Delaware 2,120 91,535 43.64
Maryland 9,356 583,035 62.31
Dis. of Columbia 60 51,687 861.45
Virginia 61,352 1,421,661 23.17
North Carolina 45,000 868,903 19.30
South Carolina 24,500 668,507 27.28
Georgia 58,000 905,999 15.68
Florida 59,268 87,401 1.47
Alabama 50,723 771,671 15.21
Mississippi 47,126 606,555 12.86
Louisiana 46,431 511,974 11.02
Texas 237,321 212,592 .89
Arkansas 52,198 209,639 4.01
Tennessee 45,600 1,002,625 21.98
Kentucky 37,680 982,405 26.07
Missouri 67,380 682,043 10.12
Total 844,115 9,638,223
It will be observed that a large proportion of the area of the Free States
and Territories is comprised in the unsettled country west of the
Mississippi. The following Territories, inhabited by Indians, also lie
west of the Mississippi.
Nebraska Territory: 136,700 square miles.
Indian Territory: 187,171 square miles.
Northwest Territory: 587,564 square miles.
The following is a comparative table of the population of each State and
Territory in 1850, and 1840:
Free States. Pop. 1850. Pop. 1840.
Maine 583,188 501,793
New Hampshire 317,964 284,574
Vermont 313,611 291,948
Massachusetts 994,499 737,699
Rhode Island 147,544 108,830
Connecticut 370,791 309,978
New York 3,097,394 2,428,921
New Jersey 489,555 373,306
Pennsylvania 2,311,786 1,724,033
Ohio 1,980,408 1,519,467
Indiana 988,416 685,866
Illinois 851,470 476,183
Iowa 192,214 43,112
Wisconsin 305,191 30,945
Michigan 397,654 212,367
California 165,000
Minnesota Territory 6,077
Oregon Territory 13,293
New Mexico Territory 61,505
Utah Territory 11,380
Total 13,419,190 9,978,922
Increase of population, 3,440,268, or exclusive of California and
Territories, 3,183,013—equal to 31.8 per cent.
Slaveholding States. Pop. 1850. Pop. 1840
Delaware 91,536 78,085
Maryland 583,035 470,019
District of Columbia(9) 51,687 43,712
Virginia 1,421,661 1,239,797
North Carolina 868,903 753,419
South Carolina 668,507 594,398
Georgia 905,990 691,392
Florida 87,401 54,477
Alabama 771,671 590,756
Mississippi 606,555 375,651
Louisiana 511,974 352,411
Texas 212,592 (est. 75,000)
Arkansas 209,639 97,574
Tennessee 1,002,625 829,210
Kentucky 982,405 779,828
Missouri 682,043 383,702
Total 9,658,224 7,409,431
Total increase of population 2,248,793, equal to 30.3 per cent.
Comparative population of the United States, from 1790 to 1850.
Census of Total. Whites. Free Slaves.
col.
1790 3,929,827 3,172,464 59,446 687,897
1800 5,345,925 4,304,489 108,395 893,041
1810 7,239,814 5,862,004 186,446 1,191,364
1820 9,654,596 7,872,711 238,197 1,543,688
1830 12,866,020 10,537,378 319,599 2,009,043
1840 17,063,355 14,189,705 386,295 2,487,355
1850 23,258,760 19,631,799 428,637 3,198,324
Table showing the number of the different classes of population in each
State and Territory.
Free States. Whites. Free col. Slaves.
Maine 581,863 1,325
New Hampshire 317,385 475
Vermont 313,411 709
Massachusetts 985,704 8,795
Rhode Island 144,000 3,544
Connecticut 363,305 7,486
New York 3,049,457 47,937
New Jersey 466,240 23,093 222
Pennsylvania 2,258,463 53,323
Ohio 1,956,108 24,300
Indiana 977,628 10,788
Illinois 846,104 5,366
Iowa 191,879 335
Wisconsin 304,965 626
Michigan 395,097 2,537
California 163,200 1,800
Minnesota 6,038 39
Territory
Oregon 13,089 206
Territory
New Mexico 61,530 17
Territory
Utah Territory 11,330 24 26
Total 13,406,394 192,745 248
Slaveholding Whites. Free col. Slaves.
States
Delaware 71,289 19,957 2,289
Maryland 418,590 74,077 90,368
District of 38,027 9,973 3,687
Columbia
Virginia 895,304 53,829 472,528
North Carolina 533,295 27,196 283,412
South Carolina 274,623 8,900 384,984
Georgia 521,438 2,880 381,681
Florida 47,167 925 39,309
Alabama 426,507 2,272 342,892
Mississippi 205,758 899 309,898
Louisiana 255,416 17,537 239,021
Texas 154,100 331 58,161
Arkansas 162,068 589 46,982
Tennessee 756,893 6,271 239,461
Kentucky 761,688 9,736 210,981
Missouri 592,077 2,544 87,422
Total 6,224,240 235,916 3,198,076
The following table shows the population west of the Mississippi River.
Western Louisiana 207,787
Texas 212,592
Arkansas 209,639
Missouri 682,043
Iowa 192,214
Minnesota Territory 6,077
New Mexico Territory 61,505
Utah Territory 11,293
Oregon Territory 13,293
California 165,000
Total 1,761,530
The population of the Valley of the Mississippi, comprising Ohio, Indiana,
Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Missouri, Arkansas, Tennessee,
Kentucky, Mississippi, Alabama, and Louisiana, is 9,090,688, of whom the
free population is 7,614,031, and 1,476,657 are slaves.
THE RATIO OF REPRESENTATION, as determined by the recent census, and a
late Act of Congress, will be about 93,716, and the relative
representation of the States in Congress for the next ten years, will be
as follows:
New York 33
Pennsylvania 25
Ohio 21
Virginia 13
Massachusetts 11
Indiana 11
Tennessee 10
Kentucky 10
Illinois 9
North Carolina 8
Georgia 8
Alabama 7
Missouri 7
Maine 6
Maryland 6
New Jersey 5
South Carolina 5
Mississippi 5
Connecticut 4
Michigan 4
Louisiana 4
Vermont 3
New Hampshire 3
Wisconsin 3
Rhode Island 2
Iowa 2
Arkansas 2
Texas 2
California 2
Florida 1
Delaware 1
Total 233
AGRICULTURE.—The following is a summary of the returns of the Census for a
portion of the statistics obtained respecting agriculture:
Number of acres of land improved: 112,042,000
Value of farming implements and machinery: $151,820,273
Value of live stock: $552,705,238
Bushels of wheat raised, 1849: 104,799,230
In 1839: 84,823,272
Increased production: 19,975,958
Bushels of Indian corn raised, 1849: 591,586,053
In 1839: 377,531,875
Increased production: 214,054,178
Pounds of Tobacco raised, 1849: 199,522,494
In 1839: 219,163,319
Decreased production: 19,640,825
Bales of cotton of 400 lb. each—1849: 2,472,214
In 1839: 1,976,199
Increased production: 495,016
Pounds of sheep’s wool raised, 1849: 52,422,797
In 1839: 35,802,114
Increased production: 16,620,683
Tons of hay raised, 1849: 13,605,384
In 1839: 10,248,108
Increased production: 3,357,276
Pounds of butter made, 1849: 312,202,286
Pounds of cheese made, 1849: 103,184,585
Pounds of maple sugar, 1849: 32,759,263
Cane sugar—hhds. of 1000 lbs: 318,644
Value of household manufactures, 1849: $27,525,545
In 1839: 29,023,380
Decrease: 1,497,735
Manufactures.
The entire capital invested in the various manufactures in the United
States, on the 1st of June, 1850, not to include any
establishments producing less than the annual value of $500,
amounted, in round numbers, to: $530,000,000
Value of raw materials used: 550,000,000
Amount paid for labor: 240,000,000
Value of manufactured articles: $1,020,300,000
Number of persons employed: 1,050,000
The following are the number of establishments in operation, and capital
employed in cotton, woolens, and iron:
No. of Capital
Estab. invested.
Cotton 1094 $74,501,031
Woolens 1559 28,118,650
Pig Iron 377 17,356,425
Castings 1391 17,416,360
Wrought iron 422 14,495,220
The value of articles manufactured in 1849 was as follows, compared with
1839.
1849. 1839.
Cottons $61,869,184 $46,350,453
Woolens 43,207,555 20,696,999
Pig Iron 12,748,777
Castings 25,108,155 286,903
Wrought Iron 16,747,074 197,233
The period which has elapsed since the receipt of the returns at
Washington, has been too short to enable the Census-office to make more
than a general report of the facts relating to a few of the most important
manufactures. The complete statistical returns, when published, will
present a very full view of the varied interests and extent of the
industrial pursuits of the people.
THE PRESS.—The statistics of the newspaper press form an interesting
feature in the returns of the Seventh Census. It appears that the whole
number of newspapers and periodicals in the United States, on the first
day of June, 1850, amounted to 2800. Of these, 2494 were fully returned,
234 had all the facts excepting circulation given, and 72 are estimated
for California, the Territories, and for those that may have been omitted
by the assistant marshals. From calculations made on the statistics
returned, and estimated circulations where they have been omitted, it
appears that the aggregate circulation of these 2800 papers and
periodicals is about 5,000,000, and that the entire number of copies
printed annually in the United States, amounts to 422,600,000. The
following table will show the number of daily, weekly, monthly, and other
issues, with the aggregate circulation of each class:
Published. No. Circulation. Copies
annually.
Daily 350 750,000 235,000,000
Tri-weekly 150 75,000 11,700,000
Semi-weekly 125 80,000 8,320,000
Weekly 2,000 2,875,000 149,500,000
Semi-monthly 50 300,000 7,200,000
Monthly 100 900,000 10,800,000
Quarterly 25 29,000 80,000
Total 2,800 5,000,000 422,600,000
Of these papers 424 are issued in the New England States, 876 in the
Middle States, 716 in the Southern States, and 784 in the Western States.
The average circulation of papers in the United States, is 1785. There is
one publication for every 7161 free inhabitants in the United States and
Territories.
MORTALITY.—The statistics of mortality for the census year, represent the
number of deaths occurring within the year as 320,194, the ratio being as
one to 72.6 of the living population, or as ten to each 726 of the
population. The rate of mortality in this statement, taken as a whole,
seems so much less than that of any portion of Europe, that it must, at
present, be received with some degree of allowance.
INDIANS.—The Indian tribes within the boundaries of the United States are
not, as is well known, included in the census, but an enumeration of these
tribes was authorized by an act of Congress, passed in March, 1847; and
the census of the tribes east of the Rocky Mountains has been taken by
Henry R. Schoolcraft, Esq., under the direction of the Bureau of Indian
Affairs. These returns have been published, with estimates for the Indian
tribes in Oregon, California, Utah, &c., and the result shows the total
Indian population to be 388,229, to which may be added from 25,000 to
35,000 Indians within the area of the unexplored territories of the United
States. The Indian population of Oregon is estimated at 22,733; of
California 32,231; of New Mexico 92,130; of Utah 11,500; of Texas 24,100.
In round numbers, the total number of Indians within our boundaries may be
stated at 420,000.
CENSUS OF 1840.—For the purpose of comparison, we here present a summary
of the Sixth Census of the United States, June 1, 1840.
Free States. Whites. Free col. Slaves.
Maine 284,036 537 1
New Hampshire 500,438 1,355
Vermont 291,218 730
Massachusetts 729,030 8,668
Rhode Island 105,587 3,238 5
Connecticut 301,856 8,105 17
Total of N. England 2,212,165 22,633 23
New York 2,378,894 50,027 4
New Jersey 351,588 21,044 674
Pennsylvania 1,676,115 47,864 64
Ohio 1,502,122 17,342 3
Indiana 678,698 7,165 3
Illinois 472,254 3,598 331
Michigan 211,560 707
Wisconsin 30,749 185 11
Iowa 42,924 172 16
Total Free States 9,557,065 170,727 1129
Slaveholding States. Whites. Free col. Slaves.
Delaware 58,161 16,919 2,605
Maryland 318,204 62,078 89,737
District of Columbia 30,657 8,361 4,694
Virginia 740,968 49,842 448,987
North Carolina 484,870 22,732 255,817
South Carolina 259,084 8,276 327,038
Georgia 407,695 2,753 280,944
Florida 27,943 837 25,717
Alabama 335,185 2,039 253,532
Mississippi 179,074 1,369 195,211
Louisiana 158,457 25,592 168,451
Arkansas 77,174 465 19,935
Tennessee 640,627 5,524 183,059
Kentucky 590,253 7,317 182,258
Missouri 323,888 1,574 58,240
Total Slave States 4,632,640 215,568 2,486,226
Total United States 14,189,705 386,295 2,487,355
Total population of the United States in 1840, 17,063,355.
ATLANTIC STATES.—The progress of population in the Atlantic States, since
1790, is shown by the following table. The Middle States are New York, New
Jersey, and Pennsylvania.
New Middle. Southern.
England.
1790 1,009,823 958,632 1,852,504
1800 1,233,315 1,401,070 2,285,909
1810 1,471,891 2,014,695 2,674,913
1820 1,659,808 2,699,845 3,061,074
1830 1,954,717 3,587,664 3,645,752
1840 2,234,822 4,526,260 3,925,299
1850 2,728,106 5,898,735 4,678,728
It may be interesting to notice in this sketch of the progress of the
United States, the population of the country comprising the original
thirteen States, while under the Colonial Government, as far as the same
is known. The first permanent colony planted by the English in America was
Virginia, the settlement of which commenced in 1607. This was followed by
the colonization of Massachusetts, in two original settlements; first that
commenced at Plymouth in 1620; the other at Salem and Boston in 1628 and
1630. Maryland was settled by English and Irish Catholics in 1634; and New
York by the Dutch in 1613.
With the exception of Vermont, the foundation of all the New England
States was laid within twenty years from the arrival of the first settlers
at Plymouth. Hutchinson says that during ten years next prior to 1640, the
number of Puritans who came over to New England amounted to 21,000. If
this estimate is correct, the whole number of inhabitants in New England
in 1640, taking the natural increase into consideration, must have been
over 32,000. As the Puritans came into power in England, under Cromwell,
their emigration was checked, and almost ceased, until the restoration, in
1660. Mr. Seaman, in his “Progress of Nations,” has estimated the
population of New England to have increased to 120,000 in 1701, and gives
the following statement of the population of the original United States,
while British colonies, estimated for 1701, 1749, and 1775:
1701. 1749. 1775.
New England 120,000 385,000 705,000
New York 30,000 100,000 200,000
New Jersey 15,000 60,000 120,000
Pennsylvania 20,000 200,000 325,008
Delaware 5,000 25,000 40,000
Maryland 20,000 100,000 210,000
Virginia 70,000 250,000 540,000
North Carolina 20,000 80,000 260,000
South Carolina 7,000 50,000 160,000
Georgia -- 10,000 40,000
Total 307,000 1,260,000 2,600,000
From 1750 to 1790 (Mr. Seaman states), the white population of the
Southern Colonies or States increased faster than the same class in the
Northern States, and about as fast from 1790 to 1800. But since that
period the increase of whites has been greater in proportion in the
Northern than in the Southern States.
In estimating the future progress of that part of the Continent of America
within the boundaries of the United States, with reference to the march of
population over the immense regions west of the Mississippi, it should be
borne in mind that there is a large tract, of about one thousand miles in
breadth, between the western boundaries of Missouri and Arkansas, and the
Rocky Mountains, which is mostly uninhabitable for agricultural purposes,
the soil being sterile, without timber, and badly watered. But the
population flowing into California and Oregon, attracted by the rich
mineral and agricultural resources of those extensive regions, leaves no
doubt that our States on the Pacific will form a most important part of
the Republic, and afford new fields for enterprise for many future years.
In taking the Seventh Census of the United States, there have been engaged
45 marshals, and 3231 assistants. The aggregate amount appropriated by
Congress for the expenses was $1,267,500. On the 30th of September last
there were employed in the Census-office ninety-one clerks, who in
November were increased to one hundred and forty-eight.
THE IMMENSITY OF THE UNIVERSE!—How often has the grandeur of the
conception been marred by the scientific puerilities that have been
brought to its aid. Lecturers have astonished us with rows of decimals, as
though these could vivify the imaginative faculty, or impart an idea in
any respect more elevated than could have been entertained through an
unscientific yet devout contemplation of the works and ways of God. They
have talked to us of millions, and millions of millions, as though the
computation of immense numbers denoted the highest exercise of the human
intellect, or the loftiest sublimities of human thought. Sometimes they
would vary the effect by telling us how many billions of years it would
take for a railroad locomotive to travel across the solar system, or for a
cannon ball to fly to the widest range of a comet’s orbit, or for the
flash of the electric telegraph to reach the supposed remotest confines of
the Milky Way. And so we have known some preachers attempt to measure
eternity by clocks and pendulums, or sand-glasses as large as the earth’s
orbit, and dropping one grain of sand every million of years, as though
any thing of that kind could come up to the dread impression of that one
Saxon word—_forever_, or the solemn grandeur of the Latin _secula
seculorum_, or to the effect produced by any of those simple
reduplications through which language has ever sought to set forth the
immeasurable conception, by making its immeasurability the very essence of
the thought, and of the term by which it is denoted.
Such contrivances as we have mentioned only weary instead of aiding the
conceptive faculty. If any such help is required for the mind, one of the
shortest formulas of arithmetic or algebra, we contend, would be the most
effective. The more we can express by the highest symbol, the less is the
true grandeur of the thought impaired by any of that imitating and
ever-foiled effort of the imagination which attends those longer methods
that are addressed solely to it. Let us attempt such a formula by taking
at once, for our unit of division, the most minute space ever brought into
visibility by the highest power of the microscope. Let our dividend on the
other hand, be the utmost distance within which the telescope has ever
detected the existence of a material entity. Denote the quotient by the
letter _x_, and let _r_ stand for the radius of the earth’s orbit. Then
_rx__x_ is the formula sought; and if any one think for a moment on the
immense magnitude of the latter part of the expression (_x__x_), and at
what a rate the involution expands itself even when _x_ represents a
moderate number,(10) he may judge how immeasurably it leaves behind it all
other computations. The whole of the universe made visible by Lord Rosse’s
telescope actually shrinks to the dimensions of an animalcule in the
comparison. And yet, even at that distance, so utterly surpassing all
conceivability, we may suppose the existence of worlds still embraced
within the dominions of God, and still, in the same ratio, remote from the
frontiers of his immeasurable empire.
But let us return from so fruitless an inquiry. There is another idea
suggested by the contemplation of the heavens of no less interest,
although presenting a very different, if not an opposite aspect. It is the
comparative NOTHINGNESS of the tangible material universe, as contrasted
with the space, or spaces, occupied even within its visible boundaries.
The distance of our sun from the nearest fixed star (conjectured by
astronomers to be the star 61 Cygni) is estimated at being at least
60,000,000,000,000 of miles, or 600,000 diameters of the earth’s orbit, or
about sixty million diameters of the sun himself. Taking this for the
average distance between the stars, although it is doubtless much greater,
and supposing them to be equal in magnitude to each other, and to the sun,
we have these most striking results. The sun and the star in Cygnus (and
so of the others) would present the same relation as that of two balls of
ten inches diameter placed ten thousand miles apart, or one a thousand
miles above the North Pole, and the other a like distance below the South
Pole of our earth. Preserving the same ratio, we might represent them
again, by two half-inch bullets placed, the one at Chicago, and the other
on the top of the City Hall in the City of New York; and so on, until
finally we would come down to two points, less than a thousandth part of
an inch in diameter, requiring the microscope to render them visible, and
situated at the distance of a mile asunder. Suppose then an inch of the
finest thread of thistle-down cut into a thousand sections, and a globular
space as large as the sphere of our earth, occupied with such invisible
specks, at distances from each other never less than a mile at least, and
we have a fair representation of the visible universe—on a reduced scale,
it is true, yet still preserving all the relative magnitudes, and all the
adjusted proportions of the parts to each other, and to the whole. On any
scale we may assume, all that partakes, in the lowest degree, of sensible
materiality, bears but an infinitessimal proportion to what _appears_ to
be but vacant space. In this view of the matter it becomes more than a
probability that there is no relatively denser solidity than this any
where existing. Even in the hardest and apparently most impenetrable
matter, the ultimate particles may be as sparse in their relative
positions, as are, to each other, the higher compound and component bodies
which we know are dispersed at such immense distances as mere points in
space.
But not to dwell on this idea, there is another of a kindred nature to
which we would call attention, although it must often have come home to
every serious mind. Who can soberly contemplate the mighty heavens without
being struck with what may be called the ISOLATION of the universe, or
rather, of the innumerable parts of which it is composed. To the most
thoughtful spirit a sense of loneliness must be a main, if not a
predominant element in such a survey. The first impression from these
glittering points in space may, indeed, be that of a _social_ congregated
host. And yet how perfect the _seclusion_; so that while there is granted
a bare knowledge of each other’s existence, the possibility of any more
intimate communion, without a change in present laws, is placed altogether
beyond the reach of hope. What immeasurable fields of space intervene even
between those that seem the nearest to each other on the celestial canvas!
We may say, then, that whatever may be reserved for a distant future, this
perfect seclusion seems now to be the predominant feature, or law, of the
Divine dispensations. No doubt our Creator could easily have formed us
with sensitive powers, or a sensitive organization, capable of being
affected from immensely remote, as well as from comparatively near
distances. There is nothing inconceivable in such an adaptation of the
nervous system to a finer class of etherial undulations as might have
enabled us to see and hear what is going on in the most distant worlds.
But it hath not so pleased Him to constitute us; and we think, with all
reverence be it said, that we see wisdom in the denial of such powers
unless accompanied by an organization which would, on the other hand,
utterly unfit us for the narrow world in which we have our present
probationary residence. If the excitements of our limited earth bear with
such exhausting power upon our sensitive system, what if a universe should
burst upon us with its tremendous realities of weal or woe!
It is in kindness, then, that each world is severed, for the present, from
the general intercourse, and that so perfectly that no amount of science
can ever be expected to overcome the separation. “HE hath set a bound
which we can not pass,” except in imagination. Even analogical reasoning
utterly fails, or only lights us to the conclusion that the diversities of
structure, of scenery, and of condition, must be as great, and as
numberless as the spaces, and distances, and positions they respectively
occupy. The moral sense, however, is not wholly silent. It has a voice “to
which we do well to take heed” when the last rays of reason and analogy
have gone out in darkness. It can not be, it affirms—it can not be, that
the worlds on worlds which the eye and the telescope reveal to us are but
endless repetitions of the fallen earth on which we dwell. What a pall
would such a thought spread over the universe! How sad would it render the
contemplation of the heavens! How full of melancholy the conception that
throughout the measureless fields of space there may be the same
wretchedness and depravity that have formed the mournful history of our
earth, and which we fail to see in its true intensity, because we have
become hardened through long and intimate familiarity with its scenes. And
yet, for all that natural science merely, and natural theology can prove,
it may be so, and even far worse. For all that they can affirm, either as
to possibility or probability, a history of woe surpassing any thing that
earth has ever exhibited, or inhabitant of earth has ever imagined, may
have every where predominated. The highest reasoning of natural theology
can only set out for us some cold system of optimism, which may make it
perfectly consistent with its heartless intellectuality to regard the
sufferings of a universe, and that suffering a million-fold more intense
than any thing ever yet experienced, as only a means to some fancied good
time coming, and ever coming, for other dispensations and other races, and
other types of being in a future incalculably remote. To a right thinking
mind nothing can be more gloomy than that view of the universe which is
given by science alone, taking the earth as its base line of measurement,
and its present condition (assumed to have come from no moral catastrophe,
but to be a necessary result of universal physical laws) as the only
ground of legitimate induction. But we have a surer guide than this.
Besides the moral sense, we have the representations the Bible gives of
God and Christ. These form the ground of the belief that our earth is not
a fair sample of the universe, that fallen worlds are rare and
extraordinary, as requiring extraordinary mediatorial remedies—that
blessedness is the rule and not the exception, and that the Divine love
and justice have each respect to individual existences, instead of being
both absorbed in that _impersonal_ attribute which has regard only to
being in general, or to worlds and races viewed only in reference to some
interminable progress, condemned by its own law of development to eternal
imperfection, because never admitting the idea of finish of workmanship,
or of finality of purpose, either in relation to the universe or any of
its parts.
EDITOR’S EASY CHAIR
New-Yorkers have a story to tell of the winter just now dying, that will
seem, perhaps, to the children of another generation like a pretty bit of
Munchausenism. Whoever has seen our Metropolitan City only under the balmy
atmosphere of a soft May-day, or under the smoky sultriness of a tropic
August—who has known our encompassing rivers only as green arms of
sparkling water, laughing under the shadows of the banks, and of
shipping—would never have known the Petersburg of a place into which our
passing winter has transformed the whole.
Only fancy our green East River, that all the summer comes rocking up from
the placid Sound, with a hoarse murmur through the rocks of Hell-Gate, and
loitering, like a tranquil poem, under the shade of the willows of
Astoria, all bridged with white and glistening ice! And the stanch little
coasting-craft, that in summer-time spread their wings in companies, like
flocks of swans, within the bays that make the vestibule to the waters of
the city, have been caught in their courses, and moored to their places,
by a broad anchor of sheeted silver.
The oyster-men, at the beacon of the Saddle-rock, have cut openings in the
ice; and the eel-spearers have plied their pronged trade, with no boat
save the frozen water.
In town, too, a carnival of sleighs and bells has wakened Broadway into
such hilarity as was like to the festivals we read of upon the Neva. And
if American character verged ever toward such coquetry of flowers and
bon-bons as belongs to the Carnival at Rome, it would have made a pretty
occasion for the show, when cheeks looked so tempting, and the streets and
house-tops sparkled with smiles.
As for the country, meantime, our visitors tell us that it has been
sleeping for a month and more under a glorious cloak of snow; and that the
old days of winter-cheer and fun have stolen back to mock at the
anthracite fires, and to woo the world again to the frolic of moonlight
rides and to the flashing play of a generous hickory-flame.
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Beside the weather, which has made the ballast of very much of the salon
chat, city people have been measuring opinions of late in their hap-hazard
and careless way, about a new and most unfortunate trial of divorce. It is
sadly to be regretted that the criminations and recriminations between man
and wife should play such part as they do, not only in the gossip, but in
the papers of the day. Such reports as mark the progress of the Forrest
trial (though we say it out of our Easy Chair) make very poor pabulum for
the education of city children. And we throw out, in way of hint, both to
legislators and editors, the question how this matter is to be mended.
As for the merits of the case, which have been so widely discussed,
we—talking as we do in most kindly fashion of chit-chat—shall venture no
opinion. At the same time, we can not forbear intimating our strong
regret, that a lady, who by the finding of an impartial jury, was declared
intact in character, and who possessed thereby a start-point for winning
high estimation in those quiet domestic circles which her talents were
fitted to adorn—should peril all this, by a sudden appeal to the
sympathies of those who judge of character by scenic effects: and who, by
the very necessity of her new position, will measure her worth by the
glare of the foot-lights of a theatre!
Mrs. FORREST has preferred admiration to sympathy; her self-denial is not
equal to her love of approbation.
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European topic still has its place, and LOUIS NAPOLEON with his adroit but
tyrannic manœuvres, fills up a large space of the talk. It would seem,
that he was rivaling the keenest times of the Empire, in the zeal of his
espionage; and every mail brings us intelligence of some unfortunately
free-talker, who is “advised” to quit “the Republic.”
Americans are very naturally in bad odor; and from private advices we
learn that their requisitions to see the lions of the capital city, meet
with a growing coolness. Still, however, the gay heart of Paris leaps on,
in its fond, foolish heedlessness; and the operas and theatres win the
discontented away from their cares, and bury their lost liberties under
the shabby concealment of a laugh.
Report says that the masked balls of the Opera were never more fully
attended; or the gayety of their Carnival pursued with a noisier
recklessness.
This, indeed, is natural enough: when men are denied the liberty of
thinking, they will relieve themselves by a license of desire; and when
the soul is pinioned by bonds, the senses will cheat the man.
There is no better safeguard for Despotism, whether under cover of a
Kingdom or a Republic—than immorality. The brutality of lust is the best
extinguisher of thought: and the drunkenness of sensualism will inevitably
stifle all the nobler impulses of the mind.
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As for political chat at home, it runs now in the channel of
President-making; and the dinner-tables of Washington are lighted up with
comparison of chances. Under this, the gayeties proper are at a
comparative stand-still. The Assembly balls, as we learn, are less
brilliant, and more promiscuous than ever; and even the select parties of
the National Hotel are singularly devoid of attractions. Lent too is
approaching, to whip off, with its scourge of custom, the cue of papal
diplomats; and then, the earnestness of the campaign for the Presidency
will embrue the talk of the whole Metropolis.
While we are thus turning our pen-point Washington-ward, we shall take the
liberty of felicitating ourselves, upon the contrast which has belonged to
the reception of LOLA MONTES, in New York, and in the metropolis of the
nation. Here, she was scarce the mention of a respectable journal; there,
she has been honored by distinguished “callers.”
We see in this a better tone of taste in our own city, than in the city of
the nation; and it will justify the opinion, which is not without other
support, that the range of honorable delicacy is far lower in the city of
our representatives, than in any city of their clients. Representatives
leave their proprieties at home; and many a member would blush at a
license within the purlieus of his own constituency, which he courts as an
honor in the city of our Cæsars! We wish them joy of their devotion to the
Danseuse, whom—though we count as humble as themselves in point of
morals—we believe to be superior, mentally, to the bulk of her admirers.
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As a token of French life and morals, we make out this sad little bit of
romance from a recent paper:
A few days since, some boatmen upon the Seine saw what appeared to be a
pair of human feet floating down the stream; manning their barge, they
hastened to the spot, and succeeded in drawing from the water the body of
a young woman, apparently about twenty-five years of age, and elegantly
dressed; a heavy stone was attached to her neck by a cord. Within a small
tin box, in the pocket of her dress, carefully sealed, was found the
following note:
“My parents I have never known; up to the age of seven years, I was
brought up by a good woman of a little village of the Department of the
Seine and Marne; and from that time, to the age of eighteen I was placed
in a boarding-house of Paris. Nothing but was provided for my education.
My parents were without doubt rich, for nothing was neglected that could
supply me with rich toilet, and my bills were regularly paid by an unknown
hand.
“One day I received a letter; it was signed, ‘Your mother.’ Then I was
happy!
“ ‘Your birth,’ she wrote me, ‘would destroy the repose of our entire
family; one day, however, you shall know me: honorable blood flows in your
veins, my daughter—do not doubt it. Your future is made sure. But for the
present, it is necessary that you accept a place provided for you in the
establishment of M——; and when once you have made yourself familiar with
the duties of the place, you shall be placed at the head of an even larger
establishment.’
“A few days after, I found myself in the new position. Years passed by.
Then came the Revolution of February. From that fatal time I have heard
nothing of my family. Alone in the world, believing myself deserted,
maddened by my situation, I yielded, in an evil hour, to the oaths of one
who professed to love me. He deceived me; there is nothing now to live
for; suicide is my only refuge. I only pray that those who find this poor
body, will tell my story to the world; and, please God, it may soften, the
heart of those who desert their children!”
The story may be true or not, in fact; it is certainly true to the life,
and the religion of Paris: and while such life, and such sense of duty
remains, it is not strange that a Napoleon can ride into rule, and that
the French Republic should be firmest under the prick of bayonets.
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It appears that a Madame de la Ribossière has deceased lately in Paris,
leaving a very large fortune—to the city of Paris—much to the ire, not
only of her family, but of sundry friends, literary and others, who had
contributed very greatly to her amusement.
A French writer comments on the matter in a strain which, considering our
duties as Editor, we shall not think it worth while to gainsay.
Madame de la Ribossière was a lady of refined tastes, who derived a large
part of her enjoyment of life from the accomplishments of artistic and
literary gentlemen; how then, does it happen that she should not have
given proof of the pleasure she had received by a few princely legacies?
In the good old times (may they come again!) authors had different
treatment. Thus Pliny, the younger, in writing to Tacitus, says, “I have
received the past year some twenty-five thousand _ses terces_ more than
yourself—in the way of legacies—but don’t be jealous!”
The truth is, that a rich man rarely died in Rome, without leaving some
token to the author who had beguiled the hours of solitude—enlarged his
ideas, or consoled him in affliction. Cicero speaks of a large
inheritance, which he possessed, of statues and beautiful objects. In
short, Roman literature and the history of antiquity grew out of those
princely endowments, which independence and strength of opinion did not
fail to secure.
But nowadays, says the French author, a writer is paid like a starveling;
and picks up such crumbs of charity as fall only from the tables of the
publishers. And he goes on pleasantly, to suggest a change in this matter;
which, if it gain footing on the other side of the water, we shall take
the liberty of welcoming very kindly in America. When the custom of
leaving legacies to writers is in vogue, we shall take the liberty of
suggesting, in our own behalf, such objects of art as would be agreeable
to us; and such stocks as we should prefer as a permanent investment.
Meantime, we suck our quill in our Easy Chair, with as much forbearance as
we can readily command.
EDITOR’S DRAWER.
That was a dignified and graceful entertainment which recently took place
in the gay capital of France. Some two hundred of the “nobility and
gentry,” including a sprinkling of English aristocracy, assembled in a
prominent hall of the city, to see a _Rat and Owl Fight_! And while they
were getting ready the combatants, which went by sundry fancy or favorite
names, they had a _poet_ in leash, who “improvised a _strophe_” for the
occasion! Think of a “poet” apostrophizing, in studied measures, twelve
rats and four old owls! But that’s “the way they _do_ things in France.”
They have another very sensible and dramatic amusement there, which they
call the “_Mat de Cocagne_.” This is a long pole, of about eighteen inches
diameter at the base, well polished and greased from top to bottom, with
soft soap, tallow, and other slippery ingredients. To climb up this pole
to the top is an eminent exploit, which crowns the victorious adventurer
with a rich prize, and gains him the acclamations of ten thousand
spectators. The “pretenders” strip off their upper gear altogether, and
roll up their trowsers mid-thigh, and thus accoutred, present themselves
at the bottom of the mast. Now just listen to a description of the
operation, and reflections thereupon, and tell us whether you ever read
any thing more “perfectly _French_.”
“The first who attempt the ascent look for no honor; their office is to
prepare the way, and put things in train for their successors: they rub
off the grease from the bottom, the least practicable part of the pole. In
every thing the first steps are the most difficult, although seldom the
most glorious; and scarcely ever does the same person commence an
enterprise, and reap the fruit of its accomplishment. They ascend higher
by degrees, and the expert climbers now come forth, the heroes of the
list: they who have been accustomed to gain prizes, whose prowess is
known, and whose fame is established since many seasons. They do not
expend their strength in the beginning; they climb up gently, and
patiently, and modestly, and repose from time to time; and they carry, as
is permitted, a little sack at their girdle, filled with ashes to
neutralize the grease and render it less slippery.
“All efforts, however, for a long time prove ineffectual. There seems to
be an ultimate point, which no one can scan, the measure and term of human
strength; and to overreach it is at last deemed impossible. Now and then a
pretender essays his awkward limbs, and reaching scarce half way even to
this point, falls back clumsily amidst the hisses and laughter of the
spectators; so in the world empirical pretension comes out into notoriety
for a moment only to return with ridicule and scorn to its original
obscurity.
“But the charm is at length broken: a victorious climber has transcended
the point at which his predecessors were arrested. Every one now does the
same: such are men: they want but a precedent: as soon as it is proved
that a thing is possible, it is no longer difficult. Our climber continues
his success: farther and farther still; he is a few feet only from the
summit, but he is wearied, he relents. Alas! is the prize, almost in his
grasp, to escape from him! He makes another effort, but it is of no avail.
He does not, however, lose ground: he reposes. In the mean time,
exclamations are heard, of doubt, of success, of encouragement.
“After a lapse of two or three minutes, which is itself a fatigue, he
essays again. It is in vain! He begins even to shrink: he has slipped
downward a few inches, and recovers his loss by an obstinate struggle
(‘_applause_!’—‘_sensation_!’), but it is a supernatural effort, and—his
last. Soon after a murmur is heard from the crowd below, half raillery and
half compassion, and the poor adventurer slides down, mortified and
exhausted, upon the earth!
“So a courtier, having planned from his youth his career of ambition,
struggles up the ladder, lubric and precipitous, to the top—to the very
consummation of his hopes, and then falls back into the rubbish from which
he has issued; and they who envied his fortune, now rejoice in his fall.
What lessons of philosophy in a greasy pole! What moral reflections in a
spectacle so empty to the common world! What wholesome sermons are here
upon the vanity of human hopes, the disappointments of ambition, and the
difficulties of success in the slippery paths of fortune and human
greatness! But the very defeat of the last adventurer has shown the
_possibility_ of success, and prepared the way for his successor, who
mounts up and perches on the summit of the mast, bears off the crown, and
descends amidst the shouts and applause of the multitude. It is Americus
Vespucius who bears away from Columbus the recompense of his toils!”
So much for climbing a greased pole in reflective, philosophical Paris!
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Inquisitiveness has been well described as “an itch for prying into other
people’s affairs, to the neglect of our own; an ignorant hankering after
all such knowledge as is not worth knowing; a curiosity to learn things
that are not at all curious.” People of this stamp would rather be “put to
the question” than not to ask questions. Silence is torture to them. A
genuine _quidnunc_ prefers even false news to _no_ news; he prides himself
upon having the first information of things that never happened. Yankees
are supposed to have attained the greatest art in parrying
inquisitiveness, but there is a story extant of a “Londoner” on his
travels in the provinces, who rather eclipses the cunning “Yankee
Peddler.” In traveling post, says the narrator, he was obliged to stop at
a village to replace a shoe which his horse had lost; when the “Paul Pry”
of the place bustled up to the carriage-window, and without waiting for
the ceremony of an introduction, said:
“Good-morning, sir. Horse cast a shoe I see. I suppose, sir, you are going
to—?”
Here he paused, expecting the name of the place to be supplied; but the
gentleman answered:
“You are quite right; I generally go there at this season.”
“Ay—ahem!—do you? And no doubt you are now come from—?”
“Right again, sir; I _live_ there.”
“Oh, ay; I see: you do! But I perceive it is a London shay. Is there any
thing stirring in London?”
“Oh, yes; plenty of other chaises and carriages of all sorts.”
“Ay, ay, of course. But what do folks say?”
“They say their prayers every Sunday.”
“That isn’t what I mean. I want to know whether there is any thing new and
fresh.”
“Yes; bread and herrings.”
“Ah, you are a queer fellow. Pray, mister, may I ask your name?”
“Fools and clowns,” said the gentleman, “call me ‘Mister;’ but I am in
reality one of the clowns of Aristophanes; and my real name is _Brekekekex
Koax!_ Drive on, postillion!”
Now this is what _we_ call a “pursuit of knowledge under difficulties” of
the most _obstinate_ kind.
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In these “leaking” days of wintry-spring, when that classical compound
called “_splosh_,” a conglomerate of dirty snow and unmistakable mud,
pervades the streets of the city, perhaps these “_Street Thoughts by a
Surgeon_” may not be without some degree of wholesome effect upon the
community:
“In perambulating the streets at this period, what a number of little
ragamuffins I observe trundling their hoops! With what interest I
contemplate their youthful sport; particularly when I regard its probable
consequences! A hoop runs between a gentleman’s legs. He falls. When I
reflect on the wonderful construction of the skeleton, and consider to how
many fractures and dislocations it is liable in such a case, my bosom
expands to a considerate police, to whose ‘non-interference’ we are
indebted for such chances of practice!
“The numerous bits of orange-peel which diversify the pavement, oftentimes
attract my attention. Never do I kick one of them out of the way. The
blessings of a whole profession on the hands that scatter them! Each
single bit may supply a new and instructive page to the ‘Chapter of
Accidents.’
“Considering the damp, muddy state of the streets at this time of the
year, I am equally amazed and delighted to see the ladies, almost
universally, going about in the thinnest of thin shoes. This elegant
fashion beautifully displays the conformation of the ankle-joint; but to
the practitioner it has another and a stronger recommendation. I behold
the delicate foot separated scarcely by the thickness of thin paper from
the mire. I see the exquisite instep, undefended but by a mere web. I
meditate upon the influence of the cold and wet upon the frame. I think of
the catarrhs, coughs, pleurisies, consumptions, and other interesting
affections that necessarily must result from their application to the
feet; and then I reckon up the number of pills, boluses, powders,
draughts, mixtures, leeches, and blisters, which will consequently be sent
in to the fair sufferers, calculate what they must come to, and wish that
I had the amount already in my pocket!”
A world of satirical truth is here, in a very small compass.
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There is a good story told recently of Baron Rothschild, of Paris, the
richest man of his class in the world, which shows that it is not only
“money which makes the mare go” (or horses either, for that matter), but
“_ready_ money,” “unlimited credit” to the contrary notwithstanding. On a
very wet and disagreeable day, the Baron took a Parisian omnibus, on his
way to the Bourse, or Exchange; near which the “Nabob of Finance”
alighted, and was going away without paying. The driver stopped him, and
demanded his fare. Rothschild felt in his pocket, but he had not a “red
cent” of change. The driver was very wroth:
“Well, what did you get _in_ for, if you could not pay? You must have
_known_, that you had no money!”
“I am Baron Rothschild!” exclaimed the great capitalist; “and there is my
card!”
The driver threw the card in the gutter: “Never heard of you before,” said
the driver, “and don’t want to hear of you again. But I want my fare—and I
must _have_ it!”
The great banker was in haste: “I have only an order for a million,” he
said. “Give me change;” and he proffered a “coupon” for fifty thousand
francs.
The conductor stared, and the passengers set up a horse-laugh. Just then
an “Agent de Change” came by, and Baron Rothschild borrowed of him the six
sous.
The driver was now seized with a kind of remorseful respect; and turning
to the Money-King, he said:
“If you want ten francs, sir, I don’t mind lending them to you on my own
account!”
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“Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings,” says the BIBLE, “THOU hast
ordained praise.” Whoso reads the following, will feel the force of the
passage.
At an examination of a deaf and dumb institution some years ago in London,
a little boy was asked in writing:
“Who made the world?”
He took the chalk, and wrote underneath the words:
“In the beginning GOD created the heavens and the earth.”
The clergyman then inquired, in a similar manner
“Why did JESUS CHRIST come into the world?”
A smile of gratitude rested upon the countenance of the little fellow, as
he wrote:
“This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that JESUS
CHRIST came into the world to save sinners.”
A third question was then proposed, evidently adapted to call the most
powerful feelings into exercise:
“Why were _you_ born deaf and dumb, when _I_ can both hear and speak?”
“Never,” said an eye-witness, “shall I forget the look of resignation
which sat upon his countenance, when he again took the chalk and wrote:
“_Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in Thy sight!_”
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We find a piece of poetry in the “Drawer,” entitled “_The Husband’s
Complaint_,” and we quote a few stanzas from it to show, that there are
elsewhere, sympathizers with all those unfortunate husbands, victims to
German worsted, who are compelled to see pink dogs with green eyes
gradually growing before them every day, or untamed African lions in buff,
with vermilion eyeballs, glaring from the frame upon them.
“I hate the name of German wool,
In all its colors bright,
Of chairs and stools in fancy-work,
I hate the very sight!
The rugs and slippers that I’ve seen,
The ottomans and bags,
Sooner than wear a stitch on me,
I’d walk the streets in rags!”
“I’ve heard of wives too musical,
Too talkative, or quiet;
Of scolding or of gaming wives,
And those too fond of riot;
But yet, of all the errors known,
Which to the women fall,
Forever doing “fancy-work,”
I think exceeds them all!
“The other day, when I came home,
No dinner was for me;
I asked my wife the reason why,
And she said “One, two, three!”
I told her I was hungry,
And I stamped upon the floor,
She never looked at me, but said,
“I want one dark-green more!”
“Of course she makes me angry,
But she doesn’t care for that;
But chatters while I talk to her,
“One white and then a black;
One green, and then a purple,
(Just hold your tongue, my dear,
You really do annoy me so),
I’ve made a wrong stitch here!”
“And as for confidential chat,”
With her eternal “_frame_,”
Though I should speak of fifty things,
She’d answer me the same:
’Tis, “Yes, love—five reds, then a black—
(I quite agree with you)—
I’ve done this wrong—seven, eight, nine, ten,
An orange—then a blue!”
“If any lady comes to tea,
Her bag is first surveyed;
And if the pattern pleases her,
A copy then is made;
She stares the men quite out of face,
And when I ask her why,
’Tis, “Oh, my love, the pattern of
His waistcoat struck my eye!”
“And if to walk I am inclined
(It’s seldom I go out),
At every worsted-shop she sees,
Oh, how she looks about!
And says, “Bless me! I _must_ ’go in,
The pattern is so rare;
That group of flowers is just the thing
I wanted for my chair!”
“Besides, the things she makes are all
Such “Touch-me-not” affairs,
I dare not even use a stool,
Nor screen; and as for chairs,
’Twas only yesterday I put
My youngest boy in one,
And until then I never knew
My wife had such a tongue!
“Alas, for my poor little ones!
They dare not move nor speak,
It’s “Tom, be still, put down that bag,
Why, Harriet, where’s your feet!
Maria, standing on that stool!!
It wasn’t made for use;
Be silent all: three greens, one red,
A blue, and then a puce!”
“Oh, Heaven preserve me from a wife
With “fancy-work” run wild;
And hands which never do aught else
For husband or for child:
Our clothes are rent, our bills unpaid,
Our house is in disorder,
_And all because my lady-wife_
_Has taken to embroider_!”
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Private subscriptions to a book, “for the benefit of the author,” is one
way of paying creditors by taxing your friends. There have been some
curious specimens of this kind of “raising the wind,” in this same big
metropolis of Gotham, which have proved what is called at the West “a
caution;” a caution which the victims found, to their mortification, that
they needed beforehand. “All honor to the sex,” we say, of course, but not
the _same_ honor to _all_ of the sex; for there have been instances,
hereabout, of inveterate feminine book-purveyors, who have reflected
little honor upon themselves, and less upon “the sex;” as certain public
functionaries could bear witness—in fact, _have_ borne witness, upon the
witness-stand. There is a laughable instance recorded of a new method of
giving a subscription, which we shall venture to quote in this connection.
Many years ago, a worthy and well-known English nobleman, having become
embarrassed in his circumstances, a subscription was set on foot by his
friends, and a letter, soliciting contributions, was addressed, among
others, to Lord Erskine, who immediately dispatched the following answer:
“MY DEAR SIR JOHN:
“I am enemy to subscriptions of this nature; first, because my own
finances are by no means in a flourishing plight; and secondly, because
pecuniary assistance thus conferred, must be equally painful to the donor
and the receiver. As I feel, however, the sincerest gratitude for your
public services, and regard for your private worth, I have great pleasure
in _subscribing_—[Here the worthy nobleman, big with expectation, turned
over the leaf, and finished the perusal of the note, which terminated as
follows]: in _subscribing_ myself,
“My dear Sir John,
“Yours, very faithfully,
“ERSKINE.”
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Very bad spelling is sometimes the best, as in the case of the English
beer-vender, who wrote over his shop-door:
“_Bear_ sold here.”
Tom Hood, who saw it, said that it was spelled right, because the fluid he
sold was his own _Bruin_!
Not less ingenious was the device of the quack-doctor, who announced in
his printed handbills that he could instantly cure “the most obstinate
_aguews_;” which orthography proved that he was no conjuror, and did not
attempt to cure them by _a spell_.
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It was Punch, if we remember rightly, who told the story, some years ago,
of a man who loaned an umbrella to a friend, a tradesman in his street, on
a wet, nasty day. It was not returned, and on _another_ wet, disagreeable
day, he called for it, but found his friend at the door, going out with it
in his hand.
“I’ve come for my umbrella,” exclaimed the loan-_or_.
“Can’t help _that_,” exclaimed the borrower; “don’t you see that I am
going out with it?”
“Well—yes—” replied the lender, astounded at such outrageous impudence;
“yes; but—but—but what am _I_ to do?”
“Do?” replied the other, as he threw up the top, and walked off; “do? do
as _I_ did: _borrow one_!”
One of the best chapters in “Mrs. Caudle’s Curtain Lectures,” is where
that amiable and greatly-abused angel reproaches her inhuman spouse with
loaning the family umbrella:
“Ah! that’s the third umbrella gone since Christmas! What were you to do?
Why, let him go home in the rain. I don’t think there was any thing about
_him_ that would spoil. Take cold, indeed! He does not look like one o’
the sort to take cold. He’d better taken cold, than our only umbrella. Do
you hear the rain, Caudle? I say, do you _hear the rain_? Do you hear it
against the windows? Nonsense; you can’t be asleep with such a shower as
that. Do you _hear_ it, I say? Oh, you _do_ hear it, do you? Well, that’s
a pretty flood, I think, to last six weeks, and no stirring all this time
out of the house. Poh! don’t think to fool _me_, Caudle: _he_ return the
umbrella! As if any body ever _did_ return an umbrella! There—do you hear
it? Worse and worse! Cats and dogs for six weeks—always six weeks—and no
umbrella!
“I should like to know how the children are to go to school, to-morrow.
They shan’t go through _such_ weather, _that_ I’m determined. No; they
shall stay at home, and never learn any thing, sooner than go and get wet.
And when they grow up, I wonder who they’ll have to thank for knowing
nothing. People who can’t feel for their children ought never to _be_
fathers.
“But _I_ know why you lent the umbrella—_I_ know, very well. I was going
out to tea to mother’s, to-morrow;—you _knew_ that very well; and you did
it on purpose. Don’t tell me; _I_ know; you don’t want me to go, and take
every mean advantage to hinder me. But don’t you think it, Caudle! No; if
it comes down in buckets-full, I’ll go all the more: I will; and what’s
more, I’ll walk every step of the way; and you know that will give me my
death,” &c., &c., &c.
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The satire of the following lines, upon that species of sentimental
song-writing which prevailed a few years ago to a much greater extent than
at present, is somewhat broad; but any one who remembers the feeble and
affected trash which has hitherto been set to music, and sung by
lachrymose young ladies and gentlemen, will not consider it one whit too
much deserved.
I.
“My lute hath only one sad tone,
It hath a mournful twang:
Its other strings are cracked and gone,
By one unlucky bang!
You ask me why I don’t restore
Its early sweetness, and fresh cord it;
Oh, no! I’ll play on it no more!
Between ourselves—I can’t afford it!
II.
“You tell me that my light guitar
Is now as silent as the grave;
That on it now I play no bar,
Though _once_ it thrill’d with many a stave
Alas! to strike it once again,
More power than I possess requires;
The effort would be worse than vain—
My light guitar has lost its wires!
III.
“My heart, my lute, my light guitar,
All broken as they be,
As like unto each other are,
As little pea to pea.
Come, heart; come, lute, guitar, and all,
In one lament ye all are blended!
Hang on your nails against the wall—
I can’t afford to get you mended!”
Just fancy this touching song sung by a “nice young man,” with all the
modern “shakes” and _affetuoso_ accompaniments, and you will “realize” a
fair hit at what was not long since a fashionable species of English
ballad music.
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“Speaking of music,” by-the-by, we are reminded of rather a sharp reply
made by a celebrated nobleman in England to an enterprising musical
gentleman, who was a good deal of an enthusiast in the art. “I have waited
upon you, my lord, to ask for your subscription of twenty guineas to the
series of six Italian concerts, to be given at ——’s Rooms. Knowing your
lordship to be an admirer of the sweet—”
“You’ve been misinformed, sir. I am _not_ much of an admirer of the school
of ‘difficult music:’ on the contrary, I often wish, with Dr. Johnson,
that ‘it was not only _difficult_, but _impossible_.’ ”
“But as a nobleman, as a public man, your lordship can not be insensible
to the value of your honored name upon the subscription-list. Your eminent
brother, the greatest of London’s prelates, the most gifted, your
honorable brother subscribed fifty guineas. Here, sir, is his signature
upon this very paper which I hold in my hand.”
“Well,” replied “his lordship,” “I have no hesitation to state, that if I
were as _deaf_ as he is, I wouldn’t mind subscribing myself! He’s as deaf
as a post, or as a dumb adder; and can not hear the sounds of your Italian
charmers, charm they never so loudly. I have no such good luck.”
Thinking, doubtless, that trying to secure “his lordship’s” patronage
under such circumstances, and with such opinions, involved the pursuit of
musical subscriptions “under difficulties,” the importunate solicitor,
with a succession of low bows, left the apartment; and as he left “the
presence” he _thought_ he heard a low, chuckling laugh, but it didn’t
affect _his_ risibles!
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What a life-like “picture in little” is this by HOOD of the “torrent of
rugged humanity” that set toward an English poor-house, at sound of _The
Work House Clock_! Remark, too, reader, the beautiful sentiment with which
the extract closes:
“There’s a murmur in the air,
And noise in every street;
The murmur of many tongues,
The noise of many feet.
While round the work-house door
The laboring classes flock;
For why? the Overseer of the P——
Is setting the work-house clock.
“Who does not hear the tramp
Of thousands speeding along,
Of either sex, and various stamp
Sickly, crippled, and strong;
Walking, limping, creeping,
From court and alley and lane,
But all in one direction sweeping,
Like rivers that seek the main?
“Who does not see them sally
From mill, and garret, and room,
In lane, and court, and alley,
From homes in Poverty’s lowest valley
Furnished with shuttle and loom:
Poor slaves of Civilization’s galley—
And in the road and footways sally,
As if for the Day of Doom?
Some, of hardly human form,
Stunted, crooked, and crippled by toil,
Dingy with smoke, and rust, and oil,
And smirched beside with vicious toil,
Clustering, mustering, all in a swarm,
Father, mother, and care-full child,
_Looking as if it had never smiled_;
The seamstress lean, and weary, and wan,
With only the _ghosts_ of garments on;
The weaver, her sallow neighbor,
The grim and sooty artisan;
Every soul—child, woman, or man,
Who lives—or dies—by labor!
“At last, before that door
That bears so many a knock,
Ere ever it opens to Sick or Poor,
Like sheep they huddle and flock—
And would that all the Good and Wise
Could see the million of hollow eyes,
With a gleam derived from Hope and the skies
Upturned to the Work-House Clock!
“Oh! that the Parish Powers,
Who regulate Labor’s hours,
The daily amount of human trial,
Weariness, pain, and self-denial,
Would turn from the artificial dial
That striketh ten or eleven,
And go, for once, by that older one
That stands in the light of Nature’s sun,
And takes its time from Heaven!”
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There is something very amusing to us in this passage, which we find
copied upon a dingy slip of paper in the “Drawer,” descriptive of the
“sweet uses” to which sugar is put in “Gaul’s gay capital:”
“Here is the whole animal creation in paste, and history and all the fine
arts in _sucre d’orge_. You can buy an epigram in dough, and a pun in a
soda-biscuit; a ‘Constitutional Charter,’ all in jumbles, and a
‘Revolution’ just out of the frying-pan. Or, if you love American history,
here is a United States frigate, two inches long, and a big-bellied
commodore bombarding Paris with ‘shin-plasters;’ and the French women and
children stretching out their little arms, three-quarters of an inch long,
toward Heaven, and supplicating the mercy of the victors, in molasses
candy. You see also a General Jackson, with the head of a hickory-nut,
with a purse, I believe, of ‘Carroway Comfits,’ and in a great hurry,
pouring out the ‘twenty-five millions,’ a king, a queen, and a royal
family, all of plaster of Paris. If you step into one of these stores, you
will see a gentleman in mustaches, whom you will mistake for a nobleman,
who will ask you to ‘give yourself the pain to sit down,’ and he will put
you up a paper of bon-bons, and he will send it home for you, and he will
accompany you to the door, and he will have ‘the honor to salute you’—all
for four sous!”
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Few things are more amusing, to one who looks at the matter with
attention, than the literary style of the Chinese. How inseparable it is,
from the exalted opinions which “John Chinaman” holds of the “Celestial
Flowery Land!” Every body, all nations, away from the Celestial Empire,
are “Outside Barbarians.” And this feeling is not assumed; it is innate
and real in the hearts of the Chinese, both rulers and ruled. A friend
once showed us a map of China. China, by that map, _occupied all the
world_, with the exception of two small spots on the very outer edge,
which represented Great Britain and the United States! These “places” they
had _heard_ of, in the way of trade for teas, silks, etc., with the
empire.
We once heard a friend describe a Chinese “chop,” on government-order. He
was an officer on board a United States vessel, then lying in the harbor
at Hong-kong. A great commotion was observable among the crowds of boats
upon the water, when presently a gayly-decorated junk was observed
approaching the vessel. She arrived at the side, when a pompous little
official, with the air of an emperor, attended by two or three mandarins,
was received on deck. He looked the personification of Imperial Dignity.
He carried a short truncheon in his right hand, like Richard the Third;
and with his “tail” (his own, and his followers’) he strode toward the
quarter-deck. Arrived there, he unrolled his truncheon, a small square
sheet of white parchment, bearing a single red character, and held it up
to the astonished gaze of the officers and crew! This was a “_Vermilion
Edict_,” that terrible thing, so often fulminated by Commissioner Lin
against the “Outside Barbarians;” and that single red character was, “_Go
away!_” After the exhibition of which, it was impossible (of course!) to
stay in the Chinese waters. Having shown this, the great Mandarin and his
“tail” departed in solemn silence over the side of the ship. Of these
“special edicts,” especially those touching the expulsion of the “smoking
mud,” or opium, from the “Central Kingdom,” we may give the readers of the
“Drawer” specimens in some subsequent number; there happening to be in
that miscellaneous receptacle quite a collection of authentic Chinese
State Papers, with translations, notes, and introductions, by a
distinguished American savant, long a resident in the “Celestial Flowery
Land.”
LITERARY NOTICES.
One of the most welcome reprints of the season is Harper and Brothers’
edition of the _Life and Works of Robert Burns_, edited by ROBERT
CHAMBERS, in four handsome duodecimos. This is a tribute of exceeding
value to the memory of the great Peasant Bard, disclosing many new facts
in his history, and enhancing the interest of his writings by the
admirable order of their arrangement. These are interwoven with the
biography in chronological succession, and thus made to illustrate the
poetical experience and mental development of Burns, while they receive a
fresh and more striking significance from their connection with the
circumstances and impressions that led to their production. The present
editor was induced to undertake the grateful task of preparing the works
of his gifted countryman for the press by his profound interest in the
subject, and by his perceptions of the short-comings of previous laborers
in the same field. Dr. Currie, who was the pioneer of subsequent
biographical attempts, entered upon his task with too great deference to
public opinion, which at that time visited the errors of Bums with
excessive severity of retribution. Hence the caution and timidity which
characterized his memoir, converting it into a feeble apology for its
subject, instead of a frank and manly narration of his life. Lockhart’s
biography of Burns is a spirited and graceful production, inspired with a
genuine Scottish feeling, written in a tone of impartial kindness, and
containing many just, and forcible criticisms. It is, however, disfigured
with numerous inaccuracies, and brings forward few details to increase our
previous knowledge of the subject. Nor can the genial labors of Allan
Cunningham be regarded as making further biographical efforts superfluous.
Mr. Chambers has availed himself in this edition of ample materials for a
life of the poet, including the reminiscences of his youngest sister, who
was still living at the date of the composition of these volumes. Devoted
to the memory of Burns with the enthusiasm of national pride, a zealous
student of his glorious poetry, and a warm admirer of the originality and
nobleness of his character, in spite of its glaring and painful defects,
he has erected a beautiful and permanent monument to his fame, which will
survive the recollections of his errors and infirmities. We think this
edition must speedily take the place of all others now extant. The notes
in illustration of the biography, are copious and valuable. No one can
read the poems, in connection with the lucid memoir, without feeling a new
glow of admiration for the immortal bard, “whose life was one long
hardship, relieved by little besides an ungainful excitement—who during
his singularly hapless career, did, on the whole, well maintain the grand
battle of Will against Circumstances—who, strange to say, in the midst of
his own poverty conferred an imperishable gift on mankind—an Undying Voice
for their finest sympathies—stamping, at the same time, more deeply, the
divine doctrine of the fundamental equality of consideration due to all
men.”
A new edition of _The Corner Stone_, by JACOB ABBOTT, with large additions
and improvements, is issued in a very neat and convenient volume by Harper
and Brothers. The series of works devoted to practical religion, of which
this volume is a part, have been received with such general favor by the
Christian public, as to make quite unnecessary any elaborate comments on
their merits. Their peculiar power consists in their freedom from
speculative subtleties, their luminous exhibition of the essential
evangelical doctrines, their spirit of fervent and elevated piety, their
wise adaptation to the workings of the human heart, and their affluence,
aptness, and beauty of illustration. Mr. Abbott is eminently a writer for
the masses. His practical common sense never forsakes him. He is never
enticed from his firm footing amidst substantial realities. The gay
regions of cloud-land present no temptations to his well disciplined
imagination. He must always be a favorite with the people; and his moral
influence is as salutary as it is extensive.
Blanchard and Lea have issued a reprint of BROWNE’S _History of Classical
Literature_. The present volume is devoted to the literature of Greece,
and comprises an historical notice of her intellectual development, with a
complete survey of the writers who have made her history immortal. Without
any offensive parade of erudition, it betrays the signs of extensive
research, accurate learning, and a polished taste. As a popular work on
ancient literature, adapted no less to the general reader than to the
profound student, it possesses an unmistakable merit, and will challenge a
wide circulation in this country.
We have also from the same publishers a collection of original _Essays on
Life, Sleep, Pain_, and other similar subjects, by SAMUEL H. DIXON, M.D.
They present a variety of curious facts in the natural history of man,
which are not only full of suggestion to the scientific student, but are
adapted to popular comprehension, and form a pleasant and readable volume.
George P. Putnam has republished SIR FRANCIS HEAD’S lively volume entitled
_A Faggot of French Sticks_, describing what he saw in Paris in 1851. The
talkative baronet discourses in this work with his usual sparkling
volubility. Superficial, shallow, good-natured; often commonplace though
seldom tedious; brisk and effervescent as ginger-beer, it rattles
cheerfully over the Paris pavements, and leaves quite a vivid impression
of the gayeties and gravities of the French metropolis.
James Munroe and Co., Boston, have issued the third volume of
_Shakspeare_, edited by Rev. H. N. HUDSON, whose racy introductions and
notes are far superior to the common run of critical commentaries—acute,
profound, imbued with the spirit of the Shakspearian age, and expressed in
a style of quaint, though vigorous antiqueness.
The same publishers have issued a Poem, called the _Greek Girl_, by JAMES
WRIGHT SIMMONS, thickly sprinkled with affectation on a ground-work of
originality;—a charming story, by the author of the “Dream-Chintz,”
entitled _The House on the Rock_;—and a reprint of _Companions of My
Solitude_, one of the series of chaste, refined, and quiet meditative
essays by the author of “Friends in Council.”
_Sorcery and Magic_ is the title of a collection of narratives by THOMAS
WRIGHT, showing the influence which superstition once exercised on the
history of the world. The work is compiled with good judgment from
authentic sources, and without attempting to give any philosophical
explanation of the marvelous facts which it describes, leaves them to the
reflection and common sense of the reader. It is issued by Redfield in the
elegant and tasteful style by which his recent publications may be
identified.
_Ravenscliffe_, by Mrs. MARSH, and _The Head of the Family_, by the author
of “Olive,” and “The Oglevies,” have attained a brilliant popularity among
the leading English novels of the season, and will be welcome to the
American public in Harper’s “Library of Select Novels,” in which they are
just reprinted.
Miss MITFORD’S _Recollections of a Literary Life_ (republished by Harper
and Brothers) will be found to possess peculiar interest for the American
reader. In addition to a rich store of delightful personal reminiscences,
genial and graceful criticisms on old English authors, as well as on
contemporary celebrities, and copious selections from their choicest
productions, Miss Mitford presents several agreeable sketches of American
authors and other distinguished men, including Daniel Webster, Halleck,
Hawthorne, Whittier, Wendell Holmes, and so forth. She shows a sincere
love for this country, and a cordial appreciation of its institutions and
its literature. The whole book is remarkable for its frank simplicity of
narrative, its enthusiasm for good letters, its fine characterizations of
eminent people, and its careless beauties of style. A more truly
delightful volume has not been on our table for many a day.
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Mr. T. HUDSON TURNER, one of the ablest of British archæologists, and a
contributor to the _Athenæum,_ died of consumption, on the 14th of
January, at the age of thirty-seven.
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The _Westminster Review_ has been excluded from the Select Subscription
Library of Edinburgh, on the special ground of its heresy!
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Among the new works in the press the following are announced by Mr.
Bentley: “History of the American Revolution,” by GEORGE BANCROFT; the
“Memoirs of the Marquis of Rockingham,” by the Earl of ALBEMARLE; “Letters
of Gray the Poet,” edited from original MSS., with Notes by the Rev. J.
MITFORD; “Memoirs of the Court of George III.,” by J. HENEAGE JESSE;
“Memoirs of Sarah Margaret Fuller, the Marchioness of Ossola,” edited by
R. W. Emerson and W. H. CHANNING; “History of the Governors-General of
India,” by Mr. KAYE, author of “The History of the Affghan War,” and
various other works of general interest.
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JULES BENEDICT, the companion of the Swedish Nightingale in America, has
entered into an arrangement with a London publisher to issue his complete
account of Jenny Lind’s tour in America.
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It is said that Mr. MACAULAY has delayed the publication of the third and
fourth volumes of his _History of England_ in consequence of his having
obtained some new information relating to King William the Third. King
William, it is asserted, figures as the chief personage in the
narrative—and the greatest stress is laid on his conduct subsequently to
the Revolution.
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ROBERT BROWNING, in his Italian sojourn, has been interesting himself
biographically in PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY; and the result of this inquiry we
are to have shortly in some unpublished letters of SHELLEY’S, with a
preface by BROWNING himself.
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MR. W. CRAMP is preparing a critical analysis of the _Private Letters_ of
Junius to Woodfall, to be added to his new edition of Junius. The private
correspondence with Woodfall is a field of inquiry that hitherto has not
been sufficiently explored. Mr. Cramp is pursuing his investigation on the
plan of the essays on the letters of “Atticus Lucius,” and those in
defense of the Duke of Portland. This inquiry promises to reveal many
additional facts in proof of Mr. Cramp’s hypothesis that Lord Chesterfield
was Junius.
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Major CUNNINGHAM has completed his work on _The Bhilsa Topes, or Budhist
Monuments of Central India_—and the Governor General of India has sent the
manuscript home to the Court of Directors, strongly recommending the court
to publish it at their own expense.
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DR. WILLIAM FREUND, the philologist, is engaged in constructing a
German-English and English-German Dictionary on his new system. He hopes
to complete the work in the course of next year.
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The first volume has appeared of a collected edition of the _Poetical and
Dramatic Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton_, containing “The New Timon,”
“Constance,” “Milton,” “The Narrative Lyrics,” and other pieces. Of the
poems in this volume public opinion has already expressed its estimate,
and it is sufficient for us to notice their republication in convenient
and elegant form. In a note to the passage in “The New Timon” referring to
the late Sir Robert Peel, the author says “he will find another occasion
to attempt, so far as his opinions on the one hand, and his reverence on
the other, will permit—to convey a juster idea of Sir Robert Peel’s
defects or merits, perhaps as a statesman, at least as an orator.” Very
singular are the lines in the poem, written before the fatal accident:
“Now on his humble, but his faithful steed,
Sir Robert rides—he never rides at speed—
Careful his seat, and circumspect his gaze,
And still the cautious trot the cautious mind betrays.
Wise is thy head! how stout soe’er his back,
Thy weight has oft proved fatal to thy hack!”
The generous and graceful turn given to this in the foot-note, is such as
one might expect from Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. In another series we have the
second part of _Ernest Maltravers_, or, as the other title bears, _Alice,
or The Mysteries_. In this work of allegorical fiction, with the author’s
usual power and felicity of narrative, there is mingled a philosophical
purpose; and in a new preface Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton ascribes to it,
above all his other works, “such merit as may be thought to belong to
harmony between a premeditated conception, and the various incidents and
agencies employed in the development of plot.” “Ernest Maltravers,” the
type of Genius or intellectual ambition, is after long and erring
alienation happily united to “Alice,” the type of Nature, nature now
elevated and idealized.
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A new novel, by the gifted author of “Olive,” and the “Ogilvies,” entitled
“The Head of the Family,” is spoken of in terms of warm admiration by the
London press. The _Weekly News_ remarks, “The charm of idyllic simplicity
will be found in every page of the book, imparting an interest to it which
rises very far above the ordinary feeling evoked by novel reading. So much
truthfulness, so much force, combined with so much delicacy of
characterization, we have rarely met with; and on these grounds alone,
irrespective of literary merit, we are inclined to credit the work with a
lasting popularity.”
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The same journal has a highly favorable notice of LOSSING’S _Pictorial
Field Book of the Revolution_, from which we take the following passage:
“In reviewing the recent volumes of Lord Mahon’s History that treat of the
American war, we expressed an opinion that the subject was one to which no
American writer had done justice. The work now before us appears (so far
as we may judge from its first moiety), to be the best contribution that
any citizen of the United States has yet made to a correct knowledge of
the circumstances of their war of independence. It is not a regular
history; and the blank in transatlantic literature, to which we have
referred, remains yet to be supplied. But Mr. Lossing has given us a
volume full of valuable information respecting the great scenes and the
leading men of the war. And the profuseness with which he has illustrated
his narrative with military plans, with portraits of statesmen and
commanders, and with sketches of celebrated localities, gives great
interest and value to these pages.”
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With all its stubborn John Bullism, the London _Athenæum_ is compelled to
pay a flattering tribute to the literary merits of our distinguished
countryman, NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE: “Among the sterling pleasures which,
though few, make rich amends for the many grievances and misconstructions
that await honest critics, there is none so great as the discovery and
support of distant and unknown genius. Such pleasure the _Athenæum_ may
fairly claim in the case of Mr. Hawthorne. Like all men so richly and
specially gifted, he has at last found his public—he is at last looked to,
and listened for: but it is fifteen years since we began to follow him in
the American periodicals, and to give him credit for the power and the
originality which have since borne such ripe fruit in ’The Scarlet Letter’
and ’The House of the Seven Gables.’ Little less agreeable is it to see
that acceptance, after long years of waiting, seems not to have soured the
temper of the writer—not to have encouraged him into conceit—not to have
discouraged him into slovenliness. Like a real artist Mr. Hawthorne gives
out no slightly planned nor carelessly finished literary handiwork.”
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Among the list of passengers who perished by fire on board the Amazon
steamer, we find the name of Mr. ELIOT WARBURTON, the author of “The
Crescent and the Cross,” a book of Eastern travel—“Prince Rupert and the
Cavaliers”—and the novels “Reginald Hastings” and “Darien.” Mr. Warburton,
says a correspondent of the _Times_, had been deputed by the Atlantic and
Pacific Junction Company to come to a friendly understanding with the
tribes of Indians who inhabit the Isthmus of Darien: it was also his
intention to make himself perfectly acquainted with every part of those
districts, and with whatever referred to their topography, climate, and
resources. “To _Darien_, with the date of 1852 upon its title-page,” says
the _London Examiner_, “the fate of its author will communicate a
melancholy interest. The theme of the book is a fine one. Its fault
consists chiefly in the fact that the writer was not born to be a
novelist. Yet, full as it is of eloquent writing, and enlivened as it is
with that light of true genius, which raises even the waste work of a good
writer above the common twaddle of a circulating library, _Darien_ may,
for its own sake, and apart from all external interest, claim many
readers. External interest, however, attaches to the book in a most
peculiar manner. Superstitious men—perhaps also some men not
superstitious—might say that there was a strange shadow of the future cast
upon its writer’s mind. It did not fall strictly within the limits of a
tale of the Scotch colonization of Darien, to relate perils by sea; yet
again and again are such perils recurred to in these volumes, and the
terrible imagination of a _ship on fire_ is twice repeated in them.”
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M. THIERS, ALEXANDRE DUMAS, VICTOR HUGO, several newspaper editors, and
other literary men of France, are now at Brussels. Thiers is said to be
working hard at his _History of the Consulate and of the Empire_, and Hugo
is represented to entertain the intention of again seriously returning to
literary pursuits, in which, one would think, he must find more pleasure,
as well as more fame and profit, than in the stormy arena of politics.
Dumas, who works like a cart-horse, and who, as ever, is in want of money,
has, in addition to his numerous pending engagements at Paris, undertaken
to revise, for a Belgian publishing firm, the _Memoirs of his Life_, now
in course of publication in the Paris _Presse_; and he is to add to them
all the passages suppressed by Louis Bonaparte’s censors. Another new work
is announced by Dumas, called _Byron_, in which we are promised the
biography, love adventures, journeys, and anecdotic history of the great
poet.
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M. DE LAMARTINE has resigned the editorship, or, as he called it, the
directorship, of the daily newspaper on which he was engaged at a large
salary, and in which he published his opinions on political events. He has
also put an end to his monthly literary periodical, called _Les Foyers du
Peuple_; no great loss, by the way, seeing that it was only a jumble of
quotations from his unpublished works, placed together without rhyme or
reason; and, finally, he has dropped the bi-monthly magazine, in which he
figured as the _Counsellor of the People_. But he promises,
notwithstanding the sickness under which he is laboring, to bring out a
serious literary periodical, as soon as the laws on the press shall be
promulgated.
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Among the novelties that are forthcoming, there is one which promises to
be very important, called _Lord Palmerston—L’Angleterre et le Continent_,
by Count FICQUELMONT, formerly Austrian Ambassador at Constantinople and
St. Petersburg, where he had occasion to experience something of Lord
PALMERSTON’S diplomacy. It is, we are told, a vigorous attack on English
policy.
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_La Vérité_, a pamphlet containing the true history of the _coup d’état_,
is announced in London, with the production of authentic documents which
could not get printed in France. This _coup d’état_ has set all servile
pens at work. MAYER announces a _Histoire du 2 Decembre_; CESENA, a
_Histoire d’un Coup d’État_; and ROMIEU, the famous trumpeter of the
Cæsars—Romieu, who in his _Spectre Rouge_ exclaimed, “I shall not regret
having lived in these wretched times if I can only see a good castigation
inflicted on _the mob_, that stupid and corrupt beast which I have always
held in horror.” Romieu has had his prediction fulfilled, and he, too,
announces a History of the event.
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No ruler of France, in modern times, has shown such disregard to literary
men as Louis Napoleon. King Louis XVIII. patronized them royally; Charles
X. pensioned them liberally; Louis Philippe gave them titles and
decorations freely, and was glad to have them at his receptions; the
princes, his sons, showed them all possible attention; but during the
whole time Louis Bonaparte has been in power he has not only taken no
official notice of them, but has not even had the decent civility to send
them invitations to his _soirées_. By this conduct, as much, perhaps, as
by his political proceedings, he has made nearly the whole literary body
hostile to him: and, singular to state, the most eminent writers of the
country—Lamartine, Lamennais, Beranger, Hugo, Janin, Sue, Dumas,
Thiers—are personally and politically among his bitterest adversaries.
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Madame GEORGE SAND is in retirement in the province of Berry, and is at
present engaged in preparing “Memoirs of her Life,” for publication.
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The second division of the third volume of Alexander VON HUMBOLDT’S
_Cosmos_ has just issued from the German press. The new chapters treat of
the circuits of the sun, planets, and comets, of the zodiacal lights,
meteors, and meteoric stones. The uranological portion of the physical
description of the universe is now completed. The veteran philosopher has
already made good way into the fourth volume of his great work.
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HERR STARGARDT, a bookseller at Stuttgardt, has lately made a valuable
acquisition by purchasing the whole of Schiller’s library, with his
autograph notes to the various books.
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The _Icelandic-English Dictionary_ of the late distinguished philologist,
Mr. CLEASBY, is now nearly ready for the press; Mr. Cleasby’s MS.
collections having been arranged and copied for this purpose by another
distinguished Icelandic scholar, Hector Konrad Gislason, author of the
“Danish-Icelandic Lexicon.”
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The Swedish Academy has elected Professor HAGBERG, the translator of
Shakspeare, in place of the deceased Bishop Kullberg. The great prize of
the academy has this year been conferred on a poem entitled “Regnar
Lodbrok,” written by Thekla Knös, a daughter of the late Professor Knös.
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Attention is beginning to be paid in Spain to the popular literature of
England, and it is not improbable that it may get into as high favor as
that of France. Already Dickens’s “David Copperfield” and Lady Fullerton’s
“Grantley Manor” have been translated, and are being published in the
_folletinos_ of two of the newspapers.
A LEAF FROM PUNCH.
[Illustration.]
France Is Tranquil.
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Signs Of The Times.
When a young lady “has a very bad cold, or else she’d be delighted,” &c.,
it is rather a dangerous sign that, when once she sits down to the piano,
she will probably not leave it for the remainder of the evening.
When a gentleman loses his temper in talking, it is a tolerably correct
sign that he is getting “the worst of the argument.”
When you see the servant carrying under her apron a bottle of soda-water
into a house, you may at once seize it as a sure sign that some one has
been drinking over-night.
When the children are always up in the nursery, you may construe it into a
sure sign that the mother does not care much about them.
When a young couple are seen visiting a “Cheap Furniture Mart,” you may
interpret it into a pretty fair sign that the “happy day” is not far
distant.
When the boys begin to tear up their books, it is a sign the holidays are
about to commence.
[Illustration.]
The Road To Ruin.
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[Illustration: Cannon.]
The accompanying is a good sketch of the PATENT STREET-SWEEPING MACHINE
lately introduced in Paris. The sketch was taken on the spot (represented
at A). The want of firmness in the lines of the drawing would seem to
indicate some tremor in the nerves of the artist. The invention is not
entirely new, having been used in the same city by the uncle of the
present owner. The result of the late experiment is represented to have
been quite satisfactory. The Constitution, which it was feared would
interfere with its operation, was removed by it without any difficulty, so
that no traces of it were left.
FASHIONS FOR MARCH.
[Illustration.]
Figure 1.—Full Dress for Ball or Evening Party.
Figure 1.—Hair in puffed bands, raised, ornamented with bunches of wild
poppies, with silver foliage—coral necklace and waistcoat
buttons—waistcoat open, of white satin, embroidered in front with silver
and white jet. Pardessus of white gauze, bordered with a silver band, and
embroidered with silver spots. This pardessus fits quite close, being
hollowed out at the seam under the arm. Back flat; great round skirt
without plaits, sitting well over the hips. Sleeves short, and turned up
_à la Mousquetaire_: the silver band is about a quarter of an inch from
the edge, and is itself an inch wide. The skirt is white gauze, and very
ample; its only ornaments are three silver bands starting from the middle
and diverging toward the bottom. The space between them is covered with
silver spots. Pantaloons of plain white gauze, not very full, are fastened
round the ankle with a silver band. The foot is shod with a small white
silk _bottine_, laced up at the instep, from the top almost to the toe.
The lacing is crossed.
[Illustration.]
Figure 2.—Young Lady’s Toilet.
Fig. 2.—Bonnet of plain silk or satin, with a fringe at the edge of the
brim. A broad plaid ribbon is laid like a _fanchon_ over the brim and
crown. Curtain plaid cross-wise; plaid strings; the brim is forward at the
top, and falls off very much at the sides; no trimming inside. Waistcoat
of white quilting, open at the top, with small enamel buttons; two small
gussets at the waist; lappets rounded; a double row of stitches all
around. The muslin chemisette is composed of two rows, raised at the neck,
of a front piece in small plaits, and two lapels, embroidered and
festooned, which turn back on the waistcoat and vest. The sleeves are
plaited small, with embroidered wristbands and cuffs. The vest is velvet;
it is high, and opens straight down, but is not tight in the foreparts: it
is hollowed out at the seams of the side and back, so as to sit close
behind and on the hips. The foreparts form a hollow point at the side. The
sleeves, half-large, are cut in a point. A broad _galloon_ edges the vest
and the ends of sleeves. The lining is white satin. Skirt of Scotch
poplin. Narrow plaid cravat.
[Illustration.]
Figure 3.—Morning Toilet.
FIG. 3.—Drawn bonnet, satin and crape; the edge crape for a width of three
inches. The crape is doubled over a wire covered with satin, which is seen
through the crape. The rest of the brim is formed of five drawings of
satin. The crown, satin, is round, and divided into four parts separated
by three small _bouillonnés_; one, starting from the middle, goes over the
head to the curtain; the two others are at the sides. The curtain is satin
at top, and crape at bottom. Inside the brim, at the lower edges, are
bunches of ribbon from which hang loops of jet.
Dress of gros d’Ecosse. Body with round lappet Sleeves tight at top, open
at bottom. Skirt with flat plaits on the hips, so as not to spoil the sit
of the lappet. The body all round, and the front of the skirt are
ornamented with crape _bouillonnés_ sprinkled with jet beads. Each of the
beads seems to fasten the gathers of the _bouillonné_. Collar and
under-sleeves of white muslin festooned.
The waistcoat is in higher favor than ever. There are morning waistcoats,
visiting waistcoats, walking waistcoats. The first are made of white
quilting, simply, their only richness being in the trimming; nothing can
be prettier than the malachite buttons hanging at the end of a small
chain. There are some waistcoats of white or pink watered silk, ornamented
with a very small lace ruff, which is continued down the front as a frill;
there are others of silk, with needlework embroidery round the edges, and
sprinkled with flowers; others again of white satin with gold figures. As
a great novelty, we may mention the _Molière_ waistcoats, buttoning up to
the neck without collars, provided with little pockets, coming down low
and ending square below the waist, where the two sides begin to part. In
order to give the _Molière_ waistcoat the really fashionable stamp, it
must have a _godrooned_ collar, made of several rows of lace, a frill of
the same, and ruffles reaching to the knuckles. The buttons are cornelian,
agate, turquoise, or merely gold, bell-shaped. It is not uncommon in
toilets for places of public amusement to see the waistcoat fastened with
buttons mounted with brilliants. It is unnecessary to say that every
waistcoat has a little watch-pocket out of which hangs a chain of gold and
precious stones, the end of which is hooked in a button-hole and bears a
number of costly trinkets. We may here remark that they are made very
simple or very richly ornamented; for instance, those of the most simple
description are made either of black velvet, embroidered with braid, and
fastened with black jet buttons, or of cachmere.
Materials for this month vary very little from those of the winter months,
as we seldom have really fine spring weather during March. The fashionable
colors which prevail for the present month for out-door costume are
violet, maroon, green, blue, and gray of different shades; while those
intended for evening are of very light colors, such as white, maize, blue,
and pink, the latter being extremely fashionable, relieved with bright
colors.
HEAD-DRESSES.—Petit dress-hats are now greatly in request, made in the
following manner:—It is formed of black lace, and inlet formed of a
jet-black net-work, placed alternately, and ornamented with a _panache_,
each slip of feather being finished with a small jet-bead, which falls in
a glittering shower upon the side of the head. Then, again, we see those
_petit bords_ of black velvet; the crown being open, shows the beauty of
the hair; having also, upon one side of the front, which is slightly
turned back, a _nœud_ of black satin ribbon broché gold very wide and the
ends descending nearly to the waist.
FOOTNOTES
1 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by Harper
and Brothers, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the
Southern District of New York.
2 From “Recollections of a Literary Life, or Books, Places, and
People.” By Mary Russell Mitford. In press by Harper and Brothers.
3 This picture is believed to be no longer in existence. I have found
its description in the work of the historian Decamps.
4 Continued from the February Number
5 As there have been so many revolutions in France, it may be
convenient to suggest that, according to the dates of this story,
Harley, no doubt, alludes to that revolution which exiled Charles X.
and placed Louis Philippe on the throne.
6 Have you fifty friends?—it is not enough. Have you one enemy?—it is
too much.
7 At home—
“In the serene regions
Where dwell the pure forms.”
8 As the heaviest portion of this great influx of immigration took
place in the latter half of the decade, it will probably be fair to
estimate the natural increase during the term, at twelve per cent.,
being about one-third of that of the white population at its
commencement.
9 Alexandria &c. ceded back to Virginia since 1840.
10 When _x_ = 10, then _x__x_ = 10,000,000,000, or _ten thousand
million_. When _x_ = 100, the value of the function passes beyond
all bounds capable of being expressed by any known numerical names.
If we might manufacture a term for the occasion, it would be
somewhere in the neighborhood of a _quadragintillion_.