous patrician, and one that loves 
a cap of hot wine, with not a drop of allaying 
Tyber in it : said to be something imperfect 
in favoring the first complaint. " The correct- 
ed folio restores the true sense and humor of 
the passage, by rendering ** first complaint," 
**tktrst complaint." Sometimes the change 
of a angle letter, is of the utmost importance. 
In Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 7, where Lady Mac- 
beth reproaches her husband for not being 
ready to murder Duncan, as he had determined 

» What tMast watt then 
That made tou break this cnterpiiM to me? 
When 70a durst do it, then you were a mMn." 

This seemingly absurd question, is made per- 
tinent and clear, when we find that the print- 
er substituted e for instead of printing, — 
"What 6005/ was't then," Ac., thiL<? taunting 
him with cowardly shrinking from his resolu- 
tion. Whole lines are in some cases omitted ; 
and in the following example, it is easy to see 
what misled the printer: In " Coriolanus," 
Tolomnia is entreating her son to be patient : 

" Prav be coun5cird. 
I hare a heart •* little apt a« yours, 
But yaC a brain, that loads my use of anger 
lb better vantage.'* 

We may well ask, to what is her heart as apt as 
that oi Coriolanus? The sense is most in- 
complete until the lost line is restored : 

•' Pray be oounsell'd. 
I have a heart a5 little apt as yours. 
To brook control without the tise (ganger,** 

The repetition of the words, " use of an- 
ger," at the end of two successive lines, in- 
duced the compositor to suppose he had print- 
ed both, instead of one. We find in Act 4, 
Scene 1, of the "Tempest," Prospero com- 
iDendiug Miranda to Ferdinand, in these 

Hava Kiven yon a tMtd of my own life." 

For the word thirds the corrected folio has, 
tkrid (i.e. thread) in the margin. In Act. 5, 
Scene 1, of the same play, all editions have 

^'lloly Oonsalo, honorable man, 
lOne^ae, eren sociable to the show of thins^ 
FaU feUowly drops.** 

The folio of Mr. Collier gives : 

'^NodU Oonialo, honorable man, 
Mine eyes, eren Kidable to ibejlote of thine, 
Ml feOowly drops." 

The "Merry Wives of Windsor," Act 3, 
Scene 3, contuns a printer^s blunder which 
has occasioned much conjecture. ** It occurs 
at the end of one of the Host^s speeches to 
Dr. Caius : * I will bring thee where Mistress 
Anne Page is, at a farm-house a feasting, and 
thou shalt woo her. Cried game, said I well ? ' 
The difficulty has been how to make any sense 
out of * Cried game ;' and various suggestions, 
guch as tried game, cry otm, &c.f have been 
made ; but the truth seems to be, that the 
Host, having said that Anne Page was feast- 
ing at a farm-house, in order still more to in- 
cite Dr. Caius to go there, mentioned the most 
ordinary objects of feasting at farm-houses at 
that time, viz, curds and cream : * curds and 
cream,' in the hands of the old compositor, 
became strangely metamorphosed into cried 
game ; — at least this is the marginal explana- 
tion in the corrected folio, 1632." Some of 
the stage-directions, omitted in all editions, 
add much to the efi*ectiveness of the scene. 
When Portia asks, " Are there balance here 
to wei^ the flesh ?" and Shylock answer, ** I 
have them ready," at this point the actor 
should display the scales to the audience. 

A comparatively insignificant error, is in- 
jurious to a very l)eautiful passage in the part- 
ing scene of " Komeo and Juliet." 

*'I'U say yon grey is not the mominfr's eye, 
*ns but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow." 

^* Cynthia's brow" would not occasion " pale 
reflex," and by the omission of one letter the 
light is at once cleared : 

" Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's bott," 

We find in "King Lear" a mistake of the 
first letter in a word which alters the sense 
entirely. " After Kent has spoken, Lear looks 
at him doubtingly, and observes, in all im- 

'This is a dull sight ^Are you not Kent?' 

The words, * This is a dull sight,' are not in 
the quartos ; and Steevens parallels them by 
* This is a sorry sight,' from Macbeth : while 
Blakeway contends that, Lear only means 
that his eye-sight is bedimmed. Lear has 
previously stated that his eyes * are none of 
the best,^ and here he means to complain of 
the badness, not of his < sight,' but of the 

'This is a dull lifhf 

is the word in the folio, 1632, amended. — 
Lear would hardly call the sad spectacle be- 
fore him * a dull sfght ;' but his eyes being 
dim, and the light dull, he could not be sure 
whether the man before him was Kent." At 
the close of the play of ** Titus Andronicus," 
Lucius, speaking of his father, says to his 

" Shed yet some small drops from thr tender spring, 
Because kind nature doth i^uire it so : 
Friends should associate friends in weal or woe. 
Bid him ferewell ; commit him to the grave; 
Do him that Icindnesi, and talce leave of him.** 




<* And take leare of him," besides marring 
the rhyme, sonnds very tame, so that for both 
these reasons, the amendment of the manu- 
script is preferable : 

" Bid him farewoU ; oomult blm to the gn,r9 ; 
Do blm that kindness— ai< that he can have.** 

We might quote many other similar passa- 
ges, but enough has been given to show the 
value and interest attaching to Mr. Collier's 
book. This gentleman seems to anticipate 
ridicule and opposition, but he claims to have 
his folio judged on the principles of '* common 
sense," and says he has been " anxious rather 
to underrate, than overrate," the importance 
of his manuscript. *' I shall probably be 
told in the usual terms, by some, whose pre- 
judices or interests may be effected by the 
ensuing volume, that the old corrector knew 
little about the spirit or luiguagc of Shaks-« 
peare : and that, in the remarks I have ven- . 
tured on his emendations, I prove myself to 
be in a similar predicament. The last accu- 
sation is probably true: I have read and 
studied our great dramatist for nearly half a 
century, and if I could read and study him 
for half a century more, I should yet be far 
from arriving at an accurate knowledge of his 
works, or an adequate appreciation of his 
worth. He is an author whom no man can 
read enough, nor study enough ; and as my 
ambition has always been to understand him 
properly, and to estimate him sufficiently, I 
shall accept, in whatever terms reproof may 
be convened, any just correction thankfully. 
. After this modest acknowledgment, we may 
safely presume that critics will pause, before 
inflicting condemnation on Mr. Collier's inno- 
cent folio, and that the most violent champi- 
ons of the old editions, will decline doing bat- 
tle against so an enthusiastic admirer of 


— We last week gave some extracts from 
Mooters Journal and Correspondence—hi present 
in course of publication, both in England and 
America — which related particularly to By- 
ron's &mous Autobiograpny, and its suppres- 
sion by Lady Byron's friends, with the ooncur- 
^nce of Moore himself. Touching the right 
of Mr. Moore so to deal with a document en- 
trusted to him for publication, there are vari- 
ous opinions ; one of which — and as we think a 
very reasonable one — will be found in the 
fbl lowing extracts from the London Athe" 

'' We are not going to maintain the rights 
of the public on the ground of any prurient 
curiosity which they may feel to pry into the 
scandals of private life : but the characters of 
^reat men are the property of the public, and 
m whatever degree that of Byron might have 
been illustrated by this lost manuscript, with- 
out offence to morals, in that degree the pub- 

lic would have been wn»ged b^ Moore— who 
was a trustee for them. Ev^ry inference leads 
to the belief that the cause of morals was in no 
degree endai^ered by the intended publica- 
tion. Mr. Ii(foore, of course, knew well the 
contents of the manuscript, — and no suspi- 
cion seems to have crossed his mind that there 
wafi any reason for withh<dding it from the 
public until it was suggested. Aft^nvmrds, 
ne expressly asserts the blamelessness <^ the 
work, with such slight exceptions as came 
easily within the management of that edito- 
rial liberty which had been reserved to hhsL 
Lord John Russell himself, who had read the 
manuscript, and appears to entw into the 
family view of the ease, does not rest his ar- 
gument on any such ground. He speaks ex- 
pressly of only " three or four pages of it," 
which were in the sense in question unfit for 
publication. — ^Well, then, tnat obiectioo re- 
moved, — we get at a party who had a Tital 
interest in this publication oi which Mr. 
Moore could by no right whatever dispose. 
Mr. Moore's personality in the matter went 
no degree beyond the 2,000/, which was its 
incident, liberally assigned to him. The man- 
uscript which was for this purpose the auto- 
biographer's kind gift, was K)r other purposes 
a sacred trust. When Moore received the 
benefice, he took the duty. With the one he 
might deal — with the other not. Even had 
there been no beneficial gift, the duty would 
have been absolute, — but the personal kind- 
ness made it yet more binding, if anything 
can add to the obligation of an absolute duty. 
The autobiographcr's character had been heia- 
vily assailed, — and if, as is understood this 
document contained a portion of his defence, 
to be uttered from the grave, — then, ke took 
upon himself a solemn responsibility who sup- 

Eressed it. It was the advocate destroying 
is client's brief^ in the court of last appeal. 
Would Byron have put this appeal to poste- 
rity (supposing it to have been one) into the 
hands of Moore, if he could have foreseen 
that he was thereby providing for its inter- 
ception on the way to that posterity which it 
was never to reach ? The very nutter and 
alarm which the news of Byron^ death occa- 
sioned in reference to this document raises 
painful suggestions that it might contain mat- 
ter which, though unwelcome to others, it 
was unjust to its author — and not morally 
permitted to his friend — ^to withhold. We do 
not think the public will ever be satisfied in 
the matter. To bum the manuscript was the 
last thing, it will be felt that should have been 
done with it. There was no intelligible need 
for such pressing hurry : — the question of its 
publication then or in future— or at all — 
might have been decided at leisure. The 
ver^ haste to destroy the witness raises sus- 
picions ; and if they be unjust, it might have 
been convenient to tne parties themselves who 



are answerable if that witness had been kept 
in the backeronnd, and produdble, to confute 
I them." 
-Snce the abore was prepared, we have re- 
ceired the London Athenaumy of April 30th, 
obtaining a letter from the late Mr. Murray, 
and addr^sed to Robert Wilmot Horton, the 
frien^ of Lord Byron's family. This letter 
was written shortly after Byron's death, in 
answer to a statement of Moore rdative to 
the sale and destruction of the autobiography. 
It asserts that Moore offered the MSS. to the 
Longmans before he took it to Murray, and 
that when the document was destroyed he 
(Moore) was not legally liable to repay the 
two thousand guineas to Murray. Mr. Mur- 
ray says, he paid Moore two thousand euineas 
on the execution of an assignment of we Me- 
moirs made by him (Moore,) and Byron, Mr.. 
Moore covenanting in consideration of the 
said sum, to act as editor of the Memoirs, and 
to supply an account of the subsequent events 
of Lord Byron's life, &c. Some months after 
the execution of this assignment, Moore re- 
quested Murray, as a great personal favor to 
himself and to Lord Byron, to enter into a 
second agreement, by which he (Murray) 
should resign the absolute property which ne 
had in the Memoirs, and give Mr. Moore and 
Lord Byron, or any of his friends, a power of 
his redemption, during the life of Lord 

Mr. Murray adds, that under the impres- 
sioQ there might be something in the Memoirs 
of an injurious character to the friends of By- 
ron, he did not hesitate to make the altera- 
tion. Subsequently Moore, being pressed by 
Murray to redeem the MSS. according to the 
provisions of the last assignment, neglected 
to do so, and at Byron's death, by these pro- 
visions it became Murray's property. Mr. 
Murray adds, in conclusion : 

" As I myself scrupulously refrained from 
kwking into the Memoirs, I cannot from my 
own knowledge say whether such an opinion 
of the contents was correct or not ; it was 
enough for me that the friends of Lord and 
Lady Byron united in wishing for their de- 
struction. Why Mr. Moore should have 
wished to preserve them. I did not nor will 
inquire ; but having satisfied myself that he 
had no right whatever, in them, I was happy 
in having an opportunity of making, by a 
pecuniary sacrifice on my part, some return 
for the honor, and I must add, the profit, 
whidi I had derived from Lord Byron's pa- 
tronage and friendship. You will also be able 
ta bear witness that, although I could not 
presume to impose any obligation on the 
iricnds of Lord Byron oft Mr. Moore, by re- 
fimng to receive Uie rq>ayment of the 2,000 
guineas advanced by me, yet that I had de- 
termined on the destruction of the Memoirs, 
without any previous agreement for such re* 

payment, and you know the Memoirs were 
actually destroyed without any stipulation on 
my part, but even with a declaration that I 
had destroyed my own private property, and 
I therefore had no claim upon any party for 

©owooi-ORAF-re ORSA-r work. 

— The third volume of Mr. Schoolcraft's 
great work on the Indian Tribes of the Uni- 
ted States, contains a very interesting Jour- 
nal of the Travels of Lewis Brantz of Balti- 
more, through the western country, in the 
year 1785, translated from the original Ger- 
man, by Mr. Brantz Mayer. ^&. Lewis 
Brantz, at the period of his death, in 1838, 
was President of the Philadelphia and Balti- 
more Railroad. 

The people of Tennessee, at that early day, 
are thus described : 

" It is only about five years since this coun- 
try was begun to be developed ; and in the 
civilized portion of the Union, there are at 

E resent but few who even know its name. — 
during the war with the British, the inhabi- 
tants of this remote station suffered greatly 
from the inroads of the Indians, and were 
almost exterminated, when the peace of 1783 
released them at once from their dreadful suf- 
ferings and horrid anxiety. The people re- 
semble those whom I have already spoken of 
in Kentucky ; but their reputation for some 
time past, has been rather worse than their 
northern neighbors'. It is said, however, that 
since they have come under the laws of North 
Carolina, their deportment has improved. — 
Some official distinguished personages, whose 
duty required their continuance at this post, 
have in some degree polished those rough 
dwellers of the wilderness, who in their come- 
ly and distant fastness, had in truth began 
to live very much like the Indians. Never- 
theless I am sorry to learn that magistrates 
are occasionally mnnd here with their ears 

The same volume contains a learned article 
from the pen of Peter A Browne, L.L.D., of 
this city, upon the hair of the Indians. It 
is wdl known that hair and wool have been 
Mr. Browne's peculiar study for several years 
past. Comparisons are instituted between 
the hair of the aborigines and that of the 
white races, and cuts are given of both. Mr. 
Browne says : 

*' I have not in my possession any sp^- 
mens of very long liair of the head of the 
oral-haired species. I have wm» of the beard 
of the Hon. Kichard Yaux, presented by him- 
self, which measures one foot eleven inches." 

Truly this is a formidable beard! Had our 
wortJiy ex-Recorder lived in the middle ages, 
he would have been claimed by the Long- 
beards, or Longobardi, called Lombards by 
the modem. 




— Charming book this— just the thing for the 
sea-side relaxation season, which is last ap- 
proaching. It comes to us from Ticknor, 
Keed and Fidds, of Boston ; and the idea sug- 
gesting it. unquestionably, originated with 
the accomplished junior partner of that 
thriving and popular firm. We see his re- 
fined poetical taste in every selection ; the 
style and execution of the book are his : in- 
deed, to be brief, Fields reigns supreme every- 
where, both in manner and matter. 

" Thalatta" is mainly a gathering of the 
thoughts of some of the best poets, American 
and English, touching the sea and its associa- 
tions. Now and then Schiller, and Heine, 
ahd Ruckert, and Muller, and GoDthe, and 
Stolberg, are drawn upon for tributes, but 
generally speaking, the selections are confined 
to the inspired numbers of those who have 
written in the language of Shakspeare. 

The reader doubtless desires a taste of the 
contents of this volume, so we furnish a few 
extracts. They have been seen and admired 
before, yet they lose nothing by repetition, 
especially when given in a group. 

**Tbe ocean looketh up to beaT«n, 
As 'twere % liring thing; 
The homa^ of it6 waves is given. 
In ceaseless worshipping. 

"They kneel upon the sloping sand 
As bends the human knee, 
A beautiful and tireless band. 
The priesthood of the sea. 

"The sky is as a temple's arch, 
The blue and wavy air 
Is glorioas with the spirit-march 
Of messengers at prayer." 

J. O. WoirrasR. 


<< Sleet, and HaU, and Thunder I 
And ye Winds that rave 
TUl the sands thereunder 
Tinge the suUen wave — 

''Winds that like a demon 
Howl with horrid note 
Boond the toiling seaman 
In his tossing boat— 

^^From his humble dwelling 
On the shingly shore; 
Whore the billows swelling 
Keep such hollow roar — 

'*Fiom that weeping woman 
Seeking with her criea 
Snooor Bupeihuman 
Fxom the fttnming skSei— 

" From the urchin pining 
For his father's knee — 
From the lattice shining^ 
Drive him out to sea f 

'^Let broad leagues dissever 
Him Ihnn yonder Ibam; — 
GodI to think man ever 
OoBiaa too near Us Home r* 

Tbomas Hood. 

fisheb's song. 

** Up and down, all day long, 
Life glides by us, like our song; 
In our little fisher-boat, 
On the restless sea we float, 
T7p and down, all day long, 
Li& glides by us, liko our song. 

<* Far fh»n care, fkr from pain. 
Fur from thoughts of graedy gaSn, 
Calmly, cheerfUly we ride 
Over life's tempestuous tide. 
Far from care, fer finm pain, 
Fw from thoughts of greedy gain." 

Fbox tek QnMAS* 


— Messrs. Lippincott, Grambo & Co., of onr 
city, have lately published in a neat and sub- 
stantial style, an Epitome of Greek and Ro- 
man Mythology. It is accompanied with ex- 
planatory notes and a vocabulary, and was 
prepared by Professor John S. Hart, of the 
Philadelphia High School, a gentleman whose 
classical attainments are of a high order. 
The volume is, we are told, a brief but com- 
prehensive epitome of classical mythology, 
and written in the purest Latin : the diction 
being taken mostly from Ovid and Virgil. It 
is adapted to schools, each page containing 
questions calculated to bring out the facts of 
the text. Notes, explanatory of poetical and 
historical allusions, are given at the end of 
the volume. 

— The London papers have a rumor of an 
opera, just finished by Otto Qoldschmidt, ac- 
companied by expectations that Madame Ciold- 
schmidt f Jenny Lind) will return to the 
stage for tne purpose of introducing her hus- 
band ^s music. 

— The French papers announce the death of 
M. Louis Emmanuel Jadin — patriarch anoong 
French musical composers. M. Jadin was 
eighty-six years of age. 

— The Emperor has bestowed upon, the obese 
and dinner loving Signor Rassini, a comman- 
dership of the legion of Honour. 

— John Farrar, LL. D., late Hollis Professor 
of Mathematics in Harvard University, died 
at his residence in Cambridge, on Sunday last, 
the 8th inst., aged 73. Prof. Farrar was a 
native of Lincoln, Mass. He graduated at 
Harvard C<^ege about fi^ years since, and 
after holding the office of Tutor for two years, 



was appointed to the Chair of Mathematics 
and Natural Philosophy in 1807, which he 
filled with eminent ability for twenty-nine 
years. Since 1 836 , when he resigned his Pro- 
I fessorship, he has been a martyr to a protract- 
I ed and excruciating form of puralytic disease. 

I — The delegates to the different Temperance 
' oi^ganizations of New York, held a meeting 
one day last week, to take suitable measures 
I for calling a World's Temperance Convention 
I during the Crystal Palace opening. A com- 
I mittee of Bloomers, representing the female 
I Temperance people, ajad headed by Rer'd 
' or Dr. Lucy Stone, applied for admission as 
delegates but were refused. Thereupon they 
became furiously mad, and called a meeting 
which took place last Saturday evening, 
when they gave full vent to their wrath. We 
do not know which is most offensive, the in- 
temperance of liquor or the int^nperance of 
woman Vrightism. 

— The London papers state that Jullien, had 
gone to the continent to engage some first-rate 
solo instrumentalists to accompany him on his 
American expedition. He has already secur- 
ed M. Reichert of Brussels, who comes from 
the same band as the eminent clarinetist, M. 
Wuille, and intends fortifying his orchestra in 
all solo departments, so as to render it impreg- 
nable and impossible to attack. 

'* Jullien has also engaged two eminent 
basso pilfers, and a horn player of high 
repute. He will be shortly at Berlin to close 
a treaty with a celebrated performer on the 
ophideide " He sails for this country in 
June. His agent in New York has engaged 
Dodsworth*8 band and little Paul Jullien. 

— Several books lie upon our table unnoticed ; 
among them ** Poetry of the Vegetable 
World" from Messrs. Moore, Anderson & Co., 
Cincinnati ; " Old Neighborhoods and New 
Settlements," *« The Slave Trade Domestic and 
Foreign," by Henry C. Carey, from A. Hart 
of oar city ; ** The Last Leaf from Sunny- 
side," from Philips, Sampson A Co., Boston. 

— M. Alexandre Thomas is about to deliver a 
course of lectures in London, which he enti- 
tles *• Confireiues^* on French histonr. The 
prospectus embraces the large field of French 
society, poUtical, religious, and literaiy, dur- 
ing tOQ reign of Louis Quaterze. The lectur- 
er will take the correspondence of Madame 
De Georgne for his text. 

— We learn from Rome, that the Minister of 
Peru in that city hag invited sculptors to send 
in proposals for the execution of an eques- 
trian statue of General Bolivar, and twelve 
other statues, in marble. 

— A London paper says that among the 
oddities of musical performance employed ad 
copfofKltim, must be signalized the exhibition 

mlade the other day in Paris at the benefit 
concert of M. Henri Herz. Every one remem- 
bers the * Hexameron,' or six variations on 
* Suoni la tromba' from ' I Puritani,' which 
M. Liszt used to play, and which were com- 
posed by MM. Liszt, Thalberg, Chopin, Pixis, 
Czany, and Hertz. At the entertainment in 
question, each variation was played by a dif- 
] ferent pianist,— the half-dozen executants 
being MM. Ehrlich, Fumagalli, Goria, Mulder, 
Ravina, and Herz. ^ 

— A paper was lately read to the London 
I Asiatic Society '* on some Chinese Inscrip- 
I tions on Porcelain Bottles foimd in Ancient 
I Egyptian Tombs." This paper comprised an 
examination of twelve such inscriptions on 
' porcelain bottles brought from Egypt to Paris. 
Tbe characters are rudely and roughly traced, 
- and combine the peculiarities of the Tsao-shoo, 
or abbreviated character, and those of the 
I Hing-shoo, or running hand. The former 
I was partially employed about 200 b. o., but 
: both forms came into general use in the third 
, century of our era. Four of the legends are 
distinctly legible : and these consist of lines 
from poems the authorship and dates of 
which are well ascertained. The earliest is 
from a poet who flourished in the reign of 
Kao-yuen, a. d. 702-745 ; and the latest was 
taken from another who lived about a. d. 
1068. A still further criterion of their age 
was found in the style of the poetry. The 
i Chinese distinguish their poetry into two 
schools, — the Koo-te, or ancient style, and 
the Kinte, or modem, which came into vogue 
about the seventh century ; and to this latter 
the lines upon the bottles unquestionably be- 
long. Another paper before the same society 
embraced the announcement of a curious dis- 
covery viz : — that the Northern Arabs about 
the head of the Red Sea were really governed 
by Queens, and that Solomcw's Queen of Sheba 
no doubt came tnm this quarter, about tbe 
Gulf of Akaba, and not from the Southern 
extremity of the peninsular The proof of 
this is found in the list of the Syrian tributar- 
ies of Pul, or Tiglath Pilesar, where the last 
name after Hnrim, or Hebron, is '* Sabibim, 
Queen of the Arabs." * This list, which has 
been made out by joining La^rard's fragmen- 
tal inscriptions, is very curious. Eighteen 
tribu£kries are mentioned, among which are 
Kustaspa, of Comagene ; Rezin, of Damas- 
cus ; Sibit-bel, of Gubal ; Menahem, of Sama- 
ria; Salumal, of Melitene, &c. The list, 
together with that of Sennacherib's Syrian 
tributaries, and the conquests of Asur-akh-pal 
and Satgon, give a complete tableau of the 

Seat cities and provinces bordering on the 

— A penny subscription was lately taken in 
London by the friends of Kossuth with 
which a copy of Knight's Shakspeare> bound 



in mulberry-coloured morocco, stamped with 
the great Magyar's bearings, and enclosed in 
a case which is an exact model of Shakspeare's 
house, beautifully executed in white hoUy 
and black oak, was purchased, and was to be 
presented to Governor Kossuth on the 6th 
of tlie present month, at the London Tavern, 
before a free meeting, of both sexes, by a 
literary deputation. Mr. Douglas Jerrold it 
was expected would be spokesman. 


— A few months ago, the New York Knicker' 
hocker had some sprightly remarks upon this 
subject. Some of the choicest specimens 
were from the columns of the PubUc Ledger, 
of this city. Few who read the article will 
forget the unes about 

"Sweet little Bfll J, 
Wboee Iveatli wm m pure m a lily," 

whose friends added, that 

"TlioQgta we put thy deftUi In the pApore, 
8U11 we miM thy innocent oepen.^ 

The following verses often appear in the 

**Fare thee well my nhikl fbrerer, 
In tbia world I've lout mr Joy ; 
In the next we no'er shall ravor, 
There 1*11 meet my uigel boy.** 

If the writer and the deceased are never to 
sever in the next world, the impropriety of 
bidding farewell forei^er ought to be obvious 
to the meanest capacity. Occasionally the 
word girl is substituted for boy, at the end of 
the last line, making it the blankest of blank 

The following appeared in the Ledger for 
May 7th: 

"Dearert Huy Elizaboth, she is gone, 
Her sister went before — 
Mow they both meet in betren, 
Kerer to part any more. 
They liave a lltUe brother they left behind— 
Nor do we know bow soon 
They mny caU on their dear little brother 
To play around the silver moon." 

This theory of the locidity of heaven differs 
from that of the Rev. Mr. Harbaugh, who 
has suggested one of the Pleiades as the spot. 


— This old and very popular society, gave 
their last concert, for tne season, at Musical 
Fund Hall, on Wednesday evenine of this 
week ; when Mrs. Emma Bostwick, Mr. Henry 
Appy, Julius Siede, and Herr Thiller appear- 
ed ; Mr. B. Carr Cross presiding at the piano. 
We go to press at too early a day to say any- 
thing especial in our present number of tne 
entertainment. Possibly we may give a notice 
in keeping with the merits of the subject 
hereafter. This much we may now venture 
to assert : the entertainment was of a very 

pleasant character, like all those which have 
preceded it. A crowded room greeted the 
artists, and the applause was hearty, if not at 
all times judicious. 


— Was afforded to us the other day. Wc by 
accident found oursdves at a high point in 
the Chinese Museum ; and, casting our eyea 
across Ninth Street, we beheld the private 
garden of one of our wealthiest and most re- 
spected families, the ensemble of which, when 
seen from such a height, and at this youth- 
time of vegetatiim, is surpassin^y beautifuL 
We looked with our whole eyes, we called 
into action every particle of ^factory sensi- 
bility which we possess. Both seeing and 
smelling were charmed to an ecstacy. We 
paused for a moment wrapt in a detirium of 
pleasure. Thel^ were those fresh, clean plats 
of grass, those flower-strewn shrubs^ those 
lofty green-clad trees, those nicely-rakJed and 
profusely-graveled walks — and then that de- 
licious atmosphere which floated above all« 
and which a gentle west wind brought over 
to us, and which we kissed with the mad 
rapture of a lover. We did not covet the 
ownership of those bewitching grounds, — no, 
no, with all our sins, we are not covetous, — 
but we could not help wishing that Pro- 
vidence had made us proprietor, in fee, of a 
spot equally attractive. 

How few of these choice oases in the city's 
desert of bricks and mortar do we find ; and 
how much more precious do they become on 
that account ! 


— " Spiritual Dialogues, *' we are soiry to say, 
close with our next number. They have 
been much admired. The author promises 
us further contributions hereafter. 

** The Hofraadinde " is a thrilling story. It 
was translated from the Danish many years 


— Among the many changes which are takinc 
place in Philadelphia, the additions to. ana 
improvements of, the old Arcade, are decidedly 
stnking. The squat old building is beginning 
to look quite spruce by means of them. Im- 
mense letters whidi defaced the front, indi- 
cating the location of bath-rooms and billiaid 
saloons, have disappeared under the stone- 
cutter's chisel, and a clean, bright, smooth 
face takes the place of a very dirty one. 
Then the whole front has been oilivened and 
humanized — ^if we may so speak — ^by a grace- 
ful iron verandah running its entire width, so 
that the insemble of the awkward looking 

Sile is made quite agreeable to the eye. We 
not know to what use the re-painted and 
refreshed entire up-stairs of the building is to 
be appropriated : out it is hinted that it is to 
beccnae a hotel on the French plan of a bed 



and cmt wbere joo please. Possibly such an 
esUbli^nnent, at such a point, might socceed. 
A lady friend of ours, says she likes well 
enough the appearance of the verandah ; in* 
deed, it strikes hor as wearing qnite a poetical 
air : bat " will it not," she adds, with an ex- 
pression indicating an unpleasant taste in the 
mouth, •• will it not become a lounging place 
for cigar smokers and tobacco-chewers 1 " We 
shall see. May the sense cf sight, too, prove 
all the evidence vouchsafed us, in case the 
smokers and chewers are admitted to such an 
impending position. 


— A very neat quarto, with this title has been 
commenoed in Buffalo, (N. Y.) and promises 
to be pt^polar. Its character is well mdicated 
by its name. The editors are D. S. Manley, 
Elbert Perce and William R. Manley, assisted 
by A. L. tiomuse. 


,1 —Christopher Crawfish, of Manynnk Ter- 
, race, ftimishes us this week with the follow- 
I ing budget: — 


p Chris. Geography Class, stand up! — 
■1 What's the capital of Pennsylvania? 
I UtBoy. Philadelphia. 

Chris. Next. 

2d Boy, Wissahiccon. 
i Chris. Next. 

ZdBoy. PillPigler. 
j! Chris. That's right: go up to the head. 
j What's the capital of New Jersey ? 

1st Boy. Cfooper's Creek. 
I Chris. Next. 
I 2d Boy. Raccoon. 
! Chris. Next. 
\ Zd Boy. I know, sir ! 
' Chris. Well, why don't you tell it? and 
I not stand scratching j'^our head. 
:| Zd Boy. The Camden and Amboy Rail- 
|! road. 

I Chris. That's right. Now yon may have 
I arecess. 

I Why is it that a person travelling on a tum- 
' pike very rarely loses his way ? Because he 
IS toWd at every gate. 

Which is the largest part of France ? Bo- 

The sentence of the law being executed 
upon the murderer. Spring, will l^ likely to 
make a short Summer, — because Spring and 
FaU will come close together. 

What part of Pennffrlviinia must be most 
opposed to popular education? SchuyUkiU 

Philaddphia has three establishments to 
Aunish the people with water; and three 
^hmisand to ihmish them with ukiskcy. 

Ai the Ixnxl Mayor's dinner, Mr. Dickens 

had to make a speech for Mrs. Undetomscabin. 
Now, what the Dickens is the matter, that the 
lady who can write such killing negro ro- 
mances, cannot make a speech. Could she 
not give a Ucturt ? Perhaps Mr. Uncletoms- 
cabin could tell ? 

John Bull has declared that Turkey shall 
not be dismembered. We doubt if John will 
stick to his declaration longer than next 

Santa Anna is begging Spain to protect him 
against the fillibusters. Is not this going to 
the goat's house for wool ? 

3ft55-issippi is said to be the father of wa- 

We laugh at a Dutchman when he calls a 
a ship he ; and yet we call the John Stevens 

A* daily paper states that a police officer haa 
secured $20,000 worth of counterfeit money. 

We had no idea that counterfeit money was 
worth so much. 

In what case can a crab best express its 
grief? In the genitive singular. Cancer (a 
crab) can-cn*. 

The address of the women of England on 
the subject of American Slavery, it is said, 
contains 571,000 names. Are there so many 
women in England who can write their names ; 
or did some of them make their marks ? 
Hie-roRiCAi. eooie-r^r 

— A report of the 170th celebration of the 
anniversary of the Landing of Penn by the 
Pennsylvania Historical £>cietj^» has been 
placed upon our table. It contains besides a 
mil account of the proceeding at the dinner 

g'ven on the occasion at the United States 
otel, Judge Conrad's oration—an able and 
doquent effort 

ef»tRi-ruAi. K4A^alP■e-rA'Tlo^ta 
— We have received from G. P. Putnam & Co., 
through G. B. Zeiber " AReveiw of the Spir- 
itual Manifestations," it comes from the pen 
of Rev. Charles Beecher Pastor of the First 
Congregational Church Newark, N. Y., and 
appears to be a very learned examination into 
a very great humbug. 

* htmUR -THOes WOK/IKN." 

— The ladies are getting up a Floral Fair for 
the benefit of the Northern Home for Friend- 
less Children. It will take place at the Chin- 
ese Museum on the last day of the present and 
the two first days of the coming month, and 
will without question prove a brilliant enter- 

f»i-HL..OLOGuoAt. umoTTVjmmm. 

— We take pleasure in calling attention to 
the course ot lectures on English Philology 
by Mr, Bums, to be commenced on Thursday 
evening next at the Fnmklin Institute. Tfate 
novel feature of these lectures is the original^ 



and often amosii^, manner in which w<»rds 
are illustrated, 'mthout seeing these illustra- 
tions a person can hardly believe how much 
may be made (Philologically) of the ox. We 
have always had a high idea of the usefulness 
of this valuable animal, but until we saw 
some of these illustrations we had no idea of 
his importance in a literary point of view. 
For the rest of our life we shall look upon an 
ox with more respect than we have done 
heretofore. To all who have a taste for litera- 
ture, or who desire to understand the philoso- 
phy of lan^age, these lectures will be ex- 
ceedingly interesting. 


— The dramatis personm of Uncle Tom's 
Cabin have been ** done up" in style by the 
French lithographers, as may be seen in a 
window up Chestnut street. Popular taste in 
tuT day has decidedly a n^ro tendency, ^e- 
gro music has been m vogue for some time, 
negro literature has also been hestowed on us, 
and why shall not negro prints prevail ? These 
are great days for the cdored ' * populashum. ' ' 
White-washers, washerwomen, and boot- 
blacks, will eventually be constantly found in 
the atdiers of our artists ; nay the time may 
come when our Raphaels and Vandykes will 
set such a value upon elongated heels, pro- 
truding lips, frizzy wool, and coal black skin, 
that they will pay any price to secure as sit- 
ters, those who are so fortunate as to possess 

^Msintss mH "^Immt 

— Mr. Perham distributes his gifts on the 
28th inst. They consist, as we have repeat- 
edly said, of $12,500 valuable articles, in- 
cluding the Panorama of California, a supurb 
piano, gold watches, gold pencils &c. The 
Panorama will be exhibited up to the time 
that it passes into the hands of the fortunate 
individual who secures the lucky package, con- 
taining an order fbr its ddivery. Apropos of 
manager P., he has arranged excursions for 
the city of Washington the 23d and 24th 
instants, when those who desire may visit 
the Capitol the first day, and return the se- 
cond, with only a damage to the pockets of 
ten dollars. The fare itself for the trip will 
be only six dollars. Those who are economi- 
cal may enjoy the whole affair at an ex- 
pense of between seven and eight dollars, nnd 
include Mount Vernon in the trip. 

— Sakford*s Troupe at the Concert Hall, is 
unquestionably the best we have ever had in 
the city,** The vocalism is admirable, solos, 
choruses, trios and duetts being executed in 
the very best manner. The dances, too, fbr 
those who like that branch of the performance 

are cai»tal. We should not forget moreover 
in noticing the performance of Sanford's 
Troupe, that there is a good deal of pleasant 
jesting among the ** colorb gemplemen," in 
which Ssuiford himself is prominent. Some 
of the jok6s are rather old, but being very well 
uAd, th^ go off with no little eclat. 

— Wiser's Panqraita of the "Creation, 
the Garden of iSen and the Deluge," at 
Masonic Hall continues to attract crowds both 
afternoons and evenings. It is a grand work, 
and reflects much credit upon the artist who 
executed it. The moving of the painting is 
accompimied by music of the piano, from Mr. 
Warden. We understand that this exhibition 
will be removed to Musical Fund Hall early 
next week, when a better effect will be given 
to it, than it could possibly receive at the 
place where it is now exhibited. It should be 
remembered in connexion with the exhibition 
that the purchaser of a fifty-cent ticket, en- 
titles himself to two admissions and a chance 
for one of the valuable gifts to be distributed 
at an early day. These gifts may be seen in 
the window of Mr. J. E. Gould Swam's Build- 

— Col. William P. Maurice has got well 
established in his new store at 123 Chestnut 
street, and will we presume for a long time be 
stationary there. His opening is every where 
talked about ; and we have seen at least fifty 
notices of the brilliant event in the papers. 
He keeps as formerly, every thing in tne sta- 
tioners line. His principle assistant, too, 
now, as in times past, \s Mr. Kemble, a gen- 
tleman who is wdl worthy of the distinguish- 
ed name he bears. 

— Mr. F. H. Smith, Arch street below Sixth, 
and one of our most esteemed advertisers is 
constantly getting up beautiful articles in the 
way of portfolios, portmonnaies, pocket-books, 
and dressing-cases, while his general stock of 
fancy and toilet goods is of the best charac- 

— Messrs. Burton & Lanino are daily open- 
ing new styles of Parisian decorative papers 
as well as hundreds of varieties, got up at 
their own manufactory in the northern part of 
the city. 

— Mr. a. a. Jones, of the well-known con- 
fectionary, Simes' Buildings, Chestnut above 
Twelfth, has opened the old Parkinson stand. 
No 38 South Eighth street in connexion with 
the former place, and one may go there as for- 
merly and enjoy luxuries of all kinds. Jast 
now strawbeiTies and cream are in the as- 



iT SAT raOf ilU)CArr*—Fiarquhar. 



SATXTB^DikYy MAT t28, 




My theme ^was & night-scene. A young 
wife on returning home finds her husband 
stitnded in bed. The companj appeared sur- 
prised at the tra^c nature of mj choice, but 
c^ttinly tlie subject was one which gave 
great scope to the imagination, and even Lin- 
kowskj, who thought it an unpleasant sub- 
ject for company, was forced to acknowledge 
it was one jmrticularly adapted for the pencil. 
The bride quitted the room, and we com- 
menced our occupations. No sound, save a 
chord from the musician, broke the silence 
which reigned. About a quarter of an hour 
bad elapsed when Linkowsky suddenly gazed 
It his sketch, then sprung from his seat, took 
sereral harried steps through the apartment, 
•gain hastily approached the table, and seiz- 
ing the drawing, prepared to destroy it. 

" Hold !" exclaimed our host, as he arrested 
his hand. •• Whatever is done in this apart- 
ment belongs to me. Is your drawing so 
powerfblly executed as even to terrify your- 
self?^ — ^But, by Heavens, one's very hair might 
stand on end at the sight of it :'' and on say- 
ing this, he handed me the drawing. 

I shuddered as I looked at it ; it was the 
Coimaellor just as I had seen him, as he lay 
stranded on that eventful night. 

^ You may stop your employment," said I 
to LddesdoHT, '* and I shall throw away my 
poi, for there is a power of deleniation in this 
sketch which we can never come in competi- 
U<m wi^ ; we are but bunglers — the drawing 
has gained the prize, and whoever has seen a 
strangled man most acknowledge its fidelity. 
I admire your power of imagination, Herr 
Lh^kowsky, but one mav readily suppose that 
a genius such as your s must often be tor- 
mented with extraordinary dreams." 

** Not at all," he replied, " I sleep too com- 
posedly to be so disturbed : it is only when I 
take my pencil in my hand that my imagina- 
tkm retains such mastery over me ; but that 
dielch is not merely my own fancy. I saw, 
■omawhere in my travds, I think in Geneva, 
a pnintiiig, the remembrance of which guided 

Alt these words he stretched out his hand 

• OoultinMl ftom pggtt 86. 

to take my handkerchief, which lay on the 
table beside me, to wipe away the cold drops 
of perspiration which started to his forehead. 

"Pardon me," said I, "that is my hand- 

"Excuse me,'' he replied, " if I have made 
a mistake — but no — my initials are upon it." 

" My name has the same," I replied. 

" You are right," answered he, as he took 
his from his pocket. 

This occurrence drew us into conversation. 

" Perhaps we may be namesakes," he con- 
tinued, " and ' perhaps called for the same 
person ?" 

"Periiaps 80," I replied; "my name is 
Daniel Lessman." 

" It is then only our initials which are the 
same," he rejoined, "for my name is David." 

The entrance of the bride put a stop to our 
conversation, and on finding that neither the 
poet nor the musician had completed their 
tasks, she asked Linkowsky what he had 
done, and requested he would show it to her. 

"You must pardon me," said he "that I 
must deny your first request. These gentle- 
men flatter me that my drawing is powei-ftdly 
done — no, no, it is only the beautiful that this 
art should have any thing to do wiUi, and 
not the horrible. Away then with this sketch, 
it shall no longer disturb our cheerfulness ;" 
he drew the sketch over to him, and then 
commenced another subject of conversation. 

The attention of the lady being called away 
to something else, she soon forgot her awaken- 
ed curiosity, while our host seemed well 
pleased that the amusement of the evening 
had taken another tura. Herr Linkowsky 
repeated some of his most entertaining anec- 
dotes, but there was a total change in his 
manner. In fact, the cheerful tone of the 
company was evidently forced, and my at- 
tempts to restore our gaiety met with but in- 
different success. Linkowsky would, on no 
account give up the drawing, and he several 
times looked inquiringly towards me. 

" May I ask," said he, " before we separate, 
for your address ? — ^your acquaintance inter- 
ests me more than I shall take the liberty to 
express, and I shall be happy to pay you a 

I assured him that I should be extremely- 
happy to see him; and giving him my ad- 
dress, he departed much sooner than the rest 
of the party. 

" That is a most singular man," said the 
bride, as soon as he had disappeared, " and I 
assure you, my dear bridegroom, were we not 
already engaged, I know not what might 
happen, for I admire him excessively." 

On inquiring of my friend HemiebCTg, where 
Linkowsky lodged, he informed me at Kra- 
lowna Unice, but said he had forgotten the 
number. The carriage having arrived for the 
bride and h^ friends, the party broke up. 


and Ludesdorf accompanied me part of the 
way to my lodgings. On the following morn- 
ing I began to reflect on the steps which I 
should take to accomplish my object ; but in 

the meantime sat down to write to B * I 

had not been long engaged in this occupation, 
when some one knocked at the door, a stranger 
entered, and, stepping up to me, said, 

** Are you from ^-- — ?" 

On expressing my displeasure at this in- 
trusion, and refusing to answer his abrupt 
and impertinent question, he replied, 

** I am one of the officers of justice, and 
you must answer me. Are you Uerr Daniel 
Lessman, from B ?" 

" Yes," T replied. 

♦* Then I have orders to arrest you ; and in 
the name of the President, I command you to 
follow me." 

** Willingly," said I, and having arranged 
my chamber, I quickly followed him to the 
street, where a carriage awaited us. After 
driving a considerable way, the carriage 
stopped at a spacious court, and we alighted. 
I followed my conductor along a vaulted pas- 
sage, at the extremity of which we found a 
jaUer awaiting our arrival ; and the oflBcer 
naving delivered me over to his care, and 
wished me a happy termination to the busi- 
ness, took his departure. The jailer fixed 
his eyes upon me as if he would impress every 
feature on his mind, and then ushered me into 
my apartment. The chamber would not of 
itself have been disagreeable, but for the 
prospect without : not a living creature was 
to be seen — I had not even a glimpse of the 
blue heavens — and opposite was a dead wall. 
Though convinced of my perfect innocence, 
still it was a sad thought that here I must 
remain in this dreary solitude till the afifair 
was inquired into. Except the jailer, I did 
not see the face of a human creature the first 
day of my imprisonment, and he looked so 
sympathising that I had nearly requested he 
would favor me with pen and paper ; but it is 
so painful to meet with a disappointment 
where one has encouraged a hope, that I re- 
linquished my intention. I went early to 
bed, and slept better than I expected. Next 
morning, when my jailer entered my prison, 
I remarked that his countenance was unusu- 
ally cheerful; he desired me, in a friendly 
tone, to prepare to receive some visitors, who 
would be with me in the course of the day. 
At an earlv hour the door of my solitary pri- 
son was nastily thrown open, and the old 
gentleman, whose daughters little favorite I 
had protected, stepped into the room. 

** It grieves me much, my dear sir," he said, 
as he shook me warmly by the hand, " that 
in place of seeing you at my house, I visit you 
here. I beg to assure you how much both 
my daufthters feel indebted to you for tout 

politeness, and also how deeply interested we 
are for your present distress. I 

I thanked him for his kindness, but added, 
" I cannot imagine how you became so soot 
acquainted with what has occurred." 

** It was my brother-in-law, the President," 
he said, " who saw you alight from the car- 
riage, he instantly recognized you, and men- 
tioned it to me in the evening. It surprised 
me exceedingly — we must not, however, lose 
hope ; all will yet go well." 

" I suppose," said I, ** that from your re- 
lationship to the President, he has told yon 
the reason of my being here ?" 

" He did so, indeed, and seldom has any 
occurrence caused me more regret." 

"May I entreat," I rejoined, "t^at jm 
will iniorm me of what I am accused ? — ^it 
will set my mind at rest to know the cause of 
my imprisonment." 

** It is very painful to me to be obliged to 
tell it to you — but, how is it possible? — it is 
little more than twenty-four hours since yon 
arrived, and you have already — the longer I 
look at you the less inclined am I to bdieye 
it — they say that you issued bank-notes which 
you have forged. 

As the good old man said this, he looked 
half inquiringly, half sorrowfully at me. The 
accusation astonished me so much that for a 
moment I was unable to reply : — but I quickly 
regained my self-possession. Crime of any 
kind was so far from my mind that I did not 
allow it to make an impression upon me. 

" I am too incompetent," continued the old 
man, ** to give an opinion of the aflair at pre- 
sent ; but what I can do for you, be assured 
shall be done. Meanwhile, I have ordered a 
more comfortable apartment to be prepared 
for you : in the course of the day your lodg- 
ings will be searched, and I have obtained 
permission that you shall be present." 

I thanked the old gentleman for his kind- 
ness, and could not but think how strange 
that the trifling incident of the fright of a 
little lap-dog should be the means of softening 
my present situation ; the old man wannlv 
pressed my hand, and then departed. His 
promise was fulfilled : a short time after he 
left me, the jailor came and conducted me to 
a chamber in the opposite side of the building, 
the windows of which looked into the street, 
and open view delighted me more than I can 
describe. I now took courage to ask my 
jailor for writing materials. He civilly re- 
plied, ** that until my lodgings were searched 
he could not comply with my request." Din- 
ner being over, after pacing my apartments 
for some time, I approached the window in 
the hope of seeing some known countenance. 

Many were the pedestrians and oarriagQ 
which hurried past my window : and I conld 
scarcely believe my eyes, when in one of than 
I discovered David lankowsky seated beside 



my fisend and his daughter, to whom he 
seemed to be addressuig some animated con- 
Ttnatioii. He was quite as elegantly dressed 
18 the erening I met him at Henneberg's, 
bat there was some differenoe in his appear- 
nee which I could not at lirst account for, 
tin I discovered he wore no moustachios. I 
had hardly recoTored from my surprise at this 
erent, when one of the officers of justice en- 
tered to conduct me to the examination of my 

The moment you quitted your lodgings," 
be said, " your apartment and papers were 
sealed up — and if you have a clear conscience, 
jon will feel tranquil as to the event." 

" He entered a carriage, and soon reached 
my lodgings, where we found the officers of 
jnstioe who had sealed my apartment, waiting 
fer 08. The seals being broken, and nothing 
being discovered to criminate me, they con- 
gratulated me on the result of the search, and 
Msored me I should be set at liberty the fol- 
lowing morning. 

I thanked them for the interest they seem- 
ed to take in the matter, and said I was in- 
dined to treat the affair as of no moment, and 
pointing jestingly to a coat which hung on 
the back of a chair, and which the servant, 
tbe evening I was taken prisoner, had brush- 
ed and thrown there, desired them to examine 
it as strictly as they thought neccessary. 
They examined it with the closest scrutiny, 
tad drew from one of the side pockets two 
papers carefully folded together, which, on 
ounination, were found to be forged notes. 
What I felt at this moment it is impossible to 
deacribe ; although my conscience was clear, 
I oovld scarcely stand the looks of the officers 
of justice. Every comer of the apartment 
via now minutely examined, but no further 
proof of my guilt appeared. Some of my 
dotbes were thrown into a trunk, and I was 
led back to prison. The jailor, who was a 
good hearted fellow, shrugged his shoulders 
on being ordered to take me back to my for- 
■era^partment. What had occured seemed 
iWBdicable to me — was it possible that the 
rascal could have put the forged notes in my 
peekei at Henneberg's ; but no — suddenly a 
^^ broke in upon me. On that morning in 

wfaicfal sat writing to B , the servant 

bnoght me a list of wares which he said a 
pedlar had given him to show the stranger — 
the man was unknown to him — was it not 
pQssifale that it was the rogue himself? — 
eoQld he not have hurriedly thrust the notes 
iato my coat-pocket while the servant brought 
M ia the list — ^yes, it must be so. I had 
pMMd three days in my dark dungeon, when, 
oa the morning of the fourth the door of my 
ytitment was suddenly thrown open, and 
m old gentleman burst in. 

''Oh, my friend," he exclaimed, <<the 
knr of your deliveraiice has arrived — ^yes, 


you may look at me with inquiring eyes— yes, 
you are free, but I stood on the brink of a 
fearful gulph, and was unconsciously hasten- 
ing my own destruction ; and had not some 
good angel watched over the poor short-sight- 
ed mortal, my happiness would have been de- 
stroyed and the comfort of my old age lost 
forever. But God be praised, who has dealt 
so mercifully with the poor old man ; but in 
place of standing here, I must go home, and 
show my gratitude to Heaven, by giving 
ahns to the unfortunate." 

Seeing me about to interrupt him, he con- 
tinued : 

" Ask me no questions, I cannot tell you 
what has happened, this business lies like a 
stone at my heart. Farewell, I must go home 
and see my happiness again with my own 
eyes — but come to me in the evening, and 
then you shall hear all. And now if yoa do 
not, with me, fall down on your knees and 
thank pod for your preservation, I shall have 
nothine more to say to you," and with these 
words he left me. 

At twelve o'clock my door was again open- 
ed — with a beating heart I approached it, 
thinking I was free ; but no, it was only the 
jailor with my dinner — ^he looked gloomy, 
and my courage sunk again ; but this was 
only assumed, for on taking another look at 
him, I saw he in vain tried to conceal a smile. 
Without uttering a word, be placed my repast 
upon the table, and then withdrew to a cor- 
ner of the room, where be could observe me, 
I removed the cover from the dish where in 
place of food I found a letter from the Presi- 
dent, in which he expressed his regret that 
his duty had forced him to treat me as he 
had done : that he would not rest satisfied 
until he done all in his power to obliterate 
from my mind the recollection of the late un- 
pleasant occurrence, but that he would defer 
further explanation till the evening, when we 
would meet at the house of his brother-in- 

** How do you relish your dinner ?" said my 
attendant, as he suddenly approached vad 
seized my hand. *'Do you think I would 
treat you with common fare to-day? No 
doubt you will have better food at the Presi- 
dent's, but it will not be offered with a warm- 
er heart; for although for five years it has 
been my lot to lock up unhappy criminals 
Grcm the light of heaven, my breast is not 
locked up to pity and compassion ." Tears 
stood in the poor fellow's eyes, who appeared 
to have conceived an affection for me. An 
officer of justice now entered with instructions 
to conduct me to my lodgings. So bidding 
adieu to my kind jailer, I returned to my old 
abode, where I proposed to remain one night 
before taking up my quarters at the old gen- 
tleman's. <nist as the carriage stopped at my 
lodgings, I saw two figures hurnedly ap* 





proachingt and the next moment I was press^ 
ed in the arms of Henneberg and Leidesdoif. 

" My dear friend," exclaimed the latter, 
" what anxiety have we not suffered on your 
account — ^it was only l^tdy that we heard 
any thing of the matter, and were too certain 
of your innocence to fear the result." 

" And yet," interrupted Henneberg, ** that 
would not have prevented me from going to 
the President's to assure him of your honour 
and principle, had Linkowsky told me that 
your imprisonment was occasioned by some 
absurd mistake, and that you would be set 
at liberty immediately." 

** Have jovL seen him to-day ?" 

" I have only seen him once," he replied, 
''when he gave this intelligence respecting 

After talking the matter over for a while, 
we separated, with the promise of meeting at 
Henneberg's in the evening. On entering my 
apartment, I immediately proceeded to exam- 
ine my trunk, and found every thing there but 
the handkerchief. 

At an early hour the carriage of my kind 
and hospitable friend conveyed me to his 
dwelling, where I was received with the wel- 
come of a son ; and the old gentleman waited 
with impatience the arrival of his brother in- 
law. In vain I looked for his daughter. My 
hunger was soon appeased, and my curiosity 
satisfied regarding this mysterious affair. 

In Krowlina Unice there was a two-story 
house, the entrance to which was by a flight 
of steps ; the owner lived upon his means» 
aud as he was fond of pigeons, he had built a 
dovecot in the court, at the back of the hoiuse. 
One evening as he was returning home, just 
as niffht was closing in, he went to take some 
remedy to one of the doves which was sick. 
On entering the court he observed that the 
ladder, which usually stood against the dove- 
cot, was placed under a window ; the window 
was not open, nor was there any light in the 
apartment, which bclongnl to a lodger ; he 
thought nothing more of the circumstance, 
but took the ladder to the dovecot and brought 
down the sick pigeon. As he was about to 
quit the court he heard a window hastily 
torown open ; he looked up and saw a man, 
with a bundle in his teeth, just ready to spring 
from the ledge of the window. Terrified at 
this, the good man threw the pigeon from 
him, and calling to the stranger to desist 
from his purpose, he seized the ladder and ran 
to his assistance ; but the man thinking there 
was no great danger in the leap, and that he 
would escape through the house into the 
street, jumped down and ran into the house : 
but here his progress was arrested b^ one of 
the domestics, who instantly seized him, call- 
ing outstep thief! Findine escape impossi- 
ble, the poor wretch begged hard for mercy ; 
tti0 laEDdioTd of the house now entered and 

aeked him what he got in the bundle, he con- 
fessed it was some artides which he had sto- 
len from the apartment above, but dedaied 
that necessity alone, and the ^ cries of hk 
starving children had tempted him to this 
crime ; he added that by means of the ladder 
he had entered the stranger^ apartmentt he 
had broken open his desk, and taken from it 
what the bundle contained ; and also that if 
they would have compassion cm his poor chil- 
dren, he would willingly endure the severest 
punishment they could inflict. The humane 
master of the house was moved by these 
words, and replied that had the stolen pt>- 
perty been his, he would have instantly al- 
lowed him to escape, but as it was his lodgers 
who seemed to be a person of consequence, be 
might be severely blamed for permitting any 
one who had broken into his apartment to 
escape without further inquiry and thereCore 
his duty compelled him to send for the officen 
of justice : but whatever his fate might be, 
he might rest assured that his children would 
be taken care of. This assurance appeared to 
comfort the unhappy criminal, for whom the 
kind-hearted landlord ordered a plentiful sup- 
ply of fqi^d, but the wretched man was in do 
situation to taste it. A servant was instantly 
despatched after an officer of justice, who 
were not long in obeying the summons ; they 
strictly examined the prisoner, and remarked 
that he had never been upon their list. They 
now proceeded to examine the bundle, the 
contents of which caused them no small sur- 

" By my faith," said the officer, as he un- 
folded something which was carefully wrap? 
ped up in paper, *^ the gentleman above stairs 
has not been bom in a fisherman's hut," say- 
ing which he handed the landlwd a magnin- 
cent brooch. 

** This does not surprise me." replied the 
latter, '' for at the first glance I said he was 
a man of fortune." 

The next article which they took from the 
bundle was a small box, containing a gold re- 
peater, which was still more splendid than 
the brooch. 

•* My poor fellow," said the landlord, turn- 
ing to the prisoner, ** you made a valuable 
capture, but you have not much luck with 
your prize: but what is that ?" he continued, 
as he i^aw the officer take a long flat etUi case 
from the bundle. 

"This." said the officer, *• certainly does 
not correspond with the other articles, it . 
seems to be worn away from constant use ; 
but what the devil — I cannot open it — try as 
I will, I can neither find clasp nor s^uin^." 

** Let me try," said the landlord. His ef* 
forts were for a time equally fruitless ; but at 
length he accidently touched a small cross OA 
the under side of the box, which turned 
round and the box flew opm. ** Here is tho 



riddle," exdihned the host, while the officers 
came near to examine the contents. The^ 
looked at them, contracted their hrows, and 
then hastily approached the lights on a side- 
laUe to f>crutinize them more narrowly ; then 
taroing to the landlord, said — 

^'May I request that yon will instantly 
send one of your domestics to the Dresden 
Gate, to seek out the other officer who he- 
longs to our district ? I shall write him a 
note, which will bring him here in the space 
of an hour ; therefore I request writing ma- 
terials* 'tis a matter of consequence." 

The master of the house complied with his 
wish: the note was quickly written, and a 
serrant instantly dispatched with it. 

" Good heavens I exclaimed the host, 
" what can be of any consequence in that lit- 
tle case?" 

"Fellow said the officer, . turning to the 
eriounal, *• you have committed a great crime 
in breaking into your neighbor's house with 
snch mtentions ; but justice itself might al- 
most forgive you, nay, regard you as being 
the most honest man of the two. A flask of 
wine, if you please, the rogue shall moisten 
his tongue — 1 may venture to say that his 
pomsfament will not be very great." 

" As much wine as you will, but surdy you 
win let me see the contents of the little 
case?" said the landlord. 

It was some time before he could prevail 
wifli the officer to gratify his curiosity ; but 
at length he reach^ the case to him, under 
promise of the strictest secrecy. His curios- 
ity was soon satisfied, but it was fbr some 
tinieere he recovered from the shock of hav- 
Bg harbored such instruments in his house. 
Akog with a flank of ink, two pencils, and 
nrenl very fine pointed pens, was a folded 
bai& note, half executed. The thief learnt 
with astonishment thstt he had stolen from a 
inMer rogue than himself, and looked upon 
hisKelf as an instrument in the hands of 
ftwridence to bring him to justice. Mean- 
while the servant who had been dispatched, 
fcond the officer surrounded by several friends, 
xtd he was in the middle of an animated 
^Mcfa at the moment he delivered him the 
oote; he opened it with an air of indiffer- 
CBce, hot no sooner had he glanced at it, than 
he started up and seized his hat and stick. 

** I am exceedingly sorry," said he, to leave 
thi« good company, but were one of my five 
pU dianged to a boy, I would not be half so 
Btf^ as the contents of this note have made 
■K; I must now hasten away, for duty must 
W minded." 

Fdkwed by the messenger, the officer hur- 
Hed (A, and scarcely paused to take breath 
* ther reached the road, which stretched 
krto ^ left <tf the Dresden Gate. 

" What IB that ?" said the officer, ** sure* 
If liiat ia a carriage under the trees !" 

" I ^ink you are right, ' readied his com- 

" Plague on the feUow," herejdned, ** had 
he nothing to do but to drag us after him to 
Kralowna Unice, that is no step. 

They approached the carriage. 

**Look, look." whispered the domestic, 
" there is some one stealing away from the 
carriage and hastening towards the gate !" 

** Faith, you are right," rejoined the officer ; 
it approaches the houses, there is a hght — ah, 
'tis a woman, 111 venture my neck upon that ; 
the carriage is there with no good intention, 
that is certain'" 

Hastily, but softly, they drew near the 
earriage, it was a travelling one, to which 
there was a large trunk strapped on behind. 

''Are you asleep, coachman?" said the 
officer, but no answer was returned. The 
servant went close to him and tapped him on 
the back. 

"What do you mean by that?" said the 
coachman, " get along, and leave honest peo* 
pie in peace." 

"For whom are you waiting?" asked the 

** For whom do you inquire ?" was the re- 

" Not 80 insolent, if you please, fellow, — 
'tis an officer of justice who speaks to you, 
and if you are not a little more civil, I must 
teach you to be so ; turn round the carriage, 
and drive me to Krawlowna Unice ; if you 
comjAy readily you shall have some money 
for drink, now mount and be off." 

" Impossible, sir, I wait for someone here." 

" For whom can you be waiting at this late 
hour, and so far fitnn the gate too ?" 

" For a young gentleman of the univers* 
ity," rephed the coachman, " who is going 
to his father, who is dangerouriy ill.'* 

" Why not wait for him at his own lodg^ 
ings," said the officer, " in place of on this 
distant spot?" 

"Oh, one of his young friends gave an en- 
tertainment to-day, which prevented him get- 
ting away early, therefore he must steal quiet- 
ly through ther gates." 

** Your story does not hang very well to- 
gether," rejoined the officer ; •* turn round 
instantly, I command you, and do as I order 

The postilion was frightened, and obeyed* 
The officer stepped in, the servant sprung up 
behind, and the carriage drove c^. They had 
not gone far, when thev saw a man running 
at full speed : he was hastening past, when 
he suddenly glanced at the carriage, and in- 
stantly stopped : the postilion drew up. 

" Is it you, Joseph ?" exclaimed the stran- 
ger, panting, — *• in the devil's name," he con« 
tinu^. not observing the servant behind the 
carriage, " have you drank your five sensas 



away? What could possess yoa to torn 

" He is taking me to Krawlowna Unicc," 
said the officer from the carriage. 

*^ What is the meaning of this ?" repHed 
the stranger. 

** He has my orders to do so," rejoined the 
officer, «* and if you will do me the favor to 
step into the carnage and accompany me there, 
you can then proceed on your ioumey." 

"What insolence is this?" rejoined the 
stranger, " and what right have you, sir, to 
take possession of any one's carriage ?" 

** The pres.sing duties of my situation," 
replied the officer, " which gives an officer of 
justice the right to make use of any carriage 
he may encounter." 

The stranger was silent for a few moments, 
then turning to the coachman, he asked, in 
an unsteady voice, if the young man had 

" Yes, and he is in the carriage," was the 

** My dear sir," said he to the officer, in a 
tone which had suddenly changed from fiery 
vehemence to gentleness, " I implore you to 
allow me to continue my journey ; my father 
lies at the point of death, and T entreat you 
not to let him long for the last embrace of 
his only son in vain." 

With these words he opened the door of 
the carriage, in the expectation that the officer 
would descend. 

** Drive on," said the officer. " I cannot," 
he continued, addressing the stranger, " allow 
you to prosecute your journey ; there is some- 
thing suspicious in the whole affair." 

At the same moment he made a movement 
as if to let the stranger get into the carriage. 

'* If prayers," exclaimed the latter, with 
looks of despair, " are unavailing, I must try 
what force will do." 

Ho suddenly seized the officer, and drag- 
ged him from the carriage ; but at this mo- 
ment the servant leaped from the back of the 
carriage, and threw himself upon the stranger, 
who exclaimed, 

"Turn, Joseph, and put your -horses to 
their utmost speed." 

And while the postillion prepared to obey, 
he measured with his eye the strength of his 
two opponents, and finding the servant the 
most powerful of the two, he suddenly pulled 
a pistol from his breast, and levelled it at him. 

**0h, Heavens !* shrieked a youthfiil voice 
from the carriage, as it drove off, but the ball 
missed, and passed harmless by the side of 
the servant, who, furious with passion, seized 
the stranger, and before he could strike the 
dagger, which he held in his hand, at the 
breast of the officer, struck down bis hand, 
and wrested the weapon from his grasp ; but 
on looking attentively at the stranger, the 
servant suddestfy exclaimed, 

"Hdp, for the sake of Heaven!" 'tis my 
master's lodger." 

** Is it he r' said the officer, in surprise : 
" is it he ? This is a fortunate occurrence ; 
we must search him," he continued, **in 
case he may have other weapons upon him. 
Hold him fast, while I shall run after the car- 
riage, which I think I shall be able to over- 
take and bring back." 

(To b« concladed in Number thirty-four.) 


dialogue xvi. 

John Smith — Sidney Smith. 

W. the Elder, Capt. Smith, how are you, 
how have you been ? This is an honor of the 
very firet water, I assure you. Indeed , I dont 
know a ghost in all history, or in all space, 
whose presence here could give me greater 
pleasure. Come, sit down, old fellow, and 
tell us all about yourself and travels. 

John S, Do give a spectre time to breathe, 

W. the Elder I beg your pardon. Captain. 
Don't hiury yourself. I took it for granted 
however, that an old and hardened traveller 
like you, didn't mind a journey of this kind, 
occasionally. But perhaps a wee drop of 
Schiedam might — 

John S. Nothing for me, I'm obliged to 

W. the Elder, Well, where are you from 
last, and how are they all there ? You left 
Pocohontas well, I trust, and the youngst^^s. 
A ghost of your enterprise John, and roving 
propensities, must of course have a good deal 
to say for himself. Come now give us a little 
of your spiritual experience ; that's a dear 

John S. Well, you are a free and easy old 
fellow, I must say ; but what in the name of 
aged Nicholis, do you want any of my yams 
for ? "Why am I here at all, and how I What 
is the reason of the present invocation? 
Holloa, what old folio is this? And these 
manuscripts too ? You are surely not roman- 
tic enough old gentleman, to be bringing out 
a new edition of my History of Ftrginia? 
Eh, how is it? 

W the Elder. Oh no ; I can't afford any 
such luxury as that, I assure you. 

John S, Well, maybe you are writing my 
life, and want more copies and authentic infor- 
mation, than your lying predecessors had, or 
cared to have ? Ah, that s it, evidentlv. You 
look guilty. Well, well, there's nothing like 
going to head-quarters, certainly. Here I 
am ; pump away. To be sure, it is rather 
absurd for a ghost, to be giving his biographer 
the particulars of his earthly eareer, two cen- 
turies after it's idl over. Nevw mind that. 



thoii^: go ahead. While I'm here, too, 
hadirt you better secure my likeness, and so 
hare the genuine article, to &ce the title-page ? 

W, the Elder, Why, Captain, how you 
talk! I assure you, upon my honor, I am 
not engaged upon any biography of yourself. 
I would not presume to handle a subject so 
entirely beyond my powers. And then again, 
between ourselves, I cant' help doubting, 
whether such a performance, however well 
done, would begin to pay expenses. 

Mn S. I suppose not. I'm altogether too 
much of a fogie, and fighting character, to go 
down, in these days. Is it not so ? 

W, the Elder. No, that's not it; but 
somehow or other, there don't seem to be a 
rage, just now, for the lives of great benefac- 
tors. Washington himself, rather drags in 
the market, I'm told. 

John S, The deuce he does ! 

W, the Elder, Jack Sheppard, Uncle T(my 
The Wandering Jewy they are the boys to 
make the money for the publishers! John 
Marskallf on the other hand, is the veriest 
lumber; he positively hasn't reached his 
third thousand^ yet, though his memoirs have 
been out, almost as many years ; while Monte 
Cristo is already on his five hundredth thou- 
svmdth. So, at least, I have been informed. 
Ah IX), Captain, it was for no such selfish pur- 
pose, that I presumed to ask the honor of your 
company here ; but simply, because of my 
most profound and hearty admiration of your 
diiracter, and of a natural wish to profit by 
uj litttle spiritual small-talk, that you might 
tcA disposed to indulge me with. That, and 
knowing besides, how wonderfully the facili- 
ties for ghostly travel, have been multiplied 
of late, aU over the universe, emboldened me 
to— But I fear I have taken too great a liberty. 

John S, Not at all, not at all. 

W. the Elder, How fortimate, that my 
dispatch should have found you at home, and 
unoccupied ; a ghost of your restless nature, 
too! But come now, my dear friend, open 
yottr budget. What's the best news from 
spirit-land ? Where have you been roaming 
latdy? What new worlds have you been 
exploring, what continents have you been 
christening, rivers tracing to their fountains ? 
What ruffians, robbers, pirates have you been 
exterminating? What stronghold have you 
been capturing ? What lovely creatures have 
you been rescuing from captivity, or been 
rescued by ? Come lei's have all the delicious 

John S, Well, well, well, I should think I 
was a witness upon the stand, from the way 
you pour in the interrogatories. Gently, gen- 
tly, if you please. Besides, old gentleman, I 
don't feel at liberty to answer questions of 
this sort. Confine yourself to terrestrial top- 
ics, if you please. 

W, ike Elder, You needn't be so squeam- 

ish about it, Captain. Seiferal of your spirit- 
ual brethem, let me tell you, who have done 
me the favor of a call lately, have discovered 
no such unwillingness to speak on these sub- 
jects, but on the contrary, have made some 
very interesting disclosures 

John S, I am sorry to hear it. I must 
say that I consider all such statements, both 
improper and injudicious. Still, I don 't want 
to be unreasonable, or unsociable. 

Sidney S. (Without.) Hdloa there! where 
are you ? How are Pennsylvania Securities ? 

John S. Why, who the deuce may this be ? 

W. the Elder. A namesake of yours, and a 
tip-top fellow, I tell you. 

Sidneys, {without) Do you pay your in- 
terest yet ? 

W the Elder. To be sure we do. Come 
in, come in. 

Sidneys, (without) Are you quite certain, 
that there is no requdiation left among you ? 

W. the Elder. Concern your picture, no. 
We pay up, like men. 

Sidney S. (uithout) £nough said. (He en- 

W. the Elder. Well, I'm embarrassed, I 
confess. I was on the point of saluting you, 
in my prettiest and heartiest manner ; but 
confound it, old boy, this arrogant dictation 
of yours, as to the terms on which you ac- 
cept my invitation, I didn't altogether like, I 
must say. You are a ghost of business, with 
a vengeance ! 

Sidney S. Pshaw, n^an, I was only quiz- 
zing. Don't be so touchy. 

W. the Elder. Oh well, that alters the 
case. Putting your remarks, though, in con- 
nexion with that saucy letter you wrote us 
Yankees, on the subject, just before leaving 
the body, I was misled somewhat, I con- 

Sidney S. But you ought to know fun 
from earnest, by this time. You look vener- 
able enough, certainly. 

W. the Elder. And you ought to know, 
that that is one of the most difficult of all 
branches of earthly knowledge. But it seems 
to me that, for a ghost you are mistily in- 
terested in our State Stocks. However, there's 
the Money article of yesterday. Look for 

Sidney S. Oh, han^ the money article ? 
Is it so strange, though, that I should be in- 
terested in Pennsylvania Fives ? Haven't I 
dear representatives left behind me, in old 
England, who are large hdders of them, and 
of Ohio 6's likewise ? 

W. the Elder. Have you, indeed? Lucky 
dogs they are ; that's all I can say. I wish / 
had a plum or so, laid out in that safe and 
pleasant way. And they always were good 
stocks, too, let me tell you, Mr Reviewer: 
and you made a most unjustifiable and absurd 
onslaught — 



Sidney 8, Conies come, o]d fellow, don't 
undertake to apolc^pse for repudiation. 

W, the Elder, I dout ; but recollect that 
there are two sides to that story, if you 
please. Recollect that jpn English capitalists 
would persist in thrusting your surplus funds 
upon us, Willy willy ; that you did all you 
could to keep alive that speculative spirit, 
that you afterwards cursed us for, so savage- 
ly. Yes, I think you were about as much to 
blame in that business, as we were, if the 
truth were known. 

Sidney S. Pshaw, don't talk in that un- 
principled style. Speculation's one thing, 
swindling anolher. 

W. the Elder. Swindling ? 

John S. Boys, boys, don't get excited 
now, talking finances, or politics. Do change 
the subject, I beg of you. Why, Sydney, 
don't you know me ? , ' 

Sydney S, Why, God bless me. Jack, is 
that you? My dear fellow, how are you? 
{They hug most fraternaUy,) But, what in 
the name of wonder, are you making a spirit- 
ual manifestation here, for ? By the way, 
Smith, what ever became of Jones ? 

John S. Jones ? what Jones ? 

Sydny S. Why, don't you remember, you 
were talking very earnestly, with Paul Jones, 
the last time I saw you ? He appeared to be 
in great trouble, you know, about that hue- 

John S. Hush, hush, hush. We musn't 
speak of these things, before human beings. 

Sydney S. True, true, I forget. 

W. the Elder. Messrs Smith, you seem to 
be old cronies. 

Sydney S. To be sure, we are. Thank the 
stars for it, too ! I consider the acquaintance 
of John Smith, yes, the John Smith of the 
billions and billions of the universe, one of 
the most unqualified treats, that — 

John S. Come, Sydney, none of your pala- 
ver, now. 

Sydney S. But, Jack, you haven't told me 
what business brings you to Yankee land. 

John S. No business ; I am merely accept- 
ing the polite invitation of our old host here. 
Nothing particularly engaged at the time, 
and having moreover, received a similar kind 
message, just before, to come and see some 
descendants, at Monticello, I thought I 
couldn't do better than to respond in person, 
and in a word, here I am, en route for the Old 

W, the Elder. What, are you actually go- 
ing to old Virginny, Captain ? 

John S. I am indeed. 

W. the Elder. You will bo warmly wel- 
comed there. 

John S. I expect they 11 make a good deal 
of fiiss with me. But come, Sidney, suppose 
you go along. 

Sydney S. No, I believe not. Besides, I 

don't altogether like the idea of going amongst 

John S. Why, you old Pluaisee! Hoir 
dare you put on any such airs aa those? 
Slave-holders, indeed f 

W. the Elder. We'll drop the slsvery 
question, if you please, ghosts. 

Sydney S. What, do you meui to stop my 
mouth, old fellow ? No, indeed. I'm hi the 
habit of speaking my mind, pretty freely, 
wherever I go, let me tell you. 

John S. Come, c<mie, namesake, joiir'e 
wrong, quite wrong in this afiair. It oertam- 
ly was not courteous in you, under the cir- 
cumstances, to introduce a topic that you 
know is a verypainful and exciting one. 

Sydney S. Well, well, I ask pardon. 

Jmn S. But what brings you to America, 
old Edinburgh ? 

Sydney S. Well, I came here expressly, 
and by invitation, to spend a week with tMs 
Yankee medium ; but if he's going to flare up 
so, at every little word I say, I l^ink I had 
better be returning forthwith. 

W the Elder. Oh no, no, no : we,ll get 
along well enough, I reckon, after we've found 
each other out. Besides, if we do flare up 
somewhat, and break a dozen or two of crock- 
ery, occasionidly, I shan't mind it. Any thing 
but your sulky people ! Yes, Captain, I dm 
invite the great reviewer here, expressly to 
let him see some of our Yankee improvements, 
and what giant strides we have been makii^, 
in all the honorable walks of life, since hb 
used to write those biting, merciless criticLsms 
about us, some thirty years ago. 

Sydney S. Well, I don't think I was so 
very merciless. I gave you credit for many 
good points. 

W. the Elder. Not merciless ? And do 
you pretend to have foi^tten that outrageous- | 
ly impertinent string of queries, that yon 
tacked at the end of that grossly inaccurate | 
article of yours, in the year 1820 ? 

Sydney S. Inaccurate, say you ? Qospel 
trutn, every word of it, when I wrote it ; and 
by George, I doubt whether you can answer 
many of those very questions, nov^ at all 
satisfactory. Yes, I repeat it. Where are 
your Foxes, yoiu* Burkes, your Sheridans, 
your Wilberforces ? Where your Arkwrights, 
your Watts, your Davys ? Where your Ste- 
warts, Paleys, and Malthuses ? Your Parrs i 
and Persons ? Your Scotts, CampbeUs. and * 
Byrons ? Your Siddons', Kcans and Rem- I 
bles, eh ? There may possibly be a half dosen 
Yankee books, worth looking into, but who | 
does ever go to see your pictures ? Who ever j 
thinks of consulting your doctors, or chem- ' 
ists, or of going to your telescopes for new , 
stars ? Who does drink out of your glasses. I 
or eat from your plates, or wear your gai^ j 
ments, or sleep in your blankets ? Answer 
me that. 1 



W* the £Mer. Why, confocmd your men- 
dacious and bigoted old sool ! I ask, in re- 
torn, where are not our CUvs, and Calhouns, 
tnd Websters knovm and honored? Our 
ChanningSt oar Everetts, our Choates, our 
Oneys, our Fultons, and Morses ? YTho has 
not heard of oar Bowditches, our Barneses, 
our Authors ? To whom is the fame of our 
drriad Allston a stranger, or our glorious 
Cole? What pidace might not be proud to 
reodTe the historical pictures of our Weir, 
or our Leatse, or the landscapes of our Dur- 
Hid, our Church, our Qignoux, or the Scrip- 
ture-piecee of our Huntington ? Who knows 
net tne wonderful works of our Powers, our 
Crawford, our Greenough? Who has not 
read the magnificent verse of our Bryant, the 
sparkling lays of our Halleck, the exquisite 
creations of our Drake ? Half a dozen Yan- 
kee books, say you ? What monstrous arro- 
gaooe ! Is Irving nothing, then, and Pauld- 
ing, and the world -searching Cooper, and 
Prescott, and Bancroft, and Dewey, and 
Ware, and Dana, and Emerson, and Haw- 
thorne, and Longfellow, and Holmes and a 
whole Directoiy full of choice spirits besides ? 
To sneer at our doctors and surgeons, too ! 
Why who can begin to saw off a leg with us 
Yankees ? Who first applied Ether to sur- 
wry ? Who made dentistry a science ? Who 
brought to light the virtues of India Rub- 
ber? In astronomy, too ; let the observatory 
of Old Harvard speak ; let Mitchell answer 

''' your impertinent questions. Ghost that you 
ar«, I doubt whether yoji know much more 
than he does, this very minute, of wbat^s 

! goii^ on in the skies. But you do know, old 
felkw, though it galls your John Bull pride 
too much, too acknowledge it, that we are 
te taking the shine out of you English, in 
aU sorts of manufactures, and that millions 
ore aloeady drinking out of Yankee glasses, 
^ eating from TanJcee plates, and snoring in 
Yankee blankets. The idea of your ridicu- 
fiag our coats, is too absurd ! Why, don't 
yo«r cockney tailors have to come to America, 
for the very shears they ply, and is there a 
maaJmaker of them all, can turn out a gar- 
ment, to be named in the same age or system, 
wkh those of our Philadelphia artists ! 

Svdney S, Oh, don't stop to take breath." 
DaM on ; keep moving. 

W. the Elder. But a*nt I right ? Aro we 
not ^oing ahead of you, in all arts, fine and 
Diefal ? Can you, to-day, show clippers with 
Of, or steamers, or clocks, or cheese, or haras, 
or pippins, or confectionary ? Have you any 
woi oratory to produce, either in the pulpit, 
or in the senate, or on the stump ? No, any 
nwft than you have any such rivers, or 
pmieg, or banking privileges. 

Sydney S, One article, I conf^ yoa do 
beat us m all hollow. 

W. the EMcr. Do we, indeed ? And what 
miy that be ? ^ 

Sydney S. Self-glorification. But, my old 
friend, why so sensitive ? Why take me up 
80 fiercely ? I was anly half in earnest, I 
assure you. I do not pretend to deny the 
progress of your nation, in all these fine 
things, or to ignore the existence of all these 
bright boys, that you have just named ; wits, 
artists, poets, essayists. I knew some of them 
in the flesh. IVe had my old terrestrial 
legs, more than once, I can tell you, under 
the same mahogany with Irving, and ^-escott, 
and other of your choice spirits. Glorious 
fellows the^ are. IVe no doubt, either, that 
you tnT/, m time, beat old Alma Mater, in 
pretty much every department of thought 
and action, any more than I doubt that she 
is, hersdf, far more civilized and christianiz- 
ed, to day, than she was when old Father 
John here, first went out to Virginia, on col- 
onial business. But meanwhile, old gentle- 
man. I must and will say, that there are a 
great many things in this broad land of yours, 
that I don't like at all; yes follies, vices, 
crimes, that call for all the lashing of the sati- 
rist, all the thunders of the pulpit. Don't be 
alarmed, now. I'm not going to to preach a 
sermon on slaving. I consider my mouth 
stopped on that subject, while, while I am 
under your roof. Nor do I mean to favor you 
with a philipic on tobacco-juice: especially 
after the exhausting way, in which brother* 
spectre Hamilton treated that topic, when in 
the flesh. 

John S. Well, what is your text ? Come, 
Sidney, hurry up your^soourse, for I must 
be olF presently. 

. Sydney S. I'm not going to preach, I tell 
you. I m here as a guest, not as a parson. 
None the less. howevCT, are there materials for 
at least half a dozen barrels of^ 

W, the Elder. Oh, hang this vague and 
general abuse ; the items, the items, if you 

Sydney S. Items, say you ? Can I turn 
my ghostly head, without seeing them ? And 
as yon in.4st upon it, I will glance at them, 
for a moment. Imprimis, then : you are al- 
ways in such an infernal hurry, aQ of you, 
and about evoy thing, that there's no com- 
fort, either for ghost or mortal, among you. 
You don't stop to do anything right ; either 
to eat, or drink, or cook, or build, or pliyit, 
or paint, or write, or legislate, Uke christians. 
You cant wait, either to season your timber, 
or to test your iron; no, nor even to put 
steeples on your churches. You are always 
rushing after results, before their time ; al- 
ways anticipating your debts, and your crops, 
and disposing oi your fruits, before they have 
fairly shown their blossoms ; hurrying, hur- 
rying to get rich, sacrificing thereto, all the 
in*oprietie8 and courtesies of life. If yoa 



knock a fellow down, or ran oyer him, a#you 
do continually, youVe no time to apologise, 
much less, to picR him up. In doors, or out 
of doors, it makes no difference ; everywhere 
the same mad race with time. As to ever 
sitting out concert, play, or sermon, to the 
end, and then reclining in tranquil dignity, 
you never think of sudi a thing, but rush 
for the door, males and females alike, with a 
velocity, and want of decency truly porcine. 
Nothing less than a mile a minute ever satis- 
fies you, no matter how sublime or beautiful 
the scenery you may be travelling amongst : 

W. the Elder, Hold on, hold on ; you are 
rattling awayyourself, here like a perfect 
locomotive. What's the use now, old fellow, 
of serving up all this Trollope and Fiddler 
abuse, over again ? Tou know, that — how- 
ever, eo ahead, 

Sydney S. Item : you are so absurdly thin- 
skinned and sensitive ; so afraid of the crit- 
icisms of those very cockneys that you af- 
fect to despise ; so greedy of applause; so 
unwilling to admit your inferiority in those 
arts, and studies, and amenities, that are in- 
herent in courts, and cannot, in the nature of 
things, co-exist with democracy ; so enamor- 
ed of those very pomps and vanities that you 
have openly renounced : so meanly deferential 
to titled foplings, while you turn your backs 
upon the true sons of genius ; so^ 

W, the Elder. Well, well, that is a strange 
charge, that last, for an English ghost to pre- 
fer ; go on, though. 

Sydney S, Item ; so bellicose and aggres- 
sive, withal ; so ready to thrust your institu- 
tions upon your neighbors, and at the same 
time, so jealous of any fancied encroachipait, 
on their part : so fiinous too, at any imagin- 
ed insult to your fla^, or tardy recognition of 
your rights, or position among nations ; so 
bent on having exclusive control over all the 
seas and islands around you, without regard 
either to equanimity or courtesy ; — 

W. the Elder. Ay, and we mean to keep 
out you interlopers, to the end of the chapter. 

Sydney S, Item ; and the last and saddest 
of all tliat I shall allude to ; you are so fright- 
fully reckless, in all your transactions ; so in- 
different to the value of human life ; so capi- 
tally negligent in seeing your laws enforced, 
while you are eternally making new and im- 
practible ones. You may boast of your free- 
dom, indeed, but are you not virtually, at the 
mercy of a set of ruffians, who murder you 
by scores, every week almost, on all the 
nvers and railroads of your land ? Is it not 
horrible, to think of the impunity, with which 
these wretches ply their murderous trade, in 
your midst ; escaping almost invariably, with 
a mere nominal investigation into their enorm- 
ities ? To think, too, of the ease, with which 
any anpalataUe statute may be evaded by 

the rich transpessor ; of the terrible power 
every where wielded, the abject homage er^y 
where paid to Mammon among yon ? 

W. the Elder. Too true, too true ; we arc 
indeed most vulnerable, most culpable in this 
regard. Your criticism, my friend, is just. 
perfectly just, and I honour you, for the oold 
and hearty way, in which you have made it. 
And so with the other items ; there is quite 
too much foundation in trath, for your alle- 

Sydney S. Still, my old friend, bs I said 
before, I am not at all disposed to overlook 
thci right side of — 

W. the Eld'r. I know that, I know that : 
and I like you all the better, my big-hearted 
and big-fisted brother, for your frankness. 
I always did like you, and look up to you» as 
a tip-top critic, and right royal reviewer : an 
invincible foe to cant and gammon of all sorts, 
and a true friend to your oppressed and down- 
trodden brethern. 

Sydney S. Heartily said, and I hope truly 
so. I certainly did try to do some good, aad 
to open some eyes, in my little day and gener- 

J(^n S. Well, brethern, I'm sorry to tear 
myself away from such pleasant company, 
but I must positively be off. 

W. the Eld'r. Why, Captain, you don*t 
call this a visit ? 

JohnS. Oh no; but I thought I would 
look in upon my Virginia friends first, and 
then spend a day or two with you, on my re- 

W. the Elder. As you think best. You 
are always welcome, you know. 

Sydney S. Speaking of gammon, landlord, 
I see a board under the table yonder. So, 
suppose we drop sermons and cnticisms for a 
while, and have a game or two, before dinner. 

fV. the Elder. Agreed. 

John S. Well, good bye, boys. 

W. the Elder. Good bye, don't forget me 
now, as you fly by. (Exit John Smith, Syd' 
ney Smith and Jr. the Elder, sit dotm to a 
social game of hack-gammon.) 

^i^arn among i\t |leto ^oohs. 


— This pretty little volume comes to us from 
Messrs. PhilUps, Sampson & Co., Boston. It 
embraces four stories from the pen of the late 
Mrs. Austen Phelps, her last work previous 
to her much lamented death. Their titles 
are *♦ The Puritan Family," "The Cloudy 
Morning." **The Country Cousin," and "The 
Night aSer Christmas. " They bear impressed 
on every line, the brilliant mind and pore 
heart of the author: indeed, we have said 
enough when we pronounce them fit succcsa- 



on of <* Smmjside ;" a charming stoiy from 
the same pen, and said to bare commanded 
Mj half a million of delighted readers ! The 
Tdume before ns is very neatly printed, and 
is embellished with a mezzotint portrait of 
Mrs. Phelps. It contains, moreover, a nar- 
rative of her life and character, drawn by one 
who regarded bis subject with the most affec- 
tiooate interest; who writes of it with a 
heart-warm pen. 

Mrs. Phelps was a Christian woman. Her 
death was an event that impressed all around 
with the triumphs which are secured to those 
who fall asleep on the bosom of the Saviour. 
She had lived in his smiles, she died with his 
arms under and about her. The sufferings 
of the body were forgotten in the bliss which 
filled the mind ; the darkness of death was 
neutralized by the lights which streamed in 
from beyond the valley and the shadow. 


— Mr. A- Hart has published a volume with 
this title. It emanates from the prolific pen 
of Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth, and embraces 
two stones, some of which are more than or- 
dinarily interesting. The season is rapidly 
approaching when this style of literature will 
be generally acceptable, for people will be in 
a state of rdaxation both of mind and body ; 
and hence will prefer entertainment rather 
than instruction. " The Purse of Clifton," 
Mrs. S.^s last work previous to the one in no- 
tice, possessed no little merit; and, we be- 
lieve, commanded quite a ready sale. We 
shall be happy if the present volume is equally 


— A 12mo. volume of 360 pages, with this 
title, comes to us from Moore, Anderson & Co. , 
of Chicinnati. It embraces a popular exposi- 
tion of the science of botany and its relations 
to man ; translated from the celebrated work 
of Dr. Schleiden of the University of Jen», by 
Henfrey, of London. Moreover, it is illus- 
trated with engravings, and edited by Alfonso 
Wood, an eminent botanist of our own coun- 
try : who furnishes a brief and appropriate 
preface, as well as very valuable notes. 

Professor Wood says of the author of this 
book, that he i^ " one of the most distinguish- 
ed botanists of the present day. In the pro- 
duction of the present admirable work he has 
oonferred a great favor upon every lover of 
Nature. By its peculiar character, it meets 
an actual want in literature which has long 
been felt. There is, indeed, no lack of floras 
and text-books for the schools — works which 
uonae the science of botany to its minutest 
detmils. But such treatises are necessarily 
dry, unimaginative — regarding plants and 
•fllwers chiefly as * materials for an herbarium, ' 
Or, on the other hand, as food for animals. 
But the vegetable worid has a higher signifl- 

cance than either the education of man's in- 
tellect, or even the maintenance of animal life. 
With its sweet influences, man's heart, — his 
moral nature, is in intimate communion : and 
through them, God reveals himsdf to the 
soul in his most endearing attributes. By the 
teachings of the vegetable world the tone of 
our moral being is affected in no small degree, 
uid flowers are often interwoven with the 
web of human destiny. In a word, the heart 
of man is susceptible of no purer or more en- 
during earthly pleasure, than that which it 
experiences in its free communion with the 
exhaustless beauties of the vegetable world. 

*' But this aspect of nature — its spirituality 
— ^lies beyond tne reach of pure science. In 
vain are its microscopic researches, in vain 
its most reflned analyses : for this principle, 
like ' the principle of life,' is immaterial, and 
exists not in 'material nature, where we seek 
it, but within ourselves. That harp which 
is susceptible of such harmony, is strung 
within our own bosoms ; but it is the sweet 
breath of Flora which awakens its mysterious 

*< Herein lies the charm of the present 
work. While its author has everywhere ex- 
hibited the principles of science in the most 
perspicuous atid attractive style, he has also 
contrived to blend with them the imaginative 
and the spiritual, and thus to render his work 
the exponent of the relations of the plant to 
the human soul." 

aiNCUI-AR DWATM OF "1^ ■. L."* 

— Mr Brodie Cruickshank has, written a book 
entitled ** Eighteen Tears on the Gold Coast 
of Africa," which has just been published in 
London. It contains one chapter which will 
be read with deep interest, as it describes the 
colonial life, the strange death and sudden 
burial of the famous L. £. L ; who it will be 
remembered soon after fac»>marriage accom- 
panied her husband Mr. Maclean to Cape 
Coast Castle ; he having received a govern- 
ment appointment there. 

Mr. Maclean was an invalid at the time of 
his wife's sudden and singular death. Mr. 
Cruickshank describes him as being very fond 
of her, so that the stories heretomre told of 
cruelty on the husband's part, cannot be true. 
But to the narrative : Mr. Cruickshuik says 
he was about to return to England, and as 
the day drew near for his departure Mrs. 
Maclean occupied herself more or less in 
writing to her friends in England. 

He adds : '* It had been arranged that the 
vessel should sail on the forenoon of the 16th 
of October, and I agreed to dine and spend 
the evening of the 15th with the governor 
(Mr. M. ) and his lady. It was in every respect 
a night to be remembered. * * At eleven 
o'clock I rose to leave. It was a fine clear 
night, and she strolled into the gallery , where 
we walked for half-an-faonr. Mr. Maotoui 



joined as for ft few miirates, but not liking liie 
nij^tair,'inhi8 weak state, he returned to 
the parkmr. She was much struck with the 
beauty of the heavens in those latitudes at 
night, and said it was when looking at the 
moon and stars that her thoughts oftenest re- 
verted to home. She pleased herself with 
thinking that the eyes ot some beloved friend 
might be turned in the same direction, and 
that she had thus established a medium of 
communication for all that her heart wished 
to express. 'But you must not,* she said. 
** think me a foolish, moonstruck lady. I 
sometimes think of these things ouenor 
than I should, and your departure for Eng- 
land has called up a world of delightful asso- 
ciations. You will tdl Mr. F , however, 

that I am not tired yet. He told me I should 
return by the vessel that brought me out ; 
but I knew he would be mistaken.' We 
joined the governor in the parlour. I bade 
them good night, promising to call in the 
morning to bid them adieu. I never saw her 
in life again." 

At breakfast next day Mr. Cruickshank 
was alarmed by a summons — ^that Mrs. Ma- 
clean — whom he had left the previous night 
80 well— was no more. ** Never," he sajrs, 
** shall I forget the horror-stricken expression 
of Mr. Maclean's countenance." — 

** We entered the room, where all that was 
DMrtal of poor L. E. L. was stretched upon 
the bed. Dr. Cobbold rose up from a close 
examination of her face, and told us all was 
over; she was beyond recovery. My heart 
would not believe it. It seemed impossible 
that she, from whom I had parted not many 
hours ago so full of life and energy, could be 
80 suddenly struck down. I seized her hand, 
and gazed upon her face. The expression 
was calm and meaningless. Her eyes were 
open, fixed, andpiBiruding." 

An inquest was immediately held. — 

'* All tnat could be elicited, upon the strict- 
est investigation, was simply this : It appear- 
ed that she had risen, and left her husband's 
bed-room about seven o'clock in the morning, 
and proceeded to her own dressing-room, — 
which was up a short flight of stairs, and en- 
tered by a separate door from that leading to 
the bed-room. Before proceeding to dress, 
she had occupied herself an hour and a half 
in writing letters. She then called her ser- 
vant, Mrs. Bailey, and sent her to a store- 
room to fetch some pomatum. Mrs. Bailey 
was absent only a few minutes. When she 
returned, she found difficulty in opening the 
door, on account of a weight which appeared 
t6 be pressing against it. This £^e discover- 
ed to be the bcKly of her mistress. She push- 
ed it aside, and found that she was sen^dess. 
She immediately called Mr. Maclean. Dr. 
Cobbold was sent for : but from the first mo- 
ment of the diaoovery of the body on the 

floor, there had not appeared any ^mptom of 
life. Mrs. Bailey fVirtner asserted that she 
found a small phial in the hand of the deoea^ 
ed, which she removed and placed upon the 
toilet-table. Mrs. Maclean had appeared well 
when she sent her to fetch the pomatum. 
She had observed in her no appearance of un- 
happiness. Mr Maclean stated, that his wife 
had left him about seven o'clock in the morn- 
ing, and that he had never seen her again in 
life. When he was caUed to her dressing- 
room, he found her dead upon the floor. After 
some time, he observed a small phial upon the 
toilet-table, and asked Mrs. Bailey where it 
had come fh>m. She told him that she had 
found it in Mrs. Maclean's hand. This phial 
had contained Scheele's preparation of prussic 
acid. His wife had been in the habit of us- 
ing it for severe fits or spasms, to which she 
was subject. She had made use of it once 
on the passage from England to his knowledge. 
He was greatly averse to her having such a 
dangerous medicine, and wished to throw it 
overboard. She entreated him not to do so, 
as she must die without it. There had been 
no quajrel nor unkindness between him and 
his wife. — Dr. Cobbold, who had been request- 
ed to make a post'tnortem examination, did 
not consider it at all necessary to do so, as 
he felt persuaded she had died by prussic 
acid. He was led to this conclusion from the 
appearance of the eyes of the deceased : and 
he believed he could detect the smell of the 
prussic acid about her person. My own evi- 
dence proved, that I had parted from Mr. and 
Mrs. Maclean at a very late hour on the even- 
ing before, and that they appeared then upon 
the happiest terms with each other. There 
was found upon her writing-desk a letter not 
yet folded, which she had written that morn- 
ing, the ink of which was scarcely dry at the 
time of the discovery of her death; This let- 
ter was read at the inquest. It was for Mrs. 
Fagan, upon whom she had wished me to call 
It was written in a cheerful spirit, and gave 
no indication of unhappiness. In the post- 
script — the last words she ever wrote — she re- 
commended me to the kind attentions of her 
friend. With the evidence before them, it 
was impossible for the jury to entertain for 
one instant the idea that the unfortunate lady 
had wilfully destroyed herself. On the other 
hand, considering the evidence respecting the 
phial, her habit of making use of this danger- 
ous medicine, and the decided opinion of the 
doctor, that her death was caused by it, it 
seemed equally clear that they must attribute 
her death to this cause. Their verdict, th««- 
fore, was. that she died from an overdose of 
Scheele's preparation of prussic acid taken 

Mr. Cruickshank concurred in this verdict ^ 
at ihe time, — but ance his arrival in England 
he has found reason^ '* to doubt of its oorrectf i 



He now entertains the mnion, thai 
teih was caused by ** some oidaen afectioa 

We add a picture of the last scrae of all 
from the nairatiye <^ this eje-witness. — 

"In those warm latitudes intermont follows 
death with a haste which often cruelly shocks 
the feelings. Mrs. Maclean was biuied the 
same erening within the precincts of the ca^ 
tie. Mr. Topp read the funeral service, and 
the whole of the residents assisted at the sol- 
emn ceremony* The grave was lined with 
walls of brick and mortar, with an arch over 
the coffin. Soon after the conclusion of the 
service, one of those heavy showers only 
known in tropical climates suddenly came on. 
All departed for their houses. I remained to 
see tl^ arch completed. The bricklayers 
were obliged to get a covering to protect them 
tod their work from the rain. Night had 
come on before the paving-stones were all put 
down over the grave, and the workmen finish- 
ed their business by torchlight. How sadly 
yet docs that night of ^oom return to my re- 
membrance! How sad were then my thoughts, 
as wrapped up in my cloak I stood beside the 
grave of L. E. L., under that pitiless torrent 
of rain ! I fiincied what would be the thoughts 
of thousands in England, if they could see 
and know the meaning of that flickering 
li^t, of those busy workmen, and of that 
silent watcher! I thought of yesterday, 
when at the same time I was taking my seat 
beside her at dinner, and now, oh, how very 
—very sad the change !" 

— Toung Gottschalk lately gave a concert at 
New Orleans for the benent of the charitable 
institutions of that city^ when he was pre- 
lentad with a beautiful gold medal. The pre- 
sentation was made by the Mayor. We are 
tdd that the young artist received the com- 
pHmeat in his usual modest manner, and that 
be was much moved, as he well might be. 
He rMilied briefly in English, saying that he 
ralued this gift from Ms fellow townsmen 
more than any he had ever received. The 
medal is of pure gold, of an oval shape, and 
is valued at $500. On one side is a oust of 
Gottadudk, carved by Perelli, the artist who 
defagned and executed the marble bust of 
Samiiel J. Peters, Esq. The bust is surround- 
ed h^ a raised wreath of laurel. On the re- 
vessB aide is the inscription in rich Gothic let- 
ters : ** A, h' M. Gottschalk ses comvairiotes 
(UlaNouveUe Orleans, 11 3foi, 1853.^' 

6ott«chalk returns shortly to the north, 
when our citizens will have another <^por- 
toBilj <ji hearing hi^ beautiful peribmtfEnoes 
on tAB piano. 

— Jetse Hutchinson, whose death at Gindi^- 
nati has been announced, was the eldest of 
the Iwrge singing family of that name. He 
was at the time of his aeath on his way home 
from California. He went to the gdden state, 
as manager of the Alleehanians. The enters 
prise was not successfm. 

— Mr. J. E. Gould, successor to A. Fiot, 
Swaim's Buildings, has sent us the following 
music: **Come to me dearest maiden,*' a 
Ballad, music by Meeyerbeer ; *' Swiss Spring 
Song," the English words by W. Bartholo- 
mew—composed and arranged for the piano 
by F. Mendelssohn Bartholdy; **Can You 
not read in my Eyes," aSwitzer's Song, writ- 
ten and adapted to a French melody by G. H. 
Hewitt; "Mina Dolce or Rose of Italy," » 
canzonetta written by Wm. Osgood, compos- 
ed by Frederick Winter and dedicated to Miss 
Laura Hard. Apropos of Mr. Gould: — ^he 
gave a very pleasant little soiree the other 
evening at his piano saloon, which was attend- 
ed by a select circle of amateurs of both 
sexes. Mr. Goeckel a lately-arrived German 
pianist, performed to the great delight of aU 
present, as did also Mr. Siede the flutist, and 
a most remarkable young musical genius, the 
son of Mr. Jarvis of our city. 

— The distinguished physiologist, Ehrenberg, 
whose researches and microscopical obeerva* 
tions, on the Infusoria, and other minute de- 
pai*tments of animal life, have attracted so 
much attention, is said now to have completed 
his great work on the influence of microscopic 
life on the formation of the earth and of rocks. 
This work is expected to form an epoch in tlra 
history of sci^tific observation* Dr. Hitch- 
cock's new work on the ** Geology of the 
Globe" is nearly ready for publication, and 
vrill appear first in England, securing the 
benefit of copyright to the author. The se- 
cond volume is just completed of Mr. Mor- 
ris's national work on " British Birds ;" and 
Messrs. Binns and Goodwin have issued one 
of their most attractive little works lately, 
illustrating the "Eggs of British Birds," 
copied and colored from nature, with descrip- 
tions and anecdotes of the Birdb. 

— Messrs. Stanford & Swords of New York, 
have sent us, a beautiful edition of the Book 
of Common Prayer, and the Proper Lessons ^ 
bound up in one vol, 18mo. We have also 
received from the same publishers other favors 
which will be duly noticed. 

— Mr. Gibson, an English artist residing at 
Rome, has completed an exquisite statue of 
Venus, and aroused the connoisseurs by giving 
a filiflht flesh tint to the figure, blue eyes, yd« 
low hair, and a delicately colored border to 
the drapery. There is much diffiarence of 
omnioQ, it is said, as to the judiciousness of 
this proceeding, which, is not strictly in a^ 



oordance with classio {Mrecedents : but the 
Toice of the majority of visitors to the studio 
appears to be fsvorable to the tint, as it cer- 
tainly contrasts strong} j with the coldness of 
the surrounding marbles. 

— It is stated that Charles Hill, a colored man, 
lately arrived at Liverpool from Boston in the 
" Parliament" liner and represented himself 
to have escaped from Dr. Allen, of Baltimore, 
saying also that his wife was owned by the Rev. 
Mr. Johnson, a Presbyterian Clergyman, of 
Baltimore, who would sell her for $800. Sub- 
scriptions were accordingly set on foot for 
Hill, who in the mean time had attached him- 
self to a panorama of Uncle Tom, where he 
exhibited as a Liverpool paper has it, '* sev- 
eral diabolical instruments made at Liverpool 
under his direction." Brother Bull, will be 
bled pretty freely by Uncle Tom's family we 
fancy: members of which are constantly 
leaving our shores for his hospitable hearth- 
stone. We hope that the tear of sympathy 
may not dry. until all these unhappy pilgrims 
are provided with warm comers. 

— The Paris Revue des Benux Arts states 
that the expense of disinterring the ashes of 
the body of Napoleon will be 100,000 francs, 
and the programme of the ceremonial is to be 
publish^. A proposition in Council being 
made to divide the remains of the Emperor, 
after the fashion pursued under the Kings — 
the body to be under the Mausoleum and the 
heart at St. Denis — Prince Jerome started up, 
sa3ring that he would never lend himself to 
such a proposition for mutilating *' his glo- 
rious brother." 

— A new submarine-telegraphic cable was 
laid down with perfect success between Dover 
and Ostend on the 5th ult. This second sub- 
marine-telegraph belongs to the same Com- 
pany as that from Dover to Calais, and will 
we are told supply the means of transmitting 
telegraphic dispatches to the Continent of 
Europe, without their being suWcct to the 
delay and annoyance of the vise of the French 
authorities. The new line is 70 miles in length, 
and contains six wires. 

— The Editor of the New York Herald was 
shown not long since a very interesting relic 
of old times in Philadelphia. It consisted of a 
picture frame composed of two kinds of wood, 
oak and maple and was made in 1846 by 
Mr. Thomas C. Japies, of this city. The 
oaken portion of the frame is a piece of the 
old ship Lyon, which vessd bore the first 
stars and stripes that ever waved between 
heaven and earth. The other portion of the 
frame is a piece of .the root of the self-same 
tree beneath whose shade Wm. Penn made 
his famous treaty with the Indians. It con- 
tains a continental $600 bill, with a Wash- 
ington and bidepeiideiiee cent, made in 1788. 

It is supported by a small rin^ and 8ta|)le 
made from a piece of the chain that was 
stretched across the North river at West 
Point, to prevent tiie British ships of war 
from ascending that river in the days of the 

— John S. Taylor of New York has sent us 
"Clouds and Sunshine," a new work from 
the pen of the brilliant author of '' Musings 
of an Invalid," ** Fancies of a whimsical 
Man," " Fun and Earnest," as well as the 
series of " Spiritual Dialogues," which we 
have been publishing. We shall notice it at 
length herdEifler.- We have also received 
from Ticknor, Reed and Fields, of Boston, 
" Alexander Smith's Poems ;" and from Lip- 
pincott, Grambo & Co., of our city, SimoTs 
new tale of ** Marie de Berniere," &c. 

— Mes. Bostwiok's singing at the late Phil- 
harmonic Concert, was good, and the applause 
which she received was warm and at the 
same time well* earned. The programme gen- 
erally of this concert was exc^lent. The 
orchestra under Mr. Cross, particularly dis- ' 
tinguished themselves. | 

— " Correspondence of the Revolution," edit- 
ed by Jared Sparks, will shortly be publish«l i 
by Little & Brown, of Boston. It will ex- 
tend to four octavo volumes, and will consist 
of letters to Gen. Washington from upwards 
of an hundred individuals who acted con^icn- 
ous parts in the great struggle for American 
Independence, and afterward to the close of 
his career. The editor intends these letters 
as a continuation of his ** Washington Writ- 

— A Boston correspondent of a New York 
paper states that Messrs. Little & Brown an- 
nounce a laige number of reprints of stand- 
ard Enriish works, among them being ** Pin- 
tarch's Lives," selected from Dryden*s trans- 
lation, and from other sources. The writer 
adds and with truth, it is rather odd that 
they should pass over George Long's versions 
from the old Greek of Chaerona. Less than 
ten years ago Long translated thirteen of the 
Roman lives — T. Gracchus, C. Gh*aochiis, C. 
Marius, Sulla, Sertorius, Lucullus, Pompeius, 
Csesar, Crassus, Cicero, Cato of Utica, Bsn* 
tus, and Antonius — and published them undor 
the title of " Civil Wars of Rome ;" a veiy 
happy idea, for you will perceive that these 
thirteen lives cover the precise period of time, 
and probably contain all the main incidents 
of that great contest, which, commencii^ 
with the tongue in the fbrum, had its closing 
scenes on the fields of Pharsalia, Philippi, 
and Actium. The notes of Mr. Long are 
learned, and, unlike most notes, not only do 
not further obscure the «ubject, but actoaUy 
illuminate it. 



€hTiim Sans-Soud. 


—We have listened to GaTazzi, and with the 
most decided interest. He is a strangely ef- 
fectiye speaker. If not honest in his conver- 
sion from the Roniish church, — which many 
charge, — he is certainly a consummate dis- 
sembler, a capital actor. We can hardly con- 
ceiTC, however, of his not being sincere ; just 
as sincere as certain eminent individuals who 
have lately left the Protestant, and attached 
themselves to the Romish church. Leaving 
this matter, though, to Gavazzi and his God, 
let us brieflv tell the reader what kind of an 
impression he has made upon us. 

First, then, imagine a giant form, at least 
six feet in stockings, habited in the robes of a 
monk of our times. The face is strongly 
marked— eyes dark-brown, bright and pierc- 
ing—hair also dark-brown, neatly parted on 
one side. Lines of care and thought are ga- 
thered about the mouth, yet the whole ex- 
pression IS at once elegant and impressive. 
Imagine, too, a voice of great depth, richly 
moim^ ; action graceful, yet impressive. 
Sometimes you see that form extended to its 
utmost height, the arm uplifted, emphatic of 
the propounding of a truth ; sometimes it is 
bent nearly double, the arms outstretched, 
with the palms of the hands turned outwards 
from the face, the whole action and expression 
speaking horror and loathing. 

Then again you have an attitude of affection; 
a gathering of the whole man, about some 
deeply-loved object or principle; and then, 
there is a side-long pointing of the finger, 
aeeompanying a keen satirical thrust ; or an 
air of complete abandon, as some droll conceit 
or witty sally is made. You have before you 
a poiect orator ; and, we repeat, you cannot 
Citfl to be profoundly impressed. 

There is a great contrast between Gavazzi 
lad Bishop Hughes as speakers. The former 
is wBd, tempestuous, smooth, rough, cold, 
bot; the latter is collected and calm, never 
pven to passionate outbursts, and yet ex- 
traody engaging. In Gavazzi, yon have a 
discharge of all kinds of ordnance frcnn the 
snaOest to the heaviest calibre. In Bishop 
Rubies, there is one steady continuous can- 
Bonding of heavy pieces. In Gavazzi you 
pt earthquake, blue sky, thunder-gust, ram- 
W, wind, calm, in rapid succession: in 
Krikop Hughes you have, all the time, what 
saflora call a steady breeze. The one, it will 
be seen, is just the man to excite passion and 
NatOD by turns: the other, reason alone. 
Qaraazi makes the best reformer, Hughes the 
btst keeper of things aa they are ; Gavazzi 
ia the tnie oome-outer, Hughes the true 


— Is going home, after a short and, upon the 
whole, improfitable visit. A finer artiste 
never visited our shores, but there were cir- 
cumstances connected with her career here 
which prevented the uprising of a furore. 
We need not specify all these circumstances; 
but we may say that principal among them 
were poor assistants, a want of personal at- 
tractiveness on the part of the lady herself, 
and the extraordinarily high prices charged 
for admission to her concerts. The day of 
exorbitant prices has passed. They cannot 
be sustained for any period of time, even with 
the aid of the best talent which the world 
offers. Sontag and her trottpe will find it 
difficult to procure a house at her old prices, 
particularly with the little sympathy which 
the press axe beginning to have with her ma- 


— The lectures of Mr. Burns at the Franklin 
Institute, on Thursday evening of last, and 
Monday of the present week, were attended 
by very intelligent and appreciating audiences, 
and we think the time spent there could not 
have been better or more agreeably employed. 
The design of these lectures appears to be, to 
offer to the world a novelty in the art of teach- 
ing; which consists in tllvstrating language 
pictorially, A number of primitive words and 
their derivatives are exhibited in connection 
with pictures, diagrams, &c., to show their 
meaning and impress it upon the mind through 
the medium of the eye. The origin and his- 
tory of each word are explained, and some 
curious examples given of the manner in 
which words sometimes change their mean- 
ing. Some of the illustrations are of a very 
humorous character. We think there can be 
no doubt of the advantages of such a method 
of teaching, if it be practicable to carry it 
fully into operation. An intelligent. gentle- 
man, present on the first evening, observed 
that "this is not merely the best, but the 
only method of teaching a language thoroughly. ' 
We understand that Mr. B. has been engaged 
for more than ten years preparing these illus- 
trations. He lectures again on Thursday of 
this and Monday of the next week. 


— Our funny correspondent, " Kittie Kraw- 
fish," — as he now chooses to call himself, in 
obedience to fashionable usage — writes us this 
week the following budget : 

Manayunk Terrace, May 19th. 
Messrs. Editors : — ^We have noticed an ar- 
ticle in your paper concerning the fashion of 
young ladies, in our day, modifying the old- 
fashioned names. Now, we must say, that 
notwithstanding oar antiquated Botions of 
some things, we like to keep up to the foshion ; 
and besides thia, ihoe» old Hebrew naines are 



pretty well worn, and people don't so well 
know the meaning of them as they probably 
do of the modernized forms. For instance : 
SaUie is from the Latin sal and means sakyy a 
Tery pretty name for a witty young hidv. 
Mduie is also from the Latin and means soft; 
we will not be ungallant enough to say that 
such a name would suit many fashionable 
ladies of our enlightened age. Jennie is the 
name of a yalnaole domestic animal; and 
JMaggie means a witch. We like these nice 
little names so much that we intend to mo* 
demize our own, and hereafter hope to be 
called uid known by the euphonious title of 
KiTTiB Krawfish. 

The Southern Papers say ** there is great 
suffering throughout South Carolina, from 
drought. " The Eastern States are also suffer- 
ing in the same way, since the ** Main Law'* 
has been in operation. 

mare ! As the Latin Scholar said when 
he was walking the beach at Cape May, with 
an interesting young lady. 

The Commissioners of Southwark have got 
into a fever about a bill for plastering a market 
house. Perhaps a White- VVashins Committee 
could help them out of the difficulty. 


— It is hoped that the philanthropy of the 
English aristrocracy, and the genius of the 
Beecher Stowes will not be entirely exhausted 
upon the Uncle Tommys; for the investigations 
of natmtdists have brought to light a species 
of slavery calculated to excite the horror of all 
abolitionists and anti-slavery associations. 
Let us have another book, and let it be called 
* * Aunt Emmy 's (emmets ) Novel . ' ' Surely the 
Negro Aunts are as much entitled to aristo- 
cratic and abolitionist sympathies as the Ne- 
gro Uncles : and as we have British authority 
for what we assert of the horrors of this species 
of slavery, no one will presume to doubt it. 
In Brande^s Dictionary, under * Formica,' will 
be found the followhig authenticated account 
of the horors of slavery and the slave trade 
among the "Ant Emmys." 

" M. P. Huber states as a fact the startling 
circumstances of certain species of ants {F. 
rufescens, and F. sangutnea, Latr.) procuring 
slaves which they carry off in predatory ex- 
cursions while in an infant state. These 
slaves are of a small black species, and when 
reared perform the offices which generally 
devolve upon the neuters or workers in other 
societies : besides which they have to feed 
their masters and carry them about the nest. 
Indeed, so totally dependant are their masters 
upon these indefatigable little slaves, that the 
term ^ould rather be reversed; for it appears 
that these lords ot the community may not 
venture fovth fh>m the nest but with permis* 
sion of the negroes ; and M. P. Huber proved 
by experimOQ^ that they would die of star- 

vation if not fed by these indispensable ser- 
vants. There is likewise another species (the 
F, cunicidaria, L.), which are forcibly carried 
off by the rufescent ants ; ,but from their being 
more courageous than the negro species, the 
depredators are obliged to go with greater 
strength of numbers and more precaution." 

^ushwss anb jpieasuri;. 

— Sanpord, of the New Orleans Opera troupe, 
at Concert Hall, is building a new opera house, 
which will shortly be completed. His band 
continues to draw crowded audiences, Never 
have we had in Philadelphia an Ethiopian 
band which has been better patronized. 
Much of this success is owing to the excellent 
quality of the company itself as artists, while 
aQ immense deal must also be conceded to 
the able and liberal direction of Sanford him- 

— By the time this number reaches our sub- 
scribers, Perham's grand gift distribution 
will have commenced. It will be ccmtinaed 
for several days. Meantime, the Panorama 
of California will continue to be exhibited at 
the Assembly Buildings. The distribution <^ 
gifts has been left to Mr. James H. Farrand, 
an excellent person. He will commence haod- 
mg them out early on Thursday morning. 
We shall soon know who is to be the happy 
owner of the $10,000 panorama; of the 
piano ; the watches, &c 

— Wiser's beautiful panorama of the " Cre- 
ation, the Garden of Eden, and the Deluge" 
has been removed fVom Masonic to Musical 
Fund Hall, where it will be exhibited until 
the distribution of gifts takes place, (n ad- 
dition to the panorama, the exhibition will 
embrace the singing of Mr. Goodall and Mad. 
Julien, and the remarkable violin performaaoe 
of Master Goodall — le petit Ole Bull. All 
this, it should be remembered, is giv^i for 
twenty-five cents ! A gift-ticket entitles the 
holder to two admissions, and a chance of ooe 
of the splendid articles in the window of J. 
E. Gould : a $370 piano, or the magnificent 
panorama itself. Thousands of these tickets 
have been sold, and it may be expected tiiat 
the distribution will shortly come off. 

— Col. Maurice will forgive the printer for 
making him, as he did in our last, William P. 
instead of William H. Maurice. Where a man 
is so well known as Col. M. such a mistake is 
rather a remarkable one. However, no mat- 
ter ; all will be the same in the next c^itoiy. 
Errors have frequently occurred in our pag^ 
They were of course unavoidable. Frm:h 
and Italian words suffer much at the hands of 
the compositor : thus, aehena for Mcena, at^tr 
for atelier. To return to Col. Maurice, he is 
now established in his new atore, 123 dioBi- 
nut street. 



wiAX SAT Tou, Masoaf r—/\xr7uAar. 


FOft THI WRK E5inif0 

SATtJRDAT, JUiriB 4, 1853. 


The stranger was searched, bat there was 
nothing found upon him : his hands were tied 
together with his own handkerchief, and his 
inns closely pinioned by the servant, while 
the officer hurried away to the direction in 
which the carriage had ariven off. He feared 
that it might have turned aside, and so es- 
cape him, but he was delighted to find it had 
stc^iped near the wall of a house. As he drew 
near he obsenred that the door of the carriage 
was standing open, and a few steps from it 
was the slender fi^re of a youth, carefully 
enTek^[>ed in a cloak> who advanced towards 

•• Is it you, my friend ?" said the figure, in 
an anxious voice. 

<• All has gone well," whispered the officer, 
in reply. 

The youth, seemingly relieved, extended 
his hand, as with the intention of leading him 
to the carriage ; but as a light from one of 
the lamps gave him a view of his companion, 
the youth suddenly shrunk, altogether unable 
to utter a word. 

'*Fear nothing, young man," said the offi- 
cer; ''get into the carriage, we shall return 
to ibe city ; your youth leads me to hope 
that you are innocent, but I must immedi- 
ately know what you have to do with that 

" Oh, Heavens ! I am lost," exclaimed he, 
wriDgiDg his hands ; *' would to God that the 
liall bad pierced my heart !" 

Meanwhile the servant, with his prisoner, 
^lined them ; the officer seated himself in the 
carriage along with him and the young man, 
wbik the servant got up behind ; and in a 
ahoK time they found themselves at the house 
iaKralowna fjnice. 

It was a fresh shock to the prisoner to find 
his cane, with all its contents, in the hands 
of tbe officers of justice. 

On finding that matters were in this state, 
and fearing a tumult from the crowd, — ^whom 
tiba news of the robbery had assembled to- 
cedier, and who seemed to expect some great 
teoyery, — after a few moments' hesitation, 
ha si leogflk determined to lay^ every thing 
hdbre the President. When this request was 

n pun 102. 

conveyed to the President, he was engaged 
with his brother-in-law, and some other 
friends, but being curious to see the criminals, 
he gave orders to admit them. The supposed 
criminal was first led in ; he entered the 
apartment with an assumed composure. 

** Herr Linkowsky !" exclaimed the Preai- 
dent, in a tone of astonishment, while the rest 
of the company looked at him with wonder 
and expectation. In a few moments after, his 
youthful companion was ushered in : he ap- 
peared scarcely able to support himself, from 
excess of agitation ; he fixed his eyes on the 
ground, wUle he covered his &ce with both 
hands, and it was only by force that the offi- 
cers of justice could remove them. A pair 
of beautiful eyes and a lovely countenance 
met the astonished gaze of the spectators. 

''Julia! unhappy girl!" exclaimed the 
brother-in-law of the President, in a tone of 
terror, and clasping his hands together he 
sank insensible on hte seat. 

<< Now, my friend," said the old eentleman 
the following morning, as he reached me a 
pipe, "may our sentiments blend like the 
smoke of our pipes." 

"Have you spoken with your daughter ?" 
said I, " and extended your parental forgive* 
ness to her ?" 

" Forgive !" he replied ; " you don't seem 
to understand how a man should guide his 
children. No, no, forgiveness must not so 
soon follow the commission of a fault. It 
would only lead to its repetition. Heavens ! 
she is all that is left to me. I have lost my 
wife, my only son, and she, my only consoli^ 
tion, would leave her dd father to throw her- 
self into the arms of an unprincipled scoun- 
drel. It is very grievous that one must share 
the love of one s only child with a villain !" 

I had great difficulty in calming the old 
man. He depicted to me the felicity he en- 
joyed with his amiable wife, but adoed, that 
even while she lived the sun of his happiness 
began to be overcast. The whooping-cough 
had raged in Pra^e, and had proved fatal to 
a ereat many children : anxiety for the life 
of nis boy induced him to send him to his 
brother, on his estate near the Polish frontier ; 
the boy was received and watched over with 
a father's care, but the angel of destruction 
was not to be cheated of his prey. In a few 
weeks the child died, his brother brought him 
the melancholy tidings, and deeply sympa- 
thised in a father's idBiction. He bore this 
stroke with Christian resignation. It seemed 
as if Providence designed to repair this loss, 
hj giving them the promise of another ; but 
his wife survived her confinement but a few 
hours, and all that now remained to him was 
his daughter, that daughter who would have 
deserted him. "I had her insti-ucted," con- 
tinued the old man, "in every accomplish- 



tnent : no expense was spared on her ednca* 
tkm : heaven had given her a charming yoice. 
I gave her a master, and she soon made won- 
derful progress, ^e then entreated that I 
would allow her to learn Italian, as she said 
it was the only langpiage, combined with mu- 
sic, which would touch the heart." 

"But how,'* said I, ** could you admit 
such a character into your honse, and by 
whom was he introduced to you ?** 

*' He had been here several months before 
I knew it," he replied : ** one of our bankers 
was acquainted with him at Leipsic, and he 
it was who brought him to me. He gave 
himself out as the son of a Florentine, who, 
for some crime against the state, was obliged 
to leave Europe. This stranger was highly 
accomplished, was an excellent linguist, and 
also a finished musician : so that his society 
was much courted, and in sh<Mrt, no party was 
thought complete unless Buonaventura made 
one of it I could not^deny my daughter's 
request ; and Buonaventura assured me that, 
before a year had passed, she would speak 
Italian as if she were bom on the banks of the 
Amo; but this stranger never pleased me; 
there was a shyness of manner, a look that 
could not openly meet yours. Meanwhile my 
daughter certaonly did great credit to her 
master, and any one who ventured to breathe 
a word against the Italian was sure to incur 
her disfdeasure. It happened that one even- 
ing when a party of younr ladies were as- 
sembled, they commenced the game of Who 
is the most l>eautiful of Libussa's daughters ? 
and each begun to describe her in rhyme. 
Buonaventura called the goddess of his idol- 
atry Julia, and in every line it was evident 
that the portrait of my daughter was meant. 
Some one told her of it, and it seemed to be- 
witch her, and she soon became deeply at- 
tached to him. Soon after this, I one day 
surprised her embroidering a purse for him : 
alarmed at this, I instantly forbid him the 
house — Julia promised to think no more of 
him ; and to convince me (^ it, she gave me 
aU the letters she had received fnmi him. 
About three months afler this, some debts 
which he had incurred forced him to leave 
Prague ; I was delighted at this, as I thought 
that absence would entirdy extinguish the 
flame. Fod that I was ! it was as vivid as 
ever. They corresponded, and then arrived 
this rascal Linkowsky, who prevailed upon 
her to elope with him in boy's apparel. Read 
that !" he exclaimed, as he took a letter from 
his desk ; '' it is short, but full of deep pas- 

'* Linkowsky," it began, "is the only hu- 
man being, except yoursdf, on whom my 
heart relies — trust to him as love's protecting 
angd ; he will Ining you to me ; it is only by 
such a step that the gales of happiness can 
be opened to us." Linkowricy had known in 

B a friend of the old ^tleman, and 

through hhn he obtained aa mtroductioii to 
the house, where he was received with the 
greatest hospitality. The old gentleman was 
charmed with his agreeable manners, which 
rendered him at all times a welcome guest, 
and his daughter lost no opportunity o€ in- 
structing him how to win tne favor of her 
father ; above aU, she counselled him to avoid 
showing a partiality for any thing military, 
as her fikther could not endure them. In con- 
sequence of which he instantly laid aside his 
moustachois, and spoke of the military with 
great dislike. 

** There is a widow in B ," said the old 

man, " whom Linkowsky assured my daughtet- 
would a£ford her protection for the present, 
and from whom she would always experience 
the tenderness of a parent." 

"Can you descnbe the widow to meV* 
said I. 

** I found a letter in my daughter's cham- 
ber," he replied, "but without signature; 
and the only thing that I could discover re- 
garding her was, that she lived in K 


" In K street !" exclaimed I, in amaze- 
ment, ** and a widow !" 

"Yes," said the <Ad gentleman, "and my 
daughter tells me that her husband was a 
counsellor, and that Linkowsky is nearly re- ' 
lated to her. and resided with her the last \ 
time he was in B ." 

" Her husband a counsellor, and she a wi- 
dow ?" said I, in still greater amazement. 

" So it appears," replied my friend ; " but 
Julia assurcMlly does not know her name ; 
** but, however, I shall ask her again." He 
desired his daughter to be called : she entered 
pale and dejected : grief had so changed her, 
that had I met her anywhere but in her fa- 
ther's house, I would not have recognised 
her ; she bent down and kissed her &ther*8 

" Julia," said he, " I ask you once more if 
you really do not know the name of the coun- 
sellor whose widow invited you to B ?" 

She earnestly assured him that she really did 

" You would perhaps remember it if you 
heard it," said I, while I named the stranj^ed 
counsellor. Julia looked as if she had heard 
the name before. 

" Good Heavens !" said the old gentleman, 
" that is my old friend, the same who intro- 
duced the rascal who would have carried off 
my daughter." 

" Merciful powers !" I exclaimed, " he has 
introduced his own murderer to you. Toor 
friend is no more ; the grave covers him — and 
it was this widow who robbed him of IH^** 
The old gentleman was speechless from aa- 
tonishment, while Julia walked to the win- 
dow in agita^oa and doubt whether mbtb 



ought to give cicdit to so hmrible a dis- 

" Qracious Providence !" exclaimed the old 
gentJeman, '*hovr appearancefi deceive one! 
for even without letters from the connaellor, 
I would have given up my whole heart to 
him. I know not what powerful fe^ng at- 
tracted me towards him, but I could have 
confided to him the mo6t private of my affairs ; 
and I found a singular pleasure in looking on 
his manly and expreasive countenance. Go 
to your chamber, Julia,'' he continued, '* and 
thiyok heav^i for having saved you from the 
bauds of such a monster." ^e threw a dis- 
tnutful look towards me, which grieved me 
much, and then quitted the apartment* 
Scarcely had she 1^ us when the President 
entered ; my friend informed him of the in- 
fonnation I had just give^i him. 

" I do not doubt it," he replied. '* Last 

ni^t I received letters from B , which 

caused me to observe the criminal narrowly; 
he allows a detersunation of mind which, with 
mj k>og experience, I have never seen equal- 
led. Nothing will induce him to utter a syl- 
lable: he reeohitely refuses to allow a morael 
of food to pass his lips, and it is my opinion 
that he means to starve himself to death, to 
escape the hands <^ justice. " 

'' Have Tou searched his papers ?" said I, 
" that will surdy bring something to light." 

'*They are still unopened," ne replied, 
'^bot I shiil have them examined this even- 

^May I request," said I to the President, 
*' that TOU will allow me to glance at these 
ptpers?" He paused for a moment, and then 

'* Let it be 80 then ; but you must come to 
mj cbamber, as I cannot allow them to go 
OBtof my hands.'* We entered the carriage 
aai drove to the President's. The first thing 
that we saw was the handkerchief, with my 
initiab. I asked how it came there. 

'' It bdonga to the priscmer," he answ^^ ; 
*'it was that, with which his hands were 
bound the night he was taken, but I promise 
kirn he AM soon have fetters of a difierent 

** He must," said I, ''have taken it away 
thtmonting he contrived to slip the forged 
haidE*no<;i8 into my pocket; but I shall retain 
^ as a Hmembruioe of these extraordinary 
trate'MjI then related to him my reascms 
ftr attadifing so much importance to it, and 
ke immediately acquiesced in my wish to re- 
taan it. The troak of the criminal was now 
tpwid, sad amongst his dothes were foond 
* grtat many papers in Italian, French, and 
wary thing wa&airaaged with the 
I oaa scarcely deaoribe the 
with which I ^iMieed over tboM 
hnt the oootents wefe of greater mi^ 
iMDtthaa I had eveo anticipated. 

Before proceeding further I shall unfold the 
plan of the runaways. Leipsic was the place 
where they had appointed to meet. Buona- 
ventura had intrusted Julia to the care of his 
friend, as his greatest worldly treasure. The 
deepest solicitude and anxiety seemed to guide 
his pen. The further I read, the more the 
traces of crime appeared to diminish, and I 
felt my sympathy powerfully excited, but 
though not criminal, yet still he did not ap- 
pear to be totally free from error: his peace 
of mind was evidently lost, and fate had pre- 
cipitated him into an abyss of sorrow, through 
the means of a villain, who bound him to 
himself with chains of iron. 

My opinion regarding these two men under- 
went a change which a few hours previous I 
little dreamt of. I gave the papers to the 
President, at the same time entreating, for 
Heaven's sake, to keep them from his brotho*- 
in law, and th^i hastened home. The old 
gentleman had gone out, and I took advan- 
tage of his absense to soften the displeasure 
of his daughter towards me. I could not but 
remark tnat my presence was anything but 
agreeable to her, though she endeavoi^ed to 
overcome her dislike. I expressed my regret 
that my presence should be so distasteful to 
her, but added, that she should reflect that 
had it not been for me, she would have fallen 
into the hands of an unprincipled vilHan ; that 
I had not only endeavored to soften the dis- 
pleasure of her father, but that having read 
over the papers of Linkowsky, I was now 
ready to do all in my power to promote her 
vrishes ; that Buenaventura was far fh)m be- 
ing the criminal that I had imagined, and that 
the only thing against him was his connexion 
with Unkowsky : that it was my most anx- 
ious desire to give her every consdation in my 
power, but that she must shew no distrust of 
me, but meet me with the fbUest confidence. 
She listened attentively while I spoke, then 
raising her dark eyes to my face, gazed fixedly 
on me, as if reflecting if I were acting sincerely 
by her. She then seized my hand, and vehe- 
DMntly pressing it, impk)red me to tell her if 
I indeed spoke truth. After a short time, I 
happily succeeded in convincing her of my 
sincerity. She entreated me to pardon her 
distrust of me, and then, in the most engag- 
ing manner posable, rdated how she and 
Buenaventura had bec<»ne attached. 

Little conversation paased this day at table, 
and I could not but foel melancholy, when I 
lodced at the benevolent countenance of the 
dd man, and thought how soon it would be 
dariKned l^ soirow. After dinner, I went to 
LeidsdMf, to bid him farewell, and requested 
he would make my apok)gie8 to Henneberg ; 
and in a few hours I w*l on my jouitiey to 
Laipsie. I wis still some vales ftim the ter- 
miiMlion of my journey, and could with 
difficulty distinguish the towers of Leipsioia 



the distance — ^when , upon a little rising ground | 
to the left, I saw two men standing, one of 
whom pointed towards me with a stick ; as ' 
they approached, I perceived that one was a ' 
shepherd, the otlier a stranger, who looked 
earnestly at the carriage through a glass. I , 
instantly conjectured that this must be Bu<Hia- ' 
Ventura, and my conjecture proved right. He , 
approached the carriage, into which he looked I 
with great anxiety, as if in search of some 
one, but not finding the object of his inquiry, | 
he suddenly crushed his hands together, as if 
stung by disappointment, but still remained I 
standing by the carriage. | 

"Perhaps," said I, "you expect some 
travellers from Prague !" 

** I do, sir," he replied ; ** perhaps you have 
encountered them ? 

** They are detained," I rq)lied, " in a lit- 
tle village some miles from this, by an acci- 
dent to their carriage. They cannot reach 
Lcipsic before to-morrow, at mid-day, and 
they entreat me to take thdr friend, ifdio 
would probably come to a considerable dis- 
tance to meet tnem, back to town with me. 

The Italian turned round and looked to- 
wards the sun. 

" It will be some hours before it is dark," 
he replied, " so I shall continue my way, and 
hope to reach my friends before midnight. 
What," he continued, ** is the name of the 

*« That I must not tell you," said I, " as 
the youngest of your friends entreated me to 
keep it from you." 

" Did he indeed ?" he rejoined. " Oh, ^e 
is so kind, so considerate ; with your permis- 
sion, then," he added, "I shall accept of 
your kind offer," — and with these words he 
stepped into the carriage. 

"The young friend," said I, "to whom 
you seem so tenderly devoted, appears to be 
a very anuable girl f " 

" A giri !" he exclaimed, in surprise. 

" Yes," I answered, " I once saw her pic- 
ture on the lid of a box. " He looked al armed. 
"It is a shame," I continued, "that she 
should travel with such a companion: she 
appears like an angel of light by the side of a 
demon of darkness. How can you entrust so 
precious a gem to a David Linkowsky !" 

" Sir, he is a man of honour," he replied, 
" a man whose friendship I am proud to pos- 
sess ; but how do you know — ^I cannot imag- 
ine — ' 

" Friendship !" interrupted I, " tis easy to 
conceive what kind of friendship that must 
be which had its origin in a house where a 
midnight murder was committed, and an inti- 
macy commenced during the flight in conse- 
quence of it." • 

" Heavenly poireni !" exclaimed my eom- 
panion — "who are y<m? your words make 
me flfaodder." 

" *Tis no wonder that you tremUe," stid 
I, " to have such a friend ! but be calm, it ia 
not yet the hour for spectres — ^your ooBScieDce 
may be quiet for the clock has not yet tolled 
one, and yon see I un alone." 

The Italian became pale as death, and start- 
ing from his seat would have ^roDg from the 

"Be composed, Buonaventora," eaid I, 
" and thank Qod for having saved you fram 
the fangs of a demcm, and torn asundtt' the 
disgracAil bonds in which he held you. Lin. 
kowd^ has fallen into the hands of justice, 
and it is doubtful whether he is yet alive. 
Julia is not on her wav to hasten to your 
arms, but she is in her mther's house : but I, 
who bring you this dissapointment, am also 
love's messenger, and should the inquiries 
which I must make prove satisfactoiy, I shall 
return with you to Prague, and hope to unite 
two hearts which have suffered so deeply for 
their errors." Buonaventora listened to me 
in speechless astonishment, and overwhdmed 
with shame and confusion, he covered his face 
with his hands and wept. After various 
questions, I at length asked if he was pre- 
sent at the Counsellor's murder ? He solemnly 
swore, that at the time it happened he knew 
nothii^ of it, but that alter the event he sus- 
pected it, but never had the courage to ask 
the murders anything concerning it. 

'•Then hope the best," said I, '<and to- 
morrow we shall return to Prague." We 
spent most of the night together, and if I 
^ned on Buenaventura's c<mfidenoe, he rose 
rapidly in my estimation. The more I saw of 
him, the more deeply did I deplore that a 
mind so noble should have been tarnished by 
the seduction of the world. I asked my com- 
panion if he knew the Hofraadinde ; he as- 
sured me he had never spoken to her, bat that 
he had frequently met her in company, when 
Linkowsky always paid her the most marked 

We returned to Prague. I stomped at the 
l^ace where I had formeiiy lodged, and desir- 
ing my companion not to quit the house for 
the present, I bent my steps towards my old 
friend's dwelling. I found him seated at the 
tea-table ; Julia was pouring out his oofiee, 
and it gratified me much to observe that con- 
fidence seemed again restored betwerai them. 
Julia appeared to greet me with pleanure^aod 
she tremUed a little as she handed dm my 
cup. Linkowsky, th^ infimned me, was 
still alive, but death hovered ov^ him ; he 
continued to refVise aU sustenance, lay imaov* 
able upon his bed, and no one coidd force a 
word from him. 

After some thne I led the conversation to 
Buonanentora, and I could easily peroeive 
how much the old gentleman was sarprijKd 
at the diffiorent style in which I now talxed of 
him. It waa in vain that I tried to moderate 



his indignation a^nst him ; but from the 
boievolence and mildness of his dispoeition, I 
did not lose hope of acoompHshing this at 
Bene future period. 

Abeut eight days after his imprisonment 
Imkowaky died, and though his last strug- 
^ were Tiolent in the extreme, he did not 
lUow one exclamation to escape him. Deter- 
mined to accomplish my purpose, I never 
ecMed speaking in favor of the Italian, until 
I softened in some degree, the displeasure of 
ttie eld gentleman. The president gave a 
^odid entertainmfflit, >at which Juha was to 
•ppear in her brilliaocy and beauty. Buona- 
veotura could not deny himself the gratifica- 
tion of stealing a glance at Julia as she step- 
ped £rom the carriage. I could not join the 
ptfty at the president's, having engaged my- 
self at Henneberg's. The entertainment pass- 
ed off with great eclat, and although there 
WIS scarcely a countenance there diat was 
not a lovely one, still Julia was acknowledged . 

■ bj ill, to be queen of thenight. Thecompan^ I 
continued their amusement with great spirit . 
till a late hour, when the elder part of it be- 
pa to retire, leaving the young people to con- 
tiDue their enjoyments ; but Julia's father had 
promised to remain to the last. 

The president now hastily called a servant 
to attend one of the guests who was depart- 
ing, ind m his haste to obey this summons, 
the domestic cardessly set a lamp on a table 
in the cabinet of the president ! A lustre 
hang above it, over whidi was thrown a gauze 
eoTcring; this instantly caught fire, and a 
dense smoke quickly filled uie apartments, 
while flumes began to burst forth ; the com- 
ptoy, seised with afi&ight, ran against each 
otWr and mahed towards the staircase. 

While the president was at the other end of j 
^ house, and iound it impossible to force his i 
ws]r through the crowd, nis brother-in-law ! 
recollecting that he had some valuable papers 
in a closet adjoining his cabinet, humed to 
the gpot, and seizing a box gave it in charge 
to a servant, with orders to carry it home 
inuDediatdy and place it in his chamber. — 
Meinwfaile the fire was happily extinguished, 
nd the M genUeman hastened home with 
Jriia; but the (right he had undergone would 

1 Mt permit him to sleep, and after tossing in 
bed Ibr some time, he impatiently arose, and 

I kii e3rcs happening to hXi upon the box which 
he hid sent mm the |M«sident*s, and thinking 
that it Bikfat possiUy contain linkowsky's 
pipers, whksh his brother-in-law had not yet 

I thewn him, he could not resist the desive of 
opening it. His supposition was correct. Af- 
terglaadngovOT several , he took from amongst 
them a letter addressed to a lady whose name 
WIS not unknown to him or to the reader, and 
in which he imparted to her some remarkable 
AJPtawstapces. The old man was standing 
he read ■ aydden^ his hand trmbled-- 

his countenance became pale as death, and he 
fhtl insensible to the ground. David Linkow^ 
sky was his own son. 

David Linkowsky was, indeed, the son of 
my old friend. The boy had not been long 
with his uncle, when one evening a band <? 
robbers attacked the house, to which they set 
fire, and along with the plunder, carried d 
the child to Poland, with the intenticm of sell- 
ing him as a serf to some nobleman. His un- 
cle believing that the boy had been murder^ 
ed, and fearing the reproaches of his brother, 
he told him that his son had died of the veiy 
hooping-cough which they had so much dread- 
ed. An Dlyrian who was in the Venetian ser- 
vice, saw the boy, took a fancy to him, and 
bought him : he treated him with the greatest 
kindness, educated him, and taught him 
drawing, the only thing for which he shewed 
a decided partiality. But when he grew up, 
he r^)aid his benefactor's kindness with the 
blackest ingratitude, deserted him in a dan- 
gerous illne8S, went to Venice, and from that, 
trav^ed through the greatest part of Italy. 

His engaging appearance and manners gain- 
ed him admittance into many families, but 
under the most pdished exterior he ccmcealed 
a depraved and vicious heart. His powers of 
fkscination won many an amiable heart, but 
pure feelings found no corresponding ones in 
his bosom, and the most devoted afiection had 
no influence over him . He wandered over the 
Alps, and in the south of France he became 
acquainted with Csesar Buenaventura ; with- 
out a guide and with no object in view, this 
unhappy young man wandered through the 
world. The turbulent and seditious spirit of 
his father had occasioned his banishment from 
Florence, and he left his son in a very desolate 
situation. With no one to love him, he clung 
to Linkowsky with all the confiding feeling 
of his nature : however, he was not long in 
discovering something of the evil spirit, to 
whose guidance he hid given himself up ; yet 
he did not possess energy sufiBcient to nree 
himself from the bonds, in which the more 
powerful mind of Linkowsky held him pris- 
oner, and with reluctance he allowed himsdf 
to be dragged by him into the haunts of vice. 
A passion noore powerful, and of longer con- 
tinuance than usual, now took possession of 
Linkowsky's mind. 

A woman whose grace and beauty were uni- 
versally acknowledged, had at len^h touched 
his heart, and he gave her more of his confi- 
dence than he had ever before done to any 
human being. Linkowsky and his mistress 
had appointed a meeting, and Buenaventura 
promised to watch in we anti-chamber, to 
prevent their being surprised : but he witness* 
ed a scene that night, which destroyed his 
peace, and had nearly deprived him of his 
senses. This house is branded in the history 
of human crime, as the scene of the horriUe 



wiafder of Fuildea, ftad Lmkowsky'emistnss ! 
WM that yery Madame Manscm, whose beauty ! 
and fascination had so powerful aa influeooe i 
upon her judges. It was fixmi her that he 
had received the watch and brooch, which ! 
were found in his possession ; and it was to < 
her that the letter was addressed, in which he > 
imparted to her all his youthful feelings and | 
reoollecnons, ereo from the days of his child- 1 
hood. He depicted to her the burning of his 
uncle's property, and the wild plunderers who 
had carried him off: he also related to her, in 
the most interesting manner, how his father, 
whom he never could recollect under any 
other circumstance, had taken him one even- 
ing to see a windmill which had taken fire, 
ai^ who said to him, whilst pointing to its 
blozing arms — 

** Look, my child, it is thus that the chas- 
tising angel stretches forth his arm to punish 
wicked men and childr^i who will not obey 
their parents.'' 

It was this circumstance which revealed to 
the old gentleman that Linkowsky was his 
son. While Buenaventura was concealed in 
this chamber, Bankal, the landlord of the 
house, and his accomplices, entered, and lock* 
ing the doors they proceeded to execute their 
bloody purpose ; but on discovering Buona- 
▼entura, they instantly seized him, and terri- 
fied that he would betray them, they deter- 
mined to make him an accomplice in their 
crime. They forced him into an adjdning 
doset, where the horrible deed was committ- 
ed, and compelled him to hold the vessel in 
which they shed the blood of their unhappy 
victim, and from that time the miserable Bu- 
onaventura shuddered even to look upon the 
hands which had been thus polluted, and 
whmever the dock struck one he trembled, 
and involuntarily clasped tli^m together. 

Bankal and his companions having complet- 
ed the bloodj] purpose, hastened to carry the 
body to the river, and Buenaventura and Lin- 
kowsky seized the opportunity of their ab- 
sence to escape from the house. They imme- 
dmtely took to flight and were soon a consider- 
able way from the scene of crime. 

They fixed on Basil as their place of resi- 
dence, where Linkowsky gave instructsons in 
drawing, and Buenaventura taught Italian ; 
but with all Linkowsky's powers of persua- 
ffion, he could not prevail on his companion to 
remain long with him — ^Buenaventura went 
first to Leipsic, and from that to Prague, 
while Linkowsky took his departure for 

B , where, from want of money, he was 

forced to cii^Pp^ of his brooch and watch to a 

jeweller. While at B , he happened one 

evening to meet the counsellor's lady at a 
party, and durine the games of the evemng, 
he was desired to Idss me hand of the lady in 
company whom he 1lK>ught he could love with 
most taruth and fidelity: he chose the Hofraa- 

diode, and this eomplimeni gained him her 
&vour; he accompanied her n^ne, waa re- 
ceived by her husband with great hospitality, 
and was soon upon the most intimate footling 
in the house. But notwithstanding this, his 
visits were not frequoit, and he never went to 
the houM when the counsellor was from home. 
He soon obtained an extraordinary influence 
over the Hofraadinde, they often met else- 
where, as Linkowsky always felt unfdeasant 
at the counsellor's, perhaps from the sight of 
his watch and broodi, which the latter had 
bouglit from the jewdler to whom he had 
sold it, as a presoit to his nephew, whose pro- 
moticm he 8lu>rtly expected. 

About a week before Linkowaky Strang^ 
the counsellor, Buenaventura arrived in B — , 
Linkowsky soon saw how deep hissttaohmcst 
was to JiUia, and he was delighted to le«ni 
from him that her fath^^ was a raaa of for- 

He fervently entreated him not to lose hope, 
and suggested several plans by whidi he 
might accomplish his wishes, and gave him 
every assurance of his unchanged regard and 
interest in him, uid he concluded by ^ying. 

** Be composed, my friend, I shall go my- 
self and bring your Julia, when once ytm are 
married the old gentleman must f<Migive yon ; 
and were my beloved but separated from the 
counsellor, then we would all go to sotne de- 
lightful valley in Switzerland, and enjoy our 
happkiess unseen by all the world." 

A lover's heart could not vri thstand voj 
thing that held out hope to him^ and throvr- 
ing himself into the arms of his friend, be 
gave himself up to his guidance ; but while 
he b^uiled the credulous Buenaventura wi^ 
a picture of future fecality, the nrarderovs 
plan was already formed in his breast ; every 
thing was arranged, and he determined tlwt 
Uie 12th of August should secure to his mas- 
tress the possesion of her fortune. In the 
morning the counsellor wrote the letter he re- 
quested, to his old friend in Prague, mod hf 
night he lay murdered in his bed. 

The President was not a little alarmed, 
when» on the mormngaf^r ihe fire, he nuised 
the box with Linkowsky's papers, and karvt 
who had taken them; he hastened to his 
brother-in-law's, found him stretched npmt 
his bed, and the box with the papers lying 
open on the table ; he hurried towards the 
bed, and in the deepest anxiety seized his 
hand: he found him almost apeechlefls, httt 
the physician whom be summoned gave him 
hope of his recovery. Julia and Buonarea- 
tura never quitted his couch ; in a few daje 
he sat amongst us again : he was pale aiid 
depressed, it is true, but perfectly rengned to 
the stroke of fate. 

Some weeks after this I quitted Prague, 
leaving Julia and Bnoaaventura a betwithed 
pair. I <»nied away the haadkerohisf t» 

PITY "nsiatuE. 


B , and MnfcUjr preseire it. I fimnd 

Ibslorf restored to hi^th, his fortune was 
secured to him ; whether or not the Hofraa* 
dinde had partidpaited in the murder of her 
ktsbaod. I oould noTor learn ; it rests with 
her ccDScsicace^ 


There is sonethii^i^ melancholy in the con- 
tonplatieQ of decaying nature— to see the old 
oek safdeas, dying, withering away, .while 
mod and about it roses bloom, and tendrils 
twine. To witness in the autumn the falling 
htS, to see the yellow tint on many afloaUng 
waiflet of the IcNrest, and know that they are 
the emblems of life the portraitures of man 
lad his destiny. 

life, human life, to see it gradually sink, 
to behdd the once blo<Rning cheek pale and 
■arked with the finger of age, to witness the 
bright eje fede, and become lustreless ; that 
Cfe which was wont to flash with joy, and 
anger, that ^e which rested on all that was 
beautkul in natnre, delighting in the bk)68om6 
of the fields, and the gaieties of life, now 
sinking away from yiew, and tracing through 
its flbadowy lattice, the dark, and gloomy 
things of the world : age m ruins, age in 
the ebaeure comer of the world, in its cold 
tad cheerless degree— age shut out from the 
case and elegancies of life — removed from the 
isaodations and adventitious aids of wealUi ; 
•ge in its sear and yeUow leaf, helpless, home- 
las, houseless, presents a sight to the reflect- 
ing mind at once fearful, and sad. In the 
■arbled palace, soothed, petted, and fed, tot^ 
tcring age finds rdief in the grandeur, it 
courts. There the weak and palsied limbs, 
recMne on rich stnfib, and soft cushions ; it can 
M back into its first infancy of care and at- 
teatien; again does he become a child, and all 
bis wants anticipated, and provided for. Bat 
ilaa! how di fferent is age in poverty. We may 
imagine that it glides on, as old age seems, 
eafaaiy, and quietly ; for in poverty old age, is 
incipiait insanity, beyond which it seldom 
goes; it pauses on the verge of that dark gulf, 
and lingers on in trouble, in care, in suffering, 
and silly mutterings. There is due to old age 
not cnly respect Imt a debt, which relatives 
are not always prepared to pay. Old age com- 
mands aU who have christian hearts, ^mpa- 
tfay.aftdhelp. If mankind as a body, in their 
legiilations neg^t to provide for the poor 
nflering aged, they are neith^ christians nor 
statesmen. And yet has not our government 
aedcoted, and cheated the soldiers of our re- 
vohstMMi cot of their just rights and daesl 
I>id it reward them for all their sufferinss, 
iod the inevitable blessing — the cause for 
whiehibey foi]ghi-~bioaght us ? Did the pal- 
try sight dfiUm a mont]^ soothe* and make 

happy the latter days of the old gray headed 
veteran oi 76? Have we not seen them 
begging a morsel <^ bread?— have we not 
seen the old soldier who followed the immor^ 
tal Washington through all his battles— sai9- 
tng troo^ in our fmidic streets* to |n*ovide 
food for himself and aged partner? have we 
not seen the old soldier, when his strength 
feiled him at last, go from door to door, beg- 
ging bread to keep himself and wife out of the 
alms house. Ask the old merchants along 
Market street, iftAdam Hepple, was not a 
pauper on their bounty for years, and whHe 
asking that question, couple it with another— 
would eight dollars a month, pay theexpeiwe 
of thia or any other old soldier living, with- 
out some addition, and that addition was to 
be made either by labor, or begging ? Nearly 
all of our revolutionary soldiers are gone 
now, those that are living, are too old to 
labor, hence they must bc^. What a com- 
mentary upon our country. Thousands of 
dollars have been squandered away upon va- 
grant ferei^ers, millions, for the display of 
national pnde, and political power, but not a 
dollar, added to the humble pittance of the 
soldier of the Revolution ! 

Age in poverty is a melancholy picture; 
equally startling to sense and feeling is the 
one wherein is seen the old soldier, the pioneer 
of our country's glory, eating the l»ead of 
charity, while our country modu him with a 
paltry gift of two debars per week ! These 
reflections are caused, not by mere thought of 
the sad fact existing in our midst, but frssn 
witnessing within a few weeks its stem r^- 
ity. We have seen misery, poverty and 
wretchedness in all forms ; we have seen little 
children huddled together on a coverless bed. 
while the winter wuid was whistling around 
their rickety dwelling ; we have seen ase, pal- 
sied age, weeping bitter tears beside we sick 
bed of youth, and fn^m the dim and imper- 
feet orb of vision looked out the broken ^rit, 
on desolation and starvation ! Misery, wretch- 
edness uid squalid poverty exists in all popu- 
lous cities, and amid the heterogeneous mass 
of human miseiy old age moves (m in its suf- 
fering, its ruin, and wi«ok, until death steps 
in and closes up the remnant of its sufferings 
in the everlasting tomb of forgetfulness. 

On the step of one rich and miserly, sat a 
shivering obiect of the worlds charity, beside 
her stood a basket, over which an old news- 

Saper was thrown, beneath were morsels of 
read, and broken meat. The recipirait ef 
omn's bounty, was dd, very old, her head 
leaned against the iron railing of that rich 
man's house. The poor, feeble creature, was 
asleep, age had wrinkled up a once beauteous 
fece, yet there was the outline of a symetri- 
cal formation of features ; and although pover- 

• AWmtk 



l^ their seal upon her, the 
observer could see upon the calm noe, a sort 
of indistinct light which came up as it were 
from the deep and hidden caverns of the hu- 
man heart : it was the light of resignation, 
^e was My very old, feehle, very feeble, tired 
nature had sought the marble steps as a fit- 
ting place for rest. And so it was ; for in that 
old stately mansion this poor ragged creature 
was bom — it was the home of her ancestors, 
the home of her youth, the spot of all others 
most beloved; she sought it In rags — she who 
was wont to stand upon those marble steps 
and welcome the young and gay, when she 
was like them, now slept in age and poverty, 
on the lower step. She had married young — 
nMt losses, had children, poverty came, mis- 
ery, and death — all passed away, and left her 
in the worid, childless— portionless— and — 
but the door opens, a rich and pompous man 
appears — he shuns the beggar — ^he knows her 
not — he cares not — she falls from the step — 
her baflket is upset, her little store is scattered 
on the pavement. She rises, gazes around — 
beholds her nephew stalk away — and she, his 
aiont, wanders on to her wretched home, to 
dream, and find upon awakening, that life is 
but a fearful reality. 


The third volume of the Documentary His- 
tory of New York, recently published by the 
state, contains an amusing account of some 
churdi disputes that occurred in the village of 
Albany in its e«4y days. Matters o( church 
and state were then mixed up in a way that 
does not suit the opinions of us modems. Ac- 
cordingly, the first entry upon the subject is 
the record of an *' Extraordinary Court held 
at Albany 11 Mardi 1679-80,*' and is as fid- 

** the Court met at the request of Domine 
€Kdeon Sdiaets, accompanied oy the Worship- 
ed Consistory, who complains that Myndert 
Fredericksee Smidt came to his house and told 
him, the Domine, never to presume to speak 
to any of his children on religious matters ; 
and that he the Domine went sneaking through 
all the houses like the Devil ; adding our 
Domine (meaning Domine Beraardus, Minis- 
ter of the Lutheran Congregation) does not 
do so. 

'*Dom: Schaets further complains that 
Myndert Fredericksee 's wife greiviousl v abus- 
ed and calumniated him behind his back at 
Gabriel Thompson's house, as an old Rogue, 
Sneak, &c., and that if she had him by the 
pate, she should drag his grey hairs out of 
it; which the Domine offered to prove by 

Whereupon Myndert Fredericksee and 
wife are seat for to Court and Dom : Schaet's 

•accusation is read to Myndert, who denm it 
all, decbtring that he had not giren the Dom- 
ine an ill word." 

Pietertie, wife of Myndert Fredericksee, 
denies having abused Domine Schaets as a 
Rogue and &ieak : but that the Domine hath 
abused her Religion as a Devilish Religioii. 

'* Hend Rooseboon sworn, says that he was 
at Cabriel Thompson's last Monday when Pie- 
tertie, Myndert Fredericksee's wife entered, 
and wishing to go away was called back by 
(Gabriel and conversing on the subject of 
Dom : Schaets and her daughter, she said— 
What business hath Dom : Schaets to ques- 
tion mine daughter ? To this Gftbriel s«kl — 
Why should he not do so ? ' The Domine does 
well to question people . Whereupon Pietertie 
said, Dom: Schaets, the old rogue and sneak ; 
had she been by, she should have caught him 
hj the grey pate — adding he ought to look to 
his daughter •*♦**♦** and takecare 
of her — To which Gabriel replied. Why say 
that and scold the Domine so f who answered 
him — You dog, 3rou protect * • » ♦ • •and 

After some further evidence the Court post- 
poned the matter, recommending the parties 
to be reconciled. The next sitting was at 
" Albany 12 March 1679^. 

Myndt. Fredericksee and his wife appear 
before their Worships of the Court, request- 
ing that they may be reccmciled in love and 
friendship with Dom. Sdiaets, which, bang 
immediately done 

'*Dom: Schaets appearing before their 
Worships is asked — ^if he were willing to be 
reconciled with the aforesud persons f who 
answers, yes, on condition that they botii 
acknowledge him an honorable man, and tint 
they know nought of him except what is hon- 
est and virtuous (always excepting the Dis- 
pute out of which this case arose, namdy. 
Universal Grace — being no political questicm) 
also the Sheriff's claim. 

Whereupon M3mdert aforesaid, and his wife 
acknowledge the Domine in open court to be 
an honest man and that they know nought of 
him except all honour and virtue and are will- 
ing to b^r all the costs hereof, also to settle 
with the Sheriff. 

" N. B. It is settled by And. Fetter and 
^for 6 Beavers and 6 cases of wine." 

The most reasonable Sheriff's bill ever 

This amicable conclusion did not end afl 
Domine Schaet's troubles in Albany. His 
daughter, above referred to, had had some 
difficulty with her husband in New York, and 
had left him to return to her Other's residence 
in Albany. Thereupon theeood women of 
Albany felt called upon to talk a good deal of 
scandal concerning her. Then some of the 
Domine's congregation refused to partake of 
the eomiminion luileas his daughter abeented 



bcraeif therefrom. Her fkther,lbr peace's sake, 
afc^iiHd her to do so for the present. Further 
difficulties followed and another ''Extraor- 
diBtty court" was held on the First of April 
1681 to settle them. 

The Bode summoned the Domine twice to 
appear before their Worships, to which the 
Dooune twice replied that he would not come. 
At a third yisit the Domine was not at home 
bat the Bode received a tart reply from his 
daaghter. A fourth visit of the Bode had no 
better result; and thereupon the constable 
was sent with a special warrant to bring the 
Doimne forthwith. 

The constable could not find him: he 
** then asked his daughter Arnieke Schaets, 
where her fadier was? She answered—* know 
TOO not what Gain said ? Is he his brothers' 
keeper ? Am I my father's keeper.* '' 

The Domine finally appeared m court, the 
I difficulties between himself and his Consis- 
tory ** were arranged in love and friendship in 
preaence of the court aforesaid ; Dom. Schaets 
admitting he was under a misconception." 

Then follows a memorandum setting forth 
that the Domine's daughter, Aneke, was sent 
back to her husband Thomas Davidsee in New 
York. The authorities d New York sent her 
immediately back with her husband to arrange 
their difficulties in Albany ; and at another 
'' Extraordinary court held in Albany'' 29th 
day of July A. Dom. 1681," the following 
paper was filed by the husband and wife. 

"Thomas Davidtse promises to conduct 
hiBMelf well and honoraoly towards his wife 
Amwke Schaets : to love and never to neglect 
her and properly to maintain and support her 
with her children according to his means, 
boebr making null and void all questions 
that have occured and transpired between 
them both, never to repeat them but are en- 
tirely reconciled ; and for better a8surance of 
faia real intenticm and good resolution to ob- 
serve the same, he reouests that two good men 
be named to observe his conduct at N. York 
towards his said wife : being entirely dispos- 
ed and inclined to live honorably and well 
with her, as a christian man ought : subjeot- 
iBg himself willingly to the rule and censure 
of the said men. On the other hand his wife 
Anaeke Schaets promises also to conduct her- 
self quietly and well and to accompany him 
to N. York with her children and property 
here, not leaving him any more, but to serve 
and help him, and with him to share the 
sweets and the sours, as becomes a christian 
spooae : Re<|uesting that all difibrences which 
bad ever existed between them both may be 
herdiy quashed and brought no more to light 
or east up, as she on her side is heartily dis- 
posed to." 

Their Worships of the court recommended 
parties on both sides to observe strictly their 
i eec peiha tioa now made, and the gentlmcQ 

at N. York were to be mformed that the mat^ 
ter was so fkr arranged. 

gi^arrt amrmg \\t |teb §oohs. 


— Messrs. Ticknor, Reed & Fields, of Boston, 
have issued these poems in a volume sympa- 
thetic in size, types, paper, and binding with 
*' Thalatta." published by them a few weeks 
since, and duly noticed by us. 

We are disposed to regard the author with 
more than (nrdinary fkvor. He is an original ; 
abounds in much fresh thought, but more ex* 
uberant fancy. There is a very odd arrange* 
ment of idea, odd even for poetiy , which is id- 
ways expected to be somewhat eocentrio. Mr. 
Smith is not so much a poet of thought^ of 
philosophy, as of imagination. The snl^ects 
he touches upon are fairly oovered up with 
sensuous images and fantastic combinations. 
He courts the beautiful— oftentimes, too, the 
sublime — weaves the most gin-geous im- 
ages together, and is, altogeth^, calculated to 
charm the fancy. 

The principal poem is a '' Life Drama," and 
appears to be a kind of picture of a poet's — 
perhaps the poet's — life. As another has 
said, we have in this efibrt *' the struggle of 
strong will against circumstance, — the conse- 
quent mental exacerbation, — the influence ci 
beauty on poetic predisposition, — the disap- 
pointment of too hastily cherished hopes, — 
the ruthless destruction of certain sentimental 
ideals, — ^the temptations of female sympathy, 
the too ready lapse, — the reproaches of con- 
science, — the susceptibilities of repentance, — 
the return to duty, — and the triumph of love." 
There is, at times, a profanity which greatly 
mars the work, but without which the authcnr 
would hardly have been tipto the standard of 
modem poetic genius. We give his open- 

^ As a wild maiden, with loyedrinking eyes. 
Sees in sweet drezims a beaming youth of Qlory, 
And wakes to weep, and exer after sighs 
For that bright vision till her hair is hoary; 
Ev'n so, alas ! is my life's passion story. 
For Poesy my blood runs red and fleet, 
As Moees* serpent the Egyptians' swallowed, 
One passion eats the rest. 

• « • • 

I am fain 
To fted upon the beaa^ of the moon! 

[Opeiu the easement. 
9/oimwtaX moon I seeming so drowned in woe, 
A queen, whom some grand battle-day has left 
Unkingdom'd and a widow, while the stan^ 
Thy handmaidens, are standUig back in awe, 
Oaitng hi sileooa on tby ml^tj grief t 
An BSD bara lor^ thM te thy bM«ty, mooot 


Adam, hu tnraed from fire's Mt fhoo to tUne^ 

And drank thy beauty with hia aerene eyee. 

« « « « 

How tenderly the moon doth fill the nightl 
Not like the passion that doth fill my soul; 
It bnms wtthln me like an Indian snn. 
A star is trembling on the horiion's Terge, 
That star shall grow and broaden on the ni{^ 
Untn it hangs divine and beaatiftd 
In the proud lenith — 
Might I so broaden on the sUes (^ ftmel 
OFamel Famel Famel next granf^ost word to Qodl 
I seek the look of Fame! Poor fbol — so tries 
Some lonely wanderer 'rnong the deMsrt sands 
By shouts to gain the notice of the Sphynx, 
Staring right on with calm eternal oyea." 

The poet i» sleeping in an Italian forest, 
wbo^ a ladj finds him, and falls desperately 
m loTe with him. He wakes and lores in re- 
turn, bat tells his love in a poem, the hero of 
which is sitoated exactly like himself. The 
heroine is of G0in*8e charmed to ecstasy, but 
nererthdess is doomed to wed an old man, 
because of his wealth. The poet is almost 
orasy. Tim^ and the meeting of another 
lady-lore, cnres him, however. 

Mr. Smith is a great hand for sun-set de- 
scribing. Take the ft^owing very original 
varieties on the subject : — 

«*The sun is dying like a cIOTen king 
bi his own Uood; the while the distant moon, 
like a pale prophetess, whom he has wronged, 
Leans eager Ibrward, with most hungry eyes, 
Waiteliing him bleed to death, and, as he fltlnts, 
Bbe bri^tens and dilates; rerenge complete, 

Sha walks fax hmdy triumph through the night** 

« a « « « « a 

"Tiie sun was down, 
And all the west was pared with sullen fire. 
I cried, 'Behold! the barren beach of hell 
At ebb of tide.* The ghost of one bright hour 
Comes ftom its grave and stands before me now. 
*Twas at the close of a long summer day, 
As we were sitting on yon grnfny slope. 
The sunset hung l)oft)Te us like a dream 
That shakes a demon in his fiery lafar; 
Tha clouds were standing round the settfaig inn 
Like gaping caves, fluitastle pinnades, 
OHadels throbbing in their own fierce light, 
TtU spires that came and went Ude spires of flame, 
CUJb qoiTerlng with fire-snow, and peaks 
Of pOed gorgeousness, and rocks of fire 
A-tilt and poised, bare beaches, crimson seas. 
All these were huddled fai that dreadftil west, 
AU shook and trembled in unstead&st light, 
And firom the centre biased the angry sun. 
Stem as the nnlashed eye of God arglare 
0*er erening dty with its boom of sin. 
I do remember as we Joumoyed home, 
(That dreadful sunset burnt into our brains,) 
With what a soothing came the naked moon. 
She, like a swimmer who has fbund his ground, 
Came rippling up a sIlTer strand of cloud, 
And plimged firom the other side Into the night.** 

*< Snnset is bnmfaig lOn the aeal of Ood 
ITpontliacloaaafdaj. Tbhyvrjhour 

Night mounts har diariot in the « 
To chase the flying Sun, whose flight has left 
Footprints of glory in the okraded west: 
Swift is she haled by winged swimming steeda, 
Whose cloudy manes are wot with heavy dews, 
And dews are driuling firom her chariot wheels. 
Soft in her lap lies drowsy-lidded Sleep, 
Brainftil of dreams, as summer hive with bees; 
And round her in the pale and spectral light 
Flock bats and grisly owls on noiseless wings. 
The flying sun goes down the burning wp«t, 
Vast night comes ncdseless up the eastern slope, 
And so the eternal efaaae goes round the world. 
IhirestI nniertt Tlie pasrfon-paotlBg sea 
Watdies the unveiled beauty of the stars 
Like a great hungry aonl. The unquiet clouda 
Break and dissolve, then gather in a mass. 
And float like mighty icebergs through the blue. 
Summers, like blushes, sweep the fiMe of earth; 
Heaven yearns in stars. Down comes the frantic rain; 
We hear the wail of the remorseful winds 
In their strange penance. And this wretched orb 
Knows not the taste of rest; a maniac world, 
Hcnoeless and sobbing through the deep the goes.** 

Mr. Smith indulges in some very s trik ing, 
very expressive, and very natural designa- 
tions of well-known objects. Thus he tfdks, 
in the above extract, about <' drow8y*lidded 
sleep,'' *' passion-panting seas," *' frantic 
rain," and ** remorsefhl winds," all of which 
the reader has often encountered. 

The present work gives fine promise of a 
bright mture for the author. He possesses a 
wealth of poetic thought, the richest cabiaet 
(^ tropes and figures imaginable, a perfect 
California of words. We close with two 
extracts which, we think, sufficiently sostun 
the opinion we have exiM'esBed. 

TO . 

" The broken moon lay in the autumn siy, 

And I lay at thy feet; 
Tou bent above me; In the sHenoe I 

Could hear my wild heart beat 

I spoke ; my soul was ftill of trembling ftara 

At what my words Would bring : 
You raised your A«e, your eyes were ftill of toars, 

As the sweet eyes of Spring. 

Tou kissed me then, I worshipped at thy feet 

Upon the ritadowy sod. 
Oh, fbol, I loved thee! loved thee, lovely cheat I 

Better than Fame or Qod. 

My soul leaped up beneath thy timid kiss : 

What then to me were groans, 
Or pain, or death ? Earth was a round of blisi^ 

I seemed to walk on thrones. 

And you were with me *roong the rushing wheela, 

*Mkl Trade's tumultuous Jars; 
And where to awe-struck wilds the Night reveals 

Her hollow gulfs of stars. 

Befbre your window, as belbre a shrine, 
rve kndt *mong d«w-aoaked flowers. 
While distant mnslo^Mila, with Toloes fine, 



Ibira CUM a fcartel mammt: I wm p«le, 

Ton weptf and n«Ter fpoke, 
Bnt tixxng vtrnaA ma ai the iroodblDe frail 

CUoga, plMdlng, round an oak. 
Upon my wrong I tteadlad np my soul, 

And flong tbee from myaelf; 
I jpamed thy love as 'twen a rich man's dole, — 

It was my only wealth. 
I ipunMd theel I, who loTtd thee, ooold have died, 

Ibat hoped to call thee ' wife,' 
Aad bear thee, gently smiling at my side, 
, Through all the ^ocks of life! 
foo lata, thy tetal beauty and thy tears, 

Thy TOWS, thy passionate breath ; 
m Bseet tbea not in Lift, nor ia the q>h«res 

Made viaible by Death.** 

'Beauty still wallcefh on the earth and air, 
Oar pre»ent sunsets are as rich in gold 
As ere the Iliad's muric was out-rolled; 
The roei>e of the Spring are erer fkir, 
'Mong branches green still ring-doTes coo and pair. 
And the deep sea still Ibams Its muric old. 
So, if we are at all dirinely souled, 
lUs beauty will unloose our bonds of care. 
lb pit mil t, whan blue skies are o'er us bending 
WitUn old aCanr-gated Poesy, 
Tb meet a son] set to no wwldly tune. 
Like tfaiM,BV«et Friend! Ob, dearer this to me 
Tban are the dewy trees, the sun, the moon, 
Or Doble mnric with a golden ending." 


—Is the title of a new fiction from the pen 
of the aathor of *< Tne Initials," which has 
been repnbbshed by D. Appleton & Co. It 
contains too many bad lessons in domestic 
morals for us to recommend it ; thoagh it will 
be eagerly sought after by all those who have 
a taste for such a style of literature,^f 
whom, by the way, there are too many in 
ercry community, for a healthy state of so- 


— Mr. Hartt of our city, has just published a 
Todome of some 224 pages, — got up in exceed- 
ingly neat style, and embellished quite libe- 
ra&y, — the object of which seems to be to 
pre directions for obtaining photographic 
pictures by the Calotype and Energiatype; 
&lso upon alburoenized paper and glass. It 
includes, moreover, a practical treatise on 
photography, and a supplement containing 
the beliochrome process ; and, besides, gives 
many Drmetical hints touching the whole pro- 
cess or Daguerreotyping, including the latest 
improvements in fixing, coloring, and engrav- 
ing pictures, with a description of the appa- 
ratus. There are hundreds of daguerreotypists 
in our country who will want this work, while 
it must have an extensive sale among scientific 
men generally. 

— Is the title of a new bo<^ juet puUiahed 

by Lippmcoit, Qrambo & Co., of our city, it 
contains three very interesting stories by 
Simms, — the principal of which gives the vo- 
lume its name — and will be sought after with 
avidity, especially at this romance-readinff 
season. Mr. Simms has written many good 
stories, and some poor ones. He is justly 
considered, however, an honor to our litera- 
ture, and has enou^ admirers to give a re- 
munerating sale to any book, the title-page 
of which bears his name. 


— " The Illustrated Magazine of Art," " Go- 
dey," "Graham," ** Harper," and "Putnam," 
for June, are all on our table. For the first, 
we are indebted to Mr. J. W. Moore, the sole 
agent in Philadelphia, while the four last were 
sent to us by the respective publishers. The 
magazine literature of our country never oc- 
cupied a higher stand than it does at present 
Graham and Godey are entitled to much ere* 
dit for setting the ball in motion, while to the 
Harpers and Putnam must be conceded full 
measures of honor, in urging it onward. 
Harper, for this month, has a multitude of 
interesting articles, among which are sketches 
of " Life in Paris," with iUustrations from 
designs by Gavami; a continuation of Mr. 
Abbott's romance of Napoleon; "Gray's 
Elegy," each stanza charmingly illustrated, 
the desi^s being those of a neat volume some 
years smce published in London; besides, 
"Ancient Peru," a paper which idso is beau- 
tifully illustrated. Putnam we have not had 
time to examine particularly, but it has a very 
taking look. The "Illustrated Magazine of 
Art" has greatly improved since its com- 
mencement, and promises, we hear, to attain 
a wide popularity. 


— Mr. Hart, of our city, has just published 
a little book with this title, which forms 
another volume of the " Library of Humor- 
ous American Works." It is from the pen oi 
Dr. G. M. Wharton, lately connected with 
the New Orieans Deltay and a very pleasant 
painter of every day scenes. The illustra- 
tions — capital of course-~«re by Darley . The 
author fumishee a preface which is sufficiently 
modest. He says his inclination has beea 
" more to fed pulses, than to press the grey- 
goose quill , ' ' tnat he has during his connexion 
with the Delta, however, " managed to throw 
physic to the dogs, and to live by the plume 
of that foolish bird alone :" he acknowledgeg 
that he writes a good dea^ of nonsense, but 
that some of his friends have condescended to 
think it amusine enough to be reissued in 
book-form^ WeU, these fHends are not such 
bad advisers after all, as the reader will ac- 
knowledge we opine, after he reads the few 
extracts which we give. 

The following ia from* description of the 




New Orleans Dutch Gardens, a place ci pub- 
lic resort for the Germans. 

' * Five cents is paid by each male partner for 
the priyilege of one waltz, which occupies 
nearly ten minutes : the frauen paying noth- 
ing, heaven bless them ! Often, as many as 
twenty couples are whirling around at one 
time. Strangers, and mere spectators, crowd 
outside of the balustrade, gazing listlessly 
upon the waltzers. The Germans proper, not 
engaged in the dance, are seated upon the 
diminutive benches under the trees, gargling 
gutterals and beer. The good Almains are 
not the slimmest people in the world, that is 
a fact ; but their large broad faces only fur- 
nish the more canvass for incomparable pic- 
tures of amiability — if it is a little too deepy- 
looking. They are the quietest, happiest folks 
in the world. How indifferent to observation 
they are ! You can go up and inspect them 
closely — incapable of impertinence them- 
selves, they never suspect you of it. It is a 
tribe of human beings remarkably free of tat- 
lers, gossips imd satirists, and very slightly 
influenced by malicious motives. Meaning 
no more offence than when we apply the term 
** Bull" to an Englishman — they are the Dray- 
horses of mankind. It is they who do the 
hard work and heav^ pulling in the mines of 
learning, as well as m physical fields. They 
have the patience, slow industry, enduriug 
strength, and harmless temper of that noble 
animal— which of course, when it dees kick 
up, plftys the devil. 

** There is less association of improper ideas 
in a beer drinker embrace than in anybody 
else's. Thus, you see the vrow, in the waltz, 
actually reposing on the breast of her partner, 
one band over his shoulder, clasping the other 
over his waist, while his arms are hugging 
her as closely ; but you don't see the least 
harm. We noticed several pairs whose 
cheeks, in addition, rested against each other. 
This we thought to condemn, until, on clearer 
observation, we discovered that Mynheer was 
certainly asleep and Fraulien would have been 
so too, for her eyes were also shut, but that 
the India-rubber she was chewing occasionally 
aroused her on the verge of strangulation ; 
meantime, they were waltzine instinctively, 
and in perfect keeping with the music — tira 
U la, tira li la, la, la! 

The " Lost Child'* is in another but by no 
means less clever vein, 

"We first heard the drum in Mysterious 
street. What it meant, we did not ascertain. 
Perhaps some military company parading its 
new uniform in the sun. It is a sound com- 
mon enough in New Orleans, however. 

In History street, we heard the drum again, 
several days after. 

A plainly clad old man, who wore a shabby 
white hat, and had a pair of cracked specta- 
cles astride of his nose, was beating it. He 

would beat a brief roll, then three or four 
quick taps, and cry — 

"Lost child! Lost child!" 

Men were generally away, in their offices, 
or upon the levee, attending to business. But 
women, their toddling offspring, and servants, 
would appear at the windows of the houses, 
or come to the doors, or step out on the ver- 
andas. A few would linger awhile, listening 
to what the old man might say, not asking 
any questions. The rest, little interested, 
would soon retire, or disappear. Their chil- 
dren were at home, or at school, well, and 
beautiful ! 

" Lost child !" cried the old man, tapping 
his drum with one hand and adjusting his 
spectacles with the other, as he turned the cor- 
ner. " A very pretty boy. Eleven years old. 
Deaf and dumb. Sharp, bright black eves ; 
and spells with his fingers. Italian. Wan- 
dered away from Good Children street, two 
weeks since. Mother, a poor, lone widow. 
An only child, and lost ! Lost child ! Lost 

chUd !" 

* # # * * 

" In Great Men street, we last met with the 
old drummer. One month had elapsed. Ne- 
vertheless, he continued his kind search, the 
woman in mourning, her features paler than 
ever, following at a short distance. 

"Not found the little boy yet?" pausing, 
we asked. 

"Alas, no, sir," answered the old man. 
" I have been seeking for him over the city for 
a month. People told me, it was no use. 
But he was a very pretty boy. Eleven years 
old. Deaf and dumb. And harder to find 
than other boys of course. He spelled with 
his fingers, but Italian words — he was an 
Italian, sir, except oranges, olives and figs, 
which I taught him. He had sharp, brigfat 
black eyes. His mother is a poor lone widow, 
living in Good Children street. But all this 
fortnight she has been following me. There 
she is, sir. She is his mother. 

The woman in mourning — the mother- 
drew nearer, piercing us with her dark eyes; 
tearless eyes, shining with the lustre of the de- 
spairing love of a woman, for the imperfectly en- 
dowed, out therefore doubly endeared, offspmg 
of her womb, wandering so long, and, per- 
chance, still wandering, bewilder«l, speech- 
less, and with unheeding ears, away from the 
warm enfol dings of her arms. 

" We have concluded to search for him no 
more, after to-day," said the old drummer. 
"Dear Giuseppe! He must have been run 
over, or drowned, having only his fingers to 
call for help, though it was a pleasant si^t 
to see him spelling with them. If you should 
chance to hear of a stray boy anywhere, will 
you please inform me or my wife, at the frtrit 
store on Good Children street, wh^e we are 
neighbors to Giuseppe's mother 1" 



Neighbors, in truth and in deed. 
We promised. 

" He was moved into this ward last night, 
sir> ms being less crowded. He was brought 
into the hospital, half-starved and with a 
bnminff fever, three weeks ago. He has ne- 
ver spoken a word. He is a pretty little boy, 
about deven years of age. It seems to be a 
hopeless case, sir," said the nurse, jresterday, 
as we paid our usual morning visit to the 
ward in the Charity Hospital, which the kind- 
ness ci the surgeon-in-chief has assigned to 
our care. 

We approached the bedside. The sharp, 
bright Mack eyes lighting up the pinched and 
wasted features, and the continued peculiar 
motions of his fingers, confirmed our suspi- 
cion. In seasons past, we had studied tne 
digital alphabet of the deaf and dumb. We 
framed his name — Giuseppe ? 

•*S, si — yes, yes!" the blanched, wan 
band of the boy made quick reply. "Ho 
male a un lato — ^I have such a pain in my 

We felt the pulse of the lad. It was a fee- 
ble thread, v ibrating irregularly. He breath- 
ed with difficulty. He was sinking rapidly. 
" A chi pensa Ella — whom are you think- 
ing of, Giusepe !" 
" La mia madre — my mother !" 
We complied with our promise, sending 
word to the firuiterer on Good Children street, 
that the lost Giuseppe was found. 

In a few minutes the child's mother came. 
At length tears began to flow, and exclaiming, 
"Ifio figlio— la pieta, la pieta! — My son 
—0 the pity, the pity !" she pressed him to 
her breast 

The fruiterer and his wife came also, 
bringing a basket filled with the child's fav- 
orite fruits. 

*' Quanta gente—how many people!" said 
the poor boy, looking happy, but moving his 
filers more and more languidly. 

We touched his wrist again. The breath 
of life, whose g^tle vibrations stir the small 
vessel beneath the physician's slight pressure, 
was fast lulling into the calm of---dcath ; and 
the tiny strokes of the pulse had ceased. 

Giusepe glanced from his mother towards 
08. ♦• n medico," he said, slowly — " quanto 
c buono— How good you are." 

" Abbiamo tutti da morire — there is a time 
araointed unto us all, to die," we said. 

Then, in his beatifiil language, whether of 
words or signs, he bravely replied, with a 
sentiment worthy of one much older^ften 
stopping in his mechanical weariness, but 
looking manfully resigned out of his sharp, 
bright black eyes when he stopped, "Ora 
poiche Bio mi ha hiU> tanto grazia, lo morro 
oontento— I shall be content to die" — ^and he 

clasped his weeping mother's hand — ** sinoe 
God has grantea me so much grace." 

A moment after, returning his parent's kiss, 
he spelled upon his fingers the word, " Addio," 
at once fall of human affection and expressive 
of reliance upon Deity ; and as he framed the 
last letter, expired. 

" A Touching Story" has an account of the 
admirable manner in which Miss Martineau 
was hoaxed bnr Colonel Grimes, a distinguish- 
ed lawyer of*^ New Orleans, and winds up 
with the following capital anecdote : — 

" An acquaintance of ours, who shall be 
nameless, an elegant gentleman, and as sus- 
ceptible as he was a chivalrous admirer of the 
sex, — ^the other day, was comfortably lounging 
in his office, and looking out upon Camp 
street, when his attention was attracted by 
the splendid dress, superb carriage, and su- 
perlative loveliness of a lady passing down the 
street, ou whom his regards at once became 
riveted. Instantly he satisfied himself that 
she was a belle, — the daughter or wife of 
some one of our wealthiest citizens, — " the 

flass of fashion, and the mould of form." 
Fever did Eastern devotee pize with more 
ardent adoration upon the shrine of his divin- 
ity, than did our friend upon the attractive 
vision — all beauty compassed in a female 
form, — passing by the window of his office. 

But, see, she hesitates in her promenade — 
she pauses — she turns into a quiet and retired 
alley ! What can be her object, going thus 
where no lady was ever seen to go before ? 
Heavens! can so magnificent a creature be 
engaged in an intrigue ? No, it is some di- 
vine mission of charity which diverts her 
steps from the ordinarv thoroughfare. Yet, 
it cannot be, — for why does she look around 
so suspiciously? Mon Dim! who is the 
happy man she seeks ! For — observe — she 
raises her hand, withdrawing it from her 
bosom ! Our friend leans from out of the 
window — ^yes, it is the signal! How his 
heart beats with the excitement of a mingled 
curiosity and envy ! Is she not producing a 
hiUet'ddux ? To be sure, to be sure ? 

Ha! What? Oh, countiymen! what a 
fall was there ! It is not a signal she is mak- 
ing — it is not a love epistle she is producing ! 
She has drawn from her bosom — where it rose 
and fell, " like a light barge, safe-moored," 
— a bottle! She stepped aside to take a 

— The New York papers announce the death 
of J. H. L. McCracken Esq., a gentleman at 
one time of no little prominence in the literary 
circles of New York. Mr. MoC. died on tlie 
coast of Afinca whither he had gone for his 



health. His mind was a very eccentric, but 
at the same time a very strong one. He leaves 
a widow and two children. 

— ** Memorials and Correspondence of Char- 
les James Fox," edited by Lord John Rus- 
sell , And just published in London by Bentley : 
contains the following stor^ connected with 
Ptt*s first speech, in which Fox bears a 
part: — 

" Mr. Pitt's first speech, brilliant and won- 
derful as it was, was scarcely more remark- 
able than the warmth and generosity with 
which Mr. Fox greeted the appearance and 
extolled the performance of his future rival. 
Incapable of jealousy, and delighted at the 
sudden display of talents neariy equal to his 
own, he hurried up to the young member to 
compliment and encourage him. As he was 
doing so, an old member of the House (I think 
a (General Grant) passed by them and said, 
' Aye, Mr. Fox, you are praising voung Pitt 
for his speech. You may well do so : for, 
excepting yourself, there's no man in the 
House can make such another : and, old as I 
am, I e^ect and hope to hear you battling it 
within these walls as I have done your fathers 
before you." Mr. Fox, disconcerted at the 
awkward turn of the compliment, was silent 
and looked foolish; but young Pitt, with 
great delicacy, readiness, and felicity of ex- 
pression, answered, * I have no doubt. Gener- 
al, you would like to attain theageof Methu- 

We learn also by this work, that when Fox 
was a young man he paid a visit to Voltaire 
in company with Uveaale Price. Price gives 
his recollections of the visit in the form of a 
letter to Mr. Rogers, from which we extract 
the following : — 

**My stay at Geneva was short. I was 
then traveUing with Charles Fox, who wrote 
to Voltaire to beg he would allow us to come. 
He very civilly answered, the name of Fox 
was sufficient, though he received hardly any 
visitors, et que nous venions pour Tenterrer. 
He did not ask us to dine with him, but con- 
versed a short time, walking backwards and 
forwards in his garden, gave us some choco- 
late, and dismissed us. I am sorry to give 
you so meagre an account, but all I can re- 
collect of his conversation, and that a mere 
nothing, is that, after giving us a list of some 
of his works, which he thought might open 
our minds and free them firom any religious 
prejudices, he said, < voila des livres dont il 
taut semunir.'" 

— '< Thalatta," the beautiful volume of sea- 
side poetry, lately published by Tioknor Reed 
and Fields, of Boston, is it seems a collection 
made by Revs. S. H. Longfiedlow and T. W. 
Higginson, and not hy Mr. FiekU, as we sus- 

'^— A corr M po ntei t enqidrei of m the origin 

of the word ''honeymoon," that seems, in 
some form or other, to have crept into all the 
modem languages. We have to reply that 
the word "honeymoon" is traceable to a 
Teutonic origin. Among the Teutones was a 
favorite drink called methcglin. It was made 
of mead of honey, and waa much like the 
mead of EJnropean countries. The 4ame bev- 
erage was also in use among the Saxons, but 
flavored with mulberries. These honejed 
drinks were used more specially at marriage 
festivals, which were kept up amone the no- 
bility one lunar month ; the festive board be- 
ing well supplied with metheglin. ** Honah 
Moon," signified the moon or moonath of the 
marriiuee festival. Alaric the Goth, celebrat- 
ed by Southey's poem, died on his weddings 
night, from a two free indulgence in the boo- 
eyed drink. 

— Some few years'ago we remember seeing 
ih the windows of the print-shops, a iramber 
of prints of human figures, formed bj the 
strangest materials, as diamonds, hoops, blad- 
ders, battle-doors, chains, culinary utensils 
Ac The idea, however, was not new — ^bt 
same things may be seen in Giovanni Bracd- 
li's Bizare di varie figure, 8 vo. — Paris, 1624. 

— A drawing of the head of Charles I., pre- 
served in the library of St. John's College, 
Oxford, is wholly composed <rf minutely writ- 
ten characters, which at a distance, resemble 
the lines of engraving. The lines of the head 
and ruff contain the Book of Psalms, the 
Creed, and the Lord's Prayer. 

— John Bunyan's Bible, bound in moreoco, 
and which had been his companion during his 
twelve years unjusti6able confinement in Bed- 
ford jail, where he wrote his ** Pilgrim's Pro* 
^r«55," was purchased at the ^e of the 
library of the Rev. S. Palmer, of Hackney. 
England, some years ago for £21 by Sunoel 
Whithead, esquire. This Bible and the Book 
of Martyrsy are said to have constituted the 
whole library of Bunyan during his imprison- 

— A mushroom poet of Paisley, Scotland, had 
got up what he calls, '* The Philosopher's 
Stone of Buomeas Figures," the worth of 
which may be judged from the following trum- 
pet-blowing : — 

Bara Pnctice faere is fidrly itrated, 
Beduetioii it is likewise scouted, 
And poor Interest *s standing qualdiig, 
While its bowels out are takmg. 

— We learn by a report of a meeting of the 
subscribers to the Moore Testimonial, lately 
held in Dublin, under the presidency of Q» 
Earl of Charlemont, that £1,315 had been 
subscribed,— out of which £1,161 has beea 
paid up, and an expenditure of £138 incurred. 
The testimonial is to take the shape of a sta- 
tue on a pedestal ; the figure to be of broiiia> 
and executed from the marble portrait taken 



of the poet bj Mr. Charles Moore. It is to 
be pbced in an open space fronting what was 
the Old Parliament House of Ireland, and 
dose to Trinity College, where Moore receiv- 
ed his education. 

— Clarke Mills's new project is to make a 
group, consisting of the buffalo and wild 
horses, and two Indians, the whole represent- 
ing the capture of a buffalo, and exhibiting 
the Indian hunters, their horses and their 
gtme, all in a condition of excited action. 
—It is stated in the New York Home Jour' 
wd, that the Editor of the Lady's Book, has 
reoeatly purchased a fine property in the 
neighborhood of our city, whereon he intends 
to erect a handsome country residence. No 
mio deserves elegant otium [more than our 
pleasant friend of the Lady's Book, and we 
hope he will get it 

— It is 8tat€d that when Ole Bull appeared, 
a few days ago, in Peoria, Illinois, some of 
the people w^^ astcmished to see him so young 
loolong: as they innocently supposed '*Ole^ 
to be» not a part of his name, but an affec- 
tiooate and familiar spelling of the ac^ective 
cid. The dd fellow was in town III few days 

— The Mowing books, received since our last 
number, will be noticed hereafter. From 
Harper and Brothers, of New York, Cole- 
ridge's works," vol. v., ^'Lamartine'sResto- 
rition of Monarchy in France," vol, IV., 
"Adventures in Boston,'* by Jacob Abbott 
(JIarco Paul). From G. P. Putnam & Co., 
"Rural Essays," by Downing; "Babylon 
ind Nfaievah," by Layard; "Echoes of a 
Belle;" •* Behind the CurUin;" "Hand- 
Book for Americans in Europe." From M. 
W. Dodd, of New York, " The Old and the 
New :" " The Young Lady's Guide." From 
Lippincott, Grambo & Co., of Philadelphia, 
"The Race for Riches." 

-Ml. J. £. Gould, No. 164 Chestnut street, 
bis seat us the following new musio: — 
" Uewdyn's Bride," arranged for the guitar 
byF. Wieland; "Gentle Moon," composed 
' ly Bdhni ; the original of " Katy Darling ;" 
""The Bagatelle Schottisch," composed and 
AiTiDged for the piano by Franklin L. Harris. 

—Madame Pfeiffer, the bold and intrepid trav- 
eller, whose books have been read with so 
much pleasure, when last heard from was in 
Sumatra. She thus describes a tetea-tete, she 
bad with some cannibal Batacks of that coun- 

'^flfaice 1835, when the Batacks killed and 
^woorcd two missionaries, the appearance of 
Ktropeans among these people had become a 
nn 'pbenomenon : — hence, the news of my 
▼ilk spread through the country like wildfire 
OntMroaehing a ufa I fbund the whole male 
popmkn, armed with spears, swords, and 


parangs, assembled at the entrance, and my- 
self soon surrounded by a crowd looking sav- 
age and horrible beyond all description. The 
men were tall and strong, — but frightfully 
ugly, with tremendous mouths, and the upper 
jaws not only protruding, bat in many cases 
furnished with teeth protruding like tusks. 
Some had their hair long, others short, when 
it would stand ofl' the head like bristles ; and 
they had covered their heads either with a 
dirty cotton cloth, or with neat straw caps 
resembling square baskets, — ^many, however, 
having only a coloured rag or straw ribbon 
tied round them. Their ears were aU pefor- 
ated, — the hole being large enough to admit 
one or two seears, which they kept there as 
in a case. They were decently dressed; a 
sarong covering the lower part of the body 
and the legs as far down as the calves, and 
another (sarong) the upper part. But 
their cries were horrible; and they made 
the most frightful gesticulations, indicating 
that they would not allow me to proceed, — 
such as, putting the hand to the throat to 
make me think of my own, or gnawing the 
flesh of their arms as a hint that they would 
eat me. I had. however, seen too many simi- 
lar scenes to be frightened, — and soon suc- 
ceeded in smoothing their temper by gentle 
words and a quiet, confiding conduct. My 
language made them laugh ; they oflTered to 
shake hands with me. — and ere long I sat 
among them, protected by the most sacred 
laws of hospitality. A trifle is suflBcient to 
enrage savage people, and a trifle will make 
them friends again. This I always kept in 

(^biters' Sans-§onti. 


— The lectures of Mr. Bums continue to 
increase in interest. The illustrations of 
"the Greek element," on Monday night were 
veiT numerous and some of them very happ^. 
If languages can be taught in this way ; if 
everytiiing in education is to be turned to 
sport and f\in ; we cannot see why it required 
so much " rattan and ferula" to impress La- 
tin aud Greek idioms and inflections upon our 
memory. We have t^ feeling remembrance of 
our em>rts in the " accidence ;" and do not 
think it at all fair that the youngsters of our 
time should get for nothing what cost us so 
many drubbings. Mr. B. repudiates the 
" wmpping in" process of learmng altogeth- 
er; and makes the play inside of the school 
room, istead of out of it. But,, serioudy, 
this manner of illustrating primitive and rad- 
ical words is certainly a great improvement in 
teaching, and if it were generaOy adopted 
would enable young persons to git a nrafli 



more thorough knowledge of oar langaage 
than the7 usually get, at the same time that 
they are learning the ground-work of other 
languages. In other departments of science 
we go to the root of the matter, and teach the 
elements at the beginning ; and we can see no 
good reason why languages should not be 
taught in the same way ; especially when it 
appears that it may be done by so pleasing a 
process. The materials which enter into our 
language, form the substance out of which 
many other languages are made ; and as a 
thorough knowl^ge of these materials is es- 
sential to the proper understanding of our 
own language; and as moreover, the pecu- 
liarities of our language are better understood 
by comparison with me idioms of other lan- 
guages ; it certainly is philosophical to present 
them in such a form as will enable the learner 
to get the substance of them all, and so un- 
derstand the character of each by showing 
what is like, and what is unlike, in the langua- 
ges of different nations. As a matter of re- 
creation we think these illustrations of words 
as pleasant as anything to which a person of 
taste can turn his attention. 


— A friend looked unusually smiling the other 
afternoon. We inquired the cause. **I 
have had a superb dinner," said he. " Where 
did you dine?" quoth we. "At the United 
States Hotel," quoth he ; "it is now under 
the direction of Captain Charles H. Miller, 
your old Florentine friend." And so it is. 
Of course it is admirably kept, and will con- 
tinue to be 80, as long as Capt. M. has the 
helm ; for he has large experience as a public 
caterer, and enjoys, moreover, a most happy 
disposition ; one, indeed, that is calculated to 
make all about him happy. The United 
States has been thoroughly renovated for the 
CaptMn, and presents a most refreshingly 
tidy interior and exterior. Our dinner-made- 
happy friend handed us a bill of fare, issued 
by the Captain. It begins with black-fish, 
baked, with Genoise sauce, and ends with 
omelette soufle, blanc mange, ice-cream, straw- 
berries and cream, and cafe Noir ! Then for 
wines — such a variety ! However, for claret 
we can be appeased with Haut-Brion ; while 
for sparkling wines, Sharzburg, Fleur de 
Bouzy, and Uliquot will do. 


. — How BizABRB should have fallen on bar- 
nacles, let the reader marvel for himself! 
They have fastened to our ship's bottom, and 
for a few moments must impede our course. 
The truth is, we have fallen on a prose work 
written five hundred years ago : "Votogc and 
Travcuk of Sir John Maundeville," an extract 
from which is curious for showing how far 
imagination even then otfuXd. travel. The 
ipecific name of banuu^es is anaiiferOt or 

gooee-bearing — their feathery appearance 
having suggested this idea — and, will it be 
believed, they were originally thought the 
product of the Bemacle poose ! But bdbold 
sufficient warrant for giving credit to a tale, 
not less marvellous, of young lambs being pro- 
duced by a fruit-bearing tree. The passage 
from Maundeville is worth quoting, as an in- 
structive example of the strange things to 
which men have assented, even in a depart- 
ment of science which ought to be based on 
correct information : 

" In pasjrnge be the Lond of Cathaje to- 
ward the hiehe Tnde, and toward Bacharye, 
menpassenbe a Kyngdom that men clcpen 
Caldilhe: that is, a fulle fair contree. And 
there growethe a manner of Fruyt, as thougfae 
it weren Qowrdes ; and whan thei ben rype, 
men kutten hem a to, and men fyndcn with- 
inne, a lytelle Best, in Flessche, in Bon and 
Blode, as though it were a lytjiie Lomb, with 
outen wolle. And men eten ooth the Frart, 
and the Best : and that is a gret MarveyUe. 
Of that Fruyt I have eten : all tboo^ it 
were wondirfulle : but that I knowe wel, that 
God is marveyllous in his werices. And na- 
theless I tdde hem, that is amonges : and that 
was of the Bemakes. For I tolde hero, that 
in our contree weren Trees, that beren a Froyt, 
that becomen Briddes fleeynge : and tho that 
fellen in the water, lyven ; and thei that fallen 
on the Erthe, dyen anon : and the ben right 
gode to Mannes mete. And here of had thei 
gret marvaylle, that sume of him trowed, it ! 
was an impossible thing to be." 


— The Germans are very fond of beer. The 
lower classes indulge to excess in lager'be9r, 
but the more refined people prefer Mayer'bttr. 

The flesh, gristle, and sinews of Napoleon 
the Great, have long since mouldered to dost ; 
but Napoleon the little seems determined to 
make a little capital out of the Bony-part. 

There's three days' grace, but no mercy, 
as the man ssad when he could not raise the 
wind to pay his note. 

Six thousand dollars have been already 
raised for the " Uncle Tom testimonial." The 
money, no doubt, will be safely stowed away. 
Would it not be well for the English sympa- 
thizers to procure a bronze statue of the hkr 
authoress f 

Another Penny Collection. — Captain 
Penny will leave England in the Lady Fnnk- 
lin sailing vessel, accompanied by the Sqihia* 
to form a colony on the snores of Cumberland, 
where the Esquimaux have reported there is 
an abundance of plumbago %dA copper, with 
other minerals. Mrs. Penny goes out with 
her husband, and it is their mtcntion to have 
a permanent residence in the Arctic regioiia 
Could not the Stowes be prevailed apon to g» 
along, and form another anti-slavery society? 



WHAf SAT rou, Madcap r—jParyuAar. 



lATURDAT, JVNia 11, 1858. 



" Shall T tell you a story about the Inn- 
Keeper and the Scull ?" said the old Captain. 

•*^y all means," replied we — lighting our 
ibarth cigar. 

"Very well," quoth our companion **I 
ODce sailed from London in the ship Lion, as 
a common sailor. She was bound for India. 
On her deck just before starting were several 
groups— merchants^ clerks bustling about to 
ddiyer packets of letters — ^the Captain con- 
versing apart with two or three of his em- 
plojerB— commercial acquaintances exchang- 
ing cent-per-cent adieus — passengers arrang- 
ing their baggage — and eight or ten sailors, 
aiider the superintendance of the mate, stand- 
ing ready to hoist anchor, when the command 
abould be given. 

In the '* aft" part of the ship, stood a fair 
Toimg man, of the middle size, an elderly 
my, dressed in widow's weeds, and two re- 
markably handsome girls. The widow reclin- 
ing against a mast, seemed overwhelmned 
with sorrow ; and every now and then, with 
a mother's importunity, she reiterated her in- 
joncticHis on her son, to write often, and take 
care of his health. 

The young man, Charles Endicott, had 
takoi each sister by the hand, and was en- 
deavoring, in a playful way, though a tear 
stood in his bright blue eye, to beguile them 
of their grief. ** What's the use, girls," said 
he, " of making such a fuss — you know I 
have always plagued you to death. I should 
think you'd reioice to be rid of me. How- 
ever,! — I — shall soon return as rich as Croesus 
—and — and then, my pretty Bess," giving 
his younger sister an affectionate kiss, *' you 
shall come and be house-keeper for your old- 
bachelor brother. " Here the summons of the 
hdl interrupted the conference ; and those 
who were not passengers began to leave the 
vessd. Charles threw himself into his moth- 
er's arms and wept out a farewell ; embraced 
ach sister ; saw them all leave the ship in 
the bo«t and reach the landing place : waved 
h» handkerchief to them till their beloved 
fcrms vanished in the distance : and then re- 
chnkig over the ta^ferel, gave himself up to 
adMKholy reflections, tinctured with a slight 
1^ «f aatidpated happiness. 

Mrs. £. was the widow of a once opulent 
London merchant. Her husband had been 
an influential member of the East India Com- 
pany, but freauent losses affected his spirits 
so much, that he fell into a lingering disorder, 
and after an illness of a few months died. 
Mr and Mrs. E. had three children, of whom 
Charles was the oldest, and only son. On 
this account, as well as on account of his be- 
ing remarkably lively and intelligent, boUi 
his parents were doatingly fond of him. Char- 
les' father had been anxious that his son 
should follow the same business in which he 
was engaged himself; and, to attain this ob- 
ject, had alwaj^s gratified Charles' childish 
fia.ssion for stories with such as related to the 
ifdies. But, at his father's death-bed, C. 
•had pledged himself, for the sake of his moth- 
er and sisters, to recover, if he could, certain 
moneys of which his parent had been unjust- 
ly defrauded, in those fruitful regions. 

After the death of her husband, Mrs. E. 
retired with a small annuity, to a neat cot- 
tage which she owned in the northwest part 
of England. Here, under the tuition of the 
village master, Charles became a proficient in 
various branches of learning. Possessed of a 
handsome person, a noble and ingenuous dis- 
position, a discriminating mind, and the 
most dauntless courage, he became the delight 
of the whole village. No one ever engaged in 
more daring exploits than Charles ; his laugh 
was the gladdest one ever heard, and his stor- 
ies were told with an air of naivete and hu- 
mor, that irresistibly relaxed the muscles of 
the most grave. 

The years of manhood soon arrived, «nd 
Charles, amidst the laments of the whole vil- 
lage, prepared for a residence of some years 
in the East Indies. 

For many years Mrs. Endicott received re- 
mittances of money and presents from her son. 
His letters uniformly contained accounts of ^ 
his good health, and increasing prosperity. 
At length a letter was received, in which 
Charles stated, that, having settled aU his 
father's affairs, and enriched himself to equal 
his reasonable expectations, having reduced 
his wealth to as compact a form as possible, 
he was about to return to his native country ; 
and that as a good opportunity offered, he 
was going overland to the Mediterranean, and 
thence, by water, home. Once more did the 
mother hear from the son, and then years and 
years rolled away, and no tidings of him came. 
Inquiry was made for him in almost every 
port of the Mediterranean, and in various 
places along the coast of England ; but all in 
vain. At one time it was stated that an Eng- 
lishman, apparetly fh>m the Indies, and ans- 
wering in many respects to the description 
^ven of Mr. £. had landed at Dover, from 
France; but owine to the multitude of 
travellers who diseinWked daily and almost 



education, Sec. But every candid and intel- 
ligent person must acknowledge that morality, 
at least, is not making such progress in our 
large cities as might be desired. In Phila- 
delphia, we are wont to view with pride, and 
speak with exultation of the growth and 
magnificence of our beautiful and pleasant 
city. But when we look beneath the surface, 
we see that vice, in its ugliest forms, " is fes- 
tering all within," and that rampant disorder, 
oulfs^, and crime, are only held in check by 
a powerful and expensive police force, which 
has but 

« Scotched the snake, not kfll'd it; 
Shell doM and be herself again." 

We do not say that things are worse in our 
city than in others ; perhaps they are not so 
bad ; but with all our prejudices in favor of 
our native city, we must acknowledge that 
things are not as they should be. Rectitude 
and integrity do not receive the encourage- 
ment thev aeserve, nor do vice and crime 
meet such retribution and rebuke as they 
should find in our community: and it is not 
the part of wisdom to cover up the moral 
disease which, like a cankerous sore, is gnaw- 
ing at our vitals. 

" Tt wUl bat skin and film the ulcerous place, 
Whilst rank corruption, ruining all within, 
Inlbota unseen." 

Nor should we find excuse for those disorders 
which so frequently ** render night hideous," 
and put in jeopardy the lives and property of 
citizens. It is time that the patriotism of our 
honest citizens should be aroused, that they 
may look the danger full in the face. For all 
these things thei-e is a remedy ; but our mo- 
ralists and philanthropists do not appear to 
have found it. It is our purpose to point out 
the remedy. The evils are great ; the bene- 
fits which would flow from correcting them 
are incalculable : and it must not be supposed 
that these evils can be cured, nor the conse- 
quent benefits gained without a great effort. 
Not only a great and merited effort must be 
made by all who love our pleasant home, but 
it must be a well-directed effort. The means 
must be adapted to the end desired. We 
have in our city a number of institutions de- 
signed to promote morality and good order, 
and a number of active persons are busily en- 
s^aged in what are regarded as great moral re- 
forms. We do not hesitate to say, that the 
very men most active in these movements are 
the stumbling-blocks in the way of any real 
improvement. It will perhaps be said that 
these are persons of worth, and examples of 
morality and integrity ; that they are actuated 
by worthy motives, and are energetic in their 
endeavors to do good. If all this oe conceded, 
Philadelphia may well exclaim, "Save me 
from my friends." When Caesar's virtues 
were lauded, and held up as a reason why his 

movements should not be opposed, a noble 
Roman exclaimed, "Curse on his virtues — 
they've destroyed his country." If actrve 
a^tators keep the attention of the people 
directed to efforts which will never cure &e 
growing evils cf our cities, and amuse them 
with matters with which they have little or 
no concern, they will be prevented from look- 
ing for efficient means to check the flood of 
vice and disorder which threatens to inundate 
our country. 

Let us look at some of the great reforms of 
our day. We will begin with the "tempe- 
rance movement." For a quarter of a cen- 
tury we have been told that the " temperance 
reform" would cure all our moral evils. Tem- 
perance associations, conventions, speeches, 
songs, parades and pledges, have all tnis time 
been doing wonders. Is the evil cured ? Has 
it been abated ? There are over three thou- 
sand places in Philaddphia where liquors are 
sold. More than three thousand persons, 
many of them supporting families, make their 
living, and some make fortimes, in this busi- 
ness. We believe that retailing liquors is — 
in a pecuniary p<nnt of view — the most cer- 
tainly profitable business a man can enter 
into. Every candid person must acknowledge 
that ** the temperance movement" has been a 
signal failure. But do the active agents in 
this great reform acknowledge that they have 
been mistaken : that the means made use of 
were not proportioned to the end ? Do they 
acknowledge that they have not acted wisely, 
and that " moral suasion" did not accomplish 
the reform they so confidently predicted? 
Not at all. They now assert, with as much 
confidence as bdbre, that prohibitory laws 
will do every thing ; and we do not hesitate 
to assert, with as much confidence, that their 
efforts y in the next quarter of a century, will 
accomplish just about as much as they hare 
done in the last. Let us look at the proba- 
bility of getting prohibitory laws parsed in 
Pennsylvania. Suppose that the average 
number of patrons to each liquor shop may 
be twenty. This will make sixty thousand, 
most of whom are voters, let any one compare 
this number with the popular vote of our city 
and county, and he may form his own esti- 
mate of the probability of getting a prohibi- 
tory law sanctioned by the people. A nun- 
seller's vote, or a rum-drinker's vote, counts 
as-much in the ballot-box as that of the most 
ardent advocate of the temperance cause: 
and we do not think that any shrewd politi- 
cian, in our city or country, would like to 
rest his hopes of dection upon his advocacy 
of such a measure. Candidates for the 1^:19- 
lature are made in liquor shops — and in eSsCt 
they are dected there, too— and the adyoeacy 
of a ** prohibitory liquor law" would be the 
poorest capital a candidate for a nominaHon 
could start upon. 



If it were practicable to get a prohibitory 
law passed, it would be found objectionable 
and inefficient In our country no law which 
has not an honest public opinion to support 
it, will ever accomplish a great reform ; and 
in our country public opinion will not sanc- 
tion the entire prohibition of the sale of li- 
quors. We believe that laws might be 
enacted to restrict the retailing of hquors, 
which would greatly mitigate the evil of tip- 
pling ; but we must not depend upon such 
laws to eradicate the giant evils which 
threaten the destruction of our noble republic. 
The greatest result which " the temperance 
movement" has accomplished, has been to 
create a " spurious public opinion" in its fa- 
vor ; men afifect to look upon indulgence of 
this kind with horror, who do not hesitate to 
indulge themselves when an excuse can be 
found for it The mass of the community 
look upon the ** temperance reform" as one of 
the " humbugs" of the day ; and as all re- 
gard it as an innocent one, most persons give 
their voice in its favor; but when it is 
brought into a political contest, its weakness 
is soon evident. 

Most of our reformers look upon intempe- 
rance as the root of the evils which flow from 
it. This, also, is a mistake. Intemperance 
is a residt ; and, in most cases, of indolence 
and unoccupied leisure. Persons, usually, 
become intemperate because they get into the 
habit of spending their leisure time in places 
where liquors are sold. 

We do not intend to write long articles, and 
therefore will leave the discussion of this 
matter for the present. It is our intention to 
point out the real sources of the evils which 
afflict society so grievously, and then to show 
the remedy. 


This is the title of a 12 mo. of 426 pages, 
from the pen of Henry C. Carey, and publish- 
ed by A. Hart For one to declare that he 
entirely coincides in opinion with the author 
of a volume of such magnitude and impor- 
tance, as the one under consideration, would 
be equivalent to a supposition that a work 
was perfect in all its postulates and indisput- 
able in all its corollaries. And even if a 
book possessed such faultless qualities, it 
millet require an immaculate critic to per- 
cme them , and to appreciate them. Then, as 
neitlier the one or the other may be rationally 
supposed to exist, it could answer no good 
purpose for us to assert that we endorse all 
the doctrines promulgated in Mr. Carey's Sjrs- 
t«m of political economy. 

But if we cannot approve everything in 
the volume before us, yet we may safely say 
that it contains many truths of such high im- 
port, and deductions of such indisputable 
value, as to merit the hearty commendations 
of the American press. It is undeniably one 
of the most thoroughly American productions 
which has ever fallen under our notice ; and 
if it should not be subjected to the most 
furious assaults that foreign reviewers ^re 
capable of inflicting, we shall be mistaken in 
our calculations; for Mr. Carey has un- 
doubtedly proved that there exists a condi- 
tion of slavery, under the British government, 
in India, in Ireland, and in England itself, 
more degrading, more horrible, and more hope- 
less, than that of the African in this country, — 
which latter seems to be at this moment ex- 
citing such a superabundance of holy sym- 
pathy, in the breasts of passe duchesses of 
doubtful character and exhausted rotUs in Exo- 
ter HaU. 

If any one should suppose, from merely see- 
ing the title of Mr. Carey's book, that it is a 
production calculated to encourage the insane 
efforts (rf" the fanatical abolitionists, it would 
be doing great injustice to the author. It is 
of quite a different character, and is replete 
with valuable lessons throughout the whole 
range of political economy. The array of 
facts adduced relating to the agriculture, 
manufactures and commerce of the different 
nations, would alone be sufficient to stamp the 
volume with the hearty approval of enlighten- 
ed Ic^slators and statesmen. In some respects 
it might serve as a manual for many of the 
members of our federal legislature ; and if so 
used, it is not to be doubted that numbers of 
their constituents would be disposed to hail 
its author as a public benefactor. 

OOWraiNQ'8 RURAi. E8SAV8. 

— This is a collection from the editorial pa- 
pers of the late A. J. Downing, as they ap- 
peared in the "Horticulturalist." Thewt- 
thering of them was made by George Wm. 
Curtis, Esq., who adds an extremdy graceful 
and appropriate memoir of the author. A 
tribute to the genius and character of Down- 
ing, from the pen of Frederika Bremer, is 
also incorporated in the very handsome vo- 
lume. There are, besides, numerous illus- 
trations, nicely executed, the subjects of 
which are mainly connected with the writ- 
ings of the gifted deceased. His unhappy 
fate is very generally known, for he was a 
passenger on the ill-fated Hcnrv Clay— -de- 
stroyed by Are last year on the Hudson River 
— and lost his own life from too great a soli- 
citude to save chose of his fellows. He seems 
to have been in all respects a charming per- 
son. It is rarelv the case, indeed, even in 
our day of dieaply-earned eulogies, that the 
death of a man causes so general an exclama- 
tion of regret as did his ; an exclamation of 



regret, too, so foil of real earnest feeling, so 
trulv warm from wounded bosoms. 

Alessrs. Putnam & Co. publish the volume, 
and were kind enough to send us a copy some 
time since; its notice, however, has been 
unavoidably postpcmed until the present 


— The Messrs. ELarper have issued the fourth 
and concluding volume of this admirable 
work. It embraces the period which elapsed 
between the death of Napoleon, and the fall 
of Charles X. Coming, as it does, from the 
poUshed pen of Lamartine, it has all the rich- 
ness of thought and expression, peculiar to 
him. It lacks the enthusia^, the poetic fire 
and energy which its author might have dis- 
played had he written without the experience 
gained by the flurry of *48 ; ^ut still possesses 
almost the fascination of romance. 

The enthusiasm felt by Lamartine, when 
contemplatmg liberal movements in France, 
whether of the past or the present, is a good 
deal like that of the worid in general. Tn 
other words, it is an enthusiasm such as is 
exhibited by a fine play. We are stirred up 
to quick breathing, we fill with rapturous 
emotion, we huzza and toss up our hats, while 
the acting is going on ; but we grow calm 
again, nay, we feel a little silly in remem- 
brance of our noisy delights, when the bell 
tinkles down the green curtain, and we dis- 
cover that it is only acting ! The French are 
all^he time acting ; and sometimes they act 
so well, that even those who have been again 
and again cheated by them, think that Uiey 
are in earnest, and laugh or cry, as the scene 
invites them. 

The following extracts, relating to the de- 
parture of Charles X. from France, in Lamar- 
tine's best style, will be read with interest. 
They possess very high dramatic interest. 
One is lead by them almost to regret that 
their hero was the recipient of such a fate ; 
fi>r if Charles X. was weak, he was in our 
opinion honest, the slave of unlimited cir- 
cumstance. Certainly no hypocrisy can be 
laid at his door, as, we maintain, it may be 
at that of his successor from the moment he 
sneaked into the Tuilleries to the day of his 
rapid departure from the same, by the very 
route taken by his predecessor. 

*' The Ring left his kingdom a poorer man 
than he had entered it. What little gold he 
had at St Cloud in his coffer for his private 
expenses, had been laid out for provisions to 
supply the troops, and in pay to the guards. 
He was driven to the necessity of selling his 
plate at Dreux and Vemeuil, to pay for the 
food of the latter. The faithful servants who 
surrounded him, still kept up, and observed 
towards him and the royal mmily, at every 
halting-place on the road and in the poorest 

house, imder the roof of whidi they were 
sheltered, all the ceremonial and etiquette of 
the Tulleries. Every day was like the rest in 
the sad sameness of this procession. In ord^ 
to avoid in the towns through which they 
went, the scomfhl and insulting looks of ii^ 
people, the King rode out in his carriage every 
morning from the house he had slept at ; and 
half-an-hour afterwards got on horseback, and 
rode by his son's side, between the ranks of 
his escort. Half-an-hour before reaching the 
night quarters ho entered his carriage aeain. 
Marmont rode on horseback behind the Kmg's 
carriage. The court attending on the princes 
and princesses was limited, but rcspcctnil, uid 
as faithful to misfortune as it had been to 
grandeur. It comprised names to which his- 
tory must pay the tribute due to duty mmI 
gratitude honourably fulfilled : Marmont, un- 
fortunate, irresolute, but only culpable oi 
weakness of character : the Duke of Luxem- 
bourg ; the Prince of CroV ; Solre, captain of 
the guards; General Auguste de Laroche- 
jaqudein, a name which grows with the re- 
verses of the monarchy : the Duke Armand 
de Polignac, principal equerry ; the Duke of 
Guiche and the Duke de Levis, aides-de-camp 
to Duke d*AngouUme: Madame de Saint- 
Maure, lady of honour to the duchess ; the 
Countess de Bouill^, lady of honour to the 
Duchess de Berry: Count de Mesnard, ho* 
principal equerry, and Count de Brissac, her 
gentleman in waiting ; the Baron de Damas, 
governor of the Duke de Bordeaux : M. de 
Barban^ois and M. de Maupas, his sub-gover- 
nors, watched over the child as the wreck 
and last hope of so many thrones ; the Coun- 
tess of Gontaut had care of his young sister. 

** The people all along the road were still de- 
corous and respectful. The shadow oi this 
monarchy impressed them with awe more 
than the monarchy itself; there was as much 
nature as royal ty i n i ts mourning. Great catas- 
trophes have great reactions in men's imag- 
inations. They respected the King's fall idl 
the more that they no longer dreaded his re- 
turn. They spared him almost everywhere, 
with instinctive decorum, the sight of the 
tri-couloured flag and cockade, palpaUe signs 
of his dethronement. In one or two of the 
manufacturing towns of Normandy there was 
an anticipation of taunts and insults on the 
part of the workmen. These fears were vain : 
the marks of disfavour were confined to a few 
threatening groans aimed at Marmont, whoee 
fame of 1813 everjrwhere preceded him as a 
military and national resentment. On ap- 
proaching Cherbourg he was under the ne- 
cessity of removing the orders which he wore 
on his chest to hide his rank, his dignity, and 
his name from the rancour of the peojde. 

** The King read the MoniUur erery morn- 
ing, to watch the spectacle of his own ruin 
with his own eyes, At Carentan, he learaed 



that the Duke of Orleans had consumatcd his 
osnrpation. He utterad neither a reproach, 
nor a single unkind observation on that prince's 
acts, whether he still relied on the assurances 
which the Duke of Orleans had transmitted to 
him at St. Cloud and Rambouillet,or whether 
he thought the temporary force of circum- 
stances, to return it afterwards to his grand- 
son : or, rather, whether he thought it more 
congenial to his soul to bear silently, and 
without complaining, the last and most cruel 
of all felonious acts, — that perpetrated by his 
own blood ! 

*• He stopped for two days at Valognes, in 
order to leave time for the vessels prepared for 
his use to reach Cherbourg. He there collect- 
ed around him the officers and six of the old- 
est guardsmen of each of the companies that 
escorted him, more like a father than a King. 
The Duke d'Angouleme, the Duchess, his 
wife, the Duchess de Berry, the Duke de 
Bordeaux, and his sister, stood about him in 
a group, to engrave in the eyes and in the 
memory of every member of the banished 
family the names, the feces, and the grief of 
their last faithful soldiers. Charles X. hav- 
ing taken from their hands the flags of their 
comrades, like a King parting with his peo- 
ple, thanked them in a voice broken by his 
sobs, for their tender and unyielding fidelity. 
•* I receive your standards, and this boy shall 
one day return them to you," said he, as he 
touched with a trembling hand, the forehead 
of the Duke de Bordeaux ; ** the names of the 
guards registered in your books and remem- 
bered by my grandson, shall continue to be 
enrolled in the records of the royal family, 
to stand as an everlasting witness of my mis- 
fortunes, and the consolations I derived from 
your fidelity I" 

" This heart-rending adieu drew tears from 
every soldier in that little army, and even from 
the people of the town. The devotion of 
these troops to their prince, inherited from 
their fathers, and transmitted to them from 
their ancestors, was not only a duty, but an 
instinctive feeding. It was more than their 
country *s chief, it was the first among gentle- 
men, it was their father whom this young 
nobility were mourning in the King. 

"Charles X. and the Duke d'Angonleme, 
after this farewell to the troops, laid aside the 
military dress and decorations they had hith- 
erto worn. They shrank from the eyes of 
the people, and assumed beforehand the garb 
of that exile already so close at hand. 

" This joumev had now lasted a fortnight, 
with an atfected tardiness which worried the 
impatient commissioners and the new King, 
and appeared to be waiting some unknown 
event, as if Paris had not finally declared the 
will of France. Some understood thereby the 
rdactance of an old man, counting every step 
be took to leave a land he adored, and a conn- 

try he was losing ; others, that he expected a 
rising in the West and South in consequence 
of a landing of Bourmont, bringing the Afri- 
can army to support the monarchy ; some as 
a season occupied by the still pending nego- 
ciations with the Duke of Orleans ; others, 
in fine, as a kingly attitude, maintained even 
in defeat to confront evil fortune in a digni- 
fied manner,/ and to engrave in the minds of 
the people a solemn idea of the very phantom 
of royalty.*' 

** The King was drawing near the gates of 
Cherbourg ; from the top of the rising ground 
overlooking the town, the sea of the exile ex- 
panded to nis view. He wept at the sight. 
A rumour had been spread of an expected fer- 
ment among the people of Cherbourg, threat- 
ening the safety and dignity of the King and 
his family, 'the Duchess d'Angouleme or- 
dered her carriage to stop, that she might 
place herself in the King's to share his dan- 
ger. The report was false and unjust to the 
popular feelings, which in these districts are 
full of veneration for the memory of their 
benefactor Louis XVT., who created Cher- 
bourg. The whole population of the town 
and country round, drawn up on both sides of 
the way by which Charles X. had to pass, 
was moved to pity at the sight of three royal 
generations about to leave a kingdom berore 
they knew where to find a country. The 
women and children especially, innocent vic- 
tims at all times, melted the hearts of every 
father, husband, and mother in the crowd, as 
evinced by their looks of surprise at their 
misfortune, "and their sad smiles over the 
wreck. The tri-coloured flags had been tak- 
en down from the windows of the private 
houses as the corUge moved along, to spare 
the conquered monarch a gratutious humilia- 

** The King and his escort did not alight 
within the town, but entered a rail enclosure 
between the market-place and the strand at 
Cherbourg; the iron gate was closed upon 
them. The people hurried there and clung 
to the rails in crowds to contemplate the grand- 
est spectacle inthe fate of mankind, the ostra- 
cism of a king, the heir of sixty kings with- 
out a country. The royal family for the last 
time alighted from their carriages on the brink 
of the beach washed by the waves; the 
Duchess d'Angouleme bathed in tears, and 
staggering under the shock of her last exile, 
was deprived at once of a kingdom and a 
crown. M. de Larochejaquelein assisted her 
to pass over the ground, leaning at least on a 
heroic arm. M. de Charette, another Ven- 
dean officer, whose name was a prognostic, 
escorted the Duchess de Berry. More of in- 
dignation than sorrow was visiblein the coun- 
tenance of that young widow on leaving a 
land which had drank the blood of her has- 



band, and which was now proscribing her in- 
nocent and helpless child. The Baron de Da- 
mas, faithful as duty, like pity serene, carried 
in his arms as a providential trust, bis pupil 
already a king before his time, and whose 
royalty opened witb disaster. The child 
struggled with its little arms against banish- 

'* King Charles X. continued the last on the 
beach, like one covering the retreat of his 
whole house. All the oflScers of his piard 
defiled before him, for the last time, kissing 
his hand and weeping over it : he then passed 
on and joined his family in the ship without 
turning round, and shut himself up alone to 
pray and weep. A mournful silence pervaded 
the French coast : many lamentations, but no 
insult, followed him over the deep. The ves- 
sel bore him towards Scotland, where Eng- 
land had in store for him tho lonely and re- 
cluse hospitality of Hol3rrood, — a palace aban- 
doned by Mary Stuart, fraught with dark 
deeds, and significent of sad lessons to a dy- 
nasty dethroned for having sought to inflict 
upon their subjects, through a pious policy, 
the yoke of Rome, and for having persecuted 
the freedom of the human mind in its most 
inviolable place, the conscience of the nation. " 


— This is the title of another volume from 
the pen of the author of " Musings of an In- 
valid," " Fancies of a Whimsical Man," " Fun 
and Earnest," and the very popular series of 
" Spiritual Dialogues," which nave appeared 
in our pages. It is written in a more thought- 
ful vein than any previous work of the author, 
and presents some very original views touch- 
ing tne world and the aspirations of man. We 
look upon it as altogether the ablest of its 
authors productions; as destined to esta- 
blish a reputation for him as a close observer, 
clear thinker, and elegant writer, which any 
man living might be proud to attain. 

The introduction, written on the day of the 
originally New England, but now general, 
festival of Thanksgiving, is full of earnest- 
ness and fire. Note a few paragraphs : 

" Welcome to this dear old festival I Again, 
with cordial salutations, do we greet its com- 
ing. May it be kept through all time ! May 
it be set apart, dedicated ever as now, to holy 
thoughts, and hymns of gratitude, and deeds 
of love ! 

"And to-day, we bid it a thousand wel- 
comes. To-day, for the first time in our his- 
tory, has it become a National Holiday, and 
all the members of our great family of States 
have come together, with heartfelt unanimity, 
to sing praises, and to pour out thanks to the 
great Father of Mercies. Oh, may the good 
example this day set, be faithfully followed, 
and may this, henceforth, be a fixed feast in 
our national calendar ! 

" And will it not be 80 ? I bdieve it. I 
believe this day is to play a glorious part in 
our great future, to exert a mighty influence 
on our career. How many noUe deeds will 
date from it ! How many princely benefac- 
tions, right royal charities, will it bear wit- 
ness to, with each coming year ! How many 
happy firesides, renewed friendships, buried 
quarrels, sacred vows, how many, many pre- 
cious things of all kinds, will originate in the 
impulses of this blessed period ! 

** Thanksgiving day, two centuries hence ! 
What a day ! A^d what a land ! One great 
garden, its walls washed by either ocean ; one 
vast congregation of cheerful, thriving worit- 
ers. But this day, their labors are suspended, 
and they go forth, with one accord, to, oflfer 
their prayers and praises to the great Giver- 
Hark to the myriads of church-bells, as they 
send forth their invitations from ci^ and 
hamlet, from hill-side and valley! Behold 
the countless multitudes of worshippers, 
young and old, thoughtful parents and happy 
children, as along every lane, and road, and 
street, and avenue throughout the land, in 
scattered groups or orderly pix)cession, they 
take their way alike to rural chapel, and 
cheerful village church, and sumptuous cathe- 
dral. And now we hear the blended strains 
of ten thousand organs, and the swelling notes 
of innumerable voices, chanting their festal 
hymas unto the all bountiful Creator. And 
now all is hushed in silence, and presently 
the low, solemn tones of prayer are heard, as- 
cending unto heaven, rising alike from the 
hearts of stately cities, and from lone vales, 
deep hid in woods : ay, from every vale, and 
hill, and plain of this vast, this thrice-Uest 
land ; the acceptable incense of gratefiil sonls 
unto the great Father. What a spectacle, 
what a service is here I Oh, that the poor, 
tempest-tossed men of Plymouth could have 
beheld it, could have had their souls cheered 
by such a vision, their eyes^ greeted with 
sounds like these ! 

Thanksgiving day, throughout the world ! 
Will not that day yet come, upon the earth ? 
I believe it. A day of solemn, universal re- 
cognition and commemoration of God^s good- 
ness ; a day on which, following the example 
of the great parent republic, all the other 
commonwealths of the civilized. Christianized 
world will, with one consent, come together 
and join their orisons and hymns with hers ; 
when every nation, and tongue, and island, 
and valley, and hill-side of earth, shall bear 
part in the glorious service : when every Art 
shall lend its choicest inspiration, to render 
that service worthy of the great Father ; 
when, in a word, this our once little New 
England festival, shall become the great holi- 
day of earth ! Blessed consummation, thrice 
blessed spectacle, whereat the angels pause to 
gaze with rapture! A world in prayer; a 



world chanting its Maker's praise in glorious 
concert ! 

*' And are these things to come to pass, in- 
deed ? Is this hlissiiil future in store for our 
dear planet ? Are all these triumphs of truth, 
these precious victories over evil to be se- 
cured? Are the bloody rites, the gloomy 
saperstitions, the cruel wars, the ignorance, 
MMUhy, imbecility, the grovelling appetites, 
the savage passions of men, to be extermi- 
nated, and all nations to be resolved, at last, 
into one great, peaceful, loving. Christian 
fiumly, and earth itself to become a miniature 
heaven, and every day that dawns upon it a 
day of Thanksgiving? 

"I bdicve it. I cling to the glorious 
thought. Call me dreamer, visionary, if you 
will. Be it so. May I ever dream such 
dreams, and be blest with such visions !*' 

The author confesses that he looks on the 
bright side of things ; but he has two friends, 
B. and C, who entertain different views. He 
says: — 

** My friend B. is an excellent fellow, full 
of good impulses, and continually rendering 
steiJthy acts of kindness to those about him ; 
but he is sadly given to skepticism and des- 
pondency, and almost always expresses him- 
self on moral subjects, in a gloomy, and quite 
too sarcastic style. He seems to have little 
or no faith either in himself or his brethren, 
in the progress of the race, or in the blessed 
life to come. 

"Friend C, on the other hand, is a most 
firm and ardent believer in immortality; 
thoegh his faith, perhaps, rests far less than 
he would be willing to idlow, upon a Scripture 
basis, and far more on what he reads in the 
great vol umes of nature and providence. But 
he is not a believer in any steady, permanent 
improvement of the human family. The 
movements of society (he vfiU have it,) have 
been, ever since the tirst page of history was 
written, vibratory, not progressive, in their 
character. More or fewer d^rees of the great 
ctitle have been described, in the various 
eras of that history ; still is it oscillation, not 
progress. While I not only cling to the 
Uessed thought of a future state, and magni- 
c«nt theatre of action hereafter, for every hu- 
man soul, however humble or abject on earth, 
but also cherish the belief of a slow, steady, 
sure and triumphant progress to perfection, 
of the great brotherhood here below, and of 
the final conversion of this dear world of ours 
into one grand, delightful family mansion, as 
it were, w loving, happy kinsmen." 

The book is made up of conversations be- 
tween the three friends, and presents cloud or 
sunshine as either the one or the other of the 
trio discourses. The benefit to be had from 
its perusal cannot but be of a substantial kind. 
Few can sincerely embrace the views of B., 
oidy a few more those of C, while the views 

I of the author are such as to be generally ac- 

I ceptable and much sought after. We leave 

i " Clouds and Sunshine" to the reader, with 

these few thoughts touching its nature and 

object ; few books that have appeared the 

E resent season, deserve more favor at the 
ands of the public. It is published, we 
should add, by John S. Taylor, of New 
I York. 

I ooLeRiooK'a aa^orks. 

; — The Harpers have published the fifth vo- 
I lume of their admirable edition of Coleridge's 
! complete works ; and though it contains mat- 
ter of a graver character than the preceding 
volumes, it is still deeply interesting. Notes 
on Hooker, Field, Donne, Hacket, Jeremy 
Taylor, the "Pilgrim's Progress," Luther, 
Bedell, Baxter, Leighton, Sherlock, Water- 
land, Whitaker, and others, form its contents, 
with the addition of "Confessions of an In- 
quiring Spirit." 

Coleridge ever spoke the dictates of his 
heart, and we therefore receive his doctrines 
as those, at any rate, arising from honest con- 
victions. He had not the highest estimate of 
mere faith, by which so many maintain their 
belief, hut took, as his editor says, the middle 
path of safety and peace, between a godless 
disregard of the unique and transcendent 
character of the Bible generally, and that 
scheme of interpretation scarcely less adverse 
to the pure spirit of Christian wisdom which, 
wildly arraying our faith in opposition to our 
reason, inculcates the sacrifice of the latter to 
the former. He threw up his hands in dis- 
may, at the language of certain modem di- 
vines on this point ; as if faith not £ounded 
on insight were ought else than a specious 
name for wilful positiveness ; as if the Father 
of Light could require, or would accept, 
from uie only one of his creatures whom he 
had endowed with reason, the sacrifice of 

Coleridge did not think that doctrines of 
scripture should be judged by their supposed 
harmony or discrepancy with the evidence of 
the senses, or the aeductions of the mere un- 
derstanding from that evidence; but he as- 
serted the existence, in all men equally, of a 
power or faculty superior to, and independent 
of, the external senses ; a power which re- 
flected God's image. He could as little un- 
derstand how faith, the joint act of reason and 
will, should be at variance with one of its 
elements as how God should be a contradic- 
tion of himself. He believed, says his editor, 
" in no God in the very idea of whose exist- 
ence, absolute truth, perfect goodness, and 
infinite wisdom, were not elements essentially 
necessary, and everlastingly co-present." But 
we cannot follow this subject rurther, in the 
already extended state of this department of 
BizABBB, but must even here pause. 




Messrs. Putnam, & CJo., of New York, have 
published an abridgment of Mr. Layard's 
second expedition to Babylon and Ninevah, 
which forms a handsome 12mo. volume of 
500 pages and upwards. It contains all the 
illustrations, and indeed all the material of 
the octavo edition, with the exception of 
minute description of sculpture, as well as 
monumental remains, and several tables of 
cuneiform characters. The author's own lan- 
guage has been relative, in the more interest- 
ing and important parts of the work ; indeed 
it presents a valuable compressment of all 
that is generally interesting in the original 

These last explorations were not confined 
to the original point of Mr. Layard's discov- 
eries, but embraced wanderings extending 
from the Black Sea to Niffer in the low 
marshy country between the Tigris and the 
Euphrates, thirty miles south of Babylon, — 
and in an easterly direction to the mountain- 
ous district Shembeena, on the confines of 
Persia : — the lines of his route diverging to | 
every locality either known or supposed to 
contain ancient remains. His researches were 
made under limited arrangments as to means, 
and therefore were not as vigorous they other- 
wise might have been. His book will, never- 
theless, be eagerly sought after ; and really 
possesses a very high value. 

We perceive, touching the matter of Baby- 
lonian discoveries, that the French are deeply 
engaged in the same ; and if reports received 
from parties sent out, are to be credited, with 
great success. Among other things they have 
ascertajped. beyond reasonable doubt, that 
the ruins beneath a tumulus called the Kasr 
are those of the palace-citadel of Semiramis 
and Nebuchadnezzar ! These ruins our au- 
thority says, — are in such a state of confusion 
and decay, that it is impossible to form from ' 
them any idea of the extent or character of ; 
the edifice. They appear, to extend beneath j 
the bed of the Euphrates, a circumstance ac- I 
counted for by the change in the course of 
that river. They contain sarcophagi, of clum- j 
1^ execution and strange form, and so small, 
that the bodies of the dead must have been 
packed up in them, the chin touching the 
knees, and the arms being pressed on the I 
legs. These sarcophagi are evidently of the j 
lowest class of Parthian, not Chaldean origin. | 
There have also been found numerous frag- 
ments of enamelled bricks, containing por- 
tions of the figures of men and animals, to- 
gether with cuneiform inscriptions, the latter 
white in color on a blue ground. M. Fresnel, 
the chief <^ the expedition, thinks, these 
bricks afibrd a strong proof that the ruins are 
those of the palace of Nebuchadnezear, inas- 
■rach as the oniameots on them appear to be 
sporting subjects, raeh as are described by 

Gtesias and Diodorus. The foundations be- 
ing reached, are ascertained to have been 
formed of bricks about a foot square united 
by strong cement, and they arc also in blocks, 
as if they had been snapped in all directions. 
In the ruins of the dependencies of the palace 
situated on the left bank of the Euphrates ; 
there are numerous sarcophagi, in which were 
found skeletons clothed in a sort of armor, and 
wearing crowns of gold on their heads. These 
skeletons when touched, mostly, fell into 
dust: but the iron, though rusty, and the 
gold of the crowns are in a fair state of pre- 
servation. The French explorer thinks that 
the dead in the sareophagi were some of the 
soldiers of Alexander or Seleucus. The crowns 
are simple bands, with three leaves in the 
shape of laurel on one side, and three on the 
other. The leaves are very neatly executed. 
Beneath the bands are leaves of gold, which 
it is supposed covered the eyes. From the 
quantity of iron found in some of the coffins, 
it appears that the bodies are entirely envelop- 
ed in it : and in one there is no iron, but some 
car-rings, a proof that it was occupied by a 
female. The sarcophagi are about two and 
three-quarter yards in length by between half 
and throe- quarters of a yard wide, and are en- 
tirely formed of bricks and united by mortar. 
In addition to all this, a tomb, containing 
statuettes in marble or alabaster of Juno, 
Venus, and of a reclining figure wearing a 
Phrygian cap, together with some rings, ear- 
ring, and other articles of jewelry, has been 
found, as have also l^umerous statuettes, vases, 
phials, articles of pottery, black stones, Ac,, 
of Greek, Persian, or Chaldean workmanship. 

a-rii.1. ON TH« -TABLB, 

— Is a large number of new books, which 
await notice : among them several from Put- 
nam and Dodd, of New York, already an- 
nounced. Those unannounced are **The 
Child's Matins and Vespers," and ** The Pro- 
phets and Kings of the New Testament,*' 
from Crosby, Nichols & Co., of Boston; 
"Father Bnghthopes," fit)m Phillips, Samp- 
son & Co., of Boston; •* German Lyrics," 
from Ticknor, Reed and Fields, of Boston; 
**Wild Jack, or the Stolen Child," from A. 
Hart, of Philadelphia. We have, moreover, 
received from C. J. Price & Co., No. 7 Hart*s 
Building, the second part of the "Popular 
Educator," an admirable work just started 
by A. Montgomery, of New York. Prom the 
same publisher, too, through Messrs. P. & Co., 
comes part one of a beautiful illustrated work, 
to be completed in twelve monthly parts, at 
25 cents each, entitled " The Alps, Switzer- 
land, Savoy, and Lombardy." We would 
also acknowledge the receipt of the " Law 
Register", for June, direct from the publish- 
ers, Messrs. D. B. Canfield & Co. ; a work 
which is decidedly one of the best of the 



kind crer attempted in oor conntiy, and 
which, we are huppj to kara, meets with 
high &Tor. 

#iir Metklj ^0ssip. 

— Mr. J. E. Gould, No. 164 Swaim'g Build- 
ing, has sent us the following new music : — 
"The Flower of the Flock, or Lulu is our 
Darling Pride," words by Rosa Hughes, and 
music in part by R. L. Sandford, by whom 
the piece is dedicated to Mrs. J. Kicketts 
Lawrence: **Home Reveries," dedicated to 
Mr. Richard L. Achhurst by the composer, 
James Bellak; tmd '* Polka for the Million," 
from the same brilliant and indefatigable art- 
ist. Mr. 6. has composed and arranged a 
large number of pieces since he has been in i 
the city, some of which have attained a very 
extended popularity. His ** Trot Galop" sold 
by the thousands. 

— The Harpers have published " Adventures 
in Boston," by Mareo Paul, a very entertain- 
ing little book, illustrated and generally got 
up uniformly with other works from the pen 
of the same popular author. 

— We have received from G. P. Putnam & 
Co. a neatly-executed volume, entitled *' Hand 
Book for Americans in Europe." It was pre- ; 
pared by Dr. Rosewell Park, and embraces a 
vast amount of valuable information for the 
European traveller. It is the only book of the 
kind which we have in the country, and has 
been very much needed. It is got nn in a 
convenient form, and will hereafter, doubtless, 
fbnn an important item in the fit-out of over- 
flea wanderers. 

— Messre. Blanchard and Lea, of our city, 
have published, in a cheap form, Sam Slick's 
"Wise Saws and Modem Instances." The 
author has a world of admirers ; and justly, 
too, we think. 

— " A History of the French Protastant Re- 
fugees, from the Revocation of the Edict of 
Nantes to the Present Day," is the title of a \ 
work now in progress by Charless Wess. It ' 
daims to be the history of the three hundred 
thoQsand exiles who were driven out of France 
by the foolish bigotry of Louis XIV. A cor- 
respondent writing from Paris, states that the 
sttthor first describes their situation at home, 
their per8ecutk)n and its fatal results to France. 
He then Mows the refugees to their settle- 
aents in Germany, England, Holland, Swit- 
leriand, Denmark, Sweden, and in America ; 
sets forth the services they had rendered to 
the coontry of their adoption, and describes 
the eondition cf their desoendants to-day. 
Besides his own somewhat extenfdve re* 
lear^iesin France and abroad, Mr* Weiss has 

been permitted to make use of those made 
within the past two years, under the order of 
the Minister of Foreign Affairs, by French 
diplomatic agents, resident in the countries 
above-mentioned. Another extremely enter- 
taining book recently published in Paris, as a 
part of the cheap collection entitled Biblio* 
theque des Chemtns de Fer, is a selection of 
portraitures, opinions, personal anecdotes, 
etc., extracted literally from the celebrated 
Memoires du Due de St, Simon, 

— The splendid gallery of paintings left by 
Don Juan Nicasio Gallega, former President 
of the Academy of San Fernando, is to be 
shortly sold by public auction. 

— Victor Hugo is coming out with another 
pamphlet, entitled ** Belshazzar's Feast," a 
sequel to " Napoleon the Little." 

— " An Art Student in Munich" b^ a daugh- 
ter of Mary Howitt, has the followmg deeply 
interesting account of the casting of the col- 
ossal figure of Bavaria : — 

" Stiglmaver, the originator and director of 
thr Bronze Foundry, died in 1844^ just before 
the casting of the Bavaria began. His ne* 
phew, Ferdinnid Miller, full of youth, energy, 
patience, and experience, was ready to suc- 
ceed him. The castings took place at five 
different times, commencing with the head. 
This was cast in 1844. lu casting the bust 
of the figure — the largest portion — the great- 
est difficulty had to be encountered. It was 
necessary to melt for the purpose twenty tons 
of bronze, five tons more than had ever be- 
fore been melted in the furnace. As this im- 
mense mass of metal slowly began to fuse, it 
began also to cake,-^thus threatening to de- 
stroy not only the casting, but the whole fur- 
nace, with untold danger to life and limb. 
Six men had, in spite of the oppressive heat 
and the ever-increasing glow of the furnace, 
to take it by turns night and day incessantly 
to stir, with long iron bars, the molten mass, 
lest it should adhere to the furnace-walls, and 
so bring annihilation on all. On the evening 
of the fifth day of anxiety, when Ferdinand 
Miller for the first time sought a short repose 
in his chair, he was suddenly aroused by his 
faithful and anxious fellow-wather, his wife, 
with the cry of '* Ferdinand, awake! the 
foundry is on fire !" It was so. The ever- 
increasing heat of those five days and four 
nights had caused fire to burst n>rth among 
the rafters, To have attempted to extinguish 
the fire by water, with this molten mass be- 
low, would have caused the immediate de- 
struction <^ the place. All that could be 
done was, by means of wetted cloths, to ke^ 
down the fire. This was tried, and the melt^ 
ing went on as before. Amid such danger did 
the easting of the bust take place about mid- 
ni^t on the 11^ of October, 1845. << So^ 
eess 1" was ahouted Ibrtfa ; a load of anxi^ 



of many kinds Ml from ewery breast i and all 
then hastened to the complete extinguishing 
of the fire." 

— Lucky and unlucky days, are thus enumer- 
ated by an English writer: — 

" The third of September was a remarkable 
day to the English * Attila,' Oliver Cromwell. 
In 1650 he obtained a memorable victory at 
Dunbar on that day ; another at Worcester, 
1651, and on that day he died 1658. ^^ 

" Thursday was a fatal day to Henry Vlll. 
and also to his posterity. He died bn Thurs- 
day, January 2o. King Edward VI. on Thurs- 
day y July 6. Queen Mary on Thursday y No- 
vember 17. Queen Elizabeth on Thursday y 
March 24. 

" Elizabeth, the wife of Hennr VHI. was 
bom and died on the 11th of February. 

" Of Sir Kenelm Digby we are told in his 
Epitaph, composed by Farrar ; 

' Born on the day he died the 11th of Jnne, 
On which he hrftyely ibught at Scanderoon, 
'Till rare that one and self same day shonld be 
Hlfl day of birth, of death, of victory.' 

"Tuesday was a most eventful day with 
Thomas d Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury. 
Upon Tuesday the Peers sat against him at 
Northampton, on Tuesday he was banished, 
on Tuesday received at Pontiniac a forewarn- 
ing of his fate, on Tuesday returned from 
exile, on Tuesday was murdered before the 
altar at Canterbury, and on Tuesday was can- 

" Saturday was a lucky day to Hemy Vll. 
Upon that day he achieved the victory over 
Richard III. , on that day he entered the city ; 
and he himself always acknowledged he had 
experienced it fortunate. See his Life by 

" Wednesday is said to have been the for- 
tunate day of Pope Sixtus V. On Wednes- 
he was bom, on tnat day was made monk, on 
the same day was made Greneral of his Order, 
on that day also was successively created 
Cardinal, elected Pope, and also inaugerated. 

*• There was an old proverb that 

* When Easter fitll on our Lady's lap. 
Then let England beware a rap ' 

" Easter fell on March 25, the day alluded 
to, in 1459, when King Henry VI. was de- 
p(X9ed and murdered ; in 1638, when the Scot- 
tish troubles began, on which ensued the Great 
Rebellion in 1648-9, when Charles the First 
was beheaded. 

'*Aubr^ remarks that on May 29 King 
Charles II. was bom and restored to the 
throne : t^t Raphael d*Urbino, the famous 
painter, was bora and died on Good Friday, 
and that Charles V. was bora, crowned Em- 
peror, and won the battle of Pavia on the 2^^ 
of February. 

'' And so as Edmund moralises in King Lear 
— * This is the excellent foppery of the world ! 
that when we are sick in fortune (often the 

sui&it of our own behaviour), we makegail- 
ty of our disasters, the sua, the moon, and 
stars : as if we were villians on necessity ; 
fools by heavenly compulsion, knaves, thieves, 
and teachers by spherical predominance, 
drankards, liars, by an enforced obiedieoce oif 
planetary influence, and all that we are evil 
m, by a divine thrusting on !* " 

— The Inquirer the other day urged upon 
some enterprising man to get up a Hand*- 
Book of Philadelphia, and in consequence was 
furnished with a bare apology for a book of 
the kind, sometime since published, called, 
" Philadelphia as it is." We want a correct, 
reliable manual for every day use : a book, 
the object of which shall be to furnish stran- 
gers with a key to every part of the ci^ and 
districts ; not a mere imperfect outline of 
things, got up as a peg upon which to hang 

— T. B. Petbrson, a perfect steam-eogine g( 
a publisher, known all over the country by 
his " Yaller Kivers," has recently removed 
into a magnificent store, at 102 Chestnut 
street, where he is destined to acquire, if pos- 
sible, still wider fame, and larger fortunes. 
Mr. Peterson rose to his present eminence 
from the humblest beginnings as to capital, 
and will go on doubtless unto the end, a shin* 
ing example to the rising generati<m. We 
have received from him we may here add, 
" Flirtations in America," a book which has 
enjoyed no little favor from light readers; 
and which, really, possesses very decided 
merit. Apropos touching ** Top ;" he has 
given to the world one of the best ^' Tomi- 
tudes" we ever read, and it has had an im- 
mense circulation : we refer to the '* Cabin 
and Parlor." A correspondent informs us 
by the way, that this book is from the pen 
of Mr. Charles J. Peterson. We can very 
readily believe this, too, as it bears aU the 
marks of that gentleman's peculiar genius. 

— We have received from the publisher, Mr. 
Willis P. Hazard 198 Chestnut street, the 
** Presbyterian Quarterly Review," for June, 
which we shall read, and notice hereafter. 
It contains a large number of articles, which 
have a very inviting look. 

— " Taylor's Life of R. Surteee, Esq." con- 
tains the following : — 

** Mr. Surtees gave a copy of a border bal- ^ 
lad, ** on the feud between the Ridleys and 
Featherstonra," from the recitation of an old 
woman on Alston Moor, accompanied with 
gk)ssarial explanations and learaed historical 
notes to indentify the perscmages alluded to, 
and to determine the date of the transactioii. 
Scott was ddighted with this acoession to 
his collection, amd did not doubt the genuiiie- 
ness of the piece. It aooordin^y was intro- 
duced as a valuable gem of antiquity into the 



12th note to the first canto of Marmion, pub- 
liriied m the beginning of 1808, as fornished 
hj his fHend and correspondent, R. Snrtees, 
iaq. of Mainsforth. Now aU this was a mere 
fpiient, a sporty a froUc of an antiquary^s 
brain ! I It is proved by more than one copy 
being fonnd among his papers, corrected and 
interlined. The ivipositton was nrver ac- 
ienm^edged. In the Minstrelsy published in 
1831, the baUad of Featherstonhaugh still re- 
tains its place, with all its borrow^ plomes 
and fictitious air, undetected ! ! I 


—Mr. Qoodall, Madam JuUen, and " le petite 
Ole Bull," are still a feature of the attrac- 
tions of Wiser's Panorama, now exhibiting at 
Musical Fond Hall. They are an exceedingly 
ckrFer trio. The managers of this exhibition 
umonnce that their distribution of gifts will 
commence the present week. They number 
flome sixteen thousand, and are valued at fuU 
half that amount in dollars. Among them 
are the panorama, itself valued at $5,000, a 
splendid rosewood piano valued at $400, a 
guitar, a melodeon, three splendid gold 
witches, and many other things specified in 
an advertisement which appears in our pages. 
The exhibition of the Panorama will continue 
ontil the distribution closes. It is a painting 
well worth seeing, particularly as now shown 
at the spacious and beautiful saloon of the 
Mnsical Fund. 

— Mr. Perham's, distribution vras resumed 
last Monday morning, and closed finally on 
the evening of the 8th. Who has been the 
happy recepient of the new or of the old 
gins, including, the panorama, we don't 
now, when we pen these lines. It remains 
ibr us to state that the whole enterprise has 
hden conducted by Perham in the most liberal 
and honorable manner, and that whatever he 
hereafter presents to our citizens cannot fail 
to be well received. 

— The entertainments of the Sanford Opera 
Troupe at Concert Hall continue to be highly 
attractive. We learn they close for a season 
at the end of the next week ; to be resumed 
at the new Opera House of the clever and 
popular manager. This place is now being 
fitted np in Twelfth near Chestnut, and will, 
when completed, constitute one of the finest 
resorts in town. 

•* The exhibition of Paintings at the Acad- 
emy of Fine Arts, attracts an unusual num- 
ber of visitors daily. Upon the whole, we 
Uunk it 18 one of the best di^)lay8 we have 
bad for many years. We are pioinised a 
floowwhat mbmte critque on this exhibition, 
nd hope it will be fomished so that we ean 

commence it in our next number. There are 
some paintings prominently hung, which 
should have been placed in m<H*e objure posi- 
tions; while others of immense merit are thrust 
into comers, where their beauties are but 
faintly seen ; ** gems of purest ray serene" 
th^ waste their sweetness in gloom and 
shadow. But all these things will be proper- 
ly presented in good time. 


— The season is here; our citizens are pack- 
ing up ; they are preparing for a so^um at 
the different watering places. We wish them 
much happiness, and we doubt not they will 
get it if ihev select the proper localities. But 
what are those localities? By your leave, 
reader, we will name a few of them. 

— Cape May, —The Columbia House, kept by 
Harwood, is already open, and doubtless will 
have its usual complement of patrons. No 
establishment could be better ordered. The 
proprietor is a gentleman, and those who so- 
journ with him can never be subjected to 
vulgar associ^ons, too common at hotels 
both of ti^wn and country. He treats all his 
guests alike ; does not bestow frowns upon 
some and smiles upon others. He is, what a 
hotel -keeper should always be, viz. : courteous, 
cheerful, equable, impartial — particularly to 
those who foot up the bill promptly. 

— Perry County Warm Sprines. — ^This place, 
situated in one of the finest localities of our 
state, offers superior inducements to summer 
travellers the present season. The Hotel is 
under the direction of Mr. H. H. Etter, a 
gentleman who is admirably well calculated 
for the position. He had a large company 
with him last summer, all of whom were un- 
exceptionably well satisfied. The springs are 
on the banlcs of, and discharge themselves 
into, Sherman^s Creek ; a stream associated 
with the thrillmg scenes between the early 
settlers of that part of Pennsylvania and the 
Aborigines — whose hunting-grounds lay upon 
its margin. The waters* possess wonderful 
healing qualities, especially as bearing upon 
cutaneous diseases of all kinds. The bathing 
bouses are comfortably and conveniently ar- 
ranged. You reach the springs after a few 
hours ride — ^but for particulars on this point, 
as well as on others, we refer to Mr. E.^s cir- 
cular, published in our pages. 

— Florence. — Capt. Miller expects to have a 
large company at this place ; indeed we are 

* The foUovlofc is u> imlyfte of then waters, as Pant' 
ilhed bj an azpeiianced Chemist: — 

^ The water contains 9.2 grains of solid matter in the 
gallon, which in composed as fbUows: 

Oarbonaie of Lime, 3 J67 

•' of Magnesia 1.938 

Alkaline salts, chieflj chlorides with a portion 

ofsnlphate 1.098 

Silica 0.006 

Organic matter 2.897 




told a lar^ number of the roems at the si^en- 
did Pavilion on the hdghts are abeady en* 
gaged. The Captain may be found at the 
United States Hotel, of which he is now pro- 
prietor, and which he is rapidly restoring to 
Its old pre-eminence. 

— Beverley. — Joseph W. Griffith is still in 
command at Beveriy, on the Delaware. He 
makes all about him happy. Beverly is at a 
most convenient point for business men. It 
has fishing grounds, every inch of which we 
know ; and such grounds ! Have we not 
caught rock-fish and perch, on these grounds, 
by the hundred ? Ask the seine-men on the 
shore ; ask many a little boy who has, at a 
respectful distance, followed the '* cross man 
in the straw-hat^' and exclaimed, ''Jinks, 
what a whopper !^' as a two-pounder has been 
landed upon the wharf! 

— Yellow Springs, — Mrs. Neef presides here 
again the present summer, and of course will 
have her surroundings of youth, beauty, wit, 
p;race, &c. ; while there will be the old-fash- 
ioned representation of old codgers and their 
interesting better-halves. 

— Now, reader, so much for the watering- 
places. As will be seen, we have only spoken 
of those in our city's vicinity, and of which we 
personallv know. We may hereafter return 
to the subject, when we will discourse of Sa- 
ratoga, Newport, Niagara, the Virginia 
Springs, &c. All these will, doubtless, form 
pleasant subjects for summer reading. 


— With increased demand for the neccesities 
of life, accruing from increased population, 
and a proportionate enhancement of the value 
of all marketable commodities, adulteration of 
whatever can be and is worth adulterating, 
is proceeding at a pace which will presently 
demand Ic^slative interference. A potent 
agent is this chicory, which, in England, has 
lately been the subject of ridiculous legisla- 
tion : Parliament having settled differences on 
the matter by decreeixig that it may be sold 
in connexion with coi^, provide that the 
grocers (a very honest race of men) state the 
fact and proportions of the mixture on a label 
attached to each purchase. Everybody knows 
that chicory, in itseif, is scarcely a third the 
price of coffee : but evervbodv does not know, 
that it is not half as good, ana that it has some 
particularly intimate friends who are provided 
with a carte-blanche to follow it wherever it 
gains a footing — ^tliese are carrot, parsnip and 
mangel-wurzel roots f sliced and prepared in 
preasely the same manner as chicory itself. 
The eye can discover no difference in the ap- 
pearance, and people don't trouble themselves 
now*a-days with microscopes — the novelty of 
instrument having long since departed. In- 
deed, to do so, in this day of adulteration, 
would be equivalent to starvation, for what 

man could eat were he nicely to exanuRc? 
But let us defbnd the ground yet disputable, 
and not suffer the arch-traitor chicory to es- 
cape. As we lay hold of the monster, grim 
goblins with eyes of roasted wheat and bod- 
ies of mahogany sawdust start up and mock 
our efforts. Myriads of grocers too are in the 
vision — ^nor are they " dutchman all." Chic- 
ory, say these men with weak eyes, is qnitc as 
good as coffee : the addition is even improve- 
ment ; and further to defend the malpractice, 
it is pleaded that chicory is employed univers- 
ally abroad. France, Belgium, Germany, 
Prussia run glibly from their tongues ; but 
in these countries it happens to be used only 
by servants and poor people, for the mere sake 
of its cheapness. Away, if you will to the 
first tribunal in the world to settle this — ^the 
divan of the Turk* Qet the " man of ages" 
to swallow chicory — ah ! ah ! To open a new 
source of consumption for the woods of Hon- 
duras — ah I ah ! A pinch of chicory-powder 
is too gritty for a Turk's teeth— ah ! ah ! 
Tan powderf baked horses^ blood and buUotk^s 
liver were not made for him — ah ! ah ! Coffee 
is a berry, chicory is a root. This root is made 
up of cells enclosing not essential oil , but gum- 
my and saccharine matter. Tea, coffee, and 
cocoa, the three great non-alcoholic beverages 
used by mankind over nearly the whole world 
— all contain one and the same active princi- 
ple ; in tea called thein, and in coffee, coffein; 
to the presence of which they owe thar re- 
freshing and invigorating properties. Now, 
chicory does not possess a particle of this im- 
portant and essential principle, and so, what' 
ever may be its own mdependant properties, 
it is no proper substitute. Therefore, know 
all grocers, by these presents, Bizarre will not 
drink chicory. 


— Col. Wm. H. Maurice, 123 Chestnut St, 
gets highly complimented by the city editor 
of Scott s WeeJdy. From whence does he not 
receive kind words? Really, it would be 
difiicult to tell. Everywhere, in every call- 
ing, particularly among newspaper folks, the 
Colonel has friends. We nccKl not add that 
he deserves them all. His stock of station- 
ery was never better than at present. 

— Mr. Wm. T. Fry, No. 227 Arch Street, is 
sole importer of beautiful Tonbridge Wdls' 
ware. He is gjetting ready to remove into a 
neat and beautiful store opposite the one he 
now occupies. 

— The printing of Bizarrb is executed by 
Mr. Jamis H. fi&TSOK ; and we think may be 
pronounced a model in typographical el^eance. 
Mr. B. c<mtiaue8 to execute aU kinds of book 
and job printing at his rooms over our puUi- 
cation ofiSce, No. 4 Hart's Building, and at 
No. 2 North Sixth Street. 




This is the title of an old Duodecimo, Lon- 
don — 1668, before us. This curious produc- 
tion is divided into three parts. The first is 
entitled The Pearl of Practice^ being physical 
and chirirgical receipts. The second is The 
Queen*s Delight or the art of preserving, can- 
dying, Ac. The third is The Complete Cook, 
•* which." says the author, " hath had a 
general reception travelling up and down the 
kingdom and like the good Samaritan, giving 
comfort to all it met." 

Some of the quaint receipts of our ances- 
tors will excite a smile. We are gravely in- 
formed that the tooth of a dead man, carried 
about with one, presently suppresses the tooth- 

Major Long's receipt ** which he had used 
with a strange success," is as follows — 

<' For redness and shining of the nose, take 
a fair linen cloth, and in the morning lay it 
over the grass, and draw it over till it be wet 
with dew, then wring it out into a dish, and 
wet the &ce therewith as often as you please. 
As you wet, let it dry in. May dew is the 

A medicine for the plague sent to the Lord 
Mayor by the Queen : — 

'* Take of sage elder and red bramble leaves 
a little handful, stamp and bruise them toge- 
ther through a cloth, with a quart of white 
wine, then take a quantity of white wine 
vin^ar and mingle all together. Drink there- 
of, morning and night, a spoonful nine days 
together, and you shall be whole. There is 
no medicine more excellent than this : when 
the sore doth appear, then to take a cock 
chick and pull it, and hold it to the sore, and 
it will gape and labour for life, and in the end* 
die. Then take another, and so long as any 
one do die — for when the poison is quite drawn 
out, tiio chick will live — the sore presently 
will assuage and the party recover. Mr. 
WivioaT proved thisumm one of his own chil- 
dreny the thirteenth chick died, the fourteenth 
lired, and the party cured." 
^ We are not informed what are the wonder- 
ful virtues and properties of the ** Oil of 
Sifottoifs," but judging from the number of 
its ine;redients we should think it not less po- 
tent uian that compounded by the witches in 

" Take swallows as many as you can ge^" 
— this almost rivals Mrs. class's directions 
aboat catching your hare — ** put them quick 
into a mortar, and put to them lavendar, cot- 
ton, spike, camomile, knot-grass, ribwort, 
bahn, yalerian, rosemair tops, woodbine tops, 
strings of vines, French mallows, plaintam, 
walnut leaves, violet leaves, brook lime, moth- 
er of time, &c. &c. &c., put a quart of neat's 
foot oil, beat with cloves, and put them aU 
together in an earthem pot, stopt so close 
with a piece of dough that no air can escape. 

set them nine days in a ceUar, boil them ax 
or eight hours on the fire, but first put in 
half a pound of wax, and a pint of salad oil, 
and strain them through a linen cloth." 

We have not the space, or we would initiate 
our readers into the mysteries of concocting 
'^Hypocras. cordial water, and damnable 
hum, besides the Countess of Rutland's 
receipt for making a rare Banbury cake, and 
my Lord Conway 's for amber puddings. Dain- 
ty cheer we warrant for the Cavalier gour- 
mands of the day, and tempting enough to 
have converted the veriest Puritan, who, as 
Hudibras sings, would 

*' Qoarrel irith mtnce plet and dbpurage 
Tbeir beet uid dearait friend plum porridge, 
Fat pig and gooee itmlf oppose. 
And blaspheme cnstaid thro' the note. 


— Another effort poetic, comes to us anony- 
mously, and is as follows : 


In the fitr land of Palestine, 

Ainid its low and billowy idaina, 
HiU circled by the sacred vino. 

What wonder on the pilgrim gahis t 

For there, where streamlet onee hath been, 

Down-stooping as in mystic line, 
And swayisd by Inflnence nnroen, 

A c<Mnpany of palms incUne. 

And silll tho current's oourro they keep, 

That tmcelcss bed, fbr evermore ; 
Unchanged throuj^h countless winds may sweep, 

And coantor torrents downward pour. 

StOl, still that current's course they keep, 
With whose own life their life was blent, 

Though gently as a dream of sleep. 
It hither came, and roioelesa went. 

Oh ! it is not in passion's hour 
That heart to heart doth most Incline; 

Shall that low rippling fitream bare power. 
And loTe ensure no love of thine f 


— What is the origin of the belief in the luok 
of odd numbers ? A writer says he has heard 
it before commented upon, and the only origin 
assigned, that the belief in the value of num- 
bers is as old as creation ; and that of the re- 
markable recurrence of some numbers in the 
Bible, there is no doubt. Thus, seven days 
was the world in creation (and the Rabbis 
say that as it was seven days in creation, so 
will it endure seven thousand years, which 
idea coincides with the inference drawn by 
our own divines from the prophecies) ; there 
are seven notes in music, and seven prismatic 
colors ; seven times were the walls of Jericho 
encompassed; three days 'was Jonah in the 
beUy of the whale, typical of our Saviour's 
descent for three days into the grave : man, 
made in the image <^ Qod, consists of three 



parts, body, soul, and mind; the Sacred 
Trinity consists of three persons. Of the even 
numbers in the Bible which are favored, forty 
and twelve are remarkable ; forty days was 
Moses in the mount, forty days the Saviour * 
in his temptations ; twelve was the number 
of the tribes ; and twelve the number of the 

But in our creed of popular superstition, 
the number nine appears to take the place 
held by the mystic seven in biblical litera- 
ture. It is still pretty generally believed, 
among the uneducated community, that every 
nine years some great change takes place in a 
man's life, and the square, (81,) constitutes 
the grand climacteric, which once passed, 
there is no knowing where a man may stop. 
The eleventh chapter 6f Master Heydon's 
Holy Guide London, 1G62 treats of the va- 
rious properties of this wonderful figure, 
" how that bv nine Julius Caesar called up 
spirits and did what he pleased : how Gal- 
leron, by nine, went invisible, and had the 
society of a familiar genius.^' and divers other 
notable instances no less wonderful than ver- 
acious. In the holy wells in England, it was 
customary to dip the afflicted nine times for 
nine mornings successively. The familiar 
phrase •* a nine days wonder," and the nine 
lives popularly allowed to the race feline, are 
everjr-day instances of its use. Certain cu- 
rious mathematical properties of this num- 
ber, no doubt, origmaUy brought it into 


— Our old and valued correspondent, "H 
Penseroso," translates for us the following 
about childhood : 

«* What a rich treasure of delight has boun- 
tiful Nature offered to men of an appreciative 
mind ! Who can count the numberless shades 
it casts over different individuals and dif- 
ferent ages of life! The confused remem- 
brance of scenes of my childhood even now 
thrill me. Shall I try to paint youth, youth, 
when its heart first bums with the fires of 
sentiment ? In that happy age, when we are 
still ignorant of all but the name of inter- 
est, of ambition, of hatred, and of all the des- 
picable passions that degrade and torture hu- 
manity ? During this period — alas ! so fleet- 
ing — ^thc sun pours forth his rays with a 
splendor unknown in the rest of his existence. 
The air is more balmy, the fountains more 
limpid and reflecting ; nature wears a beauty, 
the groves have paths, that the hand of time 
screens in after years from his view. What 

6;rfumes are sent forth from every flower! 
ow delicious are the fruits ! In what bril- 
liancy of blue does the dawn robe herself! 
All women are amiable and true, — all men 
are good, generous and sensible: we meet 
everywhere with cordiality, candor, and dis- 

interestedness. Nature only gives birth to 
flowers, virtues and pleasures. 

Do not the cares of love and the hope of 
happiness make the heart overflow with sen- 
sations as lively as they are varied? The 
contemplation of nature's pageant as a whole, 
and in its details, opens to the reason an im- 
mense and pleasant scope. Soon imagination, 
floating over this ccean of gratifications, aug- 
ments their number and intensity ; different 
feelings unite and form new ones : dreams of 
glory mingle with the palpitations of love ; 
beneficence walks hand in hand with self love; 
melancholy comes, from time to time, casting 
her solemn pall over us, but changing our 
tears into pleasures, and the perceptions of the 
mind, the sensations of the heart, even the 
recollections of the senses, are for man ex- 
haustless sources of happiness." 


Some of the ** Chevaliers d*industrie," of 
Paris, are coming over to att^id the exhibi- 
tion of the industry of all nations at New 

Santa Anna has proscribed all the Mexican 
officers that surrendered to General Scott, but 
has not determined what shall be done with 
those who followed his own illustrious ex- 
ample, and ran away, 

Louis Napoleon seems very anxious to have 
*01d Nap' buried with theold foundersof dynas- 
ties. It would not be surprising if he (Louis) 
were to make a die nasty, some of these days 

— As cambric handkerchiefs can be had at 
all prices from ** a fip" upwards, we re^)ect- 
fully suggest that all who have wept over the 
miseries of ** Uncle Tom" provide themselves 
in time to be ready for Mrs. Stowe's next 
book, '* aunt Emmy's hovel," and after that 
*' The latch string to the door of aunt Emmy's 


— A black-guard, ** says the great Dr. John- 
son, is a cant word among the vulgar, by 
which is implied a dirty fellow of the mean- 
est kind." The derivation of this word is in- 
volved in some obecurity. In H. Hotpord's 
Defcnsitive, 1583, occurs the following pas- 
sage : — " as the blessed angels are minister- 
ing spirits, so the devil and his black-guards 
are the means and instruments whi(£ God 
hath used and employed in all times, either 
for the trial of the godly or chastisement of 
the wicked." Again in StanikurVs Descrip- 
tion of Ireland : " They are taken for no bet- 
ter than rake-hells, or the devils blade- 
guards." "A lamentable case," says Pul- 
ler, " that the devil's black-guard should be 
God's soldier's." From these instances the 
word would seem to signify " a fit attendant 
on the Devil." 



WBAX lAT TOO, MaDOAP?"— /brfuAOT. 




"Mm taaMtiMlly Intempente. JobUj fiyrMk the esteem 
of tiMdr fellow-ciUieiM ; becanee they di«qiudJUy ihemselTee 
tot every daty."— BexmE. 

Our Story is laid in the city of Philadel- 
phia : the time, the year 1831. — 

Into a room, or what may more properly 
be called a kitchen, we introduce our rea- 
ders. All kitchens are alike, inasmuch as 
the Tarious articles used for cooking purposes 
strongly resemble each other ; yet is there a 
marked diflerence in the quality of such in- 
struments, the nature of which it is useless 
for us to discuss here. One important feature 
howerer we must notice, differing as it does 
from that which now distinguishes our nood- 
eni kitchens ; and that was, instead of a range 
of iron work with numerous little doors, and 
ovens, which are now used for cooking pur- 
pofies. an old fashioned fire place, wi(h hugh 
togs of wood, blazing and crackling, graced 
tl^ department, to which we here introduce 
our readers. Beside that fire, on the evening 
in (question sat two persons whom we shall 
distmguish by name, Peter and Margaret. 
They were engaged in, seemingly a very in- 
tere^ing conversation, which we shall take 
Qp at a particular point, as it forms the be- 
ginning of our story. 

" Now Maggy dear, do not pout so, let us 
be friends at least. Why do you look so mel- 
ancholy, so woe-begone, have 1 done any thing 
to provoke all thisl 

"No, Peter, indeed you have not, but I am 
very k>w-spirited, I nave had dreams of a 
most " 

*' Pooh ! pooh ! is that all, I see how it is, 
Queen Mab has been with you." 

'' I know nothing of Queen Mab, but this I 
do know that a huge sender crossed my path 
not an boar ago, and then the death watch 
vac heard in my room the live lon^ night." 

** Nonsense, you are as superstitious as an 
Astiokiger — good gracious Maggy what is 
that?" Peter started up with a most tragic 
expression tm his face, uid gazed, as if fear- 
foUy alarmed into a remote part of the room. 
Maggy, whom oar readers will recognise as 
one M those whose minds are imbued with 
the q>irit of the age — superstition, sprang 
into the arms of Peter, and looking in the 

direction of his fixed gaze, trembling asked 
-t-** what is it Peter." That cunning fellow, 
having gained the point aimed at. of having 
the girl he really loved, in his arms, laughing- 
ly replied — ** Nothing Maggy." 

" How you scared me Peter, but, I know 
something dreadful is going to happen. At 
supper 1 spilt all the salt, and put the loaf of 
bread flat side up, and then the watch dog 
howled all the live long night and the cricket 
on the hearth, chirped the dead march in 

*' Yes I know all these things occur, and 
hark do you not hear the lone cricket now? — 
poor thing, it is a housdiold word, for death 

" Hush Peter, you make me shudder " 

** Well now drop this nonsense, let us talk 
of our marriage !" 

** Ah Peter this is asad world." 

" But our marriage ?" 

"Full of sorrow.^ 

« Our wedding day." 

*« Tribulation and wo !" 

"Our " 

" Marriage Peter, eh, yes, listen Peter, that 
cannot take place until 1 try two or three 
charms : it would be to brave fate itself— it 
would be to doubt the potency of spdls, and 
conjurations, were we to marry without test- 
ing their efficacy, and then Peter I want to 
ascertain if our marriage (as marriages are 
said to be,) was made in heaven." 

'*In heaven! Why Maggy, there mar- 
riages should end. But don't jest with me — 
to jest in matters of love is downright mur- 
der !" 

" I do not jest Peter, but our marriage can- 
not take place until I tiy two channs at 

"What are they?" 

" Hark, I hear Mrs. Vernon on the stairs, 
poor lady. " 

" Why do you call her poor lady? Is she 
not rich?" 

" It was, Peter, an unfortunate match, as 
all matches are, that are not sanctioned by 
the stars." 

"Why what are you talking about? Is 
not Mr. Vernon, a gentleman rich, talented, 
and handsome? does he not, too, treat his 
wife and children, and that orphan girl most 
kindly ? This is another of your superstitious 

" Well, so he is, all this— but listen— what 
kind of company does he keep — have you not 
seen him frequently in liquor? and then the 
company he keeps, can such things last long 
Peter ?''^ 

" Why Maggy I must confess, there is 
some truth in what you say ; but that, you 
Imow, is none of our bnnness ; and vet are 
not our interests linked with those of the Ver^ 
noD^s, indeed Maggy I dioald bevery sorry if 



the condnct of Mr. Vernon should inT^dre his 
DOW happy family in ruin and misery." 

'* So should I — Peter remore that winding 
sheet from the candle— quick — and hark, did 
you not hear the death watch."? ? ' 

" No, hut I hear the hdl." 


'* Of when w« swallow wIda, 
Tnioxlrating wine, we drink damnaUon : 
Ki^ed we rtand the pport of mocking flends* 
Who grin to lae oar DoUe nature yanquish'd, 
Subdued to beasts." 

C. Johmon'a Wife Heick. 

We now convey our readers to quite a dif- 
ferent scene, and in doing so, place before 
kbem the various characters who figure in 
our story, we beg them to examine tnirefully 
the motives, and characteristics of all of them 
separately, as we do not purpose to give their 
hidden acts to the light, out to let all of them 
gradually speak, aiKl explain their actions as 
we proceed. Our secona scene in the drama, 
opens in a public room of a Hotel, one of those 
fashionable drinking houses, which custom 
dignifta with the title of ** necessary evils," 
a file imposition on human life, and an ex- 
cuse for crime. At a table, filled with hot* 
ties and glasses, and a few delicacies artistical- 
ly fikshioncd for the stomach, sat two gentle- 
men. One was about thirty years of a^, ex- 
tremely handsome, and fashionably, if not 
d^uitfy dressed. The other was seemingly 
some ten year older ; he was equally well 
^othed, but around and about him, there was 
an air of inelegance, the absence as it were of 
good breeding, which at all times betrays the 
parvenu, if not the villian. They had evi- 
dently discussed the choicest portions of their 
fiire, and wei« now deeply enga^ in conver- 
sation. The younger of the two, in reply to 
some remark from the other, j^bserved : — 

<« I cannot see the necessity." 

** Are you so blind ? what have you at 
oommand to keep up that appearanceof wealth , 
the world thinks you possess." 

** Well, I may yet. My wife was considet^ 
ed the old man s heiress, and the will which 
was said to have been made — " 

** Was lost, that is admitting that such a 
will ever existed." 

*'It did exist, and we were wedded^" 

<* Aye, and that false beacon which shone 
arownd the dawn, and close of your honey- 
moon, has gone out, and all again is dark, is it 
not 80? 

« I must adndt, that my position is a folse 
one, and I cannot much longer maintain my 
•taiion in society in which name and supposed 
wealth have placed me. What am I to do?" 

** Sign this paper ? 

«« What is its character ?" 

** A compael a mere form, asortof oa*pirt- 

nership. Look here Vernon, there is no use 
of disguise ; I am a swindler ! nay start not, 
but listen — ^I belong to a gang, or more pro- 
perly speaking an association of men, whose 
schemes, and whose plans are so well matured 
and laid, that detection is impossible. The 
ramifications of the order are many, and in- 
tricate, stupendous! may say, for the amowit 
of our floating capital is upwards of one mil- 
of dollars !" 

" But I do not understand—" 

«* Listen— closer, there are several men in 
yonder recess, one of whom seems as if he 
were watching our motions, come closer — ^we 
are not actually robbers, properly speaking, 
we are speculators on popular credulity. 
Credit the great commercial swindler of the 
world, the incubus upon all honest trade, and 
Intimate business transactions, has of late < 
b«n reduced to a science, to attain a know- 
ledge of which for the purpose of gain, the 
swindler, as well as tbe honest trader applies 
himself most assiduously. We have reduced 
it to a science which baffles all, and laughs at 
what fools call and justice. Credit therefore 
under this new order of things has become so 
easy, that men, with but limited means, can 
obtain goods without difficulty in the various 
cities of the Union. With us means are but 
a secondary consideration ; all that we wai^t is 
a refirencc, 


*' A reference : a man of some standing, aome 
wealth, one who is known and whose word 
has not vet been questioned. For tJu cihf 
of Philaaelphiaf tee want you! do yoo nnder- 

" Gracious heavens ! and you want me to 

** A reference merely, the payment will be 
liberal, and prompt." 

*'And you, you Maitland, ask this of 

"Why not — Waiter, bring us more wine. 
Is it not a mere business transaction ? The 
goods are purchased on youf recommendatiai, 
are sent out West, they are sold on joint stock 
account, and the first mvoice paid up prompt- 
ly, at the maturity of the notes. You of 
course are then exonerated from any after 
transactions. Our next purchase is made 
predicted on your first statement, and our 
punctuality in payment ; now whether the 
parties ever get the proceeds of the second 
purchase depends altogether on cmsumstan- 
ces— " 

'* A light breaks npon me, I comprehend it 

** That is well— by the way let that pass 
for the present, here is wine. How oomes on 
my Alice, my daughter as I call her, indeed 
Vernon I owe your charming wife much for 
the care «he has taken of her." 

" Adeline lores her as if dw were bw own. 




Indeed she iB a cbftrming girl. But yon have 
iKTcr told me her history, Maitland f" 

" Some day I will, bnt not now: by the way 
is there not a yonng artist a frequent visitor 
at your house r' 

" You mean Howard ?" 

"Yes, — ^here is health to Mrs. Vernon— 
come, drink that, and then to a matter of bus- 
iness. Is tHbe not a Judgment out against 
you Vernon? 

*• You torture me, come let me pledge you 
in this, ah ! sparkling, glorious wine." 

" I did not mean to offend, but to assist ; if 
you refuse a friend, why, go your ways. This 
wine is indeed charming--4ook Vernon ! 

Vernon gazed for a mdment on the face of 
his companion, and in an under tone observed 
"Maidand, I will think of this; my affairs are 
indeed desperate, and the cursed influence of 
liquor is mastering body and soul ; even the 
bnghtness of intellect pales before its baneful 
power. Look at this glass Maitland ; see how 
Its contents glare and sparkle like the bright 
dew drops on an openmg flower. Look at 
these seeming gems glistening as it were on 
the peTludd stream. Thcr look indeed like 
diamonds, and yet how deceptive all! Be- 
neath the clean surface lies embedded a fiend 
of Hell : around and about it hissing serpents 
twine their ever changing forms, and basilisk 
like, charm the gazer to his ruin ! See, now 
as I raise the elass, there beneath that little 
ripple — ^look, Maitland, do you not see two 
fiery eyes? how they glare! back monster ! 
bacK, thou foe of man, thou fiend of ruin, of 
crime — of hell — ^back — ^back ! ' ' Gradually as 
he recedes, he raises the glass to his lips, his 
whole form becomes tremulous with emotion, 
and even while his fixed eyes are on the glass, 
he swallows its contents, and falls back with 
a convulsive movement, upon the chair. 

" Well, upon my word Vernon ; but you 
did it well, for having pictured a devil, you 
have swallowed him whole !" 

** What !*' exclaimed the half frantic man, 
•* did I swallow the contents of that glass — 
an— every thine ?" 

" Pmne wine boy, nothing else ; but now to 

" No — ^no— not now, to morrow — to mor- 

*• Weil, I win leave you now, I may call at 
your house sometime during the evemng, un- 
til then fiurewell, — rememba* !" 

** Thank heaven ! he is gone. what a 
gulf is cjen to swallow me ! Would I were 
now to me and end this torture ; but no, my 
wife, my children, what will become of them? 
This man, this fiend, has woven around me a 
wd> of crime. Why is it that I permit him 
thus to insult. — and lead me on to ruin ? He 
has confessed his conneetion with a gang of 
swindlorB. The mjrsteryof his life is now 
made clear I cannot shake him off— I am 

weak, miserably so. What am I to do — 
which way to turn ? — madness, madness ! 
The wretched man covered his face with his 
hands, and wept, not loud, but he wept, 
tears of passion, rather than those of repen- 

We have already spoken of another party, 
who were seated at a table in a sort of recess, 
and whose business seemed to be of a very 
different character from that of drinking. On 
the table lay numerous papers, plans, and 
various kinds of mathematical instruments. 
The man already alluded to, as having cast his 
eyes occasionally toward where Maitland and 
Vernon were seated, now arose and crossing 
the room approached the place where the lat- 
tar was sitting, as we have already described. 
He stood beside him for a moment, then pla- 
cing his hand upon his shoulder, he thus ad- 
dressed him : — 

** Excuse me sir, will you permit me to ask 
you a question ?" 

" Certainly Sir — if it be not an impertinent 

" Was that not Mr. Maitland, who a few 
moments ago left this room ?" 

Vernon gazed upon the person who thus 
spoke. There was nothing m his apoearance 
to create an idea of his being an officer ; on 
the contrary, he looked, as indeed he was, a 
mechanic. Having viewed him from head 
to foot, Vernon answered in a quiet manner, 
it was. 

"Indeed, I thought so." 

"Well, Sir, what is that to me?" 

" Much Mr. Vernon — ^you see I know you 
too, and excuse mc, respect you Sir — I am a 
mechanic, humble it is true, but even a poor 
worm can be of service to something." 

"WeU, Sir? 

" Have a moments patience, ISr. You seem 
afflcted — ^Excuse me — I am a plain man — but, 
sir, your afflction, whatever it may be, can- 
not, no — never can it be alleviated, by the 
wretch who has just left you. ' 

" A wretch ! beware. Sir !" 

"Aye, Sir, that's the word, — Beware of 
him ! were it not for a dying father's request, 
were it not that beside his denth bed I swore 
anoaih — the crimes of that man, ere this, 
would have been partly expiated in a prison." 

" What is this to me ?'^ 

" Much — ^if yon will take my advice — ^noth- 
ing if you refuse it. I, Sir, have known sor- 
row. My domestic hearth has been made sad 
and lonesome by the absence of one whose 
bright smile and gay laugh made all around 
joyous and happy, and death's shadow rested 
there, I — I — would not have mourned, and 
suffered, — Excuse me Mr. Vernon, my pur- 
pose is simply to serve you,— and that man-^ 
that Maitland — take tins card." 

"There is a name on it. Yours, I pre- 



" It is. That Dame is a talisman ; at least 
it wiU be as one for 700. If that wretch, 
should ever presume on his power over you, 
or threaten you — show him that card. Watch 
his countenance when he reads the name. 
Observe him well, and mark its effects — fare- 
well, Sir. My task is ended. One word how- 
ever. Wine Mr. Vernon can never assuage 
grief— liquor can never quench thirst." Ere 
Vernon could say more, or ask for further in- 
formation, the man had disappeared. 

" Strange," he muttered — " I listened to 
that man as if he were my guardian angel. 
Honest, upright, and iust, he awed me into 
fear of myself. But this card, a mere name 
— Jokn W. Gilbert, Carpenter. ** I will keep 
it, tiie time ma^ come when I shall have oc- 
casion to try its power." He arose as he 
spoke, and mechanically seized the bottle. 
For a moment he hesitated: — then calmly 
idacing it on the table, he murmured as he 
left the place. **Wine can nevet assuage 
grief; liquor can never quench thirst. 

Chapter in. 


** For nothing lotUer ean be i>inid 
UiAO to ftadj bonaehold good.** 


It was a family scene. El^noe, and all 
that wealth can gather around the fireside, 
were there ; nor was it alone the richness of 
ftimiture nor the gorgeousnrss of tapestry, 
that made the scene more like one of enchant- 
ment, than of reality ; but of the industry, 
and rational amusement, in which the sevend 
inmates of that room were engaged, at the 
precise moment, we introduce the reader to 
them. An old gray haired man, was seated 
at a table instructing two children in their 
letters: a lovdy woman was superintending the 
labor of two charming girls, who seemed very 
anxious to please their instructress. At a 
centre table, busily engaged with pencil and 
paper evidently making a copy of some stric- 
ture, was seated a young man whose name 
has already been mentioned, as Howard, the 
artist. He was evidently not more than twen- 
ty-two vears of age. Elegant in person, 
l)eautiful in fikce, he sat there a living embodi- 
ment of Apollo. The youug lady, at least 
the oldest oi the two, we have mentioned, was 
a specimen of female lovliness ; h«r rich au- 
burn hair hung in ringlets around a neck as 
white as the purest alabaster, and as perfect 
as angds necks are ; indeed were it not that a 
rich tint of pure virgin blood occasionally 
mantled her cheeks, and bosom, she might 
have been Uken'd to those seraphs we read of 
in the woriu of poetic fancy. Her compan- 
ion, was some six years younger, and yet 
their united ages, could not have been more 
than twenty-one years. 

*' There, Anna dear, too have droimed a 
stitch." This was spoken by the eider of 
the three, to the younger. 

<' I will take it up mother, or at least 111 

'< Do so my darling, and be more careful. 
And Alice, how slow you get on with that 
embroidery, I am afraid your eyes are more 
engaged off, than on your work.*^' 

" ni work faster ma*am." 

" And why not call me mother, Alice ?" 

'* Because, because I feel, as if I had do 
claim to call any one by that sweet and holy 

* You have a claim, that of an orphan, — 
Alice, call me mother." 

" I wiU, I will." 

Let us approach the table of the gentleman 
and his noisy pupils. 

** Now Robept, let me teach you one other 
precept from this good Book ." 

" What is it, grand Pa ?" 

" Listen : and you James, lay aside your 
slate. '* Flower's arc to the earth what chil- 
dren are to their parents, beauteous, lovely, 
and good." 

<'Am I not good, grandpa? are we not 
both good to night" 

" To night, my children, you are indeed 
good ; but there are times you are inclined to 
be bad. That is by not obeying your parents; 
by pouting, crying and teasing. These are 
qualities, you, my dear children, should not 
possess, because, both of you are old enough 
to distinguish the good from the bad. The 
writer in that book says children are as 
flowers,* — so they are in sig;ht of God, for 
children are the it>ses of Paridise. How beau- 
tiful that is. In manhood truth and religion 
are the flowers that strew the pathway to 
heaven. My dear children, when, like me, 
you grow old, yon will look back as I do 
through a long vista of years, and regret as I 
do the many bright and lovely things cast 
away, for ^ mere bo^sh fiincy of some less 
holier, and impure object." 

"Grand Pa,T^ard Mr. Howard say the 
other day that the growth of plants was ac- 
companied with music. '< Is tliat not beauti- 
ful ?^' 

*• Indeed it is." 

" mother," exclaimed the delighted boy, 
'< do get Mr. Howard to tdl you ail about the 
music of nature." 

** What is this beautiful theory of yoore 
Mr. Howard ?" asked the old eentleman." 

** It is no theory of mine Mr. St. Clair, I 
was reading an article on music the other day, 
and found the idea incorporated in it. Sooe 
which I came across an oid book upwards of 
two hundred years old, and the same idea is 
advanced in it." 

'* A book, two hundred years old — bow I 
should like to see it !" 



"Indeed Alice, so would I— remarked Bir. 
St aair." 

•*Then gratify jour curiosity, for there it 

A rush was made for the rare work and 
eagerly all hands had h6id of it 

" Indeed," observed Mr. St. Clair, but this 
is a rare work. Here I hold a book, upon 
whom all that were engaged have passed 
away like shadows, — dust — dust — And this 
mnains ! wonderful is art — eternity is natur* 

Howard, now took up the book, and re- 
queBtine all to be seated, sought the passage 
to which he had alluded — 

•• It was Plato I think who advanced the 
theory that the moving of planets was ac- 
eompanied with music. I was telling Alice 
the other day, that in all created things there 
was music, and that in the very growth of 
plants a pccular sound could be heard. Con- 
nected with the simple plant of the ♦* Wild 
Mandrake, there is a beautiful allegorical le- 
gend ; indeed it can scarcely be called so, for 
its formation gives the means of producing 
sounds, which its botanical classification fully 
explains.* It is said to breathe fonh at 
certain times the most plaintive sounds and 
mdancholy moans, indicative of pain and suf- 
fiaring. It is also said to utter, as it were, a 
wild shriek, if rudely torn from the earth. I 
menticm this, not as my belief, but merely for 
the poetic beauty of the legend, as I am in 
possession of no proof of its having any 
fimndation in truth." 

" How beautiful it is: I should like to try 
Uic experiment," exclaimed Robert. 

" No my dear boy, never destroy any thing 
that is of use or ornament for mere idle cur- 
iosity. That there is music allied to created 
things music of a wild, and yet harmonious 
character, I do not question : all things speak 
it— <all things proclaim it. Mr Howard will 
now read from that old book the passage 
spoken of. " At the request of Mr. St, Clair, 
Mr. Howard selected out the lines relative to 
the music of the spheres — and read : — 

"In another place of Greece there is a 
round close valley, encompassed with exceed- 
ing high hills : only on one side there is a nar- 
row entrance into it, and through the middest 
of it niunes a delicate streame : by the banke 
of which if a man stand, he shall as perfectly 
beure the musicke of the spheres, as if he 
were amongst them ; and the cause of this, 
br the inhabitants is thought to be the heigh th 
or the bills: which keeping in the sound, and 
Iniii^ng it down to the water, does by an 
aerial resultancy produce a most a reciprocall 
rewesentation of the divine harmonic.^' t 

Howard had scarcely finished the reading 

•lAtio rignUaitloo, 8m PodopbyUam. 
f TexDoUinia, Ixmdon 1630. 

of this passage when a servant announced 
"Mr. Maitland:" the effect of that name 
upon the countenances of all, was evident. 
Mrs. Vernon was perhaps the most collected, 
and telling the servant to show him into 
another room, she followed to receive him. 
The interview must commence the chapter. 

(GoDtinoed io number 87.) 


I once had a friend, but death has deprived 
me of him, seizing him in the beginning of 
his career, at the moment when his friendship 
had become a pressing need to my heart. — 
We mutually sustained each other in the pain- 
ful fati^e of war. We had but one pipe, one 
cup and one bed ; and in the unfortunate cir- 
cumstances that surrounded us, the place we 
inhabited together seemed another fatherland. 
I have seen him exposed to all the perils of a 
war, and of one most disastrous. Death 
seemed to spare us for each other : a thousand 
times his arrows fell harmless around him, 
but it was only to make me more sensible of 
his loss. The tumult of arms, the enthusi- 
asm of the soul at the sieht of danger, mi^t 
perchance have prevented his cries from reach- 
ing my heart. His death would have been 
useful to his country and a source of sorrow 
to his enemies. Even I would then have re- 
gretted him less. But to lose him among the 
pleasures of winter quarters — to see him ex- 
pire in my arms when he appeared full of 
health, when our bond of unity was drawn 
close again by tranquility and repose ! Alas ! 
I shall never console myself. But his memo- 
ry only lives in my heart ; it exists no longer 
among those who surround him, and have re- 
placed him : and it is this thought that makes 
the knowledge of his loss more painAil to me. 

Nature, alike indifferent to the fate of in- 
dividuals, puts on again the brilliancy of 
Spring, and adorns herself with all her charms 
around the country where he sleeps. The 
trees cover themsevea with their leaves and 
intertwine their branches ; the birds sing be- 
neath their shade ; the bees hum among the 
flowers : every thing breathes joy and life in 
the dwelling-place of death : and in the even- 
ing, when the moon is brieht in the heaven, 
and I meditate near that sad place, I hear the 
cricket gaily chirp from among the grass tops 
on my friend ^s tomb. The unnoticed destruc- 
tion of beings and all the sorrows that belong 
to humanity are counted as nothing in the 
great whole. The death of an intelligent 
man, who expires among the friends whose 
hearts he desolates, and that of a butterfly 
perishing in the calix of a flower from the 
cold morning air, are like two sparks in the 



course of Nature. Man is nothing but a 
phantom, a shade, a mist that is lost in air. 

But the dawn begins to blanch the skies ; 
the dark thoughts that agitated me are disap- 
pearing with Uie night, and hope again lives 
m my bosom. No, He that fills the east with 
light, has not called forth such brightness to 
plunge me into the night of non-existence. 
He that has stretched around the immeasura- 
ble horizon — who has raised alofl these enor- 
mous masses, whose icy summits are gilded 
bj the sun, is the same being who has com- 
manded my heart to beat and my mind to ex- 
ercise its percepttons. 

No ; my friend has not lost himself in non- 
existence ; whatever may be the barrier that 
separates us, I shall see him once more. I do 
not found my hope upon a syllogism; the 
flight of an insect through the air suffices to 
persuade me of it ; and often the appearance 
of the country, the perfumes of the breezes, 
and some unknown charm around me, so ele- 
vates my thoughts that an invincible convic- 
tion of the truth of immortality enters my 
soul and fills it with devotion. 

^400RS ivieivioiRS, &o. 
— ^The Appletons of New York have pub- 
lished the fourth and fifth parts of this work ; 
from which we glean some interesting ex- 
tracts : 

" Left Padua at twelve, and arrived at Lord 
Byron's country house. La Mira, near Fusina, 
at two. He was but just up and in his bath ; 
soon came down to me ; nrst time we have 
met these five years ; grown fat, which spoils 
the picturesqueness of his head. The Countess 
Guiccioli, whom he followed to Ravenna, came 
from thence with him to Venice, by the con- 
sent, it appears, of her husband, Found him 
in high spirits and full of his usual frolick- 
some gaiety. He insisted upon my making 
use of his house at Venice while I stay, but 
coulil not himself leave the Ouiccioli. He 
drest and we set ofF together in my carriage 
for Venice ; a glorious sunset when we em- 
barked at Fusina in a gondola, and the view 
of Venice and the distant Alps (some of which 
had snow on them, reddening with the last 
light) was magnificent ; but my companion's 
conversation, which, though highly ludicrous 
and amusing, was anything but romantic, 
threw my mmd and imagination into a mood 
not at all agreeable with the scene. Arrived 
at his palace on the Grand Canal, (he having 
first made the gondolier row round in order 
to give me a sight of the Piazetta,) where he 
gave orders with the utmost anxiety and good 
nature for my accommodation, and dispatched 
persons in search of a laquais de.pUice, and 
his friend Mr. Scott, to give me in charge to. 

No Opera this eveoing.. He <nrdered dinner 
from a traiteur's, and stopped to dine with 
me. Had much curious conversation with 
him about his wife before Scott arrived. He 
has wtitten his menx>irs. and is continuing 
them ; thinks of goin^ and purchasing lands 
under the Patriotic Government in South 
America. Milch talk about Don Juan : he is 
writing a third canto ; the Duke of Welling- 
ton ; his taking so much money ; gives in- 
stances of disinterested men, Epaminondas, 
&c., &c., down to Pitt himself, wno, 

" As minister of atste, is 
Benoimed for ruining Great Britain gntlB.** 

"Dined with Lord B. at the Pellegrina 
What the husband wants is for Lord B. to 
lend him 10002. at five per cent. ; that is, 
give it to him ; though ne talks of giving 
security, and says in anj' other way it would 
be an cnivilimento to him ! Scott joined us 
in the evening, and brought me a copv of the 
Italian translation of *' Lalla Rookh.^' Lord 
B., Scott says, getting fond of numey: he 
keeps a box into which he occasionally puts 
sequins ; he has now collected about 300, and 
his great delight, Scott tells me, is to open 
the box, and contemplate his store.*' 

Byron, it seems, spoke slightingly of ^aks- 
peare ; at any rate Moore says of him, when 
alludine to the comedie^ of ** Ariosto :** 

** This puts me in mind of Lord Byron 
sajing to me the other day, * What do you 
think of Shakspearo, Moore ? I think him a 
damned humbug.' Not the first time I haw 
heard him speak slightingly of Shakspeare." 

Byron, it seems always went armed ; but for 

for what, is not stated. Moore says told 


" That, one day, travelling from Newstead 
to town with Lord Byron in his vis- a* vis, the 
latter kept his pistols beside him, and contin- 
ued silent for hours, with the most ferocioas 
expression possible on his countenance. * For 

God's sake, my dear B. (said W at last,) 

what are you thinking of? Are you about to 
commit murder: or what other dreadful 
thing are you meditating ?' To which B. an- 
swei^, that he always had a sort of pres^t- 
iment that his own life would be attacked 
some time or other ; and that this was the 
reason of his always going armed, as it was 
also the subject of his thoughts at that mo- 

If Wordsworth was to be believed, Byron 
plagiarized from him. 

**27th. Wordsworth came at half past 
eight, and stopped to breakfast. Talked a 
good deal. Spoke of B}Ton*s plagiarisms 
from him ; the whole third canto of * Childe 
Harold' founded on his style and sentiments. 
The feeling of natural objects which is there 
expressed, not caught by B. from nature her- 
self, but from him (Wordsworth), and spoiled 



in tbe tnmsmissioii. 'Tintern Abbey,' the 
80«irce of it all ; from which same poem too, 
tbe celebrated passage about Solitude, in the 
first canto of ' Childe Harold,' is, (he said,) 
taken, with this differenoe, that what is na- 
turally exfsreesed by him, has been worked by 
Byron into a laboured and antithetical sort of 
declamation. Spoke of the Scottish novels. 
Is sure they are Scott's. The only doubt he 
e?er had on the question did not arise from 
thinking them too good to be Scott^, but on 
the contrary, from the infinite number of 
clumsy things in them ; common-place con- 
trivances, worthy only of the Minerva press, 
and such bad vulgar English as no gentleman 
of education ought to have written. When I 
mentioned the abundance of them, as being 
rather too great for one man to produce, he 
said, that great fertility, was the characteris- 
tk of all novelists and story-tellers. Richard- 
son could have gone on for ever ; his ' Sir 
Charles Grandison' was, originally, in thirty 
volumes. Instanced Charlotte &nith, Ma- 
dame Cottin, &c., &c.. Scott, since he was a 
child, accustomed to legends, and to the exer- 
cise of the story-teUing faculties ; sees nothing 
to stop him as long as he can hold a pen." 

• * * We talked of Wordsworth's ex- 
ceeding high opinion of himself: and she 
mentioned that one day, in a large party, 
Wordsworth, without any thing having been 
previously said that could lead to the subject, 
called out suddenly from the top of the table 
to the bottom, in his most epic tone, * Davy !' 
and, on Davy's putting forth his head in awful 
expectation of what was coming, said, 'Do 
Tou know the reason why I published the 

, White Doe in quarto V * No, what was it ?' 

• To show the world my own opinitm of it ' " 
We dose our extracts with the following, 

" here and there, throughout the fifth 

" Dined at Mr. Monkhouse's (a gentleman 
I had never seen before), on Wordsworth's in- 
Titation, who lives there whenever he comes 
to town. A singular party : Coleridge. Rog- 
ers, Wordsworth and wife, Charles Lamb 
(the hero at present, of the " London Maea- 
anc") and his sister (the poor woman who 
went mad with him in the diligence on the 
way to Paris), and a Mr. Robinson, one of 
tbe minora sidera of this constellation of the 
Lakes, the host himself, a Mecssnas of the 
school, contributing nothing but good dinners 
and silence. Charles Lamb, a clever fellow 
certainly : but full of villianous and abortive 
pons, which he miscarries of every minute. 
Some excellent things however, have come 
from him ; and his friend Robinson mentioned 
to me not a bad one. On Robinson's receiv- 
ing his first brief, he called upon Lamb to 
t«l hira of it. ** I suppose said Lamb, *' you 
•ddreesed that line of Milton's to it * Thou 
^beitcaiiM,leaatunder8tood.'" Coleridge 

told some tolerable thhigs. One of a poor 
author, who, on receiving from his publisher 
an account of the procee(& (as he expected it 
to be) of a work he had published, saw 
among the items, ** Cellerage, 3Z. IO5. 6c2.." 
and thought it was a charge for the trouble 
of selling the 700 copies, which he did not 
consider unreasonable; but on inquiry he 
found it was for the afler-TOom occupied by 
his work, not a copy d which had stirred 
from thence. He told, too, of the servant- 
maid where he himself had lodged at Rams* 
gate, coming in to say that he was wanted, 
there being a person at the door inquiring for 
a poet : and on going out, he found a pot-boy 
from the public-house, whose cry, of ** any 
pots for the Angel," the girl had mistaken for 
a demand fen* a poet. Improbable enough* 
In talking of Klopstock, he mentioned his de- 
scription of the Deity's "head spreading 
through space," which, he said, gave one the 
idea of a hydrooephalous afi'ection! Lamb 
quoted an epitaph by Clio Rickman, in which, 
after several lines, in the usual jog-trot style 
of epitaph, he continued thus : — 

*' He well performed the hosbend's, tetter's p«rt, 
And knew immorUl Iludibras by beurU' 

A good deal of talk with Lamb about De Foe's 
works, which he praised warmly, particularly 
*' Colonel Jack," of which he mentioned some 
striking passa^. Is collecting the works of 
the Duncian heroes. Coleridge said that 
Spenser is the poet most romarkable for con- 
trivances of versification ; his spelling words 
differently, to suit the musie of the line, put- 
ting sometimes "spake," sometimes " spoke," 
as it fell best on the ear, &c. &c. To show 
the difference in the facility of reciting verses, 
according as they were slcilfully or unskil- 
fully constructed, he said he had made the 
experiment upon Beppo and Whistlecraft 
(Frere's poem), and found that he could read 
three stanzas of the latter in the same time 
as two of the former. This is absurd. Talk- 
ed much of Jeremy Taylor ; his work upon 
"Prophesying," &c. C. Lamb told me he 
had got 170/. for his two years' contribution 
to the '* London Magazine" (Letters of Elia). 

Should have thought it more." 

* • • * • 

"Breakfasted with Rogers; Constable of 
Edinburgh, the great publisher, and Bowles, 
of the party. In talking of the craft of book- 
selling, Constable said, " Mr. Moore, if you 
let me have a poem from your pen, I will en- 
gage to sell thrice as many copies as the Long- 
mans ever did, even of * Lalla Rookh.' " Very 
encouraging this, and comes seasonably to 
put me in better conceit with myself. In 
conversing with me afterwards, he intimated 
his strong wish that I should connect myself 
with the "Edinburgh Review." In talking 
<rf Walter Scott, and the author of Waverley ,^ 
he continually forgot himself, and made them 


the same person. Bm had the original MS. 
of the novels presented to him hy the author, 
in forty-nine volumes, written with his own 
band : very few corrections. Says the author 
to his knowledge has already received more 
than a hundred thousand pounds for his novels 
alone. Walter Scott apparently very idle; 
the only time he Is known to b^n to study 
18 about three hours in the morning before 
breakfast ; the rest of the day he is at the 
disposal of everybody, and rarely retires at 
night till others do.'' 

* * * « * 

<' Breakfasted at Rogers's, to meet Luttrd, 
Lady Davy. Miss Rogers, and William Ban- 
kes, who gave, as an apology for his being 
late, a visit he had had before he was out of 
bed finom the Dean of Winchester, in most 
pious alarm about Lord Nugent ^s bill for the 
rdief of the Roman Catholics. Rogers show- 
ed us " Qrav's Poems,'' in his original hand- 
writing, with a letter to the printer : also the 
original MS. of one of Sterne's sermons. Re- 
markable, in comparing this with the printed 
one, to see how he had spoiled a passage in 
correcting it ; calling the Jews (instead of 
the '* thoughtless and thankless people," as 
he had it at first,) this '* ungrateful and pe- 
culiarly obstinate people" (or "peculiarly 
perverse," I do not exactly recollect the 
printed words.)" 
OKR^/lA^4 L.N'moe. 

— Messrs. Ticknor, Reed & Fields, of Boston, 
are the publishers of this book, which is got 
up in the style of their charming ** Thalatta," 
and the no less elegant " Smith's Poems." It 
is a volume filled with rare poetic genius; 
embracmg translations by Charles T. Brooks, 
Esq., of poems by Anastasius GrUn — the nom 
de plume of an Austrian gentleman, Count 
Anton Alexander von Auersberg, and a poet 
not unknown hero — as well as a large number 
of other (German lovers of the Muse. Gru'n's 
** Ship Cincinnatus" forms the principal poem 
in the book, and, we should judge, its con- 
version, by Mr. Brooks, into our own from 
the German language, was efiected in a most 
masterly manner. We should like to give 
extracts from this poem, but really we know 
not where to begin and where to end, all is 
so beautiful. One must read the whole poem 
to enjoy it properly. "We give the following 
little poem as a specimen of its author and 
translator, and shall follow it up with a few 
other extracts from poets whose works make 
the volume. 


I mte upon a mountain, 

From homo-lnnd fiir «wny, 
Below me biUn and ▼alloyii, 

Meadowi and oornftelda lay. 

The ring ftom off my finger 

In reverie I drew. 
The pledge of fbnd affection 

She gare at our adieu. 

I held ft like a apy-flasa 

Before my dreaming eye, 
And, through the booplei peeping, 

The world bq(an to epy. 

Ah, bricrht, green, sunny mountains, 

And 1Md» of waTiug gold! 
In TOoth a lovely picture 

For such Ikir frame to hold I 

Here many a neat, white cottage 
Smilep on the wooded iite<*p. 

There scythe and slclde gllntan 
Along the valley's sweep I 

And fkrther onward stretehes 
The plain the stream glides through. 

And, (ix>undary guards of granite) 
Beyond, the mountains blue. 

Cltie", with domes of marble. 
And thickets, fi-esh and green, 

And clouds that like my longings, 
Toward the dim distance loan; 

Green earth and bright blue heaven. 
The dwellers and their land — 

All this, in one fiilr picture, 
My golden hoop-fhune spanned. 

Oh, fldrest of Air pictures. 
To pee. by Love's ring spanned. 

The green earth and blue heaven. 
The people and their land I 


There was a man. much grieved in mind. 
To think, his queue should hang behind; 
He set about to change it. 

How to begin ? — ^he *s puzzled quite — 
' I *11 Just turn round, then a comes rlgfat*-~ 
The queue still hang behind him. 

He whirls him nimbly round onoe more. 
In vain— Just as it hung before, 

1 he queue still bangs tebind him. 

Presto! be twists him back a)3in 
The other way. but all in vain— 

The queue still hangs behind him. 

Now right now left, behold him flirt : 
It does no good, it does no hart. 

The queue still hangs behind him. 

Now like a top, fwithout reliei:) 
He's spinuintr round and round : in briei^ 
The queue slill hangs behind htm. 

And, see, he still ppins round, poor wight! 
And thinks, at la^t 'twill bring thinirs rightr- 
Tha queue still hangs b^nd him. 


I am the storm that Northward loves to floe, 
Thou art the moonlitrht on a tmnquQ sea : 
How can such I with such a Thou agree? 

Thou art the beam that lights the lily's eyef^ 
I the wild hsil that fh>m the black doud flloi: 
endless cha4>m that between us liesl 

I wild, inconstant, esrth's dark guest, and Then, 
With almost angel clearness on thy brow ; — 
Come, Love, and show thyf elf almighty, now I 


A skiff swsm down the Danube's tide, 

Therein a bridegroom sate, and bride, 

Ho one sidey'sho the otli*-r. 

Tell mo, my dearest heart, saki she. 
What present shall I make to thee 7 

And back her little sleeve she stripped, 
And deeply down her arm she dipped. 

And so did he, the other sMe, 

And laughed and Jested with his bride. ' 

Fair lady Danube, give me hero 
Some pretty gift to plaase my de«r. 



She drew • 9p«ridiii(t swoni itofli 
Ju»t such the boy bad longed tor, oft. 

Tbr boy, whnt btdds be in bif band! 
Of milk-wbiU* pearls a costly band. 

Be binds it round her jet-black hair, 
She looks a princess, sitting there. 

Fair lady Danube, giro me here. 
Some pretty gift to please my dear! 

Once more shall try what she can fbel ; 
Bhe grmspe a helmet of light steel. 

On his part, terrified with joy, 
Tiahed up a golden comb, the boy. 

A third time clntebing in the tide. 
Woel ahe &ll8 headlong o'er the rida. 

Ttie hoy learn after, clasps her tight, 
Bame Daoube snatcbea both tton sight. 

Dame Danube ftmdged the gtfta she gare, 
They moat atone ibrt in the ware. 

An empty Ait! plldes down the stream, 
The mountains hide tho sunset gleam. 

And when the moon in heaven did stand, 
Tb« loTers float4>d dead to land. 
He one side, she the other. 



— MeaBTS Crosby, Nichols & Co., have pub- 
lished a large ▼<^ume, with this title. Item- 
brtoes a series of sermons preached in Lin- 
coln's Inn Chapel, by Frederick Dennison 
Miurice, Chaplain of Lincoln's Inn, and Pro- 
fessor of Kings College, London. The author 
enjoys a yery high reputation, and the book 
wfll, unquestionably, he sought after by a 
large class of readers. 


— This beautiful story for young folks — and 
indeed for old folks, too,^-emanates from the 
pen of ** Paul Creyton." It forms a neat lit- 
tle volume : indeed, as to general mechanical 
betuty it is a credit to its excellent publishers 
Messrs Philipps, Sampson & Co., of Boston. 
Father Bnghthopes will be found a useful 
teacher as wdl as a pleasant companion. We 
We an idea, too, that his charming counsel 
tnd pure presence, will be courted by hun- 
dreds and thousands during the hours of re- 
Uution, of which we are inclined to enjoy so 
nnny at this present season. 


~ Together with other interesting stories 
from me pen of Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, form 
the contents of a seasonable volume which 
oonjes finom Mr. A. Hart of our city. Those 
of our readers who are at the numerous re- 
sorts and who wish to entertain rather than 
instruct the mind, will greedil)r catch at it. 
And well they may, for it has merits, in its way 
which are very decided. " Linda," •* Eoline,**' 
" Rena'* and ** Marcus Warland," have made 
a reputation for Mrs. Lee Hentz, as a story- 
teller, which may well be pronounced envia- 


—This book was published by G. P. Putnam 
&00m and embraces as is alleged, the re- 

membrances of an dd man. He says in the 
introduction that he is in his quiet h<»ne 
where the echoes of the past come ringing 
through the desolate chambers of his heart ; 

eeasant memories have cheered awa^ a weary 
mr and he would ring out their chimes 
again more cleariy and more widely — ** not 
with the loud, harsh clapper of the old bell 
in the church steeple, but m gentler vibration 
I would" says he '' swell the merry peal, at 
dawn, when the day is still young, the world 
an unopened book, and the pages of destiny 
unstained by a tear!" Old man, old man, 
you talk here like a very young one. Your 
story is not a bad one, however ; but, on the 
contrary contains much touching and well put- 
together incident. 

TMe oi-o A^40 tms nkw. 

— Or the changes of thirty years in the 
East with some allusions to oriental customs, 
as elucidating Scripture, by Willian Goodall, 
missionary in Constantinople, with an intro- 
duction by Rev. William Adams D D.." is 
the title of a work just published by M. W. 
Dodd of New York city. It is very hand- 
somely embellished, and got up throughout 
in a manner calculated to please a large class 
of readers, Mr Qoodall passed one half, and 
his wife more than one half, of her exis- 
tence in the East, both being absent from their 
native land one third of a century. He speaks 
of that section of the world hence with the 
best experience. 


— We have here a revised edition of New- 
comb's '* Guide to the Harmonious Develop- 
ment of Christian Character." It is a work 
which has already been received with great 
favor. The issue before us contains the ad- 
dition of an address on female education 
which has truly sterling merits. Indeed the 
whole book in its present form is greatly in- 
creased in value, both on the score of its ma- 
teriel and of its getting up. The author ori- 
finally wrote the worK as a directory for a 
beloved sister. He says, it is addressed to a 
particular class of persons, whom it is espcci- 

I ally designed to benefit ; but is not intended 
: to be read exclusively by them. The present 
revision is the last he contemplates. M. W, 
. Dodd, New York, Publisher. 


I — Messrs. Lippincott Grambo A Co., of our 
I city have published " Dr. Amot's Race for 
I Riches, ana some of the pits into which nm- 
ners fall," with a preface and notes from the 
polished pen of Stephen Colwdl, Esq. The 
work embraces six lectures, the object of 
which, on the part of the reverend author, is 
to apply the word of God to the traffic of 
men ; and has passed through several editions 
in Scotland. As the American editor re- 
marks, the lessons it contains are as a[^- 



cable here as in the land where they were 
first given ; indeed > wherever traffic is par- , 
sued, there are they appropriate. He in- 1 
dulges in some eloquent thoughts touching , 
the duty of man to man, as well as man to i 
God. He says religion does not consist sim* i 
jrfy in the worship of God, nor simply in be- ' 
lieving in God ; but in our duty to Uod and . 
our duty to man. He urges, and with truth, 
that our religious literature developes far more 
amply our duty to God than to man ; and he | 
wisms to bring the latter more fully to the 
attention of Christians. Mr. Col well is strict- > 
ly right in the views he gives on this subject, | 
mid we hope his excellent and well expressed • 
thoughts may be generally read, marked and 
inwimily digested. He takes the proper 
course when he urges chanty between man 
and man, as he does here. We feci disposed 
to wish him most earnestly God speed, when 
he proclaims that he intends to keep these | 
"contemned words," Charity, Humanity, Phi- 
lanthropy, before the Chnstuin world. 

#ur MwkljT §0ssip. 

— The Hakluyt Society of London has recent- 
ly printed for the first time " the Historie of 
Travails into Virginia Britannia," written by 
William Strach^, Gtent. the manuscript of 
which is in the British Museum. 

The following passage from this work pre- 
sents Pocahontas to us in a novel point of 
view. It is but right to mention, however, 
that the word wanton conveys no idea deroga- 
tory to the moral character of the Indian 
princess, but is used in the old sense of lively 
or sportive. 

** The better sort of women cover themselves 
(for the most part) all over with skin man- 
tells, finely drest, shagged and fringed at the 
skyrt, carved and colored with some pretty 
work, or the proportion of beasts, fowle, tor- 
avses or other such like imagry, an shall best 
please or express the fancy of the wearer ; 
their youngest women go not shadowed 
amongst their own company till they be nigh 
eleven or twelve returns of the Icafe old (lor 
so they accowpt and bring about the yeare 
(calling the leafe taquitock): nor are they 
much ashamed there(^, and therefore, would 
the before remembered Pocahontas, a well ! 
featured, but wanton young girle, Powhatan's 
daughter, sometimes resorting to our fort, of 
the age then of eleven or twelve years, get 
the boys forth with her into the markett place, 
and make them wheele, falling on their hands, 
turning up their heels upwards, whom she 
would follow and wheele so herself, naked as 
she was, all the fort over ; but being once 
twelve yeares, they put on a kind of seme- 
cinctum leathern apron (as doe our artificers 

or handy-crafts men) before their bodies, and 
are very shamefacH; to be seen bare." 

Pocahontas was only twelve years old when 
she rescued Captain Smith. Mr. Schoolcraft, 
in his ^reat work on the Indians, says that 
the artist who cut out her statue for the cap- 
itol at Washington has put' men^s leggins on 
the figure ! 

Lo^ng^s Pictorial Field Book of the Revo- 
lution has a good wood-cut of Pocahontas, in 
the dress of an English lady^, after she was 
christened^ the lady Rebecca. It 
is unneccessary to mention that mnny of the 
F. F. V. are descended fiom her. The His- 
torical Society of Virginia ought to have a 
genealogical tree of her descendants prepared. 
• The following is a news-paper cutting from 
a number rdatmg to the American Involu- 
tion, lately received in this city from Lon- 

** A letter from an officer in Canada savs. 
that General Burgoyne's army wa»overioaded 
with baggage, women and cannon. By the 
consent and advice of Gen. Burgoyne and 
Gen. Phillips, the army was absolutdy em- 
barrassed by the immensity of baggage, num- 
ber of women and artillery. So much so was 
it that the army looked more like a Turkish 
army, with the seraglios of the Grand Signior, 
the Grand Vizier &c., than an army of Gen- 
erals and British. The American army un- 
der General Gates was a perfect contrast. Af- 
ter the surrender of our army. Gen. Gates in- 
vited General Burgoyne and the other princi- 
pal officers to dine with him. The iMe was 
only two planks laid across two empty beef 
barrels ; there was only four plates for the 
whole company ; there was no cloth : and the 
dinner, consisted of a ham, a goose, some 
beef and some boiled mutton. The liquor 
was New England rum mixed with water, 
without sugar ; and only two glasses which 
were for the two Commanders in Chief, the 
rest of the company drank out of basons. 
The officer remarks ** the men that can live 
thus, may be brought to beat all the world." 
After dinner General Gates called upon Gen- 
eral Burgoyne for his toast, which embarrass- 
ed General Burgotne a good deal : at length 
he gave General Washington ; General Gates 
in return gave the King. The American 
troops and the English troops shook hands to- 
gether ; and were in a moment perfect good 
friends. The English troops universally ex- 
pressed their reason that they were enemies,' 
and wished their enemies had been any body 
else. The Americans replied that they knew 
the English were not, in their hearts, enantes 
to America. The American troops were well 
clothed, had good knapsacks, were well ap- 
pointed, with mostly French arms, and wen 
excellently disciplined. While the officers 
were at dinner, the whole army were undo* 
armst and the moat exa6t order was observed. 



After dinner, some of the Britkh officers, for 
curiosity, desired to be permitted to walk 
through the ranks, which was granted : per- 
fect siknce and steadiness was obetrred 
throQ^ioot. Some of our officers afterwards 
mm a regiment upon its march, and were sur- 
prised to see that they were as compact as 
toy n:giment th^ had ever seen in Europe. 
The American officers, in general, and par- 
ticularly the Crenerals Whipple and Grover, 
are highly spoken d for their genteel behav- 
iuur. When General Gates invited General 
Borgoyne and other officers to dinner, Gover- 
nor Siceene was going to partake with them, 
but General Gates o^red him to his quar- 
ters; which gave great satisfacticm to the 
officers on both sides.'* 

— The following account of the Londondeny 
fiunily is from a late Irish newspaper. It is 
probably more particular than any account 
famished by Burke's Peerage and similar oth- 
er works, and also more correct. The people 
of Irdand will be glad to learn how little Irish 
blood Castlereagh had in him. If the girl, 
Stewart, whom his grandfather married, was 
of pure Scotch descent (as she was of Scotch 
origin,) Castlereagh has not a drop of Irish 
bkiod in his veins : — 

" Okigin op the Londonderry Family. — 
The history of this famihr is curious, and me- 
rits particular notice. The real name is Gre- 
gor, the first of whom who figured in Ireland, 
WIS one Rob Greeor, a Scotch pedlar, who 
had been in the habit of trading to the county 
Down, in cast clothes : but having in a broil 
It the fair of Dunbarton, knocked out a man*s 
eye, he fled his country altogether, and be- 
came a pack earner through Ulster, in the 
service of one Robinson, a shopkeeper in New- 
townards, with whom heretofore he used to 
do his little traffic on his own account After 
a while Robinson died childless — ^leaving his 
shop and a bishop's lease of a couple score 
pounds a year value to his vridow who mar- 
ried Rob. They had a son bred to the father's 
and mother's business, who g^w up, and in 
poocess of time paid his addresses to a girl of 
Newtownards, of the name of Orr, a kmd of 
maatuamaker,, to whom the youth was at- 
tached by a prospect she was said to have 
from a man of the name of Stewart, her ma- 
ternal uncle, who had been eone some years 
to sedc his fortune in India, where, report said, 
ha had been successful ; and who at length 
died abroad, and left his neice a considerable 
property — so much beyond Gregor's anticipa- 
tion, that he even wanted assurance to oonti- 
nne his suit. The true-hearted girl expressed 
to a common fnend her surprise and re^n^t at 
her lover's absence in terms which modesty 
did not forbid, nor could decorum censure. — 
They were married, and Gregor thereupon 
' the name of Stewart, without license 

of the Herald's office-^noi so much in respeei 
to the memory of hia wife's benefactors as to 
gratify a pride from which the poorest are 
often found not to be exempt. They had a 
son, Rob or Robert, who was to be educated 
as a gentleman — now a great name — and who, 
in the process of time, was sent to the Tern* 
pie to study the law, or rather to eat his way 
to the bar. Stewart, the father, had pur- 
chased estates vnth Orr's money, and had 
gained some footing in the borough of New- 
townards. A great man in land, in the countv 
Down, at the time, was the Earl of Hertford, 
an English nobleman. To him our young 
Stewart became known, and actuallyobtained 
one of his daughters in marriage. His father 
dying he was now a man of property, with a 
great alliance— owner of a borough — in fiict 
one of us — and at length being raised to the 
peerage, became of so much influence that in 
the year 1790, his son Robert was a candidate 
for the representation of tho county Down, on 
what is humoix)usly called the popular inter- 
est ; opposed even to the powerful leading of 
the Marquis of Downshire, to whose servants' 
half, the grandfather of Robert would have 
had a difficulty to gain admittance. The 
son of Lord Ix)ndonderry was the famous 
Castlereagh ; or, as he was jocosely called in 
the county Down, Castle-rag, in allusion to 
the occupation of his grandfather, the dealer 
in clothes." 

— The last number of the Presbyterian Rc' 
view has an article entitled ** Young America," 
(rem which we select the following touching 
Melville's last work — the abomination of aU 
abominations, in the shape of romance— enti- 
tled ** Pierre or the Ambiguities :" 

" How any man, even if in some mad hours 
of excitement he had written such a book, 
could read the proof-sheets and not heave the 
whole mass upon the fire, we cannot con- 
ceive." ♦ ♦*»*#* 

** We would inquire whether it is at all ne- 
cessary to import Parisian novels, in order 
that we might have the French school full 
fledged among us, if such books as Pierre are 
to be tolerated as American literature ? 

" If it be asked whether we charge the au- 
thor with approving the conduct of his hero, 
and of any other character in Peirre, (for 
nearly every one is vicious or silly,) we reply, 
of course, in the negative. But there is in 
man a strange passion of sympathy and imi- 
tation. The constant familiarity with mur- 
der, produces murder: sensuality begets 
sensuality; a nightmare literature is both 
cause and effect of a vicious state of society. 
God creates the beautiful and pure in nature, 
he establishes it in his kingdom of grace. He 
* sets the solitary' in no unnatural and horri- 
ble position, but in * families,' And such 
; influences carried out benignantly, create % 



pare and virtnous society. With all his fitults 
compare Dickens with Melville, the death of 
poor Jo with the death of Pierre, Esther Sum- 
merson with Lsabel. The one is the hreath 
of morning driving away the pestilence that 
walketh in darkness : the other, the enervating 
south wind relaxing our vigor, or the hot 
simoon of the desert, withering the nerves 
and turning life itself bitter within us. Mr. 
Melville is a young man. Let him listen to 
the friendly voices which urge him to a better 

— The Baycua Tapestry, we learn from re- 
cent French journals, hais been removed from 
Lisieux to the Louvre, in execution of a de- 
cree for collecting into a central museum, re- 
lics of Kings and Queens of France. This 
decree is ill received in the localities which it 
strips of historical monuments dear to the 
affections of the inhabitants. At Lisieux, the 
departure of this tapestry, so long the princi- 
pal attraction of visitors to the town, produced 
an agitation amounting almost to an emeuth, 

— The following books remain unnoticed : — 
"John Randolph of Roanoke, WUliam Wirt, 
Ac.," by F. T^.. Thomas, from A. Hart, late 
Carey & Hart, of our city ; ** Memorials of the 
English Martyrs," by Tayler, Layard's "Ni- 
nevah and Babylon," from the Messrs. Har- 
per, New York ; " Poems of T. B. Read," 
from A. Hart, late Carey & Hart, of our city : 
" The Div<Mx;ed Wife,''^ by Arthur, from T. 
B. Peterson, of our city : " Marmaduke Wy- 
vil," and the ** Grafted Bud," from J. S. Red- 
field. We would add that La3rard's Babylon 
and Ninevah, got up in beautiful style, by 
the Harpers, is pronounced by them to be the 
first American edition. Mr. Putnam denies 
this; so the two are at issue. 

— ** The Schoolfellow," for June, edited by 
Mr. Wm. C. Richards and " Cousin Alice," 
has been for some days on our table. It is 
now published by Messrs. Evans k Buttain, 
and appears to be more worthy of patronage 
than ever. 

— The Cincinnati Fen and Pcnct7 tells the fol- 
lowing good story : 

" Rather an amusing incident occurred the 
other evening, whilst a serenading party was 
going its rounds. The gentle musicians had 

chanced to stop before a mansion in St., 

and were putting forth their delightful har- 
mony, when the shrill sound of a female voice, 
which did not at ail chord with their music, 
'broke upon the midnight air.' The sere- 
nadcrs were startled ; they probably had ex- 
pected to see a white hand protruded from the 
window, and a boquet or two thrown to them, 
but when the cry of * robbers,' * thieves,' and 
* Oh ! where is my wig V fell upon their ears, 
they were sorely puzzled; but one or two 
bolder than the rest, ran to the door of the 
house, which by this time was opened from 

within, and an dderiy lady, emphaUcally 
bare headed made her appearance. It seems 
that while she was listening to the sweet 
strains of the singers, she became aware of 
the fact, or at least fended, that there were 
thieves in the house, and hence raised the 
outcry ; being a ' pensioner on the dead,' as 
fer as hair was concerned at least, she oilled 
lustily for her wig, not liking even to be seen 
by gentleman of the ancient profession of bm^ 
glars, with such a hold front V^ 

— A letter from BerUn gives the following de- 
scription of the trousseau of the Princess 
Anne of Prussia, who is about to be married 
to a Prince of Hesse Cassel. The trousseau 
of the bride has been on view at the King's 
Palace last Saturday, and to-day, and on ei^ 
day about 2500, most female observers, visited 
it. Of the two large rooms which the trous- 
seaus occupied, the first contained the hooae 
and body linen, laid out for the most part io 
twenty dozens, and twenty-four dozens, all 
marked with her Royal Highness' name, in a 
(to me) unintelligible letter, (twelve dozen 
pocket handkerchiefs had the Royal arms 
woven in them.) In connexion with the tra- 
velling couch were twenty-four dozen day and 
night chemises^ as many undress and night 
caps, and other incomprehensible and unmen- 
tionable articles in like profusion. The linen 
takes up three sides of the room, the fourth is 
occupied by tlie choussure, consisting of twen- 
ty-four pairs of silk and leather sSoes, and 
twenty-four pairs of stockings. In t he second 
room were gloves, embroidered handkerchiefis, 
collars, scarfs, hats, bonnets, artificial fiow- 
ers, &c., in bewildered profusion. To make 
all complete, there was a riding habit, twelve 
cloaks in silk and velvet, and, besides all these, 
the ball and court dre.<:scs, as well as the wed- 
ding robe, a diadem of brilliants, and much 
too many more things for me to enumerate. 
According to old practice here,jthe body of the 
wedding dress of white satin was not with the 
skirt and train, but is kept in the jewel cham- 
ber, where it is decorated with the crown 
jewels, and not brought out to Charlottenburg 
till the last moment. 

— The students of Uie University of Turin 
had Eesolved to erect a monument within its 
precincts to the memory of their comrades, 
volunteers in the Sardinian army, who fdl in 
the war of independence. 


— The tale 9( which we commence the publi- 
cation to-day, is from the well-known and 
highly-popular pen of Mr. James Rces. It 
will be concluded, probably, in three nunlbers. 
The scene of the story, it will be observed, is 
laid in Philadelphia. 




— We treat o/ar readers this week to another 
poetical effort, from an anonymous corres- 
pondent: — 

TIm eve to ctlm, aercxie, and brlg^bt; 
There's yet one ray of holy light, 
Wbieb, Ung*i1ng In the glowlog weity 
Unwilling serau to rink to rest. 

But wxm afiir, on yonder pealL, 
That lingering ray in Tain weHl seek ; 
And. oh! what Krief on earth may reigU) 
Xre its purs Ught cornea hack again. 

A tear may flU a mother*! eye ; 
A tether's heart may heare a sigh; 
A rinter't cheek of rosy bloom. 
If ay wear a shade of dieerless gloom. 

A brother's eye that beams n> bilf^t, 
Uiefnrtnne's hand may seal with ni|^t, 
Before to-morrow's orient hue, 
KfTolgent bursta upon the view ; 

And thousands in the green of vouth, 
Kre mom, may lenm thiii Mul'nmg truth: 
All hnman happinees and joy. 
On earth, are mingled with alloy I 


— The editor of the Mercury , in our city, 
gives to the wodd. in a late issue, the follow- 

'' * MoKET MACES THB Mabb 00.' — The New 
York Tribune, which lately announced its in- 
tention to puff or praise no&iing without being 
foui for its golden opinions, has a review of a 
book of poems published by some Mr. Smith, 
of Boston. Tnis review occupies three cch 
hmnSf and was evidently written by Mr. 
Smith himself, or some of his particular 
fnends ; for, while the style of eulogy is ex- 
travagant, the quotations from the work — 
which are presumed to be the finest passages 
scarcely come up to the magazine standard of 
poetical excellence." 

The Smith, whose poems are noticed so 
much to the contempt of the Mercury by the 
Trihtme, is an Englishman; a writer, too, 
who, though but a short time before the 
world, already occupies a most commanding 
position. In other words, he has, as it were, 
leaped up to a level with the best rhyming 
genius of England, and has received flattering 
notices from her leading reviews and journals. 
Our own literati, too, with the exception of 
the Mercury, and one or two smaller lights, 
have given him a cordial welcome. The 
beautiful edition of Mr. Smith's poems, lately 
published by Ticknor, Reed and Fields, of 
Boston, has already been noticed by us. 


— The riots in Quebec and Montreal got up 
to crush the free-speaking of this eloouent 
Italian reformer were truly disgracefol. They 
win, morover. unquestionably, weaken the 
cause of those by whom they were excited, 
while at the same time, they will engender a 
Ming in the United States calculated to lead 
to a renewal of the Boenea of 1844, when it 

will be remembered, the torch was api^ed to 
churches, and other diabolical acts committed. 
The people of our country will defend with . 
their heart's blood, freedom of conscience and 
freedom of speech. They care not by whom 
or by what, the disposition is shown to check 
the pure flow of either : let it be church or 
state, the result will be the same. Well does 
the New York Tribune assert that if Gavazzi 
is made the champion of free-discusion, he 
will be every where, in c^r republic, cordially 
welcomed and resolutely protected. The prin- 
ciple or cause which cannot stand a minute, 
detailed, and, even ardent and impassioned as- 
sault, must be a poor one. We are certain no 
principle or cause can be thrust down the 
throats of our people bv a brutal mob ; and 
least of all, a brutaJ mob instigated by those 
who are leagued with European tyrants : with 
despots who have checked the growth of Italian 
and Hungarian liberty. 

We take no doctrinal grounds in Bizabbb 
though we entertain decided opinions in the 
premises. We defend in our pages simply 
liberty of speech ; liberty of speech of course, 
always under law. We care not, neither, 
whether a man be a new, or an old convert to 
the doctrines he preaches. We are to pre- 
sume him honest, whether he be so, or not, in 
reality. We don't think it is charitable to 
condemn a man, because he has changed his 
opinions, because he is a new convert, 
whether, he be preacher or politician. Men 
have conscientiously and honestly met with 
an entire radical change, from the days of the 
Apostle Paul down. We trust no scenes, such 
as have disgraced Montreal and Quebec, will 
by enacted m our land : and at the same time 
we hope Gavazzi may continue to speak when 
and where he chooses. We advocate the same 
privileges for Archbishop Hughes, Gen. John 
Sydney Jones, Mr. Willian J. Mullen, Mrs. 
Fannie Lee Townsend, for all, all who are 
not guilty of treason to the constitution. 
We care not for parties, and have no partizan 
ends to subserve, Hence, we can speak free- 
ly, no matter who are listeners. We have no 
votes to gain or lose. Unlike Mr Greeley we 
need not commence an article condemning 
Gavazzi's anti-catholic opinions, in order to 
close it up with an approval of Gavazzi and 
free speech. There is not a political editor 
in the country be he whig or democrat, who 
dares speak out altogether his sentiments on 
such a point as this. He is forever prevented 
from giving free current to his views and feel- 
ings by the miserable fear of losing a few 


— Thus asked a gentleman one morning last 
week, as he sto^ on Beverly wharf, after 
havine eaten a capital breakfkst at ''Joe 
GriffiUi's" hotel. <' You had better get your 



fishing-tackle and see»" said a bve-stander. 
"True," replied the well-breakasted indi- 
• Tidual : and a few moments after he might 
hare been seen, completely equiped, with 
rod, line, hooks, duck pants, linen coat, Kos- 
sath hat, and a bountiful supi^y of sturgeon 
roe, for bait. He was all ready indeed, to 
cast his line into the slowly ebbing tide, which 
swept around the head of the wharf. And 
were there any rock-fish as aforesaid ? Aye, 
aye, certain ment ; in one hour our fisherman 
mid taken three dozen ! and he thinks too, that 
when he departed suddenly, there were a few 
more left. He could not pursue his sport : 
because it soon became no sport. In other 
words, news of his great success in pisca- 
torials rapidly spread abroad throughout the 
neighborhood, and in consequence, something 
less than fifty boys were fishing in the same 
waters, and raising a perfect Bedlam all about. 
And such apparatus as they brought along 
with them ! Whip-handles, bean-poles, lamp- 
wicking, clothes-lines; cod-hooks, perch- 
hooks, nike-hooks and phi-hooks ; and to hold 
bait, all kindS'Of household utensils, from a 
bushel'basket down to an old cofiee-pot, were 
put in requisition ! And Uius the sportsman 
in a trice found himself: hedged m on all 
sides by a heterogeneous crowd ; rigged out 
in a heterogenous style ; talking a heteroge- 
neous dialect, frequently altogether. There 
he stood, hemmed in by that mixed assembly, 
some with pantaloons, some as good as with- 
out pantaloons ; some ¥rith coats, some with- 
out coats ; some with hats, and some with 
caps, and some without either hats or caps. 
A few had portions of their linen, oozing 
from orifices before and bdiind, and flapping 
in the breeze, like so many flags oi truce. 
With that din in his ears, those articles of 
domestic crockery, those lamp-feeders, those 
cofiee-pots &c., scattered about beneath his 
feet, with those bean-poles, and whip-stalks, 
flourishing above his hetA ; could he, a ner- 
vous man. remain? No; emphatically no: 
with the three dozen aforesaid, he fled ; va- 
mosed the rcmche ; and we don^t know that 
he has been heard of since. 

sonMiBTMtNa Aaounr eNssziNQ. 

— St. Aubin tells us, that the ancients were 
wont to go to bed again, if they sneezed while 
they put on their shoes. Aristotle has a 
problem, ** Why sneezing from noon to mid- 
night was good, but from night to noon un- 
lucky.^' Eustatius on Homer says, that 
sneezing to the left was unlucky, but pros- 
perous to the right ; Hippocrates, that sneez- 
ing cures the hiccup, and is profitable to va- 
rious diseases. 

Pliny, Apuleius, Petionius, and a dozen 
others, have all something to say about it ; 
and Buxtorf tdk us, that '^sneezing was a 
■lortal sign, even from the firat man ; until 

it was taken ofif by the special supplication of 
Jacob. From whence, as a thankftd acknow- 
ledgment, this salutation first began, and was 
after continued by the expression of tcbindtattm 
or vita bona, by standers by, on all occaaons 
of sneezing." 

When his majesty the king of Minomotapa 
sneezes, those who are near mm salute him m 
so loud a tone, that the persons in the ante- 
chamber hearing it, join in the accUmation. 
In the adjoining apartments they do the same, 
till the noise reaches the street, and becomes 
propagated through the city : so that at each 
royal sneeze, a most horrid cry results from 
the salutations of his many thousand vassals. 
A somewhat different custom, prevails in 
Senaar, where, when his maiesty sneezss, his 
courtiers immediately turn their backs on him 
(for that time only) and give themselves a 
loud flap on their right thi^. 

In a scarce tract, by Gerbier, master of the 
ceremonies to Charles the first, Oxford, 1665, 
he gives as a rule of good-breeding ; ** Is not 
the customc, when a prince doth sneeze, to 
say, as to other persons, Dieu vous ayde, God 
help you, but only to make a low rever- 


— It is probable, that all <^ our readers who 
visit Franklin Square — at this season a most 
ddightful resort, — have seen two sLngnlar 
birds, which are domesticated there. They 
are Marsh hens, and live almost exclusively, 
when in their native haunts upon fish. Being 
brought to the city, their diet is necessarially 
partially changed. It nevertheless consists 
of a preponderancy of fish, but as a general 
thing, of only such fish as Market street af- 
fords ; and hence, fish which at times, are 
not altogether the freshest in the world. Now, 
a gentleman of our acquaintance — Col. Ward 
of the Sunday Ziedger— commiserating the for- 
lorn condition <^ these hens, resolved when 
he next drove out to the Wissahiccon to bring 
them in a supply of fresii cat-fish. To resolve 
with the Colonel, is to do ; so the fish were 
obtained and placed in the beautiful fountain 
of the square, where the hens could help 
themselves at liieir pleasure. And they did 
help themselves ; the poor " catties'* had no 
peace from the moment they were transfcred 
to the sparkline water of the fountain basin, 
but were caught up, one after another, and 
swallowed with as much ease, as Jonah was 
swallowed by the whale. The Colonel rather 
repented of his efforts to treat them with fre^ 
fisn from — ^not Helicon — but the pure still 
waters of the Wissahicon, when he observed 
the unmerciful greedy havoc which they 
made with the poor '* catties ;'* so fiur as be 
is concerned, is resolved that they shall here- 
after obtain their food firom the maricets, and 
like every body else. 




— Manager Perhaan has added a large num- 
ber af TiJoable articles to those which were 
ooi drawn at the last distribution and thus 
offers inducements for the sale of all of the 
original gift tickets he has on hand. A new, 
and the third distribution commenced under 
the new arrangment on Wednesday, the 15th., 
and is to be continued until the night of 
Saturday the 18th inst. The Panorama of 
California itself will be exhibited until July 
2d., when it will be sold at auction, the gen- 
Ueman who drew it, — a native of Boston — 
hamg concluded to dispose of it in this 
waj. Dr. Valentine remains and adds his 
fonnj stories to the evening's entertainments, 
and Mr. Stalcup will remainas delineator. 

— Sanpord's Ethiopian Opera Compant, 
take possession of their New Opera House in 
Twelfth street below Chestnut, early next 
month. They have been singing in town with 
great success, and may be heard all the week 
at Concert Hall. On Thursday evening San- 
ford the manager was to have a benefit, while 
he has tendered the free use of his company 
to Bfr. Andrews, the lesse of the Hall, for 
Saturday the closing night. 


—Asks a correspondent : Dr. Holder we re- 
ply was a successor of Purcell a distinguished 
oomposer attached to the court of Charles H. 
and with Doctors Aldrich and Creyghton, en- 
joyed considerable reputation as an amateur 
in church music. We are not now aware> 
when or where, Simpson flourished, nor indeed 
the other gentleman who figures in the musi- 
cal dtique to which our correiqpondent alludes, 
rr IS A FAOT. 

— That the real name of the authoress of 
that very popular work The Wide Wide World. 
which purports to be written by Elizabeth 
Wetherell, is by Mrs. Waters. The small work, 
entitled Little Things, published at Edin- 
toth, of which 20,000 copies have been ai- 
re*^ sold, is the production of Professor 
WUsm. That excellent little work Wornan^s 
ifijfion, is written by Miss Lewis, school- 
mistress of Bamsbury, England. 


— When Charles was young, a courtier was 
mtiMng in his presence the sermon of a 
preacher who had been complaining of the 
maimer in which prisoners were treated be- 
fon tnaL The courtier observed, that such 
tnatnent was merely the anticipated punish- 
ment of their crimes. The young Pnnce 
suddenly interrupted him, exclaiming, "Be- 
fore trial, how can it be known that they are 
guilty 1 That is a fact which the sentence 
aiooecan establish.'' 

— TiM ^'Unele Tomaiy'' ezcttement still 
keeps op in England, though some of the 

Bxnre saosiVIe people aro fretting ashamed of 
it The movers in this agitation show a lit- 
tle m(nre leal than discretion, The whole 
abolition movement is dishonest. It has d(me 
nothing to benefit the slave. It has retarded 
emancipation. Its only obiect is to create 
excitement and sectional fedung. 

** And joQ thtll find, tmoe pufvioos to tbeir mot. 
Small dilTdsraice 't^lxt tha JUtotoio anjjl the braU.** 

vsmia-aADSN, «M. 

— It will be a long time before our watering 
places become as beautiful as Weis-Baden, 
Baden Baden, Europe, where all the grounds, 
are laid out in the most tasteful manner, be- 
ing adorned with roses and other flowers in 
the greatest profusion. Tou may sometimes 
walk or ride for hours under the grateful shade 
of beautiful trees, and near large beds of the 
scarlet Geranium— or you may sit beside a 
beautiful lake filled with enormous carp, some 
of one hundred years old, they say— or you 
may lounee in ue stately Kursaltt with its 
marble columns, magnificent mirrors, &c. — 
or you may walk beneath the coUonades, 
where rich t)ijouterie, books, Bohemian glass, 
and a variety of elegant goods are for sale : or 
you may dnnk, or rather sip, the water al- 
most hot enough to boil an egg. It tastes at 
Weis -Baden like chicken broth. Our own 
watering places will improve, by-and-by, 
when competition spurs on the proprietors. 

FI^4B ARTe. 

— The notice df paintings at the Academy, 
which we last week promised, have not yet 
reached us. We hope to obtain them in time 
for oar next number. 

— A correspondent writes us: — "I |)erceive 
that al^ has been sent, byAmericans, in large 

Suantities to the Dublin World's Exhibition. 
Tow, as you know every thing, pray tell me 
what is alg» ?" 

We reply: Alne is a plant which grows 
both in salt and fresh water, and which is 
vulgarly called sea- weed. Brandt says it 
comprehends, in the division Zoospermeao, 
some of the lowest'known forms of vegetable 
Ufe, plants consisting of simple cells, a&ering 
in difierent degrees and emitting, at maturity, 
spores, or seeds, which have a mstinct animal 
motion. We have seen some beautiful collec- 
tions of alg», as we doubt not has our corres- 
pondent ; but they were shown to him under 
their common name of sea-weeds, and not 
under the tedinical one, with which they 
figure in books. 

— A gentleman in the country, who had put 
aside two bottles of capital ale, to recreate 
some friends he expected to dine with him, 
diseoverad, just helore dinner, that a gretA 
Irish servant hadMnptitdtbim both. **Sooii» 



drel !" siid tbe mftster, ** what do yoa mean 
by this ?" ** Why, sir, I saw plain enough 
by the clouds, that it was going to thunder, 
so I drank up the aJe at once, lest it should 
turn sour : there's nothing I abominate like 
wastin'." Fuseil when he failed in any of 
his serious caricatures, used to complain that 
nature put him out : and the sluttish house- 
maid, wnen scolded for the untidiness of her 
chambers, exclaimed, '*I'm sure the rooms 
would be clean enough if it were not for the 
nasty sun, which is always showing the dirt 
in the comers." 

— We overheard once the following dialogue 
between an alderman and an Irish shop lifter : 

** What's gone of your husband, woman?" 
" What's gone of him, yer honor I Faith, 
and he's gone dead." 
•' Ah ! Pray what did he die of?" 
"Die of, yer honor! he died of a Friday." 
** I don't mean what day of the week, but 
what complaint." 

** Oh ! what complaint, yer honor ; faith, 
and it's himself that did not get time to com- 

" Oh, oh ! ay— he died suddenly ?" 
" Rather that way, yer honor.'' 
" Did he fall in a fit ?" No answer. 
" He fell down in a fit, perhaps ?" 
"A fit, yer honor ! why no, not exactly 
that. He — fell out of a window, or through 
a cellar-door— I don't know what they call 
" Ay, ay ! and broke his neck." 
" No, not quite that, yer wordiip." 
•* What then?" 

** There was a bit of a string, or cord, or 
that like, and it throttled poor Mike." 


— Stmptoms op Earthquakes.— Crawfish 
says he fears a dreadful catastrophe will 
shortly befall our city, as he observes several 
enormous rents in Chestnut street, and hears 
they are increasing. 

— A RARA AVIS IN TERRA. — The block stpon 
appears to be quite a lion with the English 
aristocracy: while Queen Victoria recently 
entertained a negro preacher. Crawfish thinks 
in consideration of their color, they should 
claim from Madame Vic. the honors of knight- 

— Sweeping the Streets. — Our City Fathers 
pay men to sweep the middle of the streets 
with birdi brooms. Our fiiishionable ladies 
sweep the side-walks with their dresses, for 
the benefit of French manufactories. 

— Under European governments, where the 
people are but tne servants of their sovereigns, 
they sometimes show a disposition to be mas- 
ters ; but in this country where the peofde 
are sovereigns, they show a great anxiety to 
be " the servants of the pec^le." 

— The New York Exhibition of the Indostry 
of all Nations will open on the 15th of Joly. 
It is said there is already considerable at exhi- 
bition ; particularly on Sundays among rum- 
sellers and police officers. 

— Kit Crawfish says there are some g^^eat 
hypocrites in the world; even among the 
seemingly pious. In fact their is hardi j a 
church in the country that has not a great 
nave in it. 

— ** A European correspondent" says there is 
trouble bremng in the £05/, and thinks a war 
between the great powers would be followed 
by a rising in Hungary and Italy. 

— A woman was recently brought before a 
magistrate, charged with pilfering. On being 
asked how she got her living, she replied, by 
washing and t rolling; but his honor felt in- 
clined to diS'ptUe-her assertion, as it appeared 
that she also did a little stealing. He there- 
fore ordered her to be lead away to durance 

— "England expects every man to do his 
duty,^^ as the excise man said when he caught 
the smuggler with a pack of tobacco. 

The Roman Catholic priests endeavour to 
prevent the reading of the Bible : but the 
people will read it. Protestant preachers try 
to persuade the people to read tne Bible, and 
the people wont do it. 

— Col. Maurice, 123 Chestnut street, has a 
fine stock of stationery, which he is constant* 
ly increasing. Many of the leading merchants 
deal with him. His prices are invariaUy 
low : indeed, the motto of the Colonel, ever 
since he commenced business, has been '* low 

{>rices and quick sales." He is well calon- 
ated to succeed. Few, indeed, could have 
started business, as he did, without capital, 
and so soon have attained the promineaoe 
which he enjoys. 

— Messrs. Burton and Laning, Arch above 
Sixth, have recently imported some beautifdl 
French papers, wnich we invite our very 
tasteful readers to call and examine. 

— Wolfe's Schibdam Schnapps is nnmieB- 
tionably, a superior article of Holland Qia : 
well worthy all the good things which are 
said of it. It is extracted from the Juniper 1 
fruit, and finds its home in Mr. W's bottm, ' 
the very juice of the berry itsdf. We direct 
attention to an advertisement of this article, 
which may be found in our columns. It is for 
sale in Philadelphia by all the principle drag- 

S'sts. We should add, that we have known 
r. Wolfe for ten or fifteen years |»a8t, and 
are thus enabled to declare that he is incapa- 
ble of imposing upon the public. 



BoMaam, wbas SikT tov, UASOAfr'^Farquhar. 



SATURDAY, JI7HB J»5, 1863. 



"WMehlf tbeTfllftfn? Irtmeseehifleyw: 

HuI when I note auother man like him, 

I aaj aTeid him." Much Ado ^c. 

Mrs. Vernon, haying received her evidently 
onwelGome guest, with a lady like demeanor, 
him no time to act the hypocrite by pro- 
: sentiments unworthy a man, and that 
mftn her husband's friend, but commenced 
the oonyersation with — "Now Sir, your busi- 

"Rather abrupt madam, I would " 

"Mr. Maitland, the least we have to do to- 
gether the better. I cannot disguise from 
TOO Sir, the fact that your presence here is 
hstefol, aye Sir that is the word — hateful, not 
only to me, but those who are near and dear." 

"Do you include your husband and Alice, 
my Alice in this harsh word ?" 

"No— Alice is all sweetness, all love and 
iffection, and I would not that her young 
heart should ever engender feelings — such 
feeUngs as I have, and cannot control toward 

"Indeed madam you are plain, will you be 
kiod enough to enumerate some of my bad 
qualities ?" 

*'Mr. Maitland, I will not again refer to one 
Kene, your conscience if you have any, can 
re»^ recall, apart from that, you are a man 
destitute of that nice sense of honor and vir- 
tue, which ever distinguishes the gentleman, 
ukI the christian." 

" Thank you madam, and I am delighted 
that you have afforded me an opportunity of 
hoDg equally plain with you. That I have loved 
yoQf the scene you recall, is a proof, that I am 
still your friend, my being here now is evi- 

"Your love! your friendship ! base fiend, 
ia what act of mine did you ever discover one 
n^y <kf hope to light up in your heart such a pas- 
<ioQ? If contempt, if loathing, scorn, and 
>U the bitterest feelings of outra^ virtue, 
coostitute my love for you, then indeed can 
m claim itr-Sir it is yours ! Love thee ? 
Why I would rather starve, bes , aye steal and 
^iMa» a slave to tyrant law than harbor one 
fccfiilg of a trader nature toward you. 

(OMilMed Ihn pact 140.) 

'*Go on Madam, I am patient, and can 
await the end of your lecture, go on, you see 
I am calm !" 

**I have spoken the sentiments of my heart 
Sr, they have been my torment, they are now 
my relief— you have heard them. As yet, my 
husband knows not the extent of your vil- 
lainy, but the time will, nay, must come, 
when he shall know all." 

** When that time comes, Madam I shall 
be better prepared to deal with your husband. 
But no more of this ; your display of Lucre- 
tian virtue is all very fine, but it avu'ls not 
with me ; you shall yet be mine, — and to 
gain that end, I will accomplish the ruin of 
your husband, and to the utter destitution of 
yourself and family ; aye madam, you are in 
my power ; husband, children— all— all " 

"Fool, do you think because your schemes 
have stripped us of wealth, that you have 
power over mind — can you crush that ? Pover- 
ty Sir, is no crime, nor is it a state of which 
virtue need be ashamed. It is but a misfor- 
tune — and the man who would rejoice in the 
misery and suffering of the poor, and the 
houseless, is so far beneath the objects of his 
vengeance, that he cannot soar high enough 
above the pollution into which he has fallen, 
to inflict his enmity upon them. Away Sir, 
I would be alone." 

" Not so fast madam, one word — ^If you are 
determined to bring ruin, and disgrace upon 
your husband, dare my power. If you wish 
to see him dragged to a loathsome prison, 
scorn me. If you would see him sink gradu- 
ally down into the scale of human misery, 
crime, and madness, spurn me. Do it — — 
Madam, and wo ! to you, and yours !" 

"What? can such a thing as thou, dis- 
grace my husband? — and — " a sudden 
thought seemed to enter her brain at that 
moment — she started, as if the horrid picture 
her tormentor had drawn, was flashing before 
her eyes, " Gracious heaven !" she muttered, 
** now I recall my husband's actions, sleepless 
nights, troubled looks — all, all seem to tell me 
that this fiend speaks some horrid truth — " 

" You seem troubled madam ?" 

" Your words Sir astonish me, but they do 
not change my opinion of you — the misery you 
picture may come, but we can bear it — ^wretch- 
edness may be ours — crime never !" 

" Be not too sure of that madam — ^poverty is 
an excellent mechanic, it can carve out of the 
purest soul, the worst of crimes." 

" Base man how now Margaret?" The 

door suddenly opened and that worshipper of 
the Goddess Superstition, rushed into the 
room, exclaiming " Oh, dear Madam — a huge 
spider a — I ask pardon, ma'am. Sir, but Mr. 
Vernon has just come in that's all." 

" Then madam I will wait upon your hu»- 

I band, and remember — words of bitterness, 
eiUier from you, or others, have always more 



trath than poetry in them, your obedient ser- 
yant." So saying with a bitter smile upon 
his line he left the room. Margaret, who bad 
gazea in some astonishment at his departure, 
and heard the words he spoke, looked at her 
mistress, and expressed her delight, in thus 
bein^ rid of a "huge spider, and the " death 

" Margaret, you must have heard our voi- 
ces, what brou^t you into the room so sud- 
denly ? 

** Dear madam— I know that bad man, I 
heard your voioe, and I thought he might in- 
sult you.*' 

** Kind girl, yes Margaret I do require aid 
and assistance, we are, 1 am afraid, surround- 
ed with danger, come to my room, and I will 
tell you more, I do want a friend." 

'* There goes a kind and good woman. I 
know there is danger, I heard last night the 
most awful crash in my room, and the cricket 
has raised its notes six octaves higher, and 
chirped out of tune at that. This they say is 
a sign of horrible discord. Ah : there stands 
the laige mirror, now that I am alone, I will 
try the charm. They say if a person stands 
before a glass and pull three hairs out of the 
head, the very moment the third is plucked ; 
the man she is going to marry will be seen 
looking over her shoulder." At the moment 
Margaret uttered these words Peter entered 
the room, and hearing her voice, and the 
words, stepped aside. Margaret with a slow 
and stealthy step, approached the vast mir- 
ror which stood immediately in front of her — 
** Dear, dear, but I am afraid, I — I tremble 
all over — but here goes — " She raises her 
hand, plucks a hair, and starts back — *' Oh ! 
dear what's that ? 'tis noting, well that is 
one, now for the second. I shall faint — dear 
me—there— now," pulls another, " that is 
two," ** hark I hear a groan, eh ! what's that, 
dear me it is that old cricket— now the last. 
What's that? a mouse, only a dear little 
mouse, what a dunce I am — ^now for the last." 
She tremblingly approaches the glass, as she 
is in the act of pulling the hair : Peter steps 
immediately behind her, she raises her head, 
ives one scream and hjla into the arms of 


"WKbthMeoDTOTsliig, I IbrsetaUttiM; 
AU seMOiu tad ttMir ohaage, tU pkase aUkt.** 

« Miiftntuiit brings ■orrow enoocb.'' 

Queen of Arragon, 

Our readers, no doubt have long since ui- 
ticipated a love scene between Alice and 
Howard. Howard was a young man of real 
genuine talent, he loved the glorious art, he 
had adopted for a profession, &r its sublimity 
and beMitj ; and labcved assiduous^ in it 

as the means of suiqwrt Poor, buv 
ing genius of a high order, he commaaded 
that respect which too frequently is paid to 
weidth alone. He was now just on the eve 
of embarking for Italy, he loved Alice, and 
she, if she k)ved him at all, it was with the 
warm affection of a ^ster, rather than that 
indescribable feeling which overtakes a young 
heart in its first love. Indeed she was too 
young to form any such engagements, and yet 
she never felt so happy, as when she was in 
company with Howard, We now introduce 
them to our readers, as they are standing in 
the haU. 

*' And so you leave us Mr. Howard for a 
long — long time ?" 

'* Indeed Alice I can scarcely tell how long 
I shall be absent, but of one thing be assured ; 
my anxiety to return will much accelerate the 
business which calls me hence. And dear 
Alice — ^I must call you so— the story of your 
young life, will be to me as the first page in 
my heart's history. Alice I love you ; nay 
do not start, I know that your pure bosom 
never harbored any other passion than that 
of love and affection. But mine, dear Alice, 
is of that character I would have you expe* 
rience ; I would ha^ you feel not a sisterly 
love for a brother, but one equally dear but 
warmer— I mean the love of the heart." 

'■ Can there be a love more dear than that 
of a sister's ? 

'^ Yes, a love that can never change, a love 
that makes its votary forsake Father, Mother* 
brother and sisters.' 

" This is strange !" 

" Alice it is true, will you promise to think 
of me when I am fiur awaY ?'' 

*'I will promise: for I know that I wiE 
think of you often." 

'* And will you remember what I have said,, 
that my happiness is in your keeping? ib 
when I return, I shall claim you as my Mde.' 

** Mr. Howard — I— I — a poor orphan, 
you " 

"A poor Artist." 

" I am so young." 

** You will be older when I return." 

"But still an orphan!" 

** That name, Alice, is as dear to me as if 
your own. Will vou, Alice, remember me| 
and also what I have said ? I am aware| 
Alice, no, I am not — that you consider yoor^ 
self a child ; children never forget IdndneBflf 
youth never forgets love, it is the first dawi 
of heavenly sunshine on the human heart". 

" I will remember all your kindness." 

" Spoken like a child. ''^ 

" WeU, I will never forget that you hm^ 
me." ^ -I 

"Spoken likeagui." 
" And I will nevcir ceajse to think .of joo.! 
'* Spoken like my wife." , 

What Alice satfU we kaow not, but al 



flbwimd pressing his lips upon her cheek 
bre*thcd these words of the master spirit of 
the " mimic world," into her ear : — 

"Sweet, good night f 
This bud of lore, by nammei's ripening breatb, 
Hajr prove » beaoteoos flower when next we meef 

Tarn we now to a different scene. In a 
retired chamber sat old Mr. St. Clair. He 
was, as our readers may hare learned already, 
the father of Mrs. Yemon. He was awaiting 
the appearance of Maitland, who ima^ned 
the seiyani was conducting him to his friend 
Vernon. The old man was not aware of 
Maitland's great crimes, hut suflSciently in- 
formed of his general character to he incens- 
ed at his intrasion, and frequent visits to the 
boose. "I see how it is,*' he exclaimed, 
"the TiHain has thrown a fearful charm 
tnmnd Vernon ; it has deadened all his ener- 
gies, and cast a dark shadow over the future 
pro^iects of his life. What can I do ? He 
will not listen to my douhts and fears : mis- 
fortane dark and fearful is coming upon us, 
and what will become of his wife, his chil- 
dren— all — all must suffer.'* 

At that moment, the servant announced 
Mr. Maitland, who, entering and not seeing 
V«mon, expressed his surprise in no very 
gentle terms. 

1 "He left yon this note Sir," remarked Mr. 

I St. Clair, handing it to him. 

i " Umph — ^he realises to see me, wants time 

to consider : does he indeed, well we shall 

see- Old man what are you gazing at ?" 

** I am looking dosely and carefully at your 

! fiwe to see 

**What, J^?" 

* Whether the fonl fiend has not set a mark 

** This to me, old dotard !" 
** Nay, do not glare at me with those eyes 
i of fii«, I am an old man. Sir ; hut not so 
weakened by a^ as to fear you. 1 have the 
right to look : for in age vision, like memory, 
1 18 retrogressive ; shadows, reflecting the past, 
as it were, in a mirror." 

** Have yon ought with me t" 
' •* Yes — ^1 have read you, sir ; the very at- 
mospbere you breathe hecomes infectious; 
fiiito ifaifl house yon have hrought misery and 
I jBiafettane. No good will ever come where 
yoa'wn, no flowers hloom in your presence." 
"^Indeed. Old, man, you are poetic." 
^ Ton mock me, sir, aye, mock, aye, rail at 

grey hairs ; hut heware of them ; like 
the fi^tning's flash, your mockery will re- 
boaiid hack to ^our own heart. I would have 
yon leave ns, sir ; leave Mr. Yemon." 

■« Ton look and spei^, old man, as if 1 had 
pofwer over him." 

**Yoa have, sir, a fktal power. Yon poi- 
mam his nund, jcra enflame his passions, nuMi- 
«eii his brain. ^' 

^Bewmre,Mt.St, Oaur, how yoa pi^Dceed ; 

I have listened to you long enough ; nor will 
I tolerate such lauguage even from ageitsdf." 

*• Indeed ; me you cannot harm." 

" Say vou so, — ^look here, hold driveller in 
words, this house, and all that is in it, even 
to the very hed you sleep upon, is mine. One 
word from me, aud you are houseless !" 

** You see I tremhle not, sir. I was in part 
prepared for it, hut know, had man, that 
humble poverty is flu* better than rich vil- 
lainy. And know, also, that there are men 
in the world, whose hearts are not ice like 
yours. Do your worst, sir, better sudden 
reality, than living doubts. Depart sir, your 
presence is as the fabled Upas blightii&g 
every thing that comes within its poisonous 

** Farewell, poor moralist, and when the 
avalanche comes, remember Maitland." 

'< He is gone, the base villain is gone, thank 
heaven even for this respite. Let the ava- 
lanche come, and may that Providence, whose 
ministering spirits guard even the swallow 
from danger, avert the ruin it threatens." 


" Condemned on penury's barren peth to roam. 
Scorned by the world and left without a home.*^ 


Margaret, whose fright had only tended to 
strenthen her superstitious notions, now firm- 
ly believed in the miraculous influence of 
charms. "Well," she exclaimed, while ar- 
ranging the parlor furniture, " what a fright 
I had, as sure as I stand here I saw Peter's 
image in the glass. Yes it was his sprite, 
and then when I came to my^lf, I was all 
alone, the death watch was striking the last 
hour, and the house dog howled louder than 
ever. And see, if there is not a spider form- 
ing his web ! the monster, and all for the 
purpose of catching an innocent fly. How^ 
like poor women, are these little insects ; en- 
snared, and — look as I live, he wraps himself 
up in his glisteniug net work, and pretends to 
be dead — now the fly moves along — ^now his 
little feet become entangled, now the mons- 
ter awakes, now he rushes toward his victim 
— ^no you don't, not so fast" — as she spoke, 
with one brush of her duster, the whole fab- 
ric of this cunning insect's device was levelled 
vnth the floor,— ere she could finish her work 
of destruction the door opened, and Mr. Ver- 
non entered—" Tell Mrs. Vernon, Margaret, 
that I would speak with her, here in this 

" Yes the die is cast, I must become a ro- 
gue, to save myself from a prison, cruel al- 
ternative. The fatal effect of liquor is now 
apparent, mind and body are both enfeebled. 
Man, man why will you let a monster thuff 
rule you, why give to the foe of mankind, 
those fiMulties which were the gift 6i Deity. 



But why should I reason, I who have none, 
why attempt to escape, while my every act to 
do so is thwarted hy liquor. But here comes 
my wife. " I sent your maid to request this 
visit — I — I have wronged you my dear wife, 
my children and self— I am a penitent, and a 
wretched one at that." 

" Ah "William, how pale you look ; why will 
you thus give wav to your feelings, and veild 
to the tempter, who has caused all this ? 

"Liquor, true, true." 

" William, that is not the tempter I mean, 
it is that villain Maitland." 

*» What Maitland, my friend ? he careful 
Adeline, he careful." 

" He is a fiend, a devil. William, be no 
longer misled, be no longer blinded to this 
man's deep devices. Awake from your dream ; 
it is not, cannot be too late !" 

** What dream — what is it you mean ?" 

" William dear you cannot deceive me, you 
are surely about being drawn into some 
dishonest business transactions ; nay tremble 
not : I know nothing : think you William, a 
wife can sleep when a tempest is raging in her 
husband's breast. I have watched you night 
after night, I have heard your groans, your 
agonizing moans, I have witnessed your men- 
td struggles ; I know you suffer, both in mind 
and body." 

"I do, I do!" 

" Then speak to me, to your wife, and for 
your dear children's sake.'' 

" I cannot, I cannot" 

*' Avoid Maitland, as you would a fiend — 
He isyour doom." 

" H!e has been to me a friend !" 

" William, such friendship is death, call 
no man a friend, who endeavors to bring ruin 
and misery upon yourself and family." 

" Adeline, you do not know Maitland." 

" William — ^I can only say I know him too 
well, I could tell you that which would— But 
here comes father, what is it father, you look 

" There is a strange man at the door, Mr. 
Yemon, who insists upon coming in." 

" Let him come — " Well sir your busi- 
ness." This was addressed to a tall power- 
ful man, who at that moment, somewhat 
abruptly entered the room. 

** My business sir, is merely to serve this ;" 
handing a paper. 

*• Why it Is an Execution 1" 

"Exactly so." 

" Whose ? there is but one man who could 
issue one against me, and he is my friend." 

" Yes sir, he was your friend, and may bo 
so still — if you read, vou will perceive that 
the name is Maitland.'^ 

"bnpossible, it cannot be — and yet so it is 
— ^wife— father — children — we are houseless 
— ^penniless. My Qod, my Qod, this is all 
my own work !" 

" Be calm my son," was the response of 
St. Clair, "We are not homeless — there is 
one above who provides for all— a landlord 
whose tenants are his children. Let us pray !" 
Involuntary, all knelt, even to the stem offi- 
cer of the law, and the old man breathed a 
prayer, which soothed the billows of their 
troubled spirits. 


*^ Tfane Uyit his hand. 

On pyramidB of brafs. 

" What i«'t a woman cannot do?" 



Time whose surges wash away the lofty 
palaces, the cities, and all tiie gorgeous tem- 
ples that the ingenuity of man have erected, 
affect not the stupendous works of the Crea- 
tor. These are the landmarks for old father 
time, as he travds on to Eternity! Since 
our last chapter one of these surges had pass- 
ed over the dwelling, as well as the hopes and 
prospect^ of the Yemons ; ruin and misery 
sat scowling over the wreck of their once 
happy home. No sooner had the execution 
issued by Maitland, against Vernon been 
satisfied, than the creditors of the former 
seized upon its proceeds, and thus, he found 
that ruin which he sought to bring on others 
alone. Independent of thi^, that infaxnoas 
association to which he belonged was sus- 
pected by the police, and many of its mem- 
oers were seized and prosecuted* for swindling. 
Many of our readers will remember the ex- 
citement occasioned by the exposition of this 
organized band of swindlers, their manner and 
mode of procuring goods and systemetic com- 
mercial arrangements. Maitland was fortun- 
ate enough to escape ; and it not unfreqaently 
occurs the ringleaders in villainy are apt to 
do so. Indeed it was not with him a difficult 
matter, for he was, what they termed a for* 
VHtrding agents and was not immediately con- 
nected with the purchasing, or the selUi^ of 
the goods. As it was, he shared in the ruin 
of Vernon. 

If man could be the only sufferer, or if 
mens sins could be inflicted on themselves 
alone, the evil, the far spreading evil which 
their consequences produce would not be ao 
universal. Thus in the case of Vernon — his 
love of liquor, his connexion with a dass of 
men who acloiowledged no power but thait 
which excitement produced, nor knew aaj- 
other rulOT but that which grew out of it. 

This is insanity, fearful madness. Liquor» 
like opium, at least in some respects, possesses 

that peculiar and almost superhuman power c^ 
re-creating a man ; making him as it were 
new being, throwing him into that state 
dreaming whose visions are but the spectres oC 
muidered intellect! It gives birth to ii^ 
wild and unnatural ; tbese ideas are bat 
gkamings from ineanitj ; sometimes, ca iiie^l . 



away by the all powerfnl operation of its now 
mental ratrocination, these ideas are clothed" 
in the most beautiftil language, and gemned 
with poetic heauties, at others, they are all of 
tlie most depraved, and the coarsest character. 

In this mimic world— furies, ruled and gov- 
erned — ^hy liquor did Vernon and his compan- 
ions exist, move, and have their heing, such 
as it was. We have said, the ruin fell not 
alone on Vernon : his wife and children were 
alike sufferers. She had sought her friends- 
friends in prasperity, are your enemies in pov- 
erty. They heard her melancholy story, cen- 
sored her husband, and bowed her from their 
doors. This is the world, at least it is — num- 
kind ! Mrs. Vernon was not cast down, she 
was aware of this infirmity of the human 
heart, and forgave her friends for their lack 
of charity. What did she do? sit down and 
weep, with her children clinring to her, and 
makii^ them more wretched by her grief? 
No : she sought out the owner of a large pa- 
per factory, stated her situation, her willing- 
ness to labor ; and the absolute necessity of 
having immediate employment being urged, 
she and her children, including the orphan 
Alice, were immediately engagSj. Nor was 
her father willing to remain a mere recipient 
of their bounty, but asked and obtained a 
situation as an assorter of rags, and old pa- 
per, which he had the privilege of doing at 
their own house. Thus, twelve months af- 
ter the events narrated in our last chapter, 
we find the family of the Vemons, settled 
down in an old dilapidated house near the 
factory. This dwelling had been of large 
dimensions ; was old-fashioned, and contained 
fimr rooms on the ground floor. In one of these 
very rooms Mr. St. Clair had removed from the 
fiu^ry a large quantity of old paper, a great 
portion of which had been purchased from 
the public offices of the city as waste paper ; 
indeed, it was what might well be called a 
*♦ cart-load of trash." In the adjoining room 
Vcmon and his wild companions frequently 
met to carouse, for it was one of the most 
trying of poor Mrs. Vernon's misfortunes to 
have her little household disturbed by their 
wild orgies. That wretched man had become 
reconciled to Maitland, and of late they were 
constantly together. It is true he seldom saw 
his wife and children, and this respite was to 
her a relief. Source of as much ^ef as he 
had been, his absence from their little circle 
was an actual blessing. 

How did Alice bear this change of fortune? 
See yonder group in that large room, there 
close by the third window from the door. 
That is Mrs. Vernon, Alice and Robert. 
James, her youngest son, and little Anna are 
at school. Do they seem unhappy? The 
close observer, indeed, might notice a tear in 
dM eye of the elders, but it has passed off, 
and a smmy smile meets the gaze m her boy. 

He is a fine little fellow, his ready hands, and 
prattling tongue are busy ; the one adds to 
their domestic comforts at home, while the 
ioyous laugh, and boyish glee, makes even a 
heavy task light. Alice is cheerftil, her labor 
adds to their little store, and she is happy to 
think it is now in her power to repay, in some 
measure the kindness of her beloved benefac- 
tress. It is true, her thoughts some time 
wander far from the objects which surround 
her, to other lands, and other scenes. — the 
rich Italian moonlight, the soft pale rays of 
which fall amid the ruined temples of classic 
age ; and there she conjures up the unage of 
one beloved ; one on whose pathway her young 
heart sends its earnest prayer, and within 
whose pure and holy recess young hope offers 
up its orisons. She thinks of Howard? 
And does he think of her ? Hark ? the post 
has arrived. A letter for Alice. 0! how 
happy that voung heart is now ; she smiles, 
she — but why those tears ? tears of joy. ! 
how sweet is young love : — 

*' Tia nature*s second eun. 
Gausiog « fpring of Tirtaes where It •htaiet.'* 

We now leave this happy group— happy ? 
aye, content, even in poverty, is happiness, — 
and call the attention of our readers to the 
room in the old dwelling house where Mr. St. 
Clair is employed. As the scenes we are now 
about to relate all of some importance to the 
general interest of our story, we will make 
them the subject of another chapter. 

(CoDtiDiaed in number 90.) 

To the EditOT. 


That idleness is thejxir^f of intemperance, 
we think no intelli^t observer of the springs 
of human action will deny. 

Young men do not begin to drink strong 
liquors from the mere love of them, nor for a 
love of the excitements which they produce. 
The beginnings of drinking are mostly inci- 
dental. When the business of the day is 
done, young persons require recreation ; and 
as man is a gregarious animal, recreation is 
more pleasing when enjoyed by a number. 
Social fellowship and emulation in the sports 
of youth, add much to the pleasure of tnem. 
Young men consequently are inclined to meet 
together, and indulge in such amusements as 
will gratify their natural desire for recreation 
and social intercourse. 

Most young persons are unemployed on 
evenings, and on Sundays, and it is the mis- 
use of this unemployed time, which causes 
most of the disorder and outrage which has 
become so common in our large cities. 

The manner in which Sonday is observed 



in our country ; ftt least by & 1m^ portion of 
the people, leaids many into yicious habits 
We are accustomed to hear clergymen de- 
nounce sabbath breaking as one of the great 
sources of moral evil : but a little observation 
will we bdieve, convince ai^ candid persons 
that a cessation from labor, by persons who 
do not spend the day in religious excercises, 
causes more moral evil than the entire disre- 
gard of the Sabbath. If any other day were 
set apart to be spent in idleness, it would pro- 
duce the same results. 

** For Satan flndaiome mlfchtef 0tUl 
For kn« hands to do." 

It has been well said that *' idleness is the 
Devils hot-bed," for in it grow all manner of 
vices, and they grow rankly too. 

When the day's work is done, and when 
both body and mind require recreation it is 
not wonderful that young persons should re- 
sort to such places as will afford them such 
amusement as they desire. And where can 
they go ? Let us suppose that a young per- 
son is not yet led into bad courses. Perhaps he 
is an M>prentic6 ; he is not admitted into his 
masters parlor ; he gets his meals in the kit- 
chen ; and when he has finished his supper 
he may go to bed, if he chooses. Perhaps he 
works on his own account, and his home does 
not afford any attractive pastimes. He must 
look for recreation out of doors : and what 
will he find ? Perhaps he can afford to go to 
a theatre or a circus show once in a week ; 
but he cannot go there every night. If he 
look around for places to spend evenings, he 
may find that he can on some evenings go to 
church, or to a lecture, or to a reading room, 
but in these places he must keep qmet and 
behave himself decorously. These places do 
not afford him the recreation which he desires ; 
and he must look farther. He finds that his 
acquaintances meet at engine houses, and in 
drinking shops, and here they may talk and 
laugh and amuse themselves as they please. 
Here he finds real recreation. Here it is Uie 
fashion to smoke cigars, drink brandy &c., 
and if he have no disposition to induJge in 
these things at first, he will not long resist 
the fashion, A boy who wishes to appear a 
man, must indulge in manly habits; and 
smoking and drinking are the chief of these ; 
besides it would look mean to go to such 
places and not spend anything. And here 
the very ambition which, if properly develop- 
ed and cultivated would make a high-minded, 
honorable man of him, leads him into intem- 
perance and all its concomitant vices. 

In Philadelphia there are hundreds of chur- 
ches, and other ihsUtutions in which young 
persons may learn morality ; but there are 
thousands of places, &r more attractive in the 
eyes of uncultivated youth, where they may 
indulge their vicious propensities. 

At every turn there is something to attract 

young peraowi and draw themintoevil habits 
and sensual indulgences ; but what is tbere 
to draw them to the path of virtue ? 

In our city there are no proper amanimitn 
provided for the people. 

If places were provided, where youBg per- 
sons could enjoy themselves in such a way aa 
would gratify them, and afford real recrea- 
tion : and at the same time cultivate a taste 
for refined amusements and pleasures ; where 
they could enjoy manly sports and pastimes 
without any inducement ro drink and smoke ; 
where a proper ambition and emulation to ex- 
cel in what is really noble and praiseworthy, 
could be encouraged and stimulated, we should 
not have so much vice and disorder in oar 
city. We often hear of the evils which re- 
sult from a want of parental control — for it is 
not the fashion now for parents to control 
children — but we may say that there is an al- 
most entire want of control and of care on 
the part of the whole community, with re- 
gard to the morals of the young. Our city 
boasts of many noble charities, but the tctt 
fountain-head of vice and immorality is left 
to diffuse its poisoned waters throu^out the 
community, unchecked and uncontrolled. 

But the want of proper amusements for the 
young, is not the only source of evil in our 

The means of education are not sufficient. 
Moral and intellectual culture go hand in 
hand, and if the children of our city were 
better instructed, their morals would be im- 
proved. It is not our intention here to go 
into any discussion of the comparative merits 
of our school system. It is enough for cnr 
present purpose, to say, what we think will 
not be denied, that most of the children that 
grow up in our city are not so educated as to 
make them love learning, and avail themsel- 
ves of those means of intellectual improre- 
ment which are within their reach. 

If the diildren of the community were so 
educated, at an early age, as to become fond 
of learning, and to liave their ambiti<m to im- 
prove, excited and stimulated ; and if thetr 
intellectual exercises were so arranged and 
combined with physical sports and amnae- 
ments, that children would find gratifying re- 
creations in them, the morals of our oity 
would be greatly improved. 

We may say then, using the term in its 
most comprehensive sense that Education^ is 
the great remedy for the evils which hare so 
marred the mond beauty of our pleasant city. 

Education should develope the mental and 
physical powers of youth. It should enable 
nim to understand his own powers and choose 
his occupation accordingly. It should Ibr- 
nish him with the most agreeable arnos^* 
ments. It should stimulate his ambition and 
show him the true ** path of honor, and the 
way to greatness." 



Tfcteiv iit pndd nid inbitkni enoogli in th6 
heart d erery boy in the community to make 
ft decent man of mm : if it be properly cnlti- 



Ocean Zi/e, — Savannah , — PulaskVs monument, 
Sie Park, — Independent Church, 

It was one of those bright and beautiftil 
nemngs, when the air is redolent of the 
bifany od<»9 of eariy spring, that our noble 
steamer eracefblly swung loose from hw moor- 
ings at the Oresent city of the North. With 
prow turned Southw»rd, she glided rapidly 
<wcr the smooth waters of the Ddaware, and 
seoB the lofty edifices and the tall spires of 
the great metropolis, with its busy scenes 
ind nerer-ending tiimnlt, with its novelties, 
ffvpties, and yarious attractions, were left far 
bemnd. Exhilarated with the novelties of our 
present position, the eye at one time rested 
with pl^usure and delight upon the attrac- 
tioiK along the shores, as they successively 
dearaed tl^ attention — again imagination out- 
stripping our present sf^ed woidd fain por- 
taray the enjoyments and dreams of happiness 
which seemed to cluster in such pronision 
tromid the successful termination of our voy- 
I ste, while other hours of an equally agree- 
I tile character were spent in social intercourse 
I with our fellow passengers. No wonder that 
i the blood courses freely through the veins, 
I md the spirits respond bouyantly, when 
; know, and home-scenes are in anticipation ; 
when cares and engagements have departed, 
[ ind the heart looking forward to the consum- 
natkm of its fond hopes, and the fruition of 
ezpeeted joys amid the family circle, and 
upon its own native soil, speaWs to those far 
iwiy and says with Schiller ** Seas and hills, 
and horizons are between us ; but souls es- 
cape from their clay prisons, and meet in the 
peradiseof love." The morning sun which 
bad all day long illumined the villages, and 
fe rea ta upon the banks of the river, re- 
vealing tnat light green hue, which betokens 
the returning supremacy of Summer, sought 
his coach in the West just as we were enter- 
ing upon the broad waters of the Atlantic. 
His hngerine beams rested in beauty upon 
the hee^l«i£}, apparently unwilling to leave 
eves finr a single night, this favored coast. 
Yet soon his rajrs one by one fkded away, and 
we were floating far out upon the bosom of 
the deep. Those towers which like sentinds 
in calm and in storm, warn alike of danger, 
md of safety, even those were lost to oar 
gaie, and naught remained but a wide waste 
of waters. Although the king of day had 
lor a short season resigned his sceptre, it was 

only to place H in the hands of his fair con- 
sort the moon. Moonlight upon the ocean ! 
If there be a season calculated to awaken 
within the breast the liveliest sensations dt 
pleasure, and gratify every longing desire 
after a complete realization of what consti- 
tutes the beautiful in nature, say ye senti- 
mentalists, is not the present hour such an 
one ? Liftii^ her fair face above the waves, 
with her mild rays diffnsdy scattered over 
the sea, she begins her silent journey with 
her starry train. If it be one of the sub- 
limest spectacles presented in the Natural 
world, to view the vast ocean driven by storm- 
blasts, rising in mountain majesty <* like new 
Apenines,'* with dark clouds hanging far 
above its bosom, now foaming and sur^ng 
in mad career, while the thunders of midnight 
are echoed and re-echoed from the gloomy 
caverns and dark caves beneath its depths, — 
to mark these broken billows as they are re- 
veided, when black vdumes of clouds seem 
rent asunder by flashes of glaring lightning, 
as in quick succession they sport high in the 
heavens, or quiver along the infuriated waves 
— surely a surpassing! v beautifbl prospect is 
that presented, when the sea is lulled to rest, 
when its placid surface is silvered over with 
the bright beams of pale-eyed Luna, — when 
millions of youthful billows leap and play in 
her radiance — ^in ouick succession chasing 
each other across tne bright track she has 
left upon the waters, and with pleasing wel- 
come, g^eeting the stately stumer, as in 
triumi^ she speeds over the " breezy tide." 
Hours seem but as moments to him, who from 
the deck enjoys such a scene, and numerous 
are the pleasant thoughts which present 
themsdves unbidden, yet suggested by, and 
sympathizing with the spirit of the occasion. 
Let Madame Ida Pieiffer describe her devo- 
tion to tibe Terpsichorean art, and portray the 
sensations of those who reel in the grasp of 
the intiless Naiads of the stormy sea, we will 
remember only the delightfril reveries sug- 
gested by ocean life, and not recall our 
thoughts from dream land, and bid them dwdl 
upon sensations of a less agreeable, and of a 
decidedly more practical character : — 

Thrice bad the sun upon h's |cr«eii-wftTed bed 
'Mid TOijH'loiidB bii Teeper radfanoe died; 
And thrke the moon ftr»in out the ocean tom 
lake pale^yed beauty waking ftom^poee." 

beft»^ the solitary ray of the lighthouse on 
Tybee Island, like a star of life upon the 
coast, p;leamed above the wave. With plea- 
sure did we hail that beam of light, for it 
was to us a harbinger of rest, from the rest- 
less heavings of the sea, and an assurance 
that another land, and well remembered 
sceiMS were soon to open before the eager 
gaze. Fain would the eye penetrate the dark- 
ness, and mark the objects which surround on 
every hand. There are the fitr-reaehing sand- 



bai*8 with their edges brightened by depositeB 
of sea shells : there the palmetto rears its lone- 
ly form, there the rice-fields spreads out in 
Ui the attraction which the mild breath of 
spring has imparted to its squares and heavy 
dams ; and now, we are pasdng almost under 
the guns of Fort Pulaski — and yet, the stran- 
ger sees them not, and the Georgian only /e«Zs 
their presence, for the curtain of night is 
about them all. But yonder are lights glanc- 
ing upon the waters, and although just now 
we were unable by starlight to trace the dark 
walls and frowning batteries of the fortress 
on Lockspur Island, now the hundred lamps 
of the city burning brightly, reveal the rip- 
ples as they play upon me bosom of the river, 
and disclose the dusky outlines of vessels as 
they lie motionless in the stream, or at anchor 
at the wharfs. Savannah lies before us, yet 
shadows and darkness rest above and around. 
« # « # 

The morning sun shines in all his magni- 
ficence, the Western breeze blows softly over 
the city, and we realize at least in part, the 
brilliancy and beauty of a spring day at the 
South. Contrasted with the imposing appear- 
ance presented bv such large cities as Phila- 
delphia or New York, with their magnificent 
piles, costly dwellings, extensive improve- 
ments and achievements of art, the general 
aspect of Savannah is rather diminutive. The 
ear accustomed to the never-ending rumble of 
the omnibus, the rattle of carts, hacks, wa- 
gons, and the lumbering engine, — with the 
continued tramp of multitudes eagerly throng- 
ing the street in pursuit of business and plea- 
sure, will listen in vain here, for this strange 
jargon of sounds so discordant. The various 
compound noises of a great metropolis are ex- 
changed for a comparative silence, which in 
some parts of the ciiy is quite sensible. This 
arises from the fact, that the middle portions 
of the streets are not paved, and the soft sand 
there quietly opens beneath the pressure of 
the wheel ; thus avoiding all that harsh re- 
sponse yielded by round stones, so deleterious 
to the healthful action, and composure of the 
auditory nerves. Upon the Bay however (as 
that portion of the city is termed which lies 
along the river,) the scene presented is 
one cidculated to awaken the impression, that 
Savannah is a place of great commercial im- 
portance. Here, (however quiet and retired 
may be the portions appropriated to private 
residences in other parts of the city) you will 
fiind no reason to imagine that you are in the 
neighborhood of " Sleepy Hollow." The rat- 
tle of the numerous drays upon the plank 
roads, the voices of the drivers, the tumbling 
i)i cotton bales, the merry song of the sailor, 
the flapping of sails in the stream, the heavy 
thump of the pestle in the rice mill, and the 
•ound of the cotton-press, all unite in pre- 
senting a very busy and lively appearance. 

Along the wharves may be seen large Com- 
mission merchant's rooms, while over the 
river are floating French, Dutch, • En^tflh, 
Spanish, and flags of other nations, from ^10 
numerous steamers and vessels at anchor. 
The city is hence immediately reoognizal as 
one of all-important commercial character. 
We should have stated before this, that Sa- 
vannah is situated upon the river of the same 
name, some seventeen miles from the ocean, 
and occupies a commanding devation, when 
compared with the nature of the land imme- 
diately above and below. — Opposite, in Sooth 
Carolina, and on either hand, are seen large 
rice fit»lds with their verdant crops, rpgidar 
squares, and heavy dams. These are on a di- 
rect level with the river : and were it not Tot" 
the embankments, would be under wat^. — 
Grencral Aglethorpe as he sailed up this stream 
in search of a location for a settlement, was 
attracted by the high and dry bluff, upon 
which Savanah now stands, and sdecUng this 
as the most eligible i)06ition for a plantation, 
there founded the first Colony, in Georgia. 
The choice was judicious — and under the sub- 
sequent smiles of Providence, that small mim- 
her of settlers have multiplied a thousand foJd 
and Savannah is now one of the most {ntos- 
perous and pleasant of Southern Cities. The 
City is regularly laid out, the streets running 
at right angles to each other. At regular in- 
tervals the eye rests upon public squares, 
which on the account of their frequency and 
beauty, add much to the appearance and agrce- 
ableness of the City, Filled as they are with 
a luxuriant growth of live-oaks, while beneath, 
the ground is covered with a carpet of dark 
green Bermuda grass,— conveniently arranged 
with gravel walks and thronged with groups 
of bright little faces, they form at once an 
ornament, and are sources of health ; for open 
airy squares and commons have been a^y 
termed the lungs of a City, In the centre ot 
one of these, stands a monument oommenM)r^ 
ative of the brave achievments of two heroes, 
whose names are inseparably connected with 
the arduous struggles of our Revolution — ^Pu- 
laski and Qreen : the form^, the noble Pole, 
who dared to dethrone the tyrant Stanislaus* 
and freely shed even his life-blood in the de- 
fence of Savannah, the Utter, the hero of £a- 
taw. It consists of a simple shaft rising some 
thirty or forty feet from a compound granite 
base. This is surrounded by a neat iron rul- 
ing. It bares no inscription — it needs none, 
for the intrepid action, dauntless courage, 
and spotless virtues of those whom it c<m- 
memorates, are still, and everwill remain fresh 
in the remembrance of every true American. 
History and a Nation's pen have written tbeir 
epitaphs : — 

**By Fairy huidB tb«ir knell in mug. 
By forms unwen tbeir dirge i» ^unj;, 
Tnerc honor comon a plljtrfm array, 
To Mmi the turf that mraiMthwr (day. I 



Attd fiMdooi 8b«]l ftwhn* refMlr, 
To dwell « weeping hermit th^re." 

The most interesting yiew of the City, is 
thtt from the Independent Church. This 
building is possessed of much heauty and is 
&r &nied beoiuise oi its loftj spires, which 
rise some two hundred and seyen feet, looking 
down from the upper portions and windows, 
of this, Sayannan, with adjacent country is 
seen spnad out Ukea large map. The eye at 
one time rests upon the riyer in winding course, 
studded with the white sails as they catch the 
ercning breese, until its waters mingle with 
those of the Atlantic. Again it marks the 
rioe-fi^ds, which now appear but as so many 
bods in a large garden. Again, the rich foli- 
age of the squares, yarying the monotonous 
ftppearanoe of the usual combination of brick 
lod mortar ; and still again its gaze is arrest- 
ed by the Park, with its iron railing, and its 
iDemr groups assembled beneath the refresh- 
ing shade of the i»ne trees : some engaged in 
friendly conyerse, others enjo^ring the plea- 1 
sores (^an eyening*s walk, while Uie younger 
members are em]^oyed in prosecuting, with 
Tiger and spirit. &eir yarious sports. There 
also are parties returning in open buggies, 
filled with clusters of yeUow jessamines, and 
the numerous wild flowers which blo(»n in 
I nch profusion in their natiye forests. The 
view is truly a pleasant one, and in our lofty 
elevation we would fain linger awhile, obsery- 
iog scenes and incidents, places and persons, 
wholly unconscious of our presence. 

^iimt ammig \\t |tfl» §ooks. 


— This is the title of an extremely handsome 
Tohisie, of some 395 pages, which we haye 
receired from Messrs. Harper and Brothers, 
the publishers. It is from the pen of the 
Rer. C. B. Taylor, a clergyman of the Pro- 
testant Episcopal Church of England, and a 
gentleman of warm, sterline piety and refined 
poetical tastes. He tells the painful story of 
wtjrdom in a manner calculated to impress 
it deeply upon the mind. He imparts to his 
object, all along, the most absorbing interest. 
Pox's Book o( Martyrs is too cumto'some to 
^ generally read : hence, but little of the 
<ietail of sufferings at the hands of intolerance 
*»d bigotry is generally known. The work 
^^efore us is, on the contrary, a well-digested 
epitome of the story of church persecutions ; 
»nd should be read by all who yalue freedom 
^ coBSoience, and speech. It must find an 
J>"i»«se circulation. The more it is read the 
•^tter. Bigotry has had bloody sway among 
our fore&thers, and if unopposed is ready to 
Vnt^iat the same abominations again, under 
some pte? ailing church ; for bad men may 

turn the purest instrument to bad ends. The 
author yery properly says: — "Let us not 
be told, I would say again and again, that 
these are the abominations of a former age, 
and belong rather to the times when Bliney 
liyed, than to the party which passed sen- 
tence upon him — no, these abominations 
might be more openly defended in a former 
age, but they are part of a sytem which does 
not change.'' 

As a specimen of the interesting character 
of the narratiye, and also to show the kind 
of materiel which is presented by the gifted 
author, we copy the painful 


** It was late one eyening in the month of 
October, that a woman belonging to the rank 
of the pea^try of this county of Kent, en- 
tered the city of Canterbury, in the company 
of a little boy. Her errand was a most un« 
usual one, for she came to deliver herself up 
as a prisoner to the castle of Canterbury ; 
and the circumstance of her coming in charge 
of that child was at once a proof of her in- 
tegrity, and the noble tenderness of her spirit. 
She was one of the many yictims led to the 
stake and burnt at Canterbury : her crime 
was her decided refusal to be present at the 
sacrifice of the mass in her own parish church 
at Staplehurst, which, as you are aware, is a 
yillage some miles from this city. She had 
been before a prisoner for the same offence, 
haying been sent thither, with many mocks 
and taunts. Here she lay fourteen days, till 
at the entreaty of her husband, some of the 
wealthy men m the neighborhood of her na- 
tiye yiUage wrote to the Bishop of Dover, en- 
treating her release. Her modest firmness of 
purpose, however, had not been shaken by 
her imprisonment, as her answers to the 
Bishop, when brought before him, plainly 
proved. Foxe relates that, ** being summon- 
ed before the Bishop, he asked the poor wo- 
man, * if she would go home and go to the 
church ?' her reply was veiy simple. • If I 
would have so done, I need not have come 
hither.' — * Then, wilt thou go home,' said 
the Bishop, * and be shriven of thy parish 
priest ?' Alice Benden answered, * No. that 
she Would not' 'Well,' said he, *go thy 
way home, and go to the church when thou 
wilt ;' whereunto she answered nothing : but 
a priest that stood by, said, ' She saith she 
will, my lord ;' wherefore he let her go, and 
she came forthwith home." Such is Foze's 
short account of her imprisonment. 

*< The husband <tf this godly and devoted 
woman appears to have been a man guided by 
no principle, and acting only according to tlie 
humor and the will of the moment. On her 
return home, this wretched man, in the way- 
wardness of his unstable character, seems to 
have oonmienc^ his attack upon her about 



her atteodanee at the parkh ofanrdi; and 
doabdeRS met with a meek but decided frug- 
al from his wife, who made it a point of oon' 
science not to attend. About a fortnight af- 
terward, when going to church, he met a par- 
ty of his nei^hb)r8, to whom he appears to 
luve spoken m the most unkind and unguard- 
ed manner of his wife's unaltered decision. 

" The report of his words was brought to 
Sir John Guildford, a magistrate, and again 
the order was made out for the imprisonment 
of Alice Benden. As if to prove that he had 
made no mistake in the accusations he had 
brought forward against his wife in his idle 
discourse, this base and cruel husband came 
forward, and offered to take charge of poor 
Alice and cany her to prison himself, actually 
receiving the money from the constable to 
take the trouble out of his hands. It was 
then that this Qodfearine woman, resolved to 
save her husband from the shame of such an 
act, . and went herself to the constable, and 
b^ged hhn to let his son have the custody of 
her to prison, promising that she would go 
there raithfblly. Her character for truth 
must have been known, for her word was 
taken, and thus in the charge of a child went 
Alice Benden, to prison and to death. 

" This poor countrvwoman was no common 
character. From the few fkcts that have 
oome down to us of her life and death, there 
seems to have been a lovely harmony of men- 
tal and moral qualities about her : a vigor 
and clearness of intellect, a forethought and 
self-possession, and a gentleness and sweet- 
ness of disposition, which are sometimes found 
in persons of higher station, but which are 
addom discovered — perhaps only because they 
are not sought after — among those in a lower 
rank of life. Many have been bold and 
courageous, but indiscreet and ungentle ; 
many have been mild and forgiving ; but poor 
Alice Benden presented in her character the 
onion of these graces of the Christian futh in 
ftkiT and Consistent keeping. We are told that 
while she was in prison, she practiced with 
mother woman, *a prison-fellow of hers,* 
that they should live both of them on two- 
pcnice half-penny a day, to tij how they 
might bear the hunger and suffering which 
they forsaw they should be called to undergo ; 
for it was wdl known that they would be re- 
moved to Ihe Bishop's prison, where three 
fitrthings apiece a day was the sum allowed 
for the prisoners' fare : and on this sum, for 
fourteen days, was Alice Benden afterward 
forced to subsist. 

** The winter drew on, and Alice lay in the 
odld cell of a cheeriess prison. At the end of 
January, the hard heart of her husband seems 
to have relented toward the unoffending wo- 
man — and he came to the Bishop of Dover 
and begged that Alice might be released. But 
now he came too late ; the merciless Bishop 

was not to be moved. He proixranoed her to 
be an obstinate heretic, and one that woi^ 
not be reformed, and he would not consent to 
her release. Again the spirit of the unstable 
man turned a^nst his wifo, and he laid in- 
formation against the brother of Alice, eom- 
plaining, that Roger Hall (for so her brother 
was named), had found means to hold fre- 
quent communication with the poor prisoner ; 
and he told the Bishop that if he conld keep 
her brother from her, riie would turn, for, 
added the cruel husband, 'He oomftirtefth 
her, giveth here money, and persuadeth her 
not to return or relent' 

« The prison of Alioe Benden was soon mf- 
ter changed, and she was taken to a wretched 
dungeon called Monday's Hole, strict orders 
being at the same time given, that her broth- 
er's coming should be watched for, and thst 
he also should be taken and commii- 
ted to prison. This dungeon was fai a 
vault beneath the ground, and in a pAaoe 
where, in these Protestant days, prisons are 
not to be found. It was within a court where 
the prebend's chambers were. The window 
of the dungeon was surrounded by a pahnc so 
high, that the prisoner in the dungeon oe- 
neath could not pofi«ibly see any one bejrond 
the paling, unless he stood by it and looked 
over it There, by the good providesoe of 
God, in the absence of Alice BcndenV Jailer, 
who was also a bell-ringer, that lovinr and 
faithfbl brother at length discovered the 
place of her imprisonment. He came at a 
very early hour while the man was gone to 
ring the church bell, and he managed with 

' some difficulty to convey money in a lonf of 
bread at the end of a pole, to his half -starved 
sister. But this was the only intercourse he 
could obtain, and this was after she had al- 
ready lain five weeks in that miseraUe dun- 
geon. * All that time" says Foxe, " no crea- 
ture was known to come at her move than faff 
keeper.' She lay on a little short straw be- 
tween a pair of stocks and a stone wall : her 
fkre being one half -penny a day in bread, aad 
a farthing in drink, till she entreated to have 
the three farthings in bread, and water to 
drink. And there she lay for nhie weeks, 
without once being enaUed to change her rai- 
ment, in the depth of the winter. 

** On her first being brou^t into that loath- 
some dungeon, the poor ill-treated woman 
gave way to complaint andlamentatioiw, won- 
ering within herself, * why her Lord God 

I did with His so heavy justice suffer her to be 
sequestered from her loving follows into sach 

! extreme misery. And in these dolorous 
mournings did she continue,' adds her bio- 
grapher, < till on a night as she was in her 

I sorrowfVil supplications, rehearsing this veree 
of the Psalm : * Why art thou so heavy, O 
my soul'— and again, * the riglrt hand of the 

I noBt High oaa change all,' she reoeived eeei- 



fort in the midst of her miames, and after 
that contimied vcrj jojfvl until her* debvery 
from the same.' 

*« At length, 4m the 25th of March, it was 
in the jear 1557, Alice Bdden was taken 
ifom h(T dungeon and brought up before the 
inkpdtoos Bi^p of Dorer. And Uie ques- 
tion was again pot to her, ' Would she now go 
home, and go to the diuroh or no V and great 
&Tor was promised her if she would but re- 
form. Her answer showed the steadfastness 
of her purpose : * I am thoroughly persuaded 
W the great eactremity that you have already 
showed me, that you are not of Qod, neither 
can your doings he godly ; and I see that you 
8Mk my utter destruction,' and she showed 
them how lame she was from the cold and the 
want of food, and the sufferings of her wretch- 
ed prison ; for she was not able to move with- 
out great pain. Her whole appearance in- 
deed was most piteous, for after tney removed 
her to the Westgate and her clothes had been 
changed and her person kept clean for a time, 
the whole of her skin peeled and scaled off, 
as if she had recovered from some mortal poi- 

'* The day of her death was nigh at hand. 
And her deportment was then in keeping with 
the rest of her exemplary conduct. At the 
btter end of April she was again called for 
and condemned to die ; and m>m that time 
committed to the castle prison, where she con- 
tinued till the 19th day of June. Two cir- 
cumstanoes attending her last hours were pe- 
culiarly affecting. Jji undressing herself for 
the stake, after having given her handker- 
doef unto one John Banlu, probably a faith- 
ful Christian friend who was standing by, to 
kttp in memoir of her, she took from her 
waist a white lace, which she gave to the 
keeper, entreating him to give it to her 
brother, Roger Hall, and to tdl him that it 
was the last band that she was bound with, 
except the chain ; and then she took a shil- 
ling <tf Philip and Mary, which her father had 
beat, * a bowed shiUing,' and sent her when 
the was first committed to prison, desiring 
her said brother should with obedient saluta- 
tioas render the same to her father again. It 
vas the first piece of money, she said, which 
be had sent her after her troubles began : and 
then in her lovely spirit of piety, she added, 
that she returned it to him as a token iji God's 
goodness to her in all her sufferings, that he 
Bight understand, that she had never lacked 
money while she was in prison.'* 

— A new and elegant edition of the poems of 
T. Buchanan Read has just been published by 
A. Hart, of this city. We have looked over 
the leaves of this volume, and are, even with 
I nch a mere curscny glance, compelled to ac- 
cede to their anthOT a high position ; much 
hi|^ thui his later fugitive pieces, published 

in the ro aga t an es and ne ws p au e m , have dis- 
posed us to accede to him. The dedication 
of the woric is- grotesque enough, especii^y 
as connected with a volume of poetry. Ob- 
serve: — 



TBOUOH vnn poan taowo protb as L«smio is m nov 







Whether the poems as aforesaid will be as 
lasting as aforesaid, or whether ^he poems as 
aforesaid will be transient as aforesaid, we 
cannot say. Some of them are, unquestion- 
ably, made up of enduring materials, and 
should live forever: while the sooner some 
others depart to oblivion, the better ¥rill it be 
for the poets name and fiune. 

It is not our purpose to give extracts from 
the latter; it is both our pleasure and our 
purpose to treat our readers to a specimen or 
so of the former. Who would not be proud to 
have written the following, which is entitled 


**'Dowa behind Um hidden TflJage, fHnged aronnd with 

hasel brake, 
(Lfke e holy hermit dreaminff, half udeep and half awake. 
One who loTeth the sweet quM tor the happy quiet's nake.) 
Dosing, murmuring in its visions, laj the heaTen-enam* 

" lake. 

And within a dell, where shadows through the brightest 

days abide, 
like the snvery swimming gowamer by breeses su a tte rsd 

Fell a shining skein of water that ran down the lakelet's 

As withfai the brafai hj beauty lulled, a pleasant tbooght 

may gUde. 

When the fdnking sun of August, growing large in the de- 

ffliot his arrows, long and golden, through the maple and 
the pine: 

And the russetFthrush fled singing flrom the akiar to the 

While the cat bird in the hasel gave its melancholy whine; 

And the little squirrel chattered, peering round the hiekoiy 

And, a-sudden like a meteor, gleamed along the oriole; — 
There I walked bfsMe fldr Inea, and her gentle beauty 

Like tbe scene athwart my senses, like the sunshine 

through my louL 

And her ftiry feet that pre ss ed the leaves, a pleasant mu- 
sic made, 

And they dimpled the sweet beds of bbosb with bkMKus 
thick inlaid:— 

There 1 told her okl romsnoes, and with lore's sweet woe 
we played, 

Till &ir Ines^eyes, like erening, held the dew beneath their 

There I wore fbr her lore baUads, sneh as lorer only 

Till she lighed and grieved, as only mild and loving maiden 

And to bide her tears she stooped to glean the vfc)Iets ttom 

the loaves, 
As of old sweet Ruth went gleaning 'mid the oriental 




DovB we walkMl bMite ttM Ukd«i:— guiiig dMp tirto b«r 

There I told her all my ptieloiil With a sodden blush 

and tifh. 
Taming half away with look askant, abe only made reply, 
*How deep within the water glows the happy ereoing 


Then I asked her if she lored me, and our hands met eadi 

And the dainty, sighing ripples seemed |p listen np the 

reach; " '^ 

While thus slowly with a haiel wand she wrote along the 

<LoTe, like the sky, lies deepest ere the heart is stirred to 


Tbiu I gained the lore of Inei— thus I won her gentle 

And our paths now lie together, as our footprints on the 

We have vowed to love eadi other in the golden morning 

When our names from earth.haTe ranished, like the writ- 
ing from the sand l** 

Here follow other gems : — 


*<The moon looks down on a world of snow, 
And the midnight lamp is burning low, 
And the ftding embers mildly fi^Iow 

In their bed of nshen soft and deep; 
All, ell Is stUl as the hour of death ; . 
I only bear what the old clock saith. 
And the mother and in&nt's easy breath, 

That flows from the holy Isjid of Sleep. 

Bay on, old dock— I lore you well, 

"For your silver chim<>. and the truths you tell. 

Tour every stroke ifl but the knell 

Of hope, or sorrow buried deep; 
Bay on— but only let me hear 
The raund most sweet to my listening ear, 
The child and the mother breathing clear 

Withhi the harreet-lields of Sleep. 

Thou watchman, on thy lonely round, 
I thsnk thee for that warning sound ; 
The clsrion cock and the baytog hound 

Not lefM! their dreary vigils keep: 
Still hearkening. I will love you all, 
While in each silent interval 
I bear those dear breasts rise and Ikll 

Upon the airy tkle of Sleep. 

Old world, on time's beni^^ted stream 
Sweep down till the stars of morning beam 
From orient shorea— nor break the dream 

That calms my love to pleasure deep ; 
Roll on. and give my Bud and Rosa 
The fulness of thy best repose. 
The blessedness which onlv flows 

Along the silent realms of Sleep.* 


All the night, in broken slumber. 

I went down the world of dreama, 
Through a land of war and turmoil 

Swept by loud and labouring streams, 
Where the masters wandered, chanting 

Fonderoua wkI tumultuoos themes. 

Chnntingfrom unwieldly volumes 

Iron maxims stem and stark. 
Truths that swept and burst, and stumbled 

Through the ancient rifted dark; 
TUl my soul was tossed and worried, 

like a tempeat-driven bark. 

But anon, within the distance. 

Stood the village vanes aflame. 
And the sunshine, filled with musle^ 

To my oriel casement came; 
While the birds sang pleasant valentines 

Against my window frame. 

Tlien by idghts and sounds Invited, 
I went down to meet the mom. 

Saw the traUlng mists roll inland 
Over rustling fields of com. 

And from quiet hillside hamlets 
Heard the distant mstlo horn. 

There, through daisied dales and byways, 

Met I forms of fidrer mould. 
Pouring songs jbr very pleasure — 

Songs their hearts could not withhold— 
Setting sll the birds a-singing 

With their deUcate harps of gold. 

Some went plucking little Uly-bells, 

That withered in the hand : 
Some, where smiled a summer ocean, 

Gathered pebbles from the sand; 
Some, with prophet eyes uplifted. 

Walked unconscious of the land. 

Through that Fairer World I wandered 

Slowly, listening oft and long. 
And as one behind thn reapers, 

Without any thought of wrong. 
Loitered, gleaning for my gamer 

Flowery sheaves of sweetest song. 


The great are fiUllng from us— to the dust 
Our flag droops midway full of many sighs; 

A nation's glory and a people's trust 
Lie in the ample pall where Webster Uea. 

The great are filling from u»— one by one 
As fliU the p)wtriarch« of the forest trees. 

The winds shall seek them vainly, and the nm 
Qase on each vacant space fiw oenturles. 

Lo. Carolina mourns her steadlkst phie 
Which towered sublimely o'er the Southern 

And Ashland hears no more the voice divine 
From out the branches of its stately dm: — 

And Marsh field's giant oak, whoae stormybrow 
Oft turned the ocean tempest tnm the West, 

Lies on the shore he guarded lontr — and now 
Our startled eagle knows not where to rest! 


Lo. now, when dark December's gsthering storm 
M ith heavy wing o'ershadows numy a heart. 
Beside us the old year, with maflod fonn, 
Stands waiting to depart 

Weighed down as with a ponderous tale of woe, 
How dim his eyes, how wan his cheelts appear! 
Like Denmark's spectre king, with moticni alow 
He beckons the young year. 


Within this &r Etruscan dime, 

By vine^lad slopes and olive plains. 

And round these walls still left by Time, 
The bound'rieB of his <dd domains:— 

Hero at the dreamer's golden gcal, 
Whose dome o'er winding Amo dmpa. 

Where old K(Muance still breathes Its soul 
Through Poesy's enchanted stops : — 

Where Art still holds her ancient state 
(What though her banner now is fliried), 

And keeps within her guarded gate 
The household treasures of the world:— 

What Joy amid all this to find 
One single bird, or flower, or leaf, 

Earth's any simplest show designed 
For pleasure, what though finaU or brie^ 

If but that leaf or bird, or flower 
Where waft<>d from the western ttfaad, 

To breathe into one happy hour 
The freahneas of my naitive landl 



Tbat joy is miiw-4he bird I iMtr, 
Tfae fiower is Uoominx near me now. 

The leaf iiuA lome great berd might wear 
In triumph en his laered bxow. 

For lady, while thy Tolee aod flkce 
Hake thee the Tuscan's lorelioet guest. 

Within this old romantic «paoe 
Breathes all the freshness of the West 

There are other exquisite poems. Some of 
the larger ones contain many brilliant flashes 
of genias, and perhaps are better worth co- 
pying, as a whole, than are those we haye se- 
lected; but we could not give a part, and 
hare not space to present the whole. 

We understand that Mr. Read leaves the 
country in July, taking with him his inter- 
esting fiimily. He goes for the purpose of re- 
maimng away a number of years, and will 
ijf reside at Florence. As a poet, he may be said 
to have made but a banning. 


— This story by Mr. T, S. Arthur, has 
been published by Peterson of our city. 
Like every thing from its clever and indus- 
trious author, it conveys a healthy moral, and 
is written in a mose engaging style. There 

I are few men in the country who write more, 
or to better purpose, than Arthur. He labors 
every day, and nearly every hour of the day. 
He has a weekly paper and a monthly maga- 
zine under his care ; and gives to both fully 
as much original matter as editors commonly 
do. He is, at the same time, throwing of two 
or three stories each week, and with Mr. Car- 
poiter, his clever assistant, is now engaged 
in a series of State Histories, which Messrs. 
Lippincott Grambo & Co. of our city, are 
publislung, and which are remarkably well 
XKtB omAF-reo bud 

— This is a beautifully printed memoir from 
the pen of Mrs A. H. Hawes. It was written 
**to solace the hours of lonliness that follow- 
ed the departure of a dear child, and to cover 
up the many pleasant memories connected 
with her, ere time should dim the recollec- 
tion." It is eminently worthy of the aflec- 
tionate object which the wounded parent 
sought to attain, and will be read, we ques- 
tion not, with melancholy pleasure by all ; 
and particularly by those who have been call- 
ed on to mourn the early dead. Redfidd, 
New York, publisher. 


— This excellent historical romance from the 

ro of Herbert has been republished by Mr. 
8. Redfleld, of New York, m admirable style. 
It enjoys a wide-spread popularity ; indeed we 
have been disposed to consider it the very 
best novel its prolific and successful author 
has produced. He b^an his career as a fic- 
tionist with the " Brothers ;" a story very 
mndi after James, when he was James. Had 
he been content to have been leas James-ish, 

in the rapid manuftctnre of books, Herbert 
might have acquired, oertainly, a more pay- 
ing popularity. * 

—It appears that Col. Fitzgemld of the City 
Item, is to driver an oration at Cape May, on 
the Fourth d" July, forth coming. A large 
number of the press have been invited to be 
present on the occasion, and it is probable 
mm present appearances, a large number will 

—- The following on the subject of Hydropho- 
bia, we extract from a Cincinnati paper. 

"Now that public attention has been called 
to the subject of hydrophobia, it may interest 
some to know that an ingenious theory is held 
by some medical men, which rejects the idea 
that the madness of the hiter has any effect on 
the madness of the bitten, and affirms that 
hydrophobia is as likely to result from the bite 
of a doK in perfect health, as from one that is 
mad. Their chief reasons are, that the efiects 
of all other poisons are certain and determinate ; 
no other poison can be received into the system 
with impunity — yet hundreds of persons have 
been bitten by dogs unquestionably mad, and 
no evil effects have followed. Instances have 
been known where a score of persons have 
been bit severally by the same dog. and only 
one has been affected by hydrophobia. So also 
many persons have died from hydrophobia 
where the animids by whcnn they were bitten 
were never known or even suspected to bemad 
Other poisons have a specific time within 
which meir operation begins and ends — ^in hy- 
drophobia their is no such definite period — 
in some cases the effect shows itself immedi- 
ately — in others not till the laspe of months 
and even years. 

" Ten animals— the dog, wolf, fox and cat ; 
the horse, ass, mule, cow, sheep and pig — ^are 
all which are said to be susceptible of this 
disease, while the first four only are said to be 
able to communicate it. These four have 
teeth of a similar form, capable of making a 
deeply punctured wound. 

" From these facts, the conclusion has been 
draw that hydrophobia is of species of tetanus, 
resulting from the nature of the wound, and 
not from any poison injected into it. Tetanus, 
or lock-jaw, often results from a wound made 
bf a pomted instrument, like a nail, in the 
hand or foot, and the result has followed other 
injuries to the nerves. The two diseases seem 
to bear a general resemblance. Both are 
spasmodic, both affect the muscles of the 
throat, and both are attended with the same 
great excitement of the nervous system. 

" The above is a brief synopsis of the opin- 
ions of some ingenious memba« of the medical 



wfaiofa, if MtaUkfaed, would go 
iar to dimmifih ^e terror which is now Mi 
whenerer a person is injored in anj way by 
tlM bke of a dog." 

— An American Artist named Page, now so- 
joming at Rome, has painted a very fine por- 
trait of Miss Cushroan, the actress. A cor- 
respondent writing fipom Rome, says : — 

** The critical and accurate draughtsmen, of 
the German and fVench school, wonder at the 
drawiqg, in which respect they consider Am- 
erican artists usually deficient Sculptors are 
amazed at its solidity t if I may use such a term, 
finding that though upon canvass, it has 
almost as mlich body and positive form, as if 
cut in marbleb Wiu regard to the coloring, 
there can be but one opinion ; not artists and 
critics only but all who have eyes to see and 
how beautiful it is. Even when examined 
closely no trace of slow, laborious painting 
can be observed : it seems to have been created 
by one sweep of a magic brush. Every vein, 
every line in the original may be found in the 
picture, though subordinate to the grand 
whole, and only to be seen when sought for ; 
and over all the rests, if not the down which 
softens the humane face, a downy softness, 
like the *'flower dust," blown over the petals 
of a flower, apparently resting so lightly upon 
them that a breath might blow it away. 

— A Domestic Telegraph will shortly be at- 
tempted in New York. The Tribune says : — 
*' The present idea is to establish in the up- 
per part of New Tork ten offices, with House's 
printing instrument; and wires connecting 
with the office in Wall Street. They will 
transmit brief messages for a very small Mum, 
and must neccessarily do a large business. 
It is not improbable that the Telegraph may 
be so extended as to do nearly all the real 
business correspondence between up town and 
down town« The Post-Office is two slow; 
messenger boys are not always at hand, and 
when found must require much more time and 
cost more than the wires. 

— Grisi and Mario are not to appear next 
season at the New Opera House in xsew York, 
because the Opera Committee will not under- 
take to have the house built and ready by any 
particular day : and besides according to a pa- 
per, Mr. Hackett has the written engagement 
with these singers and refuses to take the lease 
of the house on the conditions required by 
the Stockholders, namely: two hundred re- 
served and non-payingseats as their property, 
in addition to rent. We think Mr. Hackett is 

— Tbaokbrat, we are told, has concluded to 

. take up his residence in our country ; he says, 

it is f^ither added, that in ten years the United 

^ ' will equal England, while in twenty 

) will be fkr outstrinned by ns. 

— Mb. Rbdfibld has commenced the publi- 
cation of an edition (rf* Shakspeare, with the 
emendations and corrections of Mr. Collier's 
£unous old Folio, and it will be completed in 
sixteen parts. Parts I and 11, already sent 
to us, are elegantly gotten up in all respects. 
This edition of the writings of the immortal 
bard, must certainly take precedence of all 
those heretofore published. 

-^ Several books remain on onr table unno- 
ticed. Among them — *' Thackeray's Humor- 
ous Writers of the Days of Queen Anne," and 
*' Coleridge's Works,''^ vol. v., from the Har- 
pers : "John Randolph, Wirt," Ac, trom A- 
Hart; ** The Old Home by the River," from 
the Harpers ; *' Great Orations and Senatorial 
Speeches of Webster," from W. M. Hayward, 
of Rochester, N. Y., throuch J. W. Moore of 
our city. We are indebted to Messrs. Getx, 
Buck & Co., for the books of the Messrs. 
Harper : and to Mr. T. B. Peterson for those 
of Redfield. — Since writing the above, Messrs. 
Henderson & Co. have sent us ** Edgar Clif- 
ton," from the publishing house of Appleton 
& Co., New York. We have also received 
from H. Long & Brother, New York — through 
T. B. Peterson A Co., of Philadelphia — 
"Harry Coverdale's Courtship." 

—A New Bedford, (Mass.) corretpondeiii of 
the New York Tribune, says: — 

' ' Prof. Agassiz lectures this evemag. It is 
a ftct which needs explanation, that when 
the concert or flashy harangna fills the Oily 
Hall, the finest efforts of swh minds call to- 

g ether less than half the number,. Then is 
owever, a monument of fame in New Bedibrd, 
in its " City Library," the only one oi the 
kind in the world, whose first annual report 
I send you. By an appropriation form the 
Corporation, the rooms, Dooks and Librarian 
furnished : and the whole population have free 
access to the sevend thousand volumes already 
collected. Its peculiar model feature, is, thai 
the poorest citizen may, under proper regula- 
tions, draw without expense. The librarr 
circulates amons the masses, and cheers with 
its wealth of intttlect the humblest habitatioo. 

— We hear that our friend the clever editor 
of the Model Courier has sold his spleiidid 
mansion in Wafaiut Street, in order tbal be 
may take a house nearer his bosjneaa. CM » 
good price, too, they say. 

— Mr. William Lyon, Mackenzie says, in the 
last number of his Toronto Message, touching 
the mobbing of Gavazzi : 

'* In 1780, 1 think it was, a protestant mob 
destroyed the Roman catholic chapel, Edin- 
burgh. Lord George Gordon's Londrai riots 
are well known — the Boston outrage— and 
more recently the Philadelphia bnmintf of 
Cathohc chapds and libranes, are fre£ in 
men's minds. Do not the rioteuR td. dml^i! 



Catholic city, enter a free Protestant church, 
IS in the GaTazti ease V* 

~ The Yery best authors will sometimes make 
the Yery biggest Bulls : Littleton, author of 
the Classical Dictionary, ^ycs us under the 
word speculariat *' Glass Wmdoufs made of fine 
trao^iarent stone, like isinglass. ' ' fhe Colos- 
sus of Lexicographers, Samuel Johnson, is as 
deep in the mire. Turn to his <' Journey to 
the Western Islands, (edition 12mo. printed 
in Edinbui^h, 1802), and ^f^ ^^f where 
he is describing the winter of the Hebrides, 
he ei3>resses himself thus. — *' the inlets of the 
sea wnich shoot yery far into the island, neyer 
have any ice upon them, and the joools of fresh 
water vnU never hear the wdker. Turn also, 
to p. 77 of the same book, and the following 
inexcusable Bull occurs: — '* Macleod choked 
them with ^noke, and left them fifing dead by 
ftmilies as they stood" At page 23 we have 
another specimen : — *' This nculty oi seeing 
things out of sight is local." 

~ An editorial friend was sitting in his o£Sce 
the other day, busily engaged in writing edi- 
torials, when all at once pop — bang, startled 
him from behind. '* Oh ! Vm shot," thought 
the editor ; '* dM-HMnnebody has at last re- 
TMed the injuries my pen has done man- 
kmd ;" and he should have added *' the King's 
English"--'' Oh !*' Here he placed his hand 
to the back of his head, the place which had 
reoeired the ball. There was no hole, though 
the hair was moist, as if covered with blood. 
'* It has glanced off! my life is safe," said the 
maa of the quill. And so it had, — that is the 
cork of a Spruce-Bew bottle near. The 
Mp— toig was caused by the rapid out-going 
of the said cork, the shot was caused by the 
said oork coming suddenly in contact with 
the writer's i^ull, and the blood was a spirt 
of as good a brew, as ever gladdened the 
palate of any man, woman, or child. 

—When Marmontel was a school-boy, his 
master chastised him for some youthful offen- 
ces, which he resented by so severe a lampoon 
that be was under the necessity of running 
away. Being afraid of returning to his pa- 
reatSy he entered himsdf as a private solmer 
in a regiment commanded by the Prince of 
C«d(D: and in the year that he obtaineda 
hamfcif the celebrated poet wrote his charm- 
ing History of Belisari us. Man^ apnlioations 
WMTO made fin* his discharge, which the Prince 
alwi^f^ withstood, declaring it to be the most 
flatUring honour he could possibly receive, to 

have soiA a man as Marmontdi a sergeaai in 
his regiment. Once a year, at the general 
review, this distinguished individual i^m^ured 
in his station, and whde multitudes nocked 
to see him. After the review was over, Mar- 
montel had invaiiably the honour to dine with 
his illustrious Colotidand the {nincipal oflQcers 
of the army, by whom he Was esteemed to 


— The word clever is, a writer informs us, an 
adjunct, in which idl the learned languages 
are deficient. There is said to be no expres* 
sion in any of them which conveys the com- 

Erehensive idea of this epithet. We may 
ence suppose, that the character here in- 
tended, as well as the expression, is peculiar 
to these states ? And, indeed, it is in a land 
of liberty only that a man can be completely 


— The SundayMercury is altogether too ter- 
rific for us. We betake ourselves from the 
track to avoid its mi ghtv besom. Such learning, 
and such ferocity combined, have been rarely 
if ever before seen We are promised our life, 
if we will desist from further exposure of the 
editor's ignorance. Magnificent mercy ! But 
why should'nt the Mercury man relax a little 
towards the Register, and the booksellers, and 
Mr. Alexander &nith I We pray Uiat they 
may be spared entire destruction, at any rate* 
Leave a few shreds of their clothing, or at 
least a large grease spot. It is positively 
too bad, that when one of the Smiths really 
does reflect a credit upon the family, he ^ould 
not be permitted to wear his laurels in peace* 


— Country moonlight, too ! We have enjoyed 
floods upon floods of it within the past week, 
With the late outpouring of summer, we an* 
ranged to pass the nights, for a period, at old 
and dearly-loved Beverly. Thither we go, 
of an evening, to drink in pure, fresh country 
air, and to luxuriate in country moonlight, 
perfumed by country honeysuckles, jessamme, 
and new-mown hav ! Mind and body are re- 
freshed by the changes from pavement to 
ereen swird, from gas-light to moonlight. 
Masculines ten years younger might be cast 
into imhealthy excitement by this country 
moonlight, with its country perfumes; that 
is, rendered so susceptible, by its influences, 
that just the little nnger of woman might 
throw them into a love-phoby, showing it^f 
by sighs and starts, and kisses not always of 
the air ; but old sober-sided blase Bizarrs — 
he is incapable of any such nonsense ! 


— ^We learn that theRev. Mr. Hanson is prepar- 
ing a book, which will contain all the evidence 
he has collected touching the claima of Bev« 



Eleuer 'Williams to the Duiphmship of 
France. He has procured many hcts since 
his last pahlication in Putnam^s Monthly^ — 
some of them gathered through the useful 
offices of a venerable g^iUeman in this city — 
which will greatly strengthen his case. One 
or two of these facts have fallen within our 
knowledge : and they certainly have a bear- 
ing upon the point aimed at, of remarkable 
force and directness. 


— The Mercury, in replying to an article of 
ours touching its ignorance as to current lite- 
rature, calls us an adept in puffing. Suppose 
this to be true ; our puffing is a matter of bu- 
siness» having nothing whatever to do with 
Bizarre. We might retort upon the editor 
of the Mercury, and charge him with insince- 
rity in the great crusade and war of extermi- 
nation which he is going to wage against 
booksellers, because he is a smart Philadel- 
phia lawyer ; and hence, by profession, ready 
and willing to appear forplamtiff or defend- 
ant as the fee invites. What, pray, has our 
business, or our bread and butter, gathered 
through the columns of another journal, got to 
do with Bizarre ? Its pages are as free from 
bought opinion as any other journal in the 
country, the Mercury not excepted. 

VKRNON. *0. 

— The stirring tale, "Vernon," is from the 
pen of James Rees, Esq. When its publica- 
tion in our pages is concluded, it will be dra- 
matised by him for the stage. A propos, 
touching communications. A package, con- 
taining notices of the Academy of Arts — ^pro- 
mised by us— has miscarried. Will friends 
who write us be kind enough to have their 
fitvors delivered at our own desk, in back room, 
srcond story of No. 4 Hart*s Building; or, 
should it be closed, they may be left at Mr. 
Bryson's printing office, one story above. 


— Buckley's New Orleans Serenaders, an old 
and popular troupe recently returned from 
California, are singing with ^clat at Musical 
Fund Hall. 

— Mr. Perham, it will be seen, continues the 
exhibition of the Panorama of California, as 
well as the gift distribution, until the 25th 
inst. ; when there will be a public sale of the 
painting. Next week, we hear, he commences 
the exhibition of new paintings — viz.: the 
Mammoth Cave and the Crystal Palace — and 
offers a new lot of valuable gifts. Such en- 
terprize as Perham's is ought to be well re- 
warded. We learn that Mr. Stalcup, the 
tidented delineator of the Panorama of Cali- 
fornia, performs the same important duly for 
the new paintings. 

— Sanford's Op^ Troupe has left town for a 
few weeks. Wiieii they return, they will take 

possesskm of the new Opera House in Twetfth 

— A grand musical jubilee of Germans com- 
mences in this city on the 25th, and continiies 
until the 29th, instant. The programme mn- 
nounces that the " arrangements are of the 
most extensive kind, on a scale, indeed, sur- 
passing anything of the same nature ever be- 
fore witnessed in this city. Exclusive of the 
Vocal Musical Associations of Philadelphia, 
societies from New York, Baltimore, Wash- 
ington, Boston, Richmond, Va., uid other 
cities, numbering in all about 800 male vocal 
performers, who will participate in the grand 
jubilee concert!" What an army of {npes 
there will be. We shall be greatly mistaken, 
too, if the lager is not scverdy punished. 


— Of all the yottnff men in our county we are 
inclined to thmk tnat Brigham will give the 
government the most trouble. 

— An Illustrious Irishman. — 0*Rion was 
one of the most illustrious personages of an- 
tiquity. His rain was celebrated even in the 
time of .tineas ; for the amorous Dido, de- 
siring to prevent the departure of her wan- 
dering lover, sends him this warning : — 

'*Tdl bim that charged with deluges of rals, 
ClUon rages on the watery main.** 

There are very few of the ancients who retain 
their lustre in our day with as little diminu- 
tion as O^Rion, 

— I suppose this is magn^ ekarta, (carta) 
the man said, when he saw the big timl 

BuaiNeea men/is. 

— Col. Maurice has got up some bcautifol 
blank-books for the New York Crystal Palace. 
They of course will produce a great excite- 
ment The Colonel, by last accounts, was in 
New York making arran^ents for the exhi- 
bition. He does everythmg well. We c^ten 
have had occasion to speak of the Colonel and 
his beautiful new store, at 123 Chestnut St., 
and we trust the day may be far away when 
the cause of such honest commendation shall 
be among the things that were. 

— Mr William G. Mason, whose card, seal and 
other engraving has been so long among the 
notable features of the town, purpo8es,^M>rt- 
ly, removing from his present stand. No 46, 
to No 204 Chestnut, above Eighth. We caQ 
attention to his advertisement. When he gets 
established at his new store we shall take oc- 
casion to speak more at length, 

— William T. Pry, 227 Arch, is rapidly pre- 
paring for the occupation of his new store, 
nearly opposite to his present stand. Fry^ 
success since he came to the city has been 
great, but not more so than merited. He iMtt - 
a beautiful stock of writing de^os. 



WHAT UT rou, MASOAFV*^rarquhttr. 






*1 pnjy rir. d««] with men In misery, 
liko one that may himself bo miserable." 

We now conduct our reader to the room 
lUuded to in our last chapter, where Mr. St. 
Clair was actively en^cd in arranging and 
assorting the Tarious kinds of paper and rags, 
as heing better adapted to the sort of paper 
they were to make. This room, was divided 
from the adjoining one, in which Vernon and 
his compamons were in the habit of meeting, 
by a simple partition of boards. It had been 
papered many years before, but now it was 
stripped of this fancy covering, and numer- 
ous cracks, and broken panels, not only af- 
forded free ingress for the wind, but for 
sound. Of this St. Clair was fully aware, 
and often had he shuddered at language and 
words, which were used bv the inmates of 
that room, and which reached him through 
these ** wastes of time." 

While at his work, many bitter throughts 
pasRed through the brain of the old man ; 
they were of others, not of himself; content 
wiui his lot, he could smile at the storm, and 
defy the tempest. 

He was in the act of separating some old 
papers, when a sound in the adjoing chamber, 
caused him to listen. 

"Ah! he exclaimed, "there thev come, 
bark ! that voice— yes it is Maitland^s; lost — 
lost— Vernon !" It was Maitland's voice he 
beard, and the words came hissing through 
the crevices oi the old partition — the old man 

** The last cent — Vernon, is gone — what's 
to be done ?" The wretched Vernon, thus ad- 
dressed, (and upon whose reply St. Clau", 
ttemed most anxious to hear) answered —'* I 
know not, we have reached the lowest round 
of the ladder, there we must lie." 

•* You lie if you say so !" 

'* MaitlMid — be advised, rouse not the sleep- 
ing devil within this hell— be advised, I would 
not harm you — guilty as I am, do not urge me 
to— murder." 

"Bah — ^you have grown sentimental, 
squeamish ; but you have a talisman to awe 
me I know ; now tell me Vernon how came 

(ObBthraed firam page 166.) 

YOU by that papei^— that card— tell me dd 

"Ha! ha! this little card, this name ? ha ! 
ha ! magic Maitland. It has kept you in a 
sort of moral prison ever since I showed it to 
you, ha! ha!" 

St. Clair, during this p(»rtion of the dialo- 
gue, was almost unconciously handling an <^d 
parchment, he had now opened it, and was in 
the act of i-eading, when the voices contin- 
ued: — 

* * Aye Vernon, the name on that card is to me 
terror; it comes up spectre like from the grave, 
to blast me. If it were not for that card, I 
would you at my feet ; as it is, it places me at 
yours. But I could tell you Vernon — no, not 
now — ^I could reveal things — but no more of 
this, let us drink— here is that which will 
drown the horrors of reflection." The ging- 
ling of glasses told that the carousal had com- 

Mr. St. Clair, now took up the parchment — 
as he gazed upon it, his eyes became fixed, 
his frame trembled. " Gracious providence!" 
he exclaimed, *' how strange and mysierious 
are all thy ways; but let me be satisfied." 
Again were his eyes riveted on the parchment 
before him. 

The sound of rattling glasses had now 
ceased, and the conversation was renewed in 
the next room. 

•* So Vernon, you refiise to join me in the 
plan of robbing this man, whose name is a 
spell to make me fear and dread him ; will 
you not join me I say in this deed ? He is 
my foe, and cannot be your friend." 

"Join you Maitland, in this? no, never, 
wretched, miserable, fallen as I am— I will 
still preserve my honor " 

"Honoi^bah! You have ahready pro- 
served it, in a rum bottle ; and there it hangs 
suspended in mid-air like one of those poison- 
ous reptiles the druggists keep in their win- 
dows to frighten children with ; Imh ! your 
honor is all moonshine. And more ; what 
harm is there in taking from the rich, that 
which thev have drawn by fouloppresion from 
the poor f it is a part and portion of the 
wealth of the wcH'ld ; it is theirs, ours, every 

** False reasoning Maitland ; this is the lan- 
guage, and the feeble ailment of levellers. 
The man who amasses wealth, does it by the 
exercise of a superior judgment — ^he wills a 
thing and it is done ; in the realization of 
it, too, he makes thousands happy ; we do not 
belong to that class ; we have forsook labcnr, 
and its blessings fall not on us. No Mait- 
land, let us rather be what we are, drunkards — 
than seek to add robberyto our crimes. Come, 
fill up the glasses, here is oblivion to the 

<< Wen let that rass— yet I have another 
I^an — come nearer Vernon— I haveaseeietto 



oommunicate, bnt first see if the door is shut, 
close, there— it has no lock, no matter. But 
first, let us fill the glasses." Turn we now 
to St. Clair. 

His eyes had devoured every word of the 
parchment, and his mind taken the impres- 
sion, its whole contents were now made plain, 
inteligible, and clear to view, he laid it down, 
drew a long breath, and exclaimed — **The 
lost will ! — ^mysterous Providence, this is one 
of thy wonderful ways to bring the dark ac- 
tions of men to light ; but how to act ? — rest 
here precious document. The will thus found 
hark — ^what words are those ? it is Ver- 
non's voice — ^I must listen, heaven pardon 

"Well, now Maitland, for your great se- 

*< This girl, Alice, my adopted daughter, 
for she is not my child; is now our only 

*• What mean you ? 

"She was stolen from her parents!" St. 
Clair upon hearing this, involuntary uttered 
an exclamation of surprise. 

" Hark Vernon, what sound was that ? who 
is in the next chamber ?" 

" Old Mr. St. Clair picks rags there, Mait- 
land, only think of that ! a rag-picker — and 
I — I — ha ! ha ! it is my work, wife and chil- 
dren in a factory ; hell and furies — I will not 
support this much longer. Tell me your 
scheme, out with it !" 

' * Listen to me, and you need not suffer thus. 
The giii I stole — I — ^I— ha 1 ha ! the secret is 
mine — ^I stole her from a man whase father 
wron^ me — ^it was a sweet revenge ha ! ha ! 
she will now become the instrument of admin- 
istering to our wants." 


"Claim the reward, aye more, make our 
demand boldly, I have all the proofs, ready 
at hand." ^ ^ y 

" Merciful heavens," mattered St. Clair," 
could I but hear the name." 

" You say Maitland, that you have proofe ; 
what are they?" 

" See here, this trinket was round her neck, 
and she has a breast-pin, which I gave her 
since. This trinket is evidence enough, but I 
have others." 

Tell me the name of her Father?" St. 
dair in his anxiety to learn the name, fell 
over a stool ; the noise alarmed the two men, 
and a whispering was idl the old man heard, 

" ! it was nothing— St Clair is somewhat 
deaf," remarked Vernon, "and if he were not, 
he could not distinguish words ; give me ibe 
name of Alice's father ?" 

" You will be secret ?" 

"As the grave." 

"Tfaenieamthatitia hark! someone 


"Ah, the door opens — ^Maitland do you 
know that man ?" 

" Ah ! ha ! This is indeed triumph,'* was 
the wild response of the latter, as Mr. Gil- 
bert stepped mto the room. He fi xed his eyes 
upon Maitland, and gently enquired the cause 
of his mirth. Maitland still laughed. 

'* Mr. Vernon, it was against this man I 
once warned you, how have you repaid my 
proffered services to save you from his arts. 
Look around, look at yourself, all speak ; in- 
deed you may weU be silent." 

Mr. St. Clair, who had heard every word, 
found himself so completely entangled in the 
matter, and suspecting some strange develop- 
ments placed himself still nearer the larger 
opening, muttering to himself—" may heaven 
pardon me if I err in this, but the future fate 
of my darling Alice hangs upon the issue of 
this interview." 

The voice of Maitland was now heard. 
" And so sir. you are here to blast me, you, who 
after what passed at the death bed of your 
father " 

" Silence ! unhappy man, judge me not by 
your own base heart : an oath is ever sacred 
with one who knows its holy character. That 
oath I have kept — You will never be brought 
to justice for the wrongs you did my father, 
he forgave you, and for that act of his, you 
are free. But it was to save Mr. Vernon from 
your villianies that I warned him, and now 
sir his neglect of that advice is his ruin." 

" And you came here to tell me that ?" 

"No! I came here to see this wretched 
man^s family, it was only to day I learned 
frOm my agent that they resided here. I 
came here to proffer my assistance if it was 
required, and as this property belongs to me, 
exact no rent, until such time as things as- 
sume a brighter form." 

" Indeed Mr. Gilbert, this is kind, but you 
see liquor has us now under control, and work 
we cannot," remarked Vernon. 

" Unhappy men— for such indeed you are 
— ^I would do more for you if you would fbr- 
swear that poisonous dnnk. L^bor is healthy, 
it adds to the strength of body, the power of 
mind, it is the grand moving principle of na- 
ture ; and its neglect is ruin and misery. But 
I wish to see Mrs. Vernon and the children— 
reflect miserable men on your condition, and 
repent ere it be too late. So saying he left 
the room. 

"Aye," muttered Mwtland, "repent, ye8 
when I have wreaked my vengeance on your 
head — arouse Vernon, why are you moping 
there? action man, action.' 

" What are we to do ?" 

" Do— did I not tell you about the girt?— 
" what noise is that there close by this parti- 
tion? let us examine — ^no, there is no one 
there, a huge pile of rags, and papers — now 
listen— but no ! this is not the place, walls 



they say haye ears, come let us get out in the 
opeQ air, and then you shall learn all." 

YeiTKHi, who ever since the departure of 
Gilbert, had remained in one position, now 
arose and mechanically followed Maitland. 
No sooner had they gone, than old St. Clair 
retired to his labor exclaiming — ** The link of 
the chain is broken, I cannot connect it ; 
would that I had heard more ! But stay 
let me collect my scattered thoughts — this 
win, this long lost will, brings us wealth— let 
me remember — what was the exclamation of 
Maitland when Gilbert entered the room, that 
kind gjMKl hearted mechanic, let me recol- 
lect. He laughed, a fearful laugh that was ; 
and exclaimed, this is my triumph! what 
could he mean? would that I had heard 
more. Ah here comes my children, — "here 
you are, all smiling, my dear daughter : yon 
see how labor is rewarded ; it makes us bless 
the hour we applied onrseWes to it. Well m^ 
little rose-bud how go your lessons ?" This 
was addressed to Anna. 

** grand-pa, I am in the French dass ;" 
*• flee here is my book." 

*• And James how goes it with you ?" 

<< Grand-pa I am lazy." 

** Now James, don^t you say so ; look at 
Robert — docs he look like a lazy boy?" 

"No, but I am." 

"Wdl, well, you are good children all." 
The mother, and Alice had taken off their 
bonnets and shawls, and had seated themsel- 
ves on a bench, the former enquired if Mr. 
YenKm bad been there. 

" He has, and left the house a few moments 
ago." was the reply. 

"Who"— and her voice ftdtered— " who 
was with him ?" 

" That num." 

" Poor Vernon, he is lost to us forever ?" 

** Mother, dear mother, who is lost for- 
ever ?" was the sudden enquiry of the chil- 
dren — their eyes looked anxiously toward 
tbefa* mother. She was in tears — and through 
than — thqr had their answer !" 

How eloquent are tears ! 

Alice withdrew the attention of the chil- 
dren to scHnething she picked up from the 
heap of papers, and their little hearts were 
agam haj^y, made so by a pure and virtuous 

Mr. St. Chdr, who had observed this little 
aoene, now spoke. " My dear children come 
hoe, around me, that is right, draw up that 
bench, be seated now and listen.* * A short 
time ago we were all living in a large house — 
rieh fivnitiire, costly pictures, and comforta- 
ble beds were ours — tne Winter wind whis- 
tkd without, and the hail rattled against the 
windows, we heeded it not, for wealth had 
guarded us against the dements, and they 
pawed us by. Storms and tempests my chil- 
dren not unfirequently rush fiercely over the 

marbled palaces, and spend their fury on some 
wretdied hovel. We are living here now in 
poverty, in wretchedness: these old walls will 
scarcely keep out the snow drift, let alone the 
wind, and yet my children, we have borne it 
well : there has been no murmuring, no an- 
gry feeting elicited, no railing at Providence ; 
this is as it should be." 

" Grand pa I like work." 

" Grand pa I like to go to the public school." 

" Grand-pa I wont be lazy^ any more" 
These words were rapidly uttered by the chil- 

" Indeed my children I like to hear you say 
so. And your mother and Alice, how did 
they behave ? Nobly both of them. Their 
rich dresses were thrown aside, and their 
whole hearts were centered in you, and for 
you they have labored and provided." 

" Indeed father," smilingly remarked Mrs. 
Vernon, " you speak as if you had done noth- 
ing. What say you Alice f " 

" That grand rather has done more than us 
all— he works, and tells us how we must act, 
to become good and prosperous." 

" Well my children, we are all reccmciled 
to our fate. Now listen. There is in store 
for you all a greater surprise. Nay be not 
alarmed, misfortune has done its worst — I — 
come nearer, let not the sound of my voice be 
heard beyond our little circle — ^I have found 
the will of Reynolds St Clair !" 

" Merciful heavens, where ?" 

"Hush my daughter — ^I found it there," 
pointing to the heap of papers. 

" And — I — am — f 

" His sole heir !" 


** Fw may we Bwrch bcfbre we find, 
A heart so manly or so kind.** 

ScoiVt Marmion, 

Our readers will think, or probably have 
already so decided, that we have dropped two 
of our most interesting characters Margaret 
and Peter. If so they will, we hope be agree- 
ably disappointed to find them the subject of 
this chapter. 

" I tell you Maggy," exclaimed the exas- 
perated Peter, as he met his lady*love, at the 
end of the lawn, " this is the very day you 
were to give me answer, now let me hear it. 
I won't wait, there is Betsy Miller, Sally 
Stroud, and Jane Williams all ready to jump 
into my arms." 

"Oh youvillian, what marry all three?' 
' But Peter I did promise, and only wanted 
to try another charm before I said yes, or no." 

"Now Mag, I do wish you would leave 
th^se charms alone: what other charm do you 
want to try, than the one that now stands be- 
fore you ! Look, behold !" 

" Yes, I see a full grown charm, bat it is 



one I have not made up my mind to try, be- 
sides have you thought oyer what we last 
talked about?" 

** I have ; and there, it is all that I can 
"How much is it? 

** Fifte*^n dollars," ** I could not get more." 
** Well Peter that is more than I expected ; 
as I have but ten, making in all twenty- five 
dollars : and all this goes to that cruel land- 
lord Mr. Gilbert. Oh if I had the power 
would 'nt I give him something to remember 
me the longest day he lived. Oh Peter, but is 
it not dreadful ? it was but the other day one 
of these landlords turned a poor family out 
into the street, husband, wife, and four chil- 
dren : the former was sick, and had not been 
able to work for months — there stood the piH)r 
children, trembling in the cold, there stood 
the poor woman her eyes filled with tears. 
Their little furniture, lay scattered around, 
and as their eyes rested on their humble ef- 
fects, it seemed as if hope itself had fled. I 
could not stand it, and so ran away." 
" And what became of them ?" 
" I do not know. I suppose their things 
were aU sold ?" 

** No they were not." 

** I saw them in the street ; were they not 

" Were they taken to the poor house ?" 

"Why Peter, what do you know about 
them ?" 

•* Listen. T had fifty dollars which I was 
saving up for Mrs. Vernon, and shortly after 
you must have seen the family. I passed that 
way ; I could not bear the sight — my money 
burned in my pocket. I paid the rent, help- 
ed to move their furniture to another house, 
gave them five dollars, and that fifteen dol- 
lars is all that is left." 

"Peter— come to my arms, the charm is 
complete— I will try no other." 

"Now Maggy, let me ask what put it into 
your head that Mr. Gilbert was going to seize 
the furniture of Mrs. Vernon for rent. 

" I heard it from some one, and landlords 
are all hard hearted." 

" Nay, do not say so: Mr. Gilbert is one of 
the best men I know : he is rich, charitable, 
and just to all. He will not take any rent at 
all— for I caUed upon him to day, and now 
Maggy we can offer our little savings for their 
own immediate use." 

" 0, Peter, what a duck of a little man you 

"Better a duck than a goose; but come 
along, and as we walk down this beautiful ' 
lane, which you know leads to the dwelling of i 
the Vemons, let us fix the day for our mar- 
riage." I 

" Well Peter, but remember, it must not be 
on a Friday." 

• • • « • 

In what was called the sitting room of Ver- 
non's dwelling, all the family except Vernon 
himself, were seated around a table eating 
their humble meal. Mr. St. Clair sat at the 
head of the table. He had just finished graoe, 
and was in the act of helping the children, 
when the following conversation commenced. 
" And so father, we are once more rich; could 
it brmg m^ husband back to virtue, how 
much happier would this accesion of wealth 
make us. 

" True my child, but it will take time to 
establish the will, and money: in the mean- 
time let its discovery remain with all a secret 
— ^hark — here comes Vernon and Maitland — 
be silent children." 

" So," was the word he uttered, as he stag- 
gered into the room, followed by his drunken 
companion, ** you seem to enjoy yourselves in 
my absence — but I— I am the outcast !" 

" No William, not an outcast — we are Uie 
outcasts from your love, your care and pro- 

" Mrs. Vernon, I came here with your hus- 
on business, not to hear sermons : I owe you 
much, madam, more than I can repay ; I am 
here now to take away my daughter." 

"No no, Maitland you do not mean it, 
take Alice away, the pride and comfort d'roy 
life — ^my friend, my companion my child ?" 

" It must be so madam." 

" Never, I will resist your base attempts to 
snatch her from us." 

Alice in the alarm created had flown to 
Mrs. Vernon, and held firmly to her, exclaim- 
ing, " save me, save me ! 

•* You see Vernon, your wife refuses to de- 
liver her charge, my child !" 

" Well, that donT hinder you from taking 
her does it ?" 

" William, lost as you are to all senae of 
feeUng, can you sit calmly there, and loc^ 
tamely upon this outrage." 

" She belongs to him." 

" She does not belong to him — ^has she not 
been to us as a child? — have we not been to 
her as parents ? — see how your own children, 
cling to her: you must not, shall not, tear her 
from us ! "0, Maitland, leave her with us, 
and I will foigive you all the misery, and the 
wo you have brought upon us." 

" All very well madam, but it will not avail, 
she must go !" 

" Never ! Alice fly; escape—" 

" Not so fast— listen Alice — ^you go to your 

" My fkther ? why you long since told me 
he was dead." 

'* That was false; he lives, — so come along.'* 
" Mother, dear mother !" 



*' FA&er, can joa sit there, and see Alice 
torn Irem ns ?'* 

" Let St. Clair, attempt at his peril ; Mr. 
Vernon here, will assist me in my duty, wont 
you sir?" 

** Indeed I most — for I know the secret of 
her birth." 

Mr. St. Clair, who had remained perfectly 
still during the whole of this scene, now rose 
up, and stepping into the middle of the room, 
and looking Maitland fVdl in the face — exclaim- 

" And so do I — she toas stolen !" 

" Stolen," was uttered by all. 

" Aye, and by that fiend — that wretch who 
DOW stands before us." 

" What mean you sir ?" 

*' Back villain ; or dread an old man's ven- 
geance — I repeat it : that vile monster stole 
this child when she was some two years of 
age — stole her from her home in a spirit of 
revenge ; and would now reap the reward of 
his villainy, by racking once more those 
hearts, he has made wretched so long. She 
moves net hence, under your guidance Mait- 
land — attempt it at your peril — I am old, but 
in such a cause heaven wiU give me strength. " 

" Mr. St. Clair:" remarked Vernon, " you 
presume too much, this is my house !" 

*• No sir, it is not your house— the landlord 
exacts no rent, it is the home of your poor 
wife, and these sufiering children." 

* Come, my children, Alice take my arm — ^let 
us leave these men to concoct some other 
8cheme-HX)me with me, to the next cham- 

So saying, they all left the room, but *not 
until the children, went up to their father, 
and kissing his burning cheek, and with 
childish prattle, tried to get him to follow 

** Maitland, your scheme has failed, but I 
have learned one thing and that is. I know 
now who Alice's father is." 

" Villain — ^what mean you— did I impart to 
you that ?" 

**No! but circumstances have betrayed 

•* And would you betray me ?" 

** No — ^I am a scoundrel, but I will not turn 
iDf<»iner. Mr. St. Clair must have heard a 
portion of our conversation." 

•* Yes, and holds ^a rod of fire over our 
heads. But all is not lost, something can be 
made of the aifair yet." 

(Continued In No. 80.) 

— Ole Bull has formed a colony in the upper 
part <^ Pennsylvania. Kit Krawfish says, he 
half suspects that the old fellow has a ** sneak- 
in likin" for Ole Ann, who Uves over in York 
state ; and he would not be surprised, if after 
all it was only a scheme of Ole canrnexor 




Bonaventura — The Thunderbolt Road — Lo' 

vers Lane — The Orphan House — George 


Some five miles from Savannah, there is a 
deeply interesting spot ; which, both on ac- 
count of its beauty and the associations con- 
nected with it, attracts the attention of citi- 
zen and stranger, eliciting at once admiration 
and veneration. The road leading to Bona- 
ventura, may be seen every evening, filled 
with merry parties of fair ladies and their 
captive knights, who, in the cool and calm 
hours of evening, leaving the warm city, are 
thus enjoying the pure country air— either on 
horse-back, in open buggies, or in strolling 
among the dark shadows of the magnificent 
forest trees, and plucking the wild flowers 
which cluster beneath their branches. Thun- 
derbolt is the name which this road bears. It 
passes near a locality, where tradition says 
that a thunderbolt once descended from an 
unusually dark cloud on an oppressively warm 
sunmier's afternoon : entering the earth, and 
leaving a trace of its passage downwards in 
the rent soil: immediately a spring welled 
forth from the opening, whose waters savored 
strongly of the bolt. This is doubtless an 
Indian romance, perhaps suggested and con- 
firmed by the presence of iron or sulphur, 
which may have impregnated the water in 
the neighoorhood. but it is not the spring 
with its legend that most attracts our notice. 
A few more revolutions of the wheel, and we 
are upon holy ground. Those magnificent 
trees radiating trom one common centre in 
extended avenues, and meeting over head, 
casting a mournful shade over the tomb-stones, 
attract our attention. Thev seem like long 
rows of Sphinxes guarding the entrance to the 
temple of Camac. The " Live Oak" is a 
tree of an uncommonly interesting character, 
and imposing appearance. It is indeed here, 
the father of the forest, still fresh in the 
majesty of its might, when others are bend- 
ing and decaying under the weight of years — 
appears mountain like, the sole chronicler 
of centuries. From massive roots striking 
laterally and deeply in every direction, it lifts 
its enormous trunk, which not unfrequently 
measures from twenty to thirty feet in circum- 
ference. At aheieht ranging from twenty- 
five to fifty feet, above the ground, it begins 
to throw out its immense Dranches, which 
spreading and bending almost to the ground, 
form a complete arch, — a Druidical Temple of 
Nature's own handiwork. Its foliage knows 
not the blighting effect of the snows of win- 
ter, but remains fresh and ever-green, when 
all its AnmniLnions hftve lost theJr Inmriant 


^y?^4P i HTV 

verdure, and the woods are filled with ooont- 
less sear and yellow leaves, eddying in the 
whirlwinds of Autumn. The most singular 
feature however in the appearance of this tree, 
and that, which more than all others awakens 
the surprise of the stranger, is the long moBSf 
which bangs from the under side of the bran- 
ches far down, some six or ten feet View- 
ing a Live Oak as this moss is gently waving 
in the mild winds of evening, or tossed to and 
fro by the strong breath of the tornado, — ^as 
its leaves torn from the branches are scattered 
over the plain, while the firm trunk moves 
not, and its iron limbs scarce tremble under 
the mighty power of Eolus, it does indeed 
seem like some hoary patriarch — with his 
venerable and flowing beard, and still despite 
his years, the embodyment of all that is he- 
roic and enduring. No wonder that the 
Druids and the Ancient Germans selected old 
oaks, (although of a far less imposing char- 
acter than these) 9£ the natural temples, where 
with unconstrained ceremony and freedom, 
they might worship the God of the Universe. 
No wonder that the grandeur of these giant 
branches locking arm in arm with their fel- 
lows — no wonder that the solemn music of 
the winds moaning in funeral measure through 
the dense arches, should have inspired them 
with awe, and inclined the mind to religious 
contemplation. Where could the soul unen- 
lightened by the ennobling truths of revela- 
tion form a more exalted conception of, or be 
induced to regard with greater reverance the 
nature of the Deity, than in a spot like this ? 
Beneath the sombre shadows of these trees, 
the frivolity and gaiety of the mind are ex- 
changed for emotions of a more enlarged and 
serious character. Doubtless this frequent 
communion with Nature, this adorning the 
God of Nature in temples which his own 
hands had made, exerted a powerful and be- 
neficial influence upon the minds of the an- 
cient Germans, and tended largely to the de- 
velopment of those noble impulses and char- 
acteristics, for which they were so remark- 
able among the semi-barbarous nations which 
then surrounded them. Tacitus referring to 
their notions with reference to the worsnip 
and the majesty of Deity, uses the following 
language, *' Ceterum nee cohibere parietibus 
deos, neque in ullam humani oris speciem as- 
similare; ex magnitudine ccelestium arbi- 
trantur: lucos ao nemora consecrant, deos 
umque nominibus appellant secretum illud, 
Quod sola reverentia vident." These live oaks 
nourish in great luxuriance throughout the 
sea-coast portions of several of the Southern 
States, yet, in no locality is the mystic in- 
fluence exerted by their presence, more sensi- 
bly felt than in this grove of Bonaventura. 
Here, every circumstance favors the impres- 
sion. Beneath the ever-shadowing foliaget 
are consecrated grounds of burial. The sculp- 

tured pUea aad ^Uat obaequies of the P^re 
la Chaise, with its arrav of tombs, find not 
here their counterparts, but in quiet simplic- 
ity lie the fonns of the beloved departed, 
slumbering now, yet full of the hope, that 
the germs thus sown in the clods of oormp- 
tion, will bud in future glory, in the noon- 
tide eternity of Heaven. 

We return to the City, by Lover's lane, 
bordered on either hand with the Cherokee 
rose, among whose white flowers and dark 
green leaves, may be seen clambering the 
yellow Jessamine — ^hanging in festoons of lux- 
uriant profusion from the trees, and filling the 
air with such a delightful perfnme, that one 
might almost imagine that some gale fresh 
from the houri of Mahomet, was swecfHDg 
over the land. Is it singular then, that the 
young and the fair should be found frequent- 
ing Uiis pleasant road, beguiled by the fas- 
cinations of nature in her varied forms of 
beauty ? catching her soft music, as warbled 
by the forest songster, and drinking in her 
breath, as wafted over countless wild flowers 
it comes bearing upon its bosom the combined 
excellence of them all ? 

Another interesting spot in the vicinity of 
Savannah, is that, where a few mouldering 
remains in shapeless ruin mark the former lo- 
cation of the Orphan House— an institution 
founded in 1740 under the auspices of Geom 
Whitefield, that eloquent divine, who by the 
combined influence of his oratory and piety, 
caused even the atmosphere around him to 
breathe of a religious nature. It was the 
ofispring of a philanthropic heart, and design- 
ed to secure the education of the helpless 
children of insolvent debtors ; as well as of 
others, who, amid the privations of the infiuit 
colony, might be debarred from the enjoym^t 
of such advantages. Although the original 
building has been destroyed under the with- 
ering touch of time, still these simple remains 
are eloquent in the praises of one, whose 
name has already been incorporated among 
the numbers of those, who were ** bom to be 
great." Benjamin Franklin in his auto-bio- 
graphy speaking of Mr. Whitefield relates the 
following anecdote, which beotuse of its con- 
nection with our present sketch, wmy not 
prove wholly unentertaining. ** Mr. White- 
field formed the de^gn of building an Orphan 
House in Georgia. Ketuming Northward, he 
preached up this charity, and made large col- 
lections ; for his eloquence had a wondeiful 
power over the hearts and purses of his 
hearers, of which I myself was an instance. 

I did not approve of his design. • • • I 
happened soon after to attend one of his ser- 
mons, in the course of which I percaved he 
intended to finish with a collection, and I si- 
lently resolved he should get nothing from me. 
I had in my pocket a handful of copper money? 
three or four silver dollars, and five pistoles 



in gold. As he proceeded, I began to soften, 
tnd coDcloded to give the copper. Another 
stroke of his orttory made me a^iamed of 
tbi^ and determined metogirethe silyer: 
and he finished so admirably, that I emptied 
ray pocket wholly into the collectors dish, gold 
and aB. At this sermon also, there was one 
of oar dub, who being of my sentiments re- 
specting the building in Georgia : and sus- 
pecting a oc^ection might be intended, had by 
precaution, emptied his pockets before he 
came fyrom home. Towards the conclusion oC 
the discourse however, he felt a strong inclin- 
ation to give, and applied to a neighbor who 
stood near him, to lend him some money for 
that purpose. The request was fortunately 
made, to perhaps the only man in the com- 
pany who had the firmness not to be affected 
by the preacher. His answer was, at any 
otker time friend Hopkinson, I Xffoidd lend to 
tkee freely ; but not now, for them seems to be 
out of tny ri^t senses. These two anec- 
dotes conrey rividly to our minds at once the 
eitraordinary and persuasive eloquence of the 
Dirine — and the cool calculating spirit of the 
age. Judging from the precautions of friend 
^i^inson, it would api^ear that indinduals 
were as much attad^d to the ''needful*' 
then, as they are at the present time. Al- 
though a few scattered bricks and moulder- 
ing foundations are all that remain to mark 
the spot where the Orphan House originally 
stood, still the efforts of Mr. Whitefield were 
not expended in vain. His charity siill lives 
in the Union Benevolent Association of Sav- 
amudi, which yearly instructs some fort^ or 
! fifty hcjs ; and his name connected as it is 
witn tlie i m provement of the earliest settle- 
' ment of Georgia, is always held in the high- 
, est estimation. Many were the oppositions 
he was called to encounter before the ardent 
desire of his heart was consummated, yet true 
to the noble impulses of his generous mind, 
he soceessfhlly triumphed over them all. 

••Trtie charity, « plant dlrlnely nursed, 
F«d by the Iova from whkh U row at flr«t,^ 
Thrives afpiinet hope, and. In the rudert aotney 
Btomu but enUren fta unfiulinfr fn'oon; 
Kxnborant In the shadow it 8npplio8. 
IVi fruK in earth, It^t growth above the sktee.** 



Lord Baeon, in his Essay on Truth, tells ns 
that *' a mixture of lye doth alvrays add plea- 
sure.*' We therefore recommend the follow- 
ing cj Ltr acts from a dull book, published at 
^e bQ;inningof the 17th century, and entitled 
•* Mimcuia Decrtuorum et Fivorwwi," to the 
ibtnre editors of the life of that renowned ad- 
renturer. Baron Munchausen, The author 
was a German Jurisprudent, named Henry 
Kormnann, who is represented by Bayle to 

enons devourer of learning. He has no daim 
to originality of invention; but as to the 
the readiness in believing the inventions of 
others, he is clearly without a rival. We sub- 
join a few instances of the gravity with whidi 
he retails and propagates the most monstrous 
absurdites : In describing the wonders that 
are to be found in the South Sea, he tells us 
that Diodorus. the geographer, writes that 
** there is an island m it where the inhabi- 
tants are four cubits taller than the inhabi- 
tants of Greece and Italy— their bones are 
not hard but fiexiUe, like nerves— their ton- 
gue is divided in two from the roots, so that 
they can keep up a conversation with one 
man with one half of their tongue, and with 
another, with the other at the same time. 
Alluding to the Molucca Islands, he assures 
us, with inimitable simplicity, that ** in the 
Island of Ceylon, which is one of them, there 
is a nation with ears so large that they hang 
down to their shoulders, and that in another 
island close by it, there is a nation with ears 
still longer. The inhabitants of it are ac- 
customed when they go to sleep, to lay down 
on one ear and to cover themselves up ' with 
the other !" This story, he informs us, is to 
be found in that cdebrated author Maximilia- 
nus Transylvanus, of whose celebrity, how- 
ever, we are at ihlk time of day unfortunatdy 
ignorant. A Knight of the name d Pigafetta 
pledges his credit for the truth of it, as any 
of our readers may see, who choose to refer 
to his History of the East Indies. 

To match this people, who made coveriets 
of their ears, the worthy German informs us 
that there are a people m India who make a 
parasol of their foot. This story rests on the 
authority of Sdinus, who, in his 53d chapter, 
enlightens the world by telling it, that '* there 
is a nation of one-eyed people in India, who, 
though they have but one leg, are still en- 
dow^ with singular fleetness. When they 
want to protect themselves from the heat, they 
fling themsdves on their back, and recline un- 
der the shade of their foot, which is immense- 
ly large." He likewise ouotes a sentence 
from St. Auffustine*s 37tn Seimon to his 
brethren in the wilderness, who wear their 
heads, or rather eyes, beneath the shoulder. 
This eccentric Saint says—" When I was Bis- 
hop of Hippo, I went with some servants of 
Christ into Ethiopia, with the intention of 
preaching onr Holy Religion. There we saw 
many men and women, not having any heads, 
but large eyes fixed in the breasts. Their 
other membarswere like our own." Pliny, 
Mela, and Solinus, all speak of the existence 
of such persons ; but none of them was s» 
favored by fkte as to be permitted a sight of 
them. St. Augustine, however, were more 
fortunate— he saw them, or at least says he 
saw them : and who would disbelieve the 


tise, '<De Civitate Dm, lib. 6. cap. 8." 

e edges his sftinUy word that there is in 
iiiopia a nation which have no mouth or Um- 
Ee, oat which live entirely upon air ; but 
does not say whether these singular per- 
sons fell under his own inspection. 

The following is told in the life of Greg- 
ory the Great by a nameless German ; — 
'*When Augustine, the Monk, was sent to 
England by Gr^;ory the (jh*eat to preach the 
Gospel, he was ridiculed and iosulted by a 
funily in Dorchester, who pinned frog-tails 
{ranarum eawhs) to his garments. From 
that day all the descendants of that unfortu- 
nate family haye been bom, like beasts, with 
a long tail." 

Not many- years ago an account appeared 
in the English papers of a seryant gu*! who 
was restored to lifb after she had l^en con- 
sidered dead for fiye or six days. This would 
not have appeared at all extraordinary to our 
learned German; for he assures us that 
•'Gocellin, a nephew of the archbishop of 
Cologne, as he was crossing the Rhine in his 
childhood, fell out of the boat into the river ; 
and in spite of his attendants sunk, and was 
no more seen. Fifteen days after he was fish- 
ed out of the rivers {expiscattts est). As they 
were taking him to church to bury him, he 
surprised his pall-bearers by starting in his 
comin, and telling them that they need not 
go any farther as he was quite alive. We shidl 
conclude this collection <k wonders by a sin- 
gle specimen taken out of a book of them 
written by Peter Damianus, archbishop and 
Cardinal of Ravenna. He tells us that 
" Robert, King of France, took a woman to 
his wife, who was his near relation. She bore 
him a child who had the head and neck of a 
goose. The Bishops of France on hearing of 
this portentous birth, excommunicated both 
him and his wife." Robert was more unfor- 
tunate in his punishment than in his fate ; 
for though he might be first, he certainly was 
not the last king who has found himself the 
fiither of a son with the head of a goose. 


The following translation from the French, 
is one of the many striking examples of female 
tenderness, afiection, and constancy, which 
modem times have furnished : — 

** Mr. Weiss, who was town-surgeon of a 
small town in Prussia, pnHupted by that ar- 
dent patriotism which inflamed the Woms of 
the people of that country, at the commence- 
ment of the conflict in 1812, exchanged that 
situation for the post of surgeon to the Neu- 
markt Landwehr. The corps formed part of 
the force emjdoyed in ihe seige of Glogua. In 
the execution of the duties of his oiffice, he 
caught the epidemic fever. No sooner did 
his wife receive the account of bis situation. 

than she iflunediately hastened to him froni 
Neumarkt. She found her husband in the 
height of a typhus, and insensible, in a cot- 
tage at Nosswitz, near Glogua. Scarocfy 
hMl she undotaken the office of nurse, what 
a sortie made (on the 10th November, 1813^) 
by the garrison of Glogua, threw the whole 
neighbomood, and that village in particular, 
into the utmost consternation. All its inhab- 
itants betook themselves to flight She alone 
was left, with her apparently expiring hos- 
.band, in the cottage, against which the hot- 
test fire of the enemy's artillery was directed, 
probably because it was distinguished &om 
the other houses by a tiled roof. Several m- 
nades breaking through the roof set the floor 
on fire. Having carefully covered up her par 
tient, and, as it were, buried him in the bed 
clothes, she ran out for a pail of water, extin- 
guished the fire, and again directed her atten- 
tion to the beloved object of her anxiety. 1^ 
found him, to her great joy, in a profuse pers- 
piration: but the incessant shower of baHs 
rendered her abode more and more dangerous. 
A twelve pounder fell close to the bed of her 
husband, out without doing him the slightest 
injury. Resolved to die with him, she lay 
down by his side, and thus awaited tl»eir 
common fate. Noon arrived, and this Ume 
the Prussians had driven back the enemy in- 
to the fortress. She was earnestly entruted 
to provide for her safety, as it was impossiUe 
to tell whether the enemy might not attempt 
a fresh sortie. She, however, scorned eveiy 
idea of removing to a place of security herselr, 
unless she could save her husband also ; and 
thou^ the removal of the patient was deem- 
ed impracticable, she nevertheless determined 
on this haaardous and only way of ensuriag 
his safety. 

Having tied his hands and legs, to prevent 
him from moving and taking cold, she laid 
him, closely wrapped up with bed and bed- 
ding, in a cart covered with boards, in which 
she took her stand, and looked at him every 
minute. She slowly pursued her course to- 
wards Schmarsau, but scarcely had she Idit 
Nosswitz, when the beseiged began to fire 
from the fortress in that direction. The balls 
fiew thickly about the cart, and the affiighted 
lad who drove, took belter, s<»netime8 under 
it, and sometimes \mder the horses. She was 
fortunate enough to escape this dai^er with- 
out injury, and arrived with her patient at 
Schmarsau, which was already thronged with 
wounded, and applied f<»' a loc^;ing at the first 
cottage. The mistress oi the house, whose 
husbuid had died of a nervous fever, fell oa 
her like a fury, turned the horses* heads, and 
protested, with many bitter execrations, that 
she should not cross her threshold. In this 
desperate situation our heroine had recourse 
to a decisive expedient Almost beside her- 
self, she drew her husband's sword, and point- 



ing it to the womMi's breast, deolared, that 
she would nm It through her heart, unless 
die nnmediatciy admitted her husband. Ter* 
rified at this unexpected menace, the other 
complied, and the patient was carried into 
^ iMHise whidi haa previously contained fif- 
teen wounded. His wife, howerer, perceiy^ 
with horror, that her beloved charge manifest- 
ed not the* least sign of life. The bystanders 
advised her to give herself no farther trouble 
about him, and offered to lay him out ibr 
dead. To this she positively refused to agree ; 
and laying him in the bed, she mcessantly 
rubbed his stiffened body, and with a tea- 
spoon administered some wine, the only med- 
icine within her reach. With the following 
morning, the expiring spark began to revive, 
and her joy was unbounded. She continued 
ber attentions, and in a few days had the in- 
expreflsible satisfaction to see him out of dan- 
ger. She now obtained a distinct apartment 
of her landlady, who began to behave to her 
with more kindness than at first. WTien her 
husband was sufficiently convalescent, she 
returned with him to Neumarkt, to complete 
his recovery. Unfortunately, during her ab- 
soence, one of their two children, a fine boy, 
was taken ill, and him her maternal care was 
unaUe to save. In the beginning of Februa- 
ry, her husband again returned to resume his 
perflous duty with his battalion before Glogua. 


^iimt among \\t |ttfe §o0b. 



— The Harpers have published, under this 
title, a very handsome volume of 297 pages, 
embracing the course of lectures deliveiW by 
Tliackeray last winter in our principal cities. 
Copioiis notes are appended. We took occa- 
skm frequently to speak favorably of these 
lectures while they were in course of delivery : 
and now that they are published, we see no 
reason to change our views touching their 
merits. They are written in an off-hand, 
easy style, with frequent dashes of humor and 
ptUios : while now and then, of course, there 
ire touches of the smooth satire for which their 
author is distinguished. 

It is difficult to say which of these lectures 
we prefer. The first, on Swift, unquestion- 
ably is the most elaborate. It is also, though 
severe upon the Dean of St Patridc's, to our 
mind, eminently just. He was, morally and 
socially, at least, not exemplary, whatever he 
may have been intellectually. We quote some 
pasBaces, touching the singular story of the 
tkans interchanges with Stella and Vanessa, 
kaving all that relates to him as a writer and 
politician for such as purchase the vdume in 

'*We have spoken aboat the men, and 
Swift's bdiaviour to them; and now it be- 
hoves us not to forget that there are certain 
other persons in the creation who had rather 
intimate relations vrith the fpreat Dean. Two 
women whom he loved and imured are known 
by every reader of books so nmiliarly that if 
we had seen them, or if they had been rela- 
tives of our own, we scarcely could have 
known them better. Who has not in his 
mind an image of Stella ? Who does not love 
her? Fair and tender creature: pure and 
affectionate heart ! Boots it to you now that 
you have been at rest for a hundred and 
twenty years, not divided in death from the 
cold heart which caused yours, whilst it beat, 
such fkithful pangs of love and grief— boots 
it to you now, that the whole world loves and 
deplores you? Scarce any man, I believe, 
ever thought of that grave, that did not cast 
a flower of pity on it, and write over it a 
sweet epita|m. Gentle lady! — so lovely, so 
loving, so unhappy. You have had countless 
champions, millions <^ manly hearts mourn- 
ing for you. From generation to generation 
we take up the fond tradition of your beauty ; 
we watch and follow your story your bright 
morning love and purity, your constancy, 
your grief, your sweet martyrdom. We knew 
your legend by heart. You are one of the 
saints of English story. 

And if SteUa's love and innocence is charm^ 
ing to contemplate, I will bbj in spite of ill- 
usage, in spite of drawbacks, in spite of mys* 
terious separation and union, of hope delayed 
and sickened heart — in the teeth of Vanessa, 
and that little episodical aberration which 
plunged Svrift into such woeful pitfalls and 

auagmires of amorous perplexity — in spite of 
lie verdicts of most women, I believe, who, 
as fkr as my experience and ocmversation 
goes, generally take Vanessa's part in the 
controversy — in spite of the tears which Swift 
caused Stella to shed, and the rocks and bar^ 
riers which fate and temper interposed, and 
which prevented the pure course of that love 
from running smoothly : the brightest part of 
Swift's story, the pure star in that dark and 
tempestuous life of Swift's, is his love for 
Hester Johnson. It has been my business, 
professionally of course, to go through a deal 
of sentimental reading in my time, and to ac- 
quaint myself with love-making, as it has 
been described in various languages, and at 
various ages of the world; and I know of 
nothing more manly, more tender, more ex- 
quisitely touching, than some c^ these brief 
notes, written in what Swift calls ' his little 
language' in his journal to Stella. He writes 
to her night and morning often. He never 
sends away a letter to her but he begins a 
new one on the same day. He cannot bear to 
let go her kind little hand as it were. He 
knows that she is thinking of him, and long- 


hw fiir falm fkr %w%j in Dvblin yonder. He 
takes her letters from wider his pillow and 
ti^ks to them, fiuniliarij, paternally, with | 
fend epithets and pretly caresses — as he | 
would to the sweet and artless creature who 
lored him. * Stay,* he writes one morning — 
it is the 14th of December, 1710^<Stay, I 
will answer s<Rne of your letters this meming , 
in bed — let me see. Come and aopear little 
letter! Here I am, says he, ana what say 
you to Stella this morning fresh and lasting? 
And OMi Stdla read this writing without 
hurting her dear eyes?' He goes on, after 
more kind prattle and fond whispering. The 
dear eyes shine clearly upon him then — the 
food angel of his life is with him and bless- 
rag htm. Ah, it was a hard fate that wrung 
from them so many tears, and stabbed piti- 
lessly that pure and tender bosom. A hard 
fbte : but would she have changed it ? I have 
heard a woman say that she would have takoi 
Swift's cruelty to have had his tenderness. 
He had a sort of worship for her whilst he 
wounded her. He speaks of her after she is 
gone ; of her wit, of her kindness, of her 
graoe, of her beauty, with a simple love and 
reverence that are indescribably touching: 
in contemplation of her ^^oodness his hard 
heart melts into pathos : his cold rhyme kin- 
dles and glows into poetry, and he foils down 
on his knees, so to speak, before the angel, 
whose life he had embittered, confesses bis 
own wretchedness and unworthiness, and 
adores her with cries of remorse and love : — 

' When oo my tiokly oooch I lay, 
Impftti«nt both of night uid day. 
And groaning in nnmardy ttrnint. 
Called every power to ease my pains. 
Then Stella ran to ray relief, 
With cheerfal face and inward ^nef. 
And tlntiigh by Heaven's severe decree 
She suffers hourly more than me. 
No cruel master could require 
From slaves employed for daily hire, 
What Stella, by her friendship warmed. 
With vifpr and delight performed. 
Now with soil and sileot tread, 
Unheard she moves about my bed : 
My sinking spirits now supplies 
With cordials in her hands and eym. 
Best pattern of true friends! beware; 
Fou pay too dearl? (or 3rour care 
If while yoor lendemeas aecorea 
My life, it must endanger yours : 
For such a (bol was never (bund 
Who pulled a palace to the ground. 
Only to have the ruiiie made 
Materials ibr a heiae decayed.* 

<< One little triumph Stella had in her life- 
one dear little piece of injustice was performed 
in her &yor, for which 1 confess, for my part, 
I cannot help thanking fttte and the Dean. 
That other person was sacrificed to her — ^that 
— that younp woman, who lired five doors 
from Dr. Swift*^ todgings in Bury-street, and 
who flattered him, uid ma(fo k^e to him in 

an outrageous manner — Ti 
thrown over. 

Swift did not keep Stella's letters to him in 
reply to those he wrote to her. He kept Bo- 
lingbroke's, and Pope's, and Hariey's, and 
Peterborough's : but Stdla * very oarefullj,' 
the Lives say, kept Swift's. Of course : tint 
is the way of the worid : and so we camot 
tell what her style was, or of what sort were 
the little letters which the Doctor placed there 
at night, and bade to appear fhnn unchr Ins 
pillow of a morning. But in Letter IT. of 
that famous collection he describes his kklgtng 
in Bury-street, where he has the first ^oSr, a 
dining-room and bed-chamber, at eight shil- 
liiigs a-week : and in Letter YT. he says «he 
has visited a lady just come to town,' whose 
name somehow is not menUoned ; and in Let- 
ter Yin. he enters a query of SteUaV- 
*' What do you mean * that boards near me, 
that I dine with now and then V What the 
deuce ! You know whom I have dined with 
every day since I left you, better than I do." 
Ofcourse die does. Of course Swift has not 
the slightest idea of what she means. But in 
a few letters more it turns out that the Doctor 
has been to dine * gravely' with a Mrs. Yan- 
homrigh: then that he has been to * his neigh- 
bour :' then that he has been unweU, and 
means to dine for the whole week with his 
neighbour ! Stella was quite right in her pre- 
visions. She saw from the very first nint 
what was going to happen ; and scented Ya- 
nessa in the air. The rival is at the Dean's 
feet The pupil and teacher are reading to- 
gether, and drinking tea together, and goii^ 
to prayers together, and learning Latin to> 
getner, and conjugating amot amas, amavi to- 

§ ether. The little language is over for poor 
tella. By the rale of grammar and the 
course of conjugation, does not omort come 
after miio and amasf 

ThebvesofCadenusandYanessa yon may 
peruse in Cadenns's own poem on Uie subject, 
and in poor Yaneesa's vehement expostnlatory 
verses and letters to him, she adores him, im- 
plores him, admires him, thinks him something 
god'like, and only prays t^be admitted to he 
at his feet. As they . are bringing him home 
from church, those divine feet of Dr. Swift's 
are found pretty often in Yanessa's parlour. 
He likes to be admired and adored, H y prdd 
gout. He finds Miss Yanhomrigh to be a wo- 
man of great taste and spirit, and beauty and 
wit, and a fortune too. He sees her every day ; 
he does not tell Stella about the business: ira- 
til the impetuous Yanessa becomes too fond of 
him, until the doctor is quite frightened hy 
the young woman's ardour, and coidbunded 
Irr fcwrwarmdi. Ife wanted to marry nehfaer 
of them — that I believe was the truth ; but if 
he had not married SteHa, Yanesssa would 
have had him in spite of himsdf. When he 
went back to Ireland, his Ariadne, boI con- 



\ biography, Scott atkjs that 
ke, of Dublin, has a lock of 

teat to nnaiii io bar isle, pnraoad the ftici- 
dre Dean. In vain he protested, he vowed, be 
soothed and bullied ; the news of the Dean's 
iDtiriaffe with Stella at last came to her, and 
it killed her — she died of that passion. 

'* And when she died, and Stella beard that 
Svift had written beautifully regarding her, 
"■ that does not surnrise me,*^ said Mrs. Stella, 
*' ibr we all know tne Dean could write beau- 
tified] j about abroomstick." A woman— « true 
voman ! Would you have had one of tbem 
Ibreive the other ? 

Inanotein bis 
his friend Dr. Tuke 

Stella's hair* enclosed in a paper by Swift, on 
which are written in the Dean's hand, the 
words: *'Ofiiv atromon'sAatr." An instance, 
says Scott, of the Dean's desire to veil his 
feelings under the mask of (miical indifference. 

See the various notions of critics ! Do those 
words indicate indifference or an attempt to 
hide feeling ? Did you ever bear or read four 
words more pathetic ? Only a woman's hair, 
only love, only fidelity, only purity, innocence, 
beauty ; only the tenderest heart in the world 
stricken and wounded, and passed away now 
out of reach of pangs of hope deferred, love 
insulted, and pitiless desertion ;— only that 
lock of hair left : and memory and remorse, 
for the guilty, lonely wretch, shuddering over 
thepave of his victim." 

tiSe notes which are given in connexion 
with these passages are extremely interesting ; 
but we have not space for extracts. Besides, 
thev appear mostly in Scott's life of Swift. 

Thackeray thus admirably expresses his 
ideas toucbmg Congreve's plays. 

'* I have read two or three of Congreve's 
^vs over before speaking of him ; and my 
uemigs were rather like those, which I dare- 
say most of us here have had, at Pompeii, 
looking a Sallust's house and the relics of an 
orgy, a dried wine-jar or two, a charred sup- 
par-table, the breast of a dancing girl pressed 
against the ashes, the laughing skuU of a jester, 
t perfect stillness around a^mt, as the Cice* 
rooe twangs his moral, and the blue sky shines 
calmly over the ruin. The Congreve muse is 
dead, and her song ohoaked in Time's ashes. 
We oze at the skeleton, and wonder at life 
which once revelled in its mad veins. We take 
the skull up, and muse over the frolic and dar* 
iog, the wit, scorn, passion, hope, desire, with 
which that empty bowl once fermented. We 
think of the glances that allured, the tears 
that melted, of the bright eyes that shone in 
those vacant sockets ; and of lips whisper- 
ing love, and oheeks dimpling with smiles, 
tlttt once covered yon ghastly yellow 
frame work. They used to call those teeth 
pearls once. See ! there's the cup she drank 
from, the ffold-chain she wore on her neck, 
the vase which held the rouge for her cheek, 
her looking-^ass, and the ^p she used to 

danoeto. Inaieadof afeattwafinda^rftv^- 
stone, and in place of a rnktreaa, a few haneB ! 
Reading in these idays now, is like shutting 

your ears and lookinK at people daneiog^ 
What does it mean! the measures, the 

grimaces, the bowing, shufflix^^d retreating, 
the cavalier soul advancing upon those ladies 
— those ladies and men twirling roond at the 
ends in a mad galop, after which everybody 
and the quaint rite is celebrated. Withoirt 
the music we cannot undo^tand that comic 
dance of the last century — its strange gravi^ 
and g^ty its deoonun or its indeeumm. It 
has a iargon of its own quiet unlike life ; a 
sort of moral of its own quite unlike life too. 

I'm afraid it's a Heathen mystery, symbo- 
lising a Pagan doctrine ; protesting, as the 
Poropeians very likely were, assembled at their 
theatre and laughing at their games^-as Sal- 
lust and his friends, and their mistresses (mx)- 
tested— crowned with flowers, with cups in 
their hands, against the new, hard, ascetic 
ideasnre-hating doctrine* whose gaunt di»- 
ciples, lately passed over from the Asian shores 
of the Mediterranean were ibr breaking the 
£ur images of Venus, and flinging the altars 
of Bacchus down. 

I fancy poor Congreve's theatre is a temple 
of Pagan delights, and mysteries not permitted 
except anuHig heathens. I fear the theatre 
cames down that ancient tradition and wor- 
ship, as masons have carried their secret signs 
and rites from temple to temple. When the 
libertine hero cames off the beauty in the 
play, and the dotard is laughed to scorn for hav- 
mg the young wife : in the ballad, when the 
poet bid bis mistress to gather roses while she 
may, and warns her that old Time is still a- 
flying: in the ballet, when honest Corydoa 
courts Phillis undw the treillage of the paste- 
board cottage, and leers at her over the head 
of grandpapa in red stockings, who is oppw- 
tunely asleep ; and when seduced by the invi- 
tations of the rosey youth she comes forward 
to the footlights, and thejr peribrm on each 
other's tiptoes that pas which you know and 
which is only interrupted by old grandpapa 
awaking from his doze at the pasteboard dia- 
lat (whether he returns to take another nap 
in case the young get an encore): when Harle- 
quin, splendid in youth, strength and agility, 
arrayeain gold and a thousand colours, springs 
over the heads of countless perils, leaps down 
the throat of bewildered giants, and, daunt- 
less and s|^endid, danoe danger down : when 
Mr. Puncn, that godless okl rebel, breaks 
every law and laughs at it with odious tri- 
umph, oat wits his lawyer, bullies the beadle, 
knocliB bis wife about ttie head, and hanss the 
nangman,— Hlm't yon see in the comedy, in 
the song, in the dance, in the ragged little 
Punch's puppet-show, — the Pagan protest? 
Does not it seem as if Life puts in its f^ea and 
sings its oonmMitl Look bow the lovers 



walk ftfid liold eMli other ^ brnds and whisper ! 
8ing8 the choras — **There is nothing like lore, 
there is nothing like yoath, there is notbine 
beMity of your spring time. Look ! how old 
age tries to meddle with merry sport ! Beat 
Imn widi his own cratch, the wrinkled old 
dotard ! There is nothing fike youth, there is 
nothing like beauty, there is nothing like 
strengSi. Strength and valour win beauty 
and youth. Be brave and conquer. Be young 
and happy. Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy! Would 
you know Segretto per esser fdice f Here it is 
m a smiling mistress and a cup of Falernian." 
As the boy tosses the cup and sings his song. 
Hark ! what is that chaunt coming nearer and 
nearer ? What is that drige which mU dis- 
turb us ? The lights of the festival bum dim 
— the cheeks turn pale — the voice quivers — 
and the cup drops on the floor. Who is there? 
Death and fate are at the gate, and th^ will 
come in.*' 

jwm. GOixjmnfm 01.0 fouio. 

— Mr. J. Payne Collier writes a letter to the 
London AtheniBumj under date of May 28th, 
wherein heannounoes his having advanced an . 
important step towards tracing the ownership 
and history of his remarkable annotated and 
amended folio. He says he has clear proof i 
that it was in existence fifty years ago, and ' 
upon the foundation <^ this probably he . 
thinks he can carry it back almost to the pe- | 
riod when the volume was published. The ^ 
ikcts he offers are these : — 

" John GUirrick Moore, Esq., of Hyde Park 
Gate, (nephew to Sr John Moore, who fell at 
Oorrunna, in Jan., 1809,) being in possession 
(tf a copy of the 'Notes and Emendations' 
founded upon my folio, 1632, happened to 
show it to a friend of the name of Parry, re- 
siding at St. John's Woods. Mr. Parry re- 
marked, that he had once been the owner of a 
folio, 1632, the margins of which were much 
occupied by manuscript notes in an old hand- 
writing ; and haviifg read my description of 
the book, both externally and internally, and 
having looked at the fac«simile which accom- 
panied that description, he declared, without 
a moment's hesitation, that this very copy of