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invitation ; but we cannot be every where at the same time, like a dog after squirrels. What can be compassed, shall be, however. The poem' is received and filed. . . . We shall esteem it a favor if any of our readers will inform us whence the ensuing 'Lines to the Moon' are taken. We find them in one of our old notebooks, with the apparent abbreviation of a proper name as a prefix to the passage, indicating its segregation from some dramatic scene. Come whence and from whom it may, it certainly possesses much of the true SHAKSPERIAN picturesque grouping and suggestiveness :
"Lady of Lakes, regent of woods and dew,
Our friend the Hon. Zadock Pratt, of Prattsville, Greene county, has written & very spirited and conclusive letter, setting forth the great value and feasibility of Whitney's Rail-Road to the Pacific, the memorial on the subject of which Mr. Pratt presented to Congress some three years ago. We may claim to be the first Editor who called public attention to this enterprise ; a fact which many of our readers will remember, if they did us the honor to peruse a review of Parker's Travels to the Rocky Mountains,' which we penned for this Magazine some eleven years ago. • • We deem it but proper to put upon record, that Professor FELTON (who has never asked nor suggested a line in this Magazine, in reply to some thirty pages by . C. A. B.') charges that gentleman with the following wrongs: with making a positive mis-statement in respect to his appointment to the Eliot-professorship, which is still unretracted; with suppressing portions of notes, in several instances, for the sake of animadversion, when such animadversion would have been pointless had the whole been given; with having indulged in personalities, for which he refuses to apologise, on the ground that another has assailed him; with attempting, when driven from his charge of ignorance of geography, in the case of Aulis and Chalcis, to shield himself by charging Mr. Felton with having committed three or four blunders in seven lines of his · Iliad,' in which it is denied that there is one word of truth, the Professor not having committed either of the blunders imputed to him ; there being no error save one misprint of a single letter in the passage referred to ; which error was a slip of the printer in the last issue, it having been correctly printed in previous editions. Having thus given, unsolicited, what we are assured from a correspondent who assumes to speak authentically, are the alleged grounds of complaint of an old friend and correspondent against our new contributor, we hope it may not be considered altogether impertinent in a periodical once so respectable as the KNICKERBOCKER,' if it deferentially intimates its opinion, that it is some proof of the able scholarship of an American youth, that he succeeded in bearing away from one of the oldest and most eminent universities in England the first Greek, Latin and English prizes. Probability certainly seems to point toward the remote idea, that amidst the active competition of so venerable and distinguished an institution of 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. Toots, 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 sbaggy white great-coat and a flat-brimmed hat, with very short hair, a broken Dose, 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 band.
• There an 't no drain of nothing short haudy, is there?' said the Chicken, generally. *This bere sluicing night is hard lines to a man as lives on bis 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 inuch 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! I consider this experiment of Man a d d miserable failure; and the sooner the whole thing is broken up, the better!' Saying this, the old gentleman stalked off, muttering imprecations on the human race in general. The circumstance 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,
"With a hoste of furious fancies, For nft, when he lies sleeping;
Whereof I am commander, I behold the stars at mortal wars,
With a burning spear, and a horse of the ayr, In the wounded welkin weeping;
To the wilderness I wander;
With a Knight of Ghosts and Shadows
I summoned am to Tourney,
Methinks it is no journey!' And it was n't, for Tom; 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.' . 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. . . . It 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 bim 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 bis 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 Warranť 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-book 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 Eugland, 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
'My Love to Sally and the Children.
I am ever,
*B. FRANKLIN.' 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
• Mr. BACHE.'
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 recent 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, afsection 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 preëminent 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' bas 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 cominend virtue, therefore minds it not. All her excelleuces 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 cursew. • : • 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, Jike 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. Shc doth all things with so sweet a grace, it seems ignorance will not suffer her to do ill, being her mind is to do
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-bive 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 mander 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 sho may die in the spring-time, to have store of flowers stuck upon her windingsheet.'
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:
182 FOSIN SERIE
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. Hewer 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 promiso 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 ono 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,
* And passing by, like an angel bright, Follow, my love, come over the strand,
Follow, my love, come over the strand, Was taken prisoner and left forlorn,
This prisoner had of her a sight, Ev'n by the good Earl of Northumberland. And shee the fair flower of Northumberland. * And as in prison thus he lay,
"A gallant steed he did bestride, Follow, my love, come over the strand,
Follow, any love, come over the strand, The Earl's sweet daughter walks that way, And with the lady away did ride,
And shee the fair flower of Northumberland. And shee the fair flower of Northumberland!"