the case of an old-fashioned Dutchman, wearing eight or ten of
each? How are 'precedents' and the 'old English law' on _this_
point? * * * THE '_Meadow-Farm Papers_' are brought to a conclusion
in the present number. The reader will have been struck with the
excellent inculcations of the writer, the evident honesty of his
purpose, and the simple energy of his style. We thought of him, and
the 'Association' he has described, while looking recently at an
effective painting of the '_Sylvania Association_' in Pike county,
Pennsylvania. Whatever the reality may be, the sketch itself of
the divided labors of the associated, in the picturesque region
they have secured, is beautiful exceedingly. For a moment it rolled
back the tide of time, and brought up anew those scenes of nature,
the love of which was implanted in us in our youth. Oh! it is an
incalculable, sacred blessing, to have lived in the country in
boyhood; if for nothing else, that in after years glimpses of its
soft green meadows, its breezy hills and leafy woods, may visit the
eyes of the imagination, amidst the smoke and dust and din of the
city! * * * '_High and Low Coachmen_' has a good deal of humor, but
we are sorry to say, a good deal also of irreverence for sacred
things. We do not wish to speak with lightness of religion, although
it would perhaps be 'doing evil that good might come,' in a clever
satire like this upon sectarian controversy. It would seem, that at
a meeting for granting licenses to several drivers, two old coachmen
rise and protest against the admission of two candidates into the
ranks of the 'Moral United Hackmen,' on the ground that they hold
opinions in relation to coaches, and the driving of the same, which
are entirely heretical, and contrary to the canons of the hackney
fathers, 'from JEHU and the artist who drove the chariot and horses
of ELISHA, down to the most eminent coachmen of the present day.'
For this charge, the 'Low Coachmen' '_fault_' their opponents, (to
use the pellucid grammar of modern controversialists,) but they
won't _be_ '_faulted_' in that manner; and the whole 'establishment'
is thus thrown into 'most admired disorder.' * * * A GOOD deal
of criticism has lately been expended upon the form and aspect
of several of our public and private fountains; and especially
upon that bit of 'chaste practice,' the big stone-heap in the
Bowling-Green. CHANTREY, in a letter to Sir HOWARD DOUGLAS, has
one or two thoughts, from which our Croton engineers, and those
whose money employs them, may perhaps derive some hints worthy of
consideration: 'I am not aware of any subject on which art has
been employed that has given rise to so much costly nonsense and
bad taste as fountains. Your idea of water spouting from holes and
crevices in the rock-work is pleasing enough; but then rock-work
is not fit for a pedestal; and I warn you against adopting the
vulgar and disgusting notion of making animals spew water, or the
more natural one of the little fountain at Brussels and Carrara.
Avoid all these beastly things, whether natural or unnatural, and
adopt the more classic and pleasing notion of the ancient river-god
with his overflowing urn, the best emblem of abundance.' * * *
WELL-APPLIED ridicule of that which is in itself ridiculous, and
which 'will not, cannot come to good,' is we think justifiable; the
end to be obtained sanctifies the means; and it was to such an end,
no doubt, that the following rhapsody of strange but impressive
vulgar eloquence was noted down by an auditor of a Methodist divine
from Shropshire, preaching near Oxford, England, 'to an assembly
of the profane.' In the midst of an illustration of 'mysteries
suddenly unfolded, descending like lightning by the inspiration
of the spirit, and illuminating the darkened soul; moaning old
women, watchful with sobs and groans at every divine ejaculation to
aid the heaving motions of the spirit, and take heaven by storm;'
the minister bursts out into the following sentences: 'I am not
one of your fashionable, fine-spoken, mealy-mouthed preachers; I
tell you the plain truth. What are your pastimes? Cards and dice,
fiddling and dancing, guzzling and guttling! Can you be saved by
dice? No! Will the four knaves give you a passport to heaven? No!
Can you fiddle yourselves into a good birth among the sheep? No!
You will dance yourselves to damnation among the goats! You may
guzzle wine here, but you'll want a drop of water to cool your
tongues hereafter! Will the prophets say, 'Come here, gamester, and
teach us the long odds?' 'Tis odds if they do! Will the martyrs
rant and swear, and shuffle and cut with you? No! the martyrs are
no shufflers. You will be cut in a way you little expect. LUCIFER
will come with his reapers and his sickles and forks, and you will
be cut down and bound and pitched and carted and housed in hell! I
will not oil my lips with lies to please you. I tell you the plain
truth. AMMON and MAMMON and MOLOCH are making Bethoron hot for you!
Profane wretches! I have heard you wrangle and brawl, and tell one
another before me, 'I'll see you d--d first!' But I tell you the day
will come, when you will pray to BEELZEBUB to let you escape his
clutches. And what will be _his_ answer? 'I'll see you d--d first!'
* * * THE '_Evening Reveries of a Book-worm_' we desired to publish,
for the _thoughts_ which the paper contains; but the style is _too_
'rambling and desultory;' it is confused. Take the last two pages,
for example; the reflections upon 'those who have thought, written,
printed, and died,' and see how inferior they are to the reflections
contained in SOUTHEY'S lines '_To my Library_,' in an early number
of the KNICKERBOCKER:
'MY thoughts are with the dead; with them
I live in long past years.
Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
Partake their hopes and fears;
And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with a humble mind.
'My hopes are with the dead; anon
My place with them will be,
And I with them shall travel on,
Through all futurity;
Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.'
* * * * *
WE have already solved several weighty mathematical problems in this
department of the KNICKERBOCKER; and are glad of an opportunity
farther to enlighten our readers with a passage from a '_Lecture
on Mechanics_' in a late number of the 'London Charivari:' 'If
certain weighty things are put upon a body, they will turn the
scale, and elevate another body. Thus, if several thousand pounds
be added to the weight of an electioneering agent, it will elevate
the candidate; though this experiment sometimes fails; which shows
us that these grand results are not brought about by any fixed
principles!' Under the head of 'Forces applied to a Point,' we have
this luminous illustration: 'It sometimes happens that force is
applied to produce a point; but all the straining in the world will
not obtain the point that is desired. Thus, if you take an ordinary
hammer and hammer away at a joke, the result of the experiment
will illustrate the position!' * * * WHEW! ninety-eight mortal
pages, received in the dog-days, containing a '_nouvelette_' for
the KNICKERBOCKER! 'Somebody take this man away!' The story is in
very fine hand-writing, too! 'All things must have an end; even so
contemptible a thing as a sausage has two,' says '_The Bedlamite_;'
yet we have been unable to find but _one_ end to this tale, and
that was not the last one. 'Print it?' Couldn't, really! 'C.' holds
it for the author, and says he shall charge storage. _Apropos_: it
should be observed, that '_nouvelettes_' are generally boreish in
their character. Long-winded pen-and-ink writers inflict them upon
the public usually, we have remarked. They are a cross between the
novel proper and a newspaper tale, requiring little invention, and
no talent, to speak of; and are the result of the decadence into
which two-volumed romances have fallen. Avoid a '_nouvelette_!' *
* * WE cannot better reply to 'G.,' who complains of '_an excuse_'
for rejecting a communication of his, than by quoting the words of
a time-honored novelist and rare critic: 'There is one best and
clearest way of stating a proposition, and that alone ought to be
chosen; yet how often do we find the same argument repeated and
repeated and repeated, with no variety except in the phraseology?
In developing any thought, we ought not to encumber it by trivial
circumstances; we ought to say all that is necessary, and not a
word more. We ought likewise to say one thing at once; and that
concluded, to begin another. We certainly write to be understood,
and should therefore never write in a language that is unknown to a
majority of our readers. The rule will apply as well to the living
languages as to the dead, and its infringement is but in general
a display of the author's vanity. Epithets, unless they increase
the strength of thought or elucidate the argument, ought not to be
admitted. Of similes, metaphors, and figures of every kind, the
same may be affirmed; whatever does not enlighten confuses. The
difficulties of composition resemble those of geometry; they are the
recollection of things so simple and convincing that we imagine we
never can forget them; yet they are frequently forgotten at every
step and in every sentence.' If these remarks do not confirm the
validity of our 'excuse,' we are no judge. * * * HERE is a sharp
thrust at '_Fashionable Boarding-Schools_,' which is all that we
can appropriate of the letter of our Cincinnati friend: 'A modern
boarding-school is a place where every thing is taught, and nothing
understood; where airs, graces, mouth-primming, shoulder-setting,
and elbow-holding are studied, and affectation, formality,
hypocrisy, and pride are acquired; and where children the most
promising are presently transformed into vain, pert misses, who
imagine that to jerk up their heads, turn out their toes, and dance
and waltz well, is the summit of human perfection.' What a satirical
wretch it is! * * * ALISON, in his fine description of the French
army on the morning before the battle of Waterloo, alludes to the
effect of the martial airs upon the soldiers; the 'Marsellois,' the
'Chant du Depart,' etc. This latter we have recently encountered for
the first time, in a superbly-illustrated work, entitled 'Chants and
Chansons of France.' It is a very stirring effusion; as a few of its
opening lines will sufficiently evince:
'La victoire en chantant vous ouvre la barriere,
La liberte guide nos pas,
Et du nord au midi la trompette guerriere
A sonne l'heure des combats.
'Tremblez, ennemis de la France,
Rois ivres de sang et d'orgueil!
Le peuple souverain s'avance,
Tyrans descendez au cercueil,' etc.
* * * * *
THE comparison between '_New-England Men and Scotchmen_' is in
many respects a correct one, but not in all. 'We are not a nation
of gentlemen, thank GOD!' says a plain-speaking Scottish writer,
'but the greater part of our population is vulgar, intelligent,
high-cheeked, raw-boned, and religious.' The article, however, will
appear so soon as we can find space for it. * * * WE are bound to
accept the apology of 'M.,' whose 'curt notelet' we adverted to in
our last. He trusts that after his explanation we shall 'not think
hard of him.' We do not; on the contrary, we think very _soft_ of
him. Don't do so again--that's all. * * * THE lamented OLLAPOD, in
one of his admirable salmagundis in these pages, once endeavored to
represent the sound of _a kiss_; and it was conceded, we remember,
that he was successful in the attempt. Next to that effort, we have
seen nothing better than the following _transcript_ of fire-works,
by a London wag: 'First of all, the rockets go up. Then something is
lighted, and turns slowly round with a _whisk!-ish-ish-ish_; this
increases its time, and changes to _oosh-sh-sh_; gives a _bang_, and
goes round another way, with an _ash-sh-sh!_ till squibs open all
round it in a prolonged _phiz-iz-iz-iz!_ and then it concludes with
a _phit! crack! bang-bang! bang!_ and the incandescent centre of
the wheel is all that remains, revolving in a dull circle of light
upon its axis.' If this be not 'speaking description,' we know not
what is. * * * READER, when in the providence of GOD it shall be
your fate to stand by the cold form of one whom you have loved; to
gaze upon lips, oh! how pale and motionless; upon hands thin and
wasted, crossed upon the silent breast; upon eye-lids dropped upon
cheeks of clay, never to be lifted again; then haply you may think
of these beautiful lines of the good WESLEY. Amidst remembered hopes
that vanished and fears that distracted, weeping in unknown tumults,
'like soft streamings of celestial music' comes to your aching heart
this serene Evangel!
HOW blest is our brother, bereft
Of all that could burthen his mind!
How easy the soul that has left
This wearisome body behind!
Of evil incapable thou,
Whose relics with envy I see;
No longer in misery now,
No longer a sinner, like me.
This dust is affected no more
With sickness, or shaken with pain;
The war in the members is o'er,
And never shall vex him again;
No anger henceforward, or shame
Shall redden his innocent clay;
Extinct is the animal flame,
And passion is vanished away.
The languishing head is at rest.
Its thinking and aching are o'er;
The quiet, immovable breast
Is heaved by affliction no more.
The heart is no longer the seat
Of trouble or torturing pain;
It ceases to flutter and beat,
It never will flutter again!
The lids he so seldom could close,
By sorrow forbidden to sleep,
Sealed up in eternal repose,
Have strangely forgotten to weep,
The fountains can yield no supplies,
The hollows from water are free,
The tears are all wiped from these eyes,
And evil they never shall see.
* * * * *
THERE lives a man in this metropolis of Gotham, who is esteemed by
his fellow-citizens, among whom he has honestly acquired an ample
fortune, for the strict integrity which characterizes his dealings
in trade, and his unexceptionable private life. On one occasion he
was asked at his barber's, on which side of two political parties
he was going to vote, at an election to be holden that day. He
replied, with something of a flush on his countenance, that he
believed he should avoid voting on either side; such had hitherto
been his practice. 'Yes, I guess it _has_!' whispered a man in the
chair, as he arrested the barber's hand, and wiped the soap-foam
from his lips; 'fact is, he _can't_ vote. He was three years in the
state-prison!' Now this _was_ the fact. He had been three years
immured in the penitentiary of a neighboring State, for a crime
committed in the heat of passion, and he has to many friends given
an account of the mental agony which he endured on first entering
the institution. It was not so much the physical suffering; the
tedious, sleepless nights in his narrow cell; the sorrowful silence
in which he plied his incessant and thankless labor; his coarse and
scanty food; not so much these, as the companionship of the hardened
wretches around him, whose crimes he could only imagine from the
character of their faces, as he caught glimpses of their features in
the turning of a gang in marching, or in the chapel on the Sabbath.
The _degradation of spirit_ it was that almost broke his heart. 'It
mattered little,' he thought, 'how much he might be abused, what
insolence of office he might suffer, or how deeply the iron in the
dungeon might enter into his soul. Who would care for the unhappy
convict? If he should repent and become a reformed man, no one would
believe him, no one would employ him; and he would be compelled to
give proof of his moral improvement by suffering starvation unto
death.' For the first two or three weeks, he was almost _mad_ with
the intensity of his mental suffering; and he remained in this state
until one Sabbath morning, when the keeper, who was a Churchman
by persuasion, permitted the Episcopal service to be read to the
prisoners, at the request of a young relation, who was a student
at a neighboring theological seminary. 'Never,' has our informant
often heard the ci-devant state-prisoner say, 'never shall I forget
the effect of one of those blessed prayers upon my mind. It taught
me that I was not utterly forgotten and cast away, in my desolate
abode.' The prayer runs as follows: 'O GOD, who sparest when we
deserve punishment, and in thy wrath rememberest mercy, we humbly
beseech thee of thy goodness to comfort and succor all those who are
under reproach and misery in the house of bondage: correct them not
in thine anger, neither chasten them in thy sore displeasure. Give
them a right understanding of themselves, and of thy threats and
promises; that they may neither cast away their confidence in thee,
nor place it any where but in Thee. Relieve the distressed, protect
the innocent, and awaken the guilty; and forasmuch as thou alone
bringest light out of darkness and good out of evil, grant that the
pains and punishments which these thy servants endure, through their
bodily confinement, may tend to setting free their souls from the
chains of sin; through JESUS CHRIST our LORD.' * * * THE '_Pinch
for Snuffers_' was long ago anticipated by the lamented OLLAPOD, in
an article on '_American Ptyalism_.' There are 'statistics' in the
present paper, however, which we do not remember to have encountered
before; for example: 'If the practice of _moderate_ snuff-taking
be persisted in for forty years, it has been correctly ascertained
that two entire years of the snuff-taker's life will be dedicated
to tickling his nose, and two more to blowing it! If time is money,
therefore, isn't snuff-taking a habit which costs more than it
comes to?' Perhaps so; but for all that, we say, let the devotees
of the dust enjoy their 'sneezin', as it is termed in Scotland; for
to them its titillations are most delici-ishi-ishi-ishious! * * *
WE are sorry to be compelled to decline the elaborate article of
our Charleston correspondent, who desires an allusion to his paper
in this department of our Magazine. It has been well said, by one
whom we are sure our contributor would consider authority, that the
wisdom as well as the common feelings that belong to such subjects,
lie upon the surface in a few plain and broad lines. There is a
want of genius in being very ingenious about them; and it belongs
to talents of the second order to proceed with a great apparatus
of reasoning. We may be wrong; but it has occurred to us, that the
great defect in the written efforts of many clever newspaper and
magazine essayists of the South, consists in their being 'elaborated
to tenuity, or argued to confusion.' * * * AMONG the publications
received too late for notice in the present number, are 'Geological
Cosmogony; or an examination of the geological theory of the origin
and antiquity of the earth, and of the causes and object of the
changes it has undergone; by a Layman: Mr. ROBERT CARTER, at 58
Canal-street, publisher; the 'Spanish Guide for Conversation and
Commerce, in two parts; being a Sequel to the author's Spanish
Grammar and Translator: by JULIO SOLER, one of our most successful
and popular Spanish teachers; a prospectus of a work entitled
'Annals and Occurrences of New-York City and State in the Olden
Time;' being a collection of memoirs, anecdotes, and incidents,
concerning the city, country, and inhabitants, from the days of the
founders; intended to exhibit society in its changes of manners
and customs, and the city and country in their local changes and
improvements; with pictorial illustrations; Mrs. CHILD'S 'Letters
from New-York;' and Dr. PEREIRA'S new work on food and diet, with
observations on the dietetical regimen, suited for disordered states
of the digestive organs; and an account of the dietaries of some of
the principal metropolitan and other establishments for paupers,
lunatics, children, the sick, etc., etc. We have heard this work
highly commended by competent judges; but to our humble conception,
there is something very auldwifeish in publishing a book to tell
people how to devour their food. There is no mystery in the matter.
Hunger and thirst are simple, strait-forward instincts, not likely
to be much improved by artificial erudition. We have late numbers
of the '_Rivista Ligure_,' of Genoa, for which we are indebted to
the courtesy of our consul at that capital. Brief notices of the
following works are in type: 'Usury;' THOMSON'S 'DAY'S Algebra,'
'The New Purchase,' 'The Karen Apostle,' etc. * * * OUR readers
have lately had an opportunity of enjoying several of the early
prose-papers of the gifted SANDS. Here are a few pleasant poetical
extracts from a New Year's Address, written seventeen years ago,
touching among other things upon ADAMS'S election, the great Erie
Canal celebration, KEAN'S reception at Boston, hard times, broken
banks, etc.:
The next thing that deserves reflection
Is Mr. ADAMS, his election;
With which we all must be content,
And say 'GOD bless the President.'
How far his talents may be great
The aforesaid Poet cannot state;
All that he knows of his abilities,
Is that he interchanged civilities
With him one morning at the Hall,
When he shook hands with great and small;
And also got some punch and vivers
The Corporation gave to divers.
You all do know that the last stitch
Of work is done on the Big Ditch;
And saw, no doubt the grand procession
That was got up on the occasion:
When soldiers, tailors, printers, furriers,
Free-masons, soap boilers, and curriers,
Cordwainers, college-boys, and bakers,
Butchers, and saddle-and-harness-makers,
Boat builders, coppersmiths, and tanners,
Walked forth with badges and with banners,
And every other craft and mystery,
(A show unparallelled in history.)
The Poet had no place assigned
In the parade with his own kind;
He stood apart amid the squinters,
The carrier trudged among the printers,
Distributing from time to time
Small odes that were pronounced sublime.
The Poet also was worse slighted,
Not being to the Hook invited;
Of course he has no just conception
Of the Lake's marriage with old Neptune,
Or if the salt sea felt compunction
With the fresh lake to make a junction;
Or whether Neptune took the sense
Of Doctor Mitchell's eloquence;
But all who witnessed the solemnity,
Returned from sea with full indemnity,
Pleased with the punch, the sail and speeching,
Returning thanks they had no reaching,
Or collapsed flues to spoil the pleasure,
Although they steamed beyond all measure.
The child that is unborn may rue,
He did not live that day to view.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
To mention now we can't refrain
How naughty KEAN came back again,
Despite of many a rotten pippin,
Contrived his ancient orb to keep in,
And (such the morals of the age!)
Once more to re-usurp the stage;
Acquiring bravos, praise, and pelf,
And Richard is again himself.
But when to Boston bold he went,
The 'winter of their discontent'
Began to blow with so much force,
He gave his 'kingdom for a horse,'
And galloped off at such a pace,
As if 'six Richmonds' were in chase.
But hark! a voice! a voice of squalling;
Cotton is falling--falling--falling!
Credit grows low, and faith is shaking,
Banks won't discount, and firms are breaking;
Dead lies the Eagle of New-Haven,
And many honest folks are shaven;
Stopped are the Lombard and the Derby,
And many people suffering thereby.
Cash has grown scarce, and none can know it
Better than him the carrier's poet,
Who having in the funds no money
Looks on the moil as rather funny.
He to whom scarce for ever cash is
Little regards the daily smashes;
But what of this? the radiant sun
Will shine as he has always done,
And round, and round him as of old,
The earth her annual course will hold;
Eyes will be bright, and hearts be gay,
At ball, at opera, and play;
As sweetly to the brilliant ring,
The syren of the stage will sing;
And the full burst of melody
Will soar, as strong, as clear, as high,
Though hearts are broke, and hopes have fled,
And you have failed, and I go dead;
And suns will set, and moons will vary,
And men die, as is ordinary.
'_The Clubs of New-York_' we recognize to be from the pen of a
lady. She writes, however, of clubs as they exist in London, not
in this metropolis, where they are few, and far less exacting of
the time and affections of their members. We quite agree with our
fair correspondent in her animadversions upon the devotion which
they attract from the heads of families. Mrs. MALAPROP argues that
married men ought to give up their clubs, 'because HERCULES gave
up _his_ when he got spliced!' * * * A WORD to our friend 'H.'
_at_ 'H----, on the Hudson:' We have long cherished the intention
to avail ourselves of your kind offer; but we shall lay down no
more pieces of stone in the infernal pavement. Cordial thanks,
however, in any event. * * * 'LUCY' is a very good versificatrix,
but she greatly lacks condensation. Try again; and 'take your
_time_, Miss LUCY.' * * * 'NEANIAS,' of Danville, Kentucky, is again
unsuccessful. ''T is true 't is pity, and pity 't is 't is true.'
Let him not be discouraged, however. * * * PERHAPS our musical
readers will relish a little intelligence 'from the other side,'
touching their favorite science. We learn from that mad wag, PUNCH,
that the society of Musical Antiquaries have traced the origin of
Scottish Minstrelsy to Norway; so that it is possible the lays
of BURNS are remotely connected with the Scandinavian SCALDS. We
hear also of a remarkable concert given by an artist to whom a
distinguished _maëstro_ had bequeathed his sheet-iron fiddle. 'He
has all the rapidity and tone of his master, and equals every other
great solo-player of the day, in never knowing when to 'leave off!'
* * * 'THE beautiful sentence quoted in your last 'Gossip,'' writes
a correspondent, ''That charity which Plenty gives to Poverty is
human and earthly, but it becomes divine and heavenly when Poverty
gives to Want,' has recalled to my mind an old song, which I should
be glad to see in your pages:'
I.
Ho! why dost thou shiver and shake,
Gaffer-Gray!
And why doth thy nose look so blue?
''Tis the weather that's cold;
'Tis I'm grown very old.
And my doublet is not very new,
Well-a-day!'
II.
Then line thy worn doublet with ale,
Gaffer-Gray;
And warm thy old heart with a glass:
'Nay, but credit I've none;
And my money's all gone;
Then say how may that come to pass?
Well-a-day!'
III.
Hie away to the house on the brow,
Gaffer-Gray;
And knock at the jolly priest's door.
'The priest often preaches
Against worldly riches;
But ne'er gives a mite to the poor,
Well-a-day!'
IV.
The lawyer lives under the hill,
Gaffer-Gray;
Warmly fenced both in back and in front.
'He will fasten his locks,
And will threaten the stocks,
Should he ever more find me in want,
Well-a-day!'
V.
The squire has fat beeves and brown ale,
Gaffer-Gray;
And the season will welcome you there.
'His fat beeves and his beer,
And his merry new-year
Are all for the flush and the fair,
Well-a-day!'
VI.
My keg is but low I confess,
Gaffer-Gray;
What then? While it lasts man, we'll live.
The poor man alone,
When he hears the poor moan,
Of his morsel a morsel will give,
Well-a-day!