lying for a long while in our mind; and we can not do better than accord
to it the honors of paper and ink. It happened years ago, when that
eccentric preacher was in the height of his reputation; when he was, or
at least thought he was in earnest; before the balance of his mind had
been destroyed by adulation, conceit, vanity, and something worse.
During these days, in one of his journeyings, he came to a place on the
Mississippi--perhaps its name was not _Woodville_, but that shall be its
designation for the occasion. Now, Woodville was the most notoriously
corrupt place on the whole river; it was the sink into which all the
filth of the surrounding country was poured; it was shunned like a
pest-house, and abandoned to thieves, gamblers, desperadoes, and
robbers.
Maffitt determined to labor in this uninviting field. He commenced
preaching, and soon gathered an audience; for preaching was something
new there; and besides, Maffitt's silvery tones and strange flashes of
eloquence would at that time attract an audience any where. Those who
knew the man only in his later years know nothing of him.
Day after day he preached, but all to no purpose. He portrayed the bliss
of heaven--its purity and peace--in his most rapt and glowing manner.
It was the last place which could have any charms for his Woodville
audience.
He portrayed the strife and turmoil of the world of woe. Apart from its
physical torments--and they felt a sort of wild pride in defying
these--they rather liked the picture. At all events, it was much more to
their taste than was his description of heaven.
So it went on, day after day. Not a sigh of penitence; not a wet eye;
not a single occupant of the anxious seat. His labors were fruitless.
Finally, he determined upon a change of tactics. He spoke of the decay
of Woodville; how it was falling behind every other town on the
river--"Oh!" said he, "might but the Angel of Mercy be sent forth from
before the Great White Throne, commissioned to proclaim to all the
region round that there was a revival in Woodville, and what a change
there would be! The people would flock here from every quarter; the hum
of business would be heard in your streets; the steamers, whose bright
wheels now go flashing past your wharf, would stay in their fleet
career; these dense forests, which now lour around, would be hewn down
and piled up for food for these vast leviathans; and thus a golden tide
would pour in upon you; and Woodville would become the wealthiest, the
most beautiful, and the happiest place on the banks of the great Father
of Waters!"
A chord had been touched in the hitherto insensible hearts of the
Woodvillers. Thought, emotion, feeling, were aroused; and soon the
strange electric sympathy of mind with mind was excited. The emotion
spread and increased; the anxious seats were thronged; and a powerful,
and to all appearance genuine revival of religion ensued. The character
of Woodville was entirely changed; and from that time it has continued
to be one of the most moral, quiet, thriving, and prosperous of all the
minor towns upon the Mississippi.
* * * * *
Turning our eye Paris-ward, our first emotion is one of sorrow--for
their sakes and our own--at the present sad fate of our French brethren
of the quill. The bayonet has pitted itself against the pen, and has
come off victor--for the time being. The most immediate sufferers are
doubtless political writers, who must stretch their lucubrations upon
the Procrustean bed furnished by the Prince-President. But the sparkling
_feuilletonists_ who blow up such brilliant bubbles of romance from the
prosaic soap-and-water of every-day life, can not escape. How can Fancy
have free play when the Fate-like shears of the _Censure_ or the mace of
the new press-law are suspended over its head? Besides, the lynx-eye of
despotism may detect a covert political allusion in the most
finely-wrought romance of domestic life. The delicate touches by which
the _feuilletonist_ sought to depict the fate of the deserted girl whose
body was fished up from the Seine, may be thought to bear too strongly
upon the fate of poor LIBERTÉ, betrayed and deserted by her quondam
adorer, the Nephew of his Uncle; in which case, the writer would find
himself forced to repent of his pathos behind the gratings of a cell,
while his publisher's pocket would suffer the forfeiture of the
'caution-money.' Parisian gossip can not, under such circumstances,
furnish us any thing very lively, but must content itself with
chronicling the brilliant but tiresome receptions of the Elysée.
An occasional claw is however protruded through the velvet paws upon
which French society creeps along so daintily in these critical days,
showing that the propensity to scratch is not extinct, though for the
present, as far as the President and his doings are concerned, "I dare
not waits upon I would" in the cat-like Parisian salon life.
* * * * *
The subject of gossip most thoroughly French in its character, which has
of late days passed current, is one of which the final scene was Genoa,
and the prominent actor unfortunately an American. We touch upon the
leading points of this as they pass current from lip to lip.
Our readers have no great cause of regret if they have never before
heard of, or have entirely forgotten, a certain so-called "Chevalier"
WYKOFF, who, a few years since, gained an unenviable notoriety, in
certain circles in this country, as the personal attendant of the famous
_danseuse_, FANNY ELSSLER. Since that time the Chevalier has
occasionally shown his head above water in connection with Politics,
Literature, Fashion, and Frolic.
In due course of years the Chevalier grew older if not wiser, and became
anxious to assume the responsibilities of a wife--provided that she was
possessed of a fortune. It chanced that, about these times, a lady whom
he had known for many years, without having experienced any touches of
the tender passion, was left an orphan with a large fortune. The
sympathizing Chevalier was prompt with his condolences at her
irreparable loss, and soon established himself in the character of
confidential friend.
The lady decides to visit the Continent to recruit her shattered health.
The Chevalier--sympathizing friend that he is--is at once convinced that
there is for him no place like the Continent.
Having watched the pear till he supposed it fully ripe, the ex-squire to
the _danseuse_ proposed to shake the tree. One evening he announced that
he must depart on the morrow, and handed the lady a formidable document,
which he requested her to read, and to advise him in respect to its
contents.
The document proved to be a letter to another lady, a friend of both
parties, announcing a deliberate intention of offering his fine person,
though somewhat the worse for wear, to the lady who was reading the
letter addressed to her friend. This proposal in the third person met
with little favor, and the Chevalier received a decided negative in the
second person.
The Chevalier, however, saw too many solid charms in the object of his
passion to yield the point so easily. The lady returns to London, and
lo! there is the Chevalier. She flees to Paris, and thither he hies. She
hurries to Switzerland, and one morning as she looks out of the Hospice
of St. Bernard, she is greeted with the Chevalier's most finished bow of
recognition. She walks by the Lake of Geneva, and her shadow floats upon
its waters by the side of that of her indefatigable adorer. He watches
his opportunity and seizes her hand, muttering low words of love and
adoration; and as a company of pleasure-seekers to whom they are known
approaches, he raises his voice so as to be heard, and declares that he
will not release the hand until he receives a promise of its future
ownership. Bewildered and confused, the lady whispers a "Yes," and is
for the moment set at liberty. No sooner is she fairly rid of him than
she retracts her promise, and forbids her adorer the house.
She again flies to the Continent to avoid him. He follows upon her
track, bribes couriers and servants all along her route, and finally
manages at Genoa to get her into a house which he declares to be full of
his dependents. He locks the door, and declares that marry him she must
and shall. She refuses, and makes an outcry. He seizes her and tries to
_soothe_ her with chloroform. Once more she is frightened into a
consent.
But the Chevalier is now determined to make assurance doubly sure; and
demands a written agreement to marry him, under penalty of the
forfeiture of half her fortune, in case of refusal. To this the lady
consents: and the ardent admirer leaves the room to order a carriage to
convey her to her hotel. She seizes the opportunity to make her escape.
On the day following, the adventurous Chevalier involuntarily makes the
acquaintance of the Intendant of Police, and finds that his "bold stroke
for a wife" is like to entail upon him certain disagreeable consequences
in the shape of abundant opportunity for reflection, while a compulsory
guest of the public authorities of Genoa.
Ought not the Chevalier WYKOFF to have been a Frenchman?
Editor's Drawer.
The following anecdote of a legal gentleman of Missouri, was compiled
many years ago from a newspaper of that State. There is a racy freshness
about it that is quite delightful:
Being once opposed to Mr. S----, then lately a member of Congress, he
remarked as follows to the jury, upon some point of disagreement between
them:
"Here my brother S---- and I differ materially. Now this, after all, is
very natural. Men seldom see things in the same light; and they may
disagree in opinion upon the simplest principles of the law, and that
very honestly; while, at the same time, neither, perhaps, can perceive
any earthly reason why they should. And this is merely because they look
at different sides of the subject, and do not view it in all its
bearings.
"Now, let us suppose, for the sake of illustration, that a man should
come into this court-room, and boldly assert that my brother S----'s
head" (here he laid his hand very familiarly upon the large
"chuckle-head" of his opponent) "is _a squash_! I, on the other hand,
should maintain, and perhaps with equal confidence, that it was _a
head_. Now, here would be difference--doubtless an honest difference--of
opinion. We might argue about it till doom's-day, and never agree. You
often see men arguing upon subjects just as _empty_ and trifling as
this! But a third person coming in, and looking at the neck and
shoulders that support it, would say at once that I had reason on my
side; for if it was _not_ a head, it at least occupied the _place_ of
one: it stood where a head _ought_ to be!"
All this was uttered in the gravest and most solemn manner imaginable,
and the effect was irresistibly ludicrous.
* * * * *
Washington Irving, in one of his admirable sketches of Dutch character,
describes an old worthy, with a long eel-skin queue, a sort of covering
that was "a potent nourisher and strengthener of the hair." This was in
"other times;" and here is a "Tail" of that remote period:
"A Tale I'll tell of "other times,"
Because I'm in the mind:
You may have seen the tale before,
I've seen it oft behind.
"There's no detraction in this tale,
Nor any vile attack,
Or slander when 'tis told, although
It goes behind one's back.
"Impartial auditors it had,
Who ne'er began to rail,
Because there always was an ear
For both sides of the tale.
"But oh, alas! I have forgot,
I am not in the queue;
The tale has just dropped from my head.
As it was wont to do!"
* * * * *
A clergyman in one of our New England villages once preached a sermon,
which one of his auditors commended.
"Yes," said a gentleman to whom it was mentioned, "it _was_ a good
sermon, but he _stole_ it!"
This was told to the preacher. He resented it, at once, and called upon
his parishioner to retract what he had said.
"I am not," replied the aggressor, "very apt to retract any thing I may
have said, for I usually weigh my words before I speak them. But in this
instance I will retract. I said you had stolen the sermon. I find,
however, that I was wrong; for on returning home, and referring to the
book whence I thought it had been taken, I found it there, word for
word!"
The angry clergyman "left the presence," with an apparent consciousness
that he had made very little by his "motion."
* * * * *
We gave in a late "Drawer" some rather frightful statistics concerning
snuff-takers and tobacco-chewers: we have now "the honor to present"
some curious characteristics of the kinds of _materiel_ which have
regaled the nostrils of so many persons who were "up to snuff."
Lundy Foot, the celebrated snuff-manufacturer, originally kept a small
tobacconist's shop at Limerick, Ireland. One night his house, which was
uninsured, was burnt to the ground. As he contemplated the smoking ruins
on the following morning, in a state bordering on despair, some of the
poor neighbors, groping among the embers for what they could find,
stumbled upon several canisters of unconsumed but half-baked snuff,
which they tried, and found so grateful to their noses, that they loaded
their waistcoat pockets with the spoil.
Lundy Foot, roused from his stupor, at length imitated their example,
and took a pinch of his own property, when he was instantly struck by
the superior pungency and flavor it had acquired from the great heat to
which it had been exposed. Treasuring up this valuable hint, he took
another house in a place called "Black-Yard," and, preparing a large
oven for the purpose, set diligently about the manufacture of that
high-dried commodity, which soon became widely known as "Black-Yard
Snuff;" a term subsequently corrupted into the more familiar word,
"Blackguard."
Lundy Foot, making his customers pay liberally through the nose for one
of the most "distinguished" kinds of snuffs in the world, soon raised
the price of his production, took a larger house in the city of Dublin,
and was often heard to say,
"I made a very handsome fortune by being, as I supposed, utterly
ruined!"
* * * * *
Somebody has described Laughter as "a faculty bestowed exclusively upon
man," and one which there is, therefore, a sort of impiety in not
exercising as frequently as we can. One may say, with Titus, that we
have "lost a day," if it shall have passed without laughing, "An inch of
laugh is worth an ell of moan in any state of the market," says one of
the old English "Fathers." Pilgrims at the shrine of Mecca consider
laughter so essential a part of their devotion that they call upon their
prophet to preserve them from sad faces.
"Ah!" cried Rabelais, with an honest pride, as his friends were weeping
around his sick bed; "if I were to die ten times over, I should never
make you cry half so much as I have made you laugh!"
After all, if laughter be genuine, and consequently a means of innocent
enjoyment, _can_ it be inept?
* * * * *
Taylor, an English author, relates in his "Records," that having
restored to sight a boy who had been born blind, the lad was perpetually
amusing himself with a hand-glass, calling his own reflection his
"little man," and inquiring why he could make it do every thing he did,
_except to shut its eyes_. A French lover, making a present of a mirror
to his mistress, sent with it the following lines:
"This mirror _my_ object of love will unfold,
Whensoe'er your regard it allures;
Oh, would, when I'm gazing, that might behold
On its surface the object of _yours_!"
This is very delicate and pretty; but the following
old epigram, on the same subject, is in even a much
finer strain:
"When I revolve this evanescent state,
How fleeting is its form, how short its date;
My being and my stay dependent still
Not on my own, but on another's will:
I ask myself, as I my image view,
Which is the real shadow of the two?"
* * * * *
It is a little singular, but it is true, that scarcely any native writer
has succeeded better in giving what is termed the true "Yankee dialect,"
than a foreigner, an Englishman, Judge Haliburton, of Nova Scotia, "Sam
Slick." Hear him describe a pretty, heartless bar-maid, whom he met at
the "Liner's Hotel, in Liverpool:"
"What a tall, well-made, handsome piece of furniture she is, ain't she,
though? Look at her hair--ain't it neat? And her clothes fit so well,
and her cap is so white, and her complexion so clear, and she looks so
good-natured, and smiles so sweet, it does one good to look at her.
She's a whole team and a horse to spare, that's a fact. I go and call
for three or four more glasses than I want, every day, just for the sake
of talking to her. She always says,
"'What will you be pleased to have, sir!'
"'Something,' says I, 'that I can't have,' looking at her pretty
mouth--about the wickedest.
"Well, she laughs, for she knows well enough what I mean; and she says,
"'Pr'aps you'll have a glass of bitters, sir,' and off she goes to get
it.
"Well, this goes on three or four times a day; every time the identical
same tune, only with variations. It wasn't a great while afore I was
there agin.
"'What will you be pleased to have, sir?' said she agin, laughin'.
"'Something I can't git,' says I, a-laughin' too, and lettin' off sparks
from my eyes like a blacksmith's chimney.
"'You can't tell that till you try,' says she; 'but you can have your
bitters at any rate;' and she goes agin and draws a glass, and gives it
to me.
"Now she's seen _you_ before, and knows you very well. Just you go to
her and see how nicely she'll curtshy, how pretty she'll smile, and how
lady-like she'll say,
"'How do you do, sir? I hope you are quite well, sir? Have you just
arrived? Here, chamber-maid, show this gentleman up to Number Two
Hundred. Sorry, sir, we are so full, but to-morrow we will move you into
a better room. Thomas, take up this gentleman's luggage.' And then
she'd curtshy agin, and smile so handsome!
"Don't that look well, now? Do you want any thing better than that? If
you do, you are hard to please, that's all. But stop a little: don't be
in such an almighty, everlastin' hurry. Think afore you speak. Go there,
agin, see her a-smilin' once more, and look clust. It's only skin-deep;
just on the surface, like a cat's-paw on the water; it's nothin' but a
rimple like, and no more. Then look cluster still, and you'll discarn
the color of it. You laugh at the 'color' of a smile, but do you
_watch_, and you'll _see_ it.
"Look, _now_; don't you see the color of the shilling there? It's white,
and cold, and silvery: _it's a boughten smile_, and a boughten smile,
like an artificial flower, hain't got no sweetness into it. It's like
whipt cream; open your mouth wide; take it all in, and shut your lips
down tight, and it ain't nothin'. It's only a mouthful of moonshine,
a'ter all."
Sam goes on to say that a smile can easily be counterfeited; but that
the eye, rightly regarded, can not deceive.
"Square, the first railroad that was ever made, was made by Natur. It
runs strait from the heart to the eye, and it goes so almighty fast it
can't be compared to nothin' but 'iled lightning. The moment the heart
opens its doors, out jumps an emotion, whips into the car, and offs,
like wink, to the eye. That's the station-house and terminus for the
passengers, and every passenger carries a lantern in his hand, as bright
as an argand lamp; you can see him ever so far off.
"Look to _the eye_, Square: if there ain't no lamp there, no soul leaves
the heart that hitch: there ain't no train runnin', and the
station-house is empty. Smiles can be put on and off, like a wig; sweet
expressions come and go like lights and shades in natur; the hands will
squeeze like a fox-trap; the body bends most graceful; the ear will be
most attentive; the manner will flatter, so you're enchanted; and the
tongue will lie like the devil: _but the eye never_.
"But, Square, there's all sorts of eyes. There's an onmeanin' eye, and
a cold eye; a true eye and a false eye; a sly eye, a kickin' eye, a
passionate eye, a revengeful eye, a man[oe]uvring eye, a joyous eye, and
a sad eye; a squintin' eye, and the evil-eye; and more'n all, the dear
little lovin' eye. They must all be studied to be larnt; but the two
important ones to be known are the true eye and the false eye."
An American writer, somewhat more distinguished as a philosopher and
psychologist than Mr. Slick, contends that the "practiced eye" may often
deceive the most acute observer, but that there is something in the play
of the lines about the mouth, the shades of emotion developed by the
least change in the expression of the lips, that defies the strictest
self-control. We leave both theories with the reader.
* * * * *
That was a pleasant story, told of an English wit, of very pleasant
memory, who was no mean proficient in "turning the tables" upon an
opponent, when he found himself losing. On one occasion he was rapidly
losing ground in a literary discussion, when the opposite party
exclaimed:
"My good friend, you are not such a rare scholar as you imagine; you are
only an _every-day_ man."
"Well, and you are a _week_ one," replied the other; who instantly
jumped upon the back of a horse-laugh, and rode victoriously over his
prostrate conqueror.
* * * * *
We know not the author of the following lines, nor how, or at what time,
they came to find a place in the "Drawer;" but there is no reader who
will not pronounce them very touching and beautiful:
I am not old--I can not be old,
Though three-score years and ten
Have wasted away like a tale that is told,
The lives of other men
I am not old--though friends and foes
Alike have gone to their graves;
And left me alone to my joys or my woes,
As a rock in the midst of the waves
I am not old--I can not be old,
Though tottering, wrinkled, and gray;
Though my eyes are dim, and my marrow is cold,
Call me not old to-day!
For early memories round me throng,
Of times, and manners, and men;
As I look behind on my journey so long,
Of three-score miles and ten.
I look behind and am once more young,
Buoyant, and brave, and bold;
And _my heart_ can sing, as of yore it sung,
Before they called me old.
I do not see her--the old wife there--
Shriveled, and haggard, and gray;
But I look on her blooming, soft, and fair,
As she was on her wedding-day.
I do not see you, daughters and sons,
In the likeness of women and men;
But I kiss you now as I kissed you once
My fond little children then.
And as my own grandson rides on my knee,
Or plays with his hoop or kite,
I can well recollect I was merry as he,
The bright-eyed little wight!
'Tis not long since--it can not be long,
My years so soon were spent,
Since I was a boy, both straight and strong.
But now I am feeble and bent.
A dream, a dream--it is all a dream!
A strange, sad dream, good sooth;
For old as I am, and old as I seem,
My heart is full of youth.
Eye hath not seen, tongue hath not told,
And ear hath not heard it sung,
How buoyant and bold, tho' it seem to grow old,
Is the heart forever young!
Forever young--though life's old age,
Hath every nerve unstrung;
The heart, _the heart_ is a heritage,
That keeps the old man young!
* * * * *
That is a good story told of an empty coxcomb, who, after having
engrossed the attention of the company for some time with himself and
his petty ailments, observed to the celebrated caustic Dr. Parr, that he
could never go out without catching cold in his head.
"No wonder," said the doctor, rather pettishly; "you always go out
without any thing in it!"
We have heard somewhere of another of the same stamp, who imagined
himself to be a poet, and who said to "Nat. Lee," whose insane verse was
much in vogue at the time:
"It is not easy to write like a madman, as you do."
"No," was the reply; "but it is very easy to write like _a fool_, as
_you_ do!"
There was some "method" in the "madness" that dictated that cutting
rejoinder, at any rate.
* * * * *
"I was once a sea-faring man," said an old New York ship-master one day,
to a friend in "The Swamp," "and my first voyage was to the East Indies.
To keep me from mischief, the mate used to set me picking oakum, or
ripping up an old sail for 'parceling,' as it was called. While engaged
one day at this last employment, it occurred to me that a small piece of
the sail would answer an admirable purpose in mending my duck
over-trowsers, as they were beginning to be rather tender in certain
places, owing, perhaps, to my sitting down so much. I soon appropriated
a small piece, but was detected by the mate while 'stowing it away.'
"He took it from me, and while he was lecturing me, the captain, a noble
fellow, with a human heart in his bosom, came on deck, when the whole
matter was laid before him.
"'A----,' said he, 'always _ask_ for what you want; if it is _denied_ to
you, then steal it, if you think proper.'
"I remembered his advice; and in a short time afterward had another
piece of canvas snugly 'stowed away.' I carried it forward, and gave it
to my 'chummy,' an old 'salt,' who had the charge of my wardrobe (which
consisted of six pairs of duck-trowsers, the same number of red-flannel
shirts, a Scotch woolen cap, and a fine-tooth comb), and performed my
mending.
"The next day I went on deck with a clean pair of trowsers on, neatly
patched. As I was going forward the captain hailed me:
"'You took that piece of canvas, sir!'
"'Yes, captain,' I replied, 'I _did_. You yourself told me to ask, and
if I was refused, to do the _other_ thing. I was refused, and _did_ do
the 'other thing.''
"'Well,' rejoined the captain, 'I have no great objection to your having
the canvas, but let me tell you that you will never make a sailor if you
carry your flying-jib over the stern!'
"My 'chummy,' sewing from the inside, had 'seated' my trowsers with a
piece of canvas marked 'F. JIB!"'
* * * * *
There used to be quite popular, many years ago, a species of
letter-writing in poetry, in accomplishing which much ingenuity was
tasked and much labor expended. The ensuing lines are a good example of
this kind of composition by comic writers who have not sufficiently
advanced in joking to get "out of their _letters_." The lines were
addressed to Miss Emma Vee, who had a pet jay, of which she was very
fond:
"Your jay is fond, which well I know,
He does S A to prove;
And he can talk, I grant, but O!
He can not talk of love.
"Believe me, M A, when I say,
I dote to that X S,
I N V even that pet J,
Which U sometimes caress.
"Though many other girls I know,
And they are fair, I C,
Yet U X L them all, and so
I love but M A V.
"M A, my love can ne'er D K,
Except when I shall die;
And if your heart _must_ say me nay,
Just write and tell me Y!"
* * * * *
The following "_Welsh Card of Invitation_" is a very amusing example of
the avoidance of pronouns:
"Mr. Walter Morton, and Mrs. Walter Morton, and Miss Sandys's
compliments to Mr. Charles Morgan, Mrs. Charles Morgan, Miss Charles
Morgan, and the Governess (whose name Mr. Walter Morton, Mrs. Walter
Morton, and Miss Sandys do not recollect), and Mr. Walter Morton, Mrs.
Walter Morton, and Miss Sandys request the favor of the company of Mr.
Charles Morgan, Mrs. Charles Morgan, Miss Charles Morgan, and the
Governess (whose name Mr. Walter Morton, Mrs. Walter Morton, and Miss
Sandys do not recollect), to dinner on Monday next.
"_Mr. Walter Morton_, _Mrs. Walter Morton_, and Miss Sandys, beg to
inform Mr. Charles Morgan, Mrs. Charles Morgan, Miss Charles Morgan, and
the Governess (whose name Mr. Walter Morton, Mrs. Walter Morton, and
Miss Sandys do not recollect), that Mr. Walter Morton, Mrs. Walter
Morton, and Miss Sandys can accommodate Mr. Charles Morgan, Mrs. Charles
Morgan, Miss Charles Morgan, and the Governess (whose name Mr. Walter
Morton, Mrs. Walter Morton, and Miss Sandys do not recollect), with
beds, if remaining through the night is agreeable to Mr. Charles Morgan,
Mrs. Charles Morgan, Miss Charles Morgan, and the Governess (whose name
Mr. Walter Morton, Mrs. Walter Morton, and Miss Sandys do not
recollect!)"
This is an exact copy of an authentic note of invitation to a
dinner-party. In point of roundaboutativeness, it is on a par with the
long legal papers which used to be served upon pecuniary delinquents.
* * * * *
If you would enjoy a bit of most natural and felicitous description,
read the following by that classical and witty writer--no longer, with
sorrow be it spoken, of this world--the author of "The American in
Paris." The passage has been in the "Drawer" for many years:
"There is a variety of little trades and industries which derive their
chief means of life from the wants and luxuries of the street; I mean
trades that are unknown in any other country than Paris. You will see an
individual moving about at all hours of the night, silent and active,
and seizing the smallest bit of paper in the dark, where you can see
nothing; and with a hook in the end of a stick, picking it up, and
pitching it with amazing dexterity into a basket tied to his left
shoulder; with a cat-like walk, being every where and nowhere at the
same time, stirring up the rubbish of every nook and gutter of the
street, under your very nose. This is the 'Chiffonier.' He is a very
important individual. He is in matter what Pythagoras was in mind; and
his transformations are scarcely less curious than those of the Samian
sage. The beau, by his pains, peruses once again his worn-out dicky or
cravat, of a morning, in the 'Magazin des Modes;' while the politician
has his linen breeches reproduced in the 'Journal des Debats;' and many
a fine lady pours out her soul upon a _billet-doux_ that was once a
dish-cloth. The 'chiffonier' stands at the head of the little trades,
and is looked up to with envy by the others. He has two coats, and on
holidays wears a chain and quizzing-glass. He rises, too, like the Paris
gentry, when the chickens roost, and when the lark cheers the morning,
goes to bed.
"All the city is divided into districts, and let out to these
'chiffoniers' by the hour; to one from ten to eleven, and from eleven to
twelve to another, and so on through the night; so that several get a
living and consideration from the same district. This individual does
justice to the literary compositions of the day. He crams into his bag
indiscriminately the last vaudeville, the last sermon of the Archbishop,
and the last essay of the Academy.
"Just below the 'chiffonier' is the 'Gratteur.' This artist scratches
the livelong day between the stones of the pavement for old nails from
horses' shoes, and other bits of iron; always in hope of a bit of
silver, and even perhaps a bit of gold; more happy in his hope than a
hundred others in the possession. He has a store, or 'magazin,' in the
Faubourgs, where he deposits his ferruginous treasure. His wife keeps
this store, and is a '_Marchande de Fer_.' He maintains a family, like
another man; one or two of his sons he brings up to scratch for a
living, and the other he sends to college; and he has a lot 'in
perpetuity' in Père la Chaise. His rank, however, is inferior to that of
the 'chiffonier,' who will not give him his daughter in marriage, and he
don't ask him to his _soirées_."
* * * * *
A sad and "harrowing" event (after the manner of "the horrid" poetical
school), is recorded in the subjoined wild "Fragment:"
"His eye was stern and wild; his cheek
Was pale and cold as clay;
Upon his tightened lip a smile
Of fearful meaning lay:
"He mused awhile, but not in doubt;
No trace of doubt was there;
It was the steady, solemn pause
Of resolute despair!
"Once more he looked upon the scroll,
Once more its words he read;
Then calmly, with unflinching hand,
Its folds before him spread.
"I saw him bare his throat, and seize
The blue, cold-gleaming steel,
And grimly try the temper'd edge
He was so soon to feel!
"A sickness crept upon my heart,
And dizzy swam my head:
I could not stir, I could not cry,
I felt benumbed and dead!
"Black icy horrors struck me dumb,
And froze my senses o'er:
I closed my eyes in utter fear,
And strove to think no more!
* * * * *
"Again I looked: a fearful change
Across his face had passed;
He seemed to rave:--on cheek and lip
A flaky foam was cast.
"He raised on high the glittering blade;
Then first I found a tongue:
'Hold! madman! stay the frantic deed!
I cried, and forth I sprung:
"He heard me, but he heeded not:
One glance around he gave:
And ere I could arrest his hand,
He had--BEGUN TO SHAVE!"
We can recall some half-dozen specimens of this style of writing; one,
at least, of which, from an erratic American poet, must be familiar to
the general reader.
Literary Notices.
_Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli._ (Published by Phillips, Sampson,
and Co.) The subject of these volumes has left a reputation for strength
and brilliancy of intellect which, we imagine, will hardly be justified
hereafter by the perusal of her writings. No one, however, can read this
touching tribute to her memory without perceiving that she was a
remarkable woman. It at once explains the secret of her success, and of
her want of general recognition. From her early childhood, she displayed
a wonderful precocity of genius. This was stimulated by constant mental
inebriation, produced by the excitements of an ambitious and ill-judged
education. Her girlish studies were devoted to subjects which demanded
the mature experience of a masculine intellect. Deprived of the frolic
delights of childhood, a woman in cultivation while young in years,
goaded to the wildest intensity of effort by the urgency of an exacting
parent, and attaining an extraordinary mental development at the expense
of her physical nature, she must, of course, soon have become the object
of marked attention and wonder--a prodigy to her friends, and a mystery
to herself. Thus she was early placed in a false position. She grew up
self-involved, her diseased mind preying on itself, and the
consciousness of her personal importance assumed a gigantic magnitude,
which threatened to overshadow all healthy manifestations of character.
In this condition, she was accustomed to claim more than she could
give--more than others were content to grant. The loftiness of her
self-esteem was the measure of her lavish disdain. Hence, with the
exception of those with whom chance had made her intimate, she was more
formidable than attractive to the circle of her acquaintance; her
presence in society called forth aversion or terror; as she dispensed
the scathing splendors of her Jove-like lightnings, rather than the
sweet refreshments of womanhood. But beneath this social despotism, were
concealed a genuine kindliness of nature, a large sympathizing heart, a
singular power of entering into the condition of others, and a weird
magnetic charm which drew to her closest intimacy the most opposite
characters. She was, moreover, generous and noble to an uncommon degree,
in all the more sacred relations of life; with a high sense of duty;
never shrinking from sacrifices; a wise and faithful counselor where her
confidence was invoked; absolutely free from every trait of petty or
sordid passion; the very soul of honor; and with a sense of justice that
seemed to ally her with Eternal Truth.--In these volumes, she is left in
a great measure to speak for herself. Her letters and private journals
present a transparent record of her character. The editorial portion, by
R. W. Emerson, James F. Clarke, and W. H. Channing, is executed with
beautiful candor. The most truthful simplicity graces and fortifies
their statements. With no other aim than to exhibit an honest
portraiture of their friend, they have in no case, that we can discover,
allowed their private feelings to gain the mastery over their sterner
judgments.--Her residence in Italy reveals her heroism, devotion, and
womanly tenderness, in a light that would almost induce the belief, on
the part of those who had met her only in the antagonisms of society,
that she had changed her identity. A profound, mysterious pathos hovers
around her Italian experience, preparing the reader for the tragic close
of a life, which was itself a tragedy. The description of her last hours
presents a scene of desolation, before which grief can only bow in mute
tears.
_Charity and its Fruits_, by JONATHAN EDWARDS, edited by TRYON EDWARDS.
A new work from the pen of the illustrious Northampton pastor can not
fail to be welcome to the admirers of his profound and original genius.
Combining a rare acuteness of metaphysical speculation, with a glowing
fervor of religious sentiment, Edwards has called forth the most
expressive eulogiums from the philosophers of the old world, while his
name is still "familiar as a household word" in the primitive homes of
New England. His character presented a striking union of intellectual
vigor with earnest piety. The childlike simplicity of his tastes was
blended with the refined subtlety of a mediæval schoolman. The apostle
of disinterested love, his soul was inspired and thrilled with
contemplating the glories of redemption, and the triumphs of grace over
the ruins of humanity The Lectures contained in this volume are devoted
to his favorite theme. They illustrate the principle of love as the
foundation of the Christian character, and the expression of
reconciliation with the Lord. In the high standard of duty which they
present, in their deep and comprehensive views of human nature, and in
the force and sweetness of their style, they compare favorably with the
standard productions of their author, and are certainly not surpassed by
any religious treatise of modern times.
The manuscripts from which these lectures have been prepared were nearly
ready for the press, as left by the writer. They were afterward placed
in the charge of Dr. Hopkins and Dr. Bellamy, and are now for the first
time given to the public by the present editor. He justly deserves the
gratitude of the religious world for this valuable gift. (Published by
R. Carter and Brothers).
Harper and Brothers have issued a neat octavo edition of Sir JOHN
RICHARDSON'S _Arctic Searching Expedition_, comprising a copious journal
of a boat-voyage through Rupert's Land and the Arctic Sea, in search of
Sir John Franklin--a variety of interesting details concerning the
savages of that region--and an elaborate treatise on the physical
geography of North America. Sir John Richardson left Liverpool in March,
1848, and after landing in New York, proceeded at once to the Saut Ste.
Marie, where he arrived about the last of April. Starting in a few days
from the Saut, he reached the mouth of the River Winnipeg on the 29th of
May, and arrived at Cumberland House, on the Saskatchewan, June 13--a
distance of nearly 3000 miles from New York. His various adventures on
the overland route to Fort Confidence, in 66 degrees of north latitude,
where the winter residence of the party was established, are related
with great minuteness, presenting a lively picture of the manners of the
Indians, and the physical phenomena of the icy North. The history of Sir
John Franklin's Expedition, and the present state of the search for that
intrepid navigator, is briefly recorded. With the prevailing interest in
every thing connected with Arctic discovery, this volume is a most
seasonable publication, and will be read with avidity by our intelligent
countrymen.
_The Future Wealth of America_, by FRANCIS BONYNGE, is a volume of
curious interest, describing the physical resources of the United
States, and the commercial and agricultural advantages of introducing
several new branches of cultivation. Among the products enumerated by
the author as adapted to the soil and climate of this country are tea,
coffee, and indigo, the date, the orange, the peach fruit, and the
guava. The work, though written in an enthusiastic spirit, is filled
with practical details, and presents a variety of useful suggestions in
regard to the conditions of national prosperity. Mr. Bonynge is
familiarly acquainted with the culture of tropical products, having
resided for fourteen years in India and China. His book is
well-deserving the attention of the American public.
The Twenty-second Part of COPLAND'S _Dictionary of Practical Medicine_
is published by Harper and Brothers, reaching to the eight hundredth
page of the third volume of the work, and to the commencement of the
letter S. For laymen who have occasion to refer to a medical work, this
Dictionary forms a valuable book of reference, and may be consulted with
convenience and profit. Its merits are too well known to the profession
to demand comment.
_A Reel in the Bottle, for Jack in the Doldrums_, by Rev. HENRY T.
CHEEVER. Modern allegory is a dangerous species of composition. The
taste of the age demands clearness, brevity, point; it prefers
practical facts to mystic symbols; and, above all, rejects artificial
tamperings with Oriental imagery. Imitations of the venerable simplicity
of the Bible are always offensive to a correct mind; and scarcely less
so is the ancient form of allegory disguised in fashionable trappings.
The volume now put forth by Mr. Cheever forms no exception to these
remarks. He has met with but indifferent success, in an attempt where a
perfect triumph would have brought little credit. The frequent
sacrifices of nature and good taste, which his plan demands, illustrate
his ingenuity at the expense of his judgment. He reminds us of John
Bunyan, whom he takes for his model, only by contrast. We should as soon
expect a modern Hamlet from Bulwer as a second Pilgrim's Progress from
the present author. (Published by Charles Scribner.)
_The Head of the Family_, by the gifted author of "The Ogilvies," forms
the One Hundred and Sixty-seventh number of Harper's "Library of Select
Novels." It is distinguished for the absorbing interest of its plot, the
refinement and beauty of its characterizations, and its frequent scenes
of tenderness and pathos.
NEANDER'S _Practical Exposition of the Epistle of James_ has been
translated by Mrs. H. C. CONANT, and published by Lewis Colby. We have
before spoken of the success of Mrs. Conant, as the translator of
Neander. She has accomplished her present task with equal felicity.
Biblical students are greatly in her debt for introducing them to the
acquaintance of such a profound and sympathizing interpreter of Holy
Writ. Neander wisely avoids metaphysical subtleties. Nor is he a barren,
verbal critic. He brings a sound, robust common sense to the exposition
of his subject, seeking to detect the living spirit of the writer, and
to reproduce it with genuine vitality. A new glow breathes over the
sacred page under his cordial, feeling comments, and we seem to be
brought into the most intimate communion with the inspired writer. It is
no small praise to say of the translator, that she has transferred this
lifesome spirit, to a great degree, into her own production.
Redfield has published a spirited translation of ARSENE HOUSSAYE'S work
on the _Men and Women of the Eighteenth Century_ in France. A more
characteristic portraiture of that egotistic and voluptuous age is not
to be found in any language. It places us in the midst of the frivolous
court, where the love of pleasure had triumphed over natural sentiment,
where religion was lost in hypocrisy, and earnestness of character
laughed out of countenance by shameless adventurers. The brilliancy of
coloring in these volumes does not disguise the infamy of the persons
whom it celebrates. They are displayed in all their detestable
heartlessness, and present a wholesome warning to the reader by the
hideous ugliness of their example.
BON GAULTIER'S _Book of Ballads_. These clever parodies and satires,
whose cool audacity and mischievous love of fun have secured them a
favorite place in the English magazines, have been republished in a neat
edition by Redfield. Our too thin-skinned compatriots may find something
to provoke their ire in the American Ballads, but the sly malice of
these effusions generally finds an antidote in their absurdity. For the
rest, Bon Gaultier may be called, in Yankee parlance, "a right smart
chap," excelling in a species of literature which the highest genius
rarely attempts.
We have a new edition of WALKER'S _Rhyming_ _Dictionary_ from Lindsay
and Blakiston--a welcome aid, no doubt, to scribblers in pursuit of
rhymes under difficulties. We hope it will not have the effect to
stimulate the crop of bad poetry, which of late has been such a nuisance
to honest readers.
* * * * *
MISS MITFORD, in her _Literary Recollections_ gives some specimens of
poetical charades by Mr. Praed, the most successful composer of lyrical
_jeux d'esprit_ of this kind. In the review of her work by the
_Athenæum_, the two following charades are quoted, the latter of which,
Miss Mitford says, is still a mystery to her, and proposes a solution to
her readers:
I.
"Come from my _First_, ay, come!
The battle dawn is nigh;
And the screaming trump and the thundering drum
Are calling thee to die!
Fight as thy father fought;
Fall as thy father fell;
Thy task is taught; thy shroud is wrought,
So; forward and farewell!
"Toll ye my _Second_! toll!
Fling high the flambeau's light;
And sing the hymn for a parted soul
Beneath the silent night!
The wreath upon his head,
The cross upon his breast,
Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed,
So,--take him to his rest!
"Call ye my _Whole_, ay, call,
The lord of lute and lay;
And let him greet the sable pall
With a noble song to-day;
Go, call him by his name!
No fitter hand may crave
To light the flame of a soldier's fame
On the turf of a soldier's grave.
II.
"Sir Hilary charged at Agincourt,--
Sooth 'twas an awful day!
And though in that old age of sport
The rufflers of the camp and court
Had little time to pray,
'Tis said Sir Hilary muttered there
Two syllables by way of prayer.
"My _First_ to all the brave and proud
Who see to-morrow's sun;
My _Next_ with her cold and quiet cloud
To those who find their dewy shroud
Before to-day's be done;
And both together to all blue eyes
That weep when a warrior nobly dies."
A correspondent of the _Literary Gazette_ furnishes
the following poetical solution of the two charades
in one:
"No more we hear the sentry's heavy tramp
Around the precincts of the drowsy _camp_;
All now is hush'd in calm and sweet repose,
And peaceful is the lovely evening's close;
Save when the village chimes the hours forth-tell,
Or parting souls demand the passing _bell_.
Would I could grasp a _Campbell's_ lyric pen!
I then might justice do to 'arms and men,'
And sing the well-fought field of Agincourt,
Where, hand to hand, mix'd in the bloody sport,
The hosts of France, vain of superior might,
By English valor were o'erthrown in fight,
And bade to fame and fortune long _Good Night_!"
* * * * *
Messrs. Clark of Edinburgh have in preparation, translations of the
following works: viz.--Dr. JULIUS MULLER'S great work on the _Doctrine
of Sin_, translated under the superintendence of the author.--Professor
MUSTON'S _Israel of the Alps_, the latest and most complete History of
the Waldenses, translated with the concurrence of the author.--DORNER on
the _Person of Christ_, translated by the Rev. Mr. KINGSFORD, one of
the Chaplains to the Hon. East India Company.--BENGEL'S _Gnomon of the
New Testament_, translated by the Rev. PETER HOLMES, of the Plymouth
Royal Grammar School.
* * * * *
Mr. Bohn announces the following important Works as about to appear
shortly: KIRBY and KIDD'S _Bridgewater Treatises_.--_Coin-Collector's
Hand-Book_, by H. N. HUMPHREYS, with numerous engravings of Ancient
Coins.--_Greek Anthology; or Select Epigrams of the Greek Classic
Poets_, literally translated into Prose, with occasional parallels in
verse by English Poets.--OERSTED'S _Soul in Nature_, and other works,
translated from the Danish, with Life of the Author.--_Rome in the 19th
Century_; with Maps and Diagrams.--KUGLER'S _Historical Manual of
Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture, Ancient and Modern_.
* * * * *
The election of the Greek Professor in the University of Edinburgh was
fixed for the 2d of March. The number of candidates in the field was
very large, but it was thought that many would retire before the day of
election. The principal struggle was supposed to be between Dr. William
Smith, of New College, London, the learned author of the Classical
Dictionaries; Dr. Price, late of Rugby, the friend of Dr. Arnold;
Professor Macdowall, of Queen's College, Belfast; and Professor Blackie,
of Aberdeen. The emoluments of the chair are upward of 800_l._, and the
college duties extend only over about half the year, during the winter
session from November to May.
* * * * *
Professor ROBINSON, our townsman, whose proposed expedition to Palestine
we lately announced, was at Berlin, at the latest accounts, and expects
to be at Beyrout on the 1st of March. He intends to occupy most of his
time in visiting the more remote districts of the country, and those
villages off the usual routes, which are least known to travelers.
Toward the completion of the topography and geography of Palestine, we
may expect many new facts to be thus obtained. One of the American
missionaries in Syria, the Rev. ELI SMITH, and Mr. WILLIAM DICKSON, of
Edinburgh, are to join Professor ROBINSON at Beyrout, and accompany him
in the journey. The identification of the site of the Holy Sepulchre,
about which there has been much dispute lately, is one object to which
special attention will be given. Dr. Robinson was in London, on his
route to the Continent, and attended the meetings of the Geographical
and other Societies.
* * * * *
The wife of Professor ROBINSON has recently published a protest in the
London _Athenæum_ against a garbled English edition of her work on the
Colonization of New England. Mrs. ROBINSON says, "A work appeared in
London last summer with the following title: 'Talvi's History of the
Colonization of America,' edited by William Hazlitt, in two volumes. It
seems proper to state that the original work was written under favorable
circumstances _in German_ and published in Germany. It treated only of
the colonization of _New England_:--and that only stood on its
title-page. The above English publication therefore, is a mere
translation--and it was made without the consent or knowledge of the
author. The very title is a misnomer; all references to authorities are
omitted; and the whole work teems with errors, not only of the press,
but also of translation--the latter such as could have been made by no
person well acquainted with the German and English tongues. For the work
in this form, therefore, the author can be in no sense whatever
responsible."
* * * * *
A late number of the _London Leader_ in a review of HERMAN MELVILLE'S
_Moby Dick, or the Whale_, says, "Want of originality has long been the
just and standing reproach to American literature; the best of its
writers were but second-hand Englishmen. Of late some have given
evidence of originality; not _absolute_ originality, but such genuine
outcoming of the American intellect as can be safely called national.
Edgar Poe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Herman Melville are assuredly no
British off-shoots; nor is Emerson--the _German_ American that he is!
The observer of this commencement of an American literature, properly so
called, will notice as significant that these writers have a wild and
mystic love of the super-sensual, peculiarly their own. To move a horror
skillfully, with something of the earnest faith in the Unseen, and with
weird imagery to shape these phantasms so vividly that the most
incredulous mind is hushed, absorbed--to do this no European pen has
apparently any longer the power--to do this American literature is
without a rival. What _romance_ writer can be named with HAWTHORNE? Who
knows the horrors of the seas like HERMAN MELVILLE?"
* * * * *
A bill has been introduced by the Lord Advocate for abolishing tests in
the Scottish universities for all professional chairs but those of the
theological faculties. At present every professor, before induction, is
required by law to sign the Westminster Confession of Faith, and the
other formularies of the Scottish Established Kirk. In many cases the
signature is not actually required, or it is given as a mere matter of
form. Many of the most distinguished professors in Scotland do not
belong to the Established Church of that country.
* * * * *
Count DE MONTALEMBERT'S formal reception as a Member of the Académie
Française took place on the 5th of February; and as an event of literary
and political importance, excited extraordinary sensation. The _salle_
of the Academy was thronged to excess by the _élite_ of Parisian
society, and hundreds who had obtained tickets were unable to secure
admission. As usual on such occasions, the Count delivered an harangue,
the text of which was the merits, real or supposed, of the deceased
member to whose chair he succeeded--but the burden of which was an
exposition of the Count's opinions on things political, and things in
general. As usual, also, one of the Academicians replied by a
complimentary discourse to the new member, and it so chanced that the
respondent was no less a personage than M. Guizot. These two
distinguished men are what the French call "eagles of eloquence," and
under any circumstance the liveliest interest would have been felt to
see the two noble birds take an oratorical flight; but on this occasion
it was immensely increased, by the fact that they are recognized chiefs
of two different creeds in religion, the Catholic and the Protestant; of
two hostile political parties, that of absolutism, and that of liberty;
and of two contending schools in philosophy--one, which imposes
authority on the mind of man, the other, which maintains his right to
free examination.
* * * * *
CAVAIGNAC is stated to be employing the leisure of his voluntary exile
in writing his own memoirs. This may be one of the mere rumors which
float idly about in an age of interrupted sequence and disturbed action,
but should it prove true, the public may hope for a curious and
exciting narrative from the hero of June. Godfrey Cavaignac, his
brother, was one of the wittiest and sternest of republican writers
under Louis Philippe--and his own avowed opinions were the cause of much
suspicion to the government, though his brilliant exploits in Algiers
rendered it impossible to keep him down. Of course, however, the chief
interest of his memoirs would centre in the pages devoted to his share
in events subsequent to 1848.
* * * * *
A letter-writer from Paris to a London journal, presents some sound
comments on the recent infamous law for the suppression of the freedom
of the press: "President Bonaparte has this day promulgated his
long-expected law on the press. It is of unexampled harshness and
oppression. Old Draco himself, if living in these days, would not have
made it so atrociously severe. It ruins newspaper and periodical
proprietors; it strips editors, and writers, and reporters of the means
of obtaining their bread by their honest industry; it altogether
annihilates the political press. And not content with this, it prohibits
the entrance into France of _foreign_ political journals and
periodicals, without the special authorization of the government.
"A few months ago the number of daily political newspapers in Paris
exceeded thirty; it now does not amount to ten, and of these ten some
are certain to disappear in the course of a short time. It is a very
moderate computation to suppose that each one of the twenty and odd
suppressed journals gave regular employment at good salaries to ten
literary men, as editors, contributors, reporters, correspondents, or
critics, and that each one afforded occasional employment to at least
the same number of feuilletonistes. Here, then, we have upward of twice
two hundred men, who, as regards intelligence, are of the _élite_ of
society, suddenly deprived of 'the means whereby they lived,' without
any fault of their own. What is to become of them? What of their
helpless wives and families? Few of them have any aptitude for any other
calling, and even if they had, what chance have they, in this
overstocked world, of finding vacant places? The contemplation of their
misery must wring every heart, and the more so as, from a certain
_fierté_ they all possess, they feel it with peculiar bitterness. But,
after all, they are but a small portion of the unfortunates who are
ruined by the ruining of the press: there are the compositors, who must
exceed two thousand in number; there are the news-venders, who must
amount to hundreds, there are the distributors, and the publishers, and
the clerks, and all the various dependents of a journal, who must amount
to hundreds more--all, like Othello, now exclaiming, 'My occupation's
gone.' And then paper-makers and type-founders must surely find work
slacker and wages lower, now that the newspapers are dead. And then,
again, the cafés and the reading-rooms--a very legion--can they do the
same amount of business when they have no newspapers to offer? I wonder
whether the French Dictator has ever thought of the wide-spread misery
he has occasioned, and is causing, by his enmity to the press. It may be
doubted--else, perhaps, he would never, from motives of personal or
political convenience, have annihilated such an important branch of
human industry, which gave bread to tens of thousands. It is a fine
thing to have a giant's strength, but tyrannous to use it as a giant."
* * * * *
The German papers say that DR. MEINHOLD, the author of the _Amber
Witch_, has left among his papers an unfinished manuscript, entitled
"Hagar and the Reformation"--which, they add, is now in an editor's
hands, and will be shortly given to the public.
* * * * *
LAMARTINE'S new periodical, the _Civilisateur_, is receiving fair
support. The subscriptions are coming in rapidly, and the first number
will appear shortly.
* * * * *
_The Mysteries of the People_, by EUGENE SUE, is announced to be
completed immediately. The sale of this eccentric novel, to say no more,
has been prodigious. Eugene Sue is in Switzerland.
* * * * *
Dr. NEUMAN, Professor of History in the University of Munich, has
completed his long-promised _History of the English Empire in Asia_. It
is on the eve of publication.
* * * * *
Herr HARTLEBEN, the publisher at Pesth and Vienna, whose meritorious
efforts to familiarize his countrymen with the best works of English
literature, has just published a translation of Mr. DICKENS'S _Child's
History of England_. A German edition of Mr. WARBURTON'S _Darien_ is
preparing for publication.
* * * * *
The German letter addressed to the Countess HAHN-HAHN on her two
works--_From Babylon to Jerusalem_, and _In Jerusalem_--in Germany
generally ascribed to Dr. NITZSCH, of Berlin, has been translated and
published by Mr. Parker. It is very clever, and will probably amuse and
interest the readers of that lady's former novels. The restless longing
after new sensations, and the logicless action of a vain and ambitious
mind, have seldom been analyzed so well or satirized so keenly as in
_Babylon_ and _Jerusalem_. A sharp preface from the translator also adds
to the reader's zest.
* * * * *
GUTZKOW, the German critic and novelist, has just published a collected
edition of his works in thirteen volumes, to which he is about to add a
fourteenth volume, containing the memoirs of his earlier years. His
gigantic novel, the _Knights of the Spirit_, has reached a second
edition.
* * * * *
An English newspaper, _The Rhenish Times_, is about to be published at
Neuwied, on the Rhine. This new organ, which has not many chances of
success, is to be devoted to polite literature, politics, &c.; from the
contributions of a number of "eminent English authors," now residents of
Neuwied and its environs.
* * * * *
The Austrian government, in order to secure the improvement of Hebrew
works of devotion for its own subjects, has authorized the establishment
of a special printing press at Goritz, in Illyrïa; and it calculates
that it will henceforth be able to supply the vast demand which exists
in the East. Heretofore the Jews of Eastern Europe, of Asia, and of
Northern Africa, have obtained their religious books principally from
Amsterdam or Leghorn.
* * * * *
"Of the language and literature of Hungary," says the _Literary
Gazette_, "little is known in England. No European nation has excited so
much political interest, with so little intellectual communion, or
literary intercourse with other nations. By deeds, very little by words,
has Hungary gained the sympathy and respect of the Anglo-Saxon freemen
on both sides of the Atlantic. Few Englishmen have ever heard of the
names of Garay, and Petöfi, and Kisfaludy, and Vörösmartz, whose lyric
strains stir the hearts of the Magyars. The literature of so noble a
people can not remain longer neglected in England. Besides the
political importance which the country will yet assume, there is beauty
and originality in the language itself deserving study. Of all European
tongues, it has most of the Oriental spirit and form in its idioms. We
are glad to find that an elementary work, entitled 'The Hungarian
Language; its Structure and Rules, with Exercises and a Vocabulary,' is
in the press, by Sigismund Wékey, late aid-de-camp to Kossuth. Both in
Great Britain and America, we have little doubt, the book will be
popular."
* * * * *
The Edinburgh papers record the death, upon the 14th, at the early age
of forty-four, of ROBERT BLACKWOOD, Esq., the head of the firm of
eminent publishers of that name. For the last two years the state of Mr.
Blackwood's health compelled his withdrawal from a business which, for
the previous fifteen years, he had conducted with admirable energy,
sagacity, and success. In the discharge of the difficult duties which
devolved upon him, from his position with reference to the literary men
of the day, Robert Blackwood uniformly displayed the same strong
practical sense for which his father, the founder of the Magazine, was
distinguished. He was respected and beloved for his simple and manly
qualities by all who had the happiness to know him. His judgments were
independent, clear, and decided; his attachments strong and sincere, and
by many his name will be long and warmly remembered as that of a stanch
and cordial friend.
* * * * *
The friends and admirers of the late LORENZ OKEN, one of the most
eminent anatomists and natural philosophers of modern Europe, have set
on foot a subscription for a monument to his memory. Oken's writings
have been widely read in Europe and in America--and have, we believe,
been translated into French, Italian, and Scandinavian, as well as into
English. The character of the monument can not be determined until the
probable amount of the subscription shall have been ascertained--but it
is expected to take the form of a bust or a statue, to be set up in the
Platz at Jena.
* * * * *
Baron D'OHSON died recently at Stockholm, aged 73. He was a member of
the Academy of Sciences, and President of the Royal Society of
Literature in that city. He was one of the most eminent Oriental
scholars of the day, and author, among other things, of an important
work on the peoples of Caucasus, and of a valuable history of Chinese
Tartary, He was born at Constantinople, of Armenian parents, but was
educated at Paris. He became secretary to Bernadotte, accompanied him to
Sweden, and subsequently fulfilled several diplomatic missions to Paris,
London, &c.
* * * * *
Turin journals announce the death of SERANGELI, an artist of celebrity.
He was born at Rome, in 1770, and became a pupil of the celebrated
David. At an early age he distinguished himself by a painting in one of
the annual exhibitions at Paris, and commissions of importance were
given to him by the government. His principal works are: _Eurydice dying
in the arms of Orpheus_; _Orpheus soliciting her release from the King
of Hell_; _Sophocles pleading against his Sons_; a _Christ Crucified_;
and the _Interview of the Emperors Napoleon and Alexander at Tilsit_. Of
late years he confined himself principally to portrait-painting, and his
skill as an historical painter declined in consequence.
Three Leaves from Punch.
[Illustration: GOING TO COVER.
VOICE IN THE DISTANCE.--"Now, then, Smith--Come along!"
SMITH.--"Oh, it's all very well to say, Come along! when he won't move a
step, and I'm afraid he's going to lie down!"]
[Illustration: OLD GENT.--"You see, my Dear, that the Earth turns on its
own Axis, and makes one Revolution round the Sun each Year."
YOUNG REVOLVER.--"Then, Pa, does France turn on its own Axis when it
makes its Revolutions?"
OLD GENT.--"No, my Dear, it turns on its Bayonets. However, that's not a
Question in Astronomy."]
THOUGHTS ON FRENCH AFFAIRS.
(_Selected from a Course of Lectures by_ PROFESSOR PUNCH.)
The President has been elected for ten years. By the time this period
has closed, it will be found that not only the term of the President's
power, but the prosperity of France will be Decade (_Decayed_).
"ELECTION," according to the Dictionaries, is a synonym for "Choice.'"
But in Louis Napoleon's new Political Dictionary we find the significant
addendum:--"'_Hobson's' understood_."
The two parties in France, who are the one in favor of a King and the
other in favor of a Commonwealth, are easily distinguished by the
denominations of Monarchists and Republicans; but there is some
difficulty in finding a denomination for those in favor of an Empire,
unless we adopt that of _Empirics_.
The President is said to be a firm believer in the _Thompsonian
practice_ of medicine. This is probable, from the fact that he has
treated the Insurgents with _Cayenne_.
In honor of the vote for Louis Napoleon "the Tower of Notre Dame was
decorated with hangings." Considering the origin of the present
government, which is based on so many _shootings_, a very appropriate
decoration is by means of _hanging_.
The French trees of Liberty have been cut down and the wood given to the
poor for fuel. The only liberty which the French have is--to warm
themselves.
The French have long been well instructed in Deportment; the President
is now giving them lessons in Deportation.
France is still quiet; she is taking her little
_Nap_.
[Illustration: EARLY PUBLICATION OF A LIBERAL PAPER IN
PARIS.--_Time_--Four A.M.]
[Illustration: SCENE FROM THE "PRESIDENT'S PROGRESS."
(_Suggested by_ HOGARTH'S _Rake's Progress_.)]
This plate represents the "PRINCE PRESIDENT" taking possession of the
effects of his deceased Uncle. From an old chest he has rummaged out the
Imperial globe, crown, eagle, and collar. The Code Napoleon, a pair of
military boots--too large to fit the new owner--and a bayonet, make up
the remainder of the contents of the chest. The sceptre is surmounted by
an expanded hand, the thumb of which comes in suspicious proximity to
the nose of a bust of the Uncle. From an open closet the Imperial eagle,
reduced to the last state of emaciation, is looking out. In the
fireplace is the Imperial chair, to which an old hag, who might pass for
the Avenging Nemesis, is setting fire, probably with the wood of the
Trees of Liberty. Sundry hoards, left by the former occupant of the
house, have been discovered, from which the young heir's ghostly
attendant is helping himself. The new tailor, Monsieur GENDARME, is in
the act of measuring the President for a suit of "Imperial purple, first
quality." Mademoiselle LIBERTE, accompanied by her mother, Madame
FRANCE, comes to demand the fulfillment of the promises he has made her,
and has brought the wedding-ring; but he refuses to fulfill his solemnly
sworn engagement; and offers money to the mother, who rejects it with an
expression of countenance that brooks no good to the gay deceiver. "The
characters in this picture," says Heir SAUERTEIG, "are admirably
developed; the stupid brutality of the heir, the grief and shame of the
poor deceived LIBERTE, the anger of FRANCE, which, it is clear, will not
be satisfied with words, the greed and avarice of the peculating priest,
and the business-like air of the tailor--perfectly indifferent whether
he fits his patron with an imperial robe or a convict's blouse--are
worthy of the highest admiration."
[Illustration: LADY.--"I have called, Mr. Squills to say that my darling
Dog(!) has taken all his Mixture, but his Cough is no better."]
[Illustration: MASTER TOM--"Have a Weed, Gran'pa?"
GRAN'PA.--"A what! Sir?"
MASTER TOM.--"A Weed!--A Cigar, you know."
GRAN'PA.--"Certainly not, Sir. I never smoked in my life."
MASTER TOM.--"Ah! then I wouldn't advise you to begin."]
[Illustration: EFFECTS OF A STRIKE.
UPON THE CAPITALIST. UPON THE WORKMAN.]
[Illustration: MR. ----.--"So, your Name is Charley, is it? Now, Charley
doesn't know who I am?"
SHARP LITTLE BOY.--"Oh yes! but I do, though."
MR. ----.--"Well, who am I?"
SHARP LITTLE BOY.--"Why, you're the Gentleman who kissed Sister Sophy in
the Library, the other night, when you thought no one was there."]
[Illustration: "I say, Cook, will you ask the Policeman, could he step
up--there's a Row in the next street."]
THE SEVEN WONDERS OF A YOUNG LADY.
I.
Keeping her accounts in preference to an Album.
II.
Generously praising the attractions of that "affected creature" who
always cut her out.
III.
Not ridiculing the man she secretly prefers--nor quizzing what she
seriously admires.
IV.
Not changing her "dear, dear friend" quarterly--or her dress three times
a day.
V.
Reading a novel without looking at the third volume first; or writing a
letter without a post-script; or taking wine at dinner without saying
"the smallest drop in the world;" or singing without "a bad cold;" or
wearing shoes that were not "a mile too big for her."
VI.
Seeing a baby without immediately rushing to it and kissing it.
VII.
Carrying a large bouquet at an evening party, and omitting to ask her
partner "if he understands the language of flowers."
Spring Fashions.
[Illustration: FIGURES 1 AND 2.--DRAWING-ROOM AND BALL COSTUMES.]
The sunny days of April, after our long, cold winter, are peculiarly
inviting to promenaders, who have been housed for four months. Fashion,
always on the alert to please, and as prompt in her ministrations, as
the breath of spring to the buds, is unfolding her beauties in the world
of mode, and, within another month will bring forth her creations in
full bloom. In the mean while, new costumes for the drawing room and the
saloon are not wanting. We present our readers this month with a report
of in-door costumes only, but hope to give them something acceptable in
our next, concerning dresses for the carriage and the promenade. The
fabrics and colors suitable for March yet prevail, with few changes.
The figure on the right (Fig. 1) in our first illustration exhibits a
FULL DRESS TOILET, at once rich, chaste, and elegant. It is particularly
adapted to youthful matrons, or ladies who may have doubled their teens
without being caught in the noose of Hymen. The head-dress is very
elegant. The parting of the hair in the middle of the forehead is very
short, and the whole front hair is arranged in small curls, short in
front, and gradually lengthening toward the sides. A band of pearls goes
all round the head above the curls, and is brought round behind to hold
the back hair.
Dress of antique watered silk, open all the way down from top of body.
The body is cut so as to form lappets and has no seam at the waist; the
lappet, quite smooth, goes round behind. The skirt is put on and
gathered just under the edge of the lappet. The trimming of this dress
is silk net in puffed _bouillonnés_. There is some round the body, on
the sleeves, and all down the fore parts of the body and the dress. The
_bouillons_ on the top of the body and sleeves are confined by pearl
loops. A rich brooch of pearls and diamonds, conceals the junction of
the _bouillés_ at the top of the body on the breast. The _bouillonnés_
of the edges of fore part are confined by pearl cords, and at every
other _bouillon_, the strings of pearls are double and go from one edge
to the other. The body leaving open a space of two or three inches at
the waist, just shows the bottom of an under-body of white satin. The
under-skirt is satin, embroidered to represent an apron, with very rich
pattern worked in white silk and with the crochet. Two rows of Alençon
lace decorate each sleeve; a little white chemisette reaches beyond the
body. The silk crochet embroidery may be replaced by one executed in
silver, &c.
FIG. 2.--BALL COSTUME.--The season for balls is about closing, yet we
give another illustration of a very elegant style: Hair in puffed bands;
wreath of roses, laid so as to follow the curve of the bands, forming a
point in front, and meeting behind in the back hair. Dress, white satin,
covered with embroidered silk-net, and ornamented with bouquets of
roses. The body is close, plain, and straight at top, and cut in three
pieces in front; the point is long, the silk-net of sprigged pattern is
laid even on the body, and follows its cut. The satin skirt has hollow
plaits, and the net one is placed over it, so as to puff a good deal,
without following the same plaits as those in the satin skirt. The
effect of this black silk-net with black flowers over white satin, is
very striking. In the front of the skirt, and from left to right, ten or
eleven bouquets of moss roses and rose-buds are scattered at random, and
this is a most appropriate occasion to apply Boileau's verse, in which
he says, that "fine disorder is the effect of art." The short sleeves
are puffed a little, and are trimmed with _engageantes_ of
scolloped-edged black blonde.
FIG. 3 represents a portion of an elegant DRESS-TOILET. Over the head is
seen the upper part of a rich _sortie de bal_ of white silk, trimmed
with broad white galloon, watered, rather more than three inches wide.
This galloon is sewed on flat about an inch from the edge. A galloon of
an inch and a half begins at the waist, and comes, marking the shape of
the breast, to pass over the shoulder, and form a round at the back. The
galloon serves as an ornament, and it is below that the body of the
garment assumes the fullness for fluting. A double trimming of white,
worsted gimp, embroidered with white jet, forms a pelerine. The upper
one is raised, like a _fanchon_, to cover the top of the head, without
muffling the neck and chin. The bottom is also trimmed with a deep
gimp, gathered, in sewing on. The dress is yellow _moire antique_,
figured with a lampas pattern, reaching to the top. In the front, at the
middle, by an effect of white satin, obtained in the manufacture, the
imitation of a beautiful white ribbon is interwoven in the figured part,
beginning at the waist, diverging on either side as it descends, and
running round the bottom of the skirt. This admirable dress has received
the name of _Victoria_.
[Illustration: FIG. 3.--DRESS TOILET.]
We denominate FIG. 4 a FANCY COSTUME for a little girl, because it has
not been in vogue for the last three-fourths of a century. It represents
the costume of a girl at about the time of our Revolution.
[Illustration: FIG. 4.--FANCY COSTUME.]
It was the dress, not only of children, but of girls "in their teens."
It must be admitted, we think, that Fashion has not grown wise by age.
In elegant simplicity this costume is far in advance of the flaunting
exhibitions of finery, which little girls of our day often display. We
recommend it to our Bloomer friends, as a practical historical evidence
that their notions are not "new-fangled," but have the consecration of
age, and the sanction of the generation when our good Washington flirted
with the gay belles of Virginia.
[Transcriber's Note:
Variant spelling has been retained. Minor corrections to punctuation
have been made without note.
Oe ligature denoted by [oe] in the text version.
Superscript denoted with caret (^) in the text version.
A Table of Contents has been provided for the HTML version.
Small caps replaced by all caps and italics denoted by "_" in the text
version.
Correction of printer's errors:
Page 588: "...would to tend the horses..." changed to read "...would be
to tend the horses..."
Page 595: "...the fasts, the v.gils, the penances..." changed to read
"...the fasts, the vigils, the penances..."
Page 606: "...aided by my colleage, Moulins..." changed to read
"...aided by my colleague Moulins..."
Page 607: "...that thunberbolt may be..." changed to read "...that
thunderbolt may be..."
Page 607: "...sagacious transferrence of the meeting..." changed to read
"...sagacious transference of the meeting ..."
Page 661: "...he said was one one of the counsel..." changed to read
"...he said was one of the counsel ..."
Page 665: "...himself to Borriboola-Gha..." changed to read "...himself
to Borrioboola-Gha..."
Page 666: "...made a similar responce." changed to read "...made a
similar response."
Page 666: "...the utmost discription Ada could give..." changed to read
"...the utmost description Ada could give..."
Page 678: "...it it was Woman..." changed to read "...it was Woman..."
Page 687: "...Douglas could scarcly have called him ..." changed to read
"...Douglas could scarcely have called him..."
Page 690: "...the man was a a match..." changed to read "...the man was
a match..."
Page 693: "...washing the dus: this is..." changed to read "...washing
the dust: this is..."
Page 696: "...Lord Lieutenant of Ireand; Duke of Montrose..." changed to
read "...Lord Lieutenant of Ireland; Duke of Montrose..."
Page 696: "...a good deal of skil and bravery..." changed to read "...a
good deal of skill and bravery..."
Page 706: "...the color of the shiling there?" changed to read "...the
color of the shilling there?"
Page 708: "...she was a reremarkable woman." changed to read "...she was
a remarkable woman."
Page 710: "...the Greek Professsor in the University..." changed to read
"...the Greek Professor in the University..."]