sometimes, who not only talk like a book,' but what is a good deal more to be dreaded; like one of their own books. ROCHEFOUCAULT, one of the proudest and most polished of that ancient nobility which gave the law of manners to Europe, has admirably depicted that class of persons who always think more of what they have to say, than of answering what is said to them; whose minds always betray a distraction as to what is addressed to them, and an impatience to return to what themselves were saying; forgetting that to be studious only of displaying themselves is but a poor way of convincing or pleasing others. WASHINGTON IRVING, in the account he has given us of his visit to Abbotsford, says of Sir WALTER SCOTT, that his conversation was frank, hearty, picturesque, and dramatic. He never talked for effect or display, but from the flow of his spirits, the stores of his memory, and the vigor of his imagination. He was as good a listener as talker; appreciated every thing that others said, however humble might be their rank and pretensions, and was quick to testify his perception of any point in their discourse. No one's concerns, no one's thoughts and opinions, no one's tastes and pleasures, seemed beneath him. He made himself so thoroughly the companion of those with whom he happened to be, that they forgot, for a time, his vast superiority, and only recollected and wondered, when all was over, that it was Scort with whom they had been on such familiar terms, and in whose society they had felt so perfectly at their ease.' This is a charming testimony, given by one man of genius to the character of another; and if the author of the Life of COLUMBUS' had been required to point out an example combining conversational qualifications of the best kind, he could not have written more to the purpose. A mind informed by reading; reading confirmed or corrected by daily observation of life; the powers of observation all made subservient to the active spirit of kindness, and the patient abnegation of self, which are the only true and unfailing sources of politeness; these are the requisites to a real success in society, so far at least as relates to the every-day intercourse of this every-day working world; and all of them were evinced in the highest degree by Sir WALTER SCOTT; as they assuredly are by the distinguished writer who has paid him so deserved a tribute. As an instance of what the world has sometimes lost by talking-bores, we cite this passage from HORACE SMITH's account of his first meeting with the Countess GUICCIOLA, after the death of BYRON: 'I TOLD her all I knew of him before he went abroad, to which, like DESDEMONA, 'she did seriously incline.' BYSSHE SHELLEY she denominates a good man. LEIGH HUNT's name she pronounced Leg Honte. With tears in her eyes, she then descanted upon the merits and failings of the departed. When any sudden pause took place in the conversation at the other tables, she, evidently not wishing to be overheard, said, 'Bai-an-bai, (by-and-by ;) and when the general buzz re-commenced, she resumed the thread of her narration. SHELLEY disliked his 'Don Juan,'' said I, 'and begged him to leave it off, calling it a Grub-street poem.'' A what?- what you mean by 'Grubstreet?'' I then explained to her the locality of that venerable haunt of the Muses, in the days of POPE and SWIFT, by a quotation from myself: 'A SPOT near Cripplegate extends, Grub street 't is called, the modern Pindus, Bards might shake hands from adverse windows.' When he dined with me,' the Countess continued, 'he ate no meat. Still haunted by a dread of growing fat, he very much injured his own health; yet his figure, notwithstanding, grew larger. Oh! he was very handsome! Beautiful eyes and eye-lashes!-and such a spiritual expression of countenance! I had occasion to go to Ravenna upon some family business. We settled that he should not accompany me. At that time several people were plaguing him to go to Greece. Ah!' he said, in his sportive manner, let fourteen captains come and ask me to go, and go I will.' Well, fourteen captains came to him, and said: Here we are; will you now go? He was ashamed to say he had only been joking, (you know how fond he was of saying things in that light, joking sort of a way,) so it ended in his undertaking to go. He said to me: While you are at Ravenna, I will go to Greece, and we shall meet again when we both return.' GOD, however, he dispose of it otherwise. He was not well when he set out. In Greece they wanted to bleed him; he would not be bleed, and so he die!' The Countess paused, evidently much affected. I said nothing for a minute or two, and then observed, that I had read and heard much upon the subject she had been discussing, but that I did not know how she and Lord BYRON first became acquainted. She looked at me a moment, as if wondering at my audacity, and then said, with a good-humored smile: Well, I will tell you I was one day- But here the drawing-room door opened, and some Frenchman with a foreign order was announced. The lady repeated her, Bai-an-bai,' sotto voce; but unfortunately that Bai-an-bai' never arrived.' 6 And why was it, reader, do you suppose, that that 'bai-an-bai,' so devoutly to be wished-for, never arrived? The new-comer was a conversationist,' who unluckily knew the Countess; he planted himself before her, and displayed himself' during the remainder of the evening. . . . LET us say a word for that most excellent and humane institution, the House of Industry and Home for the Friendless.' Who will not contribute something from his or her means to afford a temporary home for friendless and destitute females and children of good character? The object of the institution, which has already accomplished much good, is to meet the wants of the virtuous, helpless poor, whom, according to our SAVIOUR, we have always with us.' How many this Home for the Friendless' may save from degradation and ruin! THIS pipe 's my pillar of clouds, More than Welsh-men do cheese, Or a Dutchman loves salt butter. 'If riches be but a smoak, Here's a rich mine indeed We are reminded by these quaint stanzas, from The Christmas Ordinary,' of a circumstance mentioned to us by an old bank-notary of this town. He says that he has seldom presented a notice of protest, to a large amount, wherein he did not find the delinquent smoking a cigar. He had made up his mind to the dread alternative of failing, and his chief solace was the fumes of the narcotic weed. Such a philosopher it was, who, when our notary presented him with the protest of a note for twenty thousand dollars, with the salvo, that he presumed it was a mistake, or an oversight,' replied, 'Oh, no; no mistake; it's a reg'lar bu'st!' WE have seen POWER'S Greek Slave;' but at so late an hour that we lack both words, and room for words, to express our fervent admiration of its chaste beauty, dignity, and grace. It is on exhibition at the National Academy. We had purposed noting our impressions of Mrs. KIRKLAND's new 'Union Magazine,' which bears so many marks of her admirable pen, (as for example in Harvest in the Country,' a perfect Daguerreotype,) as well as certain changes, etc., among one or two of our esteemed contemporaries; but we must bring up scores' in our next.・・・ THE late-received favors of our esteemed friend 'S. D. B.' shall receive early attention. We cannot hear from him too often. . . . Is N'T this a touching picture of the death of HONORA EDGEWORTH, as described by her husband? It so strikes us: After having sat up all the night, I was suddenly called at six o'clock in the morning. Her sister was with her. The moment that I opened the door, her eyes, which had been fixed in death, acquired sufficient power to turn themselves toward me with an expression of the utmost tenderness. She was supported on pillows. Her left arm hung over her sister's neck, beyond the bed. She smiled, and breathed her last! At this moment I heard something fall on the floor. It was her wedding-ring, which she had held on her wasted finger to the last instant; remembering with fond superstition the vow she had made, never again to lose that ring but with life. She never moved again, nor did she seem to suffer any struggle.' They loved in life, and in death they were not divided!' . . . TAKE up now and then, reader, (if happily you can) the sententious and quaint writings of the good Sir THOMAS OVERBURY. How terse, how vigorous, how suggestive he is! Do but observe, for example, how much truth is condensed in these three excerpts: A mere scholar is but a live book.' 'Good deeds in this life are coals raked up in embers to make a fire next day.' Wit is brushwood, judgment timber; the one gives the greatest flame, the other yields the durablest heat, and both meeting, makes the best fire.' We scarcely remember any thing more beautiful than his sketch of 'A Virtuous Widow :' 'SHE is a palm-tree, that thrives not after the supplanting of her husband; for her children's sake she first marries, for she married that she might have children, and for their sakes she marries no more. She is like the purest gold, only employed for princes' medals: she never receives but one man's impression.. She thinks she hath travelled all the world in one man; the rest of her time therefore she devotes to heaven. She gives much to pious uses, without any hope to merit by them; and as one diamond fashions another, so is she wrought into works of charity, with the dust or ashes of her husband; she lives to see herself full of time: being so necessary for earth, GoD calls her not to heaven till she be very aged, and even then, though her natural strength fail her, she stands like an ancient pyramid, which the less it grows to man's eye the nearer it reaches to heaven. . . . She ought to be a mirror for our youngest dames to dress themselves by, when she is fullest of wrinkles. No calamity can now come near her, for in suffering the loss of her husband, she accounts all the rest trifles; she hath laid his dead body in the worthiest monument that can be; she hath buried it in her own heart. To conclude, she is a relic, that without any superstition in the world, though she will not be kissed, yet may be reverenced.' Scarcely less striking is this whimsical sketch of a Sexton, a personage in whom every body must be sooner or later more or less interested: 'He is an ill-willer to human nature. Of all proverbs he cannot endure to hear that which says, 'We ought to live by the quick, not by the dead.' He could willingly all his life be confined to the church-yard; at least within five foot on't: for at every church style commonly there's an ale-house; where let him be found never so idle-pated, he is still a grave drunkard. He breaks his fast heartiest while he is making a grave, and says the opening of the ground makes him hungry. . . . He will hold argument in a tavern over sack, till the dial and himself be both at a stand: he never observes any time but sermon-time, and then he sleeps by the hour-glass. Lastly, he wishes the dog-days would last all the year long, and a great plague is his year of jubilee.' probably have WE once heard a tradesman say, that he had presented a bill all summer to an undertaker, who pleaded inability until dog-days' had arrived; and when they had come, he said: "T won't be long before I shall be able to pay you. Mrs. - who is always a cash customer, and always gets the best of every thing, can't live longer than next week; and I'm sure to have her job! Would Mrs. hurried, to oblige the creditor? . . . Le Rodeur,' is quite welcome. It is not difficult to see that the sketch which ensues is a drawing from nature: The outline of Elder T's head is not remarkable for its intellectual developments. It rises gradually from the eye-brows until it reaches the organ of benevolence, and continues to rise, though more slightly, until it passes by that of firmness; then it goes down an abrupt descent, curving in under some amatory projections, and disappears beneath his coatcollar. His eyes project from their deep sockets beyond his eye-brows; so much so, that they approach nearer to the idea of a 'gimlet-eye' than any thing I have seen. NAPOLEON, a lover of big noses, I have heard, would have been satisfied with the elder's, and no one could say that his mouth was not large enough for all practical purposes. His chin was a very respectable one, and appeared to meet with proper attention. He possesses a good form, a little too slim perhaps, which is encased in a suit of black, that has the appearance of having been smoothly ironed after it was put on to him. The elder had been a shoe-maker in his youth, and attended to soles in that capacity for some time. As he became older, the thought that he was born for a higher and holier purpose sprang up within his breast. The 'rolling years,' as they went by, strengthened and increased that hope, until at length the idea suddenly burst upon him that he must exchange 'the bench' for the pulpit. He bought a few books, and commenced studying with the zeal of a neophyte. His awl and his last were from time to time neglected; and it was not long before he broke off all connection with them, trusting that divinity would shape his 'ends' for the future. The groves, GoD's first temples,' were the first witnesses of those displays of his eloquence which afterward astonished admiring auditors in country school-houses and churches. 'Beloved brethren and my young friends,' were the terms by which, in his preliminary practice, he would address the old trees and the undergrowth, and exhort them to pay attention to the state of their souls; and I have no doubt that he inwardly rejoiced when their waving heads testified their admiration of his remarks. But he required a better field for the exercise of his talents. Like RACHEL weeping for her children, he mourned and would not be comforted, until he found himself the conservator of a little flock, over whom he watched with pious care. My hearers,' said he one day, addressing a small audience in a school-house on the importance of having a knowledge of the Bible, this is a subject of tremendous importance, and I wish I could make you think so. It is the last which makes the shape of your shoe, and which you may peg and sew over, but it never wears out. As I wish to impress this truth more strongly, I make use of the following illustration: You see the beautiful sunlight stealing through that window and resting upon the benches. How clearly it shows you the notches the boys have cut, the heads of nails that have been driven in, and the spots of ink that have been spilt; just so,' and his gimlet-eye shone with a more piercing brightness as he spoke, 'just so a knowledge of the Bible will show you the notches, the nail-heads, and the ink-spots on your soul.' The elder's teachings, although administered with all the unction worthy of a generous effort, have not been attended with the success that the friends of humanity might wish him; yet he continues to labor with a zeal which I trust may meet with its reward in Heaven.' ・・ MESSRS. BANGS, RICHARDS AND PLATT are now in the very tempest, and we may say whirlwind' of their great Trade-Sale; and we trust that many of our readers, (hearing perchance the sonorous voice of Mr. RICHARDS the auctioneer through the windows that open on Broadway,) will step in and survey the great amount and variety of popular literaneous matériel embraced in their voluminous catalogue. Every part of the Union seems to have contributed toward swelling their supplies; until their vast establishment seems actually to groan from over-repletion. THIS is well said by Mr. HOFFMAN, the able editor of The Literary World, now among the best American literary journals of the time: THE mass of intelligent Americans have learned at last to recognise the intellectual independence of this country as deducible, not less from the signs around them, than from certain features in our colonial story, which preceded even our political independence. When they look now to England for any identity or comparison with the English mind, it is to the days of SHAKSPEARE and BACON, of MILTON and of CROMWELL, where begins the divergence of our stock from hers, and where a common property in these great names gives us a standard common to both nations. A fragment of the little England of that day made the empire which is now ours. The Great Britain of later days has made an empire equally large in India. The glory of this last empire is all Great Britain's: with the glory of the former she has nought to do; for it has been built up despite the efforts of Great Britain to crush that fragmentary part of the old English race which was the nucleus of the American people.' OUR friends, the publishers, (of books, periodicals, etc.,) our readers and correspondents, must bear with us for this once. A glance at our pages will favor this request. In fulfilling our promises to two classical contributors, we have excluded some twelve pages of gossip, several notices of new works, and certain explanations to, and chat with, correspondents; all of which shall receive the earliest possible attention at our hands. Notices of our friend Mr. DEMPSTER, and a new and gifted prima-donna, Signora BISCACCIANTI, from the Milan Theatre-Carcano, are unavoidably omitted until our next issue. ART. I. THE OREGON TRAIL. BY FRANCIS PARKMAN, JR., II. LINES WRITTEN AS A MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION, IV. NORTHERN LITERATURE: THE EDDAS, V. LINES TO A BIRD SINGING, VI. THE SONG OF THE HONEY-BEE, VII. A CHAPTER ON FALLACIES. BY S. SULLIVAN COXE, ESQ., IX. STANZAS: THE FACE OF THE DEAD,' X. THE EGYPTIAN LETTERS: NUMBER Eight, XI. DIVINATION: OR FORTUNE-TELLING,. XII. LINES: DOMESTIC BLISS, XIII CLASSICAL CRITICISM: C. A. B.' TO PROF. TAYLER LEWIS, XIV. AUTUMN RHYMES. BY THOMAS MACKELLAR, XV. A LAY SERMON, XVI. SONNET: THE POWER OF LOVE, XVII. THE SAINT LEGER PAPERS. CONCLUDED, XVIII. STANZAS: THE DEAF AND DUMB, LITERARY NOTICES: 1. GRISWOLD'S PROSE-WRITERS OF AMERICA, 2. LOUIS THE FOURTEENTH AND THE COURT OF FRANCE, 3. MODERN PAINTERS. BY A GRADUATE OF OXFORD, 4. POEMS BY HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL, 5. THE MONTHS: A COLLECTION OF POEMS. By W. H. C. HOSMER, ESQ., EDITOR'S TABLE: 1. THE WRITINGS OF THOMAS HOOD,. 2. THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY'S CRUSADE AGAINST DANCING, 3. GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS, 1. AUTUMN: FAREWELL TO DOBB, HIS FERRY. 2. DEATH OF JAMES KENNARD, Jr. 4. BRIEF NOTICES OF NEW PUBLICATIONS, 379 |