learning, it is rather creditable than otherwise to a mere boy' to be able to say, of the achievement we have indicated, 'Alone I did it!' 'We may be wrong, but that's our opinion.'・・・ Dombey and Son' seems exhaustless in interest and variety of character. Every new actor in the scene is a study. The Game-Chicken,' the Nobby Shropshire One's' prize-fighting antagonist, is most graphically limned. You have his character exactly in this single passage, in which, on a dark and rainy night, Mr. Toors, with permission, introduces The Chicken' to Captain CUTTLE's little back-parlor :

MR. TOOTS, repairing to the shop-door, sent a peculiar whistle into the night, which produced a stoical gentleman in a shaggy white great-coat and à flat-brimmed hat, with very short hair, a broken nose, and a considerable tract of bare and sterile country behind each ear.

"Sit down. Chicken,' said Mr. Toots.

The compliant Chicken spat out some small pieces of straw on which he was regaling himself, and took in a fresh supply from a reserve he carried in his hand.

There an 't no drain of nothing short handy, is there?' said the Chicken, generally. This here sluicing night is hard lines to a man as lives on his condition.'

Captain CUTTLE proffered a glass of rum, which the Chicken, throwing back his head, emptied into himself, as into a cask, after proposing the brief sentiment Towards us!''

You see, at once, that there is no mistaking this man. He has got his character,' and whenever he appears, if he should appear again, you will recognize him without an introduction. A YEAR or two ago, when the MILLERITE fanaticism was at its height, Mr. B -, an eccentric old gentleman in one of our western towns, was walking in the hall of the village-inn, listening, at the same time, to the talk of a distinguished disciple,' who was prophecying the prompt fulfilment of MILLER'S calculations. Mr. B- stopped, and in his short, bitter way, asked: Do you really think now that the world is soon coming to an end?' Certainly, I do.' And on the twenty-fifth of April ?' 'As much as I believe in my own existence.' 'And you really pretend to believe that there's to be a regular smash of the whole world in less than three weeks?' 'Yes, Sir.'

'Well, Sir, I'm d-d glad of it! d miserable failure; and the sooner the Saying this, the old gentleman stalked off, THE circumstance

I consider this experiment of Man a d whole thing is broken up, the better!' muttering imprecations on the human race in general. mentioned by a Providence correspondent is not an unusual one. In a late Home Journal' there is an anecdote taken from an English periodical, which was originally written for us by WASHINGTON IRVING. It was published in the, KNICKERBOCKER years ago, and could have been obtained from no other source than the writer of it. N'importe; we can spare a few more 'items' to our neighbors across the water. They come back, like many young Americans who go abroad,' greatly improved by travel.' Z.' must be mad-mad as a March hare! 'Mad call we it; for to define true Madness, what is it' but the father of just such thoughts, wandering clouds without water,' as make up the 'Sentient Strivings for the Spiritual?' Why, even Tom of Bedlam,' who wrote a hundred and seventy years ago, is less unintelligible. Hear him:

'I KNOW more than APOLLO,

For oft, when he lies sleeping;
I behold the stars at mortal wars,
In the wounded welkin weeping;
The Moon embrace her shepherd,

And the Queen of Love her warrior,
While the first doth horn the star in the morn,
And the next the heavenly farrier!

'With a hoste of furious fancies,

Whereof I am commander,

With a burning spear, and a horse of the ayr,
To the wilderness I wander;

With a Knight of Ghosts and Shadows

I summoned am to Tourney,

Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end;
Methinks it is no journey!'

And it was n't, for Toм; but it might have been much less of a 'journey,' and yet be a great way farther than 'Z.' would be obliged to go to get entirely 'out of

his wits.'

6

THE people on the other side' are troubling themselves a great deal lately about our 'System of Slavery.' They would do well to remember that the 'evil' of which they complain is one of the many bad things entailed upon us by England, some of which we have not yet got rid of. . . . Ir was a fatal presenti. ment which we had, in shaking the hand of General HOPPING, on his departure for Mexico, that we should never see him again. We observe his recent death at Mier announced in the public journals. He was a man of fine heart and true patriotism; and the country sustained a great loss in his untimely death. . . . Mr. PAGE'S great picture will soon be completed. We have seen it; and can confidently predict that both in drawing and coloring it will take by surprise his warmest admirers. We shall refer to it in detail when it is exhibited. . . . 'Signing his own Death Warrant' is a little incident, of dubious humor, written to death. It is not H.'s' good vein' at all. . . . In a metropolis like ours one sees so many apparently useless persons, who do little else than to sun their gaily-attired forms in Broadway, sucking the while the ivory end of a small yellow stick, that he is compelled to wish, with ADDISON, that they might each be taught some handicraft work. Would it not employ a dandy prettily enough, if instead of eternally playing with a watch-chain or a walking-stick, he spent some part of his time in making one? Such a method as this would very much conduce to the public emolument, by making every man living good for something; for there would then be no one member of human society but would have some little pretension for some degree in it. . . We never see an old chiffonnier, with bag and wire-hook groping in the gutter for rags and waste-paper, without thinking of the circle of eternal change' which is the life of political economy, as set forth, we think, by CARLYLE: Is it not beautiful to see so many thousands of pounds of rags picked annually from the thoroughfares; and annually, after being ground, hot-pressed, printed on, and sold, returned thither, filling so many hungry mouths by the way?' . . . OUR cordial thanks are due and tendered to UNION COLLEGE for the degree of 'Master of Arts' which she has had the kindness to confer upon us. The undeserved honor shall not however unduly elevate us. We shall continue to permit our children to play with our neighbors' children, just as they have always been accustomed to do! . . . HERE is a characteristic letter from Doctor FRANKLIN, now first transferred to print from his own hand-writing:

'London, Sept. 10, 1774.

DEAR SON: The Bearer, Mr. RALPH WESTLEY, goes to Pennsylvania to look out a proper Tract of good Land, on which to settle some able Norfolk Farmers, who are about to remove thither with their Families: One of whom, Mr. FOULGER, is a Relation of mine.

As the Farmers of that Country are reckoned the most skilful in England, and the comfortable settling of these first Adventurers may be a means of drawing over many others, I cannot but have it at heart that they should be well accommodated; I therefore recommend it earnestly to you to assist him with your best Advice in his Search and Enquiry, that he may be able to fix on such Lands as are in a healthy Situation, and commodious on other Accounts.

'I recommend him also to those Civilities with which you usually entertain Strangers of good cha

WHEN We 'come to think of it,' how many of the old worthies may be said to have 'written' for the KNICKERBOCKER! Letters from the Mss. of General WASHINGTON, Doctor FRANKLIN, General PUTNAM, JEFFERSON, and many of their illustrious contemporaries, have appeared in our pages; and by the same token,' Sir WALTER SCOTT has also been a liberal contributor to OLD KNICK.' We have been too modest in not announcing them' before. . . . MANY of our best artists are coming back to

town from recreative excursions in the country, bringing their sheaves with them,' or at least the fruits of their labors. Among them we remark C. L. ELLIOTT, and THOMAS S. OFFICER, the first the best portrait-painter and the second named the best miniature-painter in the country. Mr. OFFICER has brought some miniatures with him, which in faithfulness of drawing and beauty of coloring we have never seen surpassed. Of some of these we shall speak hereafter. WE lament in the re

cent demise at New-Orleans of Hon. RICHARD HENRY WILDE the loss of an old and favorite contributor, as will the country a distinguished citizen, and his immediate friends a delightful companion and true-hearted man. Our readers will remember, among many other of his articles written originally for this Magazine, Mr. WILDE'S admirable papers upon The Love, Madness and Imprisonment of Tasso, and 'The Discovery of a Portrait of Dante by Giotti. Mr. WILDE's life, as he himself sang, was like the summer rose' in one respect; for there was an odor of simplicity, affection and truth about it, which smelled sweet to heaven;' and hence it may seem almost impious to mourn that it has gone to renew its beauty in the Paradise of God. Signora BISCACCIANTI, the fair cantatrice whose advent we mentioned in our last, will soon have an opportunity of giving the music-loving public a taste of her excellent quality. All who have had the pleasure to hear her sing, speak in enthusiastic terms of her preeminent voice and style, both of which are said to be of the very first order. We shall report upon her first public performances. . .. E. L. M.' has our thanks and- forgiveness! We intend to show proper resentment,' as the negro said, when for appearance'-sake he put on mourning for his deceased wife...M.'s 'Epigram' is 'good;' so was the mobléd Queen,' according to POLONIUS, in whose vein we speak. It contains a slight slip, which reminds us of a couplet quoted, if we recollect rightly, in the Spectator' or Tattler:"

'A painted vest Prince VOLTIGER had on,
Which from a naked Pict his grandsire won!'

The only question was, how old VOLTIGER did it. . . . Books, periodicals, communications, etc., not referred to in the present number, will receive due attention in our next. The delay is unavoidable. In the appendix or 'reading-lesson' portion of WEBSTER'S Old Spelling-Book, there is (or there used to be) a word-limning of the interior of a well-to-do farmer's kitchen, larder and dairy, which it always seemed to us could not fail to create an appetite in the veriest dyspeptic that ever half-lived. Somewhat kindred is the wholesome sentiment of honest admiration which will be awakened in the mind of every reader who has ever lived in the country, by this charming picture of a fair and happy country-girl:

'So far is she from making herself beautiful by art, that one look of hers is able to put all FacePhysic out of countenance. She knows a face-look is but a dumb orator to commend virtue, therefore minds it not. All her excellences stand in her so silently, as if they had stolen upon her without her knowledge. The lining of her apparel, which is herself, is far better than outsides of tissue; for though she be not arrayed in the spoil of the silk-worm, she is decked in innocence; a far better wearing. She doth not, with lying long in bed, spoil both her complexion and conditions. Nature hath taught her too, immoderate sleep is rust to the soul; she rises therefore with chanticleer, ber dame's cock, and at night makes the lamb her curfew... The gilded ears of corn fall and kiss her feet when she reaps them, as if they wished to be bound and led prisoners by the same hand that felled them. Her breath is her own, which scents all the year long of June, like a new-made haycock. She makes her hand hard with labor, and her heart soft with pity; and when winter evenings fall early, sitting at her merry wheel, she sings defiance to the giddy wheel of fortune. She doth all things with so sweet a grace, it seems ignorance will not suffer her to do ill, being her mind is to do well. She bestows her year's wages at the next fair, and in choosing her garments counts no bravery in the world like decency. The garden and the bee-hive are all her physic and surgery, and she lives the longer for it. She dares go alone and unfold sheep in the night, and fears no manner of ill, because she means none. Yet to say truth, she is never alone, but is still accompanied with old songs, honest thoughts, and prayers, but short ones; yet they have their efficacy, in that they are not palled with ensuing idle cogitations. Lastly, her dreams are so chaste that she dare tell them; only

a Friday's dream is all her superstition; that she conceals for fear of anger. Thus lives she, and all her care is, that she may die in the spring-time, to have store of flowers stuck upon her winding

sheet.'

IN good Sir THOMAS OVERBURY his works look you for this and other pictures by an old master.' WE have spoken heretofore, although briefly, of the excellent designs and artistical execution of Mr. H. W. HEWET, draftsman and engraver upon wood, the whereabout of whose well-manned and well-supplied establishment is indicated in the annexed cut:

We would ask the reader's attention to the very numerous superb illustrations in Harper's Pictorial Shakspeare and Dr. WAINWRIGHT's Illustrated Book of Common Prayer, as affording abundant evidence of the admirable manner in which Mr. HEWET executes the illustrations committed to his charge. His practical knowledge of the department of publication and the large operative force of his establishment enable him fully and expeditiously to meet the wants of publishers.... WE have in our port-folios so much original matériel awaiting insertion that we cannot promise present space for The Fair Maid of Bingen,' which we have no doubt is faithfully rendered from the German,' for what seems a natural infusion of the spirit of the writer is apparent throughout the tale. An incident in the story is not unlike one recorded in a quaint English ballad that we turned up recently among some stray leaves in an old note-book. It is entitled The Ungrateful Knight and the Faire Flower of Northumberland;' and runs in part as follows:

'IT was a knight in Scotland born,

Follow, my love, come over the strand, Was taken prisoner and left forlorn,

Ev'n by the good Earl of Northumberland.

And as in prison thus he lay,

Follow, my love, come over the strand,
The Earl's sweet daughter walks that way,
And shee the fair flower of Northumberland.

And passing by, like an angel bright,
Follow, my love, come over the strand,
This prisoner had of her a sight,

And shee the fair flower of Northumberland.

'A gallant steed he did bestride,

Follow, my love, come over the strand, And with the lady away did ride,

And shee the fair flower of Northumberland!"

ONE or two slightly romantic circumstances in the foregoing perhaps require explanation; but that was the business of the author, whose name is buried in the 'dark backward and abysm of time.' The 'moral,' the butt-end always of your true ballad, is characteristic and striking:

'ALL you fair maidens be warned by me;
Follow, my love, come over the strand,
Scots never were true, nor never will be,
To lord nor lady, nor fair England.'

WE scarcely remember among all our reading a more forcible description of the emotions which are felt by a bereaved husband, mourning the dimming of that soft pure light, the preciousness of which is never fully understood until it is quenched, than is contained in a few sentences of the late Dr. CHANNING, who being dead yet speaketh' to every sensitive and true heart: The blow which took her from him left a wound which time could not heal. In the city, a few minutes' walk sent him wearied home. There the loving eye which had so long brightened at his entrance was to shed its mild beam on him no more. There the voice that had daily inquired into his labors, and like another conscience had whispered a sweet approval, was still. There the sympathy which had pressed with tender hand his aching head, and by its nursing care had postponed the hour of exhaustion and disease, was gone. This great loss produced no burst of grief. It was a still, deep sorrow, the feeling of a mighty void, the last burthen which the spirit can cast off. His attachment to life from this moment sensibly declined. In seasons of peculiar sensibility he wished to be gone. He kept near him the likeness of his departed friend, and spoke to me more than once of the solace which he had found in it. He heard her voice from another world, and his anticipations of that world, always strong, became more vivid and touching.'

LITERARY RECORD.We have before us from the HARPERIAN press additional numbers of their thickly-illustrated Pictorial History of England;' Dr. MOORE's' Power of the Soul over the Body, in Health and Morals,' a work replete with deep interest; RUSSELL'S 'New-York Class-Book,' containing every thing of interest in the history, biography, geography and external aspect of the Empire State; Rev. G. R. GLEIG's vivid and exciting 'Story of the Battle of Waterloo,' and GODWIN'S 'Lives of the Necromancers;' good and interesting works, one and all of them. ・ ・ WE would call general attention (and we exceedingly regret that at this time we can do no more) to a thick pamphlet-volume of some hundred and fifty pages, upon The Progress of Ethnology,' by JOHN RUSSELL BARTLETT, Esq., Corresponding Secretary of the American Ethnological Society, and Foreign Corresponding Secretary of the New-York Historical Society. It is a full and very entertaining and instructive account of recent Archæological and Geographical Researches in various parts of the globe, tending to elucidate the Physical History of Man. We are not surprised to perceive that it has speedily reached a second edition, for it deserved such success. ・ ・ ・ Phonography and Phonotypy, we understand, are making rather rapid headway in this country. The various illustrative reports and pamphlets upon the new mode are in great request; and The Anglo-Saxon' weekly journal has reached a circulation of some thirty-five hundred... The Winter-Evening Fireside' is the name given to a highly moral, easily-written and easily-read pamphlet, from W. D. TICKNOR AND COMPANY, Boston, which leaves upon the mind of the reader a favorable impression of the writer's heart.・ ・ ・ MESSES. GOULD, Kendall and LINCOLN, Boston, certainly deserve the thanks of the public for presenting to American readers so good and cheap a reprint of 'Chambers's Cyclopadia of English Literature,' a selection (illustrated) of the choicest productions of English authors from the earliest to the present time, and 'Chambers's Miscellany of Useful and Entertaining Knowledge. These works are eminently interesting and instructive. We cannot say much however for the portraits in the former. Those of COOPER and IRVING might as well have been for PLATO and the DUKE of WELLINGTON. ・・ We have again to commend Mr. VIRTUE'S 'Fletcher's Illustrated Devotional Family Bible.' The engravings continue to be of the best description, and the printing VOL. XXX. 49