Chapter M: E. H (1)

THE STORY OF ABUL CASSIM'S SHOES.

FROM THE ORIGINAL IN TURKISH.

IT is related that there once resided in Bagdad a very wealthy man named Abul Cassim, who was celebrated for his avarice and parsimony. So strong was his ruling passion that he could not even be prevailed upon to throw away his old shoes, but whenever it became urgently necessary, he would have them stitched at a cobbler's stall, and continue to wear them for four or five years. So finally, they became so heavy and large that it was proverbial in that city to say that a thing was 'as clumsy as Abul Cassim's shoes.'

Now one day as this man was walking in the bazaars of Bagdad, a friend of his, a broker, informed him that a merchant from Aleppo was just arrived, bringing some bottles for sale. 'Come,' added he, 'I will get them for you at a low price, and after keeping them a month or so, you can sell them again for three times as much as you gave, and so make a handsome profit.' The matter was soon arranged between them; Abul Cassim bought the bottles for sixty dinars, and after employing several porters to carry them to his house, he passed on. He had also another friend, a public crier, whom he likewise happened to meet, and who told him that a merchant from the town of Yezd had some rose-water for sale. 'Come,' said he, 'I will get it for you now at a low rate, and dispose of it for you some other time for double the amount' So Abul Cassim was prevailed upon to buy the rose-water also, and on reaching home he filled the bottles with the water, and placed them on a shelf in one of his apartments.

The day following, Abul Cassim went to a bath, and while undressing himself, one of his friends going out saw his old shoes, and jokingly said: 'Oh! Cassim, do let me change your shoes, for these have become very clumsy.' Abul Cassim only replied, '_Inshallah_! if GOD wishes;' and continuing to undress himself, went into the bath. Just then the _Cadi_, or judge of the city, came to the bath, and undressed himself near to Abul Cassim. Some time afterward Abul Cassim came out of the inner room of the bath, and when he had dressed himself, looked for his shoes, which not finding, but seeing a new pair in their place, he thought his friend had made the change that he desired; so putting them on, he returned to his house.

When the Cadi came out of the bath, and had put on his clothes, he asked for his shoes, but lo! they could nowhere be found; and seeing, close by, the old ones of Abul Cassim, he naturally concluded this latter person had purloined his. So the Cadi was greatly enraged; and ordering Abul Cassim to be brought before him, he accused him of stealing shoes out of baths, imprisoned him two or three days, and fined him.

Abul Cassim on his release said to himself: 'These shoes have dishonored me, and I have been severely punished for their sake;' so with revengeful feelings he threw them into the Tigris. Two days afterward some fishermen, on drawing their seines out of that river, found a pair of old shoes in them, which they immediately recognized as those of Abul Cassim. One of them remarked that perhaps he had fallen into the river; and taking the shoes in his hand, carried them to Abul Cassim's house, and finding its door closed, he threw them in at a window which was open. Unfortunately the shoes fell on the shelf where the bottles of rose-water were ranged, so that it was thrown down, the bottles broken, and all the rose-water was lost.

When Cassim returned to his house, he opened the door and beheld the loss he had sustained. He tore his hair and beard with grief, wept aloud, and charged the shoes with being his ruin. To be free from farther misfortune on their part, 'I will bury them,' said he, 'in a corner of my house, and then all will end.' So the same night he arose and commenced digging a hole in a corner of his dwelling; but his neighbors hearing the noise, thought he was undermining their house; and rising in affright, they complained to the governor of the city, who sent and apprehended Cassim, and threw him in prison, from which he was released only on the payment of a fine.

After this Cassim returned to his house, overwhelmed with grief, and taking his old shoes, he threw them into the sluice of a neighboring caravansary. In the course of a few days, the sluice being stopped, it overran its banks, and workmen having been called to clean it out, lo! Cassim's shoes were found to be the cause of the inconvenience. So the governor again threw him in prison, and fined him to a large amount.

Abul Cassim, now perfectly in despair, took his old shoes, and after washing them clean, laid them on the terrace of his house, with the intention, after they were well dried, to burn them, and so put an end to all shame and misfortune on their account. But it happened that while the shoes were drying, a neighbor's dog passing over the terrace saw them, and mistaking them for dried meat, took one in his mouth, sprang from one terrace to the other, and in doing so let it fall. The neighbor's wife was _enciente_, and as she happened to be sitting at the foot of the wall, the shoe fell upon her, and in her alarm she was prematurely brought to bed. Her husband, in great anger, complained to the governor, and Abul Cassim was once more thrown into prison and made to pay a fine.

Abul Cassim now tore his hair and beard with grief, and accusing the shoes of being the cause of all his misfortunes, he took them in his hand, and going before the Cadi of Bagdad, related to him all that had befallen him. 'I beg you,' added he, 'to receive my declaration, and I hope all these Mussulmans will bear witness that I now break off all farther relation between me and these shoes, and have no longer any thing to do with them. I ask also a certificate showing that I am free from them, and they free from me; so that if henceforth there are any punishments or fines to be incurred, questions to be asked or answers to be given, that they may take them all upon themselves.

The Cadi, much amused with what he heard, gave the desired certificate, and added a present to Abul Cassim. Behold in this tale to what misfortunes the avaricious subject themselves!

TO A HUMMING-BIRD.

BY H. W. ROCKWELL.

I.

BRIGHT stranger from the South! who with the cool
Light airs of Summer visitest the sweet
Soft twilight that o'erspreads the shaded pool,
And the young river-flowers that faint with heat:
Welcome art thou to the cold North again,
With thy dark glossy hood, and emerald wings;
And pleasant be thy way along the glen,
Where the brown wood-thrush in the thicket sings,
Or where to prostrate trees the nodding wild flower clings.

II.

Thy silver beak, which late from Southern flowers
Sipped GOD'S good bounty, here, where green leaves meet
And shed their coolness through the long sweet hours
Of the bright noontide, shalt find blooms as sweet;
The juicy clover in the meadow-grass
Shall give thee honey from its crimson cells,
And thou shalt take, where curling eddies pass,
Thy supper in the dewy mountain-bells,
When the meek evening-wind amid the forest swells.

III.

Waters shall catch thine image; thy green wings
Fanning with music the sweet forest airs,
Shall bear thee where the reddening wood-rose springs
Amid the moss and sunshine. Thou shalt fare
Upon the glossy seeds when they are ripe
On their long stems, beside the streamlet's bed,
And on thy scarlet jacket thou shalt wipe
Thy shining bill when thou hast freely fed
Upon the river-plum and mountain-cherry red.

IV.

Welcome thou art unto my lattice; here
In safety thou may'st smooth thy velvet hood,
And sip the summer-sweets without a fear,
With the sweet winds thy gentle sisterhood.
Ay! thou art welcome; nor would I in vain
Take lesson from thine own meek history;
But when the hazy summer comes again
To these wide woods, may'st thou no stranger be
Among those friends which are my best society.

_Utica, August, 1843._

LITERARY NOTICES.

THE POLITICIANS, A COMEDY: in Five Acts. By CORNELIUS MATHEWS.
pp. 118. New-York: Printed for the Author.

POEMS ON MAN, IN HIS VARIOUS ASPECTS UNDER THE AMERICAN
REPUBLIC. By CORNELIUS MATHEWS. In one volume, pp. 112.
New-York: Printed for the Author, and for sale at WILEY AND
PUTNAM'S and other metropolitan Book-stores.

THE CAREER OF PUFFER HOPKINS. Published in the 'serial form,'
from the office of the 'BROTHER JONATHAN.'

In a notice some four years since in these pages of the 'Motley Book'[2] by the author of the above-named productions, we expressed our conviction, and gave the grounds for our belief, that Mr. MATHEWS had mistaken his vocation; that he exhibited a mind capacious enough of vague dreams and dim similitudes of humor, but that there was no naturalness in his descriptions, and no distinctness in his pictures; that his observation of men and things was cursory and superficial, and that his style was of such a character that the reader was often led to doubt whether he always affixed any very precise idea to the language which he employed. We excepted from these remarks, we remember, a serious sketch or two of the writer, 'The Potters'-Field,' and 'The Unburied Bones,' as evincing a degree of spirit and pathos, which justified us in counselling him, if he must needs write, to confine his literary efforts to that species of composition. Since the period to which we have referred, Mr. MATHEWS has continued to write and print, with great industry and perseverance, what he must have considered works of humor and satire; but we are sorry to be compelled to add, without exhibiting the slightest improvement. Like MICHAEL CASSIO, Mr. MATHEWS, when he sits down to pen, ink, and paper, 'sees a mass of objects, but nothing _distinctly_.' He has a large grasp of small things, without selection and without cohesion; his ideas, if they may be _called_ ideas, are often diffuse, pointless, and apparently aimless; and it is impossible for any intelligent reader to resist the conclusion that his 'wit's diseased,' in one sense, at least. Let us take, as an illustration of the justice of our animadversions, the 'Comedy' whose title stands first at the head of this notice. From the strutting boldness of the language in the preface, the reader is led to conclude, evidently with the author, that an 'American dramatist' has at last arisen, who is to present the proof that 'America contains within itself material quite adequate for any class of literary productions;' that there is 'no lack of materials for comedy in our country and among ourselves;' and that here we have a dramatic attempt which is to furnish 'countenance to the Cause of true National Literature.' In consonance with Mr. MATHEWS'S own opinions of his 'Comedy,' is his modest request that nobody should 'interfere with his privileges as its author, or prevent him from deriving such emoluments from its representation as are equitably his due.' Probability rather favors the conclusion, we think, that no person ever did! The writer adds, also, that he 'would be greatly rejoiced' if the play should be 'the thing' to awaken the National Legislature to a 'realizing sense' of its duty in the matter of international copy-right! Such is the character of the introduction to the public of the 'Comedy' before us. Now for a taste of its quality.

[2] SEE the KNICKERBOCKER for December, 1838.

The first act opens with a dialogue between a political candidate and his 'chum' touching 'the use of a church-bell' to bring out the voters, who are to be wrought upon by an announcement of the fact that 'the steeple is in the hands of their party,' whose ticket is to be 'spread on the weather-cock.' After a discussion of various modes of catching voters, which we should be glad to have the reader _see_, but which we must 'respectfully decline' to _quote_, we come to the annexed characteristic specimen of our author's wit. Stand aside, reader; for the text says: 'Enter BOTCH:'

BOTCH. Have you heard this rumor, Sir?

GUDGEON. What rumor, for Heaven's sake? They haven't bought up
all the large flags in the ward?

BOTCH. No, Sir.

GUDGEON. Have they got in a new barrel of beer? or hired
Blaster, the popular trumpeter? I spoke to him myself last
night. They haven't engaged Murphy's two starved horses, that
always operate so on the popular sympathies and bring up so many
voters?

BOTCH. None of these, Sir!

GUDGEON. What then, Botch? Be quick--what then?

BOTCH. Why, Sir, the Brisk party is going to use the belfry of
the church to distribute tickets from, and they intend to employ
the sexton to read prayers every morning of the election from
the small window in the steeple.

GUDGEON. This must be counteracted: it will have an overwhelming
effect. We shall have the whole religious community moving
against us in platoons, pew by pew!

BOTCH. Something must be done, Sir; I see clearly something must
be done. What shall it be, Sir?

GUDGEON. Yes, something must be done.

BOTCH. Certainly; something must be done.

GUDGEON. What then, in the name of Heaven, shall it be? Couldn't
we get Glib to climb the steeple above the window and deliver
an harangue? It might do away with the evil influence of the
proceedings below, and give us a tremendous ascendency at once.

BOTCH. I doubt whether Mr. Glib would undertake it, even if
he could snatch a notary's commission from the weathercock,
as the chances of being made a martyr of by stoning would be
considerable.

In the fourth scene there is a new effect given to stage song-singing, by a Mr. BLANDING, one of the characters, which should neither be lost to dramatic writers, theatrical persons, nor to 'the world.' A fragment will suffice, we suspect:

BLANDING. (_From within._) Fol-la--_my heart_--andino--_has
gently_--sa--_felt_--allegro--allegro--_sweet Kate_--piano--_the
sharp and sure revenge of fate_--La-mi-fol-sa.

CRUMB. The fit is coming upon him.

BLANDING. _Oh smile upon the gloomy wave
That bears me to a gloomier grave._

That goes badly in andante--so-fa-me-fi-so.

BLANDING. _And fly_--too slow--_and fly_--allegro--allegro,
_And fly with me._ Prestissimo.

CRUMB. (_Breaking in._) Heigh-ho! how is this, Sir? Are you
trying to set a runaway match to music?

BLANDING. I beg your pardon, Sir--but--

CRUMB. You may well do that, and the pardon of the whole city
council, if you please. Meditating a rhymed elopement with Miss
Brisk, daughter of John Brisk, candidate for alderman of the
ward! Why this is an audacious breach of ordinance.

Pass we now to the second act, wherein we find Mr. and Mrs. GUDGEON engaged in a remarkably humorous colloquy. He informs her that a committee has been appointed to 'have his own portrait of his individual self, ROBERT GUDGEON' taken; whereupon, among other things, Mrs. GUDGEON is led to remark, that now she has a presentiment that his election is safe. To which, 'thus then GUDGEON:'

GUDGEON. And so have I. Some great event is clearly at hand. We
have had a meteor the other night that whizzed round the sky,
like a large Catharine-wheel; then there has been a school of
sixty whale cast ashore off Barnegat; and the Rain-King, only
last Week, caught a storm on a lightning-rod, and held it there
two days, notwithstanding the entreaties of the neighboring
county, that was suffering sorely under a drouth. What do these
things mean? what do they refer to? The approach of the comet
foretold in the Farmer's Almanac; or, it may be so, (for I
recollect the birth of my father's five-legged calf, in Danbury,
was brought on by an early sun-rise,) the election of Robert
Gudgeon as alderman.

Is not the wit of this undeniable? Does it not 'fortify like a cordial?' Yet it is not more striking than the humor of many other portions of the 'Comedy;' not more so indeed than several passages in the third act, especially in the dialogue between CROWDER and the committee-men, concerning the means by which the candidate is to recommend himself to his constituents, though it were to 'run a _sewer_ through his pocket (!) and drain it to the last cent.' The committee do not 'sit' in their room at a tavern without 'creature comforts.' Observe: the landlord is called:

LANDLORD. (_From without._) Coming!

CROWDER. We want your bill. That will bring him up with it,
short and quick.

LANDLORD. (_From without._) It's e'en a'most made out; only a
few items to add.

_Enter_ LANDLORD.

CROWDER. Come, read it off, jolly Job Works, in a good clear
half-price voice; by particulars, and it's cash on the nail.
Begin!

LANDLORD. That I likes; 'four sperm candle'; Nothing like the
ready metal; 'Two quarts beer, with snuffers.'

CROWDER. Well, he has a fine throat of his own; it smacks of the
spigot.

LANDLORD. Room-hire, cigars, and two juleps, with benches.

CROWDER. Well.

LANDLORD. A small pig with lemon.

CROWDER. A pig with lemon!

LANDLORD. Two plates pickled beans, two rolls twisted bread, and
beer extra.

CROWDER. Beans, bread, and beer!

LANDLORD. Six lobster and two pound sage-cheese; likewise a
splendid pork-pie made of chops.

CROWDER. A splendid pork-pie made of chops!

LANDLORD. And a suet pudding.

CROWDER. Nothing else?

LANDLORD. Nothing else.

The landlord declares, in answer to a little grumbling, that 'the things' named in the bill were 'sent down for' from the committee-room by way of the chimney, in a stone-bottle 'as big-as my two-fist,' which struck his cook, 'poor hunch-back JENNY, in the small, or rather I should say in the big of her back, as she was stooping over a dish of _prawns_ (?) for Tom Lug!' CROWDER pays, of course, in the usual way; but his rival is not to be outdone by such liberality. He 'bears a charmed life:' for Mrs. GUDGEON has 'told him to buy fresh chick-weed and goose-grass to carry in his pocket, because they say it draws voters!'

But enough. If our readers desire more of Mr. MATHEWS' 'Comedy,' they must seek it elsewhere. We have selected the liveliest passages we could find: for there is a calm placidity of emptiness, diversified with a bustling inanity of thought, in _other_ portions of this performance, which we have small desire to illustrate by examples; since they would not fail to produce at least twenty yawns to a page; a soporific that neither watchman not sick-nurse could support.

We come next in order to the poems on '_Man, in his Various Aspects under the American Republic_;' a very comprehensive title to much incomprehensible rhyme with little reason. As a poet, Mr. MATHEWS cannot reasonably expect to take the exalted order of rank which he holds as a dramatist. That indeed were expecting quite too much! To use the illustration of a nautical critic, his plan of writing-verse would seem to be, to 'fire away with the high-soundingest words he can get, whereby his meaning looms larger than it is, like a fishing-boat in a fog.' Where there is such a ground-swell of language, there can be no great depth of ideas. Yet there _are_ good ideas in some of the lines in these ten-score of pages, borne down though they be, and almost smothered, with words. For the most part, however, the volume presents but a farrago of crude expressions, ideas, and pictures, some poetical and others 'quite the reverse,' aggregated in a rude and undigested mass. The writer treats, under nineteen divisions, of Man as child, father, teacher, citizen, farmer, mechanic, merchant, soldier, statesman, etc.; and from some of these we propose to select a few examples of Mr. MATHEWS'S thoughts and style poetical. The following stanza is taken from the advice given to 'the father' of an infant:

'A soul distinct and sphered, its own true star,
Shining and _axled_ for a separate way.'

An 'axled soul' is good, as POLONIUS would say; but it is not much better than one or two equally original expressions which ensue:

'BE thou a Heaven of truth and cheerful hope,
Clear as the clear round midnight at its full;
And he, the Earth beneath that elder cope--
And each 'gainst each for highest mastery pull:
The child and father, each shall fitly be--
Hope in the evening vanward paling down,
The one--the other younger Hope upspringing,
With the glancing morning for its crown.'

The writer counsels 'the citizen' not to 'overstalk' his brother, but to show in his mien 'each motion _forthright_, calm, and free;' and he farther advises in the words following, to wit:

'FEEL well with the poised ballot in thy hand,
Thine unmatched sovereignty of right and wrong:
'Tis thine to bless or blast the waiting land,
_To shorten up its life or make it long_.'

In the annexed stanza there is an assortment of similes, the like of which one seldom encounters in so brief a compass. The lines are addressed to 'the farmer;' and we are acquainted with several excellent persons among that indispensable class of the community, to whom we should like to hear Mr. MATHEWS _read_ them! It would be a 'rich treat' to hear their opinion of such pellucid poetry:

'WHEN cloud-like whirling through the stormy State
Fierce Revolutions rush in wild-orbed haste,
On the still highway stay their darkling course,
And soothe with gentle airs their fiery breast;
Slaking the anger of their chariot-wheels
In the cool flowings of the mountain brook,
While from the cloud the heavenward prophet casts
His mantle's peace, and _shines his better look_.'

Cloud-like revolutions stopping on the highway to slake their chariot-wheels in a mountain-brook! If that isn't 'original poetry' we know not what is. Now the opening of the piece from which the above stanza is taken we have no doubt is considered by the writer quite inferior to it; but to our conception, the nature and simplicity which it preserves for a moment are worth all the striking figures to which we have alluded. 'The mechanic,' whose business is to 'shape and _finish forth_ iron and wood,' comes in for his share of rythmical counsel:

'LET consecrate, whate'er it strikes, each blow,
From the small whisper of the tinkling smith,
Up to the big-voiced sledge that heaving slow
Roars 'gainst the massy bar, and tears
Its entrail, glowing, as with angry teeth--
Anchors that hold a world should thus-wise grow.'

Observe the felicitousness of the foregoing poetical terms. The 'tinkling smith,' and the 'big-voiced sledge' _roaring_ against an iron bar, and tearing out its _entrails_ with angry _teeth_! Could appropriateness and power of metaphor reach much beyond this? 'Not good,' we suspect. We thought to have given our friends, 'the merchants,' a lift with Mr. MATHEWS'S moral instruction; but we can only remind them, with his assistance, that

'Undimmed _the man_ should through _the trader_ shine,
And show the soul _unbabied_ by his craft.'

'Next comes the soldier,' to whom Mr. MATHEWS thus addresses himself:

'With grounded arms, and silent as the mountains,
Pause for thy quarrel at the _marbled sea_.'

'Marbled sea' is good; as good as 'the mobled queen.' It might perhaps assist the effect a little, if the reader knew what it meant. Possibly the writer knows; yet we doubt it. The next stanza presents a cloudy vision of the sublime obscure:

'THOUGH sleeps the war-blade in the _amorous_ sheath,
And the dumb cannon stretches at _his leisure_--
When strikes the shore a hostile foot--out-breathe
Ye grim, loud guns--ye fierce swords work your pleasure!
And sternly, in your stubborn socket set,
For life or death--_your hilt upon the stedfast land_,
Your glance upon the foe, thou sure-set bayonet,
Firm 'gainst a world's shock in your _fastness_ stand!'

'The statesman' is not less felicitously 'touched off' than the soldier:

'DEEPER to feel, than quickly to express,
And then alone in the consummate act;
_Reaps not the ocean, nor the free air tills_,
But keeps within his own peculiar tract;
Confirms the State in all its needful right,
Nor strives to draw within its general bound;
For gain or loss, for glory or distress,
The rich man's hoard, the _poor man's patchy ground_.'

'Hold, enough!' doubtless exclaims the reader. Yet could we go on to the end of the volume with just such 'poetry' as this. We must ask the farther attention of 'the curious' to be directed to the work itself, while we proceed to glance for a moment at the production last cited at the head of this notice.

The swelling prelude to '_The Career of Puffer Hopkins_' is kindred in assumption and manner with the preface to the 'Comedy,' to which we have already adverted. 'CERVANTES, SMOLLET, FIELDING, and SCOTT, to say nothing of more recent examples,' are modestly invoked, to show that the author cannot justly be charged with caricaturing. We yield the point, without the examples. A caricature always bears some resemblance to an original; but Mr. MATHEWS'S characters have _no_ originals. They are in no respect _vraisemblant_. Take his whole catalogue of names, (in themselves _so_ 'funny!') his 'Hobbleshank,' 'Piddleton Bloater,' 'Mr. Gallipot,' 'Mr. Blinker,' 'Mr. Fishblaat,' 'Attorney Pudlin,' 'Mr. Fyler Close,' 'Alderman Punchwind,' 'Mr. Shirks,' 'Counsellor Blast,' 'Dr. Mash,' 'Mr. Bust,' 'Mr. Flabby,' etc.; analyze them, if possible, and tell us if any one of them ever had any thing like a counterpart in 'the heavens above, in the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth?' Are they any more distinctive, _internally_, than 'the pie-faced man,' or the man 'with features like a dried codfish suddenly animated,' _externally_? 'Not a jot, not a jot,' will be the reply of every one who attentively scans them. The death of 'Fob' partakes in a good degree of the pathetic, and justifies the counsel which we gave the writer in our notice of 'The Motley Book.' It is however as evidently suggested by kindred scenes in the writings of DICKENS, as is the writer's raven and coffin-maker's apprentice. We have not the space, had we either the leisure or the inclination, to attempt a notice in detail of 'Puffer Hopkins.' We say 'attempt,' because it defies criticism. It has neither plot nor counterplot; neither head nor tail. Memory, it has been well said, is the best of critics; but we doubt if there be a scene or part of a scene, in the entire work, that could be segregated and recalled by the recollection of the reader. Aimless grotesqueness; the most laborious yet futile endeavors after wit; and a constant unsuccessful straining for effect; are its prominent characteristics. Take up the book, reader, open it _any where_, and peruse two pages; and if you do not acquit us entirely of undue depreciation in this verdict, place no faith hereafter in our literary judgment. Let us open it at random for an illustrative passage or two. In the following, Puffer (after receiving a lecture on political speech-making, in which among other things he is told, to 'roll his eye-balls back under the lid, and _smell of the chandelier_, though the odor isn't pleasant!') is thus further instructed:

'IT'S best to rise gradually with your hearers; and, if you can
have a private understanding with one of the waiters, to fix a
chair conveniently, a wooden-bottomed Windsor, mind, and none of
your rushers; for it's decidedly funny and destroys the effect,
to hear a gentleman declaiming about a sinking fund, or a penal
code, or the abolition of imprisonment for debt, up to his belly
in a broken chair-frame. As the passion grows upon you, plant
your right leg on one of the rounds, then on the bottom, and
finally, when you feel yourself at red-heat, spring into the
chair, waive your hat, and call upon the audience to die for
their country, their families and their firesides; or any other
convenient reason. As Hobbleshank advanced in his discourse, he
had illustrated its various topics by actual accompaniments;
mounting first on his legs, then the bench, and ended by leaping
upon the table, where he stood brandishing his broken hat, and
shouting vociferously for more oysters.'

There are other suggestions; such as having 'immense telescopes constructed, and planted where they could command the interior of every domicil in the ward, and tell what was in every man's pot for dinner six days in a week;' together with a 'great ledger, with leaves to open like doors, on which should be a full-length likeness of each voter, drawn and colored to the life,' even 'down to his vest-buttons, and a mote in his eye!' Who shall say that _this_ isn't 'genuine humor?' Here too is 'a touch of _nature_,' such as Mr. MATHEWS delights in. An electioneerer or 'scourer' of the wards visits a theatrical 'lightning-maker,' (a highly _probable_ character,) at his laboratory, where the following witty dialogue ensues:

'THIS profession of yours,' said Puffer--he dared not call it
a trade, although the poor workman was up to his eyes in vile
yellow paste and charcoal-dust--'this profession, Sir, must give
you many patriotic feelings of a high cast, Sir.'

'It does, Sir,' answered the lightning-maker, slightly mistaking
his meaning; 'I've told the manager more than fifty times that
lightning such as mine is worth ninepence a bottle, but he never
would pay more than fourpence ha'penny: except in volcanoes;
them's always two-quarters.'

'I mean, Sir,' continued the scourer, 'that when you see the
vivid fires blazing on Lake Erie; when Perry's working his ship
about like a velocipede, and the guns are bursting off, and the
enemy paddling away like ducks; is not your soul then stirred,
Sir? Do you not feel impelled to achieve some great, some
glorious act? What do you do, what can you do, in such a moment
of intense, overwhelming excitement?'

'_I_ generally,' answered the lightning-maker with an emphasis
upon the personal pronoun, as if some difference of practice
might possibly prevail, '_I_ generally takes a glass of beer,
with the froth on.'

'But, Sir, when you see the dwelling-house roof, kindled by your
bomb-shells, all a-blaze with the midnight conflagration: the
rafters melting away, I may say, with the intense heat, and the
engines working their pumps in vain; don't you think then, Sir,
of some peaceful family, living in some secluded valley, broken
in upon by the heartless incendiary with his demon-matches, and
burning down their cottage with all its outhouses?'

'In such cases,' answered the lightning-maker, 'I thinks of my
two babies at home, with their poor lame mother; and I makes it
a point, if my feelings is very much wrought up, as the prompter
says, to run home between the acts to see that all's safe, and
put a bucket of water by the hearth. Isn't that the thing?'

'I think it is; and I'm glad to hear you talk so feelingly,'
answered Puffer Hopkins; 'our next mayor's a very
domestic-minded man; just such a man as you are; only I don't
believe he'd be so prudent and active about the bucket on the
hearth.'

'At this, the lightning-maker smiled pleasantly to himself, and
_unconsciously thrust a large roll of brimstone in his cheek_.'

Oh, for modern schepen, to laugh himself to death at this fine 'burst' of nature and of wit! Holding both his sides, how would he guffaw at that brimstone mistake! 'How _can_ you make me laugh so, when I am so sick?' Well, well; it _is_ funny, certainly; but wait until you read this fragment of 'burning satire' upon the political press:

'An '_Extra Puncheon_,' pretending to give late news from the
Capitol, but containing, in reality, Flabby's long-expected
reply. 'Capital! capital!' cried Mr. Fishblaat, as he hurried
on; 'Flabby called Busts a drunken vagabond, in the _Puncheon_
of Wednesday week; Busts called Flabby a hoary reprobate, in
Monday's _Bladder_, and now Flabby calls Busts a keg of Geneva
bitters; says the bung's knocked out and the staves well
coopered. Capital! This alludes to a threshing, in front of the
Exchange in which Busts had his eye blacked and a couple of ribs
beaten in.'

But we must draw our notice of Mr. MATHEWS'S 'writings' to a close. We cannot do so, however, without again inviting the attention of our readers to the 'works' themselves, if they are desirous to partake in a yet larger degree of the kindling effect of his unique wit and humor, and to render _full_ justice to 'the American Boz!'

THE POETS OF CONNECTICUT; WITH BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES. Edited by
Rev. CHARLES W. EVEREST. In one volume, pp. 468. Hartford: CASE,
TIFFANY, AND BURNHAM. New-York: KNICKERBOCKER Publication Office.

HONOR to Connecticut for the 'bright names in song' to which she has given birth; and honor to Mr. EVEREST for the faithfulness and good judgment with which he has discharged his editorial function, in the large and exceedingly beautiful volume before us. Few of our readers can be aware of the number and high character of the poets of America who first drew breath in the 'Land of Steady Habits.' The catalogue 'deflours us of our chiefest treasures' in poetry; numbering as it does, HALLECK, BRAINARD, PERCIVAL, PIERPONT, PRENTICE, HILLHOUSE, HILL, SIGOURNEY, ROCKWELL, and others scarcely less known to fame, and whose effusions are endenizen'd in the national heart. The volume presents a brief historical account of the poetical literature of Connecticut, from its commencement to the present period. The writers are arranged in the order of birth, as being less invidious, and as better comporting with the design of the editor. In the department of biography, the sketches have been made as complete as possible, in the case of deceased writers, while in those of the living, the principal facts of personal history are carefully preserved. The editor has judiciously confined his critical duties to the mere pointing out of a few characteristic traits of each author's verse, refraining from especial eulogy or censure. The volume is in all respects a valuable contribution to our national literature, and deserves, what we cannot doubt it will receive, a circulation commensurate with its merits. It is beautifully printed, upon large, clear types, and embellished with a fine vignette-engraving of the city of Hartford and Connecticut river.

ABBOTTSFORD EDITION OF THE WAVERLEY NOVELS. Edinburgh: ROBERT
CADELL. London: HOULSTON AND STONEMAN. New-York: WILEY AND
PUTNAM.

WE have already twice spoken of this most _perfect_ edition of the works of the immortal SCOTT; but as the numbers reach us in succession from abroad, and the fine taste and profuse liberality of the publisher are more and more revealed, we are continually tempted to descant upon merits and beauties which we could wish our readers throughout the Union and the Canadas could _personally_ appreciate. We have before us at this moment the series complete to the thirty-second issue; and how many illustrations does the reader suppose are included in these numbers? No less than _five hundred and fifty_; varying, in each number, from sixteen and eighteen to twenty-four. These illustrations, too, are in the very finest style of the art of engraving, whether on steel or wood. There is nothing omitted that _can_ be illustrated, in any of the great 'Northern Magician's' works. The first painters in England are employed to paint from nature the originals of all the principal scenes; these are transferred to steel by the most eminent engravers in Europe; and the same faithfulness is apparent in all the principal portraits, which are so numerous and authentic, as to leave nothing to be desired in this department of the work. Add to this the fact, that every _thing_ to which any especial interest attaches in the novels is pictorially presented, with a kindred care and correctness; and that the fine texture and dazzling whiteness of the paper and beauty of the printing are unsurpassed; and the reader will have some idea of the comparative _cheapness_ of a work like this, when informed that each number costs but two shillings and sixpence sterling! The edition will contain, when completed, more than _two thousand engravings_, on steel and wood, and of the highest order of excellence. Indeed, the landscape engravings on steel will of themselves form a splendid series of an hundred views, illustrative of the novels.

EDITOR'S TABLE.

THE LATE WILLIAM ABBOTT: HIS AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL JOURNAL.--In briefly noticing, some months since, the decease of WILLIAM ABBOTT, Esq., late of the Park Theatre, we promised again to advert to his career in England and this country; and the perusal with which we have recently been favored of an exceedingly entertaining autobiography of this excellent actor and accomplished gentleman, has 'whetted our almost blunted purpose.' We learn from a brief obituary in the London 'Gentleman's Magazine,' that Mr. ABBOTT was born at Bath, England, in 1788, and began his theatrical career in that city, whence his varied talent caused his being transported to Covent-Garden Theatre, at the age of twenty-four. He remained there twelve years, continuing all the time to grow in reputation. In social life, his house at Knightsbridge, near London, was long the scene of meetings in which good taste and refinement increased their attraction, by being blended with less ceremonious pastimes, and the constant flow of fanciful recreations. Thus he traversed a flowery time until 1824, when ambition tempted him to become the lessee of the Dublin Theatre. He lost money by the speculation; and his next move was to Paris, where with an English company he entertained the Parisian public with _éclat_ for two years. In the French capital his enjoyment of society was of a very gratifying kind; and he spoke the language with so much purity as to escape all the usual inconveniences attendant upon foreign disclosure. In 1828 he returned to Covent-Garden to enable Miss FANNY KEMBLE to appear as JULIET with an adequate ROMEO. Subsequently, untoward events of a pecuniary nature, connected with the management of one of the minor theatres of the metropolis, induced him to try his fortunes in America. The professional and social qualities which had won for him reputation and friends in his own country, gained him both in this, in an equal degree; while the same experience as a manager attended him here that was 'his destiny' abroad. The Charleston (S. C.) Theatre, the management of which he assumed, proved worse than valueless to his interests; and at the time of his death he had resumed his place upon the boards of the Park Theatre, where he had always given ample satisfaction to the public. He was the author of several successful dramatic productions in England, and was known on both sides of the Atlantic as a gentleman of fine literary taste and acquirements. He was a person of the most gentleman-like manners, cheerful disposition, ready wit in the play of conversation, and possessed a kindly and liberal heart. Few men were more welcome to society, or more entertaining within its bounds. He was full of anecdote; and the humorous stories of the stage found in him a most amusing reciter. He had also the song, the jest, or the repartee, which never failed to add mirth to the festive board. Above all, shone the unclouded cheerfulness of his nature, over which even his own misfortunes apparently never suffered a shadow to pass; and that good-will toward others which defied the taint of envy, (either in private life or in an envious profession,) which was happy in contributing to happiness, and would not tread on a worm, or even injure an enemy. 'Such,' says our London contemporary, 'was WILLIAM ABBOTT, who for many years was a popular favorite in the principal theatres of London, and who performed the second class of characters better than any actor we ever saw. His walk too was unconfined. In tragedy, not of the sterner sort, he was graceful and impressive; in genteel comedy, equal to any of his contemporaries in that line; in the more unlicensed exuberance of farce, a laughable and jocular actor; and in all, he was ever perfect in his part.'

We proceed now to select a few passages, almost at random, from the delightful manuscript volume to which we have referred; a work which we have no doubt will speedily be in the hands of a publisher, since it cannot fail to prove one of the most various and entertaining books of the season. We commence our extracts with the annexed sketch of personal misadventure, which will remind the reader of the somewhat similar scene in 'The Antiquary' of SCOTT. The _locale_ is Tenby, in South Wales, opposite the Devonshire coast:

'WHAT vivid recollections throng my mind, when I recall the
perilous situation in which I was once placed there! It was my
constant custom, whenever I had a character of importance to
study, to wander on the 'Sands' in front of the town; not like
DEMOSTHENES, with a pebble in my mouth, but seating myself on
some jutting rock, listen to the roar of old Ocean in storms,
or watch its gentle undulations, like an infant rocking itself
to sleep. On one occasion I pursued my path greatly beyond all
former wanderings; passed each inlet I encountered, and again
emerged on the broad Sands; and on turning, the town met my
eye, and appeared, although three miles distant, to be almost
within my grasp. The waters kept at a respectful distance, while
I reclined upon an isolated rock, not unlike a rude arm-chair.
Like another CANUTE, I wanted to see if the waters would dare
approach me. My mind was full of 'meditation and the thoughts
of love;' and many a _chateau en Espagne_ was peopled with
delightful visions of air-born spirits, paying homage to my
towering theatrical genius! Casually turning round, to my utter
confusion I saw the water laving the base of a high projecting
rock which intercepted my return. I felt that no time was to
be lost. I rushed back, and knee-deep, cleared the obstacle.
Another, still more formidable, stood before me. Beyond, the
golden Sands, tinged by the beams of the setting sun, gave life
and hope; at my feet lay despair and death. Not a soul was in
sight; and the opposing obstacle that separated me from the path
by which I could reach the town, was rising perpendicularly
from the deep. I was young in years; and in an instant all my
previous life flashed upon me, in one dreary perspective. No
escape, no hope! DEATH himself stood before me! The very rocks
on which I had so often gazed with a romantic delight, now
oppressed me with terror. Grim visages with demoniac smiles
started into life from the surrounding cliffs, to mock my
helplessness. The roaring waves, dashing upon the sharp rocks,
uttered a voice of fearful warning. Despair was almost at its
height, when suddenly my nerves became iron. I rushed to the
opposing rock; I reached, and how I know not, a fearful height;
I clung to some stunted brushwood, which found a frail hold in
the fissures of the rock. One point of safety was visible, but
as I attempted to reach it, loose particles crumbled and rolled
beneath my feet, and I heard the crackling of the branches.
The yawning gulf was ready to receive me! One last effort, one
convulsive spring, enabled me to reach the desired refuge; and
although in comparative safety, I sat there shaking with terror,
and watched the rapid approach of the waves, which, although
fortunately not violently agitated, covered me with the 'salt
sea-foam.' The excitement prevented my feeling the cold, though
I was wet to the skin. The heavens were calm and blue above,
and the stars shone in all their splendor; but the restlessness
of the waters, through the dim obscurity, kept me in perpetual
agitation. For hours I remained in this situation; at length the
early morning dawned upon me, and the receding tide lifted a
weight from my heart.'

Many of our readers will remember sundry anecdotes, from theatrical persons and works upon the drama of 'ROMEO COATES,' of Bath, England. Mr. ABBOTT gives a very amusing account of the manner in which this _soubriquet_, which attached to the subject of it throughout his life, was obtained:

'THOUGH an unmitigated ass, he was the lion of the day. He came
from one of the West-India islands, was very wealthy, and on
all occasions wore brilliants of the first water. In a place
like Bath, where _ennui_ will step in occasionally, he was a
godsend. He was followed, courted, fooled to the top of his
bent. The sprigs of fashion 'drew him in' to give at the York
Hotel the most expensive entertainments; and at one party, when
I was present, they insisted upon his mounting a table covered
with decanters and glasses, to give a specimen of his skill
in the small-sword exercise, and display his figure to the
best advantage. One of the party, _Bacchi plenus_, became his
opponent, and the result was, the destruction of a most superb
chandelier. His face was like a baboon's, and the twistings
and distorted attitudes into which he threw himself were alike
indescribable and irresistible. One pleasant morning there
appeared an announcement in the theatre-bills which shook the
city of Bath to its foundation. It was like the precursor of
a volcanic eruption: '_Romeo, by an Amateur of Fashion!_' The
doors were beset at an early hour in the afternoon by those who
had failed to secure places at the box-office. Box-admittance
was paid by crowds of gentlemen, to enable them, by jumping
over, to secure places in the pit. Men of rank and distinction
did not disdain to occupy seats in the gallery. The fever of
excitement was at its pitch, when the gentle ROMEO appeared,
dressed in the most fantastic and absurd style, in consonance
with the advice of his fashionable friends. He wore diamonds
to the value of thirty thousand pounds! I was one of his
instructors, and entered into the joke with a keen relish for
the ridiculous. It was hardly to be expected that his acting
would be tolerated by the true judges of art, and I was obliged
to be dressed for the character, in order to finish the part.
But no! The appetite of the audience grew by what it fed on; and
when the dying scene came, a tremendous burst of mock enthusiasm
rang from all parts of the house, and he was universally
_encored_. He bowed most graciously, while Juliet (Miss
JAMIESON) was lying on the stage, not dead, but literally 'in
convulsions' of laughter. Oranges were thrown upon the stage,
with a request that the actor would not hurry, but refresh his
energies before he recommenced his death. He kissed his hand
to the ladies in graceful acquiescence with their wishes, and
deliberately proceeded to suck two oranges! His second death
was infinitely more extravagant than the first, and drew down
repeated and prolonged bravos, and a second _encore_, which
however was not complied with. Showers of bouquets now fell upon
the stage, and 'closed one of the most extraordinary dramatic
exhibitions I ever beheld in a regular theatre.'

A singular circumstance is mentioned by Mr. ABBOTT as having occurred to a professional friend of his at Bath, named SIDLY. It is authenticated beyond all peradventure. 'Can such, things be, and overcome us like a summer-cloud, without our special wonder?'

'HE was quietly seated in his arm-chair, at his lodgings in
Beaufort-square, after his return from the theatre; his wife
had retired to her bed-chamber, adjoining their drawing-room;
while he remained, for the purpose of reading over a character
for the ensuing evening. His mother resided a short distance
from London, and so far as he knew, was at the time in perfect
health. His mind was not preöccupied with the thoughts of home,
and an unusual calmness pervaded his spirit. After reading a
passage, and trying to see if he had mastered it, he raised
his eyes, and on a chair opposite sat his mother, smiling
benignantly upon him. His agitation was extreme. He hastily
turned round, and saw that the door was closed. He struggled
to speak, but his lips were sealed; and with a beating heart
and hair erect, he rushed to the bed-side of his wife, and in
broken sentences, and with thick-starting perspiration rolling
down his face, he detailed what he had seen. His wife endeavored
to persuade him that it was all a dream; and to convince him,
quietly walked into the drawing-room, and found the apartment
precisely as she had left it, the fire burning and the candles
lighted; but nothing could do away the illusion; and in two days
afterward poor SIDLY received the intelligence of his mother's
death at the very hour of the occurrence here narrated. He
seldom referred to the circumstance, and never without deep and
melancholy emotion.'

LISTON, the great comedian, as most readers are aware, was an inveterate wag. He was never more happy than when successful in making a fellow-actor lose his 'power of face' upon the stage. Mr. ABBOTT relates a pleasant anecdote of one of his efforts in this kind:

'IN Newcastle, under the management of STEPHEN KEMBLE, (who
played the part of Falstaff without stuffing,) LISTON on one
occasion took the character of Pizarro. When he is lying on the
couch, Rolla enters, apostrophizes his defenceless situation,
and then rouses and drags him in front of the stage. Judge of
the surprise of the actor, at finding one half of LISTON'S face
painted in imitation of a clown! This portion of his features
was of course studiously turned from the audience, who were
indulged only with the simple profile. Rolla burst into a fit
of laughter, and rushed instantly from the stage, to the great
scandal of the audience, who had not the slightest suspicion of
the cause of such ridiculous conduct.'

Our excellent friend JOHN WILSON, that most mellow of vocalists, once gave us a similar anecdote of LISTON. In the play of 'Guy Mannering,' he is deputed to relieve the suffering Lucy Bertram. He places a well-filled purse in her hand, which he clasps cordially in his own, while she looks up in his face, her eyes brimming with tears of gratitude at relief so unexpected. On the occasion alluded to, a remarkable change was observed in Miss Bertram's face, when the purse was handed to her. She shrank back, and struggled, as if to liberate her hand from his grasp: and after looking imploringly at his imperturbable face for a moment, she found relief in a sort of hysterical laughter, which was very far from bespeaking the emotion of the character she represented. Instead of a purse, LISTON had placed in her hand a large _raw oyster_, as cold as ice, and _pressed_ her acceptance of it in a way that was irresistible! There ensues a comparison between those different but equally matchless _artistes_, Mesdames SIDDONS and O'NEIL, which we have reason to believe expresses the general verdict of the time:

'FROM all my recollections of Mrs. SIDDONS, it would be absurd
to attempt to draw a parallel between her performances and
those of Miss O'NEIL; the unapproachable grandeur and dignity
of the one and the feminine tenderness and endearment of the
other exhibiting widely different expressions, not formed by
the same code. You approached Mrs. SIDDONS with a feeling of
awe, bordering on reverence. With Miss O'NEIL, all your hopes
and fears were excited, and certain to meet with a response.
Her bursts of agony and distress agitated every nerve, and
would plunge her audience in tears; while the power of SIDDONS
would choke your very utterance, and deny you all relief. What
Miss O'NEIL required in strong expression, she made up in
exaggeration. Every nerve was strained, and her whole frame
convulsed; in short, her great fault was exuberance; yet nothing
could be more quietly (though distressingly) beautiful, than her
performance of 'Mrs. Haller.'

The reader should have _heard_ Mr. ABBOTT present the subjoined 'limning from life,' and _seen_ him imitate the snuff-taking of the noble tragedian. The story loses much of its force in being transferred to paper. The anecdote is of HARLOWE, who painted the celebrated trial-scene of 'Henry the Eighth,' in which the KEMBLE family figured so conspicuously: