We put on record, in these holiday-times of _imbibition_, these warning

stanzas, to guard the reader alike against _cause_ and _effect_:

"My head with ceaseless pain is torn,

Fast flow the tear-drops from my eye

I curse the day I e'er was born,

And wish to lay me down and die;

Bursts from my heart the frequent sigh,

It checks the utterance of my tongue;

But why complain of silence?--why,

When all I speak is rash and wrong?

"The untasted cup before me lies--

What care I for its sparkle now?

Before me other objects rise,

I know not why--I know not how.

My weary limbs beneath me bow.

All useless is my unstrung hand:

Why does this weight o'ershade my brow?

Why doth my every vein expand?

"What rends my head with racking pain?

Why through my heart do sorrows pass?

Why flow my tears like scalding rain?

Why look my eyes like molten brass?

And why from yonder brimming glass

Of wine untasted have I shrunk?

'Cause I can't lift it--for, alas!

I'm so pre-pos-ter-ous-ly drunk!"

* * * * *

The vagaries of the insane are sometimes amusing to witness; and not

unfrequently there is a "method in their madness" that would not be

amiss in those who are on the _outside_ of lunatic asylums. Many years

ago in Philadelphia, a patient in the insane asylum of that city fancied

himself to be the REDEEMER of the world; and his talk and actions were

always in keeping with the character, save that he exacted a rigid

deference to his person and his divinely-derived power. But one day

another patient arrived, whose idiosyncrasy it was, that he was the

SUPREME BEING. A little while after his entrance into the institution,

he met in one of the halls, as he was passing, the imagined

representative of the SON; who, not liking his bearing, reminded him who

he was: "Yes, you are the SON, but know from this time henceforth, that

you have seen the FATHER, and must obey him!" "And strange enough," said

the keeper of the institution to the friend who gives us the

particulars, "from that day forward, all power was given unto the

latter; and at length the fancied SON'S 'air-drawn' vision melted away,

and he left the establishment a perfectly sane man."

Some twelve or fifteen years ago there was in the lunatic asylum at

Worcester, Massachusetts, a kind of crazy DAVID CROCKETT, who fancied

that he could do any thing that _could_ be done, and a little more. One

day a good many visitors were walking slowly through the halls,

examining them, and occasionally saying a word or two to the patients.

After a very courteous reception of a gentleman, who mentioned that he

had come from South Carolina, the crazy man interrupted him abruptly

with:

"Have you felt any of my earthquakes down there lately?"

One of the visitors replied: "No, we've had nothing of the kind, where

_I_ live."

"I thought so! I knew it!" returned the patient, frowning. "I have an

enemy. Ice! ICE! Why, I ordered one of my very best earthquakes for your

part of the country! It was to have ripped up the earth, and sent the

Mississippi into the Gulf of Mexico. Look here!" he continued, pointing

to a crack in the plastering, "_that's_ one of my earthquakes! What do

you think of _that_? I've got more orders for earthquakes than I can

attend to in a year. I've got four coming off, up north this

afternoon--two in Vermont!"

* * * * *

That was a good story that was told of an occurrence which took place in

a stage-coach one morning many years ago in the western part of this

State. A young, conceited fellow, who had been monopolizing almost all

the conversation of the company, consisting of some sixteen passengers,

had been narrating the wonderful exploits he had performed, the

prodigies of valor of which he had been the hero, and the wonderful

escapes of which he had been the subject. At least he related _one_

adventure in which he was the principal actor, which was so perfectly

astounding, that a low whistle of incredulity was a simultaneous

demonstration on the part of the passengers. An old gentleman, with a

solemn visage, and an ivory-headed cane, sitting in the back corner of

the stage, here observed:

"That last adventure of yours, my young friend, is a very extraordinary

one--_very_ extraordinary. One could hardly believe it without having

_seen_ it. I didn't see it; but I can relate a circumstance which

happened in my family, and in which I was for a time deeply interested,

which is almost as remarkable, and I believe quite as true. Will you

hear it?"

"Certainly," said our braggadocio; "I should be very _glad_ to hear it."

"Give it to us! give it to us!" echoed the whole company, getting an

inkling, from the solemn phiz of the old gentleman, that something rich

was in the wind.

"Well, sir," continued the narrator, "the circumstance to which I

alluded is this: My father had three children. He had an only brother,

who had also three children. My grandfather had left to my father and my

uncle a large estate, in the executorship of which a quarrel broke out,

which grew more and more bitter, until at length the aid of the law was

invoked, and many years of violent litigation ensued, during all which

time the costs of the proceedings were gradually eating up the estate.

My father and uncle saw this, and though bitter enemies, they had too

much sense to bite each his own nose off. They were chivalrous and brave

men, almost as much, probably, as yourself, sir (addressing the daring

young gentleman aforesaid), and they determined to 'fight it out among

themselves,' as the saying is, and thus keep the money in the family.

Well, sir, my father made this proposition to my uncle; to wit: that the

three sons of each, in the order of their age, should settle the

disputed question on the field of honor; the majority of the survivors

to decide the affirmative. It was readily acceded to. My eldest brother

went out, on the appointed day, and at the first fire he fell dead upon

the turf. My next eldest brother took his station at once, and at the

second fire, shot my next eldest cousin through the lungs, and he never

drew a whole breath afterward."

Here the old gentleman's emotion was so great that he paused a moment,

as if to collect himself. Presently he proceeded:

"It now became _my_ turn to take the stand; and upon _me_ rested the

hopes of my family. I can truly say, that it was not so much fear that

made my hand tremble and my pistol to waver: it was the deep sense of

_responsibility_ that rested upon me. We took our places--a simultaneous

discharge was a moment after heard--and, and----"

Here the narrator put his handkerchief to his face, and seemed to shake

with irrepressible agitation.

"Well, sir," exclaimed our young Munchausen who had listened to the

narrative with almost breathless attention, "well, sir--well?--what was

the result? How did it end?"

"_I was shot dead the first fire!_" replied the old gentleman; "the

property passed into the hands of my uncle and his family; and my

surviving brother has been poor as a rat ever since!"

An uproarious laugh, that fairly shook the coach, told "Braggadocio"

that he had been slightly "taken in and done for" after a manner

entirely his own.

This anecdote will not be lost upon bored listeners to those who shoot

with the long bow, or in other words, stretch a fact until they have

made it as long as they want it. We have somewhere heard of a man at a

dinner-party who was determined not to be outdone in this but too common

species of archery. Some one present had been engaged in attracting the

attention of the company to an account of a pike that he had caught the

day before that weighed nineteen pounds! "Pooh!" exclaimed a gentleman

sitting near him, "that is nothing to the one _I_ caught last week,

which weighed twenty-six pounds." "Confound it!" whispered the first

fisherman to his neighbor, "I wish I could catch my pike again; I'd add

ten pounds to him directly!"

* * * * *

There is something more than mere good measures in the following lines.

There is a satire upon Love and Mammon, when the deep affections of the

heart reach a greater depth in the pocket:

"Dear friend, I'm glad to meet you here,

But scarce know what to say,

For such an angel I have seen

At your mamma's to-day!

Of fairer form than Venus, when

She trod the Grecian shore;

And then such splendid hair and eyes

I never saw before.

"Her air and manners were divine,

Above all petty arts;

Oh, surely she was formed to reign

The peerless Queen of Hearts.

Dear Bob, we have been college friends,

And friendship's still the same;

Now only tell me who she is--

Oblige me with her name.

"'Fine hair and eyes!'--'the Queen of Hearts!'

Who can she be?--oh, yes!

I know her now--why, Frederick, that's

My sister's governess!'

Your sister's governess!!--Indeed

I _thought_ it might be so;

She looks genteel--but still there is

About her something low!"

* * * * *

It is not a little amusing, or it _would_ be if it were not rather a

serious matter oftentimes, to hear a surgeon who loves his profession

talk with another of the "splendid fungus" which he had recently

removed, or the "beautiful case of amputation of both arms at the

shoulder," which he had just witnessed. A fair travesty of this is

afforded in the letter purporting to come from an apothecary in the

country to a friend in London, wherein, among other things, he wrote:

"My patients are rather select than numerous, but I think the red lamp

and brass plate may attract a few. I had a glorious case of dislocation

of the shoulder last week, and nearly pulled the fellow in half with the

assistance of two or three bricklayers who were building next door. The

other doctor tried first, and couldn't reduce it, because he had no

bricklayers at hand. This has got my name up, rather. They are terrible

Goths down here though. You can scarcely conceive the extent of their

ignorance. Not one in twenty can read or write; and so all my

dispensing-labels which I tie on the bottles are quite thrown away. A

small female toddled into the surgery the other day, and horrified me by

drawling out:

"'If you please, sir, mother's took the lotion, and rubbed her leg with

the mixture!'

"This might have been serious, for the lotion contained a trifle of

poison; but Jack and I started off directly; and as it happened very

luckily to be washing-day, we drenched the stupefied woman with

soap-suds and pearl-ash, until every thing was thrown off from the

stomach, including, I suspect, a quantity of the lining membrane. This

taught me the lesson, that a medical man should always have his

instruments in order; for if Jack had not borrowed my stomach-pump to

squirt at the cats with, a good deal of bother might have been avoided.

But he is a clever fellow at heart, and would do any thing for me. He

quite lived on the ice during the frost, tripping every body up he came

near; and whether he injured them seriously or not, I know the will was

good, and was therefore much obliged to him!"

* * * * *

It would be a curious thing, if they could be traced out, to ascertain

the origin of half the quaint old sayings and maxims that have come down

to the present time from unknown generations. Who, for example, was

"DICK," who had the odd-looking "hat-band," and who has so long been the

synonym or representative of oddly-acting people? Who knows any thing

authentic of the leanness of "Job's turkey," who has so many followers

in the ranks of humanity? Scores of other sayings there are, concerning

which the same, or similar questions might be asked. Who ever knew,

until comparatively late years, what was the origin of the cautionary

saying, "Mind your P's and Q's?" A modern antiquarian, however, has put

the world right in relation to _that_ saying: In ale-houses, in the

olden time, when chalk "scores" were marked upon the wall, or behind the

door of the tap-room, it was customary to put the initials "P" and "Q"

at the head of every man's account, to show the number of "pints" and

"quarts" for which he was in arrears; and we may presume many a friendly

rustic to have tapped his neighbor on the shoulder, when he was

indulging too freely in his potations, and to have exclaimed, as he

pointed to the chalk-score, "Mind your P's and Q's, man! mind your P's

and Q's!" The same writer, from whom we glean this information, mentions

an amusing anecdote in connection with it, which had its origin in

London, at the time a "Learned Pig" was attracting the attention of half

the town. A theatrical wag, who attended the porcine performances,

maliciously set before the four-legged actor some _peas_--a temptation

which the animal could not resist, and which immediately occasioned him

to lose the "cue" given him by the showman. The pig-exhibitor

remonstrated with the author of the mischief, on the unfairness of what

he had done; to which he replied: "I only wanted to ascertain whether

the pig knew his 'peas' from his 'cues!'"

* * * * *

Sympathy, we find described on a slip in our "Drawer" to be "A

_sensibility_ of which its _objects_ are oftentimes _in_sensible." It

may be considered wrong to discourage a feeling of which there is no

great superabundance is this selfish and hard-hearted world; but even of

the little that _exists_, a portion is frequently thrown away; a fact

sufficiently illustrated by two amusing instances, cited by the writer

in question:

"A city damsel, whose ideas had been _Arcadianized_ by the perusal of

pastorals, having once made an excursion to a distance of twenty miles

from London, wandered into the fields, in the hope of discovering a

_bona-fide_ live 'shepherd.' To her great delight, she at length

encountered one, under a green hedge, with his dog by his side, his

'crook' in his hand, and his sheep round about him, just as if he were

sitting to be modeled in China for a chimney-ornament. To be sure, he

did not exhibit the blue jacket, jessamine vest, pink inexpressibles,

and peach-colored stockings of those faithful portraitures. This was

mortifying: still more so was it, that he was neither particularly young

nor cleanly; but most of all, that he wanted the indispensable

accompaniment of a pastoral reed, in order that he might beguile his

solitude with the charms of music. Touched with pity at this privation,

and lapsing unconsciously into poetical language, the damsel exclaimed:

"'Ah, gentle shepherd! tell me, where's your pipe?'

"'I left it at home, miss,' replied the clown, scratching his head,

'cause I haint got no 'baccy!'"

The "sentiment" was satisfied at once in this case, as it was in the

other, which is thus presented:

"A benevolent committee-man of the Society for superseding the necessity

of climbing chimney-sweep boys, seeing a sooty urchin weeping bitterly

at the corner of a street, asked him the cause of his distress; to which

the boy replied:

"'Master has been using me shamefully: he has been letting Jim Hudson go

up the chimney at Number Nine, when it was _my_ turn. He said it was too

high and too dangerous for me; but I'll go up a chimney with Jim Hudson

any day in the year; that's what I will; and he knows it, and master

knows it too!'"

Sympathy _was_ rather thrown away in _this_ case, that's quite certain.

* * * * *

Winter is upon us; the biting winds rattle our window-shutters and howl

down our chimneys. "Poor naked wretches" tremble in the fierce cold; and

homeless, houseless women and children huddle in the alleys and

hiding-places of the city. GOD help the poor! Now is the time to

remember them. Let the rich recall "poor old Lear," when deprived of his

kingdom, and reduced to want, the cold rains beat pitilessly upon his

white head, he was forced to exclaim, remembering what he _might_ have

done when he had the power, "We have ta'en too little care of this!" Let

no disappointment, such as is most forcibly expressed in these lines,

add an additional drop to the cup of bitterness which is commended to

the lips of the poor of our city:

REJOICE! hope dawns upon the poor;

The rich man's heard our prayer;

He'll open wide the garner door,

And bid us come and share.

He feels the bread-seed was not given

Alone to swell his pride;

But that GOD sent it down from heaven,

For all the world beside.

Wail! wail! the rich man's word has proved

A syren sound alone!

He looked upon the wealth he loved;

And then his heart was stone!

Oh, would the dull, insensate clod

Give forth its yearly store,

If our great FATHER and our GOD

Had thought not of the poor?

* * * * *

A story has been for many years current, that an eccentric gentleman, of

some scientific aspirations, residing on Long Island, not a thousand

miles from New York, once induced a thick-set and very green Hibernian

to ascend a very remarkably high and spreading tree, near his residence,

accompanied by a curious nondescript flying-machine, by the aid of which

he was to soar off, and float very softly down upon the bosom of mother

Earth! All being ready, the aeronaut started from a platform which had

been built in the topmost branches. He "_slode_" over the branches, and

then "toppled down headlong" to the ground, covered with the wrecks of

his scientific master's flying-machine, and making another wreck of

himself. He "heard something drop," and it was a foolish Irishman! When

taken up, it was found that he had broken both his arms, a leg,

dislocated a shoulder, and otherwise seriously injured himself. Being

long ill, at his employer's cost and charges, the "flying-machine," so

signally destroyed, was considered a "_permanent_ investment." This

incident, which is really true, reminds us of the story of "_The Flying

Cobbler_," an old Irish story, of which we find a record preserved in

"The Drawer:"

"When Felix showed himself on the top battlement of the tower from which

he was to jump, opening and shutting a great pair of black wings that

were fastened to his shoulders, every face in the great crowd was turned

up to gaze at him. I thought myself that the tower never looked such a

murdering height from the ground as when I looked at the poor devil

standing on the tip-top stone, as unconcerned as an old cormorant on a

rock, flapping his wings for a flight. At length, by his motions we saw

that he was preparing to be off in earnest. The men held their breath

hard, and the women began to tremble and cry; and then, all of a sudden,

he made a jump off the battlement, and sailed away 'most illigant.' A

wild shout of delight arose from the people, but before it had ceased

the glory of poor Felix was 'done up.' After two or three flutters, his

wings fell flat to his sides, his heels went up, and down he came

tumbling like a wild-goose with a shot through his gizzard, plump to the

ground! Every body thought that it was all over with him; but when we

ran to pick him up, we found him lying on his back, not dead, but

groaning most pitifully. We took him up as tenderly as we could, and

carried him home, and laid him on his bed. When the doctor came he found

that both his legs were smashed. Not a word nor a groan escaped him.

After he came to his senses, he lay with his eyes open near an hour; and

then, when the doctor was setting one of the broken bones, he tried to

raise himself up in the bed, and with the fire dancing in his eyes, he

said:

"'Doctor, dear, how long will it be before I'm cured again?'

"'Really,' says the doctor, 'I can't possibly take upon me to say,

precisely. 'Tis a bad case, and I don't apprehend that you can be

perfectly recovered under three months.'

"'Three months! Oh the devil! what am I to do? Three months!--when I had

just found it out!'

"'Found _what_ out, jewel?' said his mother, who was sitting by his

bedside.

"'The cause of my failing to-day, mother. The wings were right, but I

forgot _one_ thing.'

"'And what was that, Felix?'"

"'The _tail_, mother! If I'd not forgot me _tail_, I could have flew to

Ameriky and back again!'"

* * * * *

Now that what is called, or miscalled the "Code of Honor," is falling

into desuetude in regions of the country where it was once considered

binding, the following laughable burlesque upon the manner in which

modern duels are sometimes brought about, and conducted, will doubtless,

as the newspapers say, be "read with interest:"

"William Singsmall, Esquire, thought proper to say something very severe

about somebody abroad, when the expression was taken up by Mr. Flea, a

friend of the insulted party, who happened to be within reach of William

Singsmall, Esquire. Mr. Flea waited on Mr. Singsmall, who refused to

retract. Ulterior measures were hinted at, and the following series of

hostile notes and messages ensued:

I.

"Sir: Understanding you have imputed cowardice to my friend William

Singsmall, Esquire, I call on you either to retract, or refer me to

a friend. As the matter presses, I beg, on the part of William

Singsmall, Esquire, that you will answer this when I return from

Paris, where I am going for three weeks.

"Yours obediently, PETER SKULLTHICK."

"_To James Flea, Esquire._"

II.

"SIR: I received your note, and went immediately into the country;

but on my return to town you shall hear from me with the least

possible delay.

"Yours obediently, JAMES FLEA."

III.

"SIR: I have got your note, and will see about it.

"Yours obediently, PETER SKULLTHICK."

IV.

"SIR: I have waited every day at the club, from ten in the morning

until twelve at night, for the last month, hoping to hear from you.

"Yours obediently, JAMES FLEA."

V.

"SIR: My object in writing to you was not on my own account, but on

behalf of William Singsmall, Esquire, to whom you have most

offensively imputed cowardice, and alleged that you threatened to

cane him, while he was hidden in the larder of the club-house."

"You will see that as a man of honor he must take some notice of

this. I am going out of town for a few weeks, and as soon as

convenient after my return shall be glad to hear from you."

"Yours obediently, PETER SKULLTHICK."

VI.

"SIR: I _did_ go to the club-house with a cane under my coat, for

the purpose of pitching into Singsmall. I had the solemn assurance

of the porter that Singsmall had entered the club and had not left

it; but on searching the house he was not to be found. I can only

presume that your friend was under the sink or in the larder, and I

therefore can not consider him entitled to any thing better than

the severe drubbing I mean to inflict upon him whenever I shall be

so fortunate as meet him."

"Yours obediently, JAMES FLEA."

VII.

"SIR: I expected you would have referred me to a friend, and shall

wait at the club until I hear from you again--unless I am called

away by other engagements."

"Yours obediently, PETER SKULLTHICK."

After this correspondence, Flea sent a friend to Skullthick, who

declared he had no quarrel with any one, but only wished his friend

Singsmall to have the opportunity of being shot through the body by

Flea, whose friend insisted that he (Flea) should fight no one but him

(Skullthick). Skullthick, on the contrary, had no quarrel with Flea; but

although a married man, was ready to fight Flea's friend, who threw

himself into the hands of somebody else, who would have nothing to do

with _any_ of them. And there the matter ended!

LITERARY NOTICES.

_Wesley and Methodism_, by ISAAC TAYLOR (published by Harper and

Brothers), is one of the most characteristic productions of the author,

and on account of its deep reflective spirit, its comprehensive breadth

of view, its subtle analysis of psychological manifestations, its acute

and independent criticisms of great popular movements, its unmistakable

earnestness of tone, and its catholic freedom from sectarian

limitations, may be regarded as possessing a greater significance than

most of the theological publications of the day. Mr. Taylor's favorite

theme of discussion is the philosophical import of the historical

developments of religion. Deeply imbued with the spirit of

contemplation, he is not a dogmatist, nor a partisan. His own religious

convictions are too prominent to allow any hesitation as to their

character; but he has divested his mind, to a singular degree, of the

influence of personal tendencies, in pronouncing judgment on the object

of his investigations. He evidently intends to be impartial--and this is

no slight praise--to obtain an uncolored view of the facts which he is

considering, to do justice to every trait of excellence, wherever

discovered, and to abstain from all indulgence of needless censure, even

when compelled to express an unfavorable opinion.

In the present work Mr. Taylor discusses the origin, the progress, the

actual condition, and the future application of Wesleyan Methodism, as

an instrument, under Providence, for the spiritual elevation of mankind.

Regarding Methodism as a divinely-appointed development of the Gospel,

acknowledging the hand of God in its rise and progress, holding the

character and labors of its early founders in affectionate veneration,

and deeming it fraught with momentous ulterior consequences, although

temporary in its import, he presents a series of consecutive sketches of

its history, depicting the wonderful events which attended its energetic

progress, analyzing the causes which impeded its universal triumph, and

tracing the conditions of its wide success to the elementary principles

in the religious nature of man.

The first, and by far the most interesting portion of the volume, is

occupied with a description of the founders of Methodism, including the

two Wesleys, John and Charles, Whitefield, Fletcher, Coke, and Lady

Huntingdon. Without entering into the minute details of biography, which

have been anticipated by Watson, Southey, and other writers, Mr. Taylor

gives a discriminating critical estimate of the devoted apostles, to

whose zeal and intrepidity England was indebted for the revival of the

religious life, at a time when she had far lapsed from the warmth and

vitality of spiritual Christianity. John Wesley, in the opinion of the

author, has never been surpassed by any general, statesman, or

churchman, in administrative skill--in the faculty of adapting himself

to the circumstances of the moment, without compromise of his authority

or personal dignity. For more than half a century he passed through the

most difficult conjunctures with admirable success. His simplicity and

integrity of purpose were in perfect harmony with the simplicity of his

institution, enabling him to manage with ability what had been devised

by skill.

Nor was his personal character less worthy of affection and homage. If

he had moved in a private sphere, that of a parish priest for example,

his flock would not have been able to find a single fault in their

minister. The love and admiration of his intimate friends would only

have been a more emphatic expression of the feeling of the little world

whose happiness it was to live within sight and hearing of him. His

personal virtue was not merely unblemished; it was luminously bright.

His countenance shone with goodness, truth, purity, benevolence; a

sanctity belonged to him, which was felt by every one in his presence,

as if it were a power with which the atmosphere was fraught. It was

Wesley's virtue and piety that gave form and tone to his teaching, and

his teaching has embodied itself in the Christian-like behavior of tens

of thousands of his people on both sides the Atlantic.

Of Whitefield, Mr. Taylor remarks, that the secret of his power over the

vast multitudes that he moulded like wax, was a vivid perception of the

reality of spiritual things, and the concentrated force with which he

brought them to bear on the conscience and imagination of his hearers.

His singular gifts as a speaker rested on the conceptive faculty as

related to those objects that are purely spiritual, both abstract and

concrete; and with him this faculty had a compass, a depth, and an

intensity of sensitiveness, never, perhaps, equaled. While he spoke the

visible world seemed to melt away into thin mist, and the real, the

eternal world to come out from among shadows, and stand forth in awful

demonstration. This faculty was by no means that of the poet or the

painter, which is sensuous in its material. If it had been of this sort,

he would have left us monuments of his genius, like a Divina Commedia,

or a Paradise Lost, or a series of Michael Angelo cartoons. The history

of Whitefield's ministry is simply this: The Gospel he proclaimed drew

around him dense masses of men as soon as he commenced his course; it

was the power of religious truth, not the preacher's harmonious voice,

not his graceful action, not his fire as an orator, that gained him

power over congregations to the last.

In the remainder of the volume, Mr. Taylor considers the primary

elements of Methodism, its relations to society, and its position in the

future. These topics are discussed with sagacity, and with perfect

candor, although not in a manner to command universal assent. Whatever

opinion may be formed as to his conclusions, no one can doubt the

suggestiveness of his comments, nor the earnestness of his inquiries.

The style of this work, which we do not admire, betrays the same

intellectual habits as the former treatises of the author. He writes

like a man more addicted to reflection than to utterance. He simply

records his own musings as they succeed each other in the solitude of

the closet, without aiming, at the force, point, and effective brevity

of expression, which is necessary to obtain a mastery over the minds of

others. He seems to regard language as an aid to his own meditations,

rather than a medium of intercourse with his fellow-men. His writings

are far more like a monologue than an address. He aims to clear up his

own convictions, to reduce them to order, and to give them an outward

embodiment, by their visible expression, rather than to enforce them on

the attention of his readers. Hence, he is often diffuse, even to

languor; and nothing but the vigor of his thought could prevent a

wearisome monotony. No one, however, can call in question the

originality and genuine earnestness of his speculations; and

accordingly, it is impossible to follow their track, without a profound

interest, in spite of the defects of his style.

Charles Scribner has published a new edition of _Young's Night

Thoughts_, edited by JAMES ROBERT BOYD, with critical and explanatory

notes, a memoir of the author, and an estimate of his writings. The

editor has performed his task with evident industry and love of his

author. His notes are generally brief, and well-adapted to their

purpose. In some instances, they dwell on minute and comparatively

unimportant points, which might safely be left to the sagacity of the

reader. The edition, however, is designed as a text-book in schools, for

the study of grammatical analysis and rhetorical criticism, and, in this

respect, justifies an attention to trifling verbal difficulties, which

would be out of place in a work prepared merely for the library of the

adult. As a poet, Young can never become a general favorite. His day, we

believe, is past. The prevailing taste demands a more genial, human,

healthy expression of feeling--certainly, not of less religious

fervor--but one breathing the spirit of serene trust, rather than of

morbid gloom. Still, the lovers of his sombre meditations will find this

edition convenient and ample.

_Florence_, by ELIZA BUCKMINSTER LEE, is a story of singular sweetness

and grace, recounting the history of a Parish Orphan, and filled with

charming pictures of domestic life in the interior of New England. "A

sketch of the Village in the last Century," is added to the volume,

presenting a succession of rural descriptions in a series of familiar

letters. Mrs. Lee is distinguished as a writer, for her exquisite taste,

her power of graphic portraiture, her love of home-scenes and incidents,

and her deep vein of cordial, kindly feeling. These qualities run

through the present little work with a mild, silvery brightness, which

gives it an irresistible charm. (Published by Ticknor, Reed, and

Fields.)

Under the title of _Words in Earnest_, a collection of valuable essays

from the pens of several eminent clergymen, has been issued by E. H.

Fletcher. The work includes two able discourses on "The Moral Influence

of Cities," and an essay on "The Theatre," by Rev. W. W. EVERTS; an

admirable appeal to the young men of cities on the importance of "Mental

Improvement," by Rev. J. W. ALEXANDER; a sound and instructive article

on "The Duties of Employers to the Employed," by Rev. WILLIAM HAGUE; an

argumentative essay, maintaining the retributive character of

"Punishment," by Prof. ANDERSON; and an eloquent plea for "Children,"

and for "The Sabbath," by Rev. GEO. B. CHEEVER. The work abounds in

salutary counsels, expressed with pungency and force.

_The Captains of the Old World_, by HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT (published by

Charles Scribner), is an original and erudite description of several of

the chief battles recorded in ancient history, with an estimate of the

character and position of the most celebrated commanders. Mr. Herbert is

a decided adherent of the modern critical school of history, the

principles of which have been applied to Roman antiquities with such

admirable effect by the German Niebuhr and the English Arnold. He is no

slavish copyist, however, of those authorities, nor of any others,

however eminent. His work is the fruit of independent personal research

and reflection. A classical scholar of rare attainments, familiar with

the language and style of the ancient masters, fortified with learning

which embraces a much wider sphere than the subject of the present

inquiries, and endowed with an instinctive sagacity of no common order,

Mr. Herbert is singularly qualified for the task he has attempted, and

has performed it in a manner highly creditable to the soundness of his

judgment and the depth of his researches. His comparison of the ancient

strategy with the modern science of warfare is so clearly illustrated,

and so forcibly reasoned, as to possess a profound interest not only for

professional military men, but for all readers who delight in the

removal of learned dust from the records of antiquity. He describes the

battles which come under his consideration, not rhetorically, but with

the paramount desire of accurate statement, though without the sacrifice

of picturesque effect. In many cases, where the facts are covered with

obscurity, and none but the most cautious inquirer can hope for the

attainment of truth, Mr. Herbert displays a nice critical judgment in

the sifting of evidence, never seduced into the love of paradox, and if

compelled to have recourse to theories, always sustaining them by

arguments that are no less powerful than ingenious.

His conclusions in regard to the character of several ancient heroes,

differ from the prevailing opinions. His discussions on this point are

among the most interesting portions of his volume. He thus summarily

disposes of the hero of Marathon: "Much obloquy has been heaped on

Athens on his account; much ink has been spilt, and much fine writing

wasted thereanent, concerning the ingratitude of that state in

particular, and of democracies in general.... But all the outcry in this

cause is futile, unjust, and absurd. Miltiades was a successful and

victorious soldier: he was rewarded according to the laws of his state

to the utmost--he was the first man in Athens. He was a bad citizen,

almost a traitor, and all the severity and disgrace of his punishment

was remitted in memory of his great deeds past.... As a man, it must be

said, he was flawed. Wholly unfitted to be a citizen of a free state, he

might command others. But he could not command himself."

Nor does the Great Alexander fare better at the hands of our merciless

iconoclast: "If we consider calmly the atrocities committed by his

orders and under his authority at Thebes, at Tyre, at Gaza, and the

barbarous torments inflicted in cold-blooded policy, alike on the good

and gallant Britis and on the brutal and blood-thirsty Bressos--if we

remember the unrelenting, if not undeserved slaughter of the

high-spirited and brave Parmenion, the ruthless slaughter of the hardy

Klutos, who had saved his own life in the desperate melee of Issos--if

we recount the woes inflicted on the brave population of a loyal

country, fighting in defense of their own liberties, the fearful waste

of blood in his reckless and fruitless battles, we shall have no reason

to doubt the correctness of the verdict which condemns him as the

rashest of conquerors, and the cruelest of all who have laid claim to

the much-misapplied title of hero."

We recommend this volume as an admirable specimen of the method of

investigating history with the lights of modern criticism. If we can not

accept all the author's conclusions, we never cease to admire his

frankness, candor, and manliness as a writer. His style is in perfect

keeping with his subject, though occasionally careless, and now and then

sliding into unauthorized expressions, which can not be excused on the

ground of defective culture or taste.

Harper and Brothers have issued an edition of _A Lady's Voyage round the

World_, by the renowned female traveler, IDA PFEIFFER. The translation

from the German by Mrs. PERCY SINNETT is executed with spirit and with

apparent fidelity. Ida Pfeiffer was born with an innate passion for

travel. From earliest childhood, her great longing was to see the world.

The sight of a traveling carriage brought tears to her eyes. When a mere

girl of ten or twelve, she devoured every book of travels on which she

could lay her hands. Subsequently, she made numerous tours with her

parents, and at a later period with her husband. Nothing could detain

her at home, but the care of her children. When their education was

completed, her youthful dreams and visions began to haunt her

imagination. Distant lands and strange customs seemed to open upon her a

new heaven and a new earth. Her age made it not inconvenient to travel

alone. Defying danger and privation, she resumed her travels, and has

since left scarce a spot of peculiar interest on the globe unvisited. In

the volume now published, she describes a voyage to Brazil, with

excursions into the interior, a voyage to Canton by way of Tahiti, a

residence in China, Hindostan, Persia, Turkey, and other countries of

most importance to the intelligent traveler. She possesses a happy

talent of portraying incidents and facts in an agreeable manner. Her

work is replete with valuable information, while its perpetual good

humor, sagacious observation, and sound common sense, sustain an

unflagging interest in its perusal.

Charles Scribner has published a beautiful edition of IK. MARVEL'S

_Reveries of a Bachelor_, with several admirable illustrations by

Darley. Welcome to our quaint, genial, "bachelor," in his holiday

costume, destined to shed a new gladness over the new year by his

delicious whimsicalities, and his quaint, sparkling, mosaic of fun,

frolic, and melting pathos! Welcome with his most fantastic dreams, so

cheery and bright, in the midst of the bustling, heartless utilities of

the day! We can recommend Ik. Marvel's lifesome, soul-ful pages to all

whose spirits are chafed with the wear and tear of this working-day

world.

_Aims and Obstacles_, by G. P. R. JAMES. Another production of the most

indefatigable of English novelists, whose powers seem to have received a

new impulse from his recent change of residence. The scene of this work

is laid in England, and like all its predecessors, abounds in lively

sketches of character, and charming descriptions of nature. For boldness

of invention, variety of incident, and freshness of feeling, it is not

surpassed by any recent production of its eminent author.

_Norman Maurice_, by W. GILMORE SIMMS, is the title of a new drama,

which can not fail to add to the high literary reputation of its

distinguished author. The materials are derived from American

professional and political life; not a very promising source, one would

suppose, for a work of art; but in the plastic hands of the present

writer, they are wrought into a dramatic composition of admirable skill

and thrilling interest. The plot is one of great simplicity. A

noble-minded and brilliantly-gifted person becomes the object of

jealousy and hatred to a crafty, unscrupulous villain. The drama

consists in the development of his infernal machinations for the ruin of

his enemy, and the ultimate triumph of the latter over his foul and

cunning conspiracies. The denouement is effected by an heroic instance

of self-devotion on the part of a woman, whose character exhibits a rare

combination of feminine loveliness and strength. Mr. Simms has succeeded

in portraying some of the darker passions of humanity with uncommon

power. His language is terse and vigorous--intense, but not extravagant,

and often marked by an idiomatic simplicity that reminds one of the

golden age of dramatic writing. We rejoice to notice such an instance of

decided success in a branch of literary creation where triumphs are so

much less frequent than defeats. (Richmond. Published by John R.

Thompson.)

_The Claims of Science_, by WILLIAM C. RICHARDS, is an Anniversary

Discourse before the Literary Societies of Erskine College, South

Carolina. It sets forth the value and importance of the physical

sciences, both as the means of a generous intellectual culture, and the

condition of great practical discoveries. The argument of the speaker is

sustained with great vigor of statement, and a rich profusion of

illustration. Familiar with the varied field of nature, he expatiates on

her majesty and loveliness with the enthusiasm of a favored votary. The

style of the discourse is chaste and polished throughout, and often

rises into earnest and impressive eloquence.

A second series of _Greenwood Leaves_, being a collection of letters and

sketches by GRACE GREENWOOD, has just been published by Ticknor, Reed,

and Fields. A sincere, genial, thoroughly individualistic

production--overflowing with exuberant gayety--though dashed with

frequent touches of bitter sadness--often wildly impulsive, but always

kindly, human, and hopeful--with occasional specimens of sharp-shooting,

though the polished, nimble arrows are never dipped in poison. It will

be widely read for its spicy humor, its fine, frolicsome naivete, its

gushing good-nature, and its genuine nobleness of tone, even by those

who may now and then wish that she would leave political and social

questions to the sterner sex. The same publishers have issued another

work by GRACE GREENWOOD, entitled _Recollections of my Childhood_,

intended for juvenile readers, and abounding in beautiful appeals to the

best feelings of the young heart, illustrated by the reminiscences of

personal experience.

M. W. Dodd has published a translation from the German of HILDEBRANDT,

of _Winter in Spitzbergen_, by E. GOODRICH SMITH, depicting the frozen

horrors of that savage clime. It is a narrative of great interest, and

will be read eagerly by young people, for whom it is intended. It is

equally rich in attractiveness and in information.

A collection of stories by CAROLINE CHESEBRO', entitled _Dream-Land by

Daylight_, has been issued by Redfield in a style of uncommon

typographical neatness. The writings of this lady are not unknown to the

public, in the isolated form in which many of them have already made

their appearance. We are glad that she has been induced to embody them

in this pleasant volume, which, we think, will occupy no inferior place

in American fictitious literature. We find in it the unmistakable

evidences of originality of mind, an almost superfluous depth of

reflection for the department of composition to which it is devoted, a

rare facility in seizing the multiform aspects of nature, and a still

rarer power of giving them the form and hue of imagination, without

destroying their identity. The writer has not yet attained the mastery

of expression, corresponding to the liveliness of her fancy and the

intensity of her thought. Her style suffers from the want of proportion,

of harmony, of artistic modulation, and though frequently showing an

almost masculine energy, is destitute of the sweet and graceful fluency

which would finely attemper her bold and striking conceptions. We do not

allude to this in any spirit of carping censure; but to account for the

want of popular effect which, we apprehend, will not be so decided in

this volume as in future productions of the author. She has not yet

exhausted the golden placers of her genius; but the products will obtain

a more active currency when they come refined and brilliant from the

mint, with a familiar legible stamp, which can be read by all without an

effort.--The fantastic, alliterative title of this volume does no

justice to the genuine value of its contents, and we hope Miss Chesebro'

will hereafter avoid such poverty-struck devices of ambitious

second-rate writers.

_Memoir of Mary Lyon_, compiled by EDWARD HITCHCOCK, President of

Amherst College, has passed to a third edition from the press of

Hopkins, Bridgman, and Co., Northampton. It is a record of a life

devoted to a great work of Christian benevolence. Inspired by a lofty

sense of duty, possessing an energy of purpose and a power of execution

seldom equaled in any walk of life, and endowed with intellectual gifts

of a robust, practical character, Miss Lyon was a highly successful

agent in the cause of popular and religious education. The narrative of

her labors is no less interesting than it is useful and instructive. Her

name is held in grateful remembrance in New England by numerous pupils

to whose character she gave a powerful impulse for good. The present

volume is prepared with the ability of which the name attached to it is

a promise. It is an excellent piece of biography, in all respects, and

will long hold an honored place in New England households.

_Sixteen Months at the Gold Diggings_, by DANIEL B. WOODS. (Published by

Harper and Brothers.) The peculiar value of this work consists in its

being an authentic record of the experience of an intelligent and

trustworthy writer. In this respect, we have seen no publication on

California that is its equal. Mr. Woods is a man of high character and

learned education, who was led by ill health to exchange the duties of

professional life for the rude toils of the gold-digger. He engaged in

his new business with unflinching energy. Becoming a miner among the

miners, he had the most ample opportunities to learn their condition,

their prospects, their sufferings, and their rewards. He describes

plainly what he saw. He borrows no colors from the fancy. His book is a

record of hard facts. It introduces us behind the scenes. Eminently free

from exaggeration, it shows the hardships by which the gold of

California was procured on the first discovery of the placers. Its

tendency is to discourage emigration. He would advise those who are

tolerably well off at home to be content. At the same time, the

California adventurer, who is tempted by the hope of a golden harvest to

leave the blessings of Atlantic civilization, will find a guide and

counselor in this volume, which can hardly fail to be of essential

service. We recommend all prospective gold-diggers to take it with them

across the Isthmus or around the Cape.

D. Appleton and Co. have issued an elegant volume of Oriental travels,

entitled _The Land of Bondage_, by the Rev. J. M. WAINWRIGHT. It

contains the journal of a tour in Egypt, with a description of its

ancient monuments and present condition, illustrated by a variety of

well-executed appropriate engravings. The work is intended to present an

accurate record of the observations made by the intelligent author,

without aiming at the brilliant vivacity which has been so much affected

by recent travelers in the East. It is a simple, faithful narrative, and

makes no pretensions to being a romance or prose-poem. The scenes

visited by Dr. Wainwright, comprising the valley of the Nile from Cairo

to Thebes, are full of interest. He describes them minutely, and with

excellent taste. Uniting a fresh susceptibility to the romantic

impressions of the "morning land," with a style of polished classic

elegance, Dr. Wainwright has produced a standard book of travels, which

merits a cordial reception by the public, both for the extent and

accuracy of its information, and the beauty and good taste of its

execution.

_The Evening Book_, by Mrs. KIRKLAND (published by Charles Scribner), is

a collection of popular essays on morals and manners, with sketches of

Western Life, including many of the most agreeable productions of the

favorite authoress. Several of them have a sober, didactic aim, but all

are marked with Mrs. Kirkland's habitual brilliancy and point. Her

discussions of various topics of social ethics are admirable. She

exhibits the acute tact of a woman in her perceptions of character,

while she presents the fruits of tranquil reflection in a tone of

masculine vigor. The spirit of these essays is one of mild,

contemplative wisdom, gracefully blended with a love of the humorous,

and a spice of perfectly good-natured satire.--A number of beautiful

illustrations greatly enhances the interest of the volume.

_The Tutor's Ward_, (published by Harper and Brothers), is the title of

one of the most powerful English novels of the season. It is intended to

illustrate the great moral truth that the soul's repose is not found in

human love; that the immortal spirit can live in love alone; but that

human love is only the type of that which can never die. The story turns

on two female characters--one a brilliant, gifted, fascinating,

bewildering creature, whose heart has been wholly steeped in

selfishness, but whose artful nature has called forth the most

impassioned love--the other, a being of rare and beautiful endowments,

with an intense, loving, devoted soul, in whom passion takes the form of

a sublime, almost inconceivable disinterestedness, presenting the most

striking contrast to her rival and evil genius. The plot is a

heart-rending tragedy; the scenes are skillfully shaded off till they

present the sullen blackness of midnight; the whole winding up with

terrible retributions and despair. While we do not think the

developments of this story are true to nature, we can not deny its

strange, irresistible fascinations. It paints an ideal of heartless

egotism on the one side, and of generous self-sacrifice on the other,

which is psychologically impossible; but this ideal is set forth with so

much subtlety of invention, such tragic pathos, and such artistic

word-painting, that we forgive the defects of the plot, in our

admiration of the skill with which it is conducted.

M. W. Dodd has issued a little volume by Rev. JOSEPH P. THOMPSON,

entitled _Hints to Employers_. The substance of it was originally

delivered in lectures at the Broadway Tabernacle, but the importance of

its suggestions eminently deserves a more permanent form. Mr. Thompson

handles the subject without gloves, and shows himself as well acquainted

with the customs of trade as with the usages of the Church. His

strictures on the prevailing methods of business are forcibly put, and

have the merit of being directed against systems rather than against

individuals. It is far better, for instance, to point out the evils of

employing "drummers" to gain custom, than to inveigh against those who

can not deviate from established habits without great sacrifice. Abolish

an evil system, and the whole community is benefited; while abstaining

from it in single cases is only an individual advantage. Mr. Thompson

discusses the whole subject with decision and earnestness, but does not

deal in wholesale denunciation.

* * * * *

_The Collected Edition of_ DOUGLAS JERROLD'S _Writings_, is carrying on

in weekly numbers and monthly parts. Jerrold's writing is very unequal,

the story and the style sometimes limping tiresomely; but even then

detached thoughts and expressions keep up interest, and few pages pass

without presenting a good idea or a good joke.

* * * * *

In announcing a new novel by BULWER, the _London Critic_ remarks:

"Certainly, whatever the faults of 'our own wayward BULWER' (as Miss

MARTINEAU fondly calls him), a want of industry can not be laid to his

charge. What with novels, dramas, epics, Byronics, editorships,

pamphlets, parliamenteering, electioneering, and even agitating, when

the interests of the drama and literature seem to require it, BULWER is

as hard-working a man as any pale or ruddy-bustling compiler in the

reading-room of the British Museum. Close beside him in the

advertisement columns (though not in life) is Lady BULWER, who also

announces a new novel, "Moliere's Tragedy: his Life and Times," another

of those "literary novels" which Mr. GRAVE lately predicted would soon

be rife. Lady BULWER has taken the idea directly from GEORGE SAND, who

recently produced, with considerable success on the Paris stage, a drama

of "Moliere," in which the poet was made the dupe of a heartless

coquette. Our English authoress's title is rather lachrymose for the

subject; since MOLIERE'S life was by no means a tragic, but, on the

whole, a pleasant and successful one."

* * * * *

We find a curious anecdote of Chevalier BUNSEN in connection with the

recently-published Life of NIEBUHR, issued in London, under the

superintendence of the Chevalier: The portly and hearty representative

of Prussia at the Court of St. James, NIEBUHR, the Roman

historian--every body has heard and knows something of him. But every

body does _not_ know the special claim that his memory has on BUNSEN;

for the latter, though he has risen to be the Minister of Public

Instruction and Foreign Representative of a great kingdom, was once (how

strangely it sounds in English ears)--not even a calico-printer or a

cotton-spinner--but a poor student, NIEBUHR'S humble amanuensis! A

prodigy of learning, as unknown then as Mr. THOMAS WATTS of the British

Museum Library, in comparison with his deserts, is unknown now. BUNSEN,

the story runs, was in attendance on his employer, at that time Prussian

Minister at Rome, when the King of Prussia, then Crown Prince, paid

NIEBUHR a visit. The conversation turned upon literary matters, and the

Crown Prince made a statement which the humble amanuensis, bursting into

the talk, took upon him flatly to contradict. Most Crown Princes (and

some British commoners) would have flown into a passion. Not so our

FREDERICK WILLIAM the Fourth of Prussia. He inquired into the character

and history of the plain-spoken youth; found that he knew every language

and literature under heaven, from Chinese and Coptic to Welsh and

Icelandic; kept his eye on him, and gradually promoted him to be what he

is. NIEBUHR'S letters have been published, and some years ago a

biography of him, founded on them, was attempted in _Tait's Magazine_,

and broke down; but BUNSEN'S will be _the_ life. NIEBUHR was foolish

enough to die of the Three Days of July, 1830, being a staunch

conservative. As the French would say: _Tant pis pour lui!_

* * * * *

The Winter Session of the New College, Edinburgh, has been opened, with

an introductory address, by the Rev. Dr. CUNNINGHAM, successor of Dr.

CHALMERS, as Principal of the College. The institution is chiefly

intended as a Theological School, connected with the Free Church of

Scotland, but has other Chairs attached, one of which, on Natural

History, is held by Dr. FLEMING, the zoologist. On November 11th the

Philosophical Institution of the same city was opened for the session by

Sir DAVID BREWSTER, who gave an able address. Among the lecturers

announced for the season are some distinguished names, and the

institution seems to be conducted in a higher tone than is usual in

similar places of popular instruction and amusement. HUGH MILLER, the

geologist, and ISAAC TAYLOR, author of the "Natural History of

Enthusiasm," are to deliver courses of lectures. In the University of

Edinburgh, Principal LEE is reading a course of Moral Philosophy

Lectures, in room of Professor WILSON, whose illness precludes him from

any public duty.

* * * * *

Madame PFEIFFER'S account of her voyage round the world, says a London

journal, a translation of which has just been published by Messrs

Longman, is exceedingly interesting, and as full of adventure as the

production of the awful Cumming Gordon, of rhinoceros-riding notoriety.

When in Brazil, she undertook a long and hazardous journey into the

interior, to visit the Puri Indians. She states that many of these

singular people have been baptized, and, indeed, "they are at all times

willing, for the consideration of a little brandy, to go through the

ceremony again, and only regret that they have not more frequent

opportunities, especially as it does not last long." Their language is

extremely poor, and they have no method of expressing number but by

repeating one, two--one, two, as many times as may be required. For

yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow, they have only one word, and they

express the variety of meaning by "pointing backward for yesterday,

forward for to-morrow, and over the head for the passing day." We have

noticed Harper's edition of this work in another place.

* * * * *

The late work of Sir JOHN RICHARDSON on _The Arctic Searching

Expedition_, now in press by Harper and Brothers, is spoken of with

unqualified praise by the London press. We quote a notice from _The

Literary Gazette_: "This work affords a glorious instance of genuine,

hearty philanthropy. With a self-devotion seldom equaled, and certainly

never surpassed, the author of these volumes, at a time of life when

most men think seriously of exchanging the cares and anxieties of an

arduous profession, or of an official occupation, for repose, adventured

forth to the terrible regions of Arctic America, to seek, and, if

possible, to rescue a cherished friend. And this was done with no other

incentive than friendship, hallowed by former companionship in the same

regions, and the social intercourse of many years. With becoming

modesty, Sir John Richardson is entirely silent respecting his official

and domestic position at the time of his departure on his humane

mission; but it is due to him to say, that he left a valuable government

appointment, and sacrificed pecuniary advantages, when, taking leave of

an affectionate wife and family, he left England in search of his old

traveling companion; and though he has been happily restored to his

country in unimpaired health and vigor, it must not be forgotten that

the journey which he proposed taking, was not only arduous but

hazardous, and might have been accompanied by a repetition of the

frightful sufferings which befell him during his adventurous and

memorable expedition with Franklin in the same country he was about to

visit."

* * * * *

A new play by Mr. JERROLD, and one by Mr. MARSTON, are in the hands of

Mr. KEAN, for early representation.

* * * * *

Sir James Stephen's _Lectures on the History of France_, republished by

Harper and Brothers, are thus characterized by a recent journal: "The

distinguishing characteristics of these lectures are an independent

criticism, uninfluenced by previous authority, a religious philosophy

which traces the effect of moral causes, the knowledge of a man of

affairs rather than of a statesman, and a pellucid pleasantry of

manner."

* * * * *

Hildreth's _History of the United States_ is now attracting the

attention of London readers, and has given occasion to some able

criticisms. His imperturbable coolness in the narration of events,

excites no little surprise, and most of his judges would prefer a more

impassioned tone. Nor, in the opinion of the _London Athenaeum_, has he

done justice to the character of Jefferson. The merits of the work as an

authentic collection of facts, appear to be highly appreciated. The

journal just alluded to, says: "On this point, we have to object that

JEFFERSON--a man of remarkable powers, and whose spirit has more

intimately transferred itself into the heart and hereditary sentiment of

the American people than that of perhaps any other American, not perhaps

excepting even Washington--does not seem to have received a full enough

measure of that appreciation which even Mr. Hildreth might have been

able to give him. Jefferson we regard as the type and father of much

that is now most characteristic in the American mind; and in any history

of the United States he ought to figure largely. We have to repeat that

Mr. Hildreth's work is, in its kind, a most conscientious and laborious

undertaking--as an accumulation of particulars and a register of debates

unrivaled--and therefore extremely valuable to all who wish to prosecute

minute researches into the history of the Union, or of the several

States composing it."

* * * * *

Herman Melville's last work, _Moby Dick_, or _The Whale_, has excited a

general interest among the critical journals of London. The bold and

impulsive style of some portions of the book, seems to shock John Bull's

fastidious sense of propriety. One of the most discriminating reviewals

we have seen is from the _London Atlas_: "In some respects we hold it to

be his (Mr. Melville's) greatest effort. In none of his previous works

are finer or more highly-soaring imaginative powers put forth. In none

of them are so many profound and fertile and thoroughly original veins

of philosophic speculation, or rather, perhaps, philosophic fancy

struck.... Upon the whale, its mysteries, and its terrors, he revels as

if the subject had enchantment for him. He pours into multitudinous

chapters a mass of knowledge touching the whale--its habits and its

history--the minutest details of its feeding or sporting, or swimming,

strangely mixed with ingenious and daring speculations on the mysterious

habits and peculiarities of the great brute--the whole written in a tone

of exaltation and poetic sentiment, which has a strange effect upon the

reader's mind, in refining and elevating the subject of discourse, and,

at last, making him look upon the whale as a sort of awful and unsoluble

mystery--the most strange and the most terrible of the wonders of the

deep. That Herman Melville knows more about whales than any man from

Jonah down, we do really believe."

* * * * *

Douglas Jerrold has written a letter, containing the suggestion, that a

penny subscription shall be commenced to present KOSSUTH with a copy of

SHAKSPEARE'S Works, in a suitable casket. Mr. Jerrold remarks: "It is

written in the brief history made known to us of Kossuth, that in an

Austrian prison he was taught English by the words of the teacher

Shakspeare. An Englishman's blood glows with the thought that, from the

quiver of the immortal Saxon, Kossuth has furnished himself with those

arrowy words that kindle as they fly--words that are weapons, as Austria

will know. There are hundreds of thousands of Englishmen who would

rejoice thus to endeavor to manifest their gratitude to Kossuth for the

glorious words he has uttered among us, words that have been as pulses

to the nation." To this excellent proposal a response has already been

made in many quarters. An incident, not mentioned in the daily papers,

is worth recording: that among other deputations to the Hungarian

President in London, one was to present him with a copy of the Sacred

Scriptures, for which many had subscribed. In his reply, Kossuth said

how much he had owed, both of counsel and comfort, to the Bible, and

that this present he would treasure as the choicest memorial of England.

He took occasion at the same time to thank an honorable working-man,

unknown to him, who, on his entering Winchester, had come up to his

carriage and presented a Bible to Madame Kossuth.

* * * * *

An address to the Hungarian ex-president, from the citizens of Bath, was

headed by the signature of WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. His letter, in reply to

KOSSUTH'S acknowledgment, is worth recording, as a memorial of one so

well known in the world of letters: "Sir--The chief glory of my life is,

that I was the first in subscribing for the assistance of the Hungarians

at the commencement of their struggle; the next is, that I have received

the approbation of their illustrious chief. I, who have held the hand of

KOSCIUSKO, now kiss with veneration the signature of KOSSUTH. No other

man alive could confer an honor I would accept."

* * * * *

In a notice of SPRINGER'S _Forest Life and Forest Trees_ (published by

Harper and Brothers), the _London Spectator_ suggests a singular

comparison between the population of England and the United States, as

afforded by the social position of the respective countries: "The volume

will be found interesting from its pictures of hardship, exertion,

skill, and adventure, in a country little known to the English reader

even from books. It has also an interest of a deeper kind. It is

impossible to look at the willing labors of these men, and to consider

them as only a portion of the rural population of the United States,

without seeing what a raw material they possess for war or enterprise.

It is the tendency of a dense population and a high civilization to

dwarf the physical powers and energies of men in two ways--by

congregating large numbers of men in cities, and engaging them in

pursuits which if not absolutely injurious to health, are destructive to

hardihood; and by removing from the face of a country those natural

obstacles which call forth energy and readiness of resource. In England,

the working agriculturist is the most helpless of men out of his

routine, from his having nothing to contend with: the 'navvies,' miners,

and mariners, are almost the only classes trained to endurance and great

physical exertion in their regular business, except the navy and perhaps

the army, as special vocations."

* * * * *

_The London Examiner_ pronounces LAYARD'S abridged edition of _Nineveh_

(just re-published by Harper and Brothers), "A charming volume, to

which we may safely promise a circulation without limit, and as

unbounded popularity. The great feature of the Abridgement is, the

introduction of the principal biblical and historical illustrations

(forming a separate section of the original work) into the narrative,

which, without sacrificing any matter of importance, _makes the story

more compact, useful, and, indeed, complete in its abridged, than it was

in its original form_."

* * * * *

Sheriff Alison, the historian, has been re-elected Lord Rector of

Glasgow University.

* * * * *

In a recent synodical letter of the Bishop of Lucon, among the books

denounced as immoral and dangerous, are Anquetil's "History of France,"

Thiers's "History of the French Revolution," Lemaistre de Sacy's

"Translation of the New Testament," "Le Bonhomme Richard," and, lastly,

"Robinson Crusoe!" Facts like these require no comment.

* * * * *

The French papers state that Lord BROUGHAM, in his retreat at Cannes, is

preparing for publication a work entitled, "France and England before

Europe in 1851."

* * * * *

The extraordinary popularity of WALTER SCOTT in France, is illustrated

by the announcement of the publication of another volume of the

_twentieth_ edition of DEFAUCONPRET'S translation of his novels, and the

announcement of the publication of an entirely new translation of the

said novels. If Defauconpret had been the only translator, _twenty_

editions would have been an immense success; but there are besides, at

the very least, twenty different translations of the complete works

(many of which have had two, three, or four editions) and innumerable

translations of particular novels, especially of "Quentin Durward." In

fact, in France as in England, Scott dazzles every imagination and

touches every heart--whatever be his reader's degree of education, or

whatever his social position. His popularity amongst the lower orders,

in particular, is so extraordinarily great, that it forms one of the

most striking literary events of the present century.

* * * * *

_The Leader_ announces a new work from GUIZOT, with the promising title

of _Meditations et Etudes morales_; a novel by the Countess D'ORSAY,

called _L'Ombre du Bonheur_; and an important work by GIOBERTI, _Di

rinovamento civile d'Italia_, the first part being devoted to the Errors

and Schemes of the day: the second to Remedies and Hopes. To those who

love pure literature, we know not what more agreeable volume to

recommend than the one just issued of SAINT BEUVE'S _Causeries du

Lundi_. It contains some of the best portraits he has ever drawn; and a

charming gallery they make. We pass from RABELAIS to VAUVENARGUES, from

the Duc de SAINT SIMON to FREDERICK THE GREAT, from DIDEROT to the

Duchesse de MAINE, from CAMILLE DESMOULINS to Madame EMILIE DE GIRARDIN.

The necessity of limiting his articles to the exigencies of a newspaper,

has forced SAINT-BEUVE into a concision both of style and exposition,

which greatly improves his sketches; and we know not which to admire

most, the variety of his attainments or the skill of his pencil.

* * * * *

In History and Biography, European Continental literature has not been

doing very much lately. There is a new or newer volume, the eleventh,

of THIERS'S _Consulate and Empire_, and a Paris journalist of high

repute, M. DE LA GUERRONNIERE commences a promised series of _Portraits

Politiques Contemporains_ ("Portraits of Political Contemporaries"),

with a monograph of that "nephew of his uncle," the Prince-President of

the French Republic. A. M. LEONARD GALLOIS publishes in four volumes,

with illustrations, a _Histoire de la Revolution de 1848_ ("History of

the Revolution of 1848"), written from a republican-of-the-morrow point

of view. SAINT-BEUVE contributes to _The Constitutionnel_ graceful

sketches of the lately-deceased Duchess of ANGOULEME, and of RIVAROL,

the Royalist pamphleteer and man-of-all-work in the first revolution,

famed for the plaintive epigram, "MIRABEAU is paid, not sold; I am sold

but not paid," one of the saddest predicaments that poor humanity can

find itself in. A. M. COINDET has compressed WARBURTON'S _Prince Rupert

and the Cavaliers_ into a handy _Histoire de Prince Rupert_ ("History of

Prince Rupert"). The Germans send us the _Leben and Reden Sir Robert

Peel's_ ("Life and Speeches of Sir Robert Peel"), tolerably compiled by

one KUNZEL, and Italy has produced a new _Life of Paganini_. Worthy of

more extensive notice is EDOUARD FLEURY'S _Saint-Just et la Terreur_

("Saint Just and the Reign of Terror"), a biography of the "great Saint

of the Mountain," the fellow-triumvir of ROBESPIERRE, and partaker of

his fate, though not five-and-twenty; the fanatic young man who,

scarcely beginning life, declared, "for revolutionists there is no rest

but in the tomb!" FLEURY is a clever and active young journalist in the

department of the Aisne, SAINT-JUST'S birth-country--the same who lately

brought out the very interesting "Memoir of Camille Desmoulins," and an

equally interesting historical study, "Babaeuf and Socialism in 1796."

FLEURY has gone about his biographical task in the proper way; roamed up

and down the country side, sketching the scenery in which his subject

spent "a sulky adolescence," and collecting anecdotes and reminiscences.

One of these is worth retailing. An old woman who knew SAINT-JUST well

when a boy, pointed out "an alley of old trees" where he used to stalk

and spout: when he came into the house, after one of these soliloquies,

quoth the old woman, "he would say terrible things to us!"

* * * * *

First in the list of recent French novels is the far-famed JULES JANIN'S

_Gaieties Champetres_ ("Rural Gaieties"), which all Paris is eagerly

devouring. The scene is laid in the era of LOUIS XV., and the story

(alas!) is worthy of the period, and must not be recited here. More

innocent are _Les Derniers Paysans_ ("The Last Peasants"), by EMILE

SOUVESTRE, a cycle of graphic, and, for the most part, gloomy stories,

meant to embalm the superstitions, which still linger among the

peasantry of Brittany, soon to be dispelled by the march of

civilization. ARMAND BARTHET'S _Henriette_, though a touching tale, is

not to be recommended. ALPHONSE KARR, a writer scarcely so well known

out of France as he deserves to be, promises _Recits sur la Plage_

("Stories from the Sea Shore"). KARR is the only living French novelist

who reminds one at all of THACKERAY, of whom he has some of the caustic

bitterness, but none of the light playfulness. He first became known by

his _Guepes_ ("Wasps"), a periodical consisting of little, sharp,

sarcastic, and isolated sentences, aimed at the quacks and quackeries of

the day. With all this, he has a true feeling for nature, which is

sometimes, however, carried to an absurd length.

A recent number of the official _Moniteur_ contains a long report to the

Minister of Public Instruction, by M. VATTEMARE, on the "literary

exchanges" which have recently been effected between France and the

United States. It is not, perhaps, generally known that the governments,

universities, colleges, scientific societies, literary establishments,

medical and legal bodies, borough municipalities, and commercial

associations of the two countries, have for years past been in the habit

of making exchanges of books. They have thus got rid of duplicate copies

which were rotting on their shelves, and have received in return works

which it would have cost vast sums to purchase. A more useful

arrangement could not possibly be conceived; and at the same time it has

the advantage of spreading knowledge, and of increasing the friendly

relations between the two peoples.

* * * * *

M. Ch. Pieters has published the "_Annales de l'Imprimerie

Elzevirienne_," giving copious details on the life and exertions of the

famous printers, the ELZEVIRS. This book is the result of very extensive

researches on this subject, as there were fourteen members of that

family who were printers and publishers during a period of 120 years. M.

Pieters's book contains quite new data obtained from authentic sources;

to which he has added a list of all the works issued from the Elzevir

presses, followed by one of those which have been erroneously attributed

to them, and another of such as are the continuation of works published

at that celebrated establishment.

* * * * *

The Paris papers state that the Free Society of Fine Arts in that

capital are subscribing for a monument to the Late M. DAGUERRE--who was

a member of their body--to be erected at Petit-Brie, where the

distinguished artist lies buried.

* * * * *

Henry Heine, the German poet, whom his countrymen insist on comparing

with Lord Byron, has published a collection of the poems of his later

years, under the title of "Romances." The book, which all the German

papers concur in eulogizing, and a large edition of which was sold

within a few days after its publication, is divided into three parts,

Histories, Lamentations, and Hebrew Melodies. A brief prose notice

prefixed announces that the skeptic has become a believer, and hurls

defiance at the Hegelians refusing (to use his own words) "to herd swine

with them any longer." This celebrated poet, and perhaps the only man

who has succeeded in uniting German solidity and grandeur to French

elegance and wit, is now languishing on his death-bed. Recovery is

impossible, and his state is such that death would be almost a blessing,

though in him the world would lose one of the most remarkable geniuses

of modern times. In the intervals between the paroxysms of his malady he

composes verses, and (being deprived of the use of his limbs and of his

eyesight) dictates them to his friends. He also occupies himself at

times in inditing memoirs of his life, and as he has seen a good deal of

French society, and was a shrewd and intelligent observer, he has much

to say. One consequence of his long and lamentable sickness has been to

effect a complete change in his religious views--the mocking Voltairian

skeptic has become a devout believer.

* * * * *

We see it stated that in the short space of time between the Easter fair

and the 30th of September there were published in Germany no less than

3860 new works, and there were on the latter date 1130 new works in the

press. Nearly five thousand new works in one country of Europe in one

half year! Of the 3860 works already published, more than half treat of

various matters connected with science and its concerns. That is to

say--descending to particulars--106 works treat of Protestant theology;

62 of Catholic theology; 36 of philosophy; 205 of history and biography;

102 of languages; 194 of natural sciences; 168 of military tactics; 108

of medicine; 169 of jurisprudence; 101 of politics; 184 of political

economy; 83 of industry and commerce; 87 of agriculture and forest

administration; 69 of public instruction; 92 of classical philology; 80

of living languages; 64 of the theory of music and the arts of design;

168 of the fine arts in general; 48 of popular writings; 28 of mixed

sciences; and 18 of bibliography. It is satisfactory to see, after their

recent comparative neglect, that science and the arts begin to resume

their old sway over the German mind.

* * * * *

The Frankfort journals state that, in consequence of the rigor displayed

by the Saxon Government with respect to the press, the booksellers of

Leipzig seriously intend to remove the general book fair to Berlin or

Brunswick.

* * * * *

In Germany, Austria excluded, appear 746 newspapers; of which 646 are

printed in German, 5 in French, 1 in English, 15 in Polish, 3 in Wendish

(the Wenden are a Slavonic people in the midst of Germany), 7 in the

Lutheran language. In all Europe, according to official statements, 1356

news papers are published, of which 169 are issued at Paris, 97 at

London, 79 at Berlin, 68 at Leipzig, 36 at St. Petersburg, 24 at Vienna.

* * * * *

Dr. Augustus Pfizmaier, of Vienna, has published the first part, in

ninety-two pages folio, of a Dictionary of the Japanese language.

* * * * *

Baron Alexander Von Humboldt has announced the discovery at Athens of

the edifice in which the Council of Four Hundred was in the habit of

assembling in ancient times. Few particulars of the alleged discovery

are given; but it is added, that more than a hundred inscriptions have

been found by the excavators--and that a number of columns, statues, and

other relics have been already dug up.

* * * * *

Dr. Hefele's German work on _Cardinal Ximenes_ and the _Ecclesiastical

Affairs of Spain_ in the 15th and 16th century, has just reached a

second edition.

* * * * *

One of the principal literary men of Spain, Don Juan Hartzenbusch,

assisted by the publisher, Senor Rivadencyra, has commenced a reprint of

the works of her most distinguished authors, from the earliest ages to

the present time. This reprint is entitled "Biblioteca de Autores

Espanoles," and it is a more difficult undertaking than things of the

kind in western and northern Europe. For as very many of the works of

the principal authors never having been printed at all, the compiler has

to hunt after them in libraries, in convents, and in out-of-the-way

places; while others, having been negligently printed, or "improved" by

friends, or disfigured by enemies, have to be revised line by line. Some

idea of the importance of this gentleman's labors maybe formed from the

fact, that he has brought to light not fewer than _fourteen_ comedies of

Calderon de la Barca, which previous editors were unable to discover.

The total number of Calderon's pieces the world now possesses is

therefore 122; and there is every reason to believe that they are all he

wrote, with the exception of two or three, which there is not the

slightest hope of recovering. In addition to this, M. Hartzenbusch has

carefully corrected the text from the original manuscripts in the

Theatre del Principe, or authentic copies deposited elsewhere; and he

has added notes, which throw great light on the most obscure passages.

Moreover, he has given a chronological table of the order in which

Calderon produced his plays. But what, perhaps, is the most curious

thing of all is, that he demonstrates that "le grand Corneille" of

France actually borrowed, not plots alone, but whole passages from

Calderon. His play of _Heraclius_, for instance, has evidently been

taken from Calderon's comedy called _En esta vida todo es verdad y todo

mentira_. Some of the passages are literal translations.

* * * * *

Daily, about noon, writes the _Weser Zeitung_, the loungers "Under the

Linden" at Berlin, are startled by the extraordinary appearance of a

tall, lanky woman, whose thin limbs are wrapped up in a long black robe

or coarse cloth. An old crumpled bonnet covers her head, which,

continually moving, turns restlessly in all directions. Her hollow

cheeks are flushed with a morbid coppery glow; one of her eyes is

immovable, for it is of glass, but her other eye shines with a feverish

brilliancy, and a strange and almost awful smile hovers constantly about

her thin lips. This woman moves with an unsteady, quick step, and

whenever her black mantilla is flung back by the violence of her

movements, a small rope of hair, with a crucifix at the end, is plainly

seen to bind her waist. This black, ungainly woman is the quondam

authoress, Countess IDA HAHN-HAHN, who has turned a Catholic, and is now

preparing for a pilgrimage to Rome, to crave the Pope's absolution for

her literary trespasses.

* * * * *

Professor Nuylz, whose work on canon law has but recently been condemned

by the Holy See, resumed his lectures at Turin, on the 6th. The

lecture-room was crowded, and the learned professor was received with

loud applause. In the course of his lecture he adverted to the hostility

of the clergy, and to the Papal censures of his work, which censures he

declared to be in direct opposition to the rights of the civil power. He

expressed his thanks to the ministry for having refused to deprive him

of his chair.

* * * * *

We hear from Rome that the library of the Vatican is to receive the

valuable collection of Oriental manuscripts made by the late Monsignor

Molsa--Laureani's successor.

* * * * *

Two curious instances of the favor that Literature and Art are to

receive from the Ultra-montane party on the continent of Europe, have

recently occurred. From Paris we learn that a relative of Mr. Gladstone

has been excluded from a _cercle_, or club, in that city by the priestly

party, because his uncle, the member for Oxford, had the courage to

denounce the senseless tyranny of the Neapolitan government! The other

instance amounts to the grotesque. It is the case of a young Roman

artist, who is banished from Rome for the crime of being called Giovanni

Mazzini! The very name of the late Triumvir--it would seem--is about to

be proscribed in the Roman States, as that of Macgregor was, in time

gone by, in Scotland. To the question "What's in a name?" the Roman

government gives a very significant and practical reply.

* * * * *

We learn from Muenster, Westphalia, that some fresco paintings of the

13th century have been lately discovered in the church at Seremhorst,

near that town, and that a curious specimen of painted glass has been

found at Legenwinden. In the chief aisle of Patroklus Church, at Soest,

Romanic frescos and statuettes of the 12th century have been discovered,

and measures taken to remove from them the coatings of lime and plaster

which the fanaticism or the ignorance of former years has heaped on

them. It has also been discovered that the Nicolai Chapel, in Soest

Cathedral, is entirely covered with very curious paintings of the 12th

century.

* * * * *

On the 29th October, died at Brighton, Mr. WILLIAM WYON, a medal

engraver of admirable skill, and probably more widely known by his works

than any other living artist. Mr. Wyon was the engraver of the later

coins of King George the Fourth, and of all the coins of William the

Fourth and of her present Majesty. Mr. Wyon's medals include the recent

war medals of the Peninsula, Trafalgar, Jellalabad, and Cabul--the civic

medals of the Royal Academy, the Royal Society, the Royal Institution,

the Geological Society, the Geographical Society, the Bengal Asiatic

Society, and indeed of almost every learned society, home and colonial.

Mr. Wyon was in his 57th year. Much of his genius is inherited by his

son Leonard--known by his medals of Wordsworth and others, and honorably

distinguished in the recent awards at the Great Exhibition.

* * * * *

The London journals announce the decease of the Rev. J. Hobart Caunter.

Eighteen years ago this gentleman's appearances in the world of

ephemeral literature were frequent--and fairly successful. He was the

author of "The Island Bride," a poem of some length, and editor of "The

Oriental Annual." Besides these, Mr. Caunter produced translations, and

one or two graver works on historical and Biblical subjects.

* * * * *

The foreign papers report the death of the Chevalier Lavy, Member of the

Council of Mines in Sardinia, and of the Academy of Sciences in

Turin--and described as being one of the most learned of Italian

numismatists. He had created at great cost a Museum of Medals, which he

presented to his country, and which bears his name.

* * * * *

The French papers report the death, at Moscow, of M. de Saint Priest--a

member of the French Academy, formerly a Peer of France--and the author

of several historical works.

* * * * *

Dr. Paul Erman, the Nestor of Prussian _savans_, died recently at

Berlin, at the advanced age of eighty-seven. In addition to innumerable

articles on different subjects in scientific periodicals, he published

important works on electricity, galvanism, magnetism, physiology, and

optics.

* * * * *

The Continental papers report the death, at Jena, of Professor

WOLFF.--Professor HUMBERT, of the Academy of Geneva, a distinguished

Orientalist, and author of many learned works, is also reported to have

died, on the 19th of last month.

MR. POTTS'S NEW YEAR'S.

Mr. T. Pemberton Potts--thus he always wrote his name, though the

"Family Record," which sets forth the genesis of the house of Potts,

does not contain the sonorous trisyllable which follows the modest

initial T., which is all that he ever acknowledges of his baptismal

appellation of TIMOTHY--Mr. Potts had been in great tribulation all day,

in the apprehension that hatter, or tailor, or bootmaker would fail to

send home the articles of their craft in which he proposed to make a

sensation in his to-morrow's "New-Year's Calls." But his apprehensions

were groundless. For a wonder, all these artists kept their word; and

the last installment arrived fully two hours before the Old Year had

taken its place in the silent and irrevocable Past. As one by one came

in the brilliant beaver, the exquisite paletot, the unimpeachable

swallow-tail, the snowy vest, the delicate, pearl-gray "continuations,"

and the resplendent boots, which Cinderella might have assumed, had she

lived in the days of "Bloomerism," Mr. Potts displayed them

scientifically over a chair, and gazed upon the picture they presented,

as fondly as painter ever gazed upon the canvas upon which he had flung

his whole burning soul.

[Illustration: MR. POTTS MAKES HIS TOILET.]

When Mr. Potts awoke on the following morning, he was half afraid to

open his eyes, for fear that the whole should prove a dream, too

blissful to be true. After he had mustered courage to look, and found it

to be all real, he lay for a while in lazy rapture, feeding his eyes

upon the picture, which seemed more beautiful by daylight than it had

appeared by the midnight camphene, of the preceding night.

Having performed the initial rites of the toilet, Mr. Potts attempted to

assume the admired boots; but found to his cost that the disciple of St.

Crispin had too literally obeyed his injunctions to give him a "snug

fit." In vain he tugged and pulled, excoriating his fingers against the

unyielding straps--his dressing apparatus did not comprise a pair of

boot-hooks--his foot would no more _in_ than Lady Macbeth's blood-fleck

would _out_. At last, by dispensing with his "lambs-wools," diligently

lubricating the leather, and introducing a handkerchief into one strap,

and a towel into the other, so as to gain a firmer hold, he succeeded in

insinuating his naked feet into their places. "It is the first step that

costs," says the French proverb, and Mr. Potts's first step in his new

boots cost him an agonizing thrill in his toes, which threatened to put

a veto upon his hopes of wearing them that day. Having fully arrayed

himself, Mr. Potts mounted a chair, so as to bring the lower part of his

figure within the range of his somewhat diminutive dressing-glass, and

finding that the image which met his view fully equaled his

anticipations, he bestowed upon it a farewell smile of approbation and

set off upon his rounds.

[Illustration: MR. POTTS SUFFERS--INEXPRESSIBLY.]

He was soon at the door of the up-town mansion whither Mr. Briggs had

retired from the "dry-salted," "roans," and "skivers" of the "Swamp,"

with a plum in his pocket, and one fair daughter whom Mr. Potts loved

well if not wisely. Just as he was about to ascend the marble steps, an

omnibus dashed by, and to the infinite horror of the wearer, deposited

several large mud-blotches upon the delicate pearl-gray inexpressibles,

in which were encased the nether limbs of the unfortunate Mr. Potts.

With a muttered malediction between his teeth, he rang the bell, and was

ushered into the hall. As he had come somewhat early, with the hope of

finding the fair Mary Briggs alone, in which case he determined to make

more than a passing call, he was in the act of laying aside his paletot,

when a shrill cry and a simultaneous pang, made him aware that the tail

of a monstrous cat was crushed under his boot, while the claws of the

agonized animal were firmly fixed in his leg. Mr. Potts could not at

once free himself from the hold of the enraged beast, for his arms were

pinioned behind him by his upper garment, of which he was disencumbering

himself. This circumstance nowise tended to restore his mental

equilibrium, which had been disturbed by the previous occurrences.

[Illustration: MR. POTTS IS DISCOMPOSED.]

Bewildered and confused, instead of passing through the door of the

drawing-room, which was held open for him by the sable attendant, Mr.

Potts rushed up the broad staircase, and burst into the first door he

saw. Here he encountered a spectacle which sent the perspiration to his

forehead faster than the most vigorous application of his handkerchief

could remove it. He found himself in the presence of a matronly dame,

robed in the loosest possible of dressing-gowns, her hair hanging down

her neck, while a heap of articles which had fallen from her lap as she

hastily rose, and lay at her feet, showed that, mindful of the economics

of her "below Bleecker-street" days, the stately Mrs. Briggs had been

engaged in repairing certain portions of her husband's wardrobe. A

rustling sound, which met his ears, though at first he could not tell

whence it came, was explained, when the eyes of Mr. Potts fell upon a

glass so placed as to reflect objects behind a screen. There he saw the

rubicund visage of the worthy ex-leather-dealer peeping out from the

folds of a cloak, which hung against the wall, while the portion of his

figure appearing below its bottom, showed that he was in a state as

remote as could well be conceived from full dress.

[Illustration: MR. POTTS FINDS HIMSELF IN THE WRONG APARTMENT.]

Had Mr. Potts been writing his own biography, the next few minutes must

have been a blank, so far as any definite reminiscences on his own part

were concerned. He has a dim recollection of stammering out something

about "mistaking the room," the "industry of Penelope," and "begging

pardon;" then he remembers somebody, he hardly knows whether himself or

not, rushing down-stairs, and passing through a door held open before

him. Then he said, or heard somebody say something about "compliments of

the season," "many returns," "fine day," "the gentlemen are favored,"

"make many calls?" At last, when he fully came to himself, he found that

he was sitting in a drawing-room, his hat between his knees, and a cup

of coffee in his hand. Near him was a table upon which, instead of a

vulgar eating-house display of all the "delicacies of the season," was

simply a massive coffee-urn, and two or three articles of plate. Before

the table stood a lovely figure dressed in the purest white, her

countenance lit up with the most enchanting smile in the world.

Mr. Potts found himself in the very situation in which he had hoped to

be. He had been the first to make his appearance that morning, and he

thought himself sure of a long _tete-a-tete_ with the fair Mary Briggs.

In anticipation of this he had conned over in his own mind a variety of

brilliant remarks, with which he purposed to enliven the conversation,

and which he fully intended should impress upon her mind the conviction

that he was an extremely agreeable young man. But things never turn out

in such cases precisely as one has arranged them. The gentleman himself

was not over-gifted with extempore conversational powers, and the

adventures of the morning had not tended to remedy the deficiency. He

quite forgot the criticisms which--_a propos_ of the Opera--he had

intended to make upon Truffi and Parodi, Benedetti and Beneventano, for

the getting-up of which he had almost learned by heart the cant of the

musical critics. Even his raptures about Jenny Lind came coldly off. But

the liveliness of the lady made amends for his deficiencies: the more

silent and embarrassed he became, the more brilliant and charming she

grew, and the more earnestly were his eyes fixed upon the charming

countenance that beamed down upon him.

[Illustration: MR. POTTS ENCHANTED.]

"How she did talk!" said Mr. Potts to us, one day, not long after the

occurrence. He had invited us to dine with him at Delmonico's, when he

would tell us how we could "do him a great favor--that's a good fellow."

As we were sure of a good dinner and a capital Regalia afterward; and

knew, moreover, that Mr. Potts never wanted to borrow money, we of

course accepted the invitation. He wanted us to go and "put things right

with old Briggs about that confounded New Year's scrape," and so

unburdened his whole soul to us.--"How she did talk!" said Mr. Potts;

"she knows every thing! Had I heard this Opera, and that? and didn't I

admire this passage and that? and then she would go off into her Italian

lingo, which I couldn't understand a word of. I didn't know she

understood Italian. However, I'm glad I found it out--I know what to

make of that handsome, dark-complexioned fellow, with black eyes and

hair, and such a mustache, that I used to see coming out of old Briggs's

every day or two--he was her Italian teacher. And then about Jenny Lind,

and there was more Italian, and I don't know what. And then had I

visited the Duesseldorff Gallery? and wasn't I in love with those little

Fairies? and didn't the tears start to my eyes when I saw the Silesian

Weavers? and what did I think of the Nativity? and did I ever see any

thing so comical as the Student? and wasn't the Wine-Tasters admirable?

and wasn't it wonderful that a man could put so much soul upon a bit of

canvas, not larger than one's nail, with no materials except a few red,

and yellow, and blue, and brown colors, and a few bristles fastened into

the end of a stick? and--" But we forbear: Mr. Potts's confidences are

sacred. We inferred, from his embarrassment and her volubility, that he

was in love, and she wasn't--with him.

[Illustration: MR. POTTS ASSUMES A STRIKING ATTITUDE.]

Mr. Potts gazed up into her face with his heart in his mouth:--it had

been better for him, just then to have had his coffee there. A scalding

sensation made him look down, when to his horror he found that he had

been quietly emptying his cup into his hat, and had finished by

depositing the last of its scalding contents upon his knees. He gave a

start of agony and horror, when the treacherous chair, upon the edge of

which he had been perched, slid out from under him, and he found himself

seated upon the floor. The fragile china, which he held in his hand, was

shattered into a score of fragments, while his hat, in falling, came in

contact with the lady, who was standing before him, and bestowed its

contents in the most liberal manner upon her snowy dress.

Mary Briggs was as sweet a girl as the city held on that New Year's Day,

but even she could not prevent a look, half of vexation, and half of

amusement, from passing over her countenance. The frown was but

transient, and soon passed off into an expression of sympathy for the

condition of the luckless gentleman at her feet. Mr. Potts, however, did

not perceive the change. With a sudden spring he made for the door of

the room. Two strides more brought him to the street door, which the

servant was just then closing behind a new visitor. He rushed through

like a whirlwind, without noticing their astonished looks, and shut the

door after him with a report like a thunder-clap.

[Illustration: A SENSATION.]

He had taken only a single step from the threshold when he found himself

suddenly detained by an irresistible power, while at the same instant a

sudden darkness came over his vision, as though a black curtain had been

drawn between his eyes and the world without. He leaned against the door

for support, with a terrible apprehension that his overwrought nervous

system had yielded to the shock, and that he had been struck with sudden

paralysis and blindness. But finding, in the course of a few moments,

that the weakness did not increase, he proceeded to investigate his

situation. Seeing a faint glimmer of light, like the narrow line shining

under the door of an illuminated apartment, he put his hand to his eyes,

and found that the obscuration was caused by the hat, which had slipped

down from his forehead, and was now resting on the tip of his nose. He

took it off, and beheld the well-known broad-brim which was wont to

cover the capacious head of Mr. Briggs, instead of his own resplendent

beaver. Mr. Potts then proceeded to examine into the cause of his

detention, and found that the skirt of his coat had caught in the door.

The whole matter was now plain. In his exodus through the hall, he had

snatched up the only hat he saw, forgetting that his own was lying in

the drawing-room beside the broken china; his hasty flight had projected

his skirts horizontally as he passed through the door, which had closed

upon them. The shock occasioned by the sudden check upon his progress,

had brought the hat, too large for his head, over his eyes. The whole

extent of his misfortune dawned gradually upon him. The keen January air

reminded him that he had left his upper garment in the hall, while his

benumbed fingers admonished him that the primrose kids, which he had so

carefully selected, were ornamental rather than useful. He hesitated

whether he should ring to be released from his durance, and to recover

the missing articles of his apparel; but a sound within warned him that

the visitor whom he had met was just taking his departure; and he felt

that he could not encounter him. With a desperate tug at his coat, he

tore himself away, leaving a fragment of the skirt behind him, and

rushed down the steps.

[Illustration: MR POTTS TEARS HIMSELF AWAY.]

Mr. Potts was in no mood or condition to pursue his intended rounds. His

only thought was how to bestow himself for the remainder of the day,

till he could creep home unobserved, under cover of night. He made his

way to one of the obscure streets running parallel with Broadway, down

which he went till he reached Florence's. He rushed through the whole

length of the long saloon, and took possession of the box most remote

from the door. The waiter was astonished by the multiplicity and

singular character of the orders which kept coming all that afternoon

from No. 19, in which cigars and potables largely figured.

[Illustration: MR. POTTS RECEIVES A LECTURE ON TEMPERANCE.]

Toward ten o'clock, Mr. Potts might have been seen making his way down

Broadway, with a peculiarly oscillating motion. He had just reached the

corner of Murray-street, and was felicitating himself that the troubles

of the day were over, when he found his progress checked by a strong

hand fastened upon his collar. He looked up with a stupid stare, and was

half sobered by the sight of Mr. Briggs, in his well-known fur-trimmed

wrapper. That worthy gentleman's special hobby was Temperance, and he

never failed to trot it out on all available occasions. Mr. Potts

clearly furnished such an occasion. In vain he protested that he had

drunk only a single glass "o' bran'y-'n-wa-r-r." Mr. Briggs had an

infallible test of a man's sobriety; If he could say "_National

Intelligencer_," he was sober: if not, not. Mr. Potts's nearest approach

to these sounds was, "_Na-s-nl'ntl-n'sr_." From the fact of his present

condition, Mr. Briggs leaped to the conclusion that his conduct in the

morning was owing to the same cause, and proceeded to set forth the

enormity and danger of such a course, to the great edification of a

group who soon gathered around. After being kept for half an hour

shivering in the cold, Mr. Potts was suffered to escape. He saw that he

was under a cloud, and was at a loss what to do, till the lucky thought

struck him, of securing our intervention to "set the matter straight

with old Briggs:" whence our acquaintance with all the facts of the

case, of which so many contradictory accounts have been circulated about

town.

A LEAF FROM PUNCH.

[Illustration: "Now, then, Granny, I've eaten the Plums, and if you

don't give me Sixpence, I'll swallow the Stones!"]

[Illustration: Mr. BOOBY delivering his Lecture in and upon the New

Costume for Males.]

[Illustration: A "BLOOMER" (in _Leap Year_).--"Say! oh, say, Dearest,

will you be mine?"]

[Illustration: STRONG-MINDED "BLOOMER."--"Now, do, Alfred, put down that

foolish Novel, and do something rational. Go and play something. You

never practice, now you're married."]

WINTER FASHIONS.

[Illustration: FIGS. 1 AND 2.--HOME AND WALKING DRESSES.]

Short cloaks and mantillas, with dark figured dresses, compose the most

fashionable walking costume for this season. They are recommended for

their elegance, comfort, and convenience.

Figure 1 represents a HOME or DINNER DRESS.--No cap, and hair arranged

in puffed bands, ornamented with two tufts of taffeta ribbons,

intermixed with a few small loops of No. 2 velvet; then, quite behind,

these loops become longer; lastly, on each side hang long loose ends of

taffeta ribbon, and others of velvet not so long. The dress is quite a

new model; it is _a disposition_; that is to say, the designs are so

arranged as to fall in certain parts of the dress. The material is very

thick, dark silk, a sort of _lampas_. The top of the skirt is worked

with very light, black designs, which do not reach quite up to the

waist. The stripes are obtained in the stuff by imitations of velvet,

which simulate the appearance of velvet ribbons of graduated widths. The

black lace is also woven in the stuff, and imitates real lace very

naturally. The body and sleeves are plain, except at the edge of the

lapel and the sleeves, where some light designs are combined in the

fabric in the same style as the lace in the skirt; the lapel and sleeves

are trimmed with real black lace. Two large velvet rosettes ornament the

body; and a similar one holds up each sleeve, just above the bend of the

arm. These special patterns woven in the fabric may be replaced by the

application of ornaments of velvet ribbon and real lace on the

skirt.--Mittens of black silk embroidered: these mittens are

indispensable with the sleeves now worn. They come up the arm and

accompany the trimming of the pagodas; the flounces on the arm have an

excellent effect. Between the black lace of the sleeve and the trimmings

of the mitten, there is some white lace trimming, which gives an air of

lightness to the whole.--There is another very pretty style of Dinner

Costume. It consists of a jupe of pale buff satin, with deep volant,

headed by a narrow ruche of the same; _loin de feu_ of crimson velvet,

low in the neck; the jacket being _a la Hongroie_; wide pagoda sleeves,

finished by a very broad silk trimming, the jacket edged to correspond.

A scarf of black lace is tied negligently round the neck, falling over

the top of the corsage.

Figure 2 represents a WALKING COSTUME. Bonnet of satin velvet; the front

satin, the crown velvet. The edge of the front, is trimmed with two

small satin _bouillonnes_; the _bouillonnes_ of the band and crown are

velvet.--Dress of black lampas, figured: the patterns form wreaths one

over the other, with a large flower and pointed leaves detaching

themselves through difference of shade in the worked figures on the

plain ground.--Cloak, of black velvet. This cloak, very full, has a

large flat collar, pointed in front, rounded behind. From the points

hang very long black silk tassels, with broad ornaments over them.

Behind, the cloak is continued in a round shape, but longer than in

front. The fore parts lap over and drape one on the other; the right

side clasps almost behind, on the left shoulder, under the collar; from

this place hangs a long tassel, as well as at the bottom of the side

that laps over. All around the edge of the cloak and collar is silk

galloon, from three to four inches wide, sewed on flat; each side of

this galloon is satined for about half an inch in width, and the middle

is worked dead. The edge is finished off with a narrow fringe, little

more than half an inch wide. In the draped part, when the arm is raised,

the lining is seen; its color contrasts with the stuff.

[Illustration: FIG. 3.--WALKING COSTUME.]

Figure 3 represents a full winter costume, for a pleasant day, when furs

are not indispensable. Bonnet, satin and blond. The brim is transparent,

of white blond, gathered; it comes forward on the forehead, and opens

off at the sides; the crown is rather square; it is made of white satin,

gathered so as to form a shell without stiffness. The sides of the crown

are composed of two small puffed rolls and a large _bouillonne_, all of

white satin. The top of the crown is covered with a piece of blond which

comes down and forms the curtain. Three white feathers at the side; the

bottom one comes forward against the cheek, and covers the edge of the

brim with its curls. The cheeks are trimmed with tufts of blue

primroses. The strings are No. 22; they are edged with dead stripes

crossed with small bars. Dress of black velvet. Winter mantelet of black

velvet and blue satin, lined with blue satin, and trimmed with blue

loose fringe, mixed with ends of black twisted _chenille_. This

mantelet, round behind, has the stole shape in front; it is composed of

bands of black velvet, from three to four inches wide, and bands of blue

satin. Both velvet and satin are drawn in the middle and gathered like a

bonnet; nothing can be rounder, softer, more luxuriously warm than this

garment. The fringes at the edge are about seven inches deep where the

arm comes, and deepen gradually toward the back, where they are ten

inches deep.

[Illustration: FIGS. 4 AND 5.--HOOD AND HEAD-DRESS.]

Figure 4 represents the hood of a new and graceful mantle for

promenading in the open air, for a short distance. The appearance of the

hood is very graceful. When the mantle is worn in walking in private

grounds, or going to a place of amusement, the hair can be arranged in

any style, without danger of being disturbed, or with a bonnet. A mantle

of blue silk, the hood and body trimmed with deep black lace, headed

with a _ruche_ of silk, is a pretty style. The bottom edge of the hood,

and the part which draws over the head, should be thus trimmed, the

latter having a fulling of lace.

Figure 5 shows a portion of a very chaste costume for a young married

lady. Hair ornamented with broad velvet ribbons rolled in the torsade

and with ends floating at each side. Plain silk dress with the body very

open in front, and the trimming composed of a worked band, four inches

wide, sewed flat on another of eight or ten inches broad; this trimming,

which is not gathered, forms a kind of double _berthe_, and gets less

toward the bottom so as to round off gracefully, and not mark the waist

too decidedly. Three bows of black velvet decorate the front of the

body. The sleeves are short, and have two rows of gathered trimming; the

skirt which is very ample, is smooth at top, and trimmed below with six

figured flounces, a small one over a larger one, three times its width.

When this figured stuff is not at hand, it may be replaced by embroidery

or a simple festoon. The figures are worked in white. The habit shirt is

made of silk-net, is high and square in front, where it is finished off

with two rows of lace standing up. The body is rich open-work insertions

and small plaits. The under-sleeves have a silk-net _bouillon_, with

handsome lace raised in front, by a black velvet bow.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE

1. Numerous missing periods have been inserted, and a few obvious

printer's errors corrected. Inconsistent hyphenation has not been

corrected.

2. At bottom of page 27, a confused series of five double quotes

have been corrected to two double quotes and two pairs of (internal)

single quotes.

3. The spelling "vailed" has been retained as acceptable in 19th

Century writing.

4. Headers in Gothic script, even when printed in title case, have

been rendered in all caps.