to as pretty a show of velvets and of martens, as the importers could
desire--talk is centering upon that redoubtable hero, LOUIS KOSSUTH. We
are an impulsive people, and take off our hats, one moment, with a
hearty good-will and devotion; and thrust them over our ears, the next,
with the most dogged contempt; and it would not be strange, therefore,
if we sometimes made mistakes in our practice of civilities. We fell,
naturally enough, into a momentary counter current--started by anonymous
and ill-natured letter writers from the other side of the sea--in regard
to KOSSUTH. While he was riding the very topmost wave of popular
admiration, a rumor that he had been uncivil and unduly exacting in his
intercourse with the officers of the Mississippi frigate, struck his
gallant craft and threatened to whelm her under the sea she was so
triumphantly riding. The opportune arrival of the Mississippi, and the
unanimous testimony of her officers to the respectful and altogether
proper demeanor of the Hungarian hero, restored him to favor and even
swelled the tide which sweeps him to a higher point of popularity than
any other foreigner, LA FAYETTE excepted, has ever reached in our
republican country. How he has earned their respect, a biographical
sketch in another part of our Magazine will enable each reader to judge
for himself.
Linked to KOSSUTH is the new talk about the new and strange action of
that gone-by hero LOUIS NAPOLEON. Curiosity-mongers can not but be
gratified at such spectacle of a Republic as France just now presents;
where a man is not only afraid to express his opinions, but is afraid to
entertain them! It must be a gratifying scene for such old hankerers
after the lusts of Despotism, and the energy of Emperors, as METTERNICH,
to see the loving fraternity of our sister Republic, called France,
running over into such heart-felt action of benevolence and liberality
as characterize the diplomacy of FAUCHER!
Stout EMILE DE GIRARDIN, working away at his giant _Presse_, with the
same indomitable courage, and the same incongruity of impulse, which
belonged to his battle for LOUIS NAPOLEON, now raises the war cry of a
_Working-man_ for President! And his reasoning is worth quoting; for it
offers an honest, though sad picture of the heart of political France.
"The choice lies," says he, "between LOUIS NAPOLEON and another. LOUIS
NAPOLEON has the eclat of his name to work upon the ignorant millions of
country voters: unless that _other_ shall have similar eclat, there is
no hope. No name in France can start a cry, even now, like the name of
NAPOLEON. Therefore," says GIRARDIN, "abandon the name of a man, and
take the name of a _class_. Choose your workingman, no matter who, and
let the rally be--'The Laborer, or the Prince!'"
There is not a little good sense in this, viewed as a matter of
political strategy; but as a promise of national weal, it is fearfully
vain. Heaven help our good estate of the Union, when we must resort to
such chicanery, to guard our seat of honor, and to secure the guaranty
of our Freedom!
* * * * *
The cool air--nothing else--has quickened our pen-stroke to a side-dash
at political action: we will loiter back now, in our old, gossiping way,
to the pleasant current of the dinner chat.
The winter-music has its share of regard; and between
Biscaccianti--whose American birth does not seem to lend any patriotic
fervor to her triumphs--and the new Opera, conversation is again set off
with its rounding Italian expletives, and our ladies--very many of
them--show proof of their enthusiasm, by their bouquets, and their
_bravos_. It would seem that we are becoming, with all our practical
cast, almost as music-loving a people as the finest of foreign
_dillettanti_: we defy a stranger to work his way easily and deftly into
the habit of our salon talk, without meeting with such surfeit of
musical _critique_, as he would hardly find at any _soiree_ of the
Chausee d'Antin, or of Grosvenor Place. There is bruited just now, with
fresh force, the old design of music for the million; and an opera house
with five thousand seats, will be--if carried into effect--a wonder to
ourselves, and to the world.
* * * * *
As our pen runs just now to music, it may be worth while to sketch--from
Parisian chronicle--an interview of the famous composer ROSSINI, with
the great musical purveyor of the old world--Mr. LUMLEY.
ROSSINI, it is well known, has lately lived in a quiet and indolent
seclusion; and however much he may enjoy his honors, has felt little
disposition to renew them. The English Director, anxious to secure some
crowning triumph for his winter campaign, and knowing well that a new
composition of the great Italian would be a novelty sure of success,
determined to try, at the cost of an Italian voyage, a personal
interview.
ROSSINI lives at Bologna--a gloomy old town, under the thrall and shadow
of the modern Gallic papacy. He inhabits an obscure house, in a dark and
narrow street. Mr. Lumley rings his bell, and is informed by the
_padrona_ that the great master has just finished his siesta, and will
perhaps see him. He enters his little parlor unannounced. It is
comfortably furnished--as comfort is counted in the flea-swarming houses
of Italy; the furniture is rich and old; the piano is covered with dust.
The old master of sweet sounds is seated in a high-backed chair, with a
gray cat upon his knees, and another cat dextrously poising on his lank
shoulder, playing with the tassel of his velvet cap.
He rises to meet the stranger with an air of _ennui_, and a look of
annoyance, that seems to say, "Please sir, your face is strange, and
your business is unknown."
"My name is Lumley," says the imperturbable Director.
"Lumley--Lumley," says the master, "I do not know the name."
It is a hard thing for the most enterprising musical director of Europe
to believe that he is utterly unknown to the first composer of Southern
Europe.
"You should be an Englishman," continues the host. "Yet the English are
good fellows, though something indiscreet. They are capital sailors, for
example; and good fishermen. Pray, do you fish, monsieur? If your visit
looks that way, you are welcome."
"Precisely," says the smiling Director; "I bring you a new style of
bait, which will be, I am sure, quite to your fancy." And with this he
unrolls his "fly-book," and lays upon the table bank-bills to the amount
of one hundred thousand francs. He knows the master's reputed avarice,
and watches his eye gloating on the treasure as he goes on. "I am, may
it please you, Director of the Opera at London and at Paris. I wish a
new opera three months from now. I offer you these notes as advance
premium for its completion. Will you accept the terms, and gratify
Europe?"
The old man's eye dwelt on the notes: he ceased fondling the gray cat.
"A hundred thousand francs in bank-notes," said he, speaking to himself.
"You prefer gold, perhaps," said the Englishman.
"Not at all."
"You accept, then?"
The old man's brow grew flushed. A thought of indignity crossed his
mind. "There is then a dearth of composers, that you come to trouble an
old man's peace?"
"Not at all: the world is full of them--gaining honors every season,"
and the wily Director talked in a phrase to stir the old master's pride;
and again the brow grew flushed, as a thought of the electric notes came
over him, that had flashed through Europe and the world, and made his
name immortal.
The Director waited hopefully.
But the paroxysm of pride went by; "I _can not_:" said the old man,
plaintively. "My life is done; my brain is dry!"
And the Director left him, with his tasseled cap lying against the high
chair back and the gray cat playing upon his knee.
* * * * *
In English papers, the ending of the Great Exhibition has not yet ceased
to give point to paragraphs. Observers say that the despoiling of the
palace of its wonders, reduces sadly the effect of the building; and it
is to be feared that the reaction may lead to its entire demolition.
Every country represented is finding some ground for self-gratulation in
its peculiar awards; and the opinion is universal, that they have been
honestly and fairly made. For ourselves, whatever our later boasts may
be, it is quite certain that on the score of _taste_, we made a bad show
in the palace. It was in bad taste to claim more room than we could
fill; it was in bad taste, to decorate our comparatively small show,
with insignia and lettering so glaring and pretentious; it was in bad
taste, not to wear a little more of that modesty, which conscious
strength ought certainly to give.
But, on the other hand, now that the occasion is over, we may
congratulate ourselves on having made signal triumphs in just _those
Arts which most distinguish civilized man from the savage_; and in
having lost honor only _in those Arts, which most distinguish a
luxurious nation from the hardy energy of practical workers._
* * * * *
It is an odd indication of national characteristic, that a little
episode of love rarely finds a narrator in either English or American
journalism; whereas, nothing is more common than to find the most habile
of French _feuilletonists_ turning their pen to a deft exposition of
some little garret story of affection; which, if it be only well told,
is sure to have the range of all the journals in France.
Our eye just now falls upon something of the sort, with the taking
caption of "Love and Devotion;" and in order to give our seventy odd
thousand readers an idea of the graceful way in which such French story
is told, we shall render the half-story into English:
In 1848, a young girl of high family, who had been reared in luxury, and
who had previously lost her mother, found herself in a single day
fatherless and penniless. The friends to whom she would have naturally
looked for protection and consolation, were either ruined or away.
Nothing remained but personal effort to secure a livelihood.
She rented a small garret-room, and sought to secure such comforts as
she required by embroidering. But employers were few and suspicious.
Want and care wore upon her feeble frame, and she fell sick. With none
to watch over or provide for her, she would soon have passed off (as
thousands do in that gay world) to a quick and a lonely death.
But there happened to be living in the same pile of building, and upon
the same landing, a young Piedmontese street-porter, who had seen often,
with admiring eyes, the frail and beautiful figure of his neighbor. He
devised a plan for her support, and for proper attendance. He professed
to be the agent of some third party of wealth, who furnished the means
regularly for whatever she might require. His earnings were small; but
by dint of early and hard working, he succeeded in furnishing all that
her necessities required.
After some weeks, Mlle. SOPHIE (such is the name our paragraphist gives
the heroine) recovered; and was, of course, anxious to learn from the
poor Piedmontese the name of her benefactor. The poor fellow, however,
was true to the trust of his own devotion, and told nothing. Times grew
better, and SOPHIE had a hope of interesting the old friends of her
family. She had no acquaintance to employ as mediator but the poor
Piedmontese. He accepted readily the task, and, armed with her
authority, he plead so modestly, and yet so earnestly for the
unfortunate girl, that she recovered again her position, and with it no
small portion of her lost estate.
Again she endeavored to find the name of her generous benefactor, but no
promises could wrest the secret from the faithful Giacomo. At least,
thought the grateful SOPHIE, the messenger of his bounties shall not go
unrewarded; and she inclosed a large sum to her neighbor of the garret.
Poor Giacomo was overcome!--the sight of the money, and of the delicate
note of thanks, opened his eyes to the wide difference of estate that
lay between him and the adored object of his long devotion. To gain her
heart was impossible; to live without it, was even more impossible. He
determined--in the Paris way--to put an end to his cankerous hope, and
to his life--together.
Upon a ledge of the deserted chamber he found a vial of medicine, which
his own hard-earned money had purchased, and with this he determined to
slip away from the world, and from his grief.
He penned a letter, in his rude way, full of his love, and of his
desolation, and having left it where it would reach SOPHIE, when all
should be over, he swallowed the poison. Happily--(French story is
always happy in these interventions)--a friend had need of his services
shortly after! and hearing sad groans at his door, he burst it open, and
finding the dangerous state of the Piedmontese, ran for a physician.
Prompt effort brought GIACOMO to life again. But his story had been
told; and before this, the gay SOPHIE had grown sad over the history of
his griefs.
We should like well to finish up our tale of devotions, with mention of
the graceful recognition of the love of the infatuated Piedmontese, by
the blooming Mademoiselle SOPHIE. But, alas! truth--as represented by
the ingenious Journalist--forbids such sequel. And we can only write, in
view of the vain devotion of the Sardinian lover--_le pauvre Giacomo!_
* * * * *
Yet again, these graceful columns of French newsmakers, lend us an
episode--of quite another sort of devotion. The other showed that the
persuasion of love is often vain; and this will show, that the
persuasion of a wife is--vainer still.
--A grave magistrate of France--no matter who--was voyaging through
Belgium with his wife. They had spun out a month of summer with that
graceful mingling of idlesse and wonder, that a Frenchwoman can so well
graft upon the habit of a husband's travel: they had bidden adieu to
Brussels, and to Liege, and were fast nearing the border-town, beyond
which lay their own sunny realm of France.
The wife suddenly cuts short her smiles, and whispers her husband--"_Mon
cher_, I have been guilty of an imprudence."
"It is not possible."
"_Si_: a great one. I have my satchel full of laces, they are
contraband; pray, take them and hide them until the frontier is past."
The husband was thunderstruck: "But, my dear, I--a magistrate, conceal
contraband goods?"
"Pray, consider, _mon cher_, they are worth fifteen hundred francs;
there is not a moment to lose."
"But, my dear!"
"Quick--in your hat--the whistle is sounding--"
There seemed no alternative, and the poor man bestowed the contraband
laces in his _chapeau_.
The officials at the frontier, on recognizing the dignity of the
traveler, abstained from any examination of his luggage, and offered him
every facility. Thus far his good fortune was unexpected. But some
unlucky attendant had communicated to the town authorities the presence
of so distinguished a personage. The town authorities were zealous to
show respect; and posted at once to the station to make token of their
regard. The magistrate was charmed with such attention--so unexpected,
and so heart-felt. He could not refrain from the most gracious
expression of his _reconnaissance_; he tenders them his thanks in set
terms;--he bids them adieu;--and, in final acknowledgment of their
kindness--he lifts his hat, with enthusiastic flourish.
--A shower of Mechlin lace covers the poor man, like a bridal vail!
The French Government winks at the vices, and short-comings of
representatives and President; but with a humble magistrate, the matter
is different. The poor man, _bon-gre_--_mal-gre_, was stopped upon the
frontier--was shorn of his bridal covering; and in company with his
desponding wife, still (so GUINOT says) pays the forfeit of his yielding
disposition, in a dusky, and grated chamber of the old border town of
----.
Editor's Drawer.
Well, "_Election is over_," for one thing, and we breathe again. The
freemen of the "Empire State" have walked up to the polls, the
"captain's office" of the boat on which we are all embarked, and
"settled" the whole matter. The little slips of paper have done the
deed, without revolution and without bloodshed. Some are rejoiced,
because they have succeeded; others lament that when they were all ready
at any moment to die for their country and a fat office, their offers
were not accepted by the sovereigns. Some, with not much character to
spare of their own, are grieved to find that "tailing-on" upon
individual eminence won't always "do" with the people. And, by-the-by,
speaking of "tailing-on," there "hangs a tale," which is worth
recording. It may be old, but we heard it for the first time the other
evening, and it made us "laugh consumedly." This it is:--At the time of
the first election of General WASHINGTON to the Presidency, there was a
party in one of the Southern States, called the "_John Jones' Party_."
The said Jones, after whom the party took its name, was a man of talent;
a plotting, shrewd fellow, with a good deal of a kind of "Yankee
cunning;" in short, possessing all the requisites of a successful
politician, except personal popularity. To overcome this latter
deficiency, of which he was well aware, especially in a contest with a
popular candidate for Congress, John Jones early avowed himself as the
peculiar and devoted friend of General WASHINGTON, and on this safe
ground, as he thought, he endeavored to place his rival in opposition.
In order to carry out this object more effectually, he called a meeting
of his county, of "All those friendly to the election of General GEORGE
WASHINGTON!"
On the day appointed, Mr. John Jones appeared, and was, on the
cut-and-dried motion of a friendly adherent, made chairman of the
meeting. He opened the proceedings by a high and carefully-studied
eulogium upon the life and services of WASHINGTON, but taking care only
to speak of himself as his early patron, and most devoted friend. He
concluded his remarks by a proposition to form a party, to be called
"_The True and Only Sons of the Father of his Country_:" and for that
object, he submitted to the meeting a resolution something like the
following:
"_Resolved_, That we are the friends of General GEORGE WASHINGTON, and
will sustain him in the coming election against all other competitors."
"Gentlemen," said Mr. Jones, after reading the resolution, "the Chair is
now about to put the question. The chairman hopes that every man will
declare his sentiments, either for or against the resolution. All those
in favor of the resolution will please to say 'Ay.'"
A thundering "_Ay_!" shook the very walls of the building. The united
voices were like the "sound of many waters."
"Now, gentlemen, for the opposition," said John Jones. "All those who
are contrary-minded, will please to say '_No_!'"
Not a solitary voice was heard. The dead silence seemed to confuse Mr.
Jones very much. After some hesitation and fidgeting, he said:
"Gentlemen, _do vote_. The Chair can not decide a disputed question when
nobody votes on the other side. We want a direct vote, so that the
country may know who are the real and true friends of General
WASHINGTON."
Upon this appeal, one of the audience arose, and said:
"I perceive the unpleasant dilemma in which the Chair is placed; and in
order to relieve the presiding officer from his quandary, I now propose
to amend the resolution, by adding, after the name of General
WASHINGTON--'_and John Jones for Congress_.'"
"The amendment is in order--I accept the amendment," said the chairman,
speaking very quickly; "and the Chair will now put the question as
amended:
"All those who are in favor of General WASHINGTON for President, and
John Jones for Congress, will please to say, 'Ay.'"
"Ay--ay!" said John Jones and his brother, with loud voices, which they
had supposed would be drowned in the unanimous thunder of the
affirmative vote.
The "Chair" squirmed and hesitated. "Put the contrary!" said a hundred
voices, at the same moment:
"All those op--po--po--sed," said the Chair, "will please to say, 'No!'"
"No--o--o--o!!" thundered every voice but two in the whole assembly, and
these were Jones' and his brother's. Then followed a roar of laughter,
as CARLYLE says, "like the neighing of all Tattersall's."
"Gentlemen," said Mr. Jones, "the Chair perceives that there are people
in this meeting who don't belong to _our_ party: they have evidently
come here to agitate, and make mischief. I, therefore, do now adjourn
this meeting!"
Whereupon, he left the chair; and amid shouts and huzzahs for
WASHINGTON, and groans for John Jones, he "departed the premises."
* * * * *
We find in the "Drawer" a rich specimen of logic-chopping, at which
there was a hearty laugh more years ago than we care to remember. It is
an admirable satire upon half the labored criticisms of Shakspeare with
which the world has been deluged:
"Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed;
Thrice, and once the hedge-pig whined!"
MACBETH
"I never was more puzzled in my life than in deciding upon the right
reading of this passage. The important inquiry is, Did the hedge-pig
_whine once_, or _thrice and once_? Without stopping to inquire whether
hedge-pigs exist in Scotland, that is, pigs with quills in their backs,
the great question occurs, _how many times did he whine_? It appears
from the text that the cat mewed three times. Now would not a virtuous
emulation induce the hedge-pig to endeavor to get the last word in the
controversy; and how was this to be obtained, save by whining thrice
_and_ once? The most learned commentators upon SHAKSPEARE have given the
passage thus:
"Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed;
Thrice; and once the hedge-pig whined."
"Thereby awarding the palm to the brinded cat. The fact is, they probably
entertained reasonable doubts whether the hedge-pig was a native of
Scotland, and a sense of national pride induced them to lean on the side
of the productions of their country. I think a heedful examination of
the two lines, will satisfy the unbiased examiner that the hedge-pig
whined, at least, four times. It becomes me, however, as a candid
critic, to say, that reasonable doubts exist in both cases!"
* * * * *
Doesn't the impressive inquiry embodied in the ensuing touching lines,
somewhat enter into the matrimonial thoughts of _some_ of our city
"offerers?"
"Oh! do not paint her charms to me,
I know that she is fair!
I know her lips might tempt the bee,
Her eyes with stars compare:
Such transient gifts I ne'er could prize,
My heart they could not win:
I do not scorn my Mary's eyes,
But--has she any '_tin_?'
"The fairest cheek, alas! may fade,
Beneath the touch of years;
The eyes where light and gladness played,
May soon grow dim with tears:
I would love's fires should to the last
Still burn, as they begin;
But beauty's reign too soon is past;
So--has she any '_tin_?'"
* * * * *
There is something very touching and pathetic in a circumstance
mentioned to us a night or two ago, in the sick-room of a friend. A poor
little girl, a cripple, and deformed from her birth, was seized with a
disorder which threatened to remove her from a world where she had
suffered so much. She was a very affectionate child, and no word of
complaining had ever passed her lips. Sometimes the tears would come in
her eyes, when she saw, in the presence of children more physically
blessed than herself, the severity of her deprivation, but that was all.
She was so gentle, so considerate of giving pain, and so desirous to
please all around her, that she had endeared herself to every member of
her family, and to all who knew her.
At length it was seen, so rapid had been the progress of her disease,
that she could not long survive. She grew worse and worse, until one
night, in an interval of pain, she called her mother to her bed-side,
and said, "Mother, I am dying now. I hope I shall see you, and my
brother and sisters in Heaven. Won't I be _straight_, and not a cripple,
mother, when I _do_ get to Heaven?" And so the poor little sorrowing
child passed forever away.
* * * * *
"I heard something a moment ago," writes a correspondent in a Southern
city, "which I will give you the skeleton of. It made me laugh not a
little; for it struck me, that it disclosed a transfer of 'Yankee
Tricks' to the other side of the Atlantic. It would appear, that a
traveler stopped at Brussels, in a post-chaise, and being a little
sharp-set, he was anxious to buy a piece of cherry-pie, before his
vehicle should set out; but he was afraid to leave the public
conveyance, lest it might drive off and leave _him_. So, calling a lad
to him from the other side of the street, he gave him a piece of money,
and requested him to go to a restaurant or confectionery, in the near
vicinity, and purchase the pastry; and then, to 'make assurance doubly
sure,' he gave him _another_ piece of money, and told him to buy some
for himself at the same time. The lad went off on a run, and in a little
while came back, eating a piece of pie, and looking very complacent and
happy. Walking up to the window of the post-chaise, he said, with the
most perfect _nonchalance_, returning at the same time one of the pieces
of money which had been given him by the gentleman, 'The restaurateur
had only _one_ piece of pie left, and that _I_ bought with my money,
that you gave me!'"
This anecdote, which we are assured is strictly true, is not unlike one,
equally authentic, which had its origin in an Eastern city. A mechanic,
who had sent a bill for some article to a not very conscientious
pay-master in the neighborhood, finding no returns, at length "gave it
up as a bad job." A lucky thought, however, struck him one day, as he
sat in the door of his shop, and saw a debt-collector going by, who was
notorious for sticking to a delinquent until _some_ result was obtained.
The creditor called the collector in, told him the circumstances, handed
him the account, and added:
"Now, if you will collect that debt, I'll give you half of it; or, if
you don't collect but _half_ of the bill, I'll divide _that_ with you."
The collector took the bill, and said, "I guess, I can get half of it,
_any_ how. At any rate, if I don't, it shan't be for want of _trying_
hard enough."
Nothing more was seen of the collector for some five or six months;
until one day the creditor thought he saw "the indefatigable" trying to
avoid him by turning suddenly down a by-street of the town. "Halloo! Mr.
----!" said he; "how about that bill against Mr. Slowpay? Have you
collected it yet?" "Not the _hull_ on it, I hain't," said the
imperturbable collector; "but I c'lected _my_ half within four weeks
a'ter you gin' me the account, and he hain't paid me nothin' since. I
tell him, every time I see him, that you want the money _very_ bad; but
he don't seem to mind it a bit. He is dreadful 'slow pay,' as you said,
when you give me the bill! Good-morning!" And off went the collector,
"staying no further question!"
* * * * *
There is a comical blending of the "sentimental" and the
"matter-of-fact" in the ensuing lines, which will find a way to the
heart of every poor fellow, who, at this inclement season of the year,
is in want of a new coat:
By winter's chill the fragrant flower is nipped,
To be new-clothed with brighter tints in spring
The blasted tree of verdant leaves is stripped,
A fresher foliage on each branch to bring.
The aerial songster moults his plumerie,
To vie in sleekness with each feathered brother.
A twelvemonth's wear hath ta'en thy nap from thee,
My seedy coat!--_when_ shall I get another?
* * * * *
"My name," said a tall, good-looking man, with a decidedly _distingue_
air, as he entered the office of a daily newspaper in a sister city, "my
name, Sir, is PAGE--Ed-w-a-rd Pos-th-el-wa-ite PA-GE! You have heard of
me no doubt. In fact, Sir, I was sent to you, by Mr. C----r, of the
'---- Gazette.' I spent some time with him--an hour perhaps--conversing
with him. But as I was about explaining to him a little problem which I
had had in my mind for some time, I _thought_ I saw that he was busy,
and couldn't hear me. In fact, he _said_, 'I wish you would do me the
kindness to go _now_ and come _again_; and always send up your _name_,
so that I may know that it is _you_; otherwise,' said he, 'I _shouldn't_
know that it was _you_, and might _refuse_ you without knowing it.' Now,
Sir, that was kind--that was kind, and gentlemanly, and I shall remember
it. Then he told me to come to see _you_; he said yours was an afternoon
paper, and that _your_ paper for to-day was out, while he was engaged in
getting his ready for the morning. He rose, Sir, and saw me to the door;
and downstairs; in fact, Sir, he came with me to the corner, and showed
me your office; and for fear I should miss my way, he gave a lad a
sixpence, to _show_ me here, Sir.
"They call me crazy, Sir, _some_ people do--_crazy_! The reason is
simple--I'm above their comprehension. Do I _seem_ crazy? I am an
educated man, my conduct has been unexceptionable. I've wronged no
man--never did a man an injury. I wouldn't do it.
"I came to America in 1829 2^_m_ which being multiplied by Caesar's
co-sine, which is C B to Q equal X' 3^_m_."
Yes, reader; this was PAGE, the Monomaniac: a man perfectly sound on
any subject, and capable of conversing upon any topic, intelligently and
rationally, until it so happened, in the course of conversation, that he
_mentioned any numerical figure_, when his wild imagination was off at a
tangent, and he became suddenly as "mad as a March hare" on _one
subject_. _Here_ his monomania was complete. In every thing else, there
was no incoherency; nothing in his speech or manner that any gentleman
might not either say or do. So much for the man: now for a condensed
exhibition of his peculiar idiosyncrasy, as exhibited in a paper which
he published, devoted to an elaborate illustration of the great extent
to which he carried the science of mathematics. The _fragments_ of
various knowledge, like the tumbling objects in a kaleidoscope, are so
jumbled together, that we defy any philosopher, astronomer, or
mathematician, to read it without roaring with laughter; for the feeling
of the ridiculous will overcome the sensations of sympathy and pity. But
listen: "Here's '_wisdom_' for you," as Captain Cuttle would say:
_intense_ wisdom:
"Squares are to circles as Miss Sarai 18 when she did wed her
Abram 20 on Procrustes' bed, and 19 parted between each head; so
Sarah when 90 to Abraham when 100, and so 18 squared in 324, a
square to circle 18 x 20 = 360, a square to circle 400, a square
to circle 444, or half _Jesous_ 888 in half the Yankee era 1776;
which 888 is sustained by the early Fathers and Blondel on the
Sibyls. It is a square to triangle Sherwood's no-variation circle
666 in the sequel. But 19 squared is 361 between 360 and 362,
each of which multiply by the Sun's magic compass 36, Franklin's
magic circle of circles 360 x 36 considered.
"Squares are to circles as 18 to 20, or 18 squared in 324 to 18 x
20 = 360. But more exactly as 17 to 19, or 324 to 362 x 36, or
half 26064. As 9 to 10, so square 234000 to circle 26000.
POSITIVES. MEANS. NEGATIVES.
20736 23328 25920
20736 23400 26064
4)20736 23422 26108
------- ----- -----
A. M. 5855 this year 1851.
"Squares are to circles as 17 to 19, or 23360 to 26108. The
sequel's 5832 and 5840 are quadrants of 23328 and 23360.
"18 cubed is 5832, the world's age in 1828, 5840 its age in the
Halley comet year 1836, 5878 its age the next transit of Venus in
1874, but 5870 is its age in the prophet's year 1866.
POSITIVES. MEANS. NEGATIVES.
{ 5832 5855 5870 over X. }
{ 5840 5855 5878 under X. }
1828 A.D. 1851 now! 1874 over X.
1836 A.D. 1851 now! 1866 under X.
"100 times the Saros 18 = 18-1/2 = 19 in 1800 last year's 1850,
1900 for new moons.
"If 360 degrees, each 18, in Guy's 6480, evidently 360 x 18-1/2
in the adorable 6660, or ten no-variation circles, each 36 x
18-1/2 = 666, like ten Chaldee solar cycles, each 600 in our
great theme, 6000, the second advent date of Messiah, as
explained by Barnabas, Chap. xiii in the Apocryphal New
Testament, 600 and 666 being square and circle, like 5994 and
6660. Therefore 5995 sum the Arabic 28, or Persic 32, or Turkish
33 letters.
"But as 9 to 10, so square 1665 of the Latin IVXLCDM = 1666 to
circle last year's 1850--12 such signs are as much 19980 and
22200, whose quadrants are 4995 and 5550, as 12 signs, each the
Halley comet year 1836, are 5508 Olympiads, the Greek Church
claiming this era 5508 for Christ.
"But though the ecliptic angle has decreased only 40 x 40 in 1600
during 43 x 43 = 1849, say 1850 from the birth of Christ, and
double that since the creation; yet 1600 and Yankee era 1776
being square and circle like 9 and 10--place 32 for a round of
the seasons in a compass of 32 points, or shrine them in 32
chessmen, like 1600 and 1600 in each of 16 pieces; then shall 32
times Sherwood's no-variation circle 666, meaning 666 rounds of
the seasons, each 32, be 12 signs, each 1776, or 24 degrees in
the ecliptic angle, each _Jesous_ 888, in circle 21312 to square
19200, or 12 signs each 1600, that the quadrants of square 19200
and circle 21312 may be the Cherubim of Glory 4800 and 5328;
which explains ten Great Paschal cycles each 532, a square to
circle 665 of the Beast's number 666. Because, like 3, 4, 5, in
my Urim and Thummim's 12 jewels, are
TRIANGLES. SQUARES. CIRCLES.
3600 4800 6000
3990 5320 6650
"Because 3990 of the Latin Church's era 4000 for Christ, is
doubled in the Julian period 7980.
"Every knight of the queen of night may know that each of 9
columns in the Moon's magic compass for 9 squared in 81, sums
369, and that 370 are between it and 371, while 19 times 18-1/2
approach 351, when 19 squared are 361 in
POSITIVES. MEANS. NEGATIVES.
350 360 370
351 361 371
369 370 371
"The Saros 18 times 369 in 6642 of the above 6650; but 18 x 370 =
6660, or 360 times 18-1/2.
"1800 and proemptosis 2400 are half this Seraphim 3600 and
Cherubim 4800: but 7 x 7 x 49 x 49 = 2401 in 4802.
5328 5320
4802 4810
---- ----
10130 10130
"All that Homer's Iliad ever meant, was this: 10 years as degrees
on Ahaz's dial between the positive 4790, mean 4800, negative
4810: If the Septuagints' 72 times 90 in 360 x 18 = 6480, equally
72 times 24 and 66 degrees in 12 cubed and 4752."
Now it is about enough to make one crazy to read this over; and yet it
is impossible not to _see_, as it is impossible not to _laugh at_ the
transient glimpses of scattered knowledge which the singular ollapodrida
contains.
* * * * *
"If you regard, Mr. Editor, the following," says a city friend, "as
worthy a place in your 'Drawer,' you are perfectly welcome to it. It was
an actual occurrence, and its authenticity is beyond a question:
"Many years ago, when sloops were substituted for steamboats on the
Hudson River, a celebrated Divine was on his way to hold forth to the
inhabitants of a certain village, not many miles from New York. One of
his fellow-passengers who was an unsophisticated countryman, to make
himself appear 'large' in the eyes of the passengers, entered into a
conversation with the learned Doctor of Divinity. After several ordinary
remarks, and introducing himself as one of the congregation, to whom he
(the doctor) would expound the Word on the morrow, the following
conversation took place:
"'Wal, Doctor, I reckon you know the Scripters pooty good,' remarked the
countryman.
"'Really, my friend,' said the clergyman, 'I leave that for _other_
persons to determine. You know it does not become a person of any
delicacy to utter praise in his own behalf.'
"'So it doesn't,' replied the querist; 'but I've heerd folks say, you
know rather more than _we_ do. They say you're pooty good in larning
folks the BIBLE: but I guess I can give you a poser.'
"'I am pleased to answer questions, and feel gratified to tender
information at any time, always considering it my _duty_ to impart
instruction, as far as it lies in my power,' replied the clergyman.
"'Wall,' says the countryman, with all the imperturbable gravity in the
world, 'I spose you've heerd tell on, in the Big BOOK, 'bout Aaron and
the golden calf: now, in your opinion, do you think the calf Aaron
worshiped, was a heifer or a bull?'
"The Doctor of Divinity, as may be imagined, immediately '_vamosed_,'
and left the countryman bragging to the by-standers, that he had
completely nonplussed the clergyman!"
Literary Notices.
A new work by HERMAN MELVILLE, entitled _Moby Dick; or, The Whale_, has
just been issued by Harper and Brothers, which, in point of richness and
variety of incident, originality of conception, and splendor of
description, surpasses any of the former productions of this highly
successful author. _Moby Dick_ is the name of an old White Whale; half
fish and half devil; the terror of the Nantucket cruisers; the scourge
of distant oceans; leading an invulnerable, charmed life; the subject of
many grim and ghostly traditions. This huge sea monster has a conflict
with one Captain Ahab; the veteran Nantucket salt comes off second best;
not only loses a leg in the affray, but receives a twist in the brain;
becomes the victim of a deep, cunning monomania; believes himself
predestined to take a bloody revenge on his fearful enemy; pursues him
with fierce demoniac energy of purpose; and at last perishes in the
dreadful fight, just as he deems that he has reached the goal of his
frantic passion. On this slight framework, the author has constructed a
romance, a tragedy, and a natural history, not without numerous
gratuitous suggestions on psychology, ethics, and theology. Beneath the
whole story, the subtle, imaginative reader may perhaps find a pregnant
allegory, intended to illustrate the mystery of human life. Certain it
is that the rapid, pointed hints which are often thrown out, with the
keenness and velocity of a harpoon, penetrate deep into the heart of
things, showing that the genius of the author for moral analysis is
scarcely surpassed by his wizard power of description.
In the course of the narrative the habits of the whale are fully and
ably described. Frequent graphic and instructive sketches of the
fishery, of sea-life in a whaling vessel, and of the manners and customs
of strange nations are interspersed with excellent artistic effect among
the thrilling scenes of the story. The various processes of procuring
oil are explained with the minute, painstaking fidelity of a statistical
record, contrasting strangely with the weird, phantom-like character of
the plot, and of some of the leading personages, who present a no less
unearthly appearance than the witches in Macbeth. These sudden and
decided transitions form a striking feature of the volume. Difficult of
management, in the highest degree, they are wrought with consummate
skill. To a less gifted author, they would inevitably have proved fatal.
He has not only deftly avoided their dangers, but made them an element
of great power. They constantly pique the attention of the reader,
keeping curiosity alive, and presenting the combined charm of surprise
and alternation.
The introductory chapters of the volume, containing sketches of life in
the great marts of Whalingdom, New Bedford and Nantucket, are pervaded
with a fine vein of comic humor, and reveal a succession of
portraitures, in which the lineaments of nature shine forth, through a
good deal of perverse, intentional exaggeration. To many readers, these
will prove the most interesting portions of the work. Nothing can be
better than the description of the owners of the vessel, Captain Peleg
and Captain Bildad, whose acquaintance we make before the commencement
of the voyage. The character of Captain Ahab also opens upon us with
wonderful power. He exercises a wild, bewildering fascination by his
dark and mysterious nature, which is not at all diminished when we
obtain a clearer insight into his strange history. Indeed, all the
members of the ship's company, the three mates, Starbuck, Stubbs, and
Flash, the wild, savage Gayheader, the case-hardened old blacksmith, to
say nothing of the pearl of a New Zealand harpooner, the bosom friend of
the narrator--all stand before us in the strongest individual relief,
presenting a unique picture gallery, which every artist must despair of
rivaling.
The plot becomes more intense and tragic, as it approaches toward the
denouement. The malicious old Moby Dick, after long cruisings in pursuit
of him, is at length discovered. He comes up to the battle, like an army
with banners. He seems inspired with the same fierce, inveterate cunning
with which Captain Ahab has followed the traces of his mortal foe. The
fight is described in letters of blood. It is easy to foresee which will
be the victor in such a contest. We need not say that the ill-omened
ship is broken in fragments by the wrath of the weltering fiend. Captain
Ahab becomes the prey of his intended victim. The crew perish. One alone
escapes to tell the tale. Moby Dick disappears unscathed, and for aught
we know, is the same "delicate monster," whose power in destroying
another ship is just announced from Panama.
G. P. Putnam announces the _Home Cyclopedia_, a series of works in the
various branches of knowledge, including history, literature, and the
fine arts, biography, geography, science, and the useful arts, to be
comprised in six large duodecimos. Of this series have recently appeared
_The Hand-book of Literature and the Fine Arts_, edited by GEORGE RIPLEY
and BAYARD TAYLOR, and _The Hand-book of Universal Biography_, by PARKE
GODWIN. The plan of the Encyclopedia is excellent, adapted to the wants
of the American people, and suited to facilitate the acquisition of
knowledge. As a collateral aid in a methodical course of study, and a
work of reference in the daily reading, which enters so largely into the
habits of our countrymen, it will, no doubt, prove of great utility.
_Rural Homes_, by GERVASSE WHEELER (published by Charles Scribner), is
intended to aid persons proposing to build, in the construction of
houses suited to American country life. The author writes like a man of
sense, culture, and taste. He is evidently an ardent admirer of John
Ruskin, and has caught something of his aesthetic spirit. Not that he
deals in mere theories. His book is eminently practical. He is familiar
with the details of his subject, and sets them forth with great
simplicity and directness. No one about to establish a rural homestead
should neglect consulting its instructive pages.
Ticknor, Reed, and Fields have published a new work, by NATHANIEL
HAWTHORNE, for juvenile readers, entitled _A Wonder-Book for Boys and
Girls_ with engravings by Barker from designs by Billings. It is founded
on various old classical legends, but they are so ingeniously wrought
over and stamped with the individuality of the author, as to exercise
the effect of original productions. Mr. Hawthorne never writes more
genially and agreeably than when attempting to amuse children. He seems
to find a welcome relief in their inartificial ways from his own weird
and sombre fancies. Watching their frisky gambols and odd humors, he
half forgets the saturnine moods from which he draws the materials of
his most effective fictions, and becomes himself a child. A vein of airy
gayety runs through the present volume, revealing a sunny and beautiful
side of the author's nature, and forming a delightful contrast to the
stern, though irresistibly fascinating horrors, which he wields with
such terrific mastery in his recent productions. Child and man will love
this work equally well. Its character may be compared to the honey with
which the author crowns the miraculous hoard of Baucis and Philemon.
"But oh the honey! I may just as well let it alone, without trying to
describe how exquisitely it smelt and looked. Its color was that of the
purest and most transparent gold; and it had the odor of a thousand
flowers; but of such flowers as never grew in an earthly garden, and to
seek which the bees must have flown high above the clouds. Never was
such honey tasted, seen, or smelt. The perfume floated around the
kitchen, and made it so delightful, that had you closed your eyes you
would instantly have forgotten the low ceiling and smoky walls, and have
fancied yourself in an arbor with celestial honeysuckles creeping over
it."
_Glances at Europe_, by HORACE GREELEY (published by Dewitt and
Davenport), has passed rapidly to a second edition, being eagerly called
for by the numerous admirers of the author in his capacity as public
journalist. Composed in the excitement of a hurried European tour,
aiming at accuracy of detail rather than at nicety of language, intended
for the mass of intelligent readers rather than for the denizens of
libraries, these letters make no claim to profound speculation or to a
high degree of literary finish. They are plain, straight-forward,
matter-of-fact statements of what the writer saw and heard in the course
of his travels, recording at night the impressions made in the day,
without reference to the opinions or descriptions of previous travelers.
The information concerning various European countries, with which they
abound, is substantial and instructive; often connected with topics
seldom noticed by tourists; and conveyed in a fresh and lively style.
With the reputation of the author for acute observation and forcible
expression, this volume is bound to circulate widely among the people.
Ticknor, Reed, and Fields, have issued a new volume of _Poems_, by
RICHARD HENRY STODDARD, consisting of a collection of pieces which have
been before published, and several which here make their appearance for
the first time. It will serve to elevate the already brilliant
reputation of the youthful author. His vocation to poetry is clearly
stamped on his productions. Combining great spontaneity of feeling, with
careful and elaborate composition, he not only shows a native instinct
of verse, but a lofty ideal of poetry as an art. He has entered the path
which will lead to genuine and lofty fame. The success of his early
effusions has not elated him with a vain conceit of his own genius.
Hence, we look for still more admirable productions than any contained
in the present volume. He is evidently destined to grow, and we have
full faith in the fulfillment of his destiny. His fancy is rich in
images of gorgeous and delicate beauty; a deep vein of reflection
underlies his boldest excursions; and on themes of tender and pathetic
interest, his words murmur with a plaintive melody that reaches the
hidden source of tears. His style, no doubt, betrays the influence of
frequent communings with his favorite poets. He is eminently susceptible
and receptive. He does not wander in the spicy groves of poetical
enchantment, without bearing away sweet odors. But this is no
impeachment of his own individuality. He is not only drawn by the
subtle affinities of genius to the study of the best models, but all the
impressions which he receives, take a new form from his own plastic
nature. The longest poem in the volume is entitled, "The Castle in the
Air"--a production of rare magnificence. "The Hymn to Flora," is full of
exquisite beauties, showing a masterly skill in the poetical application
of classical legends. "Harley River," "The Blacksmith's Shop," "The Old
Elm," are sweet rural pictures, soft and glowing as a June meadow in
sunset. "The Household Dirge," and several of the "Songs and Sonnets,"
are marked by a depth of tenderness which is too earnest for any
language but that of the most severe simplicity.
We have a translation of NEANDER _on the Philippians_, by Mrs. H. C.
CONANT, which renders that admirable practical commentary into sound and
vigorous English. A difficult task accomplished with uncommon skill.
(Published by Lewis Colby).
_The Heavenly Recognition_, by Rev. H. HARBAUGH, is the title of an
interesting religious work on the question, "Shall we know our friends
in Heaven?" This is treated by the author with great copiousness of
detail, and in a spirit of profound reverence and sincere Christian
faith. His book will be welcome to all readers who delight in
speculations on the mysteries of the unseen world. Relying mainly on the
testimony of Scripture, the author seeks for evidence on the subject in
a variety of collateral sources, which he sets forth in a tone of strong
and delightful confidence. (Published by Lindsay and Blackiston).
Lindsay and Blackiston have issued several richly ornamented gift books,
which will prove attractive during the season of festivity and
friendship. Among them are, "_The Star of Bethlehem_," by Rev. H.
HASTINGS WELD, a collection of Christmas stories, with elegant
engravings. "_The Woodbine_," edited by CAROLINE MAY, containing
original pieces and selections, among the latter, "several racy stories
of Old England," and a tempting series of _Tales_ for _Boys_ and
_Girls_, by Mrs. HUGHES, a justly celebrated writer of juvenile works.
Bishop MCILVAINE'S _Charge_ on the subject of _Spiritual Regeneration_
has been issued in a neat pamphlet by Harper and Brothers. It forms an
able and appropriate contribution to doctrinal theology, at a time when
the topic discussed has gained a peculiar interest from the present
position of Catholicism both in England and America. The theme is
handled by Bishop McIlvaine with his accustomed vigor and earnestness,
and is illustrated by the fruits of extensive research.
* * * * *
Speaking of the decease of our illustrious countryman, FENIMORE COOPER,
the _London Athenaeum_ has the following discriminating remarks: "Mr.
COOPER was at home on the sea or in his own backwoods. His happiest
tales are those of 'painted chiefs with pointed spears'--to use a happy
description of Mr. Longfellow; and so felicitous has he been in setting
them bodily, as it were, before the reader, that hereafter he will be
referred to by ethnological and antiquarian writers as historical
authority on the character and condition of the Lost Tribes of America.
In his later works Mr. COOPER wandered too often and too much from the
field of Romance into that of Polemics--and into the latter he imported
a querulous spirit, and an extraordinarily loose logical method. All his
more recent fictions have the taint of this temper, and the drawback of
this controversial weakness. His political creed it would be very
difficult to extract entire from the body of his writings; and he has
been so singularly infelicitous in its partial expositions, that even
of the discordant features which make up the whole, we generally find
ourselves disagreeing in some measure with all. But throughout the whole
course of his writing, whenever he turned back into his own domain of
narrative fiction, the Genius of his youth continued to do him service,
and something of his old power over the minds of readers continued to
the last. His faults as a writer are far outbalanced by his great
qualities--and altogether, he is the most original writer that America
has yet produced--and one of whom she may well be proud."
* * * * *
"HAWTHORNE," says a London critic, "has few equals among the writers of
fiction in the English language. There is a freshness, an originality of
thought, a quiet humor, a power of description, a quaintness of
expression in his tales, which recommend them to readers wearied of the
dull commonplaces of all but a select few of the English novelists of
our own time. He is beyond measure the best writer of fiction yet
produced by America, somewhat resembling DICKENS in many of his
excellencies, yet without imitating him. His style is his own entirely."
* * * * *
In a notice of HITCHCOCK'S "Religion of Geology," the London _Literary
Gazette_ remarks: "Dr. HITCHCOCK is a veteran American clergyman, of
high reputation and unaffected piety. Officially, he is President of
Amherst College, and Professor of Natural Theology and Geology in that
institution. As a geologist, he holds a very distinguished position, and
is universally reputed an original observer and philosophical inquirer.
His fame is European as well as American. No author has ever entered
upon his subject better fitted for his task. The work consists of a
series of lectures, which may be characterized as so many scientific
sermons. They are clear in style, logical in argument, always earnest,
and often eloquent. The author of the valuable and most interesting work
before us combines in an eminent degree the qualifications of theologian
and geologist."
* * * * *
The _London News_ briefly hits off an American work which has attracted
little attention in this country: "A fast-sailing American clipper has
appeared in the seas of philosophy. The author of 'Vestiges of
Civilization; or the Etiology of History, Religious, AEsthetical,
Political, and Philosophical,' advertised as written within two months,
has puzzled the scientific public as much as did the original MS. of
'Pepys' Diary.' The reader, however, may be comforted in his
bewilderment by finding that the author himself is but little better
off. In a note there is a confession which should certainly have been
extended to the whole production: "I freely own that, touching these
extreme terms of the complication in Life and Mind, or rather the
precise combinations of polarities that should produce them, _my meaning
is at present very far from clear, even to myself_. And yet I know that
I _have_ a meaning; that it is logically involved in my statement; and
is such as (perhaps within half a century) will set the name of some
distinct enunciator side by side with, if not superior to that of
Newton."
* * * * *
The _Westminster Review_ has passed into the hands of John Chapman, the
well-known publisher of works on Rationalistic theology. _The Leader_
rather naively remarks, "We rely too much on his sagacity to entertain
the fear, not unfrequently expressed, of his making the Review over
theological, which would be its ruin."
* * * * *
Among the prominent forthcoming works announced by the English
publishers, are the following:--"A Lady's Voyage round the World;" from
the German of IDA PFEIFFER, from which some interesting extracts have
already appeared in Blackwood.--"Wesley and Methodism," by ISAAC
TAYLOR--"Lectures on the History of France," by Professor Sir JAMES
STEPHENS--A condensed Edition of DR. LAYARD'S "Discoveries at Nineveh,"
prepared by the Author for popular reading--A second volume of
LAMARTINE'S "History of the Restoration of the Monarchy in France"--An
improved Edition of the "Life and Works of Robert Burns"--Richardson's
"Boat Voyage," or a History of the Expedition in Search of Sir John
Franklin.
* * * * *
It is said that the recent discoveries of Colonel Rawlinson in relation
to the inscriptions on the Assyrian sculptures have awakened the British
Government to the great historical value of those monuments--and that a
sum of L1500 has been placed at his disposal to assist toward the
prosecution of excavations and inquiries in Assyria. Colonel Rawlinson
will, it is understood, proceed immediately to Bagdad; and from thence
direct his explorations toward any quarter which may appear to him
likely to yield important results.
* * * * *
Mr. WILLIAM WEIR, a literary veteran of ability and accomplishment, is
about to publish, from the papers of one who mixed much with it, another
view of English literary society in the days of Johnson.
* * * * *
A pension of L100 a year on the civil list has been granted to the
family of the late Rev. JAMES SEATON REID, D. D., Professor of Church
History in Glasgow, and author of the _History of Presbyterianism in
Ireland_, besides other works on theology.
* * * * *
In consequence of the present delicate state of health of Professor
WILSON, the renowned "Christopher North," he has been obliged to make
arrangements for dispensing with the delivery of his lectures on moral
philosophy in the University of Edinburgh, at the ensuing session.
Principal LEE is to undertake the duty for the learned Professor.
* * * * *
The map of France, which was begun in 1817, is not yet finished. It is
to contain 258 sheets, of which 149 are already published. There yet
remains five years' work in surveying, and nine years' work in
engraving, to be done. The total cost will exceed L400,000 sterling. Up
to this time 2249 staff-officers have been employed in the work.
* * * * *
When the celebrated astronomer Lalande died, nearly fifty years ago, his
manuscripts were divided among his heirs--a partition which was
agreeable to law, but very injurious to science. M. Lefrancais de
Lalande, a staff-officer, impressed with the importance of re-collecting
these papers, has, after much trouble, succeeded in getting together the
astronomical memoranda of his ancestor to the extent of not less than
thirty-six volumes. These he presented to M. Arago; and the latter, to
obviate the chances of a future similar dispersion, has made a gift of
them to the library of the Paris Observatory.
* * * * *
In announcing the "Memoirs of his own Life," by ALEXANDRE DUMAS, the
correspondent of the _Literary Gazette_ indulges in a lively,
exaggerated portraiture of the great _feuilletonist_: "Another addition
to that class of French literature, called 'Memoirs,' is about to
appear, and from the hand of no less a personage than Alexandre Dumas.
The great romancer is to tell the world the history of his own eventful
life, and his extraordinary literary career. The chances are that the
work will be one of the most brilliant of the kind that has yet been
published--and that is saying a great deal, when we call to mind the
immense host of memoir writers which France possesses, and that among
them are an Antony Hamilton and a Duke de Saint Simon. Having mixed
familiarly with all descriptions of society, from that of crowned heads
and princes of the blood, down to strolling players--having been behind
the scenes of the political, the literary, the theatrical, the artistic,
the financial, and the trading worlds--having risen unaided from the
humble position of subordinate clerk in the office of Louis Philippe's
accountant, to that of the most popular of living romancers in all
Europe--having found an immense fortune in his inkstand, and squandered
it like a genius (or a fool)--having rioted in more than princely
luxury, and been reduced to the sore strait of wondering where he could
get credit for a dinner--having wandered far and wide, taking life as it
came--now dining with a king, anon sleeping with a brigand--one day
killing lions in the Sahara, and the next (according to his own account)
being devoured by a bear in the Pyrenees--having edited a daily
newspaper and managed a theatre, and failed in both--having built a
magnificent chateau, and had it sold by auction--having commanded in the
National Guard, and done fierce battle with bailiffs and duns--having
been decorated by almost every potentate in Europe, so that the breast
of his coat is more variegated with ribbons than the rainbow with
colors--having published more than any man living, and perhaps as much
as any man dead--having fought duels innumerable--and having been more
quizzed, and caricatured, and lampooned, and satirized, and abused, and
slandered, and admired, and envied, than any human being now
alive--Alexandre must have an immensity to tell, and none of his
contemporaries, we may be sure, could tell it better--few so well. Only
we may fear that it will be mixed up with a vast deal of--imagination.
But _n'importe_!"
* * * * *
In the course of a revision of the archives of Celli, a box has been
found containing a collection of important documents from the Thirty
Years' War, viz., part of the private correspondence of Duke George of
Brunswick-Lueneburg, with drafts of his own epistles, and original
letters from Pappenheim, Gustavus Adolphus, and Piccolomini.
* * * * *
The Stockholm papers announce the death, in his seventy-first year, of
Dr. THOMAS WINGARD, Archbishop of Upsal and Primate of the Kingdom of
Sweden. Dr. Wingard had long occupied the chair of Sacred Philology at
the University of Lund. He has left to the University of Upsal his
library, consisting of upward of 34,000 volumes--and his rich
collections of coins and medals, and of Scandinavian antiquities. This
is the fourth library bequeathed to the University of Upsal within the
space of a year--adding to its book-shelves no fewer than 115,000
volumes. The entire number of volumes possessed by the university is now
said to be 288,000--11,000 of these being in manuscript.
* * * * *
The _London Athenaeum_ announces the death of the Hon. Mrs. LEE--sister
to the late Lord Byron, and whose name will ever be dear to the lovers
of that poet's verse for the affecting manner in which it is therein
enshrined. Few readers of Byron will forget his affectionate recurrences
to his sister--made more touching from the bitterness of his memories
toward all those whom he accused of contributing to the desolation of
his home and the shattering of his household gods. The once familiar
name met with in the common obituary of the journals will have recalled
to many a one that burst of grateful tenderness with which the bard
twines a laurel for his sister's forehead, which will be laid now upon
her grave--and of which the following is a leaf:
From the wreck of the past which hath perished
This much I at least may recall,
That what I most tenderly cherished
Deserved to be dearest of all.
In the desert a fountain is springing
In the wide waste there still is a tree,
And a bird in my solitude singing
Which speaks to my spirit of thee.
* * * * *
Numismatic science has to lament the loss of a long known, learned, and
distinguished cultivator, Mr. H. P. BORRELL, who died on the 2d inst. at
Smyrna. His numerous excellent memoirs on Greek coins, and his clever
work on the coins of Cyprus, form permanent memorials of his erudition,
research, and correct judgment.
* * * * *
The last mail from China informs us of the death of Dr. GUTZLAFF, at one
of the British ports in that country, on the 9th of August last, in his
forty-eighth year. The decease of this distinguished Eastern scholar
will be learnt with regret by those who take an interest in the progress
of European civilization in China. Dr. Gutzlaff was one of the most
ardent and indefatigable of the laborers in that cause: and it will be
very difficult to fill up the void which his death has occasioned. He
was a Pomeranian by birth; and was originally sent to Batavia,
Singapore, and Siam by the Netherlands Missionary Society in 1827. He
first reached China in 1831; and he appears to have spent the next two
years in visiting and exploring certain portions of the Chinese coast,
which, previously to that time, had not been visited by any European--or
of which, at least, no authentic knowledge was possessed. On the death
of the elder Morrison, in 1834, Dr. Gutzlaff was employed as an
Interpreter by the British Superintendency; and at a subsequent period
he was promoted to the office of Chinese Secretary to the British
Plenipotentiary and Superintendent of Trade. That employment he held to
the time of his death. Dr. Gutzlaff had ceased to consider himself as a
missionary for some years past; but he never relinquished his practice
of teaching and exhorting among the Chinese communities in the midst of
whom he was placed.
* * * * *
The death of Mrs. MARY SHERWOOD, the celebrated English authoress, took
place at Twickenham about the middle of September. She had attained the
ripe old age of seventy-six years, but her mind preserved its usual
vigor and serenity, unimpaired by the influence of time. She died in the
exercise of a tranquil spirit, and firm religious faith. It is said that
a biography, prepared from materials left by the deceased, will soon
make its appearance from the pen of her youngest daughter, a lady who
inherits a portion of her mother's genius and character. A complete
edition of Mrs. Sherwood's works, published by Harper and Brothers, has
found numerous readers in this country, by whom the name of the writer
will long be held in affectionate remembrance.
A Leaf not from Punch.
[Illustration: FIRST SPORTSMAN.--"My dear sir, I am very sorry that I
hit you in the leg. Pray excuse me this time. I'll aim higher next
time!"
SECOND SPORTSMAN.--"Aim higher next time! No, I thank you. I'd rather
you wouldn't."]
ETYMOLOGICAL INVENTIONS.
We perceive, with great alarm, the increasing number of abstruse names
given to various simple articles of clothing and commerce. Rather to
keep a head of the world than even to run with it, we intend to
register--or dispose of for a consideration--the sole right of producing
the following articles:
The _Protean Crononhotontologos_, or Changeable Surtout, the tails of
which button under to form a dress coat; can be reefed to make a
shooting-coat; folded into a cut-a-way; or taken away altogether to turn
into a sailing jacket. It is black outside and green within, with sets
of shifting buttons, so that it may be used either for dress or
sporting, evening or morning, with equal propriety.
The _Oddrotistone_, or Pumice Beard-leveler, for shaving without water,
soap, brush, or razor, and removing all pimples and freckles by pure
mechanical action. Strongly recommended to travelers with delicate
skins.
The _Hicockolorum_, or Patent Fuel, warranted never to smoke, smell,
decrease in bulk, or throw out dangerous gases, and equally adapted for
Calorific, Church, Vesta, Air-tight, Registering, Cooking, and all
manner of stoves. By simply recollecting never to light it, all these
conditions will be fulfilled, or we forfeit fifty thousand dollars.
The _Antilavetorium_, or Perpetual Shirt-collar, which, being formed of
enameled tin, never requires to be washed, is not likely to droop or
turn down.
The _Thoraxolicon_, or Everlasting Shirt-front, comes under the same
patent, which may be had also, perforated in patterns, after the
fashionable style.
The _Silicobroma_, a preparation of pure flint-stone, which makes a very
excellent soup, by boiling in a pot, with the requisite quantity of meat
and vegetables.
[Illustration: SEEDY INDIVIDUAL.--"I've dropped in to do you a very
great favor, sir."
MAN OF BUSINESS.--"Well, what is it?"
SEEDY INDIVIDUAL.--"I'm going to allow you the pleasure of lending me
five dollars."]
[Illustration: OFF POINT JUDITH.
OLD LADY.--"Now, my good man, I hope you are sure it will really do me
good, because I can not touch it but as medicine."]
[Illustration: A SLIGHT MISTAKE.
We have been much grieved of late to observe the growing tendency among
ladies to _shave their foreheads_, in the hope of intellectualizing
their countenances, and this occurs more especially among the literary
portion of the fair sex. We subjoin a portrait, but mention no names.
The mistake is this. The height of a forehead depends upon the height of
the frontal bone--not upon the growth of the hair; and, therefore, when
the forehead retreats, it is absurd to suppose that height can be given
by shaving the head, even to the crown. Added to this, it is impossible
to conceal the blue mark which the shorn stumps of hair still _will_
leave; and, therefore, we hope soon to see the practice abolished.]
[Illustration: OLD LADY--(_holding a very small Cabbage_).--"What! 3_d._
for such a small Cabbage? Why, I never heerd o' such a thing!"
GREENGROCER.--"Werry sorry, marm; but it's all along o' that Exhibition!
What with them Foreigners, and the Gents as smokes, Cabbages has riz."]
NEW BIOGRAPHIES.
MR. SMITH.--This celebrated personage has filled many important public
and private situations: in fact, we find his name connected with all the
great events of the time. He was a divine, an actor, an officer, and an
author. But afterward getting into bad company, he was sentenced to the
State Prison, and subsequently hanged. His family branches, which are
very extensive, are fully treated of in the Directory.
WARREN.--The discoverer of the famous Jet Blacking. Upon the backs of
the bottle labels he wrote his celebrated tale of _Ten Thousand a Year_,
thus shining in two lines. He lost his life at Bunker Hill.
Fashions for December.
[Illustration: FIGS. 1, 2.--BALL AND EVENING DRESSES.]
The figure on the left, in the above illustration, shows a very rich
ball costume, with jewels. Hair in raised bands, forming a point in
front, leaving the forehead open, and spreading elegantly at the sides.
A large cord of pearls is rolled in the hair, and forms, in two rows, a
_Marie Stuart_, over the forehead, then mixed with the back hair, falls
to the right and left in interlaced rings. Body low, square in front,
but rather high on the shoulder. The dress is plain silk, the ornaments
silk-net and lace. The whole of the front of the body is ornamented with
rows of lace and silk-net _bouillons_. Each row of lace covers a
_bouillon_, and leaves one uncovered. There are five or six rows of
lace. They are gathered, and it will be seen they are raised by the row
of puffs they cover. Two rows of lace are put on as trimming on each
side of the stomacher. They start from the same point, spreading wider
as they rise, as far as the back, where they form a _berthe_. The skirt
is trimmed with three rows, one over the other, composed of silk-net
puffs; one at bottom, another one-third of the height up, and the other
two-thirds up. Three lace flounces decorate this skirt, and each falls
on the edge of the puffs.
The figure on the right exhibits a beautiful evening dress. Hair in
puffed bands, waved, rather short, wreath of variegated geraniums,
placed at the sides. Plain silk dress, with silk-net _ruches_ about
three inches apart, from the bottom upward. Sleeves, tight and short,
edged with a _ruche_ at bottom. The body is covered with silk-net,
opening heart-shape. It is trimmed with two silk-net _berthes_, gathered
a little, with a hem about half an inch wide, marked by a small gold
cord. A row of variegated flowers runs along the top of the body. The
upper skirt, of silk-net, is raised cross-wise, from the front toward
the back, up to the side bouquet. The hem of each skirt is two inches
deep, and is also marked by a gold cord. The side bouquet, of flowers
like those in the hair, is fixed to the body, and hangs in branches on
the skirt. The outer sleeves are silk-net, with a hem at the end, and
raised cross-wise like the skirt, so as to show the under-sleeves.
In the picture, upon the next page, we give illustrations of three
styles of cloaks, the most fashionable for the present winter. They are
called by the Parisian modists respectively, PARISIAN, FRILEUSE, and
CAMARA. The PARISIAN is a walking cloak of satin or _gros_ d'Ecosse,
trimmed with velvet of different widths sewed on flat; velvet buttons.
The FRILEUSE is a wadded pelisse of satin _a la reine_ or common.
Trimming _a la vieille_ of the same, with velvet bands. The pelerine may
form a hood. The sleeves are wide and straight. The CAMARA is a cloak of
plain cloth, forming a _Talma_ behind, and open cross-wise in front to
prevent draping. Wide flat collar. Ornaments consist of velvet fretwork
with braid round it.
[Illustration: FIGS. 3, 4, 5.--PARISIAN, FRILEUSE, AND CAMARA CLOAKS.]
Figure 6 represents an elegant costume for a little girl, three or four
years of age--a pretty, fair haired creature. Frock of white silk,
embroidered sky blue, body low and square in front, with two silk
lapels, embroidered and festooned; a frill along the top of front, with
an embroidered insertion below it. The sleeves are embroidered; a broad
blue ribbon passes between the shoulder and the sleeve, and is fastened
at top by a _rosette_ with loose ends. This manner of tying the ribbon
raises the sleeve and leaves the arm uncovered at top. The skirt is
composed of two insertions and two embroidered flounces. An embroidered
petticoat reaches below the skirt. The sash is of blue silk and very
wide.
[Illustration: FIG. 6.--CHILD'S COSTUME.]
Velvet, as a trimming, was never more fashionable than at present. There
are at this season few articles included in the category of ladies'
costume to which a trimming of velvet may not be applied. Velvet is now
employed to ornament plain dresses, as well as those of the most elegant
description. One of the new dresses we have seen, is composed of
maroon-color silk. The skirt has three flounces, each edged with two
rows of black velvet ribbon, of the width of half an inch. The corsage
and sleeves are ornamented with the same trimming. Another dress,
composed of deep violet or puce-color silk, has the flounces edged also
with rows of black velvet. The majority of the dresses, made at the
present season, have high corsages, though composed of silk of very rich
and thick texture.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The Engravings which illustrate this article (except the
frontispiece) are from Lossing's _Pictorial Field-Book of the
Revolution_, now in course of publication by Harper and Brothers.
[2] This and the picture of the _guide-board_ and _anvil block_ are
copied from sketches made by Captain Austin of the English Expedition.
[3] Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by Harper
and Brothers, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the
Southern District of New York.
[4] The armorial bearing of Venice
[5] Lazare Hoche, a very distinguished young general, who died very
suddenly in the army. "Hoche," said Bonaparte, "was one of the first
generals that ever France produced. He was brave, intelligent, abounding
in talent, decisive, and penetrating."
[6] Charles Pichegru, a celebrated French general, who entered into a
conspiracy to overthrow the consular government and restore the
Bourbons. He was arrested and conducted to the Temple, where he was one
morning found dead in his bed. The physicians, who met on the occasion,
asserted that he had strangled himself with his cravat. "Pichegru," said
Napoleon, "instructed me in mathematics at Brienne when I was about ten
years old. As a general he was a man of no ordinary talent. After he had
united himself with the Bourbons, he sacrificed the lives of upward of
twenty thousand of his soldiers by throwing them purposely in the
enemies' hands, whom he had informed beforehand of his intentions."
[7] General Kleber fell beneath the poinard of an assassin in Egypt,
when Napoleon was in Paris.
[8] General Desaix fell, pierced by a bullet, on the field of Marengo.
Napoleon deeply deplored his loss, as that of one of his most faithful
and devoted friends.
[9] Pronounced as though written _Kos-shoot_, with the accent on the
last syllable. The Magyar equivalent for the French LOUIS and the German
LUDWIG is LAJOS. We have given the date of his birth, which seems best
authenticated. The notice of the Austrian police, quoted below, makes
him to have been born in 1804; still another account gives 1801 as the
year of his birth. The portrait which we furnish is from a picture taken
a little more than two years since in Hungary, for Messrs. GOUPIL, the
well-known picture-dealers of Paris and New York, and is undoubtedly an
authentic likeness of him at that time. The following is a pen-and-ink
portrait of Kossuth, drawn by those capital artists, the Police
authorities of Vienna:--"_Louis Kossuth_, an ex-advocate, journalist,
Minister of Finance, President of the Committee of Defense, Governor of
the Hungarian Republic, born in Hungary, Catholic [this is an error,
Kossuth is of the Lutheran faith], married. He is of middle height,
strong, thin; the face oval, complexion pale, the forehead high and
open, hair chestnut, eyes blue, eyebrows dark and very thick, mouth very
small and well-formed, teeth fine, chin round. He wears a mustache and
imperial, and his curled hair does not entirely cover the upper part of
the head. He has a white and delicate hand, the fingers long. He speaks
German, Hungarian, Latin, Slovack, a little French and Italian. His
bearing when calm, is solemn, full of a certain dignity; his movements
elegant, his voice agreeable, softly penetrating, and very distinct,
even when he speaks low. He produces, in general, the effect of an
enthusiast; his looks often fixed on the heavens; and the expression of
his eyes, which are fine, contributes to give him the air of a dreamer.
His exterior does not announce the energy of his character." Photography
could hardly produce a picture more minutely accurate.
[10] We have not space to present any portion of this admirable speech.
It is given at length in PULSZKY'S Introduction to SCHLESSINGER'S "_War
in Hungary_," which has been republished in this country; in a
different, and somewhat indifferent translation, in the anonymous
"_Louis Kossuth and Hungary_," published in London, written strongly in
the Austrian interest. In this latter, however, the "Address to the
Throne," by far the most important and weighty portion of the speech, is
omitted. A portion of the speech, taken from this latter source, and of
course not embracing the Address, is given in Dr. TEFFT'S recent
valuable work, "_Hungary and Kossuth_." The whole speech constitutes a
historical document of great importance.
[11] Continued from the November Number.
[12] Autobiography of Zschokke, p. 119-170.
[13] "Crotchets in the Air, or an Un-scientific Account of a Balloon
Trip," by John Poole, Esq. Colburn, 1838.
[14] Continued from the November Number.
[15] I must be pardoned for annexing the original, since it loses much by
translation:--"Hominem liberum et magnificum debere, si queat, in
primori fronte, animum gestare."
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Words surrounded by _ are italicized.
Obvious punctuation errors have been repaired, other punctuations have
been left as printed in the paper book.
Obvious printer's errors have been repaired, other inconsistent
spellings have been kept, including:
- use of hyphen (e.g. "chess-men" and "chessmen");
- accents (e.g. "denouement" and "denouement");
- place names (e.g. "Hindostan" and "Hindoostan").
In the Table of Contents, following names have been corrected to match
the text they refer to:
- "Batthyani" corrected to be "Batthyanyi" (551. Esterhazy, Batthyanyi);
- "Blackistone" corrected to be "Blackinston" (Lindsay and Blackiston's).
Pg 10, caption added to illustration (Pouring Tea down the Throat of
America).
Pg 11, word "of" added (unworthy of civilized forbearance).
Pg 40, title added to article (Kossuth--A Biographical Sketch).
Pg 56, word "few" added (only a few days).
Pg 85, word "go" added (I must go on deck).
Pg 96, name "Cliff" corrected to be "Griffith" (Griffith in his).
Pg 139, name "Pfeifer" corrected to be "Pfeiffer" (Ida Pfeiffer).