FOOTNOTES:

'Mythoughts are with the dead; with themI live in long past years.Their virtues love, their faults condemn,Partake their hopes and fears;And from their lessons seek and findInstruction with a humble mind.'My hopes are with the dead; anonMy place with them will be,And I with them shall travel on,Through all futurity;Yet leaving here a name, I trust,That will not perish in the dust.'

'My hopes are with the dead; anonMy place with them will be,And I with them shall travel on,Through all futurity;Yet leaving here a name, I trust,That will not perish in the dust.'

Wehave already solved several weighty mathematical problems in this department of theKnickerbocker; and are glad of an opportunity farther to enlighten our readers with a passage from a 'Lecture on Mechanics' in a late number of the 'London Charivari:' 'If certain weighty things are put upon a body, they will turn the scale, and elevate another body. Thus, if several thousand pounds be added to the weight of an electioneering agent, it will elevate the candidate; though this experiment sometimes fails; which shows us that these grand results are not brought about by any fixed principles!' Under the head of 'Forces applied to a Point,' we have this luminous illustration: 'It sometimes happens that force is applied to produce a point; but all the straining in the world will not obtain the point that is desired. Thus, if you take an ordinary hammer and hammer away at a joke, the result of the experiment will illustrate the position!' * * *Whew!ninety-eight mortal pages, received in the dog-days, containing a 'nouvelette' for theKnickerbocker! 'Somebody take this man away!' The story is in very fine hand-writing, too! 'All things must have an end; even so contemptible a thing as a sausage has two,' says 'The Bedlamite;' yet we have been unable to find butoneend to this tale, and that was not the last one. 'Print it?' Couldn't, really! 'C.' holds it for the author, and says he shall charge storage.Apropos: it should be observed, that 'nouvelettes' are generally boreish in their character. Long-winded pen-and-ink writers inflict them upon the public usually, we have remarked. They are a cross between the novel proper and a newspaper tale, requiring little invention, and no talent, to speak of; and are the result of the decadence into which two-volumed romances have fallen. Avoid a 'nouvelette!' * * *Wecannot better reply to 'G.,' who complains of 'an excuse' for rejecting a communication of his, than by quoting the words of a time-honored novelist and rare critic: 'There is one best and clearest way of stating a proposition, and that alone ought to be chosen; yet how often do we find the same argument repeated and repeated and repeated, with no variety except in the phraseology? In developing any thought, we ought not to encumber it by trivial circumstances; we ought to say all that is necessary, and not a word more. We ought likewise to say one thing at once; and that concluded, to begin another. We certainly write to be understood, and should therefore never write in a language that is unknown to a majority of our readers. The rule will apply as well to the living languages as to the dead, and its infringement is but in general a display of the author's vanity. Epithets, unless they increasethe strength of thought or elucidate the argument, ought not to be admitted. Of similes, metaphors, and figures of every kind, the same may be affirmed; whatever does not enlighten confuses. The difficulties of composition resemble those of geometry; they are the recollection of things so simple and convincing that we imagine we never can forget them; yet they are frequently forgotten at every step and in every sentence.' If these remarks do not confirm the validity of our 'excuse,' we are no judge. * * *Hereis a sharp thrust at 'Fashionable Boarding-Schools,' which is all that we can appropriate of the letter of our Cincinnati friend: 'A modern boarding-school is a place where every thing is taught, and nothing understood; where airs, graces, mouth-primming, shoulder-setting, and elbow-holding are studied, and affectation, formality, hypocrisy, and pride are acquired; and where children the most promising are presently transformed into vain, pert misses, who imagine that to jerk up their heads, turn out their toes, and dance and waltz well, is the summit of human perfection.' What a satirical wretch it is! * * *Alison, in his fine description of the French army on the morning before the battle of Waterloo, alludes to the effect of the martial airs upon the soldiers; the 'Marsellois,' the 'Chant du Depart,' etc. This latter we have recently encountered for the first time, in a superbly-illustrated work, entitled 'Chants and Chansons of France.' It is a very stirring effusion; as a few of its opening lines will sufficiently evince:

'La victoire en chantant vous ouvre la barriere,La liberte guide nos pas,Et du nord au midi la trompette guerriereA sonne l'heure des combats.'Tremblez, ennemis de la France,Rois ivres de sang et d'orgueil!Le peuple souverain s'avance,Tyrans descendez au cercueil,' etc.

'La victoire en chantant vous ouvre la barriere,La liberte guide nos pas,Et du nord au midi la trompette guerriereA sonne l'heure des combats.

'Tremblez, ennemis de la France,Rois ivres de sang et d'orgueil!Le peuple souverain s'avance,Tyrans descendez au cercueil,' etc.

Thecomparison between 'New-England Men and Scotchmen' is in many respects a correct one, but not in all. 'We are not a nation of gentlemen, thankGod!' says a plain-speaking Scottish writer, 'but the greater part of our population is vulgar, intelligent, high-cheeked, raw-boned, and religious.' The article, however, will appear so soon as we can find space for it. * * *Weare bound to accept the apology of 'M.,' whose 'curt notelet' we adverted to in our last. He trusts that after his explanation we shall 'not think hard of him.' We do not; on the contrary, we think verysoftof him. Don't do so again—that's all. * * *ThelamentedOllapod, in one of his admirable salmagundis in these pages, once endeavored to represent the sound ofa kiss; and it was conceded, we remember, that he was successful in the attempt. Next to that effort, we have seen nothing better than the followingtranscriptof fire-works, by a London wag: 'First of all, the rockets go up. Then something is lighted, and turns slowly round with awhisk!-ish-ish-ish; this increases its time, and changes tooosh-sh-sh; gives abang, and goes round another way, with anash-sh-sh!till squibs open all round it in a prolongedphiz-iz-iz-iz!and then it concludes with aphit! crack! bang-bang! bang!and the incandescent centre of the wheel is all that remains, revolving in a dull circle of light upon its axis.' If this be not 'speaking description,' we know not what is. * * *Reader, when in the providence ofGodit shall be your fate to stand by the cold form of one whom you have loved; to gaze upon lips, oh! how pale and motionless; upon hands thin and wasted, crossed upon the silent breast; upon eye-lids dropped upon cheeks of clay, never to be lifted again; then haply you may think of these beautiful lines of the goodWesley. Amidst remembered hopes that vanished and fears that distracted, weeping in unknown tumults, 'like soft streamings of celestial music' comes to your aching heart this serene Evangel!

Howblest is our brother, bereftOf all that could burthen his mind!How easy the soul that has leftThis wearisome body behind!Of evil incapable thou,Whose relics with envy I see;No longer in misery now,No longer a sinner, like me.This dust is affected no moreWith sickness, or shaken with pain;The war in the members is o'er,And never shall vex him again;No anger henceforward, or shameShall redden his innocent clay;Extinct is the animal flame,And passion is vanished away.The languishing head is at rest.Its thinking and aching are o'er;The quiet, immovable breastIs heaved by affliction no more.The heart is no longer the seatOf trouble or torturing pain;It ceases to flutter and beat,It never will flutter again!The lids he so seldom could close,By sorrow forbidden to sleep,Sealed up in eternal repose,Have strangely forgotten to weep,The fountains can yield no supplies,The hollows from water are free,The tears are all wiped from these eyes,And evil they never shall see.

This dust is affected no moreWith sickness, or shaken with pain;The war in the members is o'er,And never shall vex him again;No anger henceforward, or shameShall redden his innocent clay;Extinct is the animal flame,And passion is vanished away.

The languishing head is at rest.Its thinking and aching are o'er;The quiet, immovable breastIs heaved by affliction no more.The heart is no longer the seatOf trouble or torturing pain;It ceases to flutter and beat,It never will flutter again!

The lids he so seldom could close,By sorrow forbidden to sleep,Sealed up in eternal repose,Have strangely forgotten to weep,The fountains can yield no supplies,The hollows from water are free,The tears are all wiped from these eyes,And evil they never shall see.

Therelives a man in this metropolis of Gotham, who is esteemed by his fellow-citizens, among whom he has honestly acquired an ample fortune, for the strict integrity which characterizes hisdealings in trade, and his unexceptionable private life. On one occasion he was asked at his barber's, on which side of two political parties he was going to vote, at an election to be holden that day. He replied, with something of a flush on his countenance, that he believed he should avoid voting on either side; such had hitherto been his practice. 'Yes, I guess ithas!' whispered a man in the chair, as he arrested the barber's hand, and wiped the soap-foam from his lips; 'fact is, hecan'tvote. He was three years in the state-prison!' Now thiswasthe fact. He had been three years immured in the penitentiary of a neighboring State, for a crime committed in the heat of passion, and he has to many friends given an account of the mental agony which he endured on first entering the institution. It was not so much the physical suffering; the tedious, sleepless nights in his narrow cell; the sorrowful silence in which he plied his incessant and thankless labor; his coarse and scanty food; not so much these, as the companionship of the hardened wretches around him, whose crimes he could only imagine from the character of their faces, as he caught glimpses of their features in the turning of a gang in marching, or in the chapel on the Sabbath. Thedegradation of spiritit was that almost broke his heart. 'It mattered little,' he thought, 'how much he might be abused, what insolence of office he might suffer, or how deeply the iron in the dungeon might enter into his soul. Who would care for the unhappy convict? If he should repent and become a reformed man, no one would believe him, no one would employ him; and he would be compelled to give proof of his moral improvement by suffering starvation unto death.' For the first two or three weeks, he was almostmadwith the intensity of his mental suffering; and he remained in this state until one Sabbath morning, when the keeper, who was a Churchman by persuasion, permitted the Episcopal service to be read to the prisoners, at the request of a young relation, who was a student at a neighboring theological seminary. 'Never,' has our informant often heard the ci-devant state-prisoner say, 'never shall I forget the effect of one of those blessed prayers upon my mind. It taught me that I was not utterly forgotten and cast away, in my desolate abode.' The prayer runs as follows: 'O God, who sparest when we deserve punishment, and in thy wrath rememberest mercy, we humbly beseech thee of thy goodness to comfort and succor all those who are under reproach and misery in the house of bondage: correct them not in thine anger, neither chasten them in thy sore displeasure. Give them a right understanding of themselves, and of thy threats and promises; that they may neither cast away their confidence in thee, nor place it any where but in Thee. Relieve the distressed, protect the innocent, and awaken the guilty; and forasmuch as thou alone bringest light out of darkness and good out of evil, grant that the pains and punishments which these thy servants endure, through their bodily confinement, may tend to setting free their souls from the chains of sin; throughJesus ChristourLord.' * * *The'Pinch for Snuffers' was long ago anticipated by the lamentedOllapod, in an article on 'American Ptyalism.' There are 'statistics' in the present paper, however, which we do not remember to have encountered before; for example: 'If the practice ofmoderatesnuff-taking be persisted in for forty years, it has been correctly ascertained that two entire years of the snuff-taker's life will be dedicated to tickling his nose, and two more to blowing it! If time is money, therefore, isn't snuff-taking a habit which costs more than it comes to?' Perhaps so; but for all that, we say, let the devotees of the dust enjoy their 'sneezin', as it is termed in Scotland; for to them its titillations are most delici-ishi-ishi-ishious! * * *Weare sorry to be compelled to decline the elaborate article of our Charleston correspondent, who desires an allusion to his paper in this department of our Magazine. It has been well said, by one whom we are sure our contributor would consider authority, that the wisdom as well as the common feelings that belong to such subjects, lie upon the surface in a few plain and broad lines. There is a want of genius in being very ingenious about them; and it belongs to talents of the second order to proceed with a great apparatus of reasoning. We may be wrong; but it has occurred to us, that the great defect in the written efforts of many clever newspaper and magazine essayists of the South, consists in their being 'elaborated to tenuity, or argued to confusion.' * * *Amongthe publications received too late for notice in the present number, are 'Geological Cosmogony; or an examination of the geological theory of the origin and antiquity of the earth, and of the causes and object of the changes it has undergone; by a Layman: Mr.Robert Carter, at 58 Canal-street, publisher; the 'Spanish Guide for Conversation and Commerce, in two parts; being a Sequel to the author's Spanish Grammar and Translator: byJulio Soler, one of our most successful and popular Spanish teachers; a prospectus of a work entitled 'Annals and Occurrences of New-York City and State in the Olden Time;' being a collection of memoirs, anecdotes, and incidents, concerning the city, country, and inhabitants, from the days of the founders; intended to exhibit society in its changes of manners and customs, and the city and country in their local changes and improvements; with pictorial illustrations; Mrs.Child's'Letters from New-York;'and Dr.Pereira'snew work on food and diet, with observations on the dietetical regimen, suited for disordered states of the digestive organs; and an account of the dietaries of some of the principal metropolitan and other establishments for paupers, lunatics, children, the sick, etc., etc. We have heard this work highly commended by competent judges; but to our humble conception, there is something very auldwifeish in publishing a book to tell people how to devour their food. There is no mystery in the matter. Hunger and thirst are simple, strait-forward instincts, not likely to be much improved by artificial erudition. We have late numbers of the 'Rivista Ligure,' of Genoa, for which we are indebted to the courtesy of our consul at that capital. Brief notices of the following works are in type: 'Usury;'Thomson's'Day'sAlgebra,' 'The New Purchase,' 'The Karen Apostle,' etc. * * *Ourreaders have lately had an opportunity of enjoying several of the early prose-papers of the giftedSands. Here are a few pleasant poetical extracts from a New Year's Address, written seventeen years ago, touching among other things uponAdams'selection, the great Erie Canal celebration,Kean'sreception at Boston, hard times, broken banks, etc.:

The next thing that deserves reflectionIs Mr.Adams, his election;With which we all must be content,And say 'Godbless the President.'How far his talents may be greatThe aforesaid Poet cannot state;All that he knows of his abilities,Is that he interchanged civilitiesWith him one morning at the Hall,When he shook hands with great and small;And also got some punch and viversThe Corporation gave to divers.You all do know that the last stitchOf work is done on the Big Ditch;And saw, no doubt the grand processionThat was got up on the occasion:When soldiers, tailors, printers, furriers,Free-masons, soap boilers, and curriers,Cordwainers, college-boys, and bakers,Butchers, and saddle-and-harness-makers,Boat builders, coppersmiths, and tanners,Walked forth with badges and with banners,And every other craft and mystery,(A show unparallelled in history.)The Poet had no place assignedIn the parade with his own kind;He stood apart amid the squinters,The carrier trudged among the printers,Distributing from time to timeSmall odes that were pronounced sublime.The Poet also was worse slighted,Not being to the Hook invited;Of course he has no just conceptionOf the Lake's marriage with old Neptune,Or if the salt sea felt compunctionWith the fresh lake to make a junction;Or whether Neptune took the senseOf Doctor Mitchell's eloquence;But all who witnessed the solemnity,Returned from sea with full indemnity,Pleased with the punch, the sail and speeching,Returning thanks they had no reaching,Or collapsed flues to spoil the pleasure,Although they steamed beyond all measure.The child that is unborn may rue,He did not live that day to view.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .To mention now we can't refrainHow naughtyKeancame back again,Despite of many a rotten pippin,Contrived his ancient orb to keep in,And (such the morals of the age!)Once more to re-usurp the stage;Acquiring bravos, praise, and pelf,And Richard is again himself.But when to Boston bold he went,The 'winter of their discontent'Began to blow with so much force,He gave his 'kingdom for a horse,'And galloped off at such a pace,As if 'six Richmonds' were in chase.But hark! a voice! a voice of squalling;Cotton is falling—falling—falling!Credit grows low, and faith is shaking,Banks won't discount, and firms are breaking;Dead lies the Eagle of New-Haven,And many honest folks are shaven;Stopped are the Lombard and the Derby,And many people suffering thereby.Cash has grown scarce, and none can know itBetter than him the carrier's poet,Who having in the funds no moneyLooks on the moil as rather funny.He to whom scarce for ever cash isLittle regards the daily smashes;But what of this? the radiant sunWill shine as he has always done,And round, and round him as of old,The earth her annual course will hold;Eyes will be bright, and hearts be gay,At ball, at opera, and play;As sweetly to the brilliant ring,The syren of the stage will sing;And the full burst of melodyWill soar, as strong, as clear, as high,Though hearts are broke, and hopes have fled,And you have failed, and I go dead;And suns will set, and moons will vary,And men die, as is ordinary.

You all do know that the last stitchOf work is done on the Big Ditch;And saw, no doubt the grand processionThat was got up on the occasion:When soldiers, tailors, printers, furriers,Free-masons, soap boilers, and curriers,Cordwainers, college-boys, and bakers,Butchers, and saddle-and-harness-makers,Boat builders, coppersmiths, and tanners,Walked forth with badges and with banners,And every other craft and mystery,(A show unparallelled in history.)The Poet had no place assignedIn the parade with his own kind;He stood apart amid the squinters,The carrier trudged among the printers,Distributing from time to timeSmall odes that were pronounced sublime.The Poet also was worse slighted,Not being to the Hook invited;Of course he has no just conceptionOf the Lake's marriage with old Neptune,Or if the salt sea felt compunctionWith the fresh lake to make a junction;Or whether Neptune took the senseOf Doctor Mitchell's eloquence;But all who witnessed the solemnity,Returned from sea with full indemnity,Pleased with the punch, the sail and speeching,Returning thanks they had no reaching,Or collapsed flues to spoil the pleasure,Although they steamed beyond all measure.The child that is unborn may rue,He did not live that day to view.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

To mention now we can't refrainHow naughtyKeancame back again,Despite of many a rotten pippin,Contrived his ancient orb to keep in,And (such the morals of the age!)Once more to re-usurp the stage;Acquiring bravos, praise, and pelf,And Richard is again himself.But when to Boston bold he went,The 'winter of their discontent'Began to blow with so much force,He gave his 'kingdom for a horse,'And galloped off at such a pace,As if 'six Richmonds' were in chase.

But hark! a voice! a voice of squalling;Cotton is falling—falling—falling!Credit grows low, and faith is shaking,Banks won't discount, and firms are breaking;Dead lies the Eagle of New-Haven,And many honest folks are shaven;Stopped are the Lombard and the Derby,And many people suffering thereby.Cash has grown scarce, and none can know itBetter than him the carrier's poet,Who having in the funds no moneyLooks on the moil as rather funny.He to whom scarce for ever cash isLittle regards the daily smashes;But what of this? the radiant sunWill shine as he has always done,And round, and round him as of old,The earth her annual course will hold;Eyes will be bright, and hearts be gay,At ball, at opera, and play;As sweetly to the brilliant ring,The syren of the stage will sing;And the full burst of melodyWill soar, as strong, as clear, as high,Though hearts are broke, and hopes have fled,And you have failed, and I go dead;And suns will set, and moons will vary,And men die, as is ordinary.

'The Clubs of New-York' we recognize to be from the pen of a lady. She writes, however, of clubs as they exist in London, not in this metropolis, where they are few, and far less exacting of the time and affections of their members. We quite agree with our fair correspondent in her animadversions upon the devotion which they attract from the heads of families. Mrs.Malapropargues that married men ought to give up their clubs, 'becauseHerculesgave uphiswhen he got spliced!' * * * Awordto our friend 'H.'at'H——, on the Hudson:' We have long cherished the intention to avail ourselves of your kind offer; but we shall lay down no more pieces of stone in the infernal pavement. Cordial thanks, however, in any event. * * * 'Lucy' is a very good versificatrix, but she greatly lacks condensation. Try again; and 'take yourtime, MissLucy.' * * * 'Neanias,' of Danville, Kentucky, is again unsuccessful. ''T is true 't is pity, and pity 't is 't is true.' Let him not be discouraged, however. * * *Perhapsour musical readers will relish a little intelligence 'from the other side,' touching their favorite science. We learn from that mad wag,Punch, that the society of Musical Antiquaries have traced the origin of Scottish Minstrelsy to Norway; so that it is possible the lays ofBurnsare remotely connected with the ScandinavianScalds. We hear also of a remarkable concert given by an artist to whom a distinguishedmaëstrohad bequeathed his sheet-iron fiddle. 'He has all the rapidity and toneof his master, and equals every other great solo-player of the day, in never knowing when to 'leave off!' * * * 'Thebeautiful sentence quoted in your last 'Gossip,'' writes a correspondent, ''That charity which Plenty gives to Poverty is human and earthly, but it becomes divine and heavenly when Poverty gives to Want,' has recalled to my mind an old song, which I should be glad to see in your pages:'

Ho! why dost thou shiver and shake,Gaffer-Gray!And why doth thy nose look so blue?''Tis the weather that's cold;'Tis I'm grown very old.And my doublet is not very new,Well-a-day!'

II.

Then line thy worn doublet with ale,Gaffer-Gray;And warm thy old heart with a glass:'Nay, but credit I've none;And my money's all gone;Then say how may that come to pass?Well-a-day!'

III.

Hie away to the house on the brow,Gaffer-Gray;And knock at the jolly priest's door.'The priest often preachesAgainst worldly riches;But ne'er gives a mite to the poor,Well-a-day!'

IV.

The lawyer lives under the hill,Gaffer-Gray;Warmly fenced both in back and in front.'He will fasten his locks,And will threaten the stocks,Should he ever more find me in want,Well-a-day!'

The squire has fat beeves and brown ale,Gaffer-Gray;And the season will welcome you there.'His fat beeves and his beer,And his merry new-yearAre all for the flush and the fair,Well-a-day!'

VI.

My keg is but low I confess,Gaffer-Gray;What then? While it lasts man, we'll live.The poor man alone,When he hears the poor moan,Of his morsel a morsel will give,Well-a-day!

In the course of an article, some passages of which appear in preceding pages, an imaginaryGiffordlashesMiltonfor his careless and ungrammatical style, his awkward ellipses, etc.; but even these are turned to beauties in his hands. What could be more forcible and striking than the last of the three following lines?—and yet who butMiltoncould brave such an indefensible ellipsis? It is not unlike that sublime grammatical error, 'Angels andGodis here!' which few would venture to correct:

'Should God create another Eve,And I another rib afford, yet loss of theeWould never from my heart.'

The following papers are either filed for insertion or under consideration: the second and concluding part of the 'Innocent Galley-Slave;' 'Fiorello's Fiddlestick;' 'Thoughts on Immortality;' 'Letter from Boston;' 'Lines to Fanny;' 'The Doomed Ship;' 'On the Death of a Class-mate;' 'A Fourth of July Excursion;' 'Chronicles of the Past;' Lines by 'B. F. R.' 'Exercises of the Alumnæ of the Albany Female Academy,' etc. 'The Floral Resurrection' shall take place when 'the Spring-time o' the year is coming.' By a careless oversight, the beautiful lines of our favoriteIone, although in type, were excluded from the present number.

Giles's Oration before the Natchez Fencibles.—A thin, brief pamphlet lies before us, containing an oration delivered at Natchez, (Miss.,) on the fourth of July last, before the corps of the 'Natchez Invincibles' and other citizens, byWilliam Mason Giles, Esq. We regard it with favor and with dislike. Itsspiritis trulyAmerican, patriotic, in all respects unexceptionable, and most honorable to the writer. Itsstyle, however, is not creditable to the writer's taste: it is in many parts of the oration stilted and inflated. There is a lack of care and revision also; but this may be attributed to the great haste and bodily disability which we are informed attended its production, and which indeed we cannot doubt; since in the brief letter which announces the yielding of the orator to the solicitations of his friends, of a copy for publication, there are at least two errors which would favor a verdict of damages in an action for assault and battery upon old Priscian. We allude to the substitution of 'will' for 'shall,' andvice versa. Speaking of days sacred to Liberty, the Sabbath-days of Freedom, the orator remarks: 'All nations, where freedom and knowledge have found an asylum, have had such anniversaries; days when the strife and bustle of business have ceased; when all cares being laid aside, and every energyconcentered and tuned in unison to the jubilant strainwhich should arise from hearts grateful to the past for its valor and virtue, and, nerved for the future, prepared to transmit to posterity the preciouscasketof freedom unsullied by anycloudof dishonor, and unsoiled by anyloselwhether from domestic or foreign hands.' A style like this 'permeatesthe inmost recesses' of the realms of taste, Mr.Giles,'allow us to say.' A common error is here forcibly alluded to by the orator: 'We are apt to talk of our release from Great Britain on the fourth of July, 1776, as a 'liberation from slavery.' Weneverwere in slavery. As men, as Anglo-Saxons, as subjects of the British empire, we, in this country, were always freemen, and never yielded our birth-right; it was the attempt to curtail our rights, to interfere with our domestic polity, and to check our career of greatness, that led to the Declaration of Independence; but the eternal and immutable truths of that sacred instrument were written upon our hearts, were embodied in the colonial charters and institutions, were the household words of the nation for generations before they were penned by a committee of Congress. Every where, for a century and more previous to the date of our Independence, in the primary assemblies of the people, in the legislative halls, in judicial tribunals, from the press, and by word of mouth, the colonists knew and proclaimed their rights; and thus Great Britain came to believe that we were determined on severing every tie which bound us to the land from whence we came. Does this look like slavery?' We commend this oration warmly to our readers, for its truly American tendency and spirit.

'Life and Speeches of Henry Clay.'—Twosuperbvolumes thus entitled, executed in a style of typographical neatness which would be remarkable in any other press save that of the printer,Dickinsonof Boston, have just been issued by Messrs.Robert P. Bixby and Companyof this city. They reach us at a late hour; leaving us only time and space to state, that here, in addition to a copious biography, are gathered together a far larger and better collection of Mr.Clay'spublic performances than has heretofore been given to the public. The speeches, addresses, etc., amount to eighty in number; and cover all the ground, and embrace all the prominent events, of his public life. 'No labor,' says the compiler, in an inflated and carelessly written preface, 'has been spared in seeking for them; and it is believed that few if any which have been reported will be found wanting in the collection.' A brief but comprehensive memoir is prefixed to each, illustrative of the subject and occasion on which it was delivered, and the fate of the question. Mr.Clay'seloquence, however, is said to be of that order, that no written or verbal report of his words can do any justice to it. The ease of his delivery, the music of his unsurpassed voice, and the 'grace beyond the reach of art' which characterizes his carriage and gesture, are described as calculated to win the applause of all who have ever had the good fortune to hear him in public debate. We must not neglect to notice the pictorial attractions of these volumes. They contain a full-length portrait of Mr.Clay; a view of his birth-place in Virginia; of his present seat at Ashland, Kentucky; and of the fine monument erected in his honor, near Wheeling, Virginia; the whole transferred to steel from original paintings, by our excellent engraver, Mr.Dick. The volumes are destined to a wide sale.

'The Bland Papers.'—We have received from the hands of Mr.H. Barnum, of Virginia, a copy of a handsome book, of some two hundred and ninety pages, printed at Petersburg, Virginia, bearing the title of 'TheBlandPapers; being a selection from the manuscripts ofTheodorick Bland, Jr., of Prince George county, Virginia. To which are prefixed an Introduction, and a Memoir of ColonelBland. Edited byCharles Campbell.' The volumes before us contain a great number of important manuscripts and letters connected with our revolutionary struggle, written by persons of the highest distinction, from GeneralWashingtondownward, whose confidence and friendship, we may add, ColonelBlandhad the happiness to enjoy, without abatement or interruption, during his whole life. We anticipate no small degree of pleasure from the perusal of these rare and accidentally-discovered documents. The work is divided into three parts, with an appendix. The three parts consist wholly of letters; the appendix comprises not only letters but other miscellaneous writings, such as military orders, congressional papers, etc. The first part is composed of correspondence held prior to the revolutionary war; the second part of correspondence held during the war; and the third part of correspondence held subsequently. The 'BlandPapers' are on sale in this city at Messrs.Bartlett and Welford's, Number seven, Astor-House.

New Poem, by Robert Tyler, Esq.—The BrothersHarperhave published, quite in a model style of drawing-paper and typography, a poem byRobert Tyler, Esq., entitled 'Death, or Medorus' Dream.' We receive the volume at the moment of closing our pages, and have not as yet found time to examine it with a leisurely eye. If we may judge of its character, however, from the extract entitled 'Death,' which appeared originally in these pages, and which was widely copied and commended, we may safely predict that the poem will find favor with the public, and add to the author's reputation. We shall recur to the volume on another and more convenient occasion.

FOOTNOTES:[A]'Thysoul was like a star, and dwelt apart.'—Wordsworth's Sonnet To Milton.[B]In England there is but one Duke who is universally and deservedly known as 'THEDuke.'

[A]'Thysoul was like a star, and dwelt apart.'—Wordsworth's Sonnet To Milton.

[B]In England there is but one Duke who is universally and deservedly known as 'THEDuke.'

Transcriber's note:Minor typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed.Mismatched quotes are not fixed if it's not sufficiently clear where the missing quote should be placed.The cover for the eBook version of this book was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.Page 230: "but gave her hand to John, then run to"—the transcriber has changed "run" to "ran".

Minor typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed.

Mismatched quotes are not fixed if it's not sufficiently clear where the missing quote should be placed.

The cover for the eBook version of this book was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

Page 230: "but gave her hand to John, then run to"—the transcriber has changed "run" to "ran".

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