Chapter VI: Part 6

'While we were in this irresolute dilemma, we thought we saw a
light, that glimmered for a moment, and as suddenly disappeared.
We watched, I know not how long, and again saw it twinkle,
though, as we thought, in something of a different direction.
Clarke said it was a will-o'the-wisp. I replied it might be
one, but as it seemed the only chance we had, my advice was to
continue our walk in that direction; in hopes that if it were
a light proceeding from any house or village, it would become
more visible as we approached. We walked on, I know not how
far, and then paused; but discovered no more of the light. We
walked on again; again stood still, and looked on every side
of us, either for the light or any other object; but we could
see nothing distinctly. The obscure forms around us had varied
their appearance; and whether they were hills, or clouds, or
what they were, we could not possibly discover; though the first
we still thought was the most probable. By this time we had no
certain recollection of which way we had come, or to what point
we were directing our course. We were continually in doubt;
now pausing, now conjecturing, now proceeding. We continued
to wander, we knew not whither. Sometimes it appeared we went
up hill, and sometimes down. We had stepped very cautiously,
and therefore very slowly; had warned each other continually
to be careful; and had not dared to take twenty steps at a
time, without mutually enquiring to know if all were safe.
We continued, environed as it were by the objects which most
powerfully inspire fear; by the darkness of night, the tumult of
the elements, the utter ignorance of where we were or by what
objects surrounded, and the dejectedness which our situation
inspired. Thieves and assassins might be at our back, and we
could not hear them; gulfs, rocks, or rivers, in our front, or
on either side, and we could not see them. The next step might
plunge us, headlong, we knew not whither.

'These fears were not all imaginary. Finding the ground very
uneven on a sudden, and stumbling dangerously myself, I stood
still. I did not hear my companion! I called--I received no
answer! I repeated, in a louder tone, 'CLARKE! where are you?'
Still no answer! I then shouted, with all the fear that I felt,
and heard a faint response, that seemed to be beneath me, and
at a prodigious distance. It terrified, yet it relieved. We had
spoken not three minutes before. I stood silent, in hopes he
would speak again; but my fears were too violent to remain so
long. I once more called; and he replied, with rather a louder
voice, which lessened the apparent distance, 'Take care! You'll
dash yourself to pieces!'

Reader, isn't this very graphic description? Yet what could be more straight-forward and simple? But to proceed: TREVOR ascertains from his companion that he is not seriously injured, and avows his own determination at once to get to him; but the other exclaims: 'For GOD in heaven's sake don't! I suppose I am in a chalk-pit, or at the bottom of a steep crag.' TREVOR however proceeds to crawl on his hands and knees in the direction of his voice, determined if possible to reach him:

'I FOUND the rough impediments around me increase; till
presently I came to one that was ruder than the rest. I crawled
upon it, sustained by my knees and right hand, and stretching
forward with my left. I groped, but felt nothing. I cautiously
laid my belly to the ground and stretched out my other arm.
Still it was vacancy. I stretched a little more violently;
feeling forward and on each side; and I seemed to be projected
upon a point, my head and shoulders inclining over a dark abyss,
which the imagination left unfathomable. I own I felt terror;
and the sensation certainly was not lessened, when, making an
attempt to recover my position and go back, my support began
to give way. My effort to retreat was as violent as my terror;
but it was too late. The ground shook, loosened, and, with the
struggle I made carrying me with it, toppled headlong down. What
the height that I fell was, I have no means of ascertaining;
for the heath on which we were wandering abounds with quarries
and precipices; but either it was in fact, or my fears made it,
prodigious.

Recovering from the violent shock of his fall, he replies to the vehement questions of his companion, who had heard his perilous descent. After mutual inquiries, it is found that both are on their legs, and that although violently wrenched, no bones are broken. But where _were_ they? and how were they to discover their whereabout? Perhaps in a stone-quarry, or lime-pit; perhaps at the edge of waters. It might be, too, that they had fallen down only on the first bank or ridge of a quarry, and had a precipice ten-fold more dreadful before them:

'WHILE we were conjecturing, the stroke of a large clock,
brought whizzing in the wind, struck full upon our ear. We
listened with the most anxious ardor. The next stroke was very,
very faint; a different current had carried it a different
way; and with all our eager attention, we could not be certain
that we heard any more. Yet, though we had lost much time, and
our progress had been excessively tedious, it could not be two
o'clock in the morning. It might indeed very probably be twelve.
The first stroke of the clock made us conjecture it came from
some steeple, or hall tower, at no very great distance. The
second carried our imaginations we knew not whither. We had
not yet recovered courage enough to take more steps than were
necessary to come to each other; and while we were considering,
during an intermitting pause of the roaring of the wind, we
distinctly heard a cur yelp. Encouraged by this, we immediately
hallooed with all our might. The wind again began to chafe, and
swell, and seemed to mock at our distress. Still we repeated
our efforts, whenever the wind paused; but, instead of voices
intending to answer our calls, we heard shrill whistlings, which
certainly were produced by men. Could it be by good men? By
any but night marauders; intent on mischief, but disturbed and
alarmed? They were signals indubitably: for we shouted again,
they were again given, and were then repeated from another
quarter; at least if they were not, they were miraculously
imitated, by the dying away of the wind. In a little while we
again heard the cur yelp; and immediately afterward a howling,
which was so mingled with the blast that we could not tell
whether it were the wind itself, the yelling of a dog, or the
agonizing cries of a human voice; but it was a dreadfully dismal
sound. We listened with perturbed and deep attention; and it was
several times repeated, with increasing uncertainty, confusion,
and terror.

'What was to be done? My patience was exhausted. Danger itself
could no longer detain me; and I told CLARKE I was determined to
make toward the village, or whatever the place was, from whence,
dangerous and doubtful as they were, these various sounds
proceeded. Finding me resolute, he was very earnest to have led
the way; and when I would not permit him, he grasped me by the
hand, and told me that if there were pitfalls and gulfs, and if
I did go down, unless he should have strength enough to save me,
we would go down together.'

Cautiously and slowly, step by step, they pursue their way, alternately catching and losing a dancing light in the distance, which they imagine to proceed from some mansion, apparently a large one, which they at length reach, only to find it dark, still, and closed. Searching on the outside, however, they come to a large open gate, which they enter, and after feeling their way for a short distance, arrive at a door that evidently belongs to an out-house or detached building. It is shut, but the key has been inadvertently left in the lock. Fatigued, shelterless, and bruised, they have little hesitation in profiting by the accident. A noisome effluvia assails them on entering, which at first almost drives them back; but growing less the longer they continue, they accept the shelter, and grope their way behind some barrels and lumber, where they find straw, upon which they rest their drenched and weary limbs. They are scarcely nestled together, before they again hear the yelping of a cur, and the same dismal howls and shrill whistling signals, by which their imaginations had previously been wrought up; together with the voices of men, in coarse, rude and savage words, denoting anger and anxiety for the perpetration of some dark purpose, in keeping with the fierce and threatening sounds: 'They approached. One of them had a lantern. He came up to the door; and finding it open, boisterously shut it; with a broad and bitter curse against the carelessness of some man, whose name he pronounced, for leaving it open; and eternally damning others for being so long in doing their business. We were now locked in; and we soon heard no more of the voices.' In spite of these alarms, however, fear at length gives place to fatigue; but their rest is of short duration. TREVOR'S brief slumber is disturbed by his companion, whom he finds 'shaking in the most violent agitation he ever beheld in any human being,' and who only replies with a groan to his question of 'What is the matter?' Awakened from his own wild slumbers, and strongly partaking of his companion's sensations, TREVOR yet endeavors to rouse him to speech and recollection, by asking again: 'What have you heard?--what ails you?' 'It was some time before he could utter an articulate sound. At last, shaking more violently as he spoke, and with inexpressible horror in his voice, he gasping said: '_A dead hand!_' 'Where?' 'I felt it--I had hold of it--it is now at my neck!' TREVOR, trembling in sympathy with his companion, hardly dares to stretch out his arm to examine. At length he ventures: 'Never shall I forget the sensation I experienced, when to my full conviction I actually felt a cold, dead hand between my fingers! I was suffocated with horror! I struggled to overcome it, but it again seized me, and I sank half entranced!' At this instant the shrill sound of the whistle rings piercing through the dismal place in which they are confined. It is answered; and the same hoarse voices are once more heard. The prisoners lie silent, not daring to breathe, when they hear the door unlock; and with a dialogue of mingled oaths and reproaches, at the want of care in leaving the door unlocked, and the prospect of being 'smoked' and 'blown,' two men enter with a lantern, bearing a sack, one of whom exclaims: 'Lift the sack on end! Why the h--ll don't you lend a hand and keep it steady, while I untie it? Do you think a dead man can stand on his legs?' After much colloquy of this sort, the men quit the place, leaving the two travellers not only with the dead body, but with bones and human skeletons, revealed by the light of the lantern, on every side! The dancing lights they had seen, the shrill signals, and the dreadful howls they had heard, are no longer mysterious. It was no _ignis fatuus_, but the lantern of those assassins; no dog or wolf baying the moon, but the agonizing yells of murder! After the departure of the desperadoes, they hear various noises in the adjoining house; among others, the occasional ringing of a chamber-bell. Soon other sounds approach more nearly; and presently the inner door once more opens, and a livery servant, bearing two lighted candles, comes in, followed by a man with an apron tied round him, having a kind of bib up to his chin, and linen sleeves drawn over his coat. The master (for such he evidently is) has a meagre, wan countenance; and the servant seems in great trepidation; to whom the gentleman observes: 'Don't be afraid, MATTHEW; you will soon be accustomed to it, and you will then laugh at your present timidity. Unless you conquer your fears, you will not be able to obey my directions in assisting me; consequently, you will not be fit for your place; and you know you cannot get so good wages in any other.' To all this the prisoners are not inattentive listeners; and as the servant turns round, he beholds TREVOR standing with his eyes fixed, watchful for the interpretation of these enigmas. The man stares, gasps, turns pale, and at last drops down, overcome with terror; while the master, whose attention is thus directed to the apparition of TREVOR, stands motionless, his face assuming a death-like hue, and the power of utterance apparently lost. This incident hastens the _éclaircissement_. In their benighted wanderings, they had at last found a refuge in the _dissecting-room of an anatomist_, who had risen before day to operate upon the subject which had been secured for him in the course of the night by the desperadoes before mentioned.

The picture, it will be perceived, was reflected through the medium of consternation and terror. The imaginations of the travellers had been strongly preyed upon by their distress, by the accident of falling, and by the mingled noises they had heard; proceeding from the church-yard robbers, the village dogs disturbed by them, and the whistling, roaring, and howling so common to high gusts of wind; all which was sufficient to distract minds already in a state of visionary deception and alarm. Being engaged in a desperate deed, for selfish purposes, the 'body-snatchers' had the _manners_ of murderers, which the more effectually deceived the terrified travellers. Add to this the spectacle of a dissecting-room; here preparations of arms, pendent in rows, with the vessels injected; and there legs, feet, and other limbs; and a satisfactory _catalogue raisonné_ will have been established. For the rest, the anatomist subsequently explains to his unexpected auditors, that finding his health such as to compel him to forego the winter lectures of able surgeons in London, he had continued his practical studies in the country, by the means which they had discovered, and the necessity of procuring which he defended, on the ground that a surgeon _must_ be acquainted with the direction, site, and properties of the muscles, arteries, ligaments, nerves, and other parts, before he can cut the living body with the least possible injury; and that a dead body, being no longer subject to pain, could no more be disgraced by the knife of a surgeon than by the gnawing of the worm. Rather specious reasoning, it strikes us; at least an argument not likely to be particularly convincing to surviving relatives and friends. HOOD'S soliloquy of an exhumed 'subject' comes also in aid of the other side of the question:

'I thought the last of all my cares
Would end with my last minute;
But though I went to my long home,
I didn't stay long in it.

'The body-snatchers they have come,
And made a snatch at me;
It's very hard them kind of men
Won't let a body be!'

* * * * *

GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS.--We must beg leave to say, once for all, and _to_ all, that we cannot permit this Magazine to be made the medium of theological controversy. Several pamphlets, letters, tracts, etc., have been sent us for examination, connected with '_Puseyism and Anti-Puseyism_;' themes also which give the title to a long communication before us, from some one who seems, in 'cramming' for his article, to have gone through a course of the fathers; poured over the canonists, and searched all the schoolmen; for he brings forward a very formidable array of authorities to prove something or other, yet _what_, we cannot justly make out. But if the case be not quite clear, then have TERTULLIAN, CHRYSOSTOM, AUSTIN, JEROME, and the rest, been summoned in vain; in vain the citations from famous high churchmen; archbishops, bishops, deans, and doctors; from WHITGIFT to WATERLAND, from ROGERS to RUTHERFORTH, 'marshalled in dread array, a host invincible.' Then again we have '_A Dialogue between a Puseyite and an Anti-Puseyite_,' which we came near sending to an esteemed friend and correspondent, as an illustration of a recent comment of his upon this species of antagonism; a dialogue in which one speaker does all the talking; here ingeniously sinking a truth, and there raising a swelling fiction, and all with such an air of fairness, and 'triumph through the right!' 'Have you not been amused sometimes,' says our friend, 'to see a reverend disputant set up a little man of straw on the opposite side, and making him support positions he would never take, by arguments he would never use, trip him up with an adroit catch, or knock him down with an annihilating blow; and continue this diverting process of setting up and knocking down, till all sensible people were convinced that he was a mighty cudgeller as well as a sound believer, and his opponent a fool as well as a heretic?' But, 'something too much of this.' We took up our pen merely to say, that while we reverence that true religion which is 'first _pure_, then _peaceable_,' we hold in no respect sectarian quarrels, and especially the 'family cat-fights' in which the _Puseyites_ and their opponents are at present so vindictively engaged. Of all employments, quarrelling about religion is the worst; and he that _does_ quarrel about it, can have none worth quarrelling about, in our humble opinion. 'The man who committed the fatal presumption of first saying to his fellow man, 'You shall think as I do,' is responsible for by far the greater part of all the wretchedness and injustice of this world.'... WE shall not invite the reader's attention to '_The Innocence of a Galley-Slave_,' the first of two parts of which will be found in preceding pages, simply because it requires no such incentive to perusal. But we cannot forego the satisfaction of assuring the translator that so long as we have been connected with this Magazine, we have never read _any thing_ that impressed itself so forcibly upon our imagination. The faithful yet most dramatic portraiture of character; the deep interest excited by the incidents of the story, which proceed by a natural convergence to the _dénouement_; the felicitous management of the dialogue, and the grouping of the scenes and _dramatis personæ_, have never been equalled, to our conception, by any previous writer in the KNICKERBOCKER. Being what is termed 'an old stager,' in a literary sense, we are not wont to be deeply affected by narratives of this sort; but we are bound to state, that after reading 'The Galley-Slave' at night, we retired to rest, but not to sleep. Its scenes, its characters, were before us during the night-watches, and until the morning dawned; with such variations only as were produced by the vagaries of half-waking dreams. If there be a reader of the KNICKERBOCKER who shall disagree with us in opinion, after the perusal of the conclusion of the story in our October number, why we should like to see him--'some day when he is passing.' * * * THE following was found upon the body of a suicide, taken from the Thames in London. It was well pronounced 'an act of attainder against the whole community, in the infamy of which each man of means had his share. It is irresistible in its truth and pathos:

'THIS body, if ever this body should be found, was once a thing
which moved about the earth, despised and unnoticed, and died
indigent and unlamented. It could hear, see, feel, smell, and
taste, with as much quickness, delicacy, and force as other
bodies. It had desires and passions like other bodies, but was
denied the use of them by such as had the power and the will to
engross the good things of this world to themselves. The doors
of the great were shut upon it; not because it was infected
with disease or contaminated with infamy, but on account of the
fashion of the garments with which it was clothed, and the name
it derived from its forefathers; and because it had not the
habit of bending its knee where its heart owed no respect, nor
the power of moving its tongue to gloze the crimes or flatter
the follies of men. It was excluded the fellowship of such as
heap up gold and silver; not because it did, but for fear it
might, ask a small portion of their beloved wealth. It shrunk
with pain and pity from the haunts of ignorance which the
knowledge it possessed could not enlighten, and guilt that its
sensations were obliged to abhor. There was but one class of men
with whom it was permitted to associate, and those were such as
had feelings and misfortunes like its own; among whom it was its
hard fate frequently to suffer imposition, from assumed worth
and fictitious distress. Beings of supposed benevolence, capable
of perceiving, loving, and promoting merit and virtue, have now
and then seemed to flit and glide before it. But the visions
were deceitful. Ere they were distinctly seen, the phantoms
vanished. Or, if such beings do exist, it has experienced the
peculiar hardship of never having met with any, in whom both
the purpose and the power were fully united. Therefore, with
hands wearied with labor, eyes dim with watchfulness, veins
but half nourished, and a mind at length subdued by intense
study and a reiteration of unaccomplished hopes, it was driven
by irresistible impulse to end at once such a complication of
evils.'

* * * * *

'_A Temperance Story_' relies mainly for its 'fun, which the Editor seems to enjoy,' upon an ancient JOSEPHUS MILLERIUS. The collateral anecdote, however, toward its close, is not so much amiss. Two young men, 'with a humming in their heads,' retire late at night to their room in a crowded inn; in which, as they enter, are revealed two beds; but the wind extinguishing the light, they both, instead of taking, as they supposed, a bed apiece, get back-to-back into _one_ bed, which begins to sink under them, and come around at intervals, in a manner very circumambient, but quite impossible of explication. Presently one observes to the other: 'I say, TOM, somebody's in my bed.' 'Is there?' says the other; 'so there is in mine, d--n him! Let's kick 'em out!' The _next_ remark was: 'TOM, I've kicked _my_ man overboard.' 'Good!' says his fellow-toper; 'better luck than I; my man has kicked _me_ out--d--d if he hasn't--right on the floor!' Their 'relative positions' were not apparent until the next morning. * * * WHAT a personal presence was that of the FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY! All accounts agree in this. We heard an old gentleman say, not long ago, that when a clerk in Philadelphia, he used to walk two or three squares every morning, to meet WASHINGTON as he came down Market-street to his quarters. 'The dignity,' said he, 'of his movements, the grace of his salutation, and the calm sweetness of his smile, were beyond description or comparison.' Sitting the other day on a log, scarcely a stone's throw from where ANDRE was captured, and not far from the little Sleepy-Hollow church, we conversed for an hour with a revolutionary patriot, tremulous with the palsy of age, who pointed out to us the spot, over the Tappan Sea which lay before us, where ANDRE was hung, and where on that day the troops 'spread out thick and black a long way from the gallows.' He lived at VERPLANCK'S Point, close by, when ARNOLD came down in his barge, and went on board the Vulture, all which he himself saw. 'They fired two cannon at the barge,' said he, from this side: having got news of the treason by express; but the gun burst at the second discharge, and took off the legs, to the thighs, of one poor fellow, who was brought to our house, but he died in two hours. The army then lay at Bedford,' continued the old veteran; 'and I saw General WASHINGTON almost every day. He was a noble-looking man; his countenance was terribly pleasant. He did not talk much; but even the little children fairly loved him; and they used to gather about the door of his marquée every morning, to see him; and he used to pat their heads and smile on them: it was beautiful to see.' How uniform and universal is this 'testimony of the eye' in the recollections of WASHINGTON! * * * WE know not _why_ it is, but the fact is so, that many affected persons are prone to interpolate superfluous letters into a certain class of words, apparently to make them more high-sounding than they would otherwise be. 'Ordure! ordure! gentlemen!' exclaimed a court-crier to a noisy audience the other day, in our hearing. 'That is a fine burst!--what a calm, beautiful forward!' said a lisping young lady, one evening at the National Academy, as she called the attention of her cavalier to LAUNITZ's lovely 'Rose of the Alhambra,' in breathing marble. These are vulgarisms of the baser sort, and require the lash. * * * RIGHT glad are we that 'our contemporary' the KNICKERBOCKER steamer, that _Palace of the Hudson_, sustains so well the honor of her name. The metropolitan journals are full of her praises; pronouncing her, in speed, in richness and splendor of decoration, in symmetry of form, and in sumptuousness of convenience and luxury, unequalled by any boat that floats on our waters. It is even so; and what is especially pleasant to observe, is the fact, that there is so much resemblance between the ornamental externals of the 'OLD KNICK.,' with whom she shares her name, and the 'palace' in question. Our vignettes and title are enlarged in colors upon her sides, and multiplied in exquisite stained glass and other transparencies, in divers quarters; indeed MAGA triumphs in all her borders. And among all the superb state-rooms, there is not one more gorgeously furnished and decorated than that which bears the silver-plate of 'KNICKERBOCKER;' and which, thanks to the admiral! is subject to our order, 'when we sail.' SHAKSPEARE was right; it _is_ a good thing to have a good name. May the KNICKERBOCKER steamer be as cordially cherished as her namesake; and may she labor as unceasingly, and as successfully, to unite the suffrages of the 'universal public.' That she _will_ do so, few who know her own qualities, or those of her justly popular commander, Captain St. JOHN, can for a moment doubt. * * * OUR Heavenly FATHER 'does not willingly grieve nor afflict the children of men;' yet sometimes we encounter examples of the chastenings of His rod, which 'give us pause,' and almost lead us to ask, in the spirit of sympathy with suffering, '_Why_ hath the ALMIGHTY done this?' Such for a moment were our thoughts the other day, in returning from an excursion by water to the charming retreat of Flushing. Among the passengers who were drinking in the bland airs of the day, and regarding with delight the verdant villa-sprinkled shores, was a man of imposing presence, with a fine intellectual head and face, and with one exception, 'a man altogether pleasant to behold.' He was constantly engaged, however, in that involuntary exercise known as '_St. Vitus's Dance_.' It was very painful to look upon, nor did we permit the afflicted man to know that we were regarding his contortions; but so inexpressibly ludicrous were some of his movements, that a strong sense of the ridiculous was mingled with pity, and it was impossible to conjecture which had the ascendancy. Motions there were in plenty, that no skill of the RAVELS could imitate. In legs and feet, arms, hands, and fingers, there was not a muscle that was not 'unexpectedly called upon' to illustrate the composite style of the saltatory saint. In one instance, the breeze slightly lifted the gentleman's hat; and in raising his hand, quite miscellaneously, to secure it, his fingers were arrested opposite his nose, and forced into a species of gyratory motion, not unfrequently adopted to give force to the phrase, 'Don't you wish you may get it?' Oh! it would have made a Quaker laugh in meeting, to have seen that movement! The poor gentleman now sat down, but not to rest; his feet still kept up an alternate single and double shuffle; his arms dangled down behind him, where one twitched up and down, as if working a fancy-pestle in an imaginary mortar; while his head seemed struggling to look over first one shoulder and then the other, to see what they were doing. But with all this physical affliction, there was peace in that man's bosom. He was a Christian, a minister of the cross of CHRIST. That 'thorn in the flesh had been given him to buffet him,' and no doubt often pierced him sorely; 'yet,' said a friend at our side, 'he can even 'glory in his infirmity;' for looking beyond the fleeting present, he awaits with patience the time when he may 'finish his course with joy, and the ministry which he has received of the LORD JESUS, to testify the gospel of the grace of GOD;' and leaving behind him the shattered tenement in which for a little while he lived--perhaps at times complainingly, yet as in a home--be 'clothed upon with immortality,' and walk in white with the shining ones around the eternal throne!' * * * '_Evening in the City_' is inadmissible. We coincide entirely with the writer in a humble opinion of his literary acquirements. It is quite true, nevertheless, that there _are_ not a few bardlings who job occasionally in the Balaam line for the inferior magazines, who are no whit superior to our correspondent. Let us not however condemn him without a hearing. Listen:

'ANON the poor mechanic comes staggering by;
Bearing aloft upon his shoulders a huge pile of wood.
Which, mindful of his good spouse wants, throughout the day
He has with care and patience culled from out
The refuse wood which has been thrown aside as useless:
With weary and unsteady gait he creeps along.
Anxious too to gaze upon his wife, and rest his weary limbs.
By high command, by the sweat of his brow
Has he won his bread; and if perfect else, has done his duty.
And acted the good part, as well as he
Who bears upon his shoulders the weight of empires;
And legislates for his fellow man; alas! too often
Ignorant of his wants, too often careless and uncaring.

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

Then come the various men of business, exhibiting at once
The lowly, the wretched, the rich man, the proud and haughty,
And all the different degrees of life that mark the creature man.
All hastening, each intent upon his calling,
Some to follow Pleasure's giddy path, and to tread
The ways of folly, reckless, and unmindful of the duty
Which they owe unto their MAKER, and their fellow man.'

Now the _feeling_, the moral, of this, is quite creditable to the writer's heart; but the _poetry_! 'beg you wouldn't mention it!' * * * THANKS to Hon. Chief Justice GIBSON of Pennsylvania, and his brother of the bench, Mr. Justice ROGERS, for the honor they have done to the memory of that glorious comedian, 'OLD JEFFERSON!' We cannot quote the inscription upon his new monument, without rendering our own feeble tribute to his genius. The best idea that we have ever seen given of his style is by a writer in the '_Spirit of the Times_,' who remarks that 'he was in broad English comedy what POWER was in his Irish parts.' This is exactly the comparison. Who that has once seen JEFFERSON'S _Dogberry_, can ever forget it? _What_ a look he had for the 'malefactors,' when he left 'the bench' to 'examination those plaintiffs' more nearly!--with his white hair, his long nose, and that incomparable eye-brow of his, retreating up his forehead! Why, we are guffawing this moment at the very _recollection_ of the picture! He used to have a part also in a play called '_Who's the Dupe?_' if we remember rightly, which was irresistibly comic. A learned student, in love with his daughter, is pitted against a dashing but uneducated young blood, in a recitation in different languages; in which the composite lingo of the latter, in the eyes of the old gentleman, bears away the palm altogether. The old ignoramus's enthusiasm, as the 'words of learned length and thundering sound' come pouring forth, was only eclipsed in humor by the gratification of his antiquarian propensities, in the possession of an old rusty hand-saw, a pair of skeleton tongs, and a rickety gridiron, which he bears triumphantly upon the stage, all having their 'precious past,' and the latter especially venerable for having been employed as a model of the Escurial, by the architect of that edifice! Mr. WASHINGTON IRVING once remarked to us, in reply to an inquiry whether he had ever seen 'OLD JEFFERSON,' that he had seen him often; and that he had scarcely ever seen his equal, for naturalness of manner and quiet humor, and never his superior in the perfect manner in which he _dressed_ his characters. But we are keeping the reader from the inscription upon his tomb in the Episcopal cemetery at Harrisburg, on the banks of the Susquehannah; 'as beautiful a spot as the god of day ever shone upon:' 'Beneath this marble are deposited the ashes of JOSEPH JEFFERSON; an actor whose unrivalled powers took in the whole extent of comic character, from Pathos to heart-shaking Mirth. His coloring was that of Nature; warm, fresh, and enriched with the finest conceptions of genius. He was a member of the Chestnut-street Theatre, Philadelphia, in its high and palmy days; and the compeer of COOPER, WOOD, WARREN, FRANCIS, and a host of worthies, who like himself are remembered with admiration and praise. He died at Harrisburg, on the fourth of August, 1832, in the sixty-second year of his age.

'I knew him well, HORATIO:
A fellow of infinite jest and most excellent fancy.'

* * * * *

WE had the wish strong at our heart to oblige our young correspondent at Macon, Georgia. His poetry _is_ 'tolerable,' certainly; but did he ever eat a 'tolerable egg?' There is some analogy in the 'articles.' * * * THE stanzas entitled '_The Printer_,' in preceding pages, have recalled to mind a few remarks of OLLAPOD upon '_Newspapers_,' which we shall venture to quote in this connection: 'COMMEND me to a newspaper. COWPER had never seen one of our big sheets, when he called such four-paged folios '_maps_ of busy life.' They are more; they are life itself. Its ever sounding and resistless _vox populi_ thunders through their columns, to cheer or to subdue, to elevate or to destroy. Let a man do a dirty action, and get his name and deed into the papers, and then go into the street, Broadway for example, and you will see his reception. Why is he shunned as if a noisome pestilence breathed around him? Why does each passer-by curl his lip, and regard him with scorn? Because _they have seen the newspaper_, and they know him. So, in a contrary degree, is it with honorable and gifted men. The news-prints keep their works and worth before the public eye, and when themselves appear, they are the observed of all observers. Hats are lifted at their approach, and strangers to whom they are pointed out gaze after them with reverence. Success to newspapers! They are liable, it is true, to abuse--as what blessing is not?--but they are noble benefits nevertheless. I have a strong attachment to them, because I deem them a kind of moral _batteaux de plaisance_, or rail-cars mayhap, wherein you can embark before breakfast, or after dinner, and survey the world and the kingdoms thereof. It is a cheap and right wholesome way of journeying.' * * * WHAT curious things are the fictions of law! Did JOHN DOE or RICHARD ROE ever make their personal appearance in any court? Were they ever once met in any house, street, or field, public or private? Nay, had they ever the good luck to be born? Who ever encountered STILES or JACKSON, those litigious rascals, who have been playing plaintiff and defendant for so many years, in processes of ejectment? Look too at the gross fibs in all indictments for assault and battery, to say nothing of their tautology. 'Do us the favor to observe:'

'FOR that the said defendant, on the first day of September, in
the year of our Lord 1843, assaulted the said plaintiff, to wit,
at New-York, in the county and state of New-York, and then and
there spit in the face of the said plaintiff, and with great
force and violence seized and laid hold of the said plaintiff
by his nose, and greatly squeezed and pulled the same; and then
and there plucked, pulled, and tore divers large quantities of
hair from and off the head of the said plaintiff; and then and
there, with a certain stick and with his fists gave and struck
the said plaintiff a great many violent blows and strokes on
and about divers parts of his body; and also then and there,
with great force and violence, shook and pulled about the said
plaintiff, and cast and threw the said plaintiff down to and
upon the ground, and then and there violently kicked the said
plaintiff, and gave and struck him a great many other blows and
strokes; and also then and there, with great force and violence,
rent, tore, and damaged the clothes and wearing apparel, to
wit, one coat, one waistcoat, one pair of breeches, one cravat,
one shirt, one pair of stockings, and one hat, of the said
plaintiff, of great value, to wit, of the value of one hundred
dollars, which the said plaintiff then and there wore, and was
clothed with. By means of which said several premises, the
said plaintiff was then and there greatly hurt, bruised, and
wounded, and became and was sick, sore, lame, and disordered,
and so remained and continued for a long space of time, to wit,
for the space of three weeks, then next following; during all
which time the said plaintiff thereby suffered and underwent
great pain, and was hindered and prevented from performing and
transacting his necessary affairs and business, by him during
that time to be performed and transacted, and also thereby the
said plaintiff was forced and obliged to, and did necessarily
pay, lay out, and expend a large sum of money, to wit, the sum
of fifty dollars, lawful money of the United States of America,
in and about endeavoring to be cured of the bruises, wounds,
sickness, soreness, lameness, and disorder aforesaid, occasioned
as aforesaid.'

QUÆRE? would the 'waistcoats,' 'breeches,' etc., be numbered, in the case of an old-fashioned Dutchman, wearing eight or ten of each? How are 'precedents' and the 'old English law' on _this_ point? * * * THE '_Meadow-Farm Papers_' are brought to a conclusion in the present number. The reader will have been struck with the excellent inculcations of the writer, the evident honesty of his purpose, and the simple energy of his style. We thought of him, and the 'Association' he has described, while looking recently at an effective painting of the '_Sylvania Association_' in Pike county, Pennsylvania. Whatever the reality may be, the sketch itself of the divided labors of the associated, in the picturesque region they have secured, is beautiful exceedingly. For a moment it rolled back the tide of time, and brought up anew those scenes of nature, the love of which was implanted in us in our youth. Oh! it is an incalculable, sacred blessing, to have lived in the country in boyhood; if for nothing else, that in after years glimpses of its soft green meadows, its breezy hills and leafy woods, may visit the eyes of the imagination, amidst the smoke and dust and din of the city! * * * '_High and Low Coachmen_' has a good deal of humor, but we are sorry to say, a good deal also of irreverence for sacred things. We do not wish to speak with lightness of religion, although it would perhaps be 'doing evil that good might come,' in a clever satire like this upon sectarian controversy. It would seem, that at a meeting for granting licenses to several drivers, two old coachmen rise and protest against the admission of two candidates into the ranks of the 'Moral United Hackmen,' on the ground that they hold opinions in relation to coaches, and the driving of the same, which are entirely heretical, and contrary to the canons of the hackney fathers, 'from JEHU and the artist who drove the chariot and horses of ELISHA, down to the most eminent coachmen of the present day.' For this charge, the 'Low Coachmen' '_fault_' their opponents, (to use the pellucid grammar of modern controversialists,) but they won't _be_ '_faulted_' in that manner; and the whole 'establishment' is thus thrown into 'most admired disorder.' * * * A GOOD deal of criticism has lately been expended upon the form and aspect of several of our public and private fountains; and especially upon that bit of 'chaste practice,' the big stone-heap in the Bowling-Green. CHANTREY, in a letter to Sir HOWARD DOUGLAS, has one or two thoughts, from which our Croton engineers, and those whose money employs them, may perhaps derive some hints worthy of consideration: 'I am not aware of any subject on which art has been employed that has given rise to so much costly nonsense and bad taste as fountains. Your idea of water spouting from holes and crevices in the rock-work is pleasing enough; but then rock-work is not fit for a pedestal; and I warn you against adopting the vulgar and disgusting notion of making animals spew water, or the more natural one of the little fountain at Brussels and Carrara. Avoid all these beastly things, whether natural or unnatural, and adopt the more classic and pleasing notion of the ancient river-god with his overflowing urn, the best emblem of abundance.' * * * WELL-APPLIED ridicule of that which is in itself ridiculous, and which 'will not, cannot come to good,' is we think justifiable; the end to be obtained sanctifies the means; and it was to such an end, no doubt, that the following rhapsody of strange but impressive vulgar eloquence was noted down by an auditor of a Methodist divine from Shropshire, preaching near Oxford, England, 'to an assembly of the profane.' In the midst of an illustration of 'mysteries suddenly unfolded, descending like lightning by the inspiration of the spirit, and illuminating the darkened soul; moaning old women, watchful with sobs and groans at every divine ejaculation to aid the heaving motions of the spirit, and take heaven by storm;' the minister bursts out into the following sentences: 'I am not one of your fashionable, fine-spoken, mealy-mouthed preachers; I tell you the plain truth. What are your pastimes? Cards and dice, fiddling and dancing, guzzling and guttling! Can you be saved by dice? No! Will the four knaves give you a passport to heaven? No! Can you fiddle yourselves into a good birth among the sheep? No! You will dance yourselves to damnation among the goats! You may guzzle wine here, but you'll want a drop of water to cool your tongues hereafter! Will the prophets say, 'Come here, gamester, and teach us the long odds?' 'Tis odds if they do! Will the martyrs rant and swear, and shuffle and cut with you? No! the martyrs are no shufflers. You will be cut in a way you little expect. LUCIFER will come with his reapers and his sickles and forks, and you will be cut down and bound and pitched and carted and housed in hell! I will not oil my lips with lies to please you. I tell you the plain truth. AMMON and MAMMON and MOLOCH are making Bethoron hot for you! Profane wretches! I have heard you wrangle and brawl, and tell one another before me, 'I'll see you d--d first!' But I tell you the day will come, when you will pray to BEELZEBUB to let you escape his clutches. And what will be _his_ answer? 'I'll see you d--d first!' * * * THE '_Evening Reveries of a Book-worm_' we desired to publish, for the _thoughts_ which the paper contains; but the style is _too_ 'rambling and desultory;' it is confused. Take the last two pages, for example; the reflections upon 'those who have thought, written, printed, and died,' and see how inferior they are to the reflections contained in SOUTHEY'S lines '_To my Library_,' in an early number of the KNICKERBOCKER:

'MY thoughts are with the dead; with them
I live in long past years.
Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
Partake their hopes and fears;
And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with a humble mind.

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

HOW blest is our brother, bereft
Of all that could burthen his mind!
How easy the soul that has left
This wearisome body behind!
Of evil incapable thou,
Whose relics with envy I see;
No longer in misery now,
No longer a sinner, like me.

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

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