'Itis to dwell withinA world of the young heart's creation, brightAnd brilliant as 'tis false and fleeting, whereAll seems a beauteous fairy-land; to markNo varied season and no flight of time,Save in the weary absence of the loved one;To live but in the atmosphere he breathes.To gaze upon his eyes as on the lightThat beacons us to bliss, the only sunOf our unreal world; in the sad hoursOf absence to be filled with thousand thoughtsOf tenderness, that to repeat we deemWill make the hours of meeting more delicious;Yet when that time is come, to feel they areUnutterable; then to count the moments,And watch his coming as the early dawnOf an untried existence; (is not loveA new existence?) yet when he is come,To feel that deep, oppressive sense of blissWeighing upon the heart, that we could wishTo find our joy less perfect. This is love!'
'Itis to dwell withinA world of the young heart's creation, brightAnd brilliant as 'tis false and fleeting, whereAll seems a beauteous fairy-land; to markNo varied season and no flight of time,Save in the weary absence of the loved one;To live but in the atmosphere he breathes.To gaze upon his eyes as on the lightThat beacons us to bliss, the only sunOf our unreal world; in the sad hoursOf absence to be filled with thousand thoughtsOf tenderness, that to repeat we deemWill make the hours of meeting more delicious;Yet when that time is come, to feel they areUnutterable; then to count the moments,And watch his coming as the early dawnOf an untried existence; (is not loveA new existence?) yet when he is come,To feel that deep, oppressive sense of blissWeighing upon the heart, that we could wishTo find our joy less perfect. This is love!'
No sneers, if you please, gentlemen bachelors of the incorrigible class; no 'pshaws!' ye 'paired but not matched' people, at encountering here these tender tributes of the heart; for the lover, where is he not? 'Wherever parents look round upon their children, there he has been; wherever children are at play together, there he soon will be; wherever there are roofs under which men dwell, wherever there is an atmosphere vibrating with human voices, there is the lover, and there is his lofty worship going on. True love continues and will continue to send up its homage amidst the meditations of every eventide, and the busy hum of noon, and 'the song of the morning stars.' . . . If the unhappy young man who has recently filled the journals of the metropolis with the details of his folly and crime could, before yielding to temptation, have looked in upon the state-prisoners at Sing-Sing, as we did the other day, surely he would have shrunk back from the vortex before him. Poor wretches, in their best estate! How narrow their cells; how ceaseless their toil; what a negation of comfort their whole condition! It was a sweltering August day, breathless and oppressive; but there was no rest for the eight hundred unhappy convicts who plied their never-ending tasks within those walls. Stealthy glances from half-raised eyes; pale countenances, stamped with meek submission, or gleaming with powerless hate or impotent malignity; and 'hard labor' in the fullest sense, were the main features of the still-life scene, as we passed through the several work-shops. But what a picture was presented as their occupants came swarming into the open court-yard at sound of the bell, to proceed to their cells with their dinner! From the thick atmosphere of the carpet and rug-shops, leaving theclack of shuttles, the dull thump of the 'weaver's beam,' and the long, confused perspective of cords, and pullies, and patterns, and multitudinous 'harness,' they poured forth; from murky smithys, streamed the imps ofVulcan, grim as the dark recesses from which they emerged; from doors which open upon interminable rows of close-set benches burst forth the knights of the awl and hammer; the rub-a-dub of the cooper's mallet, the creak of his shaving-knife, were still; the stone-hammer was silent; and the court-yard was full of that striped crew! God of compassion! what a sight it was, to see that motley multitude take up, in gangs, their humiliating march! Huge negroes, weltering in the heat, were interspersed among 'the lines;' hands crimson with murder rested upon the shoulders of beings young alike in years and crime; the victim of bestiality pressed against the heart-broken tool of the scathless villain; andallwere blended in one revolting mass of trained soldiers of guilt; their thousand legs moving as the leg of one man: all in silence, save the peculiar sound of the sliding tread, grating not less upon the ear than the ground. One by one, they took their wooden pails of dingy and amphibious-looking 'grub,' and passed on, winding up the stairs of the different stories, and streaming along the narrow corridors to their solitary cells. It was too much for the tender heart of poor E., this long procession of the gangs. As they passed on in slow succession, her lip began to quiver; and one after another drops of pity rolled down her cheek. 'All these,' said she to the keeper, 'had a mother, who looked upon their childhood, and blessed their innocence! Ah! how many infant feet, softer than velvet to the touch, have been pressed to maternal lips, that now shuffle along these prison-isles!' There spoke 'the mother;' and with her 'gentle words of pity' we take our leave of the State's-prison and its unhappy inmates. * * *Thelove of literature is a beneficial and noble propensity of soul. 'It cannot be doubted,' writes the accomplishedMary Clavers, 'that every accession of intellectual light carries with it an increase of happiness; happiness which depends not in any great degree upon the course of public events, and not, beyond a certain limited extent, upon the smiles of fortune. Those debasing and embittering prejudices which must ever wait upon ignorance, melt away in the rays of mental illumination, and every departed prejudice leaves open a new inlet for happiness. I may be considered an enthusiast, but it is my deliberate conviction that next to religion—heart-felt, operative religion—a true love of reading is the best softener of the asperities of life, the best consoler under its inevitable ills.'Hood, writing recently 'from his bed' to the Secretary of a provincial Athenæum, of which he had been elected a 'patron,' deposes to the comfort and 'blessing that literature can prove in seasons of sickness and sorrow; how generous mental food can atone for a meagre diet; 'rich fare on paper, for short commons on the cloth.' Although ill, and condemned to lenten fare, animal food being strictly interdicted, yet the 'feast of reason and the flow of soul' were still his. 'Denied beef, I hadBul-wer andCow-per; forbidden mutton, there wasLamb; and in lieu of pork,BaconorHogg.' Eschewing wine, he had still hisButler; and in the absence of liquor, all thechoice spirits, fromTom BrowntoTom Moore. Confined physically to water, he had yet not only the best of 'home-made' but the champaigne ofMoliere, the hock ofSchiller, and the sherry ofCervantes:
'Depressedbodily by the fluid that damps every thing, I got intellectually elevated withMilton, a little merry withSwift, or rather jolly withRabelais, whose Pantagruel, by the way, is quite equal to the best gruel with rum in it. So far can literature palliate or compensate for gastronomical privations. But there are other evils, great and small, in this world, which try the stomach less than the head, and the temper, and ill winds that blow with the pertinacity of monsoon. Of these, Providence has allotted me a full share; but still, paradoxical as it may sound, my burthen has been greatly lightened by a load of books. Many, many a dreary, weary hour have I got over; many a mental or bodily annoyance forgotten, by help of the tragedies and comedies of our dramatists and novelists! Many a trouble has been soothed by the still small voice of the moral philosopher; many a dragon-like care charmed to sleep by the sweet song of the poet! For all which I cry incessantly, not aloud, but in my heart. 'Thanks and honor to the glorious masters of the pen, and the great inventors of the press!'
'Depressedbodily by the fluid that damps every thing, I got intellectually elevated withMilton, a little merry withSwift, or rather jolly withRabelais, whose Pantagruel, by the way, is quite equal to the best gruel with rum in it. So far can literature palliate or compensate for gastronomical privations. But there are other evils, great and small, in this world, which try the stomach less than the head, and the temper, and ill winds that blow with the pertinacity of monsoon. Of these, Providence has allotted me a full share; but still, paradoxical as it may sound, my burthen has been greatly lightened by a load of books. Many, many a dreary, weary hour have I got over; many a mental or bodily annoyance forgotten, by help of the tragedies and comedies of our dramatists and novelists! Many a trouble has been soothed by the still small voice of the moral philosopher; many a dragon-like care charmed to sleep by the sweet song of the poet! For all which I cry incessantly, not aloud, but in my heart. 'Thanks and honor to the glorious masters of the pen, and the great inventors of the press!'
Isn'tLawa very curious thing, take it altogether? An adept in it must needs know all the precedents, all the legal discussions and litigations; must read innumerable volumes, filled with innumerable subtleties and cohesions, and written in an unintelligible jargon; must study rules by which a certain class of future events shall be judged, when those events can only be partially and imperfectly foreseen; a rule which never varies, while the cases never agree; a law which is general while the cases are individual; a law where the penalty is uniform, while the justice or injustice of the case is continually different. Who 'in view of these things' can wonder that the worse is often made to appear the better reason? Does not a lawyer triumph most, and acquire most fame, when he can gain a cause in the very teeth of the law he professes to support and revere? Who is the greatest lawyer? Not he who can most enlighten, but he who can most perplex and confound the understanding and embroil and mislead the intellect of judge and jury. We have before us a striking illustration of these remarks, in an unsettled case in the Court of Errors, on an appeal from a decree of the chancellor. A wife and mother, well strickenin years, leaves the bed and board of her husband, in consequence of long-continued ill treatment, and by 'her next friend' sues for alimony. Her husband, it appears in evidence, is an 'unclean beast' personally; moreover, he throws his tea-cup at her at the table; will not permit her to have a fire in the room in which she is ill, though it is in the depth of winter, but opens doors and windows to freeze her out; orders all the beds taken down, that she may not sleep; goes himself about the house at timesin puris naturalibus; threatens to throw his wife into the well; when she is seated on a chair, pushes her out of it, and when she takes another, pushes her out of that also, and so forth. Now reader, it would amuse you to look over the 'Points on the part of the Apellant' in this case. Byhis'next friend,' the attorney, he complains that vice-chancellors are exceeding their credentials in assuming to be 'Chesterfieldian censors of the lesser morals.' He admits indeed that the husband was 'uncourteous, in rudely throwing his tea-cup instead of handing it respectfully to the lady-in-waiting,' meaning the wife aforesaid; that he was guilty of 'impoliteness, in capriciously commanding a change of chairs;' that he certainly did use 'aninconsiderate expressionconcerning the well;' but that in driving his wife out of her sick room, by opening all the doors and windows on a cold winter-day, he was only 'enforcing wholesome exercise as a substitute for prejudicial inaction!' All these examples, let us add, are of thelesserabuses and grievances which the unhappy woman suffered, year after year; yet the 'deeds without a name' are softened or defended with equal plausibility and ingenuity. The counsel for the appellant objects to the interference of the law-officers with such matters. 'Courts of chancery,' says he, with true Johnsonian grandiloquence, 'cannot, like ecclesiastical tribunals or inquisitions, regulate, by means of auricular confession and domiciliary visitation, connubial rights and duties! The chancellor's doctrine would perpetuate wordy wars and family feuds, and impart to conjugal caterwauling more than feline vitality!' But hold; we are 'interfering between man and wife,' an injudicious act, as 'tis said. * * * 'D. G.'s 'Height of Impudence' (it isnot'new') reminds us of an incident which occurred in the hearing of a friend at one of our cheap metropolitan eating-houses last winter. A tall, raw boned Hibernian called for a dish of pork-and-beans. 'Let it be 'most all pork, and plenty of beans,' said he; and a liberal supply was placed smoking before him. Before he had gorged his fill, he called for more bread; it was given him, and soon disappeared, with the remainder of his dish. He then called for another slice, and was piling the butter in pyramids upon small pieces of the same, when the waiter, who had been eyeing him closely, and who thought the repast 'rather too much for a shilling,' addressed him with: 'Mister, that butter cost two shillings and sixpence a pound.' The huge feeder said nothing, but proceeded to pile about a quarter of a pound of it on a small crust of bread, placed it in his mouth, rolled it for a time 'as a sweet morsel under his tongue,' and then remarked: 'Well, I should say 'twaswell wor-r-th it!' His main anxiety appeared to be, to convince the waiter that his principal had not been 'taken in' by the vender. * * *Wepromised that our readers should renew their acquaintance with 'Hugh Trevor;' accordingly we condense a scene or two from that remarkable work. Going down St. James'-street, London, one evening, with a person who has treated him with much civility, our hero is run violently against by an accomplice of his companion, knocked down, and robbed of all his money. His 'civil' friend leaves him in the lurch, and he seeks his lodgings, there being no remedy for his loss. To divert his mind, he repairs to the theatre, and takes his stand among the crowd which surround the entrance. He observes that the people about him seem watchful of each other; and presently the cry of 'Take care of your pockets!' renews his fears; and putting his hand to his fob, he misses his watch! Looking eagerly around, he fixes his eyes upon his quondam friend, who had aided in robbing him:
'Theblood mantled in my face. 'You have stolen my watch,' said I. He could not immediately escape, and made no reply, but turned pale, looked at me as if entreating silence and commiseration, and put a watch into my hand. I felt a momentary compassion, and he presently made his retreat. His retiring did but increase the press of the crowd, so that it was impossible for me so much as to lift up my arm: I therefore continued, as the safest way, to hold the watch in my hand. Soon afterward the door opened, and I hurried it into my waistcoat pocket: for I was obliged to make the best use of all my limbs, that I might not be thrown down and trodden underfoot. At length, after very uncommon struggles, I made my way to the money door, paid, and entered the pit. After taking breath and gazing around me, I sat down and inquired of my neighbors how soon the play would begin? I was told in an hour. This new delay occasioned me to put my hand in my pocket and take out my watch, which as I supposed had been returned by the thief. But, good Heavens! what was my surprise when in lieu of my own plain watch, in a green chagrin-case, the one I was now possessed of was set round with diamonds! And, instead of ordinary steel and brass, its appendages were a weighty gold chain and seals! My astonishment was great beyond expression! I opened it to examine the work, and found it was capped. I pressed upon the nut and it immediately struck the hour. It was a repeater!'
'Theblood mantled in my face. 'You have stolen my watch,' said I. He could not immediately escape, and made no reply, but turned pale, looked at me as if entreating silence and commiseration, and put a watch into my hand. I felt a momentary compassion, and he presently made his retreat. His retiring did but increase the press of the crowd, so that it was impossible for me so much as to lift up my arm: I therefore continued, as the safest way, to hold the watch in my hand. Soon afterward the door opened, and I hurried it into my waistcoat pocket: for I was obliged to make the best use of all my limbs, that I might not be thrown down and trodden underfoot. At length, after very uncommon struggles, I made my way to the money door, paid, and entered the pit. After taking breath and gazing around me, I sat down and inquired of my neighbors how soon the play would begin? I was told in an hour. This new delay occasioned me to put my hand in my pocket and take out my watch, which as I supposed had been returned by the thief. But, good Heavens! what was my surprise when in lieu of my own plain watch, in a green chagrin-case, the one I was now possessed of was set round with diamonds! And, instead of ordinary steel and brass, its appendages were a weighty gold chain and seals! My astonishment was great beyond expression! I opened it to examine the work, and found it was capped. I pressed upon the nut and it immediately struck the hour. It was a repeater!'
It will not greatly puzzle the reader, we may presume, to conjecture what this adroit movement on the part of the pick-pocket ultimately led to; nor will he fail to recognize in the following limning a portrait of more than one character of these times. Mr.Gliblyis entertaining Mr.Trevorwith a running commentary upon some of the prominent personages who enter the theatre:
'There,' said he pointing, is a Mr.Migrate; a famous clerical character, and as strange an original as any this metropolis affords. He is not entitled to make a figure in the world either by his riches, rank, or understanding; but with an effrontery peculiar to himself he will knock at any man's door, though a perfect stranger, ask him questions, give him advice, and tell him he will call again to give him more on the first opportunity. By this means he is acquainted with every body, but knows nobody; is always talking, yet never says any thing; is perpetually putting some absurd interrogation, but before it is possible he should understand the answer, puts another. His desire to be informed torments himself and every man of his acquaintance, which is almost every man he meets: yet, though he lives inquiring, he will die consummately ignorant. His brain is a kind of rag shop, receiving and returning nothing but rubbish. It is as difficult to affront as to get rid of him: and though you fairly bid him begone to-day, he will knock at your door, march into your house, and if possible keep you answering his unconnected, fifty times answered queries to-morrow. He is the friend and the enemy of all theories and of all parties: and tortures you to decide for him which he ought to choose. As far as he can be said to have opinions, they are crude and contradictory in the extreme; so that in the same breath he will defend and oppose the same system. With all this confusion of intellect, there is no man so wise but he will prescribe to him how he ought to act. He has been a great traveller, and continually abuses his own countrymen for not adopting the manners and policy of other nations. He pretends to be the universal friend of man, a philanthropist on the largest scale, yet is so selfish that he would willingly see the world perish, if he could but secure paradise to himself. This is the only consistent trait in his character. In the same sentence, he frequently joins the most fulsome flattery and some insidious question, that asks the person whom he addresses if he do not confess himself to be both knave and fool. Delicacy of sentiment is one of his pretensions, though his tongue is licentious, his language coarse, and he is occasionally seized with fits of the most vulgar abuse. He declaims against dissimulation, yet will smilingly accost the man whom——'Ha!Migrate!How do you do? Give me leave to introduce you to Mr.Trevor, a friend of mine, a gentleman and a scholar; just come from Oxford. Your range of knowledge and universal intimacy with men and things, may be useful to him; and his erudite acquisitions, and philosophical research, will be highly gratifying to an inquirer like you. An intercourse between you must be mutually pleasing and beneficial, and I am happy to bring you acquainted.' This, addressed to the man whom he had been satirizing so unsparingly, was inconceivable! The unabashed facility with which he veered from calumny to compliment, and that too after he had accused the man whom he accosted of dissimulation, struck me dumb. I had perhaps seen something like it before, but nothing half so perfect in its kind. It doubly increased my stock of knowledge; it afforded a new instance of what the world is, and a new incitement to ask how it became so?'
'There,' said he pointing, is a Mr.Migrate; a famous clerical character, and as strange an original as any this metropolis affords. He is not entitled to make a figure in the world either by his riches, rank, or understanding; but with an effrontery peculiar to himself he will knock at any man's door, though a perfect stranger, ask him questions, give him advice, and tell him he will call again to give him more on the first opportunity. By this means he is acquainted with every body, but knows nobody; is always talking, yet never says any thing; is perpetually putting some absurd interrogation, but before it is possible he should understand the answer, puts another. His desire to be informed torments himself and every man of his acquaintance, which is almost every man he meets: yet, though he lives inquiring, he will die consummately ignorant. His brain is a kind of rag shop, receiving and returning nothing but rubbish. It is as difficult to affront as to get rid of him: and though you fairly bid him begone to-day, he will knock at your door, march into your house, and if possible keep you answering his unconnected, fifty times answered queries to-morrow. He is the friend and the enemy of all theories and of all parties: and tortures you to decide for him which he ought to choose. As far as he can be said to have opinions, they are crude and contradictory in the extreme; so that in the same breath he will defend and oppose the same system. With all this confusion of intellect, there is no man so wise but he will prescribe to him how he ought to act. He has been a great traveller, and continually abuses his own countrymen for not adopting the manners and policy of other nations. He pretends to be the universal friend of man, a philanthropist on the largest scale, yet is so selfish that he would willingly see the world perish, if he could but secure paradise to himself. This is the only consistent trait in his character. In the same sentence, he frequently joins the most fulsome flattery and some insidious question, that asks the person whom he addresses if he do not confess himself to be both knave and fool. Delicacy of sentiment is one of his pretensions, though his tongue is licentious, his language coarse, and he is occasionally seized with fits of the most vulgar abuse. He declaims against dissimulation, yet will smilingly accost the man whom——'Ha!Migrate!How do you do? Give me leave to introduce you to Mr.Trevor, a friend of mine, a gentleman and a scholar; just come from Oxford. Your range of knowledge and universal intimacy with men and things, may be useful to him; and his erudite acquisitions, and philosophical research, will be highly gratifying to an inquirer like you. An intercourse between you must be mutually pleasing and beneficial, and I am happy to bring you acquainted.' This, addressed to the man whom he had been satirizing so unsparingly, was inconceivable! The unabashed facility with which he veered from calumny to compliment, and that too after he had accused the man whom he accosted of dissimulation, struck me dumb. I had perhaps seen something like it before, but nothing half so perfect in its kind. It doubly increased my stock of knowledge; it afforded a new instance of what the world is, and a new incitement to ask how it became so?'
A single passage more, which will have especial interest for the correspondent to whom we are indebted for the capital sketch of 'Love-Making in Boarding-Houses,' must close our excerpts. A maiden of an uncertain age is making a 'dead set' at our hero:
'Shewas sure I must find myself a great favorite; I was a favorite with every body; and, for her part, she did not wonder at it. 'Not but it is a great pity,' added she, aside, 'that you are such a rake, Mr.Trevor.' This repeated charge very justly alarmed my morality, and I very seriously began a refutation. But in vain. 'I might say what I would; she could see very plainly I was a prodigious rake, and nothing could convince her to the contrary. Though she had heard that your greatest rakes make the best husbands. Perhaps it might be true, but she did not think she could be persuaded to make the venture. She did not know what might happen, to be sure; though she really did not think she could. She could not conceive how it was, but some how or another she always found something agreeable about rakes. It was a great pity they should be rakes, but she verily believed the women loved them, and encouraged them in their seducing arts. For her part, she would keep her fingers out of the fire as long as she could: but, if it were her destiny to love a rake, what could she do? Nobody could help being in love, and it would be very hard indeed to call what one cannot help, a crime.'
'Shewas sure I must find myself a great favorite; I was a favorite with every body; and, for her part, she did not wonder at it. 'Not but it is a great pity,' added she, aside, 'that you are such a rake, Mr.Trevor.' This repeated charge very justly alarmed my morality, and I very seriously began a refutation. But in vain. 'I might say what I would; she could see very plainly I was a prodigious rake, and nothing could convince her to the contrary. Though she had heard that your greatest rakes make the best husbands. Perhaps it might be true, but she did not think she could be persuaded to make the venture. She did not know what might happen, to be sure; though she really did not think she could. She could not conceive how it was, but some how or another she always found something agreeable about rakes. It was a great pity they should be rakes, but she verily believed the women loved them, and encouraged them in their seducing arts. For her part, she would keep her fingers out of the fire as long as she could: but, if it were her destiny to love a rake, what could she do? Nobody could help being in love, and it would be very hard indeed to call what one cannot help, a crime.'
Wemust commend the cogent arguments in favor of national theft, contained in the article on 'International Copy-right' in preceding pages, to the attention of the reader. It strikes us as one of the most tenable positions yet taken by the opponents of an exceedingly 'impolitic' literary measure. By the by; a new 'American Copy-right Club' has been recently established, withWilliam Cullen BryantandGulian C. Verplanck, Esquires, for its president and vice-president; and for its secretaries and executive committee, several of the most prominent advocates of the proposed law to be found in our midst; including, we are glad to perceive, Mr.Puffer Hopkins Mathews, who has labored more abundantly than they all in the good cause, but with little success hitherto, we regret to be obliged to add. His metropolitan lecture last winter could scarcely have realized his own expectations; though it was not difficult to meet those of the public. A friend of ours who repaired early to the Tabernacle, with a ticket bearing a number above twelve hundred, found not three-score auditors in that capacious edifice. It is equally certain, that the following 'unkindest cut of all' at Mr.Mathews'sinternational copy-rightessays, which reaches us in the last number of the 'Dublin University Magazine,' embodies the opinion generally entertained of those efforts on this side the Atlantic: 'While on the subject of America, we would wish to add a line of a certainCornelius Mathews, who writes pamphlets and delivers lectures in New-York, on the subject of an international copy-right law. Such is the complex involution of his style; such the headlong impetuosity with which tropes, figures, and metaphors run down, jostle, and overturn each other, that we have puzzled ourselves in vain to detect his meaning or the gist of his argument. Giants, elephants, 'tiger-mothers,' and curricles; angels, frigates, baronial castles, and fish-ponds, 'dance through his writings in all the mazes of metaphorical confusion;' and however desirous we may feel that a law of copy-right might protect British authors from American piracy, yet as one of the craft we boldly say: 'Non defensoribus istis! non tali auxilio!' Let the question be put forward manfully and intelligibly; let it not be a piece of Indian jugglery, performed byCornelius Mathews, but the plain and simple acknowledgement that literary property is property, and as such has its rights, sacred and inviolable.' We have quoted this passage for the purpose of showing that our own opinion of Mr.Mathews'srambling thoughts and disjointed style finds abundant confirmation wherever his 'writings' areforced into temporary notice. * * * 'Servedyou right!' Carelessness like your's deserved just such a result. You'll not be guilty of a similar act of folly very soon, ''tan't likely:'
I amdown in the mouth, I am out at the pockets!Ah, me! I've no pockets at all;And all I have left, is a braid and a locket;That's all!It was rather solemn; quite touching, alas!As she got on a stool to be higher,I acted, no doubt, the entire jack-ass—Yes, entire!Arms and lips came together, and staid, as I reckon,With as much as you please of a linger,Till a finger was seen at the window to beckon,A finger!We'd forgotten the shutters!—the world was forgot,Till we saw that sign, from her father,Which was rather a poser, just then, was it not?'Twas, rather!He knew I was ruined—all gone to smash!And he was a man of that stamp,Would call you a scamp if you hadn't the cash—Ay, a scamp!His bonds and investments—not in such brainsAs a poet makes up into verses;His remarks—upon never so beautiful strains,Were curses!I called the next day, but the stool was removed,And the delicate foot, with a twirl,Walked off somewhere with the girl that I loved—The girl!Hang her! hang him! hang the whole planet!The stars!—they do hang—well, hang every body,And hang me, if I ain't a noddy —d ——n it!A noddy!
I amdown in the mouth, I am out at the pockets!Ah, me! I've no pockets at all;And all I have left, is a braid and a locket;That's all!
It was rather solemn; quite touching, alas!As she got on a stool to be higher,I acted, no doubt, the entire jack-ass—Yes, entire!
Arms and lips came together, and staid, as I reckon,With as much as you please of a linger,Till a finger was seen at the window to beckon,A finger!
We'd forgotten the shutters!—the world was forgot,Till we saw that sign, from her father,Which was rather a poser, just then, was it not?'Twas, rather!
He knew I was ruined—all gone to smash!And he was a man of that stamp,Would call you a scamp if you hadn't the cash—Ay, a scamp!
His bonds and investments—not in such brainsAs a poet makes up into verses;His remarks—upon never so beautiful strains,Were curses!
I called the next day, but the stool was removed,And the delicate foot, with a twirl,Walked off somewhere with the girl that I loved—The girl!
Hang her! hang him! hang the whole planet!The stars!—they do hang—well, hang every body,And hang me, if I ain't a noddy —d ——n it!A noddy!
'Theblank-versehaltsfor it' in the lines entitled 'Mournful Memories.' Beside, the tendency of the sentiment is not, we think, a useful one. Were all the dangers or ills of life to present themselves to the imagination in a body, drawn up in battle array, the prospect would indeed be dreadful; but coming individually, they are far less formidable, and successively as they occur are conquered. Foreboded, their aspect is terrific; but seen in retrospect, they frequently excite present satisfaction and future fortitude. 'It is with human life as with the phases of nature, whose regular course is calm and orderly; tempests and troubles being but lapses from the accustomed sobriety with which Providence works out the destined end of all things.' * * *Muchis said of the 'freedom' or 'licentiousness' of our public press; but we are far behind the press of London in this regard. Look for example at the comments in some of the London journals upon the recent marriage of the Hereditary Duke of Mecklenburg, a 'royal pensioner,' with the PrincessAugustaof Cambridge. The produce of his dukedom is described by the 'Charivari' as consisting of 'nothing in particular; its revenue purely nominal.' The wedding is turned into the broadest ridicule. The Duke had an audience of himself in the morning in the glass of his dressing-case; his 'master of the wardrobe, who was also comptroller of the leather portmanteau and groom of the hat-box,' being the only person in attendance. 'He wore thewhite seamof the German order of princes, and was looking remarkably well—as all the annuitants of England contrive generally to look.' The ceremony was performed in the usual style of royalty. And when the prelate who performed the office came to the words 'With all my worldly goods I thee endow,' the Duke of Cambridge, who always thinks out loud, kept up a running accompaniment: 'Well, that's capital! worldly goods, indeed! I should like to see some of 'em!' and other pleasant observations; all which were taken to be a gush of fervent ejaculations from the father of the bride, invoking the happiness of the newly-married couple. The happy pair set out for Kew, to which place the Duke's Lord of the Luggage had already conveyed his carpet-bag! Thetrousseauof the Princess had been laid out at Cambridge House for the inspection of the bride's friends; 'but the illustrious bridegroom, with more modesty, laid outhistrousseau on the bed in his private apartment, previous to packing.' Various articles are enumerated; among the rest, 'a splendid uniform for state occasions, consisting of the superb coat of an officer of the Blues, with Grenadier trowsers and a Lifeguards-man's helmet;' 'twelve false collars; nine pairs of cotton socks; two stocks, with long ends,' etc., etc. Such an invasion of aristocratic privacy may be termed 'licentiousness of the press' with as much truth, we conceive, as any of the gossipry of the American newspapers. * * *Inlooking lately over the 'Souvenirs Historiques' ofNapoleonandMaria Louisa, by the BaronMeneval, his 'ancient secretary,' we were forcibly impressed with a passage which depicts the love of the Great Captain for his infant son. The child was brought every morning to his apartment:
'Yes: that cabinet, which saw the origin of so many mighty plans, so many vast and generous schemes of administration, was also witness to the effusions of a father's tenderness. How often have I seen the emperor keeping his son by him as if he were impatient to teach him the art of governing! Whether, seated by the chimney on his favorite sofa, he was engaged in reading an important document, or whether he went to his bureau to sign a despatch, every word of which required to be weighed, his son, seated on his knees, or pressed to his breast, was never a moment away from him. Sometimes, throwing aside the thoughts which occupied his mind, he would lie down on floor beside his beloved boy, playing with him like another child, attentive to every thing that could please or amuse him. The emperor had a sort of apparatus for trying military manœuvres: it consisted of plates of wood fashioned to represent battalions, regiments, and divisions. When he wanted to try some new combinations of troops, or some new evolution, he used to arrange these pieces on the carpet. While he was seriously occupied with the disposition of these pieces, working out some skilful manœuvre which might ensure the success of a battle, the child, lying at his side, would often overthrow his troops, and put into confusion his order of battle, perhaps at the most critical moment. But the emperor would recommence arranging his men with the utmost good humor.'
'Yes: that cabinet, which saw the origin of so many mighty plans, so many vast and generous schemes of administration, was also witness to the effusions of a father's tenderness. How often have I seen the emperor keeping his son by him as if he were impatient to teach him the art of governing! Whether, seated by the chimney on his favorite sofa, he was engaged in reading an important document, or whether he went to his bureau to sign a despatch, every word of which required to be weighed, his son, seated on his knees, or pressed to his breast, was never a moment away from him. Sometimes, throwing aside the thoughts which occupied his mind, he would lie down on floor beside his beloved boy, playing with him like another child, attentive to every thing that could please or amuse him. The emperor had a sort of apparatus for trying military manœuvres: it consisted of plates of wood fashioned to represent battalions, regiments, and divisions. When he wanted to try some new combinations of troops, or some new evolution, he used to arrange these pieces on the carpet. While he was seriously occupied with the disposition of these pieces, working out some skilful manœuvre which might ensure the success of a battle, the child, lying at his side, would often overthrow his troops, and put into confusion his order of battle, perhaps at the most critical moment. But the emperor would recommence arranging his men with the utmost good humor.'
How different the scene with these mimic troops, from that presented by his human legions! No long columns of smoke streamed up fromtheirline of march, indicating burning villages and fields trampled in the dust; no explosions of artillery; no thundering of cavalry; no steel clanging with steel in the desperate conflict of life for life; no smoke, nor darkness, nor infernal din; no groans of the dying; no piercing shouts, revealing the last fierce efforts of human nature, wrought up to the infuriated recklessness of revenge and despair. None of these! Not greater was the difference between that infant and his sire! Yet itisa pleasant feature in the character ofNapoleon, his love of children. 'He entered,' says MissBalcombe, who knew him so intimately at St. Helena, 'into all the feelings of young people, and when with them was a mere child, and a most amusing one. I think his love of children, and the delight he felt in their society; and that too at the most calamitous period of his life, when a cold and unattachable nature would have been abandoned to the indulgence of selfish misery; in itself speaks volumes for his goodness of heart.' * * *Ah!yes; we understand your insinuation, dear Sir, and 'possiblymaywish that we had let you alone.' And yet, here is your letter before us,requesting'an opinion of the merits of your piece, in the entertaining gossip of the Editor's Table!' How doesthatread? Our correspondent, if his ability were equal to his inclination, would doubtless make us feel the truth of this scrap of advice from one who was a judge of human nature: 'Let no man despise the opinion ofblockheads. In every society they form the majority, and are generally the most powerful and influential. Laugh not at their laborious disquisitions on the weather, and their wonderful discoveries of things which every one knows. If you offend a fool, you turn the whole muddy port of his composition into rancid vinegar, and not all the efforts you can make will abate its sourness.' One word here to correspondents generally. We have no pleasure in rejecting a communication, privately or publicly. Often have we sat, with a 'dubious' paper in hand, hesitating for an hour whether to 'print or burn;' thinking of the fervent wishes of the writer, and the labor that he had bestowed upon his production. Every part, every period, had perhaps been considered and re-considered, with unremitting anxiety. He had revised, corrected, expunged, again produced and again erased, with endless iteration. Points and commas themselves perhaps had been settled with repeated and jealous solicitude. All this may be, and yet one's article be indifferent, or unsuited to our pages. Give us credit for candor, gentlemen, as well as for plain-speaking * * *Hereare two clever epigrams; the first from a contributor to whom the reader has heretofore been indebted for several caustictersitiesin its kind; the second from a friend who does not 'confess the cape' of authorship:
'Whyis a belle, attired for public gaze,Like to a ship? She 'goes about' in stays.'
'Whyis a belle, attired for public gaze,Like to a ship? She 'goes about' in stays.'
We can enlighten the ignorance of our Port-Chester friend. Ladies in this meridian eschew 'stays,' as he calls them. They arepassée, out of date, 'things that were.' 'Hence we view the gr-e-ät necessity there is' of beingau faitto the latest fashion. The ensuing purports to have been written on a 'Yankee Belle.' 'Guessnot,' though; 'tisn't the way of Yankee belles:
'She'sdressed so neatly for the ball,In truth, she's scarcely dressed at all;A fact to Yankees quite distressing,It leaves so little room for guessing!'
'She'sdressed so neatly for the ball,In truth, she's scarcely dressed at all;A fact to Yankees quite distressing,It leaves so little room for guessing!'
'Oh! go 'long, you p'ison critter, you! What d'you mean?' * * *Weshould have published the lines entitled 'What is our Life?' but for someforty lines, the thoughts of which are 'conveyed' entire fromCarlyle. Looking down upon the wilderness of London, the thoughtfulTeufelsdröckhexclaims: 'There in that old city was a live ember of culinary fire put down, say only two thousand years ago; and there, burning more or less triumphantly, with such fuel as the region yielded, it has burnt, and still burns, and thou thyself seest the very smoke thereof.Ah! and the far more mysterious live ember of Vital Fire was then also put down there, and still miraculously burns and spreads.' * * *The Dramais once more in the ascendant. ThePark Theatre, our 'Old Drury,' is a personification of 'The Deformed Transformed.' Externally, it has assumed the aspect of a fine granite temple, in the Doric style of architecture, with a noble statue ofShakspearelording it over the pile; while internally, from pit to ceiling; boxes, walls, proscenium, stage;every thing, in short, is new and beautiful. Mr.Barrydeserves the highest praise for the good taste, the liberality, and the untiring industry which he has brought to bear upon our favorite place of theatrical resort. The house opened withWallack;Wallack, that 'love of a man,' who can never grow old, and who has lost no whit of his power to delight his auditors. He opened in his inimitable 'Rolla' and 'Dashall,' to a house crowded from proscenium to dome with the élite of the metropolis; and he has since gone through his round of characters, including that most touching of modern plays, 'The Rent-Day,' with undiminished popularity.Aproposof thislatter play: a good story is told of its first production in London. The celebratedFarrendeclined a part in it; remarking, that if the piece ran beyond a single night, he would eat an old hat for every time it was played. The play rose to immediate and almost unprecedented popularity. On arriving at the theatre one evening, Mr.Farrenwas informed by the call-boy that Mr.Wallackhad left something on a side-table for him, covered with a large white sheet. 'Hum!' gruntedFarren, 'what is it?' The boy lifted the covering; and behold, ranged in the most exact order, were thirty-six of the dirtiest, shabbiest, 'shocking bad hats' in London!Farrenstarted, and turned angrily to the lad. 'Please, Sir,' said the boy, 'Mr.Wallacksays as how you said, when you refused the part ofCrumbsin 'The Rent-Day,' that if the piece ran beyond a single night, you would eat an old hat; so as it has now been played thirty-seven times, he thinks it right to give you something to eat, afore the meal becomes too large for your digestion!'Farrensaid it 'was all right—and left.' * * *Wellpleased are we to remark the opening of Messrs.Coudert and Porter's English and Classical Lyceum, at Number ninety-five Eighth-street, near Tompkins's-Square. The principals have no superiors; their assistants are of their careful selection, and have their approval. Onthesepoints, therefore, 'enough said.' The situation is delightful, and the terms consistent with the times. Let these gentlemen bepatronized. Ah! that is not the term; but we have no good synonyme for it. We have always detested the word; and especially since we encountered Dr.Johnson's comment upon it, in a letter to LordChesterfield, soon after finishing his immortal Dictionary: 'I entertain, Sir, a very strong prejudice against relying on patrons. Seven years, my Lord, have now passed since I waited in your outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door; during which time I have been pushing on my work, through difficulties of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it at last to the verge of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of favor. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a patron before.' * * *Ourfriend who writes us from Florence (his excellent article is filed for our next) is quite right in his ideas of 'Letters of Introduction.' There is much and exaggerated abuse of this courtesy, emanating from this country. His own case, we can assure him, is by no means a solitary one. We like the frank reply given by a distinguished American to a young, conceited whipster, who sought, through the claims of his father's friendship, to obtain letters to persons of distinction abroad: 'I want,' said he, 'to get letters toScott, toMoore, toSouthey, and toJeffrey. Father would like to have me see them.' 'So shouldI,' replied the expected donor, 'but I don't wishthemto seeyou. Ifthatobjection could be removed, perhaps your wish might be gratified.' It 'was stated at the time' that our young gentleman 'left the presence.' * * *Weare struck with this remark of CountRostoptchin, in his sententious memoirs, in preceding pages: 'I had an involuntary veneration for the sun, and his setting always made me sad.' How often, with kindred emotion, have we stood and gazed at sunset-clouds, with one who now sleeps in his early grave! Saying little, but thinking much, and feeling more; and as the day-god sank below the horizon, reflecting upon the period when all the living world that saw him then, should roll in unconscious dust around him. Oh! the mystery of nature!—the mystery of life!... 'The Puritansvs.The Quakers' isathand andonhand, andwill befor some time, we cal'late. Couldn't 'approve' the sentiments of our Plymouth correspondent, 'any way 'at he can fix it.' We segregate a joke, however, which is worth pickling. 'Why are the Quakers always well-to-do in the world?' asks a Friend of one of the 'world's people.' 'They are chargeable to no man, and yet are always thrifty.' ''Zactly!' was the rejoinder; 'and I'll tell youwhy. The Quakersarerich, that's sartain; and the way of it at first was this: When ourSaviourwas took up onto the top of an exceeding high mounting, theOld Gentlemanoffered him all the riches of the world, if he'd fall down and worship him. 'Twouldn't do: theSavioursaid 'No;' but a Quaker who was standing by, took theOld Knickup: 'FriendBeelzebub,' says he, 'I'll take thy offer!' He did so; and there's been no scursity of money among your folks sence that time!' * * * 'Honorsare easy' with sundry of our correspondents. We perceive that, among others, the 'Mail-Robber' was elected a member of the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Cambridge University, at the late 'commencement' of that institution. 'Served him right;' hedeservedit. We have 'known things of him' that would have brought this visitation upon him before, had we chosen to mention them. 'Justice, though slow, always overtakes,' etc. The proverb is something musty. * * *Wemust be permitted to doubt whether 'bally-ragging,' as poorPowerused to term scolding, is the 'eftest way' for our New-Haven friend, to whose favor we recently alluded. 'Many men of many minds.' A spoonful of molasses will catch more flies than a quart of vinegar; and 'an inch of laugh is worth an ell of moan, in any state of the market.' 'The vices of the times, the vices of society, the vices of literature, require rigid scrutiny and fearless censors.' Very likely; therefore 'Pay away at them!' say we; but excuse us from monopolizing our pages with gloom,groutiness, and grumbling. * * *Wehave omitted to notice the superb annual engraving for the subscribers of the 'Apollo Association,' recently put forth by that popular institution. The subject isVanderlyn's celebrated picture of 'Caius Mariuson the ruins of Carthage.' The engraving is in line, byS. A. Schoff, a native artist, and forms one of the finest specimens of art in its kind ever produced in this country. * * * Mr.Prentice, the well-known Louisville Journalist, is 'down upon' a 'gentleman of some smartness who rejoices in the euphonious name ofPoe,' (a correspondent of ours spells it 'Poh!') for termingCarlyle, in one of his thousand-and-oneMac-Grawlercritiques, 'an ass.' The Kentucky poet and politician thus rejoins: 'We have no more doubt that Mr.Edgar A. Poeis a very good judge of an ass, than we have that he is a very poor judge of such a man asThomas Carlyle. He has no sympathies with the great and wonderful operations ofCarlyle's mind, and is therefore unable to appreciate him. A blind man can describe a rainbow as accurately as Mr.PoecanCarlyle's mind. What Mr.Poelacks in Carlyleism he makes up in jackassism. It is very likely that Mr.Carlyle's disciples are as poor judges of an ass as Mr.Poeis ofCarlyle. Let them not abuse each other, or strive to overcome obstacles which are utterly irremovable. That Mr.Poehas all the native tendencies necessary to qualify him to be a judge of asses, he has given repeated evidences to the public.' 'Nervous, but inelegant!' as Mr.Aspenremarks in 'The Nervous Man.' * * *Canany native citizen of 'The Empire State' peruse the forceful paper under this title, in preceding pages, without a feeling of natural and just pride? For ourselves, born, bred, and educated upon the soil of New-York, we cannot read it without a thrill of gratification, that our 'lines have been cast in pleasant places,' and that we have so 'goodly an heritage.' * * *Wedo not know when we have been more 'horrified' than on reading the following in a London journal: 'Two natives of the cannibal islands of Marquesas have been carried to France. The story runs, that on the voyage one of their fellow-passengers asked them which they liked best, the French or the English? 'The English!' answered the man, smacking his lips; 'they are thefattest.' 'And a great deal moretender,' chimed in the woman, with a grin that exhibited two rows of pointed teeth as sharp as a crocodile's!' * * * 'The Exile's Song,' with the note which accompanied it, came too late for insertion in the present number. It will appear in our next. * * *Thestory of 'The Tobacco-Quid' is as old as the seven hills. What a silly thing it is, to give new names and a newlocaleto an 'ancientMiller,' and at the same time vouch for its entire authenticity and originality! 'O git eöut!' * * *Reader, did you ever see a small puppy bark at an elephant in a menagerie, whereat the dignified beast didn't even deign to flap his leather-apron ears? Did you ever see a stump-tailed ape sporting a Roman toga? And have you seen the 'Annihilation ofDaniel Webster' byCrazy Neal, in a recent newspaper piece of his? Mr.Nealthinks the great orator and statesman ahumbug! He is a judge of the article. * * *Ifthe 'Stanzas to Mary' are a 'little after the style ofWordsworth,' we can only say that theWordsworthschool is not a grammar-school:
——'Upon my browGlooms gathers fast and thick,'
——'Upon my browGlooms gathers fast and thick,'
is not unlike 'Cats eats mice,' or 'Shads is come!' * * *Severalcommunications, among them 'Chronicles of the Past,' Number Two; 'Evening Hymn;' 'The Deity,' etc., will receive attention in our next.
Thomson's Abridgement of Day's Algebra for the use of Schools.—Day's Algebra has sustained a high reputation during a period of fourteen years; a fact sufficiently evinced by the sale of more than forty large editions. In appropriateness of arrangement, perspicuity of expression, and adaptation to the purposes of instruction, whether public or private, it stands, we believe, unrivalled. The highest praise which can be bestowed on a school-book is, that 'it is its own teacher.' By commencing with points so simple that any child of ordinary ability can comprehend them, and advancing step by step, removing every obstacle when it first presents itself, and conducting the student gradually into the more intricate parts of the science, the author makes him master of the subject while he is yet scarcely aware of its difficulties. The exactness of definition and clearness of illustration which characterize Mr.Thomson's 'Abridgement' together with the exclusion of the answers to the problems, (a course indispensable to an independent scholar,) are especially commendable. The method also of completing the square by multiplying the equation by four times the coëfficient of the higher power of the unknown quantity, and adding to both members the square of the coëfficient of the lower power, avoids the introduction of fractional terms, and strikes us as an improvement. The most weighty objection toDay's Algebra has been its paucity of examples. This defect is remedied in the 'Abridgement,' the number of examples being nearly twice as great as in the original work.
'Prayers for the Use of Families.'—Here is a volume of some three hundred pages, containing upward of seventy prayers, designed to meet all conditions of mankind, and all the wants of humanity. The author, Rev.William Jay, of England, has aimed to be very plain and simple in his diction, since prayer admits of no brilliance, and rejects studied ornament. He has not substituted finery for elegance, nor the affectation of art for the eloquence of feeling; but has wisely avoided a strained, inflated style, unintelligible to the ignorant, lamented by the pious, and contemned by the wise. This is as it should be. It is remarkable that in the Bible no prayer is recorded, in which the figure employed is not as familiar as the literal expression. An appendix is added, containing a number of select and original prayers for particular occasions; short addresses, applicable to certain events and circumstances, and which the reader may insert in their proper place in the main prayer, or use at the end of it. A work like this, from a competent pen, may supply with many families an important desideratum. The volume is published by Mr.M. W. Dodd, Brick Church Chapel, opposite the Park.
'The Wyandotte, or the Hutted Knoll,' is the title of Mr.Cooper's last work, recently published by Messrs.Lea and Blanchard, Philadelphia, in two well-executed volumes in the pamphlet-form. It embodies legends of the sufferings of isolated families during the troubled scenes of colonial warfare, which are distinctive in many of their leading facts, if not rigidly true in the details. We gather from the prefatory remarks of the author, that in these volumes he has 'aimed at sketching several distinct varieties of the human race, as true to the governing impulses of their educations, habits, modes of thinking, and natures.' How this aim has been accomplished, we are quite unable to say. We trust however that the friend who transported the work from our table into the country, will at least repay us for the gratification of which he has deprived us, by returning it when he is through with it, that we may be ourselves enlightened, and enabled to enlighten our readers, concerning the character of the work.
Thompson's History of Long-Island.—A second edition—revised and greatly enlarged, and included in two handsome volumes—has just appeared, of Mr.B. F. Thompson's history of Long-Island, from its discovery and settlement to the present time. The work embodies many interesting and important matters, connected with the first settlement of our country and its colonial and revolutionary history; and includes notices of numerous individuals and families, and a particular account of different churches and ministers. In short, the indefatigable author has availed himself of every source of authentic and valuable information which could add to the interest or usefulness of his work; which we should not omit to mention embraces two large and well-executed maps, and is illustrated by numerous lithographic engravings of edifices and other objects of interest on the island; and including the author's 'counterfeit presentment.' Messrs.Gould, Banks and Companyare the publishers.
'The Karen Apostle.'—Messrs.Gould, Kendall, and Lincoln, Boston, have issued in a handsome little volume, 'The Karen Apostle, or Memoir ofKo-Thah-Byu, the first Karen convert; with Notices concerning his Nation. By Rev.Francis Mason, Missionary to the Karens.' The first American edition is revised by Prof.H. J. Ripley, of Newton (Mass.) Theological Seminary. The work is 'sent forth in the hope that the interest which has been felt in behalf of the Karens may be deepened, and that the cause of missions to the heathen in general may be promoted by the striking proof of the power of the gospel exhibited in its pages.' The work is illustrated by maps, in part from manuscript, and by one or two well-executed engravings on wood. The specimens of Karen literature appended to the volume do not afford a very exalted idea of the writings of that sect; nevertheless, they possess a certain interest in the connection which they sustain in the volume.
New Music.—We have before us, from the extensive and popular establishment of Messrs.James L. Hewitt and Company, Broadway, 'Woodside Waltz,' by MissMarion S. McGregor; 'Grand Austerlitz March and Quickstep, arranged as a Duet, for the Piano-forte,' byGeorge W. Hewitt; 'The Alpine Horn, a Tyrollean,' byJohn H. Hewitt; and 'Robin Buff, a Ballad,' the music by Mr.Henry Russell.
'When Thou Wert True.'—This is a very charming Song; the words byF. W. Thomas, Esq., the music byJohn H. Hewitt, inscribed to Mrs.Robert Tyler, and just published byJames L. Hewitt and Company, Broadway. If the noble-looking portrait upon the title-page represents Mrs.Tyler, she is justly entitled to the praises with which the journals have teemed, touching the grace and beauty of her person. The following are the words:
I.