I go an exile to a foreign land,

Ere blest in you, or having seen you blessed.

That rapturous office never shall be mine,

To adorn the bride, and with a mother's hand,

Lift high the nuptial torch.

Like many other classical expressions, it has passed into common use,

and become a mere conventional phraseology. This is the case with much

of our poetical and rhetorical dialect. Metaphors, which, in their early

usage, presented the most vivid conceptions, and were connected with the

profoundest significance, have passed away into dead formulas. They keep

the flow of the rhythm, they produce a graceful effect in rounding a

period, they have about them a faint odor of classicality, but the life

has long since departed. As far as any impressive meaning is concerned,

a blank space would have answered almost as well. The "altar of Hymen,"

the "nuptial torch," suggest either nothing at all, or a cold civil

engagement, with no higher sanctions than a justice's register, or the

business-like dispatch of what, in many cases, is a most unpoetical, as

well as a most secular transaction.

The nuptial torch was significant of marriage, as the divinely appointed

means through which the lamp of life is sent down from generation to

generation. It was the symbol of the true vitality of the race, as

preserved in the single streams of the "isolated household," instead of

being utterly lost in the universal conflagration of unregulated

passion. It was the kindling of a new fire from the ever-burning hearth

of Vesta. It was the institution of a new domestic altar. The torch was

carried by the mother in procession before the daughter, or the

daughter-in-law, and then given to the latter to perform the same

office, with the same charge, to children, and children's children, down

through all succeeding generations. Such a custom, and such a symbol,

never could have originated where polygamy prevailed, nor have been ever

preserved in sympathy with such a perversion of the primitive idea.

Neither could it maintain itself where marriage is mainly regarded as a

civil contract, having no other sanction for its commencement, and, of

course, no other for its dissolution, than the consent of the parties.

Have we not reason to suppose that some such conception is already

gaining ground among us. It would seem to come from that wretched

individualism, the source of so many social errors, which would regard

marriage as a transaction for the convenience of the parties, and

subject to their spontaneity, rather than in reference to society or the

race. The feeling which lends its aid to such a sophism, is promoted by

the prevailing philosophy in respect to what are called "woman's

rights." We allude not now to its more extravagant forms, but to that

less offensive, and more plausible influence, which, in the name of

humanity and of protection to the defenseless, is in danger of sapping

the foundation of a most vital institution. We can not be too zealous in

guarding the person or property of the wife against the intemperate or

improvident husband; but it should be done, and it can be done, without

marring that sacred oneness which is the vitality of the domestic

commonwealth. In applying the sharp knife of reform in this direction,

it should be seen to, that we do not cut into the very life of the

_idea_--to use a favorite phrase of the modern reformer. No evil against

which legislation attempts to guard, can be compared with the damage

which might come from such a wound. No hurt might be more incurable than

one that would result from families of children growing up every where

with the familiar thought of divided legal interests in the joint source

whence they derived their birth. There must be something holy in that

which the apostle selected as the most fitting comparison of the

relation between Christ and his Church; and there have been far worse

superstitions (if it be a superstition) than the belief which would

regard marriage as a sacrament. Be this, however, as it may, it is the

other error of which we have now the most reason to be afraid. There is

a process going forward on the pages of the statute book, in judicial

proceedings respecting divorce, and in the general tendency of certain

opinions, which is insensibly undermining an idea, the most soundly

conservative in the best sense of the term, the most sacred in its

religious associations, as well as the most important in its bearings

upon the highest earthly good of the human race.

The opposing philosophy sometimes comes in the most plausible and

insidious shape. It, too, has its religionism. It talks loftily of the

"holy marriage of hearts," and of the sacredness of the _affection_; but

in all this would only depreciate the sacredness of the outward

relation. It affects to be conservative, moreover. It would preserve and

exalt the essence in distinction from the form. It has much to say of

"legalized adulteries." The affection, it affirms, is holier than any

outward bond. But let it be remembered that the first is human and

changeable, the second is divine and permanent. It is the high

consideration, too, of the one that, more than any earthly means, would

tend to preserve the purity of the other. The relation is the regulator

of the affection, the mould through which it endures, the constraining

form in which alone it acquires the unity, and steadiness, and

consistency of the idea, in distinction from the capricious spontaneity

of the individual passion. Let no proud claim, then, of inward freedom,

assuming to be holier than the outward bond, pretend to sever what God

has joined together. At no time, perhaps, in the history of the world,

and of the church, has there been more need of caution against such a

sophism than in this age so boastful of its lawless subjectivity, or in

other words, its higher rule of action, transcending the outward and

positive ordinance.

* * * * *

Charity is love--Liberality is often only another name for indifference.

The bare presentation of the terms in their true relation, is enough to

show the immense opposition between them. _Charity_ is _tenderness_. "It

suffereth long and is kind." But the same authority tells us, likewise,

that "it rejoiceth in the truth." Except as connected with a fervent

interest in principles we hold most dear, the word loses all

significance, and the idea all vitality. Even when it assumes the phase

of intolerance, it is a nobler and more precious thing than the

liberality which often usurps its name. In this aspect, however, it is

ever the sign of an unsettled and a doubting faith. He who is well

established in his own religious convictions can best afford to be

charitable. He has no fear and no hatred of the heretic lest he should

take from him his own insecure foundation. His feet upon a rock, he can

have no other than feelings of tenderness for the perishing ones whom he

regards as struggling in the wild waters below him. How can he be

uncharitable, or unkind, to those of his companions in the perilous

voyage, who, in their blindness, or their weakness, or it may be in the

perverse madness of their depravity, can not, or will not lay hold of

the plank which he offers for their escape because it is the one on

which he fondly hopes he himself has rode out the storm. They may call

his warm zeal bigotry and uncharitableness; but then, what name shall be

given to that greater madness, that fiercer intolerance, which would not

only reject the offered aid, but exercise vindictive feelings toward the

hand that would draw them out of the overwhelming billows?

One of the richest illustrations of the view here presented is to be

found in the writings of that _durus pater_, Saint Augustine. We find

nothing upon our editorial table more precious--nothing that we would

send forth on the wings of our widely circulated Magazine, with a more

fervent desire that it might, not only meet the eye, but penetrate the

heart of every reader "How can I be angry with you," says this noble

father, in his controversy with the Manichaeans, "how can I be angry with

you when I remember my own experience? Let him be angry with you who

knows not with what difficulty error is shunned and truth is gained. Let

him be angry with you, who knows not with what pain the spiritual light

finds admission into the dark and diseased eye. Let him be angry with

you, who knows not with what tears and groans the true knowledge of God

and divine things is received into the bewildered human soul."

Editor's Easy Chair.

Since we last chatted with our readers, a month ago, old Autumn has

fairly taken the year upon his shoulders, and is bearing him in his

parti-colored jacket, toward the ice-pits of Winter. The soft advance of

Indian Summer, with its harvest moons round and red, and its sunsets

deep-dyed with blood and gold, is stealing smokily across the horizon,

and witching us to a last smile of warmth, and to a farewell summer

joyousness.

The town has changed, too, like the season: and the streets are all of

them in the hey-day of the Autumn flush. The country merchants are gone

home, and the Southern loiterers are creeping lazily southward--preaching

the best of Union discourses--with their geniality and their frankness.

The old Broadway hours of promenade are coming again; and you can see

blithe new-married couples, and wishful lovers, at morning and evening,

lighting up the _trottoir_ with their sunshine. The wishful single ones

too, are wearing new fronts of hope, as the town-men settle again into

their winter beat, and feel, in their bachelor chambers, the lack of

that stir of sociality, which enlivens the summer of the springs.

Old married people too--not so joyous as once--forget all the disputes

of the old winter, in the pleasant approaches of a new one; and try hard

to counterfeit a content which they esteem and desire.

But with all its gayety, theatre-running, concert-going, and shopping,

the town wears underneath a look of sad sourness. Merchants that were as

chatty as the most loquacious magpies only a five-month gone, are

suddenly grown as gruff and dumb as the Norwegian bears. The tightness

of Wall-street has an uncommon "effect upon facial muscles;" and men

that would have been set down by the "Medical Examiners" as good for a

ten years' lease of life, are now wearing a visage that augurs any thing

but healthy action of the liver.

Even our old friends that we parted from in May, as round and dimpled as

country wenches, have met us the week past with a rueful look, and have

said us as short a welcome as if we were their creditors. We pity sadly

the poor fellow, who, with a firm reliance on the steady friendship of

his old companion, goes to him in these times for a loan of a "few

thousands." Friendship has a hard chance for a livelihood nowadays in

Wall-street; and the man that would give us an easy shake of the hand

when we met him on 'Change in the spring, will avoid us now as if he

feared contagion from our very look.

The fat old gentlemen who used to loll into our office in May-time, to

read the journals, and crack stale jokes, and quietly puff out one or

two of our choice Regalias, have utterly vanished. We find no

invitations to dine upon our table--no supper cards for a "sit-down" to

fried oysters and Burgundy "punctually at nine."

Wall-street is the bugbear that frights New York men out of all their

valor; and, as is natural enough, Wall-street, and specie, and heavy

imports; and a new tariff, and the coming crop of cotton are just now at

the top of the talk of the town.

Let our good readers then, allow for this incubus, in tracing the

jottings down, this month, of our usually gossiping pen. Let them

remember in all charity that two per cent. a month, for paper good as

the bank, makes a very poor stimulant for such pastime as literary

gossip. When our men of business replace their Burgundy and Lafitte of

1841, with merely merchantable Medoc, readers surely will be content

with a plain boiled dish, trimmed off with a few carrots, in place of

the rich _ragouts_, with which, at some future time, we shall surely

tickle their appetite.

* * * * *

The Northern Expedition under the lead of Lieutenant De Haven, has given

no little current to the chit-chat of the autumn hours; and people have

naturally been curious to see some of the brave fellows who wintered it

among the crevices of the Polar ice, and who braved a night of some

three months' darkness. It is just one of those experiences which must

be passed through to be realized; nor can we form any very adequate

conceptions (and Heaven forbid that experience should ever improve our

conceptions!) of a night which lasts over weeks of sleeping, and waking,

and watching--of a night which knows neither warmth, nor daybreak--a

night which counts by cheerless months, and has no sounds to relieve its

darkness, but the fearful crashing of ice bergs, and the low growl of

stalking bears.

What a waste of resolution and of energy has been suffered in those

northern seas! And yet it is no waste; energy is never wasted when its

action is in the sight of the world. It tells on new development, and

quickens impulse for action, wherever the story of it goes.

It is, to be sure, sad enough that the poor Lady Franklin must go on

mourning; but she has the satisfaction of knowing that sympathy with her

woes has enlisted thousands of brave beating hearts, and has led them

fearlessly into the very bosom of those icy perils, which now, and we

fear must forever, shroud the fate of her noble husband. Nor is that

grief and devotion of the Lady Franklin without its teaching of

beneficence. Its story adds to the dignity of humanity, and quickens the

ardor of a thousand hearts, who watch it as a beacon of that earnest

and undying affection, which belongs to a true heart-life, but which

rarely shows such brilliant tokens of its strength.

* * * * *

Perhaps it is fortunate that at a time when commerce is shaking with an

ague, that makes pallid cheeks about town, there should be such a flush

as now in the histrionic life of the city. Scarce a theatre or

concert-room but has its stars; and if music and comedy have any great

work of goodness to do in this world, it may surely be in relieving

despondency and lightening the burdens of misfortune.

Miss Catharine Hays is a very good chit-chat topic for any

breakfast-room of the town; and although she has not excited that excess

of furor which was kindled by the Swedish singer, she has still gained a

reputation whose merits are spoken with enthusiasm, and will be

remembered with affection. Poor, suffering Ireland can not send to such

a sympathetic nation as this, a pretty, graceful, pure-minded

songstress--whatever might be her qualities--without enlisting a fervor

that would shower her path with gold, and testify its strength with

flowers and huzzas.

Madame THILLON is pointing much of the after-dinner talk with story of

her beauty; and connoiseurs in cheeks and color are having amiable

quarrels about her age and eyes. Mrs. WARNER is drawing somewhat of the

worn-out Shakspearean taste to a new rendering of Elizabethan comedy. In

short the town is bent on driving away the stupor of dull trade with the

cheer of art and song.

* * * * *

Speaking of art, reminds us of the new picture which is just now gracing

the halls of the Academy of Design. It is precisely one of those

Art-wonders which, with its great stock of portraits to be discussed,

makes the easiest imaginable hinge of talk. It is Healy's great picture

of Daniel Webster in his place in the Senate Chamber, replying to

General Hayne of South Carolina. The work has been a long time under Mr.

Healy's thought and hand, and is perfected, if not with elaborateness,

at least with an artistic finish and arrangement that will make the

picture one of the great Western pictures. We could wish

indeed--although we hazard the opinion with our _easy_ diffidence--that

Mr. Healy had thrown a little more of the Demosthenic _action_ into the

figure, and bearing of the orator; yet, with all its quietude, it shows

the port of a strong man. Indeed, in contrast with the boy-like

presentment of General Hayne, it almost appears that the fire of the

speaker is wasting on trifles; yet, if we may believe contemporaneous

history, Hayne was by no means a weak man, and if the fates had not

thrust him upon such Titan conflict too early, there might well have

been renowned deeds to record of the polished Southron. The initiate

lookers-on will see good distance-views of Mrs. Webster, of Mrs. George

P. Marsh, and of sundry other ladies, who were by no means so matronly

at the date of the "Union" Speech as Mr. Healy's complimentary

anachronism would imply.

* * * * *

The Art Union is coming in for its share of the autumn love of warm

tints and glowing colors; and if we might trust a hasty look-in on our

way to office duties, we should say there was a scalding brightness

about some of the coloring which needs an autumn haze to subdue it to a

healthy tone. For all this there are gems scattered up and down, which

will woo the eye to a repeated study, and, if we may judge from the

flocking crowds, educate the public taste to an increasing love of

whatever is lovable in Art.

Leutze's great picture of Washington, will, before this shall have

reached the eye of our readers, have won new honors to the name of the

painter of the Puritan iconoclasts; and we count it a most healthful

augury for American art, that the great painting should have created in

advance such glowing expectations.

* * * * *

We wish to touch with our pen nib--as the observant reader has before

this seen--whatever is hanging upon the lip of the town; and with this

wish lighting us, we can not of a surety pass by that new burst of

exultation, which is just now fanning our clipper vessels, of all rig

and build, into an ocean triumph.

Nine hundred and ninety odd miles of ocean way within three days' time,

is not a speed to be passed over with mere newspaper mention; and it

promises--if our steam-men do not look to their oars--a return to the

old and wholesome service of wind and sail. We are chronicling here no

imaginary run of a "Flying Dutchman," but the actual performance of the

A Number One, clipper-built, and copper-fastened ship, FLYING

CLOUD--Cressy, commander! And if the clipper-men can give us a line,

Atlantic-wise, which will bowl us over the ocean toward the Lizard, at a

fourteen-knot pace, and not too much spray to the quarter deck--they

will give even the Collins' monsters a scramble for a triumph. There is

a quiet exultation after all, in bounding over the heaving blue

wave-backs, with no impelling power, but the swift breath of the god of

winds, which steam-driven decks can never give. It is taking nature in

the fulness of her bounty, and not cramping her gifts into boiling

water-pots; it is a trust to the god of storms, that makes the breezes

our helpers, and every gale to touch the cheek with the wanton and the

welcome of an aiding brother!

* * * * *

Leaving now the matters of gossip around us, we propose to luxuriate in

that atmosphere of gossip, which pervades the Paris world, and which

comes wafted to us on the gauze _feuilletons_ of such as Jules Janin,

and of Eugene Guinot. They tell us that the city world of France has

withdrawn lazily and longingly from the baths of Aix-la-Chapelle and the

beaches of Dieppe and Boulogne; and that the freshened beauties of the

metropolis, are taking their first autumn-ing upon the shaded asphalte

of the Champs Elysees. A little fraction of the _beau monde_ has just

now taken its usual turn to the sporting ground of Dauphiny and

Bretagne; but it is only for carrying out in retired quarters the series

of flirtations, which the watering places have set on foot. The French

have none of that relish for covers and moor shooting, which enters so

largely into the English habit; and a French lady in a land-locked

chateau--without a lover in the case--would be the sorriest Nekayah

imaginable.

But, says Guinot, the country recluses are just now acquiring a taste

for the races and for horsemanship; and he signalizes, in his way, a

fairly-run match of ladies, well-known in the salons of Paris, which

came off not long since in the grounds of some old country chateau.

Among the other whim-whams, which this veteran wonder-teller sets down,

is the story of an old Hollander, who every year makes his appearance at

the springs of Ems, and devotes himself to _rouge et noir_ with the

greatest assiduity, until he has won from the bank the sum of

twenty-five thousand francs, when he gathers up his gold and disappears

for another season. No run of good luck will induce him to increase his

earnings, and no bad fortune in the early part of his visit will break

down his purpose, until he has won his usual quota. The managers have

even proposed to buy him off for half his usual earnings in advance, but

he accepts of no compromise; and stolidly taking his seat at the table,

with a bag of _rouleaux_ at his side, he stakes his money, and records

upon a card the run of the colors--nor quits his place, until his bag is

exhausted, or the rooms closed for the night.

As is usual with these tit-bits of French talk, no name is given to the

Hollander, and he may live, for aught we know, only in the pestilent

brain of the easy paragraphist.

* * * * *

Again, we render grace to French fertility of invention for this _petit

histoire_, to which we ourselves venture to add a point or two, for the

humor of this-side appetite.

Borrel, a great man in the kitchen, kept the famous Rocher de Cancale.

Who has not heard of the Rocher de Cancale? Who has not dreamed of it

when--six hours after a slim breakfast of rolls and coffee--he has

tugged at his weary brain--as we do now--for the handle of a dainty

period?

Borrel had a wife, prettier than she was wise--(which can be said of

many wives--not Borrel's). Borrel was undersold by neighbor

restaurateurs, and found all the world flocking to the Palais Royal

caterers. Borrel's wife spent more than Borrel earned (which again is

true of other wives). So that, finally, the Rocher de Cancale was ended:

Borrel retired to private life with a bare subsistence; and, Borrel's

wife, playing him false in his disgrace, ran away with a vagrant

Russian.

Borrel languished in retirement: but his friends found him; and having

fairly put him on his feet, thronged for a season his new Salon of

Frascati. But directly came the upturn of February, and poor Borrel was

again broken in business, and thrice broken in spirit. He took a

miserable house without the Boulevard, in the quarter of the

Batignolles, and only crept back to the neighborhood of his old princely

quarters, like the vagrant starveling that he was, at dusk. Years hung

heavily on him, and his domestic sorrows only aggravated his losses and

his weakness.

But, in process of time, a Russian came to Paris, who had known the city

in the days of the Rocher de Cancale. He came with his appetite

sharpened for the luxurious dinners of the Rue Montorgueil. But, alas,

for him--the famous Restaurant had disappeared, and in its place, was

only a paltry show-window of _calecons_ and of _chemisettes_.

He inquired anxiously after the famous Borrel: some shook their heads,

and had never heard the name: others, who had known the man, believed

him dead. In despair he visited all the Restaurants of Paris, but, for a

long time, in vain. At length, an old white-haired garcon of the Cafe de

Paris, to whom he told his wishes, informed him of the miserable fate of

the old Prince of suppers.

The Russian traced him to his humble quarters, supplied him with money

and clothes--engaged him as his cook, took him away from his ungrateful

city, and installed him, finally, as first Restaurateur of St.

Petersburg.

His patron was passably old, but still a wealthy and prosperous merchant

of the northern empire; and his influence won a reputation and a fortune

for the reviving head of the house of Borrel. The strangest part

(omitted by Lecomte), is yet to come.

Borrel had often visited his patron, but knew nothing of his history, or

family: nor was it until after a year or two of the new life, that the

poor Restaurateur discovered in the deft-handed housekeeper of his

patron, his former wife of the Rue Montorgueil!

The discovery seemed a sad one for all concerned. Borrel could not but

make a show for his wounded honor. His patron had no wish to lose an old

servant; and the lady herself, now that the hey-day of her youth was

gone, had learned a wholesome dread of notoriety. Wisely enough, each

determined to sacrifice a little: Borrel was re-married to his wife; his

patron found a new mistress of his household; and madame promised to

live discreetly, and guard carefully the profits of the Russian Rocher

de Cancale.

If this is not a good French story, we should like to know what it is?

* * * * *

Again we shift our vision to a _belle maison_ (pretty house) in a back

quarter of London--newly furnished--a little cockneyish in taste, and

with all the new books of the day, piled helter-skelter upon the

library-table. The owner is a tall, laughing-faced, good natured, not

over-bred man, who has traveled to Constantinople and Egypt--to say

nothing of an adventurous trip to the top of Mont Blanc.

His history is written by the letter-writers in this way: Poor, and

clever, he wrote verses, and essays, and sold them for what he could

get; and some say filled and extracted teeth, to "make the ends meet."

It is certain that he once walked the Hospitals of Paris, and that he

knows the habits of the grisettes of the Quarter by the Pantheon.

A certain Lord happening upon him, and fancying his laughter-loving

look, and waggish eye, cultivated his acquaintance, and proposed to him

a trip to the East as his friend, courier, and what-not. Our hero

assented--went with him as far as Trieste--quarreled with My

Lord--parted from him--pushed his way by "hook and by crook" as far as

Cheops--and returned to London with not a penny in his pocket.

Writing brought dull pay (as it always does), and the traveler thought

of _talking_ instead. He advertised to tell his story in a lecture-room,

with songs, and mimicry thrown in to enliven it. The people went slowly

at first: finally, they talked of the talking traveler, and all the

world went; and the adventurer found his purse filling, and his fortune

made.

He bought the _belle maison_ we spoke of; and this summer past set off

for Mont Blanc, and ascended it--not for the fun of the thing, but for

the fun of telling it.

We suppose our readers will have recognized the man we have in our eye:

to wit--ALBERT SMITH.

And that--says Lecomte--is the way they do things in England!

Editor's Drawer.

It was THOMAS HOOD, if we remember rightly ("poor Tom's a-cold" now)!

whose "Bridge of Sighs," and "Song of the Shirt," both of them the very

perfection of pathos, will be remembered when his lighter productions

are forgotten, or have ceased to charm--it was TOM HOOD, we repeat, who

described, in a characteristic poetical sketch, the miseries of an

Englishman in the French capital, who was ignorant of the language of

that self-styled "metropolis of the world." He drew a very amusing

picture of the _desagremens_ such as one would be sure to encounter; and

among others, the following

"Never go to France,

Unless you know the lingo,

If you _do_, like me,

You'll repent, by Jingo!

"Signs I had to make,

For every little notion;

Arms all the while a-going,

Like a telegraph in motion.

"If I wanted a horse,

How d'you think I got it?

I got astride my cane,

And made-believe to trot it!"

There was something very ridiculous, he went on to say, we remember,

about the half-English meaning of some of the words, and the utter

contradiction of the ordinary meaning in others. "They call," said he,

"They call their mothers _mares_,

And all their daughters _fillies_!"

and he cited several other words not less ludicrous. The celebrated Mrs.

RAMSBOTTOM, and her accomplished daughter LAVINIA, the cockney

continental travelers, those clever burlesques of "JOHN BULL," were the

first, some thirty years ago, to take notice of this discrepancy, and to

illustrate it in their correspondence. The old lady, writing from Paris

to friends in her peculiar circle in London, tells them that she has

been to see all the curious things about the French capital; and she

especially extols the bridges, with their architectural and other

adornments. "I went yesterday afternoon," she wrote, "to see the statute

of Lewis Quinzy, standing close to the end of one of the _ponts_, as

they call their bridges here. I was told by a man there, that Lewis

Quinzy was buried there. Quinzy wasn't his real name, but he died of a

quinzy sore-throat, and just as they do things here, they called him

after the complaint he died of! The statute is a more superior one than

the one of Henry Carter (Henri Quatre), which I also see, with my

daughter Lavinia. I wonder if he was a relation of the Carters of

Portsmouth, because if he is, his posteriors have greatly degenerated in

size and figure. He is a noble-looking man, in stone." The same old

ignoramus wrote letters from Italy, which were equally satirical upon

the class of would-be "traveled" persons, to which she was assumed to

belong.

Speaking of Rome, and certain of its wonderful and ancient structures,

she says: "I have been all through the _Vacuum_, where the Pope keeps

his bulls. Every once in a while they say he lets one out, and they

occasion the greatest excitement, being more obstinater, if any thing,

than an Irish one. I have been, too, to see the great church that was

built by Saint PETER, and is called after him. Folks was a-looking and

talking about a _knave_ that had got into it, but I didn't see no

suspicionary person. I heard a _tedium_ sung while I was there, but it

wasn't any great things, to _my_ taste. I'd rather hear Lavinia play the

'Battle of Prag.' It was very long and tiresome." Not a little unlike

"Mrs. RAMSBOTTOM," is a foreign correspondent of the late Major NOAH'S

paper, the "Times and Messenger," who writes under the _nom de plume_ of

"A Disbanded Volunteer," from Paris. He complains that the French

language is very "onhandy to articklate;" that the words wont "fit his

mouth at all" and that he has to "bite off the ends of 'em," and even

then they are cripples. "The grammer," he says, "is orful, specially the

genders, and oncommon inconsistent. A pie is a _he_, and yet they call

it PATTY, and a loaf is a _he_, too, but if you cut a slice off it,

_that's_ a _she_! The pen I'm a-driving is a _she_, but the paper I'm

a-writing on is a _he_! A thief," he goes on to say, "is masculine, but

the halter that hangs him is feminine;" but he rather likes that, he

adds, there being something consoling in being drawn up by a female

noose! _F-e-m-m-e_, he contends, "_ought_ to spell _femmy_--but I'm

blowed if they don't pronounce it _fam_!"

Like the English cockney travelers, he was pleased with the public

monuments, particularly one in the "Plaster La Concord," built by LOUIS

QUARTZ, so called, in consequence of the kind of stone used in its

erection. The "Basalisk of Looksir," and the "Jargon da Plant," also

greatly excited his admiration. No one who has ever studied French, but

will be reminded by the "Disbanded Volunteer's" experience of the

difficulty encountered in mastering the classification of French

genders.

* * * * *

We find, on a scrap in our "Drawer," this passage from a learned lecture

by a German adventurer in London, one "Baron VONDULLBRAINZ." He is

illustrating the great glory of _Mechanics_, as a science: "De t'ing dat

is _made_ is more superior dan de _maker_. I shall show you how in some

t'ings. Suppose I make de round wheel of de coach? Ver' well; dat wheel

roll five hundred mile!--and I can not roll one, myself! Suppose I am de

cooper, what you call, and I make de big tub to hold de wine? He hold

t'ons and gallons; and _I can not hold more as fives bottel_!! So you

see dat de t'ing dat is made is more superior dan de maker!"

* * * * *

The following domestic medicines and recipes may be relied upon. They

are handed down from a very ancient period; and, "no cure, no pay:"

"A stick of brimstone wore in the pocket is good for them as has cramps.

"A loadstone put on the place where the pain is, is beautiful in the

rheumatiz.

"A basin of water-gruel, with half a quart of old rum in it, or a quart,

if partic'lar bad, with lots o' brown sugar, going to bed, is good for a

cold in the 'ead.

"If you've got the hiccups, pinch one o' your wrists, and hold your

breath while you count sixty, or--_get somebody to scare you, and make

you jump_!

"_The Ear-Ache_: Put an inyun in your ear, after it is well roasted!"

* * * * *

How old Dr. Johnson did hate Scotland! His severity of sarcasm upon that

country is unexampled by his comments upon any thing else, however

annoying. On his return from the Hebrides, he was asked by a Scottish

gentleman, at an evening party in London, how he liked Scotland.

"Scotland, sir?" replied Johnson, with a lowering brow, and savage

expression generally, "Scotland? Scotland, sir, is a miserable

country--a _contemptible_ country, sir!" "You can not do the ALMIGHTY

the great wrong to say _that_, Dr. Johnson," answered the other, deeply

nettled at so harsh a judgment: "GOD made Scotland, sir." "Yes, sir,"

was the cutting rejoinder: "GOD _did_ make Scotland, but He _made it for

Scotchmen_! GOD made _hell_ also, sir!" On another occasion, when asked

how he liked certain views of scenery in that country, he replied: "The

finest and most satisfactory view in Scotland, sir, is the view looking

_from_ it, on the high-road to London!" The same spirit was manifested

in his reply to a friend, who was consoling him for the loss of a

favorite cane with which he had traveled in the north of Scotland. "You

can easily replace it, Dr. JOHNSON," said his friend. "_Replace_ it,

sir! Consider, where I'm to find the _timber_ for such a purpose in this

barren country!" It strikes us that a lack of trees or shrubbery could

not be more forcibly exemplified than by this sarcastic reply.

* * * * *

Somebody, in one of the newspapers, has been telling a story of a

schoolmistress, who had a hopeful boy-pupil, whose intelligence was

scarcely "fair to middling," if one may judge from one of his

"exercises" in spelling. "I got him," said the schoolmarm, "clean

through the alphabet, and he would point out any letter, and call it by

its right name. One bright Monday morning I put him, when he was

sufficiently advanced, into words of two syllables; but I was obliged to

tell him some fifty times what was the _nature_ of a syllable; and after

all, his brain was opaque as a rock. In order to interest him, however,

I said to him:

"Do you love pies?"

"Yes, marm, I guess I _do_!"

"Well, then, 'apple' and 'pie,' when put together, spell 'apple-pie,'

don't they?"

"Yes, marm."

"By the same rule, 'la' and 'dy,' spell 'lady?' You understand _that_,

don't you?"

"Very well. Now, what do 'mince' and 'pie' spell?"

"_I_ know!--_Mince_-Pie!"

"That's right: well, now what do 'pumpkin' and 'pie' spell? Speak up."

"I know _that_: that's _pumpkin_-pie!"

"That's correct. Now, what does 'la' and 'dy' spell?"

"CUSTARD-PIE!" exclaimed the urchin, with great exultation at his

success.

Now, this is very good, and very possibly it may have occurred,

precisely as narrated; but we have a suspicion--perhaps not a "_shrewd_

suspicion"--that the whole thing was borrowed from the following

dialogue, which is indubitably an actual occurrence:

"James," said a schoolmaster to a dull pupil, after the morning chapter

had been read in the school, "James, we have read this morning that Noah

had three sons, Shem, Ham, and Japheth; now, James, will you tell us who

was the _father_ of Shem, Ham, and Japheth?"

"_Sir?_" said James, inquiringly.

"Why, James," answered his colloquist, "you have seen that Noah had

three sons, and that their names were Shem, Ham, and Japheth. These were

Noah's _sons_, James. Now, who was the FATHER of Shem, Ham, and

Japheth?"

"SIR?" said James, dubiously pondering the full extent of the query.

"Why, James," said the preceptor, "don't you _know_ who the father of

Shem, Ham, and Japheth was, after I've told you so much?"

"No, sir--I d' know!"

"You are very dull, James--_very_! You know Mr. Smith, don't you, that

lives next to your house?"

"Sartain!--Bill and Jo Smith and I play together. Bill took my

cross-gun, and owes me--"

"Very well: Mr. Smith has three boys, William, Joseph, and Henry. Who is

the father of William, Joseph, and Henry Smith?"

"Mr. Smith!" exclaimed James, instantly; "Mr. _Smith_: guess I know

_that_!"

"Certainly, James. Very _well_, then. Now, this is exactly the same

thing. You see, as we have been reading, that _Noah_ had three sons,

like Mr. Smith; but _their_ names were Shem, Ham, and Japheth. Now, who

was the father of _Noah's_ three sons?"

James hesitated a minute, with his finger in his mouth; and then, as if

the difficult question had been suddenly solved in his mind, he

exclaimed:

"_I_ know now: MR. SMITH!"

* * * * *

Perhaps some of our readers have heard of that rare compound of all that

was quaint, curious, and ridiculous, Lord Timothy Dexter, of

Newburyport, Massachusetts. He was an ignorant, eccentric old fellow,

who, having made himself a rich man, conceived the original idea of

setting up for a lord. Accordingly he proclaimed himself "_Lord Timothy

Dexter_," bought a magnificent mansion, and set up an equipage in

splendid style. Every thing that he did and every thing he had about him

was original. He sent a ship-load of warming-pans to the East Indies; he

filled his gardens with sprawling wooden statues; his dress was a

mixture of the Roman senator and a Yankee militia-captain; the ornaments

of his mansion were of the most unique stamp; and his literary

compositions were more original than all the rest put together. He wrote

in the most heroic disregard and defiance of the common laws of

etymology and syntax. Here is a specimen of his style, and an

illustration of his powers as a philosopher: "How great the SOUL is!

Don't you all wonder and admire to see and behold and hear? Can you all

believe half the truth, and admire to hear the wonders how great the

soul is?--that if a man is drowned in the water, a great bubble comes up

out of the top of the water--the last of the man dying in the water;

this is _mind_--the SOUL, that is the last to ascend out of the deep to

glory. Only behold!--past finding out! The bubble is the soul! When a

man dies in his bed in a house, you can't see his soul go up, but when

he is drowned, _then_ you can see his soul go up like a kite or a

rocket!"

* * * * *

There is a very amusing story told of a curious fowl called "_The

Adjutant_," in the East Indies. They are as solemn-faced a creature as

the owl, the "Bird of Minerva." Sometimes they become great favorites

with the soldiers and officers of the army stationed there, and

numerous, and not unfrequently ridiculous, were the tricks which the

wicked wags played upon them. Sometimes the soldiers would take a couple

of half-picked beef-bones, tie them strongly together, at each end of a

stout cord, and then throw both where some two or three "Adjutants"

would be sure to try to rival each other in the first possession of the

desiderated luxury; the consequence of which competition would be, that

two of the ravenous birds would attack the treasure at one and the same

time: the one would swallow one (for they have most capacious maws) and

the other the other. Then there was trouble! Each saw before him a

divided "duty," the "line" of which, while it was sufficiently defined

(and _con_-fined) was very far from being convenient to follow, so far

as the _practice_ was concerned. But each, in the consequent struggle,

rose into the air; a pair of aerial Siamese-twins, with no power of

severing their common ligament; so that very soon down they came, an

easy prey to their ingenious tormentors. But the funniest trick was

this: A soldier would take a similar unconsumed beef-bone; carefully

scoop out a long cavity in it, establish therein a cartridge and fusee,

with a long leader, lighted, and then throw it out for the especial

benefit of the feathered victim. It was of course swallowed at once, and

then, like a snake with a big frog in its belly, the uncouth bird would

mount upon some post, or other similar eminence, and with one leg

crossed like a figure-four, over the other, it would stand, in digestive

mood, and with solemn visage, until suddenly the secret mine would

explode, and the unsuspicious "Adjutant" would be "reduced to the ranks"

of birds "lost upon earth."

* * * * *

He was a right sensible man who wrote as follows; and his theory and

advice will apply as well in Gotham as elsewhere: "As to extensive

dinner-giving, we can be but hungry, eat, and be happy. I would have a

great deal more hospitality practiced among us than is at all common;

more _hospitality_, I mean, and less _show_. Properly considered, 'the

quality of dinner,' like that of mercy, 'is twice blessed--it blesses

him that gives, and him that takes.' A dinner with friendliness is the

best of all friendly meetings; a pompous entertainment, where 'no love

is,' is the least satisfactory.

"I own myself to being no worse nor better than my neighbors, in giving

foolish and expensive dinners. I rush off to the confectioner's for

sweets, et cetera; hire sham butlers and attendants; have a fellow going

round the table with 'still' and 'dry' champagne, just as if I _knew his

name_, and it was my custom to drink those wines every day of my life.

Now if we receive great men or ladies at our house, I will lay a wager

that they will select mutton and gooseberry-tart for their dinner;

forsaking altogether the '_entrees_' which the men in white gloves are

handing round in the plated dishes. Asking those who have great

establishments of their own to French dinners and delicacies, is like

inviting a grocer to a meal of figs, or a pastry-cook to a banquet of

raspberry tarts. They have had enough of them. Great folks, if they like

you, take no account of your feasts, and grand preparations. No; they

eat mutton, like men."

As to giving _large_ dinners, morever, Mr. BROWN reasons like a

philosopher. In the right way of giving a dinner, he contends, "every

man who now gives _one_ dinner might give two, and take in a host of

friends and relations," who are now excluded from his forced

hospitality. "Our custom," he says "is not hospitality nor pleasure, but

to be able to cut off a certain number of our really best acquaintances

from our dining-list." Again, these large, ostentatious dinners are

scarcely ever pleasant, so far as regards society: "You may chance to

get near a pleasant neighbor and neighboress, when your corner of the

table is possibly comfortable. But there can be no general conversation.

Twenty people around one board can not engage together in talk. You want

even a speaking-trumpet to communicate from your place with the lady of

the house." The sensible conclusion of the whole matter is: "I would

recommend, with all my power, that if we give dinners they should be

more simple, more frequent, and contain fewer persons. A man and woman

may look as if they were really glad to see _ten_ people; but in a

'great dinner,' an ostentatious dinner, they abdicate their position as

host and hostess, and are mere creatures in the hands of the sham

butlers, sham footmen, and tall confectioner's emissaries who crowd the

room, and are guests at their own table, where they are helped last, and

of which they occupy the top and bottom. I have marked many a lady

watching with timid glances the large artificial major-domo who

officiates 'for that night only,' and thought to myself, 'Ah, my dear

madam, how much happier might we all be, if there were but half the

splendor, half the made-dishes, and half the company assembled!'"

* * * * *

To our conception there is something rather tickling to the fancy in the

following sage advice as to how to conduct one's self in case of fire:

"Whatever may be the heat of the moment, keep cool. Let nothing put you

out, but find something to put out the fire. Keep yourself collected,

and then collect your family. After putting on your shoes and stockings,

call out for pumps and hose to the fireman. Don't think about saving

your watch and rings, for while you stand wringing your hands, you may

be neglecting the turn-cock, who is a jewel of the first water at such

a moment. Bid him with all your might turn on the main!"

* * * * *

Punch once drew an admirable picture of a London "Peter Funk," a sort of

character not altogether unknown in the metropolis of the western world:

"The amount that prodigal man must spend every year would drive

ROTHSCHILD into the work-house. Nothing is too good or too common, too

expensive or too cheap, for him. One moment he will buy a silver

candelabra, the next a silver thimble. In the morning he will add a

hundred-guinea dressing-case to his enormous property, and in the

afternoon amuse himself by bidding a shilling for a little trumpery

pen-knife. Why he must have somewhere about fifty thousand pen-knives

already.

"The article he has the greatest hankering for, are razors: and yet, to

look at his unshorn beard, you would fancy that he never shaved from one

month's end to another. The hairs stick out on his chin like the wires

on the drum of a musical-box. It is most amusing to watch him when the

razors are handed round. He will snatch one off the tray, draw the edge

across his nail, breathe upon it, then hold it up to the light, and

after wiping it in the gentlest manner upon the cuff of his coat, bid

for it as ravenously as if he would not lose the scarce article for all

the wealth of the Indies. What he does with all the articles he buys we

can not tell. Saint Paul's would not be large enough to contain all the

rubbish he has been accumulating these last ten years. His collection of

side-boards alone would fill Hyde-Park, and he must possess by this time

more dumb waiters than there are real waiters in England."

* * * * *

A capital burlesque upon the prevalent affectation of popular

song-writers, in making their first line tell as a title, is given in

the following: such, for example, as "_When my Eye_," "_I dare not use

thy cherished Name_," and so forth:

"Oh! don't I love you rather still?

Are all my pledges set at naught?

Dishonored is Affection's bill?

Or passed is Love's Insolvent Court?

Is Memory's schedule coldly filed,

On one of Cupid's broken darts?

Is Hymen's balance-sheet compiled,

A bankrupt's stock of damaged hearts?

"SECOND VERSE.

"I dare not use thy cherished name,

Would'st thou accept, were I to draw?

The god of Love may take his aim,

But with an arrow made of straw

Each fonder feeling that I knew

A lifeless heap of ruin lies:

Yes, false one! ticketed by you:

Look here!--'Alarming Sacrifice!'"

* * * * *

We must say one thing in favor of JOHN BULL. He confesses to a _beat_

with great unanimity and frankness. It is in evidence, on the authority

of the three gentlemen interested in the race of the yacht _America_,

that the triumph of American skill in ship-architecture was most

candidly admitted on all hands, as it was in all the public journals

most handsomely. This is as it should be; and we were glad to see, that

at the recent dinner given to Mr. STEVENS at the Astor-House cordial and

ample acknowledgments, for courtesies and attentions from the QUEEN

herself, down to the most eminent members of the Royal Yacht Squadron,

were feelingly and appropriate rendered.

Literary Notices.

_A Book of Romances_, _Lyrics_, _and Songs_, by BAYARD TAYLOR. This

volume consists chiefly of pieces which have not before been given to

the public, and are evidently selected with great severity of taste from

the miscellaneous productions of the writer. This was a highly judicious

course, and will be friendly, in all respects, to the fame of Bayard

Taylor, whose principal danger as a poet is his too great facility of

execution. The pieces in this volume exhibit the marks of careful

elaboration; of conscientious artistic finish; of a lofty standard of

composition; and of the intellectual self-respect which is not content

with a performance inferior to the highest. They are profuse in bold,

poetic imagery; often expressing conceptions of exquisite delicacy and

pathos; and, pervaded by a spirit of classic refinement. Mr. Taylor's

merits as a descriptive poet of a high order have long been recognized;

the present volume will confirm his beautiful reputation in that

respect; while it shows a freer and nobler sweep of the imagination and

reflective faculties than he has hitherto exercised. (Boston: Ticknor,

Reed, and Fields.)

Phillips, Sampson, and Co., Boston, have published a revised edition of

_Margaret, a Tale of the Real and the Ideal_, in two volumes. The

edition is introduced with a characteristic preface by the author,

explaining his own conception of the drift of the work, and justifying

certain features which have been severely commented on by critics. In

spite of its numerous displays of eccentricity and waywardness, we

believe that "Margaret" possesses the elements of an enduring vitality.

Its quaint and expressive delineations of New-England life, its vivid

reproduction of natural scenery, and the freedom and boldness with which

its principal characters are sustained, will always command a certain

degree of sympathy, even from those who are the most impatient with the

reckless mannerisms of the writer. His genius is sufficient to atone for

a multitude of faults, and there is need enough for its exercise in this

respect, in the present volumes.

A new edition, greatly improved and enlarged, of ABBOTT'S _Young

Christian_, has been published by Harper and Brothers, and will speedily

be followed by the other volumes of the series, _The Corner Stone_ and

_The Way to Do Good_. It is superfluous to speak of the rare merits of

Mr. Abbott's writings on the subject of practical religion. Their

extensive circulation, not only in our own country, but in England,

Scotland, Ireland, France, Germany, Holland, India, and at various

missionary stations throughout the globe, evinces the excellence of

their plan, and the felicity with which it has been executed. Divesting

religion of its repulsive, scholastic garb, they address the common mind

in simple and impressive language. Every where breathing an elevated

tone of sentiment, they exhibit the practical aspects of religious

truth, in a manner adapted to win the heart, and to exercise a permanent

influence upon the character. In unfolding the different topics which he

takes in hand, Mr. Abbott reasons clearly, concisely, and to the point;

but the severity of argument is always relieved by a singular variety

and beauty of illustration. It is this admirable combination of

discussion with incident, that invests his writings with an almost equal

charm for readers of every diversity of age and of culture. While the

young acknowledge the fascination of his attractive pages, the most

mature minds find them full of suggestion, and often presenting an

original view of familiar truth.--The present edition is issued in a

style of uncommon neatness, and is illustrated with numerous engravings,

most of which are spirited and beautiful.

_Episodes of Insect Life_, Third Series, published by J.S. Redfield, is

brought to a close in the volume before us, which treats of the insects

of autumn and the early winter. We take leave of these beautiful studies

in nature with regret, though rejoicing in the eminent success which has

attended their publication, both in England and in our own country. They

have entered largely into the rural delights of many a family circle,

during the past season, and will long continue to perform the same

congenial ministry.

George P. Putnam has issued the first number of _A Biographical and

Critical Dictionary of Painters, Engravers, Sculptors, and Architects_,

by S. SPOONER, M.D., compiled from a variety of authentic sources, and

containing more than fifteen hundred names of eminent artists, which are

not to be found in the existing English dictionaries of Art. Free use

has been made of the best European authorities, and a mass of

information concentrated which we should look for in vain in any other

single work. The editor appears to have engaged in his task, not only

with conscientious diligence, but with an enthusiastic interest in Art,

and with such qualifications, his success in its performance is almost a

matter of course.

The third volume of _The Memoirs of Dr. Chalmers_ (published by Harper

and Brothers), embraces the period of his life during his residence at

Aberdeen, and a portion of his career as Professor at Edinburgh. The

interest of the previous volumes is well sustained in the present. It

contains many original anecdotes, illustrating the private and social

life of Dr. Chalmers, as well as a succinct narrative of the events in

which he bore a conspicuous part before the public. Every incident in

the biography of this admirable man is a new proof of his indomitable

energy of character, his comprehensive breadth of intellect, and the

mingled gentleness and fervor of his disposition. Whoever wishes to see

a strong, compact, massive specimen of human nature, softened and

harmonized by congenial religious and domestic influences, should not

fail to become acquainted with these rich and instructive volumes.

_The Bible in the Family_, by H.A. BOARDMAN (published by Lippincott,

Grambo, and Co.), is a series of discourses treating of the domestic

relations, as the chief sources of personal and social welfare, and

illustrating the importance of the principles of the Bible to the

happiness of the family. They were delivered to the congregation of the

author, in the regular course of his pastoral ministrations, and without

aiming at a high degree of exactness of thought, or literary finish, are

plain, forcible, and impressive addresses on topics of vital moment.

Their illustrations are drawn from every-day life, and are often

striking as well as pertinent. An occasional vein of satire in their

descriptions of society, is introduced with good effect, tempering the

prevailing honeyed suavity of discussion, which, without a corrective,

would be apt to cloy.

Lippincott, Grambo, and Co. have republished _The Scalp Hunters_, by

Capt. MAYNE REID, a record of wild and incredible adventures among the

trappers and savages of New Mexico. It is written in an incoherent,

slap-dash style, in which the want of real descriptive strength is

supplied by the frequent use of interjectional phrases. The scenes, for

the most part, consist of pictures of city brawls and forest fights,

with an excess of blood and thunder sufficient to satiate the most

sanguinary appetite.

_The Human Body and its Connection with Man_, by JAMES JOHN GARTH

WILKINSON, is the transcendental title of a treatise by an original and

vigorous English writer, in which the theories of Swedenborg are applied

to the illustration of human physiology. Profoundly mystical in its

general character, and thoroughly repellent to those who make the length

of their own fingers the measure of the universe, it abounds in passages

of admirable eloquence, presenting a piquant stimulus to the

imagination, even when it fails to satisfy the intellect. Its rhetoric

will be attractive to many readers who take no interest in its anatomy.

_Ladies of the Covenant_, by Rev. JAMES ANDERSON, under an odd

apposition of terms in the title, conceals a work of more than common

merit. Why could not the author use the good Saxon word "women" in

designating those heroic spirits who shed their blood for their religion

in the era of the Scottish Covenant? We shall next hear of the noble

army of "lady martyrs," of the "holy ladies of old," and other fantastic

phrases engendered by a squeamish taste. With this exception, the volume

is worthy of the highest commendation. It shows the horrors of political

persecution, and the beauty of religious faith, in a succession of

forcible and touching narratives. (Published by J.S. Redfield).

_Alban, a Tale of the New World_, is a novel combining an unctuous

melange of sensual description and religious discussion, by an

enthusiastic neophyte of the Roman Catholic Church. It has some lively

pictures of modern Puritanic character in New-England villages, which

are a grateful relief to its pervading tone of speculative

voluptuousness. (Published by George P. Putnam.)

_The Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World_, by E.S. CREASY (published

by Harper and Brothers). The key to this volume is contained in the

following passage of the author's preface: "There are some battles which

claim our attention, independently of the moral worth of the combatants,

on account of their enduring importance, and by reason of the practical

influence on our own social and political condition, which we can trace

up to the results of those engagements. They have for us an abiding and

actual interest, both while we investigate the chain of causes and

effects by which they have helped to make us what we are, and also while

we speculate on what we probably should have been, if any one of those

battles had come to a different termination." The hint of his work, was

first suggested to the author, by the remark of Mr. Hallam on the

victory gained by Charles Martel, between Tours and Poictiers, over the

invading Saracens, that "it may justly be reckoned among those few

battles of which a contrary event would have essentially varied the

drama of the world in all its subsequent scenes; with Marathon, Arbela,

the Metaurus, Chalons, and Leipsic." The idea, presented in this form,

is developed with great ingenuity by the author, in its application to

the most significant battles in history, from Marathon to Waterloo.

Abstaining from merely theoretical speculations, he exhibits a profound

insight into the operation of political causes, which he unfolds with

great sagacity, and in a manner suited to enchain the attention of the

reader. Among the decisive battles embraced in his work, those of

Marathon, of Arbela, of Hastings, of the Spanish Armada, of Blenheim, of

Saratoga, and of Waterloo, are described with picturesque felicity, and

their consequences to the fortunes of the civilized world are traced out

in the genuine spirit of a sound philosophical historian. His

observations, connected with the battle of Saratoga, in regard to the

position of America in modern history, are just and impartial. "The

fourth great power of the world is the mighty commonwealth of the

Western Continent, which now commands the admiration of mankind. That

homage is sometimes reluctantly given, and is sometimes accompanied with

suspicion and ill-will But none can refuse it. All the physical

essentials for national strength are undeniably to be found in the

geographical position and amplitude of territory which the United States

possess; in their almost inexhaustible tracts of fertile but hitherto

untouched soil, in their stately forests, in their mountain chains and

their rivers, their beds of coal, and stores of metallic wealth, in

their extensive sea-board along the waters of two oceans, and in their

already numerous and rapidly-increasing population. And when we examine

the character of this population, no one can look on the fearless

energy, the sturdy determination, the aptitude for local

self-government, the versatile alacrity, and the unresisting spirit of

enterprise which characterize the Anglo-Americans, without feeling that

here he beholds the true elements of progressive might."

The Second Volume of Miss STRICKLAND'S _Queens of Scotland_ (published

by Harper and Brothers), completes the Life of Mary of Lorraine, and

contains that of Lady Margaret Douglas. It is marked by the careful

research and animated style which have given the author such an enviable

reputation as an authentic and pleasing historical guide.

_The Lily and the Bee_, by SAMUEL WARREN (published by Harper and

Brothers), is a reprint of a rhapsodical prose-poem, suggested by the

strange and beautiful spectacle of the Crystal Palace. The author has

selected a wild and incoherent form for the embodiment of his

impressions, but it is pervaded by a vein of rich, imaginative thought,

which no one can follow without being touched with its spirit of

suggestive musing. Whoever peruses this volume, as the writer intimates,

should suspend his judgment until the completion, and then both the Lily

and the Bee may be found speaking with some significance.

MAYHEW'S _London Labor_ (published by Harper and Brothers) has reached

its Fourteenth Number, and fully sustains the interest of the earlier

portions of the work. It is a faithful sketch of one aspect of London

life, drawn from nature, and in graphic effect is hardly inferior to the

high-wrought creations of fiction.

The Eighteenth Part of LOSSING's _Pictorial Field-Book of the

Revolution_ (published by Harper and Brothers), is now completed, and

the successive parts will be issued rapidly until the work is closed.

This noble tribute to the memory of our revolutionary fathers has been

kindly and cordially received by the American people. We rejoice in its

success, for the spirit of patriotism which it breathes is as wholesome,

as the execution of its charming pictures is admirable.

_Malmiztic the Toltec_, by W.W. FOSDICK (Cincinnati, Wm. H. Moore and

Co.), is a romance of Mexico, reproducing the times of Montezuma and

Cortez. In spite of the desperate cacophony of the title, and the

high-flown magnificence of the preface, it is a work of considerable

originality and power. The style of the author would be improved by an

unrelenting application of the pruning-knife, but he shows a talent of

description and narrative, which, after abating the luxuriance of a

first effort, might be turned to excellent account. We hope to hear from

him again.

_The Mind and the Heart_, by FRANKLIN W. FISH, is the title of a little

volume in verse by a very youthful poet, written before the completion

of his eighteenth year. We utterly disapprove the publication of such

precocious efforts, as they have no interest for the reader but that of

a literary curiosity, and none but a perilous reflex influence on the

unfledged author. These effusions, however, are highly creditable

specimens of the kind, and show a facility of versification and a

command of poetic thought and imagery, which give a fair promise of

future excellence. We will not subject them to a harsh criticism, which

they certainly do not deserve, but we advise the young aspirant to cling

to the pen in private, and for the present to cherish a profound horror

of printing ink. (Adriance, Sherman, and Co.)

* * * * *

A new translation of DANTE'S _Divina Commedia_ has recently been made in

England by C.B. Cayley. The volume published, containing the "Inferno,"

is to be followed by the "Purgatorio" and "Paradiso." The metre of the

original is preserved. A London journal says that "it is by far the most

effectual transcript of the original that has yet appeared in English

verse: in other words, the nearest approximation hitherto made to what

the poet, such as we know him, might have written had he been of our

time and country, instead of being a Tuscan in the thirteenth century.

To have done this office with tolerable success for any great poet is a

claim to praise: in a translator of Dante it is something more. Mr.

Cayley's one main ground of superiority to previous translators lies in

the true perception that nothing but plain and bold language in the copy

can represent the bold plainness of the original. He has accordingly

handled our whole vocabulary with unusual frankness; and we admire his

skill in pressing apt though uncouth forms into the service, as much as

we approve of the right feeling that taught him how Dante may be most

nearly approached."

* * * * *

_The Hymn for All Nations_, 1851, by M.F. TUPPER, D.C.L., says _The

Athenaeum_ "is at least a philological and typographical curiosity. The

hymn--'would it were worthier!'--is translated into thirty different

languages, and printed in the characters of each country."

* * * * *

THOMAS COOPER, a well-known English Chartist, distinguished by the

inviting _prestige_, "Author of the 'Purgatory of Suicides,'" advertises

to deliver his orations on the genius of all men, from Shakspeare to

George Fox the Quaker, Milton to Mohammed, and on many subjects from

astronomy to civil war, at the low charge of (to working men) two pounds

per speech, or at thirty shillings each for a quantity.

* * * * *

THACKERAY is writing a novel in three volumes, to be published in the

winter. The scene is in England early in the eighteenth century, and the

stage will be crossed by many of the illustrious actors of that

time--such as Bolingbroke, Swift, and Pope; and Dick Steele will play a

prominent part.

"There is more than a bit of gossip," says _The Leader_ "in the

foregoing paragraph. It intimates that THACKERAY has 'risen above the

mist;' he will no more be hampered and seduced by the obstacles and

temptations coextensive with the fragmentary composition of monthly

parts. It intimates that he has the noble ambition of producing a work

of art. It also intimates that he has bidden adieu, for the present, to

Gaunt-house, the Clubs, Pall-mall, and May-fair--to forms of life which

are so vividly, so wondrously reproduced in his pages, that detractors

have asserted he could paint nothing else--forgetting that creative

power to _that_ degree can not be restricted to one form. His _Lectures_

have prepared us for a very vivid and a very charming picture of the

Eighteenth Century."

* * * * *

The MASTER of the ROLLS has given a favorable answer to the memorial

presented to him by Lord Mahon and various literary men, praying for the

admission of historical writers to the free use of the records. On this,

the _London Examiner_ remarks, "There is a point of view in which this

matter is most important. The concession throws a vast amount of new

responsibility upon literary men. Henceforth the guess-work, the mere

romance-writing, which we have been too long accustomed to suppose to be

history, will be without excuse. Writers who neglect to take advantage

of record-evidence on all subjects to which it is applicable, will lay

themselves open to the sharpest and justest critical censure. Our

history may now be put upon the strong foundation, not of borrowed

evidence, but of the records themselves. If literary men neglect this

opportunity, the Government will be no longer to blame. The Master of

the Rolls has cleared his conscience, and that of the State. But we have

no fear that such will be the result. Wise and liberal concession, like

that of the Master of the Rolls, must tell with honorable effect both

upon our literary men and upon our national character."

* * * * *

The following ludicrous remarks, are from an article in the _London

Spectator_ on Parkman's _History of Pontiac_. They are a specimen of

what a certain class of English writers call criticism. The obtuseness

of John Bull can no farther go.

"It is remarked by travelers, that however individual Americans may

differ--as the observing shepherd can detect physiognomical differences

in his flock--there is a general resemblance throughout the Union in

lathy lankiness, in haste, in tobacco-chewing, in dress, in manners or

(as Scott expressed it) 'no manners.' The remark may be truly applied to

American books. Poetry and travels with hardly an exception, historical

novels and tales without any exception, and works on or about history,

have a certain family likeness. As one star differs from another in

brightness, and yet they are all stars, so one American writer on

history differs from another in point of merit, yet their kind of merit

is alike. Washington Irving's mode of composition is the type of them

all, and consists in making the most of things. The landscape is

described, not to possess the reader with the features of the country so

far as they are essential to the due apprehension of the historical

event, but as a thing important in itself, and sometimes as a thing

adapted to show off the writing or the writer. The costumes are not only

indicated, to remind the reader of the various people engaged, but dwelt

upon with the unction of a virtuoso. The march is narrated in detail;

the accessories are described in their minutiae; and the probable or

possible feelings of the actors are laid before the reader. Sometimes

this mode of composition is used sparingly and chastely, as by Bancroft;

sometimes more fully, as by Theodore Irving in his _Conquest of

Florida_; other styles (in the sense of _expressing_ ideas) than the

model may also preponderate, so as to suggest no idea of the author of

the _Sketch Book_ and the _Conquest of Granada_; but, more or less, the

literary sketcher or tale-writer has encroached upon the province of the

historian."

The London journals announce that _Carlyle's Memoirs_ of JOHN STIRLING

will be issued immediately.

* * * * *

The _Leader_ announces the certainty of an abridged translation of

AUGUSTE COMTE'S six volumes of _Positive Philosophy_ appearing as soon

as is compatible with the exigencies of so important an undertaking. A

very competent mind has long been engaged upon the task; and the growing

desire in the public to hear more about this BACON of the nineteenth

century, remarks the _Leader_, renders such a publication necessary.

* * * * *

At a recent meeting of the Royal Society of Literature in London, a

communication was made from the celebrated antiquarian explorer, Mr.

LAYARD, of the progress and results of his recent investigations at

Nimroud; from which it was evident that the public is justified in

forming high expectations of the advance which it will be enabled to

make in the knowledge of Assyrian history and antiquities, in

consequence of his further indefatigable labors. The new objects of

antiquity exhumed will throw light on the state of the arts, the

chronology, the origin of the Egyptian influence, and other facts

relating to this the most ancient empire of the world.

* * * * *

A tablet in memory of the late WILLIAM WORDSWORTH has just been fixed in

Grasmere church, executed by Mr. Thomas Woolner. The inscription is from

the pen of Professor Keble.

* * * * *

Dr. ACHILLI has intimated at one of the meetings of the Evangelical

Alliance, that he intends to prosecute Dr. Newman for libel at the

commencement of next term.

* * * * *

MAZZINI'S little work, _The Pope in the Nineteenth Century_, which made

considerable sensation, when it appeared in French, has been translated

into English, and is now published as a pamphlet.

* * * * *

French literature is beginning to show some activity. THIERS issues the

eleventh volume of his _History of the Consulate and the Empire_;

instead of the ten volumes originally proposed, the work is to extend to

fourteen--an extension for which few will be grateful!

* * * * *

ADOLPHE GRANIER DE CASSAGNAC, the lively, impertinent, paradoxical

journalist, is writing a _Histoire du Directoire_ in his own paper, and

the Brussels edition of volume I. is already published. It is full of

sarcasms and declamations against the Republican party and their great

leaders; but it is sprightly, amusing, and has something of novelty in

its tone: after so much wearisome laudation of every body in the

Revolution, a spirited, reckless, and dashing onslaught makes the old

subject piquant.

* * * * *

This is verily the age of cheapness. GEORGE SAND has consented to allow

all her novels to be reprinted in Paris, for the small charge of four

_sous_, a shade less than twopence, per part, which will make, it

appears, about 1_l._ for the whole collection. This popular edition is

to be profusely illustrated by eminent artists, and is to be printed and

got up in good style.

* * * * *

During the last year or two an immense deal of business has been done by

three or four publishing houses, in the production of esteemed works at

four sous the sheet, of close yet legible type, excellent paper, and

spirited illustrations. By this plan, the humblest working-man and the

poorest _grisette_ have been able to form a very respectable library.

Naturally the works so brought out have been chiefly of the class of

light literature, but not a few are of a graver character. Among the

authors whose complete works have been published, are Lesage,

Chateaubriand, Anquetil (the historian), Balzac, Sue, Paul de Kock;

among those partially published, Rousseau, Lamennais, Voltaire, Diderot,

Fenelon, Bernardin de Saint Pierre. Translations of foreign works have

also been produced; in the batch are, complete or partial, Goldsmith,

Sterne, Anne Radcliffe, Mrs. Inchbald, Walter Scott, Fenimore Cooper,

Bulwer, Dickens, Marryatt, Goethe, Schiller, Silvio Pellico; and

Boccacio.

* * * * *

An eminent critic has just revealed a fact which very few people

knew--viz. that ST. JUST, one of the most terrible of the terrible

heroes of the first French Revolution, wrote and published, before he

gained his sanguinary celebrity, a long poem, entitled, "Orgaut." The

opinion which M. Thiers and other historians have caused the public to

form of this man was, that he was a fanatic--implacable, but sincere--a

ruthless minister of the guillotine; but deeming wholesale slaughter

indispensable for securing, what he conscientiously considered, the

welfare of the people. He was, we may imagine, something like the gloomy

inquisitors of old, who thought it was doing God service to burn

heretics at the stake. To justify this opinion, one would have expected

to have found in a poem written by him when the warm and generous

sentiments of youth were in all their freshness, burning aspirations for

what it was the fashion of his time to call _vertu_, and lavish

protestations of devotedness to his country and the people. But instead

of that, the work is, it appears, from beginning to end, full of the

grossest obscenity--it is the delirium of a brain maddened with

voluptuousness--it is coarser and more abominable than the "Pucelle" of

Voltaire, and is not relieved, as that is, by sparkling wit and graces

of style. In a moral point of view, it is atrocious--in a literary point

of view, wretched.

* * * * *

Of a political writer, who, for the last year or two, has made some

noise in the world, the all-destructive PROUDHON, a sharp English critic

keenly enough observes: "After Comte there is no one in France to

compare with Proudhon for power, originality, daring, and coherence. His

name is a name of terror. He is of no party, no sect. Like Ishmael, his

hand is raised against every one, and his blows are crushing. In some

respects he reminds us of Carlyle there is the same relentless scorn for

his adversaries, the same vehement indignation against error, the same

domineering personality, the same preference for crude energy of

statement, the same power of sarcasm; but there is none of the abounding

_poetry_ which is in Carlyle, none of the true genius; and there is an

excess of dialectics such as Carlyle would turn aside from. If Carlyle

is the Prophet of Democracy, Proudhon is its Logician and Economist.

Proudhon loves to startle. It suits his own vehement, combative nature.

We do not think he does it from calculation so much as from instinct; he

does not fire a musket in the air that its noise may call attention to

him, but from sheer sympathy with musket shots. Whatever may be the

motive, the result is unquestionable: attention _is_ attracted and

fixed."

* * * * *

A French writer, M. LEON DE MONTBEILLARD, has just published a work on

SPINOZA, calling in question the logical powers of that "thorny"

reasoner on inscrutable problems. The _London Leader_ disposes of it in

a summary manner: "If Spinoza has one characteristic more eminent than

another, it is commonly supposed to be the geometric precision and

exactitude of his logical demonstrations. To say that Spinoza was a

rigorous logician is like saying that Shakspeare was dramatic, and

Milton imaginative--a platitude unworthy of an original mind, a truism

beneath notice. M. Montbeillard declines to walk in such a beaten path.

He denies Spinoza's logical merit. Spinoza a logician; _fi donc_! Read

this treatise and learn better. What all the world has hitherto supposed

to be severe deductive logic, only to be escaped by a refusal to accept

the premises, is here shown to be nothing but a pedantic array of

pretended axioms and theorems, which are attacked and overturned by this

adventurous author _avec une assez grande facilite_. We have not seen

the work, but we have not a doubt of the _facility_!"

* * * * *

In a letter to the newspapers, ALEXANDRE DUMAS complains that a

publisher, who has got possession of a manuscript history of Louis

Philippe, written by him, intends to bring it out under a title

insulting to the exiled royal family--"Mysteries of the Orleans Family,"

or something of that kind. The proceeding would certainly be

scandalously unjust to the author; but doubts are raised whether he can

obtain any legal redress. The manuscript is the publisher's, paid for

with his money, purchased by him, not from Dumas himself, but from

another _editeur_ to whom Dumas ceded it. It is, therefore, to all

intents and purposes, merchandise in the eyes of the owner; and, as in

the case of any other merchandise, it is contended that he may sell it

under any title he pleases that does not absolutely misrepresent its

character.

* * * * *

EUGENE SUE has commenced the publication of another of his lengthy

romances in one of the daily papers, and has also begun the printing of

a comedy, in six acts, in another journal. The quantity of matter which

popular romancers in France manage to produce is really extraordinarily

great. They think nothing of writing three or four columns of newspaper

type in a day, and that day after day, for months at a time. The most

active journalists certainly, on an average, do not knock off any thing

like that quantity; and yet what _they_ produce requires (or at least

obtains) little or no thought--no previous study--is not part of a

regular plan--and is not expected to display much originality of

conception, or much grace of style.

* * * * *

The success of BALZAC'S comedy has caused the playwrights to turn their

attention to his novels, and it is probable that in the course of the

next few months we shall see one and all dramatized. Full as Balzac's

novels are of forcibly drawn personages and striking incidents,

competent critics doubt whether they will suit the stage; for their

great charm and their great merit consists in minute analyzation, which

is impracticable in the theatre. He was an admirable miniaturist, a

laborious anatomist, and a complete master of detail--qualities with

which the acted drama has naught to do.

* * * * *

EUGENE SUE offers us a new novel, _L' Avarice_, the last of his series

on the seven cardinal sins, in one volume.

* * * * *

The two volumes of DE MAISTRE'S letters and inedited trifles, _Lettres

et Opuscules inedits_, with a biographical notice written by his son,

will be very acceptable, not only to Catholics, but to all who can rise

above differences of creed, and recognize the amazing power of this

great writer. These volumes present him, _en deshabille_, and he is

worthy knowing so.

* * * * *

JULES JANIN'S Letters on the Exhibition, reprinted in a neat volume in

Paris as well as at London, have procured him the honor of a very

complimentary autograph letter from Prince Albert. The popularity which

Janin has contrived to gain, not only in his own country, but in

Europe--and not only among the middle classes, those great patrons of

literary men nowadays, but among royal and aristocratic personages

also--this popularity is envied by scores of writers of far greater

pretensions.

* * * * *

The French have a very common and most unjust practice--that of

appropriating the authorship of works which they only translate. A

complete edition of Fielding has appeared under the title "OEuvres de

l'Abbe St. Romme," or some such name. Ducis has passed himself off as

the _author_ of _Hamlet_ and _Macbeth_, and the other great plays of

Shakspeare which he has dared to mutilate. There are half a dozen

translations of "Paradise Lost," in which the name of some obscure

varlet figures on the title-page, while that of Milton is not once

mentioned. There are editions of the "Decline and Fall," by Monsieur

So-and-so, without the slightest indication that the work is that of

Gibbon; and Bulwer and Scott, and indeed all English authors of note,

dead and living, have been pillaged in the same way. The German and

Italian authors have suffered the same treatment from these literary

wreckers.

* * * * *

An edition of BRENTANO'S works has been published in six volumes. As one

of the most famous of the "Romantic School," Brentano is interesting to

all students of German literature, and the present publication receives

additional stimulus from the knowledge that Brentano, late in life,

looked upon his works as "dangerous," if not "devilish," and destroyed

all the copies he could lay hands on.

* * * * *

METTERNICH is writing a book, and that book is a _History of Austria_

during his own time! Unhappily this bit of gossip can only interest our

grandchildren, as the prince inserts a clause in his will, which forbids

the publication till sixty years after his death.

* * * * *

The inhabitants of Schaffhausen have been inaugurating a monument to the

memory of the historian JOHN VON MULLER in that, his native town. The

monument--which is the work of the Swiss sculptor Oechslein--is composed

of a colossal marble bust of the historian--on a lofty granite pedestal,

ornamented with a bas-relief, in marble, representing the Muse of

History engaging Muller to write the great events of his country's

story. Below, inscribed in characters of gold, is the following passage

from one of Muller's own letters: "I have never been on the side of

party--but always on that of truth and justice wherever I could

recognize them."

* * * * *

John Bartlett, Cambridge, has in press the _Miscellaneous Writings_ of

ANDREWS NORTON, in one volume, 8vo, including reviews, critiques, and

essays on various subjects of literature and theology. It will be a work

of considerable interest. The same publisher announces also Stockhardt's

_Agricultural Chemistry_, to be published simultaneously with the

German edition. A seventh edition of this author's _Principles of

Chemistry_ has been published by Mr. Bartlett. In a letter to him, Dr.

Stockhardt thus writes of the American reprint: "The style in which you

have got up my 'Principles of Chemistry,' is worthy of the great land of

freedom, whose adopted son you have made my work, and places the

original quite in the shade. The translation, by Dr. Peirce, is likewise

so faithful and correct, that any author would be highly gratified to

find his thoughts and opinions rendered so perfectly in another

language."

* * * * *

From the recent report of the Methodist Book Concern in New York, it

appears that the sales for the last twelve months were more than

$200,000, being an increase of $65,000 over the previous year, and

exceeding all former years. The profits on the new Hymn Book were

$47,561. The Christian Advocate and Journal has a circulation of from

25,000 to 29,000. The Missionary Advocate 20,000. The Sunday School

Advocate 65,000, with a yearly sale of Sunday School books amounting to

$5000. The Quarterly Review has 3000 subscribers.

* * * * *

The name of the popular author, W. GILMORE SIMMS, having been publicly

mentioned in connection with the Presidency of the South Carolina

College, the Charleston _Literary Gazette_ remarks, "We should rejoice

greatly to see Mr. Simms in a position which, we think, would be so

congenial to his tastes, and for which his whole career has eminently

fitted him. The watchword of his life has been, 'Strive.' He has

striven, manfully, daringly, nobly, _successfully_! He has raised

himself to a position in the world of letters, scarcely a whit inferior

to the noblest of our writers. The death of Cooper leaves him without a

living American compeer in the realm of fiction, and we confidently

predict that the next generation will pronounce him to have been the

greatest American poet of this!"

* * * * *

From America, says the London "Household Narrative," we receive a

well-written and animated history of the campaigns of the celebrated

Indian chief, _Pontiac_, during his gallant "conspiracy" to expel the

English colonists after the conquest of Canada. It is principally

interesting for the picture it gives of the chief himself; and for a

more favorable view of the plans, and of the sagacity which informed and

shaped them, than Englishmen have been prepared for in the case of any

chief of those tribes.

* * * * *

Mr. JAMES RICHARDSON, the enterprising African traveler, died on the 4th

of March last, at a small village called Ungurutua, six days distant

from Kouka, the capital of Bornou. Early in January, he and the

companions of his mission, Drs. Barth and Overweg, arrived at the

immense plain of Damergou, when, after remaining a few days, they

separated, Dr. Barth proceeding to Kanu, Dr. Overweg to Guber, and Mr.

Richardson taking the direct route to Kouka, by Zinder. There, it would

seem, his strength began to give way, and before he had arrived twelve

days distant from Kouka he became seriously ill, suffering much from the

oppressive heat of the sun. Having reached a large town called

Kangarrua, he halted for three days, and feeling himself rather

refreshed he renewed his journey. After two days' more traveling, during

which his weakness greatly increased, they arrived at the Waddy Mellaha.

Leaving this place on the 3d of March, they reached in two hours the

village of Ungurutua, when Mr. Richardson became so weak that he was

unable to proceed. In the evening he took a little food and tried to

sleep, but became very restless, and left his tent, supported by his

servant. He then took some tea, and threw himself again on his bed, but

did not sleep. His attendants having made some coffee, he asked for a

cup, but had no strength to hold it. He repeated several times "I have

no strength," and after having pronounced the name of his wife, sighed

deeply, and expired without a struggle, about two hours after midnight.

* * * * *

Mr. WILLIAM NICOL, F.R.S.E., died in Edinburgh on the 2d inst., in his

eighty-third year. Mr. Nicol commenced his career as assistant to the

late Dr. Moyes, the eminent blind lecturer on natural philosophy. Dr.

Moyes, at his death, bequeathed his apparatus to Mr. Nicol, who then

lectured on the same subject as his predecessor. Mr. Nicol's

contributions to the "Edinburgh Philosophical Journal" were various and

valuable; the more important being his description of his successful

repetition of Doebereiner's celebrated experiment of igniting spongy

platina by a stream of cold hydrogen gas; also his method of preparing

fossil woods for microscopic investigation, which led to his discovery

of the structural difference between the arucarian and coniferous woods,

by far the most important in fossil botany. But the most valuable

contribution to physical science, and with which his name will ever be

associated, was his invention of the single image prism of calcareous

spar, known to the scientific world as Nicol's prism.

* * * * *

The London papers announce the death of Mr. B. P. GIBBON, the line

engraver, deservedly celebrated for his many excellent engravings after

the works of Sir Edwin Landseer. His death was occasioned by a sudden

attack of English cholera. "He was well versed in the history of his

art, and of a mild and gentlemanlike disposition of mind. One of his

first works was a small engraving after Landseer's 'Traveled Monkey;'

and the work on which he was last engaged--and which he has left

scarcely half done--was an engraving after one of Mr. Webster's

pictures. His inclinations in early life turned to the stage; but his

true path was line engraving. In this he was distinguished rather for

the delicacy of his touch and the close character of his work, than for

breadth of effect and boldness in the laying in of lines."

* * * * *

The London papers record the death of JOHN KIDD, D.M. of Christchurch,

Regius Professor of Medicine, Tomline's Praelector of Anatomy, Aldrichian

Professor of Anatomy, and Radcliffe's Librarian. Dr. Kidd was highly

esteemed and respected both in the University and city of Oxford, In

1822 Dr. Kidd succeeded Sir Christopher Pegge, Bart., in the office of

Regius Professor of Medicine, to which is annexed Tomline's

Praelectorship of Anatomy, and the Aldrichian Professorship of Anatomy,

and in 1834 he succeeded Dr. Williams as Radcliffe's Librarian. The

_Leader_ says, "Oxford has lost an ornament in losing Dr. Kidd, the

Regius Professor of Medicine in the University, whose death we see

recorded in the papers; and the public will remember him as the author

of one of the most popular _Bridgewater Treatises_, a series of works

intended to give orthodoxy the support of science, and which, by the

very juxtaposition of religion and science, have greatly helped to bring

their discordances into relief. Dr. Kidd was not a writer of such

attainments in philosophy as to give any weight to his views; but his

knowledge of facts was extensive, and his exposition popular in style.

It may be worth remarking that the title of his book, _On the Adaptation

of External Nature to the Physical Condition of Man_, is radically

opposed to the most advanced views of physiology."

A Leaf from Punch.

[Illustration: _Brother Jonathan._--"I GUESS, MASTER JOHNNY, IF YOU

DON'T LOOK SHARP, I'LL SHOW YOU HOW TO MAKE A SEVENTY-FOUR NEXT."]

[Illustration: NOT A DIFFICULT THING TO FORETELL. "LET THE POOR GIPSY

TELL YOUR FORTUNE, MY PRETTY GENTLEMAN."]

[Illustration: CURIOSITIES OF MEDICAL EXPERIENCE.

_Medical Student._ "WELL, OLD FELLER, SO YOU'VE 'PASSED' AT LAST."

_Consulting Surgeon._ "YES; BUT I DON'T GET MUCH PRACTICE

SOMEHOW--ALTHOUGH I AM NEARLY ALWAYS AT HOME, IN CASE ANY ONE SHOULD

CALL."]

[Illustration: RETIREMENT.]

Fashions for November.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.--BALL AND DINNER COSTUMES.]

This is the commencement season for social parties and public

amusements. We present seasonable illustrations of fashionable costumes

for dinner parties, balls, and the opera. The first figure in the above

engraving represents an elegant

BALL DRESS.--Hair in short bandeaux, tied behind a la Grecque, with a

wreath of bluebells; the flowers are small and arranged on a cord along

the forehead; they increase in size and form tufts at the sides. The

cord is continued behind and a second cord of flowers passes over the

head, and blends with the flowers at the sides. The dress of white

watered silk with a body and upper skirt of white silk net, festooned

and embroidered in spots with silk. The spots are small. The opening of

the body is heart-shape. The waist is pointed behind and before. The

sleeves are silk net, puffed, and held up by a few bluebells. The body

is trimmed with a double berthe, of silk net; a bouquet of bluebells is

placed on the left, goes down from the waist _en cordon_, and forms

another bouquet to hold up the left side of the skirt. On the right side

it is held up by an isolated bouquet. This upper skirt is very full, and

much longer behind than before. In the opening of the body and that

formed by turning up the sleeves, a chemisette plaited very small, and

edged with lace, is visible.

DINNER TOILET.--The second, or right hand figure, represents a graceful

dinner toilet. _Fanchonnette_ cap made of English lace, which is

disposed in two rows. The upper one is about four inches wide sewed on

silk net, which forms the middle, the joining being covered by a narrow

band of terry velvet, No. 1. The bottom is composed of the same

elements, exactly in the shape of a _fanchon_, straight in front,

pointed behind, with small barbes at the side. Under the row that covers

the top of the head are loops of silk ribbon. The sides are trimmed with

more of the same kind, that hang down the cheeks. Plain silk dress. The

body is low and opens down to the point. The skirt, in front, is open

the whole length. The edges of the body, sleeves, and front of the skirt

are undulated, and the undulations are trimmed with a silk _ruche_, the

sides of which are the same stuff as the dress, while the middle is of a

different-colored silk. The sleeves, turned up at the bend of the arm,

show under-sleeves composed of three waves of lace; the body and

under-skirt are muslin, embroidered so as to show the embroidery at the

openings. The skirt has five graduated openings. The bottom edge of the

body is composed of a deep lace, arranged square.

[Illustration: FIG. 2.--OPERA DRESS.]

OPERA DRESS.--Costumes for the opera are diversified and quite fanciful.

Our illustration exhibits one of the most elegant and admired. Hair in

short puffed bandeaux. The knot behind is composed of two plaits, and a

third is brought round on the top of the head in front. Waistcoat of

watered silk, opening heart-shape in front, sitting well to the shape of

the breast and waist, ending in an open point at bottom, and hollowed

over the hip about an inch and a half. The back of the waistcoat is

tight. It buttons straight down in front, the left side lapping over a

little on the right, like a gentleman's waistcoat; it has one row of

small buttons. The edge of the waistcoat has a narrow silk binding

lapped over the edge, and all round run five rows of braid, one-tenth of

an inch wide, at intervals of about one-fifth of an inch. Jaconet skirt,

ornamented in front with six English bands one above the other; the

first 3 inches long, the second 5, the third 6-1/2, the fourth 8, the

fifth 9-1/2, and the sixth 12 inches. Each of these bands falls over the

gathering of the other, the last covering the top of the flounce which

runs round the skirt. The flounce is 16 inches deep, and the width of

the bands, beginning with the top one is 2, 2-3/4, 3-1/2, 4-1/4, 5, and

5-3/4 inches. The white sleeves which come below those of the

_soutanelle_ (cassock) have two rows of embroidery. The _soutanelle_ is

made of silk, and lined with a different color; it has a hood, the

inside of which is like the lining; it forms a pelerine, and ends square

in front. The _soutanelle_ is cut without arm-holes; that is, the sleeve

is taken out of the stuff and the seams of the body are taken in the cut

under the arm. Sitting close on the shoulders and the upper part of the

body, it forms round plaits from the waist. This fullness is owing to

its being cut in a style like the paletot. The back is not tight. The

edges of the hood, the _soutanelle_, and the sleeves are trimmed with

three _ruches_, very full, and indented like a saw. The one in the

middle is the same color as the lining, the two others like the outside.

[Illustration: FIGS. 3 AND 4.--HEAD-DRESSES AND CAPS.]

HEAD TOILET.--Much attention continues to be bestowed upon caps and

other arrangements for the head. Figure 3 represents one of the newest

styles, called the _chambord head-dress_. The hair forms a point over

the forehead: a very small cap _a la Marie Stuart_, formed of several

small quillings of white silk net, set close together, with a bouquet of

flowers upon one side and a small bow of ribbon upon the other. Figure 4

represents a simple cap of black lace, with broad appendages of the

same, instead of ribbons, on each side, and covering the ears. This is a

neat head toilet for the morning costume of matrons. Head-dresses for

the young are principally composed of the same flowers as those which

decorate the dress, and are formed so as to suit the countenance of the

wearer, either as a cordon around the head, from which droop long sprays

of twining herbs, or bouquets of flowers, placed very far back, and tied

with bows of black ribbon or velvet, with long ends.

The rage for lace is undiminished. It is adapted to so many

purposes--vails, falls, flounces, shawl-berthes, collars, ruffles,

habit-shirts, &c., that every variety of costume has lace as an

important material in trimming. It forms a part of the head-dress,

accompanies the gown, surrounds the waist, falls from the shoulders;

light as feathers, rich as velvet, it is at once an article of luxury

and ornament--a garment and a jewel.

Embroidery, following the example of lace, is coming more and more into

favor; sleeves, collars, petticoats, and handkerchiefs are literally

loaded with it, abroad; even stockings are beginning to participate in

this kind of luxury.

There is no essential change in the make of dresses. Sleeves _a la

Duchesse_ are beginning to be more fashionable than the pagoda sleeves.

The waistcoat is still greatly admired, and is more seasonable now than

in midsummer.

A new style of mantelet has appeared, called the _Valdivia_. It is a

light gray cloth, lined with blue sarcenet. It is made without seams,

very full, falling very low behind, where it is rounded in the form of

the half circle. The two lappets before are also very long and wide,

rounded like the back. No sleeves; the place for the hand is indicated

by the sloped part. Another, called the _Espera_ mantelet, is of black

watered silk, trimmed with a wide velvet, and bordered by a chenille

fringe. It fits to the waist and falls as low as the calf behind. The

fronts fall straight and square, a little lower than behind.

The Bloomer costume has appeared in England and Ireland, and attracted

attention and approbation. Although comparatively few in this country

have yet adopted it to its full extent (or, rather, curtailment), the

agitation of the question has been of essential benefit in modifying the

long and untidy skirts. They are now made some inches shorter than they

were six months ago.