Chapter VII (2)

THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT.--We never write the name of WASHINGTON, without a thrill of pride that his country is _our_ country, and that, as an American, we hold a property in his undying fame. And we are rejoiced to perceive that a National Monument to this great and good man, a monument worthy his towering name, is at length to be erected in the great metropolis of America. An act was passed last winter by the Legislature of New-York, to incorporate the 'WASHINGTON Monument Association;' and we have been favored with an examination of the design for the magnificent structure, at the rooms of the architect, Mr. POLLARD. It is in the form of a pentagon, and is to be erected of granite, in or fronting on Union-Square; to be finished in the Gothic style of architecture, richly and elaborately ornamented; with spacious rooms below for a Historical Library, Gallery for Paintings, etc., approached from the main rotundas. Its rich Gothic windows, columns, friezes, cornices, and balustrades; its buttresses, turrets, tower, and pinnacle; partake, in the _ensemble_, of the sublime in art; and when the structure shall have towered to its utmost height, the crochet of the pinnacle four hundred and twenty feet in the air, it will be pronounced the noblest _monument_ in the known world. It is to be built by the voluntary contributions of the people of the United States, of _one dollar_ and upward. Some of our wealthy citizens have already headed subscription-lists with five and ten thousand dollars; and arrangements for the immediate commencement of the enterprise are now fast maturing. 'May Heaven speed the good work!' for that monument will rise in honor of one who has 'stamped his impress on the centuries;' whose virtuous deeds and pure example will only lose their influence on the country which he loved and whose freedom he won, 'when rolling years shall cease to move.' If we turn over the pages of history, (says our renowned progenitor, the immortal KNICKERBOCKER) that Man has written of himself, what are the characters dignified by the appellation of great, and held up to the admiration of posterity? Tyrants, robbers, conquerors, renowned only for the magnitude of their misdeeds, and the stupendous wrongs and miseries they have inflicted on mankind; warriors, who have hired themselves to the trade of blood, not from motives of virtuous patriotism, nor to protect the injured and defenceless, but merely to gain the vaunted glory of being adroit and successful in massacreing their fellow beings! What are the great events that constitute a glorious era? The fall of empires; the desolation of happy countries; splendid cities smoking in their ruins; the proudest works of art tumbled in the dust; the shrieks and groans of whole nations ascending unto heaven! How different the means, how different the results, in the case of WASHINGTON! Let a recent orator, an orator worthy his great theme, set forth in appropriate and adequate words what we would but could not hope to express:

'AMERICA has furnished Europe and the world with the character
of WASHINGTON. And if our institutions had done nothing
else, they would have deserved the respect of mankind.
WASHINGTON--first in war, first in peace, and first in the
hearts of his countrymen--WASHINGTON is all our own. And the
veneration and love entertained for him by the people of
the United States are proof that they are worthy of such a
countryman. I would cheerfully put the question to-day to the
intelligent men of all Europe--I will say to the intelligent
of the whole world--what character of the century stands out
in the relief of history, must pure, most respectable, most
sublime; and I doubt not that, by a suffrage approaching to
unanimity, the answer would be WASHINGTON. That monument itself
is not an unfit emblem of his character, by its uprightness,
its solidity, its durability. His public virtues and public
principles were as firm and fixed as the earth on which that
structure rests; his personal motives as pure as the serene
heavens in which its summit is lost. But, indeed, it is not an
adequate emblem. Towering far above this column that our hands
have built; beheld, not by the citizens of a single city or
a single State, but by all the families of man; ascends the
colossal grandeur of the character and life of WASHINGTON. In
all its constituent parts; in all its acts; in all its toils: in
its universal love and admiration, it is an American production.
Born upon our soil; of parents born upon our soil; never having
for a single day had a sight of the old world; reared amidst
our gigantic scenery; instructed, according to the modes of the
time, in the spare but wholesome elementary knowledge which
the institutions of the country furnish for all the children
of the people; brought up beneath and penetrated by the genial
influence of American society; partaking our great destiny of
labor; partaking and leading in that acmé of our glory, the War
of Independence; partaking and leading in that great victory of
peace, the establishment of the present Constitution; behold
him, ALTOGETHER AN AMERICAN! That glorious life,

'Where multitudes of virtues passed along,
Each pressing foremost in the mighty throng;
Contending to be seen, then making room
For other multitudes which were to come;'

that life in all its purity, in all its elevation, in all its
grandeur, was the life of an American citizen. I claim him--I
claim WASHINGTON--wholly for America.'

No wonder that 'great cheering'--that 'enthusiastic,' 'prolonged,' 'deafening,' 'long-continued,' 'renewed' applause--followed the utterance of these sentences, from the united voices of a great multitude which no man could number! There swelled the National Heart; there went up to Heaven the voice of a great People, speaking to Posterity.

* * * * *

'THE POETRY OF LIFE.'--This volume by Mrs. ELLIS, author of the 'Women' and 'Wives' of England, savors of professional book-making. Sitting deliberately down to tell her readers how much poetry may be extracted from the moon, trees, animals, evening, sound, language, grief, flowers, woman, rural life, and the like, strikes us as a 'dead set' at the sentimental; and however well the task may be accomplished, it is but bringing together a confused mass of pleasurable or other emotions, which may not be altogether common to all the world and Mrs. ELLIS. In her description of the poetry of the Bible, she has omitted by far the most prominent exhibitions of that prevalent feature in the Sacred Word. The sublimity and exquisite beauty which characterize the book of Job; the unequalled story of Joseph and his Brethren; the touching pathos of PAUL; it would not have been amiss, one would think, to have included in a notice of the poetry of the Bible. In her essay upon the 'Poetry of Language,' Mrs. ELLIS presents the annexed interesting exhibition of verdancy:

'THE introduction of unpoetical images may be pardoned on the
score of inadvertency, but it is possible for such images to be
introduced in a manner which almost insults the feelings of the
reader, by the doggerel or burlesque style which obtains favor
with a certain class of readers, chiefly such as are incapable
of appreciating what is beautiful or sublime. One specimen of
this kind will be sufficient. It occurs in a volume of American
poetry:

'THERE'S music in the dash of waves
When the swift bark cleaves the foam;
There's music heard upon her deck,
The mariner's song of home.
When moon and star-beams smiling meet
At midnight on the sea--
_And there is music once a week
In Scudder's balcony._

'The moonlight music of the waves
In storms is heard no more,
When the living lightning mocks the wreck
At midnight on the shore:
And the mariner's song of home has ceased;
His course is on the sea--
_And there is music when it rains
In Scudder's balcony._'

'What could induce the poet to spoil his otherwise pretty verses
in this manner, it is difficult to imagine; but as this is by
no means a solitary instance of the kind, we are led to suppose
that the minds, in which such incongruities originate must be
influenced by the popular notion of imitating Lord BYRON, in
the wild vagaries which even his genius could scarcely render
endurable.'

Isn't this rather rich, friend HALLECK? We doubt whether Mrs. ELLIS could take a joke, though it were shot at her from a cannon. Indeed, she would doubtless reply to this remark: 'But how can you shoot a joke out of a cannon? Surely, that can hardly be feasible!'

* * * * *

GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS.--A Friend, writing to us from the City of Brotherly Love, under date of 'Sixth-month 15th,' respectfully inquires: 'Will the Editor accept a few remarks on the communication of 'N. S. D.', from a plain Quaker; one, whose ancestors were Quakers, and who, after a close historical scrutiny, is not ashamed to claim _kith_, if he cannot _kin_, with those of that profession who were hung on Boston Common, or were beaten at cart-tails from village to village throughout puritanic New-England?' To which we cheerfully answer: 'Yea, certainly, Friend 'N.' Lift up thy voice against the accuser of the brethren, and welcome:'

'FROM the days of COTTON MATHER down to the present time, it
has been the constant aim of the defenders of the reputation
of the founders of New England, to cast upon the early Quakers
all manner of aspersions. A few years since, a writer in the
'North-American Review,' having occasion to allude to the
banishment of MARY FISHER and ANNE AUSTIN, the first Quakers
who ever visited the western world, declared that it was for
molesting and interrupting ministers in their places of worship.
This assertion is also made by a clergyman of Philadelphia, in
a discourse delivered on the anniversary of the landing of the
'Pilgrim Fathers;' with this addition, that one of these women
went naked into a place of worship. THESE CHARGES ARE NOT TRUE.
I do not believe the reviewer, nor the Doctor of Divinity (so
called) wilfully misrepresented the truth; but I believe them
culpable in taking for granted assertions of writers living long
posterior to the events they describe, without examining for
themselves the original documents remaining on the subject. The
records of the Massachusetts Colony, as collected by HAZARD,
as well as the narratives published at the time by the friends
of the sufferers, conclusively show that neither MARY FISHER
nor ANNE AUSTIN had ever set foot on the shores of New England
until they were taken as prisoners from the vessel in which
they came passengers, and carried to the jail of the colony.
Deputy governor BELLINGHAM having received intelligence that
two female Quakers were in the ship Swallow, then at anchor
in the Bay, commanded that they should be closely confined
therein, and that all their books should be taken from them,
and burned by the hangman. A writer of that day, in reference
to the person employed to effect this conflagration, quaintly
remarks: 'O, learned and malicious cruelty!--as if another man
had not been sufficient to have burnt a few harmless books, who,
like their masters, can neither fight, strike, nor quarrel.'
At that time there was no law against Quakers; but the council
deemed that they were liable to the penalties of a law passed
in 1646, against heresy and error, which decreed to banishment
the opposers of the baptism of infants, and all such as denied
the lawfulness of war. The order of council in this case is now
before me, bearing date 'the 11th of July, 1656.' It commences
with enumerating the former laws against heretics, and goes on
to say, that, notwithstanding these, SIMON KEMPTHORN had brought
in two Quakers, who, on examination, are found to hold very
dangerous and heretical opinions, which they acknowledge they
came purposely to propagate. It directs that the books of the
prisoners shall be burned; that the prisoners themselves shall
be kept close, and none admitted to see them without leave from
the governor, deputy-governor, or two magistrates; and that the
said SIMON KEMPTHORN is hereby enjoined, speedily and directly
to transport, or cause to be transported, the said persons from
hence to Barbadoes, from whence they came, he defraying all the
charges of their imprisonment; and for the effectual performance
hereof, he is to give security in a bond of one hundred pounds
sterling, and on his refusal to give such security, he is to be
committed to prison till he do it.'

'Of the four individuals put to death at Boston, after examining
all the records extant in the respective cases, the apologies
issued by JOHN NORTON and the 'General Court' of Massachusetts,
I am prepared to say, that there is not the slightest evidence
that they were disturbers of the public peace, or violators of
public decorum. The charges brought against them prove indeed
that they came to Massachusetts, alleging it was from a sense of
religious duty, and that while there, as free-born citizens of
England, they refused a voluntary submission to laws violating
the rights guarantied them by Magna Charta, and the Common
Law of England. I wish not to consume space, but would make
a few remarks on the 'frequent occasions' in which the early
Quakers, according to 'N. S. D.', went 'stark naked into the
public assemblies.' Women of respectable connections, easy
fortunes, liberal education, and modest demeanor and carriage,
for preaching the gospel, and for merely coming to New-England
to look after their rightful possessions, were from time to
time stripped naked to the waist, and whipped from township to
township; and yet the nice sense of modesty of the New-England
folk of that day was not shocked. In 1664, when these scenes
had been enacted for seven years, LYDIA WARDELL, who had been
summoned repeatedly to appear before the congregation at
Newbury, and whose mind was no doubt under much excitement in
sympathy with her fellow-believers in their sufferings, went
into the place of worship in that village, stripped in the
manner the magistrates were continually stripping her friends.
The modesty of the people was sorely offended; and seizing her
and her female companion, they stripped the latter, and tying
their naked bodies to the whipping-posts, with many lashes
earnestly laid on, endeavored to heal the wounds inflicted on
the sense of decorum of the gaping crowd.

'I have not taken up my pen to defend the conduct of LYDIA, but
merely to state the facts of the case. Beside this instance,
one other individual, a few months afterward, under similar
excitement, performed a similar action. Now to our conclusion.
These cases, which are the only ones a close examination of
the charges of contemporaneous enemies of the Society, and the
defense of its friends exhibit any trace of, are brought forward
at this day in justification of acts of oppression committed
long before these occurred; Turn to the statements forwarded to
England to excuse the murder of STEVENSON, ROBINSON, DYER, and
LEDDRA; examine the reasons assigned by NORTON and the 'General
Court' for their proceedings. Their enmity to the Quakers
is strong, but not the slightest hint is given that these
suffered because of any indecent exposure, or that the general
persecution the Society at that time endured was occasioned by
acts of this or a kindred nature. And why? Because the first
instance of the kind occurred more than three years after the
death of LEDDRA, the last Quaker martyr in New-England. It is a
remarkable fact, that soon after these two cases of voluntary
exposure, the public stripping of Quaker women ceased. What
effect these had in changing the feelings of the community, I
cannot tell; but it is certainly a curious coincidence, that
after this period the records of courts, and the copious annals
of our Society, scarcely exhibit an instance of these cart-tail
indecencies. The rest of the charges of 'N. S. D.' are equally
unfounded; and, with sufficient space for quotations, might be
satisfactorily confuted.

N.'

* * * * *

RELIGIOUS or sectarian controversy is foreign to the purpose of the KNICKERBOCKER; yet we could not decline the calm consideration of facts brought forward to correct alleged misstatements. 'If,' says the writer, 'N. S. D.' wishes information on a subject with which he seems to be unacquainted, I should like to refer him to works wherein he may find the original documents.' For our own part, we think, as we have already partly intimated, that 'the less said the better' touching the treatment of the Quakers and 'others of the Non-elect' by the New-England Puritans. WASHINGTON IRVING has driven a long nail home on this theme: 'The zeal of these good people to maintain their rights and privileges unimpaired, betrayed them into errors, which it is easier to pardon than defend. Having served a regular apprenticeship in the school of persecution, it behooved them to show that they had become proficients in the art. They accordingly employed their leisure hours in banishing, scourging, or hanging, divers heretical Papists, Quakers, and Anabaptists, for daring to abuse the 'liberty of conscience,' which they now clearly proved to imply nothing more than that every man should think as he pleased in matters of religion, _provided_ he thought _right_; for otherwise it would be giving a latitude to damnable heresies. Now as they were perfectly convinced that they alone thought right, it consequently followed that whoever thought differently from them, thought wrong; and whoever thought wrong, and obstinately persisted in not being convinced and converted, was a flagrant violator of the inestimable liberty of conscience, and a corrupt and infectious member of the body politic, and deserved to be lopped off and cast into the fire!' * * * WE are indebted to a most kind correspondent for the following excerpt from his note-book. It is an extract made many years ago from some author, whose name and that of his work our friend has alike forgotten. How many just such thoughtless, rattle-brained, _aimless_ talkers have we encountered! We rather like the practice of an old friend of ours in this regard! He makes it a point, he says, never to _inquire_ after any body!

'WHOEVER has visited Cambridge, can hardly fail of recollecting
Lady ----. The leading idea of her life was to _do the pretty_;
to say civil things and make agreeable speeches. But alas!
her ladyship was not infallible, and sometimes with the very
best intentions would fail desperately. They relate of her
at Cambridge, that during a series of concerts which Madame
CATALANI gave at the last grand commencement, this Queen of Song
was staying at the house of her friend Mrs. F. At an evening
party at D---- Lodge, Lady ---- was invited to meet her. 'My
dear Madame CATALANI! how delighted, how transported I am to see
you! When did you arrive? How is Monsieur VALBRIQUE? and your
dear little boy?' CATALANI changed color; her lip quivered, and
her fine dark eyes filled with tears, as she murmured: '_Ah!
pauvre petit, je l'ai perdu!_' 'What an engaging, interesting,
elegant little creature he is!' '_Je l'ai perdu!_' shrieked the
foreigner, in a tone of agony. Lady ---- had forgot her French.
'Is he, indeed? I am happy to hear it. I always said he would
come out something extraordinary.' '_Je l'ai perdu! Je l'ai
perdu!_' cried poor CATALANI, in a more piercing tone, and with
increased emotion. 'Don't exert yourself; yes, yes; I understand
you, perfectly; well, pray remember me to him very kindly, since
he is not with you, and offer him my congratulations.' '_He
is dead! he is dead!_ Lady ----,' said Mrs. F. impatiently.
'Dead! Why didn't somebody tell me so? Poor little fellow!
And so he's dead! Well, I declare, I am very sorry for him!
Dead! That's very surprising!' On another occasion she said to
another distinguished guest: 'Ah! my dear Mrs. SIDDONS, what an
unexpected gratification to see you at Cambridge! How d'ye do?
Ah! but you are altered, when one comes to look at you! very
much altered! Let me see; it must be thirty years ago since Sir
BENJAMIN and I were first delighted with your Lady Randolph.
How life ebbs away! What changes we see! It was poor EDWIN'S
night, I think. Surely, that was the Augustan era of the British
Theatre! Ah! poor EDWIN! he's gone! And PALMER, Gentleman
PALMER, he's gone! And DODD--clever actor, DODD--he's gone! We
live in a world of changes!' Mrs. SIDDONS looked sad, and was
silent. 'I've been recollecting when it was I saw you last. It
must be about fourteen years ago. You played Queen Catherine,
and your gifted brother JOHN played Wolsey. What a heat it was!
Dear JOHN KEMBLE! and _he's_ gone!' Mrs. SIDDONS burst into
tears. 'Amiable creature!' said Lady ---- to the astonished
by-standers; 'what an affectionate heart she has!'

WE once saw a painting of the SAVIOUR OF MEN, which we could well deem to be like the divine original; and never while we live shall we forget the heavenly face which the artist had depicted. It was the countenance of a 'man of sorrows, acquainted with grief:' there was a pervading _pathos_ in its expression, which 'brought the water-drops to our eyes.' The picture is now in Germany, where it was painted; and we can never hope to see another so perfect an embodiment of our conception of the lineaments of the REDEEMER. There was something in the _ensemble_ of the picture which we remember to have thought was like a description, by an eye-witness, of the SAVIOUR'S personal presence, which we had read in our youth, and which we were glad recently to encounter in an old common-place book. It was addressed by PUBLIUS LENTULLUS, President in Judea in the reign of TIBERIUS CÆSAR, to the Senate of Rome:

'CONSCRIPT FATHERS: There appeared in these our days a man of
great virtue, named JESUS CHRIST, who is yet living among us,
and of the Gentiles is accepted for a Prophet of truth; but his
own disciples call him the SON OF GOD. He raiseth the dead, and
cureth all manner of diseases. A man of stature somewhat tall
and comely, and in proportion of body well shaped; his hands and
arms delectable to behold; with a very reverend countenance,
such as the beholders may both love and fear. His hair is of
the color of a filbert full ripe to his ears, whence downward
it is more orient of color, somewhat curling or waving about
his shoulders. In the midst of his head, is a seam or partition
of his hair, after the manner of the Nazarites. His forehead
is plain and delicate. His cheeks without spot or wrinkle,
beautified with a comely red; his nose and mouth exactly formed.
His beard is thick, the color of his hair; not of any great
length, but forked. His look innocent and mature. His eyes gray,
dear, and quick. In reproving he is awful; in admonishing,
courteous and friendly; in speaking, very temperate, modest,
and wise. It cannot be remembered that any have seen him laugh,
but many have seen him weep. A being for his singular beauty
surpassing the children of men.'

* * * * *

LET us add here a beautiful sonnet, on this great theme, which we derive from an esteemed friend and contributor, who has been kind enough to copy it for us from the writer's manuscript:

JESUS.

By Rev. Theodore Parker.

JESUS, there is no dearer name than thine,
Which Time has blazoned on his ample scroll:
No wreaths nor garlands ever did entwine
So fair a Temple or so vast a Soul.
Ay, every Angel set his comely seal
Upon thy brow, and gave each human grace,
In a sweet copy Heaven to reveal,
And stamp Perfection on a mortal face.
Once on the earth, before dull mortal eyes,
Which could not half thy sacred radiance see,
(E'en as the emmet cannot read the skies,)
For our weak orbs reach not Immensity,
Once on the earth wast Thou a living shrine,
Where shone the Good, the Lovely, the Divine.

THE '_Plebeian_' daily journal of Gotham is down upon the _Yanokies_ or Yankees, with a weapon swung round like a flail; and like another valiant defender of the KNICKERBOCKERS before him, he has raised such a buzzing about his unlucky head, that he will need the tough hide of an ACHILLES or an ORLANDO FURIOSO, to protect him from their stings. We do not like the _nucleus_ of the ball which our sturdy democrat has set in motion--the glorious battle of Bunker-Hill; but for the rest, we should do dishonor to the spirit of our great historian and sire, if we did not applaud the prowess which is displayed in this warfare upon a set of 'dieven, schobbejaken, dengenieten, twist-zoëkeren, loozenschalken, blaes-kaken, kakken-bedden;' a squalling, bundling, guessing, questioning, swapping, pumpkin-eating, molasses-daubing, shingle-splitting, cider-watering, horse-jockeying, notion-peddling crew! Let the 'Defender of the Faithful' continue to ply his trenchant quill: thousands of crowded and jostled KNICKERBOCKERS are heart and soul in the contest; and the spirit of WILLIAM THE TESTY, who was translated to the firmament, and now forms a very fiery little star somewhere on the left claw of 'the Crab,' looks approvingly down upon the warfare! We confess that we find it in our hearts greatly to rejoice that the descendants of HABBAKUK NUTTER, RETURN STRONG, ZERUBBABEL FISK, and DETERMINED COCK, those losel scouts who overreached STOFFEL BRINKERHOFF, are to be taught that the 'sins of the fathers may be visited upon the children,' by a right valiant son of New-Amsterdam. When we bethink us how these Yankee varlets penetrated into the New-Netherland settlements, and bored our taciturn progenitors with their volubility and intolerable inquisitiveness; bringing the honest burghers to a stand on the highway, and torturing them with questions and guesses; 'and which is more,' seducing the light affections of the simple damsels from their ponderous Dutch gallants, and introducing among them the ancient practice of _bundling_; when we call to mind how that long-sided, raw-boned, hardy race received the proclamations of the sage Governor of New-Amsterdam, treating them with contempt, and applying them to an unseemly purpose, and foully dishonoring the valorous VAN CURLET, who bore them; when we remember these things, and also how that the tribe has been spreading wider and wider, and growing more impertinent every day; we cannot find it in our heart to regret that a doughty champion has come out against them, to expose their braggadocia and annihilate their pretensions. By the beard of MAHOMET! do they think that wisdom and patriotism lived alone and is to die with them? Because they are virtuous, are there to be no more cakes and ale? Is their aspiring metropolis, climbing upon its little hills to look down upon itself, to eclipse the great capital of the Manhaddoes? Is imperial Rome, in comparison, to be voted a rat-hole, 'Nineveh,' a nook, Babylon a baby-house, and Pekin the paltriest pile of the pigmies?' Unanimously, in this meridian, the KNICKERBOCKERS 'reckon not!' * * * WE place the following passages from recent letters of two excellent friends in juxtaposition, for an especial reason. The epistles are not dated far apart; and in the second, the writer, who dwelleth near 'MASON and DIXON,' descants upon the awful climate hereabout in the summer months. Infatuated person! Observe what he of Tinnecum, living scarcely eight miles away, saith: 'I have watched a fair opportunity to invite you to this '_verum et secretum_ μουσειοι.' The woods are gloriously animated; the fields deliciously green; the west winds overburdened with clover; the sea-shore breezes are life-inspiring; and to quote Greek again from one of the noble bursts of the chorus, I love to sit upon a piazza, with my picturesque head of hair ensnarled in the breeze, and sing out:

Αυρα, ποντιας αυρα,
Αυρα, ποντιας αυρα.

'The strawberries (an old writer has remarked that doubtless GOD _might_ have made a better berry, but he never _did_) are as deliriously ripe as if they had been smiled on by Venus, and dear goddess! she had imbued them with the sweetness of her own lips: '_Quinta parte sui nectaris imbuit._' They are charming! To see them piled up in little heaps, like the fruits of an early harvest, not to be stored away for a winter of discontent, but to cheer the immediate moment, to be refreshed every now and then by the anticipation of their sweet breath as it comes up, not obtrusively, gushing into your face, and causing you to throw back your head with a smile, as if all the senses were lulled into a dear security! To see them lying in so many wanton attitudes, as rubicund as if they were intoxicated with sun-beams, in all their variety of shapes; some preciously diminutive, others of an incredible, jovial plumpness; variegated, luxurious, shaped like some pyramids I know of, with their great circumference overshadowing the narrow base; conveying by their very size a provoking, insulting challenge, that they are too big to be swallowed up--by Phœbus! it is a treat to merge expectation in fruition; and if there is any _danger_ in swallowing them up, then I say again with Horace: '_Dulce est periclum_'--the danger is sweet. 'These delights if thou canst give----' Indeed _can_ I; and you shall have others beside--Και πλεον εξεις--as Venus said, when she advertised her missing boy. There is a pleasure in sitting by the window, to be lulled by a variety of murmurs, or to listen to them in the solemn groves; whether it be the sound of the sea, or the winds undulating among the tree-tops, or the swarming of bees, I can hardly tell, they are so like; and if the heart beats at regular intervals not too much in a hurry or with an inconsiderate knocking, being kept from agitation by a good conscience, as may without vanity be claimed both by you and me, we shall be captivated by a music more sweet than BELLINI. _Come out here right off!_' Thus far the favored occupant of this delectable region. Give ear now to that other scholar and gentleman, 'hereinbeforementioned:' 'IT is truly a blistering day, and the breath from the mouth of the approaching Dog is enough to stifle a Christian. I keep continually thinking of Nebuchadnezzar's furnace, and repeat, with more _fervor_ than I could wish, 'Bear me, Pomona, to thy citron shades!' etc. But 'Oh! Jimmy Thompson, Jimmy Thompson, oh!' never in Green England did you experience such an atmosphere as this! Pah! it goes down my throat like the spirit of melted lead. Oh! for some water-sprite to bear me under his dripping wings to the summit of Dawalageri; there among the notched rocks to sit sipping of iced sherry, and with pine-apples pendant to my very mouth, to whiff the cool Havana and read DANTE'S Purgatorio! There might some 'swift-winged courier of the clouds' bring me the July number of the KNICK.; and after laughing at the wit and melting with the pathos of American talent, might some prophetic angel unscale my eyes, and show me in the future the Chinese wall blown up by a match of opium, and the wheels of the Juggernaut carrying a train of burden-cars and a crowd of travellers from Calcutta to Delhi! What an unimaginable world lies behind the vale of that same wonder-pregnant Future! Oh! that one might raise that veil and see all that is to be, save the destinies of himself and his own beloved land! The sight, however, might be far from pleasing to the philanthropist. Freedom may fly again to her hereditary mountains; Knowledge may burn her lonely lamp in conventual cloisters; the 'march of mind' may make a retrograde advancement; another Caliph may fire the Royal Library of Paris; and posterity may be sufficiently unfortunate to have lost all trace and all memorial of you and me! God forbid!' * * * REPINING reader, bethink you in your moments of despondency, or even gloom, of the mind that traced, in the 'enduring dark' of his lonely apartment, these touching lines:

'OH, who on earth would love to live,
Unless he lived to love!'

'WHEN in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone bewail my outcast fate,
And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope;
Featured like him; like him with friends possessed;
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope;
With what I most enjoy contented least:
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee--and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at Heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my happy state with kings!'

THE following, which we derive from a Boston friend, who assures us that it is a 'statement of a veritable occurrence,' we can very readily believe. Indeed, we have never been able to doubt any thing which a bird might say, since we heard Uncle BEZONNET'S 'Poor Mino' in Nassau-street, laugh, and sing, and exclaim 'Good morning!' 'What's your name?' 'Uncle JOHN! Uncle JOHN! somebody's in the store;' and then, changing his tone, remark, what nobody could deny, 'What an extraordinary bird!' But to his 'Boston contemporary:' 'I came across a pious parrot the other day, while strolling down toward the wharves. It was the first of the class I had ever seen. I was just passing by a sailor boarding-house, when I heard, several times repeated, the words, '_The Lord ha' massy on Poor Poll, a sinner! Lord ha' massy! Amen!_' Turning round, I perceived they were uttered by a parrot in a cage, who with one claw drawn up on her breast, head bent reverently down, and eye cocked solemnly upward, was now following her ejaculations by the most piteous moans. Talking parrots are generally sad creatures, and seldom very choice in their language. 'But here,' thought I, 'is an exception; and surely, a race which has in it even _one_ individual capable of attaining to a knowledge of its utterly depraved condition, cannot be altogether lost.' What seemed to me to be the more remarkable, was the fact that such knowledge should have been attainable in a sailor boarding-house, in one of the most vicious streets of the city. While these thoughts were passing through my mind, the parrot had been eyeing me with an eager, sidelong glance, as if she were quite ready for a chat, and waited only for me to begin it. 'Pretty, pretty Poll:' said I, stroking her head gently with the end of my cane; 'Polly have a biscuit?' '_Yes, G--d d--n you! hand over!_' was the sharp, quick reply.' * * * FEW and far between, now, are the scenes recorded below by a Southern correspondent. The last of the old hearts-of-oak will soon fall to the ground: 'Since I last 'drove pen,' I have sat by the death-bed, watched by the corpse, and shovelled earth upon the coffin, of an old revolutionary soldier. He served four years in WASHINGTON'S own division of the army; and doubtless, although he attained no high official rank, his blood was as freely offered, and his services should be as gratefully appreciated, as those of any general of them all. He was a forgotten unit in that subaltern rank, on whose individual merits the titled built their edifice of fame. His offering was like 'the widow's mite,' an offering as dear to him as any the costliest oblation made unto his country's treasury of glory. Requieseat!' * * * 'YOU will find,' says a friend writing from London, by the last steamer, 'that your portrait has been extensively circulated about Great-Britain and her dominions, in the last number of 'Chuzzlewit.' The artist who draws the illustrations, has given, in the person of young MARTIN, who is reading one of your flash newspapers, in presence of the editor and his war correspondent, a very faithful transcript of the lineaments of the Editor of the KNICKERBOCKER, as we remember them.' We cannot say how far our correspondent is correct in his impressions; although they were corroborated by a score or more of American friends, before we had seen the engraving in question; but _this_ we know, that if any of our readers desire to see a portrait, as life-like as if he had sat for it, of the late lamented WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK, they may find it in the person of young MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, in the English edition of Mr. DICKENS'S last issue of the work of that name. The outline, the air, the manner, are _perfect_. * * * IT may be thought remarkable, that while to the mass the illusions of the theatre possess unwonted interest, those who know the most of its secrets affect it the least. THEODORE HOOK, we are told by his reviewer, had a fixed and rooted aversion to the stage, and a consummate contempt for the player's profession, as a school of character and manners; an absolute physical loathing, as it were, for every thing connected with the green-room, from the mouthing art of managers, to the melancholy pirouettes of the 'poor plastered things with fringes to their stays, which they call petticoats.' FANNY KEMBLE herself, overcoming so many proud and glorious associations, did not sicken of it more heartily. Doesn't this militate against the argument of 'C.'? _Rather_, we think. * * * IF the reader does not discover something sparkling, quaint, and decidedly _original_ in '_No'th-East by East_,' in preceding pages, we shall inevitably have thrown away and sacrificed 'our guess.' There is a touch of DANA, a dash of COLERIDGE, and the 'slightest possible taste in the world' of HALLECK, yet withal no _imitation_, in that amphibious poem. Some lines _seem_ somewhat amendable; 'As lightning had sprung _sudden_ then,' is one, for example. Lightning _is_ rather 'sudden,' we believe, in most cases. We scarcely remember ever to have seen a _very_ slow flash; yet the line could hardly be bettered, and there is good precedent for the apparently adscititious word. A few 'common substantives' in the poem may require elucidation for the uninitiated. The 'Graves' are rocks in Boston harbor, near the outer light, or 'big bright Eye.' Near this light, and past George's island, by 'Nix's Mate,' is the main channel, through which ships _must_ make a 'procession' in coming up toward Boston. The 'pinkie' is a schooner-rigged craft, sharp at both ends, a short peak running up aft, and designed for a chasing sea. The annexed lines were written to follow the passage wherein the courier-star says 'The sun is coming up this way,' etc., but they came too late for insertion:

'THE sun is now uncovering
The mid-Atlantic--scattering
The mists, with many a toss and fling
Of dangling skirts and weary wing;
Half frantic, as they knew not where
To hide them from his fiery glare;
The iceberg from his ocean-bed
Lifts loftily his glittering head,
But shakes not off one burnished spear,
To ring in the frosted atmosphere.'

PERHAPS we _are_ amenable to the criticism of our New-Haven friend. Certain it is, however, that 'the lightness which predominates in our cogitations and gatherings' is often to us a veritable relief; and if we may trust the candor of many friends, it has been grateful to them also,

... 'when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world
Have hung upon the beatings of the heart.'

We are not all constituted alike, dear Sir; yet what is one man's meat we would not have another's poison. 'The amiable qualities of cheerfulness and good-humor,' says an old writer, 'cast a kind of sunshine over a composition, and resemble the gentle smile that often lights up the human countenance, the never-failing indication of a humane temper.' As for wit, we consider it a species of poetry. It amuses and delights the imagination by those sudden assemblages and pleasing pictures of things which it creates; and from every common occasion can raise such striking appearances as throw the most phlegmatic tempers into a convulsion of good-humored mirth. We fear our censor will consider us 'past mending.' We must still hold with the excellent FLETCHER, that 'a little mirth now and then is a great purifier:'

''Tis mirth that fills the veins with blood,
More than wine, or sleep, or food;
Let each man keep his heart at ease,
No man dies of that disease.
He that would his body keep
From diseases, must not weep;
But whoever laughs and sings,
Never he his body brings
Into fevers, gouts, or rheums,
Or ling'ringly his lungs consumes;
But contented lives for aye--
The more he laughs, the more he may.'

Does our critic remember an ancient motto on a sun-dial? '_Non numero Horas, nisi serenas?_' It is capable of application. * * * WE are glad to say, since our opinion in this place is requested, that the essay on '_Education of Youthful Morals_' is an _excellent_ one. It is only _too long_ for our Magazine, if we would preserve our accustomed variety. It would make at least fifteen printed pages of the KNICKERBOCKER. We hope however to see the article published. No parent who feels as he ought for the children which GOD has given him, growing up around him, but would honor its aim and emulate its salutary lessons. Years pass quickly away. Yet a little while, and our dear ones will be actors in this busy world, of which at present their knowledge is so small. The article in question has been returned, as requested, through the Upper Post-Office. * * * SOMETHING akin to the following, were certain lines written by '_S. C. M._', now well known in America and England under a popular _pseudonyme_, many years since. There is rather more of the '_cautionary_,' however, in this 'limning from life:'

THE NOVEL-READER

'TWAS very sweet of a summer's eve,
To hear her talk and sing
Of stars, and dews, and rocks, and caves,
And all that sort of thing.

I loved her for her mild blue eye,
And her sweet and quiet air;
But I'm very sure that I didn't see
The novel on the chair.

I longed to have a quiet wife,
For a noise quite drives me frantic;
But to be a novel-reader's spouse
Is any thing but romantic.

The live-long day does LAURA read
In a cushioned easy-chair,
In slipshod shoes, and a dirty gown,
And tangled, uncombed hair.

The children look like beggars' brats,
And little have they of breeding;
Yet this is but one of the many ills
That flow from novel-reading.

For oh! the meals! I'm very sure
You ne'er did see such 'feeding;'
For the beef is burnt and the veal is raw,
And all from novel-reading.

The bed-room's very like a sty,
And the kitchen seems a stable;
The lap-dogs litter the parlor o'er,
And the nursery is a Babel.

Ho! youth in search of a quiet wife,
Before to the shrine you lead her,
Take care, I pray you, take good care
That she isn't a novel-reader!

WE had lately missed our friend Mr. L. P. CLOVER, from his establishment under the Astor-House, in Vesey-street, and were ignorant of his whereabout; until happening one day to pass Dr. LYELL'S church in Anthony-street, near Broadway, we observed, near the door of a building adjoining that edifice, a couple of large paintings, representing the Falls of Niagara. Entering to inquire the name of the artist, we opened upon Mr. CLOVER, which 'fully accounted' for the presence at his door of works of art; for although his establishment is better known for its excellent looking-glasses and picture-frames, for the sale of which, on reasonable terms, it has become so popular, yet we have been often indebted to the proprietor's taste and enterprise for the enjoyment of some of the best paintings to be met at any similar place in the metropolis. To test the justice of our commendations, let our town readers drop in at Number eighty-three Anthony-street, and examine VANDERLYN'S Views of the Great Cataract, and several of WARD'S fine landscapes. * * * WE hear of various changes and some deaths among our contemporaries. Our friend 'SARGENT'S Magazine' has been swallowed up in 'GRAHAM'S;' two or three 'lady-periodicals,' as they are termed, have been similarly wedded; the 'Southern Literary Messenger,' since the death of its amiable and persevering proprietor, has been advertised for sale at public auction; the Charleston 'Magnolia' is we hear to be discontinued: Mr. SIMMS recently transferred its editorial functions. The 'Orion,' we are informed, will commence its third volume in September, with increased attractions, literary and pictorial. How many Magazines have arisen, struggled, and fallen, within the last ten years, that were going to throw the 'Old KNICK.' into the back-ground, and darken his out-goings! We could at this moment count up a score of such upon our fingers; and yet MAGA 'flourishes in immortal youth!' 'Be virtuous, and you will be happy;' 'Rome was not built in a day;' and so forth. * * * 'REMEMBER that thou keep holy the Sabbath-Day,' is a lesson beautifully enforced in the following lines by Sir MATTHEW HALE. We give them in place of our Baltimore correspondent's remarks upon '_Sunday in the Country_,' in our last number:

'A SABBATH well spent
Brings a week of content,
And health for the toils of to-morrow;
But a Sabbath profaned,
Whatsoe'er may be gained,
Is a certain forerunner of sorrow.'

THE article upon '_President Tyler and his Family_' in our last number seems, according to the newspapers, to have given offence to a portion of the public. The sketch was from the pen of an old correspondent of the KNICKERBOCKER, who had never failed to please its readers; his articles having always been widely copied and warmly commended. Assured that it had no political bearing, and that it could in nowise trench upon our neutrality, we gave the paper a place; not without the thought also that the recent tour of the President and a portion of his family in this section of the Union would give it additional interest to our readers in the Northern States. The reception of the article, however, has satisfied us that while politics run high, it is not expedient for a neutral work like the KNICKERBOCKER to intermeddle either with public _men_ or public _measures_. We shall therefore eschew all kindred themes hereafter. * * * WE are indebted to a kind friend for the following 'incident of travel.' We have heard before of the couplet which he transcribes, but never of a _serious_ application of the lines. We did not however need the assurance of our correspondent that he 'actually saw them, as stated:' 'During a recent journey through New-Hampshire, with a small party of choice friends, we stopped to refresh ourselves at a little inn in a village that shall be nameless, although it has a name _at home_. The parlor into which we were ushered was ornamented, as is usual in New-England villages, with two or three rude pictures; and among the rest, the indispensable family mourning-piece. This latter is always irresistibly attractive to me. Poorly as it is executed, it is the work of love. It speaks of the natural and holy desire to remember the dead, to hold their images and their memorials near; to bind the members of the little family, in whatever worlds, together into one. It is one of the many symbols in which the affectionate heart imbodies its instinctive prophecy of the indissolubleness of the holy and beautiful alliances of friendship and home. It seems to say: 'We have not yet done loving the dead. Our sympathies and attachments are too strong to be so soon dissolved. Virtuous friendship must endure for ever, or love is a cheat. Our holy associations _must_ abide, or we have no confidence in any thing eternal.' The picture was the work of the needle, representing with wonderful _originality_ of conception, a weeping willow bending over a small obelisk, upon which was recorded the name of an infant, aged seven weeks. Beneath the name were the following lines; the perusal of which, I need not say, produced a most sensible effect upon the feelings of all the travellers, and left an impression never to be effaced:

'Since that I so soon was done for,
I wonder what I was begun for.'

The brevity of human life is a mystery, which has often perplexed the wisest heads. But the difficult question is here propounded 'with a _vengeance_,' considering the quarter from which it is represented to have come, that is perfectly overpowering.' * * * WHAT an admirable reproof of selfishness is conveyed in these few words of BACON: 'Divide with reason between self-love and society, and be so true to thyself that thou be not false to others. It is a poor centre of a man's actions, himself. It is right earth; for that only stands fast upon its own centre, whereas all things that have affinity with the heavens move upon the centre of another, which they benefit.' * * * WE like _parts_ of '_The Summer-Storm_' very well; but as a whole, it lacks clearness, and in one or two places the language is tame; mere prose, indeed, and not over-felicitously divided. We can well _imagine_ the appearance of such a storm, however, in the highlands of Rockland county. THOMSON has a spirited picture of a similar scene:

'AT first, heard solemn o'er the verge of heaven,
The tempest growls; but as it nearer comes,
And rolls its awful burthen on the wind,
The lightnings flash a larger curve, and more
The noise astounds: till over head a sheet
Of livid flame discloses wide; then shuts
And opens wider; shuts and opens still
Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze!'

FOR one only reason, we decline the 'thrilling story' of 'M. D.' of Hudson. We do not affect a _fight_ in a tale. Indeed, we crossed out a great battle of fists recently in one of the best articles that has appeared in the KNICKERBOCKER for several months. SIDNEY SMITH'S advice on this point is most judicious: 'Nobody should suffer his hero to have a black eye, or to be pulled by the nose. The Iliad would never have come down to these times, if AGAMEMNON had given ACHILLES a box on the ear. We should have trembled for the Æniad if any Tyrian nobleman had kicked the pious ÆNEAS in the fourth book. ÆNEAS may have deserved it, but he never could have founded the Roman empire after so distressing an accident.' * * * NOW in this fervid summer solstice, forget not, O ye sedentary! that most important requirement of the body, frequent ablution. _Bathe! bathe!_ A recipient ourselves of 'the early and latter rain' of Dr. RABINEAU'S shower-bath, and eke the benefits of his unrivalled swimming-bath, we speak by the card, and as one having authority. Of Mr. H. RABINEAU'S _warm_ salt water baths, at the foot of Desbrosses-street, on the North River, we hear also the warmest praises, from the lips of invalids and others. * * * IF we were to write a page of fine print in reply to one point of 'S.'s remarks upon '_Street Alms-Giving_,' it could not so well express what _he_ at least will understand, as the annexed brief sentence: 'That charity which Plenty gives to Poverty is human and earthly; but it becomes divine and heavenly, when Poverty gives to Want.' * * * WE submit it to the reader whether our correspondent is not excusable for the tardy fulfilment of a promise in which they were interested:

'I'VE had the tooth-ache, DIEDRICH, and have taken
All sorts of extracts, essences, and lotions;
Have held on blisters, till my jaws were baking,
Of mustard, vinegar, and other notions;
And for about a week, at midnight waking,
Have drank raw fourth-proof brandy, in such portions,
(Mixed with quinines, valerians, and morphines,)
'Twould put a dozen stout men in their coffins.'

'M.'s curt notelet is impertinent and ungentleman-like. His article was a mere _ébauche_, and very indifferent at that. The _nuclei_ of his associations were objects of the very smallest kind, and the language was kept down to a sympathetic degradation and due correspondence with the thoughts. The article was 'respectfully declined,' and in the manner prescribed by its author; and for this we are berated in no measured terms. 'Go to; you are a fishmonger.' * * * THE '_Lines to Old Ocean_' possess a kind of latent rough-and-tumble sublimity, not unlike a good borrowed thought smothered in windy words by JOHN NEAL. But we like DICKENS'S prose picture of 'the main' much better: 'The sea never knows what to do with itself. It hasn't got no employment for its mind, and is always in a state of vacancy. Like them polar bears in the wild-beast shows, as is constantly a-nodding their heads from side to side, it never _can_ be quiet.' This is at least '_clear_ to the meanest capacity.' * * * IT is said of RICHTER, that his foremost thought about a wife was, that she should be able to 'cook him something good.' Our Port-Chester epigrammatist seems to have a taste for the fragile in his estimate of the sex:

'LOVELY woman's a flower, so when you address her,
If you wish to retain, I advise you to press her.'