JULIAN.

LIFE AND TIMES OF THE LATE WILLIAM ABBOTT: SECOND

NOTICE.--This entertaining work, from the MS. of which

we quoted several admirable passages in our last number, is now in

the hands of the BROTHERS HARPER; and when it shall appear,

it will be found to sustain, and more than sustain, the character we

have given of it. We annex one or two additional extracts which were

prepared for our November issue. In the following incident, we rather

incline to the opinion, Mr. ABBOTT 'had the worst of it;' his

evident self-satisfaction to the contrary notwithstanding:

'ON my return to London from Paris, the farewell engagement

of Mr. _Kemble_ took place; and in the play of 'Cato,' Mr.

YOUNG had relinquished the toga of 'Portius,' which fell

most unworthily upon my shoulders. A rehearsal was called on my

account; but all the adjuncts of trumpets, drums, etc., were not

considered necessary. My usual exuberance of spirits would have

placed me in a most awkward position, but for the extreme simplicity

of the great tragedian. When CATO is seated in council, an

announcement is made of ambassadors from the senate, through the

medium of a flourish of trumpets. Without a moment's hesitation or

thought, I gave an imitation of the required instrument, to the

perfect astonishment of all the performers. They looked at me, to see

if there was any appearance of sanity left in me. I hung my head in

dismay, fully expecting a severe lecture from the chief; the actors

of course enjoying the anticipated censure; but to the astonishment

of all parties, Mr. KEMBLE looked up with evident surprise,

and said: 'Well, I declare, that is one of the most extraordinary

things I ever heard in the whole course of my life. My good boy, do

it again.' I naturally felt that this was meant as a kindly reproof,

and with some little hesitation, I repeated it. The actors now began

to chuckle; but Mr. KEMBLE retained his gravity, and was

again astonished by my performance. He then made an asthmatic attempt

to do the same, but his wind would not fill the instrument; and with

an effort amounting to 'Pooh! I can't do it!' he said: 'Well, now we

will go on with our rehearsal.' It was quite evident, from his general

manner, that he really did look upon it as an extraordinary effort.

I triumphed, consequently, and had the laugh against those who were

exulting in the prospect of congratulating me on the loss of a week's

salary.'

The annexed anecdote of 'old MATHEWS' occurs in a description

of the dinner given by JOHN KEMBLE, soon after his retirement

from the stage, to some of the principal actors of Covent-Garden

Theatre, at which TALMA was present, as already recorded:

'AT this dinner but one feeling prevailed; and the only alloy

was the thought that perhaps we looked upon our host for the last

time; an anticipation soon too painfully realized.[A] The inventive

talents of MATHEWS were of the highest order; nor were they

merely confined to the common peculiarities of the individual in whom

he took an interest, but he had the art of throwing his whole mind

and spirit into the very _genius_ of the man. I had lived on the most

intimate terms with that fine-hearted and most eccentric creature;

indeed, my acquaintance with him commenced at Bath, and very soon

after I entered the profession: I was consequently inducted into all

the peculiar bearings of his oddly-constructed mind. In the course

of the evening, in the midst of the most social gayety, and flashes

of wit that would have enlightened the dullest of mortals, I arose,

and asked Mr. KEMBLE'S permission to propose the health of

a distinguished friend, which was immediately accorded. In a few

brief remarks, I stated how gratifying it must be to the whole party,

on such an occasion, to be honored with the presence of the late

Master of the Rolls in Ireland, Mr. CURRAN. This was quite

sufficient; for a great majority of persons at the table were aware of

the wonderful powers of MATHEWS, although little prepared for

so brilliant an exhibition of them. The extraordinary peculiarities of

Mr. CURRAN were sufficiently characteristic, to give effect

even to a common-place imitation; but MATHEWS was able to

enter into the disposition and thoughts of his subject as effectually

as if he had been changed into the very man. BURKE, speaking

of the imitative powers of a person of his acquaintance, said, that

whenever he thought proper to penetrate into the inclinations of those

with whom he had to deal, he composed his face, his gestures, and

his whole body, as nearly as possible into the exact similitude of

the person whom he intended to examine, and then carefully observed

what turn of mind he seemed to acquire by the change. Such a man was

MATHEWS. He immediately arose, and made a brilliant oration.

He scattered the flowers of poesy with the most lavish hand; not a

metaphor did he lose, that could in the slightest degree illustrate

the departure of KEMBLE from the stage; the brilliancy

of the setting sun, the tears of MELPOMENE, the joys of

THALIA at the prospect of her undivided reign, etc. There was

no hesitation, no pause; and he concluded with a peroration which was

perfectly electrifying; for he concentrated all his powers, and when

he did this, he was irresistible. I scarcely ever witnessed so glowing

a scene; and Mr. KEMBLE seemed lost in utter astonishment.

It must be perfectly understood that no previous arrangement had

taken place, and that my proposition was made at hazard, and without

communicating with an individual.'

[Footnote A: MR. KEMBLE retired soon after to Lausanne, where,

after a short residence, he was seized with an apoplectic fit, which

was soon followed by another and fatal attack. By the same malady fell

also his friend and fervent admirer, Mr. ABBOTT.

ED. KNICKERBOCKER.

]

Here is a very pleasant anecdote of Le MERCEIR, the

distinguished author of the 'Tableaux de Paris,' a remarkable old man,

whose daughter was the wife of KENNEY, the author of 'Raising

the Wind,' 'The World,' etc.:

'ON one occasion, he crossed over from Paris to London to

visit his daughter, who a few months previous had given birth to a

pair of fine boys. 'On arriving at the house in Bedford-Square, he

found, to his great mortification, that she had left that day with

her husband for Brompton, leaving behind the nurse and one of the

twin-children, to join them on the following day. The old gentleman's

distress was extreme, and greatly increased by his slight knowledge

of English, and the almost utter impossibility of making himself

understood. The servant, with the infant in her arms, came to his

relief. She had fortunately been living there during the time of

his previous visit. The old gentleman's agitation was intense; and

the tears rolling down his time-worn cheeks, made the interview

quite affecting. He clasped the unconscious child to his heart; and

anxious to see the other, gave vent to his inquiries in the following

words: '_Oh, mon petit! my dare!--ah! you littel rog!--where is--ah!

yaas, where is--de oder piece belong to dis!_' At length with some

difficulty he found his way to Brompton; and when he arrived at his

daughter's lodgings, the family had retired to rest. After knocking

for a long time, a head was thrust out at the window, demanding to

know who was there. '_Opane, opane de door! I am de fader of all!_'

was the comprehensive reply, which of course procured him instant

admittance.'

MR. GOULD'S ABRIDGMENT OF ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE.--We have

good reason to believe, both from our knowledge of the capacity and

industry of Mr. GOULD, and an examination, at considerable

extent, of the abridged work before us, that the main and important

points of ALISON'S History are here preserved with great

care and fidelity; and that as a work of accurate historical record,

of _wonderful_ cheapness, it will doubtless command the 'patronage'

not only of many general readers, but more especially of colleges,

academies, and other seminaries of learning, for which, as we may

infer, it is deemed particularly appropriate. The editor claims, and

we have no doubt justly, to have 'extracted every material _fact_

from ALISON'S work, adding nothing of his own in the way

of opinion, argument, or assertion, and endeavoring to present the

original narrative in the _spirit_ of the author,' but _without_

endeavoring to preserve his language, which a condensation so great

rendered quite impossible. The work is presented upon good paper, with

a large, clear type, and reflects no little credit upon the 'New-World'

press of Mr. J. WINCHESTER.

GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS.--WE have

been profoundly impressed by reading in a late English periodical

a dissertation on the nature, origin, and destination of the

SOUL, written in 1793, by the Right Hon. WARREN

HASTINGS. He commences with the argument that our attachment to

this life is grounded on delusion, to the end that we may be compelled

to fulfil our allotted course through it, and that it may serve as a

preparative to a better state reserved for us in another. How forceful

and philosophical are the following sentences: 'In health all the

allurements of sense strongly attach the mind to that state of present

existence which furnishes the means of their gratification, and quicken

the relish of those enjoyments which are purely intellectual; while,

on the other hand, an instinct, infinitely more powerful, imprints on

the soul a fixed horror of its dissolution. Without these coöperative

principles, man would give himself no care about his preservation or

existence. They were, therefore, ordained by nature as necessary to

both. When sickness or the infirmity of age has exhausted all the

powers of life, and the dread of death has nothing left to excite

it but the last parting pang, the illusion of instinct, no longer

necessary, disappears, and leaves its place to be occupied by reason

alone, encumbered, perhaps, and enfeebled by the bodily weight which

oppresses it, but free from all desires or fears except those which

it derives from its conceptions of futurity.' In relation to the

_necessity_ of immortality--if we would not derogate from the power

and wisdom of the DEITY, or controvert our own experience

of the laws by which he regulates all his works--the writer remarks:

'Can we for a moment believe that a Being of infinite perfection has

made us for no other purpose than 'to fret our hour upon the stage'

of mortality, and then vanish into nothing? that He has quickened us

with sensations exquisitely susceptible of happiness and misery, to

make the latter only our general portion? that He has endowed us with

intellectual powers capable of extending their operations beyond the

bounds of this narrow sphere which we inhabit, and of penetrating into

the regions of infinite space, which we are destined never to see but

in contemplation? and that He has stimulated us with desires of future

bliss which we are never to enjoy?' No! He has made nothing in vain;

He has made nothing without ends adequate to its means; and though

all things may change, nothing perishes. Man was made susceptible of

happiness that he might be happy; he was made capable of receiving

but a small portion of happiness here, that its completion might be

made up in another state; and he had given him the conception and

hope of another and better state, that he might qualify himself for

it, and that he might hereafter possess it.' This is felicitously and

forcibly put, and will perhaps remind the reader of the fine lines of

BOWRING:

'IF all our hopes and all our fears

Were prisoned in life's narrow bound,

If, travellers in this vale of tears,

We saw no better world beyond;

Oh! what could check the rising sigh?

What earthly thing could pleasure give?

Oh! who would venture then to die?

Oh! who would venture then to live?

'Were life a dark and desert moor,

Where mists and clouds eternal spread

Their gloomy veil behind, before,

And tempests thunder overhead:

Where not a sunbeam breaks the gloom,

And not a floweret smiles beneath,

Who could exist in such a tomb?

Who dwell in darkness and in death?'

Touching the future destination of the soul, Mr. HASTINGS

observes:

'IT must either remain in its unmixed and elementary

state, or be united to some body, and endowed with new powers in

participation with it. In either way, its existence is secured. But

we may reasonably conclude that, as it was necessary in the order of

Providence for its prior state to have been an incorporate one, its

next will be of the same kind, however varying in the form, character,

and quality which it may derive from those of its new associates. I

do not mean by this supposition to reject the possibility of the soul

existing independently of a bodily support. I believe such a state to

be possible, and, if possible, certainly probable; but as our present

is a mixed state, and as it is very unlikely that if our souls are

destined to exist for ever, they began to exist in their present

state, and yet more unlikely that they should have originated in a

perfect and proceeded in an imperfect one, it will be most reasonable

to suppose that a pure spiritual essence is to be that of our ultimate

destination.'

WE have remarked in one or two of our weekly and daily

journals elaborate defences of Mr. FORREST, the distinguished

American actor, against charges of ingratitude to early and devoted

friendship, and of a lack of generosity in spirit, and of liberality

in practice. We had almost said that these defences were wholly

unnecessary. We have known Mr. FORREST for fifteen years,

and during that period have been intimate with those who have known

him for twice that length of time; and we _know_ that the very virtues

in which he is now declared, in certain quarters, to be deficient, are

the very attributes of his character for which his friends have the

most ardent esteem. Where a man _lives down_ such calumnies as we have

cited, it really seems like supererogation to defend him from them.

TRUTH isn't slipping on boots, while FALSEHOOD of

_this_ stamp is running away unscathed. * * * THE old adage

that 'Habit is second nature' was well exemplified in a case cited by

a friend of ours, of an old sea-captain living in a small town on the

coast of the Bay State. He had followed the seas for forty years and

upward, during which time he always shaved himself on ship-board, in

storm or calm, without the aid of a looking-glass, or of any thing by

which to steady himself. So accustomed had he become to this mode of

shaving, that when he finally left the seas, he found it impossible to

remove his beard without keeping himself in motion the while; and if he

attempted to look in a glass, he invariably cut himself. His most usual

method, while performing this operation, was to run about his room, and

occasionally tumble over a chair, to preserve his equilibrium, as he

said. Sometimes, however, when there was a storm without, and a heavy

sea rolling, even this was too tame; and he then varied his exercise

by trotting up and down stairs, and once in a while sliding down the

ballusters! * * * THERE is _another_ 'RICHMOND in

the field!' Scarcely have we done chronicling the thousand-and-one

attractions of the KNICKERBOCKER steamer, than we find 'our

good name' and the portrait of old DEIDRICH arresting the eye

over the Gothic entrance of the Masonic Temple in Broadway. Enter that

imposing edifice, walk along the vaulted passages, and ascend to the

great saloon. 'What a scene!' exclaims every visitor: '_six ten-pin

alleys in Westminster Abbey!_' And this is the description, precisely.

The majestical roof, with its mingling arches and rich and elaborate

tracery, overhangs a hall profusely ornamented, and 'illustrated' with

several fine paintings, and which contains six of the best ten-pin

alleys in the world. Here the 'KNICKERBOCKER CLUB,' composed

of 'O. F. M.', (our first men,) and their non-resident guests, drop in

ever and anon, to develope their chests and strengthen their lungs, in

'a bout' or two at the healthful game of bowling. There, too, do we

occasionally 'expand and bourgeon,' when we have over-wrought brain and

hand; an example which persons of sedentary pursuits would do well now

and then to imitate. Other apartments there are, for billiards, whist,

and dominoes, (as well as for conversation, reading, refreshment,

etc.,) which are in a kindred style of elegance and comfort; and

attractive to those who, unlike ourselves, are not confined in their

exercise to 'ball and pin.' The proprietor's care for the convenience

and enjoyment of his guests is such as might be expected of a tasteful

KNICKERBOCKER, from the classic region of Sleepy Hollow.

By the by; he suggests a most important addition to the pictorial

'features' of the great saloon; namely, the Nine-pin Players whom

RIP VAN WINKLE found bowling among the Kaätskill mountains

one thundery afternoon. A capital suggestion, and worthy of heed. * *

* WE are in the receipt, at too late an hour, we regret to

say, for adequate notice, of '_An Address to the People of the United

States in behalf of the American Copy-right Question_,' recently put

forth by a committee of the 'American Copy-right Club.' We earnestly

commend it to the attention of every American reader, who has a desire

to enhance the prospects, and increase the value, of our native

literature. The address, we are informed, proceeds from the pen of Mr.

CORNELIUS MATHEWS; and we take great pleasure in stating that

it is what we ventured in our last number to hope that it _would_ be,

clear, simple, and direct in its arguments; forcible, and with two or

three exceptions, not _forced_ in its illustrations; and occasionally

touched with a quiet but not the less affective satire. We shall refer

to this address, and present certain extracts which we have marked for

insertion, in an ensuing number. * * * THE lines upon '_My

Mother's Grave_' are from the heart; _that_ we can easily perceive;

but yet they are _not poetry_, we are unfeignedly sorry, for the young

writer's sake, to be compelled to say. For the seventh, eighth, ninth,

and tenth stanzas, pray read these few lines of SCHILLER. It

is all embodied here:

'IT is that faithful mother!

Whom the dark Prince of Shadows leads benighted,

From that dear arm where oft she hung delighted.

Far from those blithe companions, born

Of her, and blooming in their morn;

On whom when couched, her heart above,

So often looked the Mother-Love!

'Ah! rent the sweet Home's union-band,

And never, never more to come!

She dwells within the shadowy land,

Who was the Mother of that Home!'

IN the course of a concert given lately by Mr. HENRY

RUSSELL at Washington, (D. C.,) the following affecting incident

occurred. The vocalist had just finished singing the little song

of our friend 'the General' MORRIS, '_Woodman! spare that

Tree!_' which was received with the customary applause; upon which Mr.

RUSSELL arose, and begged permission to 'relate a remarkable

circumstance connected with that song.' He had but just executed

it, he said, at a concert given by him at Boulogne sur Mer, when a

gentleman, in a state of alarming excitement, arose from the midst

of the assembled multitude, and in a voice trembling with emotion,

exclaimed: '_Was the tree spared?_' 'Never,' said Mr. RUSSELL,

'can I forget the glow which bu'st out all over that man's face, when I

answered: '_Yes, it was!!_' If that 'inquiring mind' did not belong to

a wicked wag, then the probability is, that we are rather mistaken than

otherwise. * * * WE have before us, in pamphlet-form, taken

from the last number of the 'Southern Quarterly Review,' a '_Sketch

of the Character of the Hon. Hugh S. Legare_,' which we have perused

with a satisfaction unmingled, save with a melancholy regret, that one

so preëminently gifted as the subject of this article, should have

been so early called away. The lamented deceased was a man 'affluent

in learning, whether it regarded the useful or beautiful in life;

delicate and exquisite in his tastes, elevated in character, and

sensitive in his affections; true to his public trusts, and exemplary

in his relative duties.' Our country may well lament his loss. The

'Sketch' is in the main well written: it irks us, however, to encounter

in a description of Mr. LEGARE'S dress the term '_pants_'

instead of pantaloons. The word is a vulgarism almost as gross as

the substitution of '_gents_' for gentlemen, after the manner of Mr.

TITTLEBAT TITMOUSE; no model, certainly, for a grave reviewer.

* * * OUR readers will doubtless recollect a marriage between

a Mr. LONG and Miss LITTLE, which went the rounds

of the papers some years ago, and to which some wag had appended the

well-known lines:

'Man wants but _little_ here below,

But wants that _Little_ LONG.

A few weeks since in B----, a Mr. JONATHAN GOODEAL was

married to Miss HONORA LITTLE. After the ceremony, one of the

company rose and uttered the following, which he considered a decided

improvement on the original couplet:

'Man wants but little here below,

But wants that _Little_ a GOOD'EAL!'

A 'VERY anonymous' correspondent, who signs himself 'J.

B.' (none of our KNICKERBOCKER 'J. B.'s, as we have with

some trouble ascertained,) writes us the annexed notelet: 'In your

'Gossip' for December, why not, in relation to WEIR'S

picture, commemorate the courtship of MILES STANDISH and Mr.

BRADFORD? BRADFORD'S wife, as the picture-pamphlet

tells us, fell overboard the day after the arrival, and Mrs. ROSE

STANDISH deceased the same autumn. MILES (Query Latin?)

it seems looked with complacency upon a Mrs. ALDEN, but being

no hero on a carpet, desired his friend BRADFORD to act as his

second, and carry his offer. BRADFORD complied, and pleaded

warmly for his friend. The lady, however, listened to him with much

impatience, and as soon as he had finished, said, very demurely: 'And

now why do you not speak for yourself, Master BRADFORD?' And

history informs us that Mr. BRADFORD _did_ speak for himself,

and ALDEN BRADFORDS still extant verify the chronicle. You

would also do me a favor by anathematizing one FLAGG, who

publishes VICTOR HUGO'S plays, prefaces and all, under the

name of FLAGG, without giving the great Romanticist any credit

therefor.' Mr. FLAGG, who, if 'these be truths,' ought to be

ashamed of his reputation, may consider himself 'anathematized.' * *

* SOME afflicted gentleman, with whom we deeply sympathize,

has lately shown up in one of the London magazines a specimen of the

genus PUNDIT; one of those persons who, having acquired the

reputation of a wit, lives in a constant agony of endeavor to keep up

the character; who lends nothing of a rational kind to the general

entertainment during a whole evening, but watchfully 'bides his time'

for the infliction of his own especial annoyance. In the present

instance, the 'pundit and stock-joker' was caught at dinner by his

host, during a shower of 'original puns' which accompanied the various

courses, in this wise:

'HAPPENING to possess some fine old Madeira in pints, a

bottle of it was produced with an appropriate puff of its age.

Taking up the bottle, Mr. PUNDIT remarked, 'that it might

be old, but it was very little of its age.' FRANK was in

raptures at the joke, and laughed till tears came to his eyes. On

recovering himself, he was surprised to find that my countenance,

instead of being spread out into an approving smile, was fixed in

something not much short of a frown. I expressed my regret that

Mr. PUNDIT'S admirable _memory_ should be so unprofitably

employed, while he interposed an appeal in behalf of the originality

of the joke; but I hoped he would forgive me, if I proved to

the contrary. 'Be good enough,' I told my son, 'to fetch me the

fourth volume of Erasmus. It is,' I continued, turning to Mr.

PUNDIT, 'the Leyden edition, and I shall have the pleasure of

showing you _your_ joke in a collection of ancient aphorisms, which

was originally published several centuries ago.' FRANK having

brought the book, I found the passage, which runs thus: 'Gnathena,

when a very small bottle of wine was brought in, with the praise

that it was very old, answered, _it is very little of its age_.'

Mr. PUNDIT was confounded, and confessed to a glimmering

remembrance of having seen the joke before. 'The wonder would have

been,' I replied, 'had a gentleman of your erudition in witticisms

not met with it, for it has, since Erasmus's time, found its way into

nearly all the jest-books of various ages and countries. I must,

however, give you credit for its apt application to my diminutive

modicum of Madeira.'

The old gentleman subsequently adds, by way of salvo: 'I know you err

from innocence; you little thought that all the puns you were making

were current when I was studying for the bar thirty years ago, and

originated, I doubt not, amidst the al-fresco festivities of the Saxon

heptarchy.' A capital 'recipe' is given for silencing the series of

'dinner-puns' proper: 'Should the Pundit begin at meal-times, attack

his first effort; request the company's attention, and rattle off the

whole string. Thus forestalled, he will allow the meal to pass off

pleasantly, and the conversation to flow on.' * * * SURELY

'C.,' if he has perused the 'Gossip' of our last number, will not

think that it is from any lack of 'sympathy' with him, that we decline

his '_Autumnal Thoughts_.' What _he_ felt, looking upon the 'glorious

decay of Nature' from her sublime mountain pinnacles--over a scene

which 'lay bathed in the smoky light of an October day and an Alleghany

valley'--we ourselves felt, perhaps at the same moment, in gazing upon

the frost-painted heights along the Hudson, and the calm beauty of the

Long-Island shores. _We_, too, 'saddened by the solemn monitions of

fading loveliness, went back to the past, and to the dear friends in

whose light we saw all that the heart _can_ see, of vanished days;'

and with an unutterable longing to know the mystery of life, and the

greater mystery of death and the grave, have asked, with a poet too

gifted to be so little known:

'WHERE are ye now!--though Fancy's flight

To you my soul doth sometimes bear,

Departed Time's eternal night

Re-echoes back the question, 'Where!'

Nature, in simple beauty drest,

Still dances round the restless year,

And gazing on her yellow vest,

I sometimes think my change is near!

'Not that my hair with age is gray,

Not that my heart hath yet grown cold,

But that remembered friendships say,

'Death loves not best the infirm and old.'

As many a bosom knows and feels,

Left, in the flower of life, alone,

And many an epitaph reveals

On the cold monumental stone.'

But the lessons of autumn may partake of a sober gladness as well as of

melancholy thoughts; and this is beautifully illustrated by a friend

and correspondent, whose _nom de plume_ in the 'New World' cannot

divert attention from the characteristics of his style. He too has been

looking at the 'glorious autumnal-forest display on the hills,' which

were 'bedabbled like a painter's palette.' 'Ah!' he exclaims, 'the

frost has done it! And now the outward life of the trees is killed.

That beautiful spectacle is Death. Equally lovely does the soul appear

when the frost has touched its outer covering. You see what a variety

of colors has been produced by the same cause acting upon different

natures, for the spiritual life in trees is as various as among men.

So it is when our natures are touched by the chills of adversity, or

death even; some of us, like the hemlock, will look sad and pale; some,

like the wild cherry, will become red and fiery; and others, like

those hardy cedars, the good and patient, will retain their primitive

greenness and beauty.' * * * THERE is evidently a political or

some other conspiracy hatching at this moment in the 'little people's'

apartment adjoining our sanctum. Beside the good vrouw's, there are

three other female heads together, and one of them belongs to a

delegate from the High Priestess of Fashion; and through the two open

doors, we can hear, in earnest but broken tones, such exciting words as

these: '_White feather_,' '_piece_,' '_piping_,' '_set in all round_,'

'_bias_,' '_the skirt_,' '_brought round to the front and fastened_,'

'_single bows_,' '_busts_,' '_bugles_,' '_purple_,' '_gore_,' '_when

it's made up_,' etc. Now what can all this portend? Putting 'that and

that together,' we are led to think that the ladies are about to follow

certain sage advice from a _very_ sage quarter, touching the 'rights of

women!' These words are doubtless only 'parts of speech'-es to incite

to action; fragments, very like, of what runs something in _this_

connection: 'We have shown the 'white feather' long enough! Let us

throw away our 'bias' for the gentler virtues, and 'set in all round'

for Mr. JOHN NEAL'S paradise of our down-trodden sex! We have

been kept on 'the skirt' of society since the days of EVE; it

is high time we were 'brought round to the front and fastened' there by

public opinion! They think (the 'single beaux' as well as the married

men) that we are only fit for 'piping' times of 'peace;' but we will

let them know that we are not unfit for war; that we can stand by and

see a shell 'bu'st' without winking; that we neither fear 'purple'

nor any other 'gore;' and that the blast of an hundred 'bugles' would

have no terrors for us. Our resolution, 'when it's made up,' cannot

be shaken!' But we _may_ do the ladies (GOD bless them!)

injustice. It has just occurred to us, that perhaps after all it may

be only the Eleusinian mysteries of millinery and mantuamaking that

we are seeking to penetrate. 'Like as not!' * * * WHAT a

thoughtful, feeling, truthful poet JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL has

become! Not erroneously did we predict, from one of his early poems in

the KNICKERBOCKER, 'Threnodia on the Death of an Infant,' that

'to this complexion would he come at last.' Are not these stanzas from

'_The Heritage_,' one of Mr. LOWELL'S latest efforts, every

way admirable?

'THE rich man's son inherits lands,

And piles of brick, and stone, and gold,

And he inherits soft, white hands,

And tender flesh that fears the cold,

Nor dares to wear a garment old:

A heritage, it seems to me,

One would not care to hold in fee.

'The rich man's son inherits cares;

The bank may break, the factory burn,

Some breath may burst his bubble shares,

And soft, white hands would hardly earn

A living that would suit his turn;

A heritage, it seems to me,

One would not care to hold in fee.

'What does the poor man's son inherit?

Stout muscles and a sinewy heart,

A hardy frame, a hardier spirit;

King of two hands, he does his part

In every useful toil and art;

A heritage, it seems to me,

A king might wish to hold in fee.

'What does the poor man's son inherit?

Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things,

A rank adjudged by toil-worn merit,

Content that from employment springs,

A heart that in his labor sings;

A heritage, it seems to me,

A king might wish to hold in fee.

'What does the poor man's son inherit?

A patience learned by being poor,

Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it,

A fellow-feeling that is sure

To make the outcast bless his door:

A heritage, it seems to me,

A king might wish to hold in fee.

'O, rich man's son, there is a toil

That with all others level stands;

Large charity doth never soil;

But only whitens, soft, white hands;

This is the best crop from thy lands.

A heritage, it seems to me,

Worth being rich to hold in fee.

'O, poor man's son, scorn not thy state,

There is worse weariness than thine,

In merely being rich and great;

Work only makes the soul to shine,

And makes rest fragrant and benign:

A heritage, it seems to me,

Worth being poor to hold in fee.

'Both heirs to some six feet of sod,

Are equal in the earth at last;

Both children of the same dear God;

Prove title to your heirship vast

By record of a well-filled past:

A heritage, it seems to me,

Well worth a life to hold in fee.'

'A TURKEY,' once remarked a huge feeder in our presence, 'is

a very _inconvenient_ bird, in p'int of comin' over a man's pocket,

and satisfying his stomach. You see, it's too much for _one_, and not

enough for _two_!' This is exactly our quandary in relation to the

excellent story of our Mississippi correspondent. It makes 'too much

for one, and not enough for two' numbers of the KNICKERBOCKER.

Beside which, it has 'scene undividable, colloquy unlimited.' We may

_try_ hereafter to insert it entire, after the printer shall have

'taken its measure.' If we _do_ print it, however, we shall take the

liberty to erase such words as _e'er_, _ne'er_, _o'er_, etc., which

have no business in prose. Ellipses like these are for poetry only, and

not always felicitously employed, even in verse. 'Clang,' moreover,

('the one only hope to which his heart _clang_,') is a compound

fracture of Old PRISCIAN'S skull, which would lay his brain

open to day-light, and us to an action for assault and battery. * * *

MRS. KIRKLAND ('MARY CLAVERS,') the well-known author

of 'A New Home,' 'Forest Life,' etc., has opened a school for young

ladies in this city, at 214 Thompson-street, near Fourth. Familiar

with the languages of Europe; thoroughly conversant with all the

branches of an accomplished English education; of varied experience

in society and real life; and possessing, with great kindness of

heart and amenity of manner, a rare _instructive tact_; we cannot

doubt that our fair correspondent will attract many pupils to her

'new home,' and that more will 'follow.' * * * OUR excellent

friend, the historian of Tinnecum, has been passing a few pleasant

days on the Hudson, and in the neighborhood of the city of that name;

and from his gossipping epistle thence, we shall venture to select a

characteristic Daguerreotype-passage, for the entertainment of our

readers: 'THE high hills are a refuge for the wild goats, and

so are the rocks for the conies. Hills and goats, rocks and conies,

are plenty with me, as you shall perceive. _Cras donaberis hædo_, if

I can get him out to you. The Lancashire sheep, a long-fleeced breed,

come and eat corn out of my hand. I kept my eye on the beautiful blue

ranges of the Kaätskills as long as possible, and then delved into this

lovely valley. Mountains shut it in on every side, and every night

the sun lingers upon their summits, and crowns them with a diadem of

fire. Yesterday the whole scene was white as Soracte. As I was going

to the cider-mill to get a jug of the sweet juice, my guide stopped to

show me the identical spot where a low-spirited man, oh! horrible!

cut his own throat. 'What did he do it for?' said I. 'Oh, he was low'n

spurruts, wery _cidery_ and wery grunty. The devil was into him.' 'Bad

business,' said I, 'this cutting of throats;' yet did you know that a

hog always does it, when he swims across a stream, which is no doubt

the derivation of _suicide_. The cider was delicious. The mill was

in full operation, set in motion by an old blind horse. 'Look!' said

my cicerone, with a mysterious whisper, as I was busy at the tub, at

the same time directing my attention to the person who was attending

at the mill; 'the _son_ of the man who cut his throat!' I gazed in

utter astonishment, and endeavored to obtain a 'realizing sense' of

the fact. It was _almost_ as good as 'the _fork_ that belonged to

the _case-knife_ with which BEAUCHAMPE murdered Colonel

SHARPE in Kentucky,' which proved such a rival attraction to

a western museum-proprietor.' 'This morning I went into the woods to

gather chestnuts, which the hogs having got before devoured them all

up. It was the same old story as on the frequented chestnut-grounds

about Tinnecum. 'There! I found _one_! There! I found another! Two!

three! four! five! six! Oh! oh! _aint_ they plenty!' Then, alas! no

more were to be had far or near. I piled them on a little hillock, and

calling the attention of a neighboring Berkshire to the pile, had the

gratification to see him address himself to their mastication, with

evident _goût_.' * * * OUR correspondent who writes upon the

'_Manifestation of Mind in Animals_,' and those interested in his able

papers upon this theme, will find in the following a very forcible

illustration of the correctness of his positions:

'A GENTLEMAN receiving a present of some Florence oil, the

flasks were set in his cellar, at the bottom of a shallow box; the

oil not being wanted for use, they remained there for some time; when

the owner, going one day by chance in the cellar, was surprised to

find the wicker-work by which the flasks were stopped, gnawed from

the greater part of them, and upon examination the oil sunk about

two inches or two and a half from the neck of each flask. It soon

occurred to him that it must be the work of some kind of vermin; and

being a man of speculative turn, he resolved to satisfy the curiosity

raised in his mind. He accordingly found means to watch, and actually

detect three rats in the very act; the neck of the flasks were long

and narrow; it therefore required some contrivance; one of these stood

upon the edge of the box, while another mounting his back, dipped his

tail into the neck of the flask, and presented it to a third to lick;

they then changed places; the rat which stood uppermost descended, and

was accommodated in the same manner with the tail of his companion,

till it was his turn to act the porter, and he took his station at the

bottom. In this manner the three alternately relieved each other, and

banqueted upon the oil till they had sucked it beyond the length of

their tails.'

WOULD that our esteemed friend 'POLYGON' could

really _know_ how many times we have strenuously endeavoured to gain

leisure, from avocations more than usually various and constant, to

return, in such poor sort as we might, the gratification we have

always derived from his personal correspondence! It is in vain, we

fear, that we hope to be able to redeem the past; for 'by-gones,'

he must let us talk with him, as we have done, in this desultory

'Gossip' of ours; for the future, Providence permitting, we shall aim

to escape even the _appearance_ of indifference or neglect. Will 'J.

N. B.,' of W----, New-Hampshire, also bear with us a little?' We have

his last missive filed among our '_Notes Payable_;' for there were

thoughts in it that touched us nearly. 'L. H. B.,' too, of B----, to

whom we have been indebted for many favors, must not infer neglect or

indifference from our compulsory silence. 'Say not the words, if you

and me is to continual friends, for sech is not the case;' as quoth

'Mrs. GAMP.' We must hope, likewise, that 'W. G.,' of H----t

Hill (_how_ of the removal, and _what_ of the old homestead?) and our

kind Tinnecum friend, will also look upon the above explanatory card

as apologetical (if not satisfactory) for 'short-comings' of which,

under other circumstances, they might with good reason complain. * *

* IF you are 'i' the vein,' reader, suppose you follow us

in a hop-skip-and-jump flitting through the pungent, pithy, punning

paragraphs of PUNCH, the '_London_ CHARIVARI,'

late arrivals of which garnish our table. Among its 'complaints,' is

one against the clock of St. Clement's church, which stands opposite

its publication-office in the Strand: 'We are constantly troubled by

parties coming into the office to inquire why all the four dials tell

a different story, and why every one of them is always wrong. If the

clock cannot keep going, let it turn off all its hands, wind up its

affairs, and retire at once from public observation; but let it not

continue to occupy a high and prominent position, if it is unable to

fill it with credit to itself and profit to the community. We have

put up with more from this clock than from any other public servant.

We thought it might only want time to bring itself round; but finding

it will not give us any hour, we will no longer give it any quarter.

We expected a meeting of the hands the other day at twelve o'clock,

but it did not occur, and things remain in the same uncertainty. We

feel justified in calling on the clock for an account of its works;

and, if no minutes have been kept, we shall leave the public to judge

of the entire matter. Since writing the above, we have been told that

it is the hour-hand which refuses to move in the affair, but that the

minute-hand is quite ready to second any thing reasonable.' Could any

thing be more felicitous than this application of 'suspended payment'

terms to the disarrangements of a public time-piece? PUNCH

himself had just returned from a trip to Paris. He describes a

diligence as 'a post-chaise fastened to a stage-coach before, and a

slice of omnibus attached behind, with a worn-out cab mounted aloft;'

which we are told is a perfect _portrait_ of this lumbering conveyance.

Here is a solution of one 'cause why' the French wear so much hair

on their faces: 'The inferiority of French cutlery, especially

razors, renders shaving an elaborate process, for which reason it

is generally abandoned; and in common with the usual treatment of

most things springing from a poor soil, they pay more attention to

dressing their crops than cutting them. In fact, they consider all

attraction to be capillary.' PUNCH was greatly interested in

the 'Egyptian obstacle' in the Place de la Guerre, 'supposed to be

CLEOPATRA'S Needle, covered with hieroglyphics, of which the

thread is altogether lost!' Among the domestic intelligence, is an

account of the raising of fragments of the brig Télémaque, by means of

a diving-bell. There were found 'a bit of the binnacle; half a yard

of yard-arm; a quarter of the quarter-deck; a hen-roost and a portion

of the hatch-way; a part of the cat-head, and an old mouse-trap.' In

his brief notices to correspondents, the readers of the 'Charivari'

are informed that the editor does not know 'who built BACON'S

_Novum Organum_,' nor whether the elephant at the Zoological Gardens

has his name in brass-nails on his trunk or not! * * * IN

a late number of the Albany '_Northern Light_' monthly journal,

there is a very able paper by WILLIS GAYLORD, Esq., based

upon a paragraph in the report of the Geological Lectures of Dr. A.

SMITH, of this city, from which we take the subjoined extract:

'IT is a well-ascertained fact derived from a known law of

centrifugal motion, that were the earth to revolve on its axis once

in eighty minutes, as it now does in twenty-four hours, all bodies

would lose their weight at the equator; if the revolution was made

in a still shorter time, all bodies would fly off, like the drops of

water from a rapidly revolving grind-stone. A universal deluge of all

the temperate and polar regions would be the result of a stoppage or

retardation of the earth's motion. Indeed, the first result would be

the deluge of the whole; as the waters of the ocean would obey the

impulse already communicated, and sweep over the entire earth from

west to east; although it is easy to see that when this first impulse

was over, the waters must flow to, and accumulate around the poles.

If there _must_ be a philosophical solution given of the existing

evidences of a general deluge, can there be one more simple, or

which better fulfils all the conditions of such a catastrophe, than

the one here alluded to? All solutions must exist more or less on

suppositions, and we have only to suppose the earth checked in its

orbit from some cause, to produce all the observed phenomena of the

deluge.'

Apropos of the 'Northern Light;' it is a journal which we always open

with avidity, and from which we seldom fail to derive instruction and

pleasure. Mr. STREET discharges his editorial function with

ability, and his collaborateurs are men of mark in the scientific

and literary world.... WHAT has 'enured' to our esteemed

friend and correspondent, the '_Georgia Lawyer_?' There has been

'good exclamation on his Worship' from various quarters of the Union,

accompanied by inquiries after his health, and the state of his

'Port-folio.' QUÆRE: Has a Georgia lawyer a legal right to

'set himself up against the will of the people?' Has not the 'party of

the second part' the power to set aside a literary _nol. pros._ of that

sort? 'By the mass! but we think we may stay him' from keeping all his

pleasant thoughts to himself.... WE are glad to learn that our

young artist-friend Mr. T. B. READ, formerly of Cincinnati, is

meeting with deserved success in Boston, where he has set up his easel.

His improvement is very marked. There is at this moment before us a

little cabinet-gem of his, which really seems to light up our sanctum.

It is the portrait of a young and lovely maiden, whose attention is

suddenly arrested as she is about descending a stair:

'She is fresh and she is fair,

Glossy is her golden hair;

Like a blue spot in the sky

Is her clear and loving eye.'

The situation, the drawing, the coloring, all are beautiful, and

bespeak alike taste, skill, and genius, in the artist.... OF

the _Oi Polloi_, we fear, is the author of '_Nature, a Tribute_.' He

is a metropolitan, born and bred, we will wager a year's subscription

to the 'OLD KNICK.;' a sort of _amateur_ lover of the

country, touching which he knows little, and we must infer, cares

less. He regards it, we cannot help fancying, somewhat as old

CHUZZLEWIT'S cockney undertaker did, who greatly affected

the 'sound of animated nature in the agricultural districts.' ...

THE '_Southern Literary Messenger_' appears monthly, with its

accustomed neatness of execution, and quantity and variety of literary

matter, much of which is of a sterling character. The new editor, B. B.

MINOR, Esq., discharges his duties with spirit and ability. He

appeals to the South for the support which his Magazine well deserves,

and should not fail to receive. The Charleston 'Magnolia,' which ran a

short race for popularity with the 'Messenger,' has retired from the

field; leaving it the only kindred candidate for Southern patronage,

if we except the excellent Georgia 'Orion.' Mr. MINOR has

'a squint' at the 'enterprising editors in Philadelphia, who sell so

many pictures every month;' a branch of 'literary' business which has

experienced a sad falling off; yet not sufficient, it would seem, to

prevent new 'enterprises' of a similar kind. Mr. ISRAEL POST,

long the agent in New-York for GRAHAM'S and GODEY'S

Magazines, has issued, since the establishment of a new city agency for

those periodicals, proposals for '_The Columbian Magazine_', a work

after the Philadelphia models, in pictures and price; to be edited by

JOHN INMAN, Esq.; a sufficient guaranty that at least one

department of the work will be well sustained. Success to ye all,

gentlemen and lady contemporaries!... 'WHO suffers?' You know

the DIDLERIAN term, reader; and here is an unintentional

illustration of it: 'Poor woman!' said an apothecary, on returning

from a patient to whom he had applied thirty leeches, at a quarter of

a dollar each; 'poor woman! _didn't_ she suffer!' It strikes us as

rather possible that she _might_ have 'suffered,' at least in _one_

way.... WE shall have two capital works from the American

press in a few days. KENDALL, the 'great American Captive,'

who came near being lost to liberty, the 'Picayune,' and 'troops of

friends,' is nearly out with _his_ volumes; and that they will be rich

and racy, few are sufficiently verdant to doubt. (MARRYAT

approves of KENDALL'S writings, at all events; else why

should he purloin them?) BRANTZ MAYER, Esq., also, whose

letters in the 'New World' were so widely admired, has nearly ready for

publication an elaborate work upon Mexico, profusely illustrated with

engravings, and written in a very attractive style. It will create a

decided sensation.... WE cannot accept the excuse of 'M.' You

_must_ let us hear from you for the first _or_ second number of our

new volume. 'Arouse thee, mon!' Remember that 'to _will_ is to do,' in

more than a Mesmeric sense; and forget not, also, that 'sloth covers

youthful ambition with the blue mould of morbidity.' ... WILL

our friends of '_The Cultivator_' and '_Farmer's Museum_' favor us with

the prospectuses of both these excellent periodicals, when issued? We

shall be glad to promote the circulation of publications of so great

value, in many important ways, to the American farmer.... READ

'_The Venus of Ille_,' in preceding pages, translated by the friend

who rendered into such attractive English the thrilling story of '_The

Innocence of a Galley-Slave_.' The present tale is scarcely less

striking than its predecessor. What a sweeping convergence of natural

incident there is toward the terrific dénouement!--and how admirably

the minor accessories harmonize with the main design! Peruse it, and

justify our enthusiastic admiration of the original, and this most

faithful and spirited translation.... WE instanced in our

last 'Gossip' two or three amusing specimens of the lack of clearness

of expression, arising from a species of unconscious inversion of

language. Something akin to the examples cited, is a case mentioned

by a London wag, who speaks of 'a _hen_ belonging to a stone-mason

that _lays bricks_!' ... [pointing finger] 'IF you love

us,' good reader, and your _other_ friends as well, tell them that

our next issue begins a New Volume--the TWENTY-THIRD! Have

we ever deceived you, in our promises for the future? (_A unanimous_

'No!' _from all parts of the Union and the Canadas, with scattering

echoes from sundry portions of Europe_.) Then believe us when we tell

you, that although we have every year appeared before you--like the

tree 'bearing twelve manner of fruits, and yielding its fruit every

month'--we have never been able to announce a better volume than the

one whose advent you shall hail with acclamations in January next.

Let every true friend of the 'Old KNICK.' therefore make

_one_ friend as happy as himself, and his friend the Editor as happy

as 'the pair of ye's!' ... LET no one who wishes to select

books, in any or every department of literature, fail to possess

himself of WILEY AND PUTNAM'S late catalogue of English,

French, and American works, in the various departments of knowledge;

science, natural history, useful and fine arts; history, biography,

and general literature; Greek and Latin classics, philology, etc.; and

theological and medical literature, with appendices, etc.; the whole

classified in subjects, and with prices affixed. The catalogue is

full, yet concise as clear; and will be sent _gratis_ to any address.

Messrs. BARTLETT AND WELFORD, under the Astor-House, issued

some time since, a similar catalogue, which proved of great convenience

to the public, and was no doubt a source of ultimate profit to that

well-known house.... THE following articles are either filed

for insertion, or awaiting 'hopeful' advisement: 'A Night on the

Prairie;' 'A Piscatory Eclogue,' by PETER VON GEIST; 'My Leg:

a Sketch;' 'The Fratricide's Death,' by the 'American Opium-Eater;'

'The Death-Bed, a Stray Leaf from the Country Doctor;' 'The Painted

Rock,' 'MARY MAY, the Newfoundland Indian;' 'The Spirit-Land;'

Lines by 'G. H. H.;' 'Scene in a Studio;' 'Translation from

CATULLUS,' by 'G. W. B.;' with many other papers heretofore

alluded to, and more to which we have neither leisure nor space to

advert, or even to name.