Look not so hard upon that hay, mind not the open door, Farewell! those free untired feet full many a mile may roam, ... We may not be considered as acting a kindly part by our young friend, in giving even this sample of his poetical genius; but we desired to record an instance of 'disinterested affec tion.' The young man loves that cow. WHAT shall we say of the 'red thieves' who steal our thunder, and claim it as their own? Ned BUNTLINE'S 'Running the Blockade' is still running,' to be glorified by the press, yet no mention is made of its paternity. From the distant west, we are informed by the journals, in advance, what a brilliant poem Mr. BIDDLE has written for the Mirror' weekly; the same brilliant poem' having been written by Mr. BIDDLE for the KNICKERBOCKER, years ago, and set up for its pages from his Ms., now lying before us. The poem is also included in the Ollapodiana' Papers of the late WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK, recently published. The new 'Native American Magazine' makes up an entire article from certain ancient 'Gossip' of ours, but gives no intimation of its source. There are at least half a dozen other and kindred instances of modern conveyancing' which we might mention. Fair play!' fellow-laborers, monthly, weekly, and diurnal... THERE can be little doubt, we think, that the following, although it appears under a new signature in the 'Sunday Mercury,' is from the pen of that edifying laypreacher, Brother' Dow, JR.' We submit it: THANKSGIVING 'aint what it used to was,' when we were a little shaver, sprouting up out of our boots among the green hills of Vermont-not by a long chalk. Then we used to get up early, wash our face, eat our baked potatoes, mount a clean apron, bedeck our neck with a snow-white ruffle, cock the brim of our new felt hat up behind, encase our hands in a nice pair of speckled woollen mittens, take our skates and locomote away to a strong patch of smooth ice, and there amuse our. self till hunger drove us home; sure to do it always in time, and in first-rate condition; to partake largely of the old-fashioned dinner, that the very thought of now makes us wish that we could turn back and grow the other way; grow down, grow young, till we became a boy again in brown sattinets, with two rows of bright buttons over each shoulder and one down our back; seated, with our boots dangling round the chair-legs, at the same old table, stuffing our jacket with the good things that used to was; just what we can't now, and it is so long ago that we can hardly recollect what they were; but we can recollect that toward the last we used to let go the middle buttons on our jacket; delightful sensation to think of now, when we can't get a decent meal without forking over the equivalent in good hardware currency. Even after we had grown out of our boyish suits, and had shoved our spindle shanks into manly habiliments, far away from our 'boyhood's home,' we had kind friends that used to send us parcels of thanksgiving good things; but that has all passed. Well do we recollect the last present of holiday luxuries; a sugar-box packed full, by a fair hand too, and transmitted many scores of miles: the eatables were all spoiled, but we were not the less grateful in the box, too, was a smooth sheet of foolscap covered with kind words and wishes; holiday greetings, such as we have not forgotten, and never can forget, so long as we have a thanksgiving dinner to eat, or a proclamation to read. How stands the account now? No dinner to eat at home no home to eat a dinner at; no friends to send us a portion of their dinners; they 've all stepped out, or forgotten us. Well, who cares? We get up a thanksgiving dinner on our own hook every year: if the governor fails to issue a proclamation, we do it ourself, and do it well; get an old copy, and putty it . up to suit the occasion, and then, true to the teachings of other days, we live up to it like old times.' There are numerous little touches of a true pencil in this rambling reminiscence.... THOMAS AQUINAS' should see the propriety, we think, of suppressing for the present his remarks upon Clerical Absolution.' His allusions could not at this moment be mistaken, and he will himself admit that they would be far more applicable after a decision shall have been had upon important questions still pending. We cannot but agree with him, (assuming his grounds established,) that the specious exterior of such a prelate as he has either fancied or described, is a mockery on true virtue, an imposition on the good sense of the world, and an insult to the life of CHRIST and the morality of his gospel. No one will hesitate to admit that such a man may be aptly compared to a mountain remarkable for sterility and elevation, which encumbers the earth with its pressure, while it chills all around with its shade.' OUR contemporary of the Commercial Advertiser daily journal had some pertinent and pungent remarks the other day, touching the number and character of the pictures which are often exposed for sale to pseudo-amateurs in the metropolis- the nouveau riche, in most instances, who must affect a taste for vertu, though they have it not as undoubted productions of the old masters. A writer in one of the English magazines lets us into the secret of old picture-making. It is called 'doctoring' by the renovators. To doctor' a picture is to do the ancient gaff;' to make the production of today wear the respectable and seductive garb of two centuries back. While the visitor is at the renovator's apartment, he transforms a picture of Saint PETER into a Smuggler on the Lookout!" He paints out the halo of glory around the Saint's head and the wards of the key in his hand, then puts him on a red cap; and you have a bandit on the look-out, the key being converted by the alteration into a pistol; a decidedly more saleable article, and one upon which you may affix a more profitable name. It's a SALVATOR KOSA now!' Calling upon him on another occasion, he finds him engrossed in 'doing a CUYP.' An imitation or copy of that master was placed upon the easel, representing two or three cows in repose on the bank of a river; a distant village church on a low horizon; and a Dutch vessel nearing the foreground; with a due proportion of illumination from the glances of the departing sun. Having slightly oiled and wiped the young CUYP, the 'renovator' proceeds to rub the sky and distance over with a dingy mixture of myguelp, ivory-black and Naples yellow; avoiding the foreground, which he serves in the same way, save that his preparation is less muddy and opaque, for the transparency of near objects. Having done this he proceeded to rub the dirt into the interstices of the picture, producing a kind of granulated texture, the apparent effect of age.' The visitor is astounded at the sudden metamorphose, (in which by the way the old frame has been made to partake) which in ten minutes is apparent in a newly-painted work; a senile visage stamped as it were instantaneously upon an unfurrowed infant. 'I suppose you never once thought, says the renovator, of making a calculation as to how many accredited pictures by different masters there are in the various public and private collections? Now as to CUYP, for instance, he must have been harder worked than a West-India slave, to have produced one half that bear his And yet every purchaser hugs himself upon having one of the right sort. So soon as he gets it, it becomes his pet; he sees it all beautiful: peculiarities regarded by his neighbors as objectionable, his self-devotion glozes into symbols of excellence; and that's where it is; only half the cheat is perpetrated for him; the remainder he does for himself.' YES, friend 'C.,' the fixed objects in nature, once seen in fellowship with those who have gone before us to a better country,' are mementos which are pleasant though mournful to the soul.' But the changeful scenes of earth bring with them, we cannot tell how or why, more unmixed emotions: name. THE clouds and sunbeams o'er his eye Have left in yonder silent sky No vestige where they flew :' ... and equally flitting and evanescent are the memories which come up from the chambers of the past, of golden sunsets and the 'pomp of morning in the East.' IT is quite certain, we conceive, from whatever cause the fact may arise, that there is a better feeling springing up in Great-Britain toward the lower classes. The last London Quarterly, in a review of a book written by an imprisoned radical, speaking of the higher (we should rather say upper) ranks, observes: Let them see and consider in what aspects they are regarded by thousands upon thousands of their fellow-countrymen; and, granting that these aspects are distorted, ask deliberately whether there is no remedy within their own power for what they must feel to be about the worst mischief that could befall a nation; the habitual misunderstanding and misappreciation of certain comparatively fortunate orders of society by those less fortunate but infinitely more numerous, and including a great and rapidly increasing proportion of not merely vigorous natural talent, but talent cultivated and directed in a degree and a manner of which former generations could scarcely have anticipated the possibility.' This conviction will from time to time, and in a sort of geometrical progression, be forced upon the privileged classes in England; until at length it may come to pass (GOD speed the day!) when they will blush to -'link their pleasure or their pride With suffering of the meanest thing that lives.' 'Modern Translations' is under advisement. Some of the errors exposed (the two especially from JEAN PAUL) do not strike us as so laughable' as they are stupid. In a late French translation of MILTON's Paradise Lost,' Hail! horrors, hail!' is rendered thus: ⚫ Comment vous portez-vous, les horreurs? comment vous portez-vous?' That is, 'How d'ye do, horrors? how d'ye do?' HERE is a pleasant story from WALPOLE's correspondence. It seduced us into a hearty laugh when we were very dull and far from cheerful. Perhaps it may have a similar effect upon some temporarily lugubrious reader: 'I MUST add a curious story, which I believe will surprise your Italian surgeons as much as it has amazed the faculty here. A sailor who had broken his leg was advised to communicate his case to the Royal Society. The account he gave was, that having fallen from the top of the mast and frac tured his leg, he had dressed it with nothing but tar and oakum, and yet in three days was able to walk as well as before the accident. The story at first appeared quite incredible, as no such efficacious qualities were known in tar, and still less in oakum; nor was a poor sailor to be credited on his own bare assertion of so wonderful a cure. The society very reasonably demanded a fuller relation, and, I suppose the corroboration of evidence. Many doubted whether the leg had been really broken. That part of the story had been amply verified. Still it was difficult to believe that the man had made use of no other applications than tar and oakum; and how they should cure a broken leg in three days, even if they could cure it at all, was a matter of the utmost wonder. Several letters passed between the society and the patient, who persevered in the most solemn asseverations of having used no other remedies, and it does appear beyond a doubt that the man speaks truth. It is a little uncharitable, but I fear there are surgeons who might not like this abbreviation of attendance and expense; but, on the other hand, you will be charmed with the plain, honest simplicity of the sai or. In a postscript to his last letter he added these words: I forgot to tell your honors that the leg was a wooden one.' THE facts recorded in this passage from a notice of Judge HALIBURTON's last work, in a late English Review, are not less creditable to the several countries named, than to the distinguished functionaries who represent them: In Europe, even the talent evinced in able journalism is often the first step to the highest niche in the temple of power and fame. If we turn our eyes to France, we see GUIZOT, CHATEAUBRIAND, THIERS, ARAGO, BERANGER, ETIENNE, MAUGUIN, Odillon BarrOT, and many more; in Germany, HUMBOLDT, SCHLEGEL, GENTZ, SAVIGNY; in short, in every country the path to preferment opened by the cultivation of letters. Who is the ambassador from Russia? A man who has risen by his pen. Who from Sweden? The historian of British India. Who from Prussia? A professor. Who from Belgium? A man who has risen by literature. Who from France? An author and an historian. Who from America? An author and professor.' WELL, reader, the first number of our Twenty-fifth Volume is before you. How does it strike you? Make your favorite contributors welcome; the admirable 'Grandfather,' the contemplative, thoughtful 'ST. LEGER,' 'and the lave.' We shall not promise too much for the future; but you shall see what you shall see :' if it has n't already. 'IT is not the thing for us, we know it, ... THE following, among other communications, are received. We regret that some of them arrived too late for insertion in the present number: 'Papers from the Russian of KARAMSIN,' and from the German; The Stage, considered as a Moral Institution;' 'The Twinkle Papers;' Protection to American Authorship;' poetical articles by G. H. H.;' Necessity for a National Literature,' etc. . . . .. Messrs. BURGESS, STRINGER AND COMPANY, to whose flourishing and enterprising establishment the public are indebted for numerous works, alike reasonable in price and valuable in kind, have commenced the publication of a fac-simile edition of the London Lancet,' with all its engravings, wood-cuts, etc. This medical journal is known to be the very first of its class in England, and to contain a complete monthly compendium of the current medical experience and medical literature of the British metropolis, and indeed of Great-Britain at large. Its writers, in every department, are eminent practitioners in the particular branch to which each is devoted; and new departments are frequently made, and supplied, without regard to expense. The 'Lancet' is deemed a ' Medical Vade Mecum,' and its sale in this country will be enormous. The same publishers have expanded upon their ample counters all the English and American ‘annuals,'' keepsakes,' 'presents,' 'gift-books,' every thing' presentable,' in short, for man, woman, or child, in this gay season. It is a sight to see!' THE anecdote of JARVIS, the painter, recorded in our last number, has reminded a correspondent of another, which is equally felicitous, and somewhat kindred in character. He was one day engaged in painting the Bishop of Virginia; and during the progress of the sitting,' the venerable prelate began to remonstrate with him upon the dissipated courses into which he had fallen. JARVIS made no reply; but dropping his pencil from the forehead of his portrait to the lower part of the face, he said, with a slight motion to his reverend sitter, 'Just shut your mouth, Bishop!' By painting upon that feature, he averted the admonition of the divine, and presently changed the subject.' Apropos of JARVIS: is it generally known that he has a son in this city, an artist of great skill, a pupil of his pupil's, HENRY INMAN, who inherits his father's genius without its too common attendant? Mr. JARVIS, Jr. executes pictures of children, especially, that seem transfers of actual flesh and blood to the canvass... 'Boyd's City Express,' let us thankfully say, is one of the most complete accommodations of its class to be found in town. Its ramifications embrace the most distant parts of the metropolis, its deliveries are frequent and prompt, and every thing which enterprise and care can do to render the system perfect is cheerfully performed. Mr. BOYD deserves all the success which has attended his experiment.. Mr. S. N. DICKINSON, the eminent Boston printer, has issued the tenth volume of his 'Boston Almanac' for the present year. It fully sustains the high reputation which it had previously acquired. The table of 'Local and General Events for the Year' is very full and well selected; there is a new and costly map of the city of Boston; a carefully-prepared Business Directory; and a complete list of the newspapers of New-England, of which, by the way, she may well be proud. The calendar is by Prof. PIERCE, of Cambridge, who supplies the same department in the well-known American Almanac.' Altogether, the Boston Almanac' leaves little to be desired, in a work of its kind. The two engraved business-cards of the worthy publisher, which line the insides of the cover, are beautifully designed and admirably executed. NOTICES of Mr. LYMAN COBB'S Reader, GREELEY'S Address, DUNNIGAN'S superb Douay Bible, SCHOOLCRAFT'S Onéota,' American Works Abroad, Publications of Messrs. APPLETON, and of the Messrs. HARPERS, were in type for the present, and are in type for our next issue. ART. I. A FEW CANDID OBSERVATIONS. BY WILLIAM WHITE, II. HEAVEN: A FRAGMENT. By 'G. H.' III. THE DESTRUCTION OF CARTHAGE. BY MISS MARY GARDINER, V. THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. BY JOHN RHEYN, VI. PASSAGES FROM THE RUSSIAN OF KARAMSIN. NUMBER Two. VII. 1. MY DAY. 2. THE GRAVE. 3. INNOCENCE. EARTH'S MYSTERIES. BY SUSAN PINDAR, VIII. DARK ELLSPETH'S LIFE-TALE. BY MRS. J. WEBB,. IX. LAVARIUM OF THE ROMAN VESTALS AT POMPEII. By 'G. H.,' XI. ST. VALENTINE'S DAY, AND OTHER MATTERS, XV. NEW-YEAR FANCIES. BY WILLIAM H. C. HOSMER, ESQ., XX. FAREWELL THOUGHTS: TO MY COUSIN JANE, . LITERARY NOTICES: 1. DR. LEE'S DISCOURSE ON MEDICAL EDUCATION, 2. THE WAIF: A POETICAL COLLECTION. BY H. W. LONGFELLOW,. 95 102 103 104 . 108 109 112 113 121 122 126 128 129 134 135 136 144 145 159 160 162 165 166 BY MR. C. P. CASTANIS, 167 3. CONVERSATIONS ON THE OLD POETS. BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL,. EDITOR'S TABLE: 1. ANCIENT TRAVELLERS IN THE EAST, 2. SANDS' 'BLACK VAMPYRE:' SECOND AND LAST NOTICE, 3. MRS. ELIZABETH BARRETT BARRETT'S POEMS, 5. GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS, 1. A FEW CANDID OBSERVATIONS,' ETC. 2. AN ECCENTRIC PHILOSOPHER:' PEEP LITERARY RECORD: CAMPBELL'S POEMS; NARRATIVE OF THE EXPLORING EXPEDITION; WILTON HAR- |