Chapter VI: Part 6

AMERICAN MANNERS AND AMERICAN LITERATURE.--We ask the attention of every right-minded American to the following remarks, which we take the liberty of transcribing from a welcome epistle to the Editor, from one of our most esteemed and popular contributors. The follies which it exposes and the evils which it laments have heretofore formed the themes of papers in this Magazine from the pens of able correspondents, as well as of occasional comment in our own departments; but we do not remember to have seen the subject more felicitously handled than by our friend: 'The crying vice of the nation, and the one which of all others most fastens the charge of inconsistency on our character and professions, is that apish spirit with which we admire and copy every thing of European growth. While we exalt our institutions, character and condition over those of all other nations, and give ourselves 'a name above every name,' is it not supremely absurd for city to vie with city and family with family in adopting the latest fashions in dress and opinions originating in nations which have grown old in profligacy, and abound in the worthless excrescences of society? We profess to be perfectly independent of all control in our thoughts and actions: '_Nullius addicti jurare in verba magistri_.' Yet who more readily than we shout in chorus to the newest modes of thinking ushered into ephemeral life by philosophers across the water? Who adopt so early or carry so far the most outre and preposterous styles of dress invented in Paris, as our American belles and dandies? The newest cut in garments which was hatched in Paris beneath the crescent-moon, her waning rays see carried to its utmost verge in our bustling marts. We follow the revolutions in the configuration of coats, from square to round, and from round to angular, with as scrupulous and painful a precision as if our national honor depended on the issue. Nay, we are usually a little _too_ faithful, and fairly 'out-Herod Herod.' Does the cockney of the 'world's metropolis' compress his toes in boots tapering at an angle of forty degrees? The republican fop promenades Broadway with _his_ pedal extremities squeezed into an angle of thirty; and the corns ensuing he bears with christian fortitude; for does he not find his 'exceeding great reward' in being more fashionable than the Londoner himself? Has the fat of the Siberian bear, or 'thine incomparable oil, Macassar' called forth a thicket of hair on the cheek of the Frenchman, reaching from the cerebral pulse to the submaxillary bone? Instantly the pews of our churches, the boxes of our theatres, and the seats of our legislative halls, are thronged with whey-faced apes, the moisture of whose brains has exuded in nourishing a frowning hedge, of which the dark luxuriance encircles the whole face, resembling the old pictures of the saints wherewith our childhood was amused, encompassed with a glory! When the whiskered 'petit-mâitres' of Hyde-Park shall begin to transport their adorable persons to this new world on a summer's trip, they will be astonished not a little to be stared at on landing through opera-glasses by counterparts of themselves; exact to the last hair of the moustache. 'Werily,' will be their ejaculation, 'hit his wery great presumption in these wulgar democrats to himitate us Henglish in this way-ah!' Every easterly wind blows in a fleet laden with cargoes of folly, and every outward-bound vessel bears an order for fresh importations of absurdity, of which milliners and tailors are the shippers, and flirts and fops the consignees. So far has this mimicking spirit proceeded, that we regard neither climate nor season. Were some accident to delay for a few months our advices from Europe, I question not but our fashionable ladies would adopt in mid-winter the same form and materials for their dresses which the Parisian damsels sported on the Boulevards beneath the scorching dog-star. The changeful and chilly atmosphere of our sea-board differs widely from the genial airs of 'La belle France,' and to adopt their fashions in detail is about as wise and tasteful in us as it would be for the negro panting beneath the line to wrap himself in the furs of Siberia, and substitute for his refreshing palm-juice the usquebaugh of the Highlands. Who would not laugh himself into a pleurisy to see the dandies of Timbuctoo stalking along in solemn gravity beneath their torrid sun, encumbered with a Russian fur-cloak, or a Lapland 'whip' on a snow-sledge, driving his canine four-in-hand, with a Turkish turban and Grecian robe folded carelessly around him? Yet wherein do we greatly differ in _our_ absurdities! Again: we profess to have lopped from our democratic tree the old-world customs of hereditary title and patrimonial honor. _We_ are no respecters of persons. _We_ have no reverence for ancestral virtues, and the lustre that shines only by reflection has no charms for _us_. _We_ respect no grandees but 'nature's noblemen.' _We_ look through the glittering atmosphere of place, and title, and factitious distinction, at the man himself. The artificer of his own fortunes we hail as a brother. He who possesses superior abilities or unblemished integrity, _we_ honor, though his hands be on the plough; and he who is imbecile or dishonest, _we_ despise, though his brow be encircled by a coronet. All noble, consistent, rational, and right. But how is this? 'Lo! a foreigner has landed on our shores.' Well; what then? We also should be foreigners in Europe. 'Yes; but he bears the honorable appendage of Lord, or Sir, or De, or Di, or Von, or Don.' Happy, meanwhile, thrice happy the youth whom his titleship will allow to treat him; blessed, triumphantly blessed, the Miss whose charms have warmed into life the cold gaze of my Lord Highbred, or Monsieur De Nonchalance. And oh! beatified beyond all rapture the doting mother, who in her ripened and expanded miniature begins to realize her dreams of 'young romance,' and to hope by connection with a family more lineally descended from Adam than her own, to obtain a rank

'Whose glory with a lingering trace,
Shines through and deifies her race!'

Truth, every word truth--satire most justly bestowed; and before relinquishing this general theme, let us ask the reader to admire with us the cognate remarks of a writer in the last number of the 'North-American Review' upon the importance of a _Literature_ which shall be distinctive and national in its character, and not a _rifacamento_ of the varying literatures of various nations: 'The man whose heart is capable of any patriotic emotion, who feels his pulse quicken when the idea of his country is brought home to him, must desire that country to possess a voice more majestic than the roar of party, and more potent than the whine of sects; a voice which should breathe energy and awaken hope where-ever its kindling tones are heard. The life of our native land; the inner spirit which animates its institutions; the new ideas and principles, of which it is the representative; these every patriot must wish to behold reflected from the broad mirror of a comprehensive and soul-animating literature. The true vitality of a nation is not seen in the triumphs of its industry, the extent of its conquests, or the reach of its empire; but in its intellectual dominion. Posterity passes over statistical tables of trade and population, to search for the records of the mind and heart. It is of little moment how many millions of men were included at any time under the name of one people, if they have left no intellectual testimonials of their mode and manner of existence, no 'foot-prints on the sands of time.' The heart refuses to glow at the most astounding array of figures. A nation lives only through its literature, and its mental life is immortal. And if we have a literature, it should be a _national_ literature; no feeble or sonorous echo of Germany or England, but essentially American in its tone and object. No matter how meritorious a composition may be, as long as any foreign nation can say that it has done the same thing better, so long shall we be spoken of with contempt, or in a spirit of benevolent patronage. We begin to sicken of the custom, now so common, of presenting even our best poems to the attention of foreigners, with a deprecating, apologetic air; as if their acceptance of the offering, with a few soft and silky compliments, would be an act of kindness demanding our warmest acknowledgments. If the Quarterly Review or Blackwood's Magazine speaks well of an American production, we think that we can praise it ourselves, without incurring the reproach of bad taste. The folly we yearly practise, of flying into passion with some inferior English writer, who caricatures our faults, and tells dull jokes about his tour through the land, has only the effect to exalt an insignificant scribbler into notoriety, and give a nominal value to his recorded impertinence. If the mind and heart of the country had its due expression, if its life had taken form in a literature worthy of itself, we should pay little regard to the childish tattling of a pert coxcomb who was discontented with our taverns, or the execrations of some bluff sea-captain who was shocked with our manners. The uneasy sense we have of something in our national existence which has not yet been fitly expressed, gives poignancy to the least ridicule launched at faults and follies which lie on the superficies of our life. Every person feels, that a book which condemns the country for its peculiarities of manners and customs, does not pierce into the heart of the matter, and is essentially worthless. If Bishop BERKELEY, when he visited MALEBRANCHE, had paid exclusive attention to the habitation, raiment, and manners of the man, and neglected the conversation of the metaphysician, and, when he returned to England, had entertained POPE, SWIFT, GAY, and ARBUTHNOT with satirical descriptions of the 'compliment extern' of his eccentric host, he would have acted just as wisely as many an English tourist, with whose malicious pleasantry on our habits of chewing, spitting, and eating, we are silly enough to quarrel. To the United States in reference to the pop-gun shots of foreign tourists, might be addressed the warning which Peter Plymley thundered against BONAPARTE, in reference to the Anti-Jacobin jests of CANNING: Tremble, oh! thou land of many spitters and voters, 'for a _pleasant_ man has come out against thee, and thou shalt be laid low by a joker of jokes, and he shall talk his pleasant talk to thee, and thou shalt be no more!' In order that America may take its due rank in the commonwealth of nations, a literature is needed which shall be the exponent of its higher life. We live in times of turbulence and change. There is a general dissatisfaction, manifesting itself often in rude contests and ruder speech, with the gulf which separates principles from actions. Men are struggling to realize dim ideals of right and truth, and each failure adds to the desperate earnestness of their efforts. Beneath all the shrewdness and selfishness of the American character, there is a smouldering enthusiasm which flames out at the first touch of fire; sometimes at the hot and hasty words of party, and sometimes at the bidding of great thoughts and unselfish principles. The heart of the nation is easily stirred to its depths; but those who rouse its fiery impulses into action are often men compounded of ignorance and wickedness, and wholly unfitted to guide the passions which they are able to excite. We want a poetry which shall speak in clear, loud tones to the people; a poetry which shall make us more in love with our native land, by converting its ennobling scenery into the images of lofty thoughts; which shall give visible form and life to the abstract ideas of our written constitutions; which shall confer upon virtue all the strength of principle and all the energy of passion; which shall disentangle freedom from cant and senseless hyperbole, and render it a thing of such loveliness and grandeur as to justify all self-sacrifice; which shall make us love man by the new consecrations it sheds on his life and destiny; which shall force through the thin partitions of conventialism and expediency; vindicate the majesty of reason; give new power to the voice of conscience, and new vitality to human affection; soften and elevate passion; guide enthusiasm in a right direction; and speak out in the high language of men to a nation of men.'

THE NORTH-AMERICAN REVIEW for the January quarter is one of the best issues of that 'ancient and honorable' Quarterly which we have encountered for many months. It contains eight extended reviews, five brief 'Critical Notices,' and the usual quarterly list of new publications. The first article is upon the '_Poets and Poetry of America_,' a work 'which has travelled through many States and four editions,' and for the production of which Mr. GRISWOLD is justly commended. In the progress of this paper, the writer indulges in a sort of running commentary upon the more conspicuous poets included in the compiler's collection, as BRYANT, HALLECK, SPRAGUE, DANA, PERCIVAL, LONGFELLOW, WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK, HOLMES, WHITTIER, etc., etc. Of BRYANT the reviewer among other things remarks:

'MR. GRISWOLD says finely of BRYANT, that 'he is the translator of
the silent language of nature to the world.' The serene beauty and
thoughtful tenderness, which characterize his descriptions, or
rather interpretations of outward objects, are paralleled only in
WORDSWORTH. His poems are almost perfect of their kind. The fruits
of meditation, rather than of passion or imagination, and rarely
startling with an unexpected image or sudden outbreak of feeling,
they are admirable specimens of what may be called the philosophy
of the soul. They address the finer instincts of our nature with a
voice so winning and gentle; they search out with such subtle
power all in the heart which is true and good; that their
influence, though quiet, is resistless. They have consecrated to
many minds things which before it was painful to contemplate. Who
can say that his feelings and fears respecting death have not
received an insensible change, since reading the 'Thanatopsis?'
Indeed, we think that BRYANT'S poems are valuable, not only for
their intrinsic excellence, but for the vast influence their wide
circulation is calculated to exercise on national feelings and
manners. It is impossible to read them without being morally
benefitted. They purify as well as please. They develope or
encourage all the elevated and thoughtful tendencies of the mind.'

We are glad to see the reproof which the reviewer bestows upon those critics of LONGFELLOW'S poetry, who to escape the trouble of analysis, offer some smooth eulogium upon his 'taste,' or some lip-homage to his 'artistical ability,' instead of noting the tendency of his writings to touch the heroic strings in our nature, to breathe energy into the heart, to sustain our lagging purposes, and fix our thoughts on what is stable and eternal. The following is eminently just:

'The great characteristic of LONGFELLOW, that of addressing the
moral nature through the imagination, of linking moral truth to
intellectual beauty, is a far greater excellence. His artistical
ability is admirable, because it is not seen. It is rather mental
than mechanical. The best artist is he who accommodates his
diction to his subject. In this sense, LONGFELLOW is an artist. By
learning 'to labor and to wait,' by steadily brooding over the
chaos in which thought and emotion first appear to the mind, and
giving shape and life to both, before uttering them in words, he
has obtained a singular mastery over expression. By this we do not
mean that he has a large command of language. No fallacy is
greater than that which confounds fluency with expression.
Washerwomen, and boys at debating clubs, often display more
fluency than WEBSTER; but his words are to theirs, as the roll of
thunder to the patter of rain. Language often receives its
significance and power from the person who uses it. Unless
permeated by the higher faculties of the mind, unless it be not
the clothing, but the 'incarnation of thought,' it is quite an
humble power. There are some writers who repose undoubting
confidence in words. If their minds be filled with the epithets of
poetry, they fondly deem that they have clutched its essence. In a
piece of inferior verse, we often observe a great array of
expressions which have been employed with great effect by genius,
but which seem to burn the fingers and disconcert the equanimity
of the aspiring word-catcher who presses them into his service.
Felicity, not fluency, of language is a merit.'

Exactly; yet these same 'fluent' versifiers are the persons who talk with elaborate flippancy of the 'simple common-places' of this noble poet! The reviewer adds: 'LONGFELLOW has a perfect command of that expression which results from restraining rather than cultivating fluency; and his manner is adapted to his theme. He rarely, if ever, mistakes 'emotions for conceptions.' His words are often pictures of his thought. He selects with great delicacy and precision the exact phrase which best expresses or suggests his idea. He colors his style with the skill of a painter. The warm flush and bright tints, as well as the most evanescent hues of language, he uses with admirable discretion. In that higher department of his art, that of so combining his words and images that they make music to the soul as well as to the ear, and convey not only his feelings and thoughts, but also the very tone and condition of the soul in which they have being, he likewise excels.' The reviewer illustrates these remarks, by citing the 'Psalms of Life,' the 'Saga of the Skeleton in Armor,' 'The Village Blacksmith,' etc., which were written by Mr. LONGFELLOW for the pages of this Magazine, and adds, that our poet indulges in no 'wild struggles after an ineffable Something, for which earth can afford but imperfect symbols. He appears perfectly satisfied with his work. Like his own 'Village Blacksmith,' he retires every night with the feeling that something has been attempted, and something _done_.' There is a subtle analysis of the style of that first of comic poets, HOLMES, for which we shall endeavor to find space hereafter. Of the writings of the late lamented WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK, the reviewer remarks, that they 'are all distinguished for a graceful and elegant diction, thoughts morally and poetically beautiful, and chaste and appropriate imagery. They exhibit much purity and strength of feeling, are replete with fancy and sentiment, and have often a searching pathos and a mournful beauty, which find their way quietly to the heart.' The poetry of our friend and correspondent WHITTIER is warmly commended: 'A common thought comes from his pen 'rammed with life.' He seems in some of his lyrics to pour out his blood with his lines. There is a rush of passion in his verse, which sweeps every thing along with it.' The remaining references are to the lady-poets, Mesdames BROOKS, CHILD, SIGOURNEY, SMITH, WELBY, HALL, ELLET, DINNIE, EMBURY, HOOPER, the DAVIDSONS, etc. The whole article is well considered; and we cordially commend it to the attention of our readers. The remaining papers are upon PALFREY'S admirable 'Lectures on the Evidences of Christianity,' 'Trade with the Hanse-Towns, the German Tariff-League;' 'GERVINUS'S History of German Poetry;' 'Debts of the States,' an excellent and most timely article;' 'PRESCOTT'S History of Mexico;' 'SAM SLICK in England;' and a valuable dissertation on Libraries, based upon the catalogue of the library of Brown University.

JOSEPH C. NEAL'S 'CHARCOAL SKETCHES.'--Right glad are we to welcome from the teeming press of Messrs. BURGESS AND STRINGER a new edition of these most humorous and witty sketches, illustrated with engravings by D. C. JOHNSTON, of Boston. We have re-perused them with renewed delight, and awakened again the echoes of our silent sanctum, in the excess of our cachinnatory enjoyment. Our friend MORTON M'MICHAEL, in the 'advance GRAHAM' for February, (which by the way contains a breathing likeness of the sketcher,) has the following remarks upon the papers composing the volume before us, which we most cordially endorse: 'No one, who has his faculties in a healthy condition, can read them and not feel convinced that they are the productions of a superior and highly gifted mind. They not only smack strongly of what all true men love, genuine humor; rich, racy, glorious humor; at which you may indulge in an honest outbreak of laughter, and not feel ashamed afterward because you have thrown away good mirth on a pitiful jest; but when you have laughed your fill, if you choose to look beneath the surface, which sparkles and bubbles with brilliant fancies, you will find an under current of truthful observation, abundant in matter for sober thought in your graver moments. In all of them, light and trifling as they seem, and pleasant as they unquestionably are, there is a deep and solemn moral. The follies and vices which, in weak natures, soon grow into crimes, are here presented in such a way as to forewarn those who are about to yield to temptation, not by dull monitions and unregarded homilies, but by making the actors themselves unconscious protestants against their own misdoings. And to do this well requires a combination of abilities such as few possess. There must be the quick eye to perceive, the nice judgment to discriminate, the active memory to retain, the vigorous pen to depict, and above all, the soul, the mind, the genius, call it what you will, to infuse into the whole life and spirit and power. Now, all these qualities Neal has in an eminent degree, and he applies them with the skill of an accomplished artist. What he does he does thoroughly, perfectly. His portraits, which he modestly calls sketches, are unmistakeable. The very men he wishes to portray are before you, and they are not only limned to the outward eye, but they speak also to the outward ear, and in sentences thickly clustered with the drollest conceits, they convey lessons of practical philosophy, and make revelations of the strange perversities of our inward nature, from which even the wise may gather profitable conclusions.' Our friend speaks of Mr. NEAL'S being 'comparatively little known.' We have good reason to believe that one great cause of this is, that his name has often been confounded with that of another and altogether different species of NEAL, whose infinite twattle--infinite alike in degree and quantity--has prejudiced the public mind against any thing that may seem to come in 'questionable shape' from a questionable source. This error has had its advantages to _one_ party, no doubt, since there was 'every thing to gain and nothing to lose;' an advantage however which the prefix of the first two initials of our friend and correspondent to passages from his work which may hereafter find their way into the newspapers, will transfer to the rightful recipient. But to the volume in question, from which we are about to make a few random selections, illustrating the characters of sundry 'city worthies,' who are 'comprehended as vagrom men' by the 'charleys' or watchmen of the good City of Brotherly Love. Let us begin with the soliloquy of the poetical OLYMPUS PUMP:

''GENIUS never feels its oats until after sunset; twilight applies
the spanner to the fire-plug of fancy to give its bubbling
fountains way; and midnight lifts the sluices for the cataracts of
the heart, and cries, 'Pass on the water!' Yes, and economically
considered, night is this world's Spanish cloak; for no matter how
dilapidated or festooned one's apparel may be, the loops and
windows cannot be discovered, and we look as elegant and as
beautiful as get out. Ah!' continued Pump, as he gracefully
reclined upon the stall, 'it's really astonishing how rich I am in
the idea line to-night. But it's no use. I've got no pencil--not
even a piece of chalk to write 'em on my hat for my next poem.
It's a great pity ideas are so much of the soap-bubble order, that
you can't tie 'em up in a pocket handkerchief, like a half peck of
potatoes, or string 'em on a stick like catfish. I often have the
most beautiful notions scampering through my head with the grace,
but alas! the swiftness too, of kittens, especially just before I
get asleep; but they're all lost for the want of a trap; an
intellectual figgery four. I wish we could find out the way of
sprinkling salt on their tails, and make 'em wait till we want to
use 'em. Why can't some of the meaner souls invent an idea-catcher
for the use of genius? I'm sure they'd find it profitable, for I
wouldn't mind owing a man twenty dollars for one myself.'

Mr. FYDGET FYXINGTON is another worthy, who reverts continually to 'first principles,' and is full of schemes and projects, especially when he chances to have 'a stone in his hat.' Hear him:

''NOTHIN'S fixed no how; our grand-dads must a been lazy rascals.
Why didn't they roof over the side-walks, and not leave every
thing for us to do? I ain't got no numbrell, and besides that,
when it comes down as if raining was no name for it, as it always
does when I'm cotch'd out, numbrells is no great shakes if you've
got one with you, and no shakes at all if it's at home. It's a
pity we ain't got feathers, so's to grow our own jacket and
trowsers, and do up the tailorin' business, and make our own
feather beds. It would be a great savin'; every man his own
clothes, and every man his own feather bed. Now I've got a
suggestion about that; first principles bring us to the skin;
fortify that, and the matter's done. How would it do to bile a big
kittle full of tar, tallow, beeswax and injen rubber, with
considerable wool, and dab the whole family once a week? The
young'uns might be soused in it every Saturday night, and the
nigger might fix the elderly folks with a whitewash brush. Then
there wouldn't be no bother a washing your clothes or yourself,
which last is an invention of the doctor to make people sick,
because it lets in the cold in winter and the heat in summer, when
natur' says shut up the porouses and keep 'em out. Besides, when
the new invention was tore at the knees or wore at the elbows,
just tell the nigger to put on the kittle and give you a dab, and
you're patched slick; and so that whole mobs of people mightn't
stick together like figs, a little sperrits of turpentine or
litharage might be added to make 'em dry like a house-a-fire. 'T
would be nice for sojers. Stand 'em all of a row, and whitewash
'em blue or red, according to pattern, as if they were a fence.
The gin'rals might look on to see if it was done according to
Gunter; the cap'ins might flourish the brush, and the corpulars
carry the bucket. Dandies could fix themselves all sorts of
streaked and all sorts of colors. When the parterials is cheap and
the making don't cost nothing, that's what I call economy, and
coming as near as possible to first principles. It's a better way,
too, of keeping out the rain, than my t'other plan of flogging
people when they're young, to make their hides hard and
water-proof. A good licking is a sound first principle for
juveniles, but they've got a prejudice agin it.'

'A pair of Slippers' brings us acquainted with another original personage, who one dark night soliloquizes on this wise:

''I'VE not the slightest doubt that this is as beautiful a night
as ever was; only it's so dark you can't see the pattern of it.
One night is pretty much like another night in the dark; but it's
a great advantage to a good-looking evening, if the lamps are lit,
so you can twig the stars and the moonshine. The fact is, that in
this 'ere city, we do grow the blackest moons, and the hardest
moons to find, I ever did see. Lamps is lamps, and moons is moons,
in a business pint of view, but practically they ain't much if the
wicks ain't afire. When the luminaries are, as I may say, in the
raw, it's bad for me. I can't see the ground as perforately as
little fellers, and every dark night I'm sure to get a hyst;
either a forrerd hyst, or a backerd hyst, or some sort of a hyst;
but more backerds than forrerds, 'specially in winter. One of the
most unfeeling tricks I know of, is the way some folks have got of
laughing out, yaw-haw! when they see a gentleman ketching a
reg'lar hyst; a long gentleman, for instance, with his legs in the
air, and his noddle splat down upon the cold bricks. A hyst of
itself is bad enough, without being sniggered at: first, your
sconce gets a crack; then, you see all sorts of stars, and have
free admission to the fire-works; then, you scramble up, feeling
as if you had no head on your shoulders, and as if it wasn't you,
but some confounded disagreeable feller in your clothes; yet the
jacksnipes all grin, as if the misfortunes of human nature was
only a poppet show. I wouldn't mind it, if you could get up and
look as if you didn't care. But a man can't rise, after a royal
hyst, without letting on he feels flat. In such cases, however,
sympathy is all gammon; and as for sensibility of a winter's day,
people keep it all for their own noses, and can't be coaxed to
retail it by the small.'

'DILLY JONES' is one of those unfortunate wights 'just whose luck' it is never to succeed in any thing they undertake. In a state of 'mellow' mental abstraction, while lamenting that the trade of one's early days might not likewise be the trade of one's latter years, he unconsciously utters his thoughts aloud:

''SAWING wood's going all to smash,' said he, 'and that's where
every thing goes what I speculates in. This here coal is doing us
up. Ever since these black stones was brought to town, the
wood-sawyers and pilers, and them soap-fat and hickory-ashes men,
has been going down; and, for my part, I can't say as I see what's
to be the end of all their new-fangled contraptions. But it's
always so; I'm always crawling out of the little end of the horn.
I began life in a comfortable sort of a way; selling oysters out
of a wheel-barrow, all clear grit, and didn't owe nobody nothing.
Oysters went down slick enough for a while, but at last cellars
was invented, and darn the oyster, no matter how nice it was
pickled, could poor Dill sell; so I had to eat up capital and
profits myself. Then the 'pepree-pot smoking' was sot up, and went
ahead pretty considerable for a time; but a parcel of fellers come
into it, said my cats wasn't as good as their'n, when I know'd
they was as fresh as any cats in the market; and pepree-pot was no
go. Bean-soup was just as bad; people said kittens wasn't good
done that way, and the more I hollered, the more the customers
wouldn't come, and them what did, wanted tick. Along with the boys
and their pewter fips, them what got trust and didn't pay, and the
abusing of my goods, I was soon fotch'd up in the victualling
line--and I busted for the benefit of my creditors. But genius
riz. I made a raise of a horse and saw, after being a wood-piler's
prentice for a while, and working till I was free, and now here
comes the coal to knock this business in the head.' · · · 'I
WONDER if they wouldn't list me for a Charley? Hollering oysters
and bean-soup has guv' me a splendid woice; and instead of
skeering 'em away, if the thieves were to hear me singing out, my
style of doing it would almost coax 'em to come and be took up.
They'd feel like a bird when a snake is after it, and would walk
up, and poke their coat collars right into my fist. Then, after a
while, I'd perhaps be promoted to the fancy business of pig
ketching, which, though it is werry light and werry elegant,
requires genus. 'Tisn't every man that can come the scientifics in
that line, and has studied the nature of a pig, so as to beat him
at canoeuvering, and make him surrender 'cause he sees it ain't no
use of doing nothing. It wants larning to conwince them critters,
and it's only to be done by heading 'em up handsome, hopping which
ever way they hop, and tripping 'em up genteel by shaking hands
with their off hind leg. I'd scorn to pull their tails out by the
roots, or to hurt their feelin's by dragging 'em about by the
ears. But what's the use? If I was listed, they'd soon find out to
holler the hour and to ketch the thieves by steam; yes, and they'd
take 'em to court on a railroad, and try 'em with biling water.
They'll soon have black locomotives for watchmen and constables,
and big bilers for judges and mayors. Pigs will be ketched by
steam, and will be biled fit to eat before they are done
squealing. By and by, folks won't be of no use at all. There won't
be no people in the world but tea-kittles; no mouths, but
safety-valves; and no talking, but blowing off steam. If I had a
little biler inside of me, I'd turn omnibus, and week-days I'd run
from Kensington to the Navy Yard, and Sundays I'd run to
Fairmount.''

There is a world of wisdom in the syllabus, or 'argument,' prefixed to each sketch; but for these we must refer the reader to the volume itself. The DOGBERRYS too are as wise as their 'illustrious predecessor,' and are quite as profuse of advice to 'the plaintiffs' who fall into their hands. Take a single specimen: 'Take keer--don't persume; I'm a 'fishal functionary out a-ketching of dogs. You mustn't cut up because it's night. The mayor and the 'squires has gone to bed; but the law is a thing that never gets asleep. After ten o'clock the law is a watchman and a dog-ketcher; we're the whole law till breakfast's a'most ready.' 'You're a clever enough kind of little feller, sonny; but you ain't been eddicated to the law as I have; so I'll give you a lecture. Justice vinks at vot it can't see, and lets them off vot it can't ketch. When you want to break it, you must dodge. You may do what you like in your own house, and the law don't know nothing about the matter. But never go thumping and bumping about the streets, when you are primed and snapped. That's intemperance, and the other is temperance. But now you come under the muzzle of the ordinance; you're a loafer.' One of these ''fishal functionaries' justifies extreme physical means in 'captivating obstropolous vagroms' both by reason and distinguished precedent: 'Wolloping is the only way; it's a panacea for differences of opinion. You'll find it in history books, that one nation teaches another what it didn't know before by wolloping it; that's the method of civilizing savages; the Romans put the whole world to rights that way; and what's right on the big figger must be right on the small scale. In short, there's nothing like wolloping for taking the conceit out of fellows who think they know more than their betters.' 'And so forth, et cetera,' as may be ascertained on a perusal of the volume.

LIFE AND TIMES OF THE LATE WILLIAM ABBOTT: THIRD NOTICE.--This most entertaining manuscript-volume, from which we have already drawn so largely for the entertainment of our readers, has not been published in America, as it was designed to have been, owing partly as we learn to the fact that, through 'something like unfair dealing' toward the widow of the writer, a copy of half the volume had been transmitted to England, parts of which have already reached this country in the pages of a London magazine. We had the pleasure to anticipate by a month or two the best portions even of these printed chapters; and we proceed to select passages from other divisions of this interesting auto-biography, which were written out after a duplicate copy of the earlier chapters had been transmitted to the London publisher. Mr. ABBOTT (aside from the society to which he had the entrée on account of his professional merits,) was a personal favorite with many of the most eminent personages among the English nobility, with whom he was on terms of close intimacy; but we never find him illustrating his own importance by the narration of the social anecdotes or careless table-talk of his distinguished friends, as too many of his contemporaries have done. He was honored with the cordial friendship of the EARLS GLENGALL and FITZHARDING; and 'at their tables,' he writes, 'I was a frequent guest, where I constantly met with society embracing the highest rank and most distinguished talent in England. I refrain, from obvious reasons, from mentioning names; but I may say that if there was ever a class of persons who confer honor upon the society in which they mingle, it is _the Aristocracy of Great-Britain_. There is a delicacy and forbearance in their manner, and that air of perfect equality which is so indicative of the accomplished gentleman and scholar. COLMAN was a very frequent guest at these dinners, and was, with the exception perhaps of LORD ALVANLEY, one of the most brilliant diners-out in London.' This testimony, let us remark in passing, in favor of the ease and simplicity of the really high-born gentlemen of England, is confirmed by all Americans who have been well received in English society. The reader will especially remember the tribute paid on this point by Mr. SANDERSON, the accomplished 'American in Paris,' in his 'Familiar Letters from London,' in these pages. But we are standing before Mr. ABBOTT. In Edinburgh 'there lies the scene:'

'I AGAIN visited Edinburgh at the close of the Covent-Garden
season, and received the same undiminished hospitality as on a
former occasion. I established an intimacy with the BALLANTINES of
celebrated SCOTT memory. MATTHEWS was indebted to JOHN BALLANTINE
for his famous old Scotch woman, and he certainly rivalled his
preceptor in the quaint and dry humor with which he narrated that
most amusing story. The management of the Edinburgh Theatre rested
in the hands of Mr. MURRAY. He was the only son of the MURRAY
formerly of Covent-Garden Theatre, who was one of the most chaste
and impressive actors I ever saw. His Adam, in 'As you Like it,'
was really the perfection of the art. Mrs. HENRY SIDDONS, in whom
the property was vested at the death of her husband, was,
fortunately for me, residing with her charming family in
Edinburgh, and I was a constant guest at her table. Her manners
were fascinating in the extreme, and a greater compliment could
not well be paid than in having the entrée to a family so
intellectual in their resources, and so perfectly amiable in
disposition. A very amusing and agreeable club was got up by a
party of young advocates. Delightful it was, from its very
absurdity; in fact the nonsense of men of sense is an admirable
couch to repose upon. Our numbers were limited, and embraced some
of that powerful intellect which the modern Athens possesses in so
eminent degree. Mr. MILES ANGUS FLETCHER, Mr. ANDERSON, Sir
WILLIAM HAMILTON, and a son of the late and brother of the present
Lord MEADOWBANK, were among those I knew intimately, and whose
varied talents gave life and soul to the society. We scorned the
artificial light that illumined our midnight orgies, and seldom
separated before the beams of the sun were dancing in our festive
cups.'

The following account of the first _Theatrical Fund Dinner_, an entertainment of which we hear so much latterly in England, with the defence of actors against the charges of extravagance and improvidence so often brought against them, will possess interest for American readers:

'THE Covent-Garden Theatrical Fund about this period was
languishing for want of support; and the great importance to be
derived from an increase of its means seriously occupied the
attention of the committee. We naturally looked upon it as
affording an opportunity of increasing the respectability of the
profession, and the means of preventing those individual appeals
to the public from our impoverished brethren. There is a popular
delusion that actors form a class in which the most reckless
profusion is displayed; that the habits of their lives are
necessarily dissipated, and that in the enjoyments of the luxuries
of to-day, the wants and cares of to-morrow are entirely lost
sight of. I do not believe in these sweeping assertions. I will
not pretend to say that actors are exempt from the frailties of
humanity; nay, I will admit that their course of life perhaps
exposes them to greater temptations; but this fact ought rather to
operate in their favor, than to tell so powerfully against them. I
would ask those persons who are so inimical to the profession of
an actor, whether longevity is the result of dissipation; and if
they will take the trouble of examining, they will find that
actors in general are extremely long-lived. There is a want of
thriftiness in their composition, I grant; and fortunately for
them the same charge is brought against the poet; the man whose
high intellectual powers prevent his descending to the level of
this work-day world. But will any one take the trouble of
explaining from whence the actor is to derive his wealth? We will
imagine that his salary is respectable, that it is regularly paid,
and that there is no excuse for his being in debt. And now take
into consideration that he has an appearance to maintain; that he
has a family to support; and then what becomes of the opportunity
of laying by a modicum even, to guard against the decline of life
when the 'winter daisies' shall crown his head, and a new race of
performers have started up and driven the others from their posts?
We have some rare instances of very large fortunes being made and
retained by members of the profession it is true, but they were
instances of dazzling genius, or had the world's belief that they
possessed it. I will take names within the memory of us all: Mrs.
SIDDONS, Mr. KEMBLE, Miss O'NEIL, the 'Young Roscius,' and the
late Mr. LEWIS; and I will add to that list men of accomplished
talents and great honor to the profession; YOUNG, BANNISTER,
MUNDEN, BRAHAM, WROUGHTON, LISTON, HARLEY, JOHNSTONE, POWER,
JONES; and I am sure the reader will believe me when I state, that
I heartily wish I could place my own name in the list. Take the
members of any other profession, however honorable, limit their
numbers and means to the same proportion, and I ask if you would
be enabled to produce a greater list of independent persons. The
great advantages to be derived from a Theatrical Fund are here I
trust made apparent; and after many suggestions, I believe it fell
to the lot of CHARLES TAYLOR to propose an annual public dinner;
and it proved a most fortunate idea. The first great point to be
obtained was a patron, and then a president for the dinner. Our
application met with immediate success, and His Royal Highness the
PRINCE REGENT condescendingly gave his name at the head of our
undertaking, accompanied by a solid mark of his favor in the
donation of one hundred pounds. We then had the gracious consent
of the DUKE OF YORK to be our President, aided by his Royal
brothers KENT and SUSSEX. The list of vice-presidents embraced
many of the most distinguished noblemen and gentlemen in the
country. In what an amiable point of view do the Royal Princes
place themselves before the public in so thoroughly identifying
themselves with the many interesting charities to which London
gives birth! The grateful spirit of joyousness which they
invariably displayed on these occasions, gave an interest to the
festive scenes, and confirmed many a heart in its loyalty to their
illustrious house. The late DUKE OF GORDON sat on the right hand
of the Royal President, and favored the company with a song, which
greatly surprised them, and elicited a general encore, and with
which, with great good humor, he immediately complied. MATTHEWS
always held a conspicuous position at these dinners, and made a
point of giving an original song, selected from his forth-coming
entertainment. The amount collected at our first dinner was
extraordinary; no less a sum than one thousand eight hundred and
seventy pounds. The Drury-Lane Fund in the following year adapted
our plan of the dinner, and both these institutions now annually
derive a very large sum from the volunteer subscriptions of the
Friends of the Drama. The same Royal patronage is most graciously
continued by her present Majesty, and Royalty continues to preside
at the festival. With this accumulation of patronage the actor may
fearlessly look forward to the close of his mortal career without
the dread of eleemosynary contributions, and also feel the proud
gratification that he has personally contributed to support so
interesting a Fund.'

As a specimen of Mr. ABBOTT'S stock-breaking and gambling experiences, we quote the subjoined passages:

'A friend of mine connected with the Stock Exchange on one
occasion pointed out to me the great advantage of occasionally
purchasing five thousand consuls on time, knowing that I had
capital unemployed; the certain profits were placed before me in
such an agreeable point of view, that I could not resist the bait.
In the course of two days I received a check for fifty pounds, a
sum by no means unpleasant, considering that I had not advanced
one farthing. The natural consequence was that I repeated the dose
with various success until I was ultimately well plucked. I
sustained a loss of one thousand pounds. I then began to be very
uneasy, until I fortunately discovered that by one _coup_ I had
made two hundred pounds. My broker had waddled of course, without
being able to make up his differences. The parties of whom I had
purchased, through my agent, refused to pay me, as they had no
knowledge of a third person, and were themselves considerable
sufferers by the aforesaid broker. I could not understand the
justice of this measure, for I had always paid my losses to the
moment; so I walked to Temple-Bar, pulled off my hat most
gracefully to that venerable arch, and vowed never again to pass
it in the pursuit of ill-gotten wealth. I had always a perfect
horror of _gambling_, and little imagined I was pursuing it in a
wholesale manner. To satisfy my inordinate curiosity, for
sight-seeing, I have twice or thrice in my life passed the
threshhold of a gambling-house in London, but never felt the least
personal desire to embark the smallest sum, although keenly alive
to the dangerous excitement in others. On one of these occasions
it fell to my lot to witness a most affecting and trying scene.
The names of the parties came to my knowledge afterward, which
from delicacy I of course suppress. A gentleman had for some years
been separated from his wife, in consequence of infidelity on her
part with a man of high fashion, an officer of the Guards. An
action and divorce ensued; but two children whom he had previous
to this unfortunate event, he refused to acknowledge, thus
endeavoring to put the stain of illegitimacy upon them. Years
rolled on, and the father and son never met. Rouge-et-Noir was the
fashionable game of the day, and Pall-Mall and St. James-street
swarmed with gambling-houses. Two gentlemen were quarrelling upon
a point, each accusing the other of taking the stake. The younger
man was the officer on guard that day, and consequently in
uniform. High words ensued; cards were exchanged; and in one
moment, from the most ungovernable rage, they became motionless as
statues. The silence was at length interrupted by an explanation
of 'By Heaven! my son!' This remark was made from the impulse of
the moment, and probably struck a chord in the parent's heart that
let loose all his affections. They retired to another apartment;
explanations ensued; and a reconciliation was the result.'

Elsewhere Mr. ABBOTT describes the gambling-houses of Paris, 'those dens of iniquity,' as he terms them. 'The varied scenes of frantic joy and human debasement,' he writes, 'which I witnessed at FRASCATI'S, were truly appalling. The extremes of excitement were as powerfully exhibited in the loser of twenty francs as in the man who had lost his twenty thousand.' The annexed sketch of the lamented career of poor CONWAY, who will be 'freshly remembered' by many of our readers in the Atlantic cities, is authentic in every particular. It is not without its lesson, in more regards than one:

'I find I have neglected to mention an actor, who stood
sufficiently forward, both by his position and his misfortunes, to
be entitled to a respectful notice; I mean Mr. CONWAY. He was said
to be the illegitimate offspring of a distinguished nobleman; but
whether his own pride prevented his making advances, and he was
resolved to lay the foundation of his own fame and fortune, or
whether he met with a check upon his natural feelings from one who
was bound to support him, I know not; but, gifted as he was with a
commanding person, a most gentlemanlike deportment, and advantages
peculiarly adapted for the stage, it is no wonder that the
histrionic art held forth inducements and hopes of obtaining a
brighter position than any other career open to him, without the
aid of pecuniary means, and the patronage which was withheld from
him. He made his appearance in 1813, the season previous to KEAN,
in the character of 'Alexander the Great.' He met with a very
flattering reception, and produced a great effect upon the fair
sex. Indeed, the actors, who are upon these occasions lynx-eyed,
could not avoid their remarks upon a certain Duchess, who never
missed one of his performances, and appeared to take the deepest
interest in his success. CONWAY was upward of six feet in height.
He was deficient in strong intellectual expression, yet he had the
reputation of being very handsome. His head was too small for his
frame, and his complexion too light and sanguine for the profound
and varied emotions of deep tragedy. There was a tinge of
affectation in his deportment, which had the effect of creating
among many a strong feeling of prejudice against him. His bearing
was always gentlemanly, and with the exception of a slight
superciliousness of manner, amiable to every body; and his talent,
though not of the highest order, was still sufficiently prominent
to enable him to maintain a distinguished position. And yet this
man, with so little to justify spleen, was literally, from an
unaccountable prejudice, driven from the stage by one of the
leading weekly journals, edited by a gentleman whose biting satire
was death to those who had the misfortune to come under his lash.
In complete disgust, he retired from the boards, and filled the
humble situation of prompter at the Haymarket-Theatre, but
afterward left for the United States, where he became a great
favorite. But the canker was at his heart. He again quitted the
stage, and prepared himself for the Church; but there again he was
foiled. The ministers of our holy religion refused to receive him,
not from any moral stain upon his character, but because he had
been an actor! What is to become of the priesthood, who in the
early periods were the only actors, and selected scriptural
subjects for representation? He left in a packet for Savannah,
overwhelmed with misery and disappointment. 'Ushered into the
world by a parent who would not acknowledge him; driven out of it
in the belief that he was the proscribed of Heaven!' At the moment
they were passing the bar at Charleston, he threw himself
overboard. Efforts were made to save him; a settee was thrown over
for him to cling to until they could adopt more decisive measures
for his rescue. He saw the object; but his resolution was taken.
He waved his hand, and sunk to rise no more. I have reason to
believe, that the gentleman to whom I have alluded as having made
such fearful use of his editorial powers, felt deep remorse when
the news of his ill-timed death arrived. He also is now no more!
Poor CONWAY! Had he possessed more nerve, he might still have
triumphed over the unkindness of his fate:

'Who has not known ill fortune, never knew
Himself or his own virtue.'

In the same chapter we find a bit of artistical grouping in a historical picture, which the reader will agree with us is well worthy of preservation: