A Course of English Reading, adapted to every taste and capacity,
with Anecdotes of Men of Genius.By the Rev. James Pycroft,
B. A., with additions by J. G. Coggswell. New York, Wiley & Put-
nam, 1845.
“Miss Jane C.,”-says Mr. Pycroft, in his preface, “divided
her in-door hours into three parts: the house-keeping andFor
dinner-ordering cares of life, claimed one part; hearing two
younger sisters say their lessons, a second part; and during
the third, and most delightful remainder, she would lock
herself up in her bed-room, and move on the marker of Rus-
sell’s ‘ Modern Europe,’ at the rate of never less than fifteen
pages an hour, and sometimes more.”
It was to cure this unfortunate person of her strange mania,
that Mr. Pycroft composed the book which we have before
us. He tells us that the remedy worked well, and the lady
was cured of her disorder. But it strikes our mind that a
course of medical treatment would have been the safer experi-
ment in such a case. Mr. Pycroft, however, knew his patient,
and it appears that he prescribed wisely; but as such cases
must be exceedingly rare, we do not discover any very good
reason for his publishing his remedy, for so peculiar a dis-
ease. The disease, fortunately has never reached this country,
to our knowledge, excepting of the type Henry Russell,
which was quite a different complaint.
Mr. Coggswell has added a preface to the present edition,
as well as an appendix, in which the work is highly com-
mended, and being a scholar of extensive and varied book-
knowledge, his opinion upon such a subject, must not be
lightly regarded. But, to make use of a refined vulgarism,
our own view of the work must be taken from our own point
of observation, we cannot pretend to view it from the same
altitude with the learned editor.
The utmost that can be done in such an attempt as this of
Mr. Pycroft’s, is to recommend such books as have come un-
der one’s own observation; and as any one man’s observation
of general knowledge, must be extremely limited, when com-
pared with the necessities of the human mind, and his ability
to judge critically of the fitness of a work to meet the cravings
of particular data-tei-tages, still narrower; it is very clear that his
labors will be of little benefit to any but those whose necessi-
ties are the same as his own. The few words of wisdom to
be written on the subject of general reading might be inscri-
bed on your thumb nail. Read only such works as give you
pleasure. This, it is true, is the burthen of our author’s in-
structions; hut it is so overlaid with gossip of one kind and
another, that the novice who reads the book for information,
Will be very likely to miss it entirely. His ideas of the worth
of historical writings are very admirable, but his recommen-
dations of particular works are of no worth. Hume, Smoll ett,
Keightly, Robertson, and Gibbon, are his staples, and they
probably form the staples of the majority in this country, who
flatter themselves that they are studying history, when they
are poring over the wordy pages of these writers. The great
defect of the book is the lack of general principles, in the
place of which we have particular instructions. But there is
much sound sense distributed through the work, which ap-
pears to less advantage for want of a proper arrangement.
There are many pious mothers, who would sooner see their
sons wasting their time in listless idleness, or engaged in
entertaining their guests at an evening party with the most
wearisome of small talk, than in reading a novel, though it
were Caleb Williams, or the Golden Ass of Apuleius. But,
Mr. Pycroft says with truth:
"The lowest order of intellectual is preferable to mere physical re-
sources. A book containing but little good, has kept many a youth
from company productive of positive evil. The excitement and gross
immorality of even the worst data-tei-tag of the old fashioned novels is a less
pernicious stimulant than lounging night after night with a cigar to
the billiard-room. Not long since, I heard a father say: If I could
only see my boy reading Tom Thumb, I should be happy: that would
be a beginning; but he avoids a book as if it had the plague. The
habit of seeking amusement with books, is so truly valuable in con-
ducing to limit the sphere of youthful temptations, that a parent does
wisely, if he encourages it at almost any cost. Children should be
taught that books are as natural a source of fun as tops and balls.”
How differently do our fathers and merchants generally
reason in regard to young men placed under their care. It
is almost an universal prejudice among merchants, that books
are unbecoming to business men. In a very large wholesale
dry goods establishment, in this city, the principal of which
was a rigidly pious man, whenever one of the clerks was
discovered with a book in his hand, in an interval of business,
he was immediately sent on some idle errand, or some unne-
cessary work as a punishment. Clerks who employ their
leisure hours in study, very rarely, if ever, become defaulters.
But the greatest number of these unfortunates have either
been the gay and dashing, who seek for amusement in thea-
tres and ball-rooms, or the sternly pious, whose source of
excitement has been found in religious assemblies.
“In paying so much deference to the excitement data-tei-tag of readers, I
only act on the principle that if we wish to keep a child quiet, we
must give him such toys as he is in humor to play with. Children are
found of all ages; and, as Aristotle says, 'whether young in years, or
young in character, matters not for my argument;’ for doubtless, in
bis day, as in ours, children often attained to the so-called years of
discretion without being able to run alone. I say, then, those of
youthful taste and mind must be indulged in their own way, and
gradually led on, by timely encouragement, and the influence of supe-
rior minds, to mingle works of valuable information with those of
more thrilling interest. But, after all, let the taste of youth be what
it may, it is better that they should read after their own way, than
not at all.”
Mr. Pycroft’s “plan” for studying any particular subject is
very good, but the “course” of study recommended by him,
must be objectionable, because he reasons from his own
tastes, while he recommends that others should follow theirs.
"And for the study of History, which I will consider under the fol- lowing divisions:
"Divide and conquer, that is, choose one department and master it,
and you will have accomplished, in point of time and labor, much
more than a sixth part of the whole. You would do well to read the
lists of books in all these departments, before you decide. For your
decision should be deemed irrevocable, otherwise you will be continu-
ally changing, in a vain hope of escaping difficulties which really at-
tach to all.”
This is the main principle of the plan in every department
of study, to divide off, and master a portion at a time, and not
attempt to grasp an entire study at once. A very judicious,
The part of the book which relates to the translation of the
data-tei-tagics is well entitled to consideration. He candidly and
honestly admits that it is better to read Plutarch and Xeno-
phon, &c., in the English translations, than in the original,
for the reason that they can be comprehended with greater
ease and mastered in less time.
“With a little reflection, all must allow, that when a critical know-
ledge of the text, and an accurate recollection of the matter of sixteen,
or more, Latin and Greek books are required, very little time can re-
main for reading the many works which are so desirable to illustrate
them.”
“The first thing to consider is, for what purpose are you commenc-
ing a course of study. If to humor a literary ambition, to be thought
learned, and to excite the wonder of the ignorant, believe me, that till
you abandon this vile and degrading purpose, your vanity will increase
faster than your learning; what you gain in head you will lose in
heart; your mind will be tilled, but not refined; and you will excite
far more jealousy than admiration. Read, as Bacon said, for the
glory of your Creator, and for the relief of man’s estate, to improve
your talents for the race that is set before you, to prevent that periodi-
cal void within, which is doomed to fill, and that with gnawing cares,
and soul debasing thoughts. That is true of our faculties, which an
old officer told me of his men, that there was no such security for good
behaviour as active service.”* * * “Among the many who desire to be
thought literary characters, nothing is more common than an inclina-
tion to lock up the temple of knowledge, and throw away the key; or,
on attaining an eminence, to kick away the ladder, that none may fol-
low them. So beware of this data-tei-tag of literary impostors; their life is
one continued lie; a lie partly positive, because they pretend to know
far more than they do know; and partly a lie in direct, but far more
mischievous, because they seek to magnify difficulties, hint that things
are not so easy as they seem, and pretend that a peculiar talent is re-
quired for their favorite subjects. In every department of knowledge,
the man really proficient, is ever desirous to lead others on; and for-
getting all the difficulties to be encountered, firmly believes, and as
honestly confesses, he could teach his friends in half the time his
learning cost himself.”
These extracts prove the author a sincere honest man, one
in whom you can trust as far as his own knowledge extends;
and if he had confined himself simply to the course of reading
which he had mastered himself, his book would have been
twice as valuable as it now is, when, according to his own
account, for much that he has recommended, he has depended
upon the advice of others.
In the department of art, where every one thinks it neces-
sary to dabble, though he be profoundly and willingly igno-
rant of every thing else, he gropes his way like a blind man
on a strange road. He stands like Bartimeus in Raffaelle’s
Cartoon, feeling for something tangible, but missing it. The
famous writers in art are very few, and among these few,
those who can be read with profit, form but a very inconside-
rable part. Mr. Pycroft recommends the whole, which is
certainly safe, though it would have been safer to recommend
none.
The Lectures of Sir Joshua Reynolds we may expect, as
a matter of course, to stand first on the list of an English-
man’s enumeration of readable works on Art. But the dis-
courses of Sir Joshua, though very agreeable reading, are
pervaded by errors in principle, which render them among
the most dangerous books that can be placed in the hands of
a neophyte. He is a popular author still, though his country-
men have begun to say that he was great in practice in spite
of his errors in theory. Hazlitt is recommended as well as
Sir Joshua, but his principles in criticism are the antipodes
of the theories of Sir Joshua. Unless the reader have suffi-
cient knowledge to perceive the truth himself, he would be
completely bewildered by such conflicting systems. Allan
Cunningham, who has contrived to imitate all that is bad in
both of these writers, without mingling in their faults any
good of his own, is also recommended by Mr. Pycroft. In
short, he includes in his catalogue everybody who has writ-
ten on Art excepting Leonardo and Lanzi. In his list of ar-
chitectural works he has omitted two of the best of modern
His directions on the study of poetry and works of taste,
are very curious. Johnson’s Lives is recommended as a hand-
book or guide to the poets.
“Cowley, Waller, Philips, Parnell, Rowe, Prior, Gay, Green, Tick-
ell, Somerville, Swift, Collins, Dyer, Churchill, Akenside, Lyttleton,
Armstrong, J. Warton, T. Warton, Mason, Beatty, are authors of
whom those of limited opportunities may be contented to read such
parts only as Johnson, or other critics point out.”
This is strange company to find Swift in; and the others,
excepting Prior and Gay, would probably be as much aston-
ished at being associated with him, as he with them. Mr.
Pycroft, of course, has never read a line of Swift, or he
would have shown better discrimination. If there is any
book in the English language sure of immortality, it is the
Tale of a Tub. But we should think it was too solid food for
the digestion of Mr. Pycroft, who seems to have a strange
craving for flummery.
“Shakspeare no one should ever cease reading: begin with the tra- gedies.”
We wish that Mr. PycToft had given some reason why
readers of Shakspeare should begin with the tragedies, or
what series of the tragedies, whether Titus Andronicus and
Pericles, or King John and Richard the Second; and it would
not have been amiss in giving so peremptory an order as to
never cease reading an author, to state why he should be read
at all. There is little need of directing any English reader to
Shakspeare, yet we have known men who confessed that
they read him, as a duty, but could not take any pleasure in
him. There can be no such thing as a universal directory in
study. Byron found Milton heavy, and Cobbett made Shak-
speare the butt of his irony. To name so humble an instance
as ourselves, after these illustrious names, may sound absurd-
ly, but no one is too humble to illustrate a principle; we never
could get through with a tithe of Robinson Crusoe, perhaps
the most universally read book in the language. Many an
idle hour have we loitered away in our summer days with
Dr. Doddridge or one of the dramatists of Charles the Second’s
time, but we never could get up an intimacy with Robinson
Crusoe.
Among the works on America which Mr. Pycroft recom-
mends, are Mrs. Butler, Mrs. Trollope, Miss Martineau, Cap-
tain Hall, Dickens, and Sydney Smith. Why he should omit
Marryatt and Hamilton, is not easy to discern. The works
of American authors which he recommends, are very few.
Anthon’s Lempriere, Catlin’s Notes on the Indians, Two
Years Before the Mast, and Stuart’s Letters to Dr. Channing,
are all.
Mr. Coggswell, in his Appendix, fills up the deficiencies
of the author with a liberal hand. He adds every work that
has ever been heard of on the subject of America, excepting
one, which he had not, probably, heard of himself. This is
an account in La Mosaique de L'Ouest, of the discovery of this
continent by a Norman navigator, who landed at the mouth
of the Amazon, in 1488, four years prior to the discovery by
Columbus. This navigator was a native of Dieppe, named
Cousin, from which port he sailed on a voyage of discovery,
fitted out by the merchants of his nation, whom he had
persuaded to engage in the undertaking, upon representations
similar to those which Columbus had made to his patrons.
Among the adventurers who accompanied Cousin was a boat-
swain, or mate, contra-maitre, named Vincent Pinzan, who
His notes on the poets are highly amusing.
“Of Addison—read Cato, and Psalm 23.” This differs
Widely from Dr. Blair’s advice, “Give your days and nights
to Addison.”
“Of Pope—the Essay on Criticism, and the Dunciad, show
that Pope could write as strong lines as any writer.” Pope
was strong in the Dunciad, among poets, in the same sense
that the skunk is strong among animals.
“Of Coleridge—like Shelley and others of the same school,
he often failed in the single step which would have attained to
the sublime, and therefore their writings seem to remain in the
regions of the ridiculous.” Here is a very common error
among thoughtless writers. The step from the sublime to
the ridiculous, is the step downwards—not from the ridicu-
lous to the sublime. One may fall in a moment from a height
which he has been all day in reaching, but no one ever fell
upward by a false step.
The book is published in a very handsome manner, and
but for the leaden tint of the ink, would look like an English
edition.
The Chimes, A Goblin Story. By Charles Dickens, Esq. New York, E. Winchester. Republished.
The Chimes are in the Dickens vein, but not the true vein
—there’s neither a laugh nor a tear among them all. If the
Christmas Carol had not come first, the Chimes would never
have come at all. It is the first time that Boz has at-
tempted to repeat himself; and he has failed as signally as
though he had attempted to imitate somebody else. The
Carol was a bright bubble, a perfect sphere with all the pri-
mitive colors playing upon its surface; the Chimes is no-
thing more than a painted shell. Scrooge and Tiny Tim
will live for ever, but there is nobody in the Chimes whose
life will last a twelvemonth. Toby Veck has no individua-
lity, but such as his clothes give him—which is nothing.
Richard and Meg, and Alderman Cute, the Member of Par-
liament, the Goblins of the Bells, and all, are misty, unsub-
stantial personages. It is Boz, but living Boz no more. The
Chimes, too, give out a tone that is becoming wearisome:
we do not like the key note—it has that dismal wail which
is becoming fashionable among dandies and misers, the cant
of philanthropy. Mr. Dickens has almost caricatured the
tribe in the exaggerated portrait of Sir Joseph Bowerley, in-
tended probably to personify the “new generation.” He
gives Young England some terrible thwacks—hard enough,
we should think, to demolish so young a gentleman.
In calling the Chimes a failure, we only compare it with
the other productions of the same author; compared with
the successful works of many others, it is prodigious. No
one can read it without feeling that Dickens is a thorough
good fellow: one who sympathises keenly with the lower
orders of society, and who sees through the flimsy veil which
respectable rogues throw over their own actions. Like all
of his productions, it is bold, rapid, and sincere. You cannot
perceive any marks of doubt or hesitancy: no erasures, no
after-thoughts, no mending of passages; but you are con-
scious of having before you the first conception of the author,
in its original integrity, without having been submitted to
the emasculating corrections of a calculating prudence, or
the refinements of a fastidious taste. It is this freshness
which distinguishes all his writings, that gives them one of
“For the night wind has a dismal trick of wandering round and
round a building of that sort, and moaning as it goes; and of trying
with its unseen hand, the windows and the doors: and seeking out
some crevices by which to enter. And when it has got in: as one
not finding what it seeks, whatever that may be; it wails and howls
to issue forth again: and not content with stalking through the aisles
and gliding round and round the pillars, and tempting the deep organ,
soars up to the roof, and strives to rend the rafters; then flings itself
despairingly upon the stones below, and passes, muttering, into the
vaults. Anon, it comes up stealthily, and creeps along the walls;
seeming to read, in whispers, the Inscriptions sacred to the Dead.
At some of these it breaks out shrilly , as with laughter; and at oth-
ers, moans and cries as if it were lamenting. It has a ghostly sound
too, lingering within the altar; where it seems to chaunt, in its wild
way, of Wrong and Murder alone, and false Gods worshipped; in de-
fiance of the Tables of the Law, which look so fair and smooth, but
are so flawed and broken. Ugh! Heaven preserve us, sitting snugly
round the fire! It has an awful voice, that wind at Midnight, singing
in a church!
“But high up in the steeple! There the foul blast roars and whis-
tles! High up in the steeple, where it is free to come and go through
many an airy arch and loop-hole, and to twist and twine itself about
the giddy stair, and twirl the groaning weathercock, and make the
very tower shake and shiver! High up in the steeple, where the
belfry is; and iron rails are ragged with rust; and sheets of lead and
copper shrivelled by the changing weather, crackle and heave beneath
the unaccustomed tread: the birds stuff shabby nests into corners of
old oaken joists and beams; and dust grows old and grey; and spec-
kled spiders, indolent and fat with long security, swing idly to and fro,
in the vibration of the bells, and never loose their hold upon their
thread spun castles in the air, or climb up sailor-like in quick alarm,
or drop upon the ground and ply a score o; nimble legs to save a lie!
High up in the steeple of an old church, far above the light and mur-
mur of the town, and far below the flying clouds that shadow it, is the
wild and dreary place at night; and high up in the steeple of an old
church, dwelt the Chimes I tell of.”
We have heard a good many wonderful stories of miserly
hearts being melted, and churls made amiable, by the mere
reading of the Christmas Carol, but we fear that the good
done by the Chimes will not be as great. There are parts
of it that make riches appear hateful, but none that render
poverty pleasant. Mr. Filer and Alderman Cute are very-
gross caricatures, so is Lady Bowerley; but there is something
inexpressibly fine, a satire terribly scorching on the benevo-
lence of the upper data-tei-tages, in her ladyship’s charitable de-
signs.
“Let him be made an example of, by all means,” returned the la-
dy. “Last winter, when I introduced pinking and eyelet-holeing
among the men and boys in the village, as a nice evening employ-
ment, and had the lines,
In that kind of writing called grotesque, Dickens stands at
an unapproachable height; his page teems with phantoms;
the commonest objects assume a fantastic shape the moment
he touches them; rusty hinges, battered doors, toppling chim-
neys, bits of lead, scraps of tin and old nails become instinct
with life, and suddenly assume a new character as though
the wand of an enchanter had touched them. But his gro-
tesques have not that aimless merely grotesque existence
which the wizard shapes of other authors have; they speak
to us smoothly, and their words are imbued with a wisdom
above that of ordinary men.
" 'The voice of Time,’ said a phantom, 'cries to man, Advance!
Time is for his advancement and improvement; for his greater worth,
his greater happiness, his better lite; his progress onward to that
goal within its knowledge and its view, and set there, in the period
when Time and he began. Ages of darkness, wickedness, and vio-
lence, have come and gone; millions unaccountable, have suffered,
lived, and died; to point the way before him. Who seeks to turn
him back, or stay him on his course, arrests a mighty engine which
will strike the meddler dead; and he the fiercer and the wilder, for
its momentary check!'
" 'I never did so, to my knowledge, Sir,' said Trotty. 'It was
quite by accident if I did. I wouldn’t go to do it, I’m sure.’
" 'Who puts into the mouth of Time, or of its servants,’ said the
Goblin of the Bell, 'a cry of lamentation for days which have had
their trial and their failure, and have left deep traces of it which the
blind may sec—a cry that only serves the Present Time, by showing
men how much it needs their help when any ears can listen to regrets
for such a past—who does this, does a wrong. And you have done
that wrong to us, the Chimes.’ ”
The English Reviewers have all spoken highly of the
Chimes, and the Edinburgh gives it a notice longer than the
book itself; but the same causes which help to render it po-
pular there, have hardly an existence here. Our rich and
poor occupy different positions. The poor here is the privi-
leged data-tei-tag. We have no Aldermen Cutes, do Toby Vecks,
God be praised for it. The Chimes is a politico-comic pro-
duction, and will be more popular with politicians than idle
readers. The illustrations which ornament the London edi-
tion are by famous artists, but have nothing but the names
of the artists to recommend them.
The Natural Boundaries of Empires, and a New View of Colo-
nization. By John Finch, Esq., Corresponding Member of the
Literary and Historical Society of Quebec, and of the Natural His-
tory Societies of Montreal, New York, New Brunswick, Delaware,
etc. London: Longmans, 1844. Imported by Wiley & Putnam.
As this book is not likely to be placed in the hands of our
reading public, we give a few more extracts from it, to show
more fully than our notice of last week could do, the general
spirit which pervades it.
“ 'War,’ said the great captain of his age, war is the trade of bar-
barians. The whole art consists in assembling a force superior to
your adversary.’ This can be accomplished by a great naval power,
which is thus enabled to seize, much to her own detriment, on various
small isolated portions of the world, and on extensive kingdoms which
have not yet arrived at their full power, or which have become imbe-
cile and weak from age.
"Happy therefore would it be for every nation, if the ocean would
rise with storm and with tempest against ships of war, and tranquil
seas and favouring gales were reserved for honest merchant ships and
gaily painted yachts. Then when the land was infested by war, each
one who was peaceably inclined might advance to the shore and em-
bark in his yacht, with a plentiful store of provisions and wine, sail
about on the tranquil surface of the ocean, and return to the land when
the war was over. Less tyranny would be practised, and the indepen-
dence of nations would be much promoted.’’
It is hardly possible that a work like this, which makes
war upon the deepest rooted prejudices of the world, can ex-
ert any influence in removing the errors which grow out of
them. Reformers must not be too radical, if they would do
good. The world has but little sympathy with those who
have keener sight than itself. It was a difficult thing for
Columbus to persuade the monarchs of his time to aid him
in his attempt to discover a new Continent; but now that
everything is discovered, every nation sends out ships on voy-
ages of discovery. If the Genoese had aimed at nothing
more than an island, it is probable that any of the Christian
monarchs would have seconded his designs. But a new Con-
tinent was too much for their understanding. So, an amend-
ment of an odious law, or the curtailment of what are called
the national defences, may sometimes be accomplished, but an
attempt to abolish altogether, would be resisted by the con-
servative instincts of society.
There is food for deep thought, for missionaries of all kinds, in the follow ng extract.
"In Upper Lusatia, in Germany, is a tribe of people called Wends,
descended from the good Saxons who resisted with such true valour
the armies of Charlemagne. They dress in the skins of sheep, and
“In the midst of Christian Europe they retain a solemn Pagan rite,
and a grove of majestic oak trees, near the centre of their territory, is
their object of religious adoration. They were formerly under the go-
vernment of the Elector of Saxony, who allowed them to pursue their
own course without interference, having perceived the folly of any at-
tempt to control them. In the exchange of territory which took place in
Europe during the year 1815, they were transferred, along with some
other Saxon subjects, to the jurisdiction of Prussia. The monarch of
that country, when informed of the circumstance, issued an immediate
order that they should pay a tax and contribution, and attend Chris-
tian worship. An officer was appointed to execute the decree.
“It was soon discovered that, unless they were caught and chained
to the benches, it was impossible to procure their attendance in the
cathedral of Luchaw. Two companies of infantry were then detached
to cut down the sacred grove; but the tribe threatened destruction to
all who engaged in the attempt. The commissioner of Prussia, wish-
ing to avoid bloodshed in a newly acquired territory, desisted from
this part of the enterprise.
“The project of converting them forcibly to Christianity having
failed, it was thought highly desirable that they should pay tribute,
and a large sum was demanded. The chiefs of the tribe replied, that
money was totally unknown among them; that flocks of sheep and
herds of cattle were the only things they possessed, and they could
not, with any convenience to themselves, part with and of them.
They said that if the King was hungry, and came that way, they
would kill a lamb and roast it for his dinner; but they resolutely re-
fused to pay any tax, and immediately assembled in arms to defend
their property. The Prussian officer finding he could do nothing with
this inexorable race, was obliged to leave them in possession of their
ancient freedom.
"Like this tribe, the people of every country have certain habits,
customs, feelings, opinions, and prejudices, by which they are distin-
guished from other nations. These customs are so powerful, that it is
impossible to eradicate them; nor would it be desirable.
“As medals are more valued for the variety of their impressions, so
nations present a more pleasing aspect from the variety of their cus-
toms, the difference of their opinions, and the distinct character of
their political institutions.
“This circumstance contributes much to the comfort and happiness
of the human race; each nation considers its own law, custom, and
institution—soil, climate, and provision—habit, manner, and govern-
ment, as far superior to all others. There is one thing which every
nation adores, and that is itself; each nation believes itself the most
free, the most wise, the most brave, the most every thing.
"The praise and the superiority of his native land is the pleasing
theme of every orator in every country. lie who assures his audience
they are the best and most enlightened people on the face of the earth,
will always receive abundant applause. Were it otherwise, it would
show a great want of proper feeling; for ingratitude is one of the
worst vices that can be charged against individuals; but the man who
is grateful for kindness conferred on him, possesses many other good
qualities. An orator and his audience thus mutually delighted with
each other, present a very pleasing spectacle.
"Frequently a community considers its own law, government and re-
ligion, so excellent, it desires to enforce them on other nations. Hence
arises one cause of war.”
Our next extract is of a similar character; but we are not
sure that the reasoning is correct. The government of a
country cannot be said to form the people, but the people
must create the government, let its character be what it may.
Every nation makes its own rulers; it matters not what
names they may bear, whether kings or senators.
“The most important circumstance connected with the welfare of
man, is the government which exercises a control over his actions and
his thoughts; for, in every country where the human race have exis-
ted for some time under one species of power, his sentiments and his
ideas become gradually assimilated to the government under which
he is placed. A single glance at the countries that were formerly pros-
perous and flourishing under free institutions, and which are now ren-
dered desolate and oppressed by despotic power, would confirm so ir-
resistibly this view of the subject, and has been so often illustrated
by various writers, that it is not worth while to cite any examples.
They will readily occur to any one who is conversant with history.
“There is not any nation which desires to have a good government;
that is, it is not the first and principal object which they desire. The
first wish of all nations, and which they are unhappy if they do not
attain, is to be governed according to their peculiar ideas and prejudices. There is no doubt they believe these to be founded in truth
and justice; but how fur this is from being actually the case, the his-
tory of every country will elucidate. Even if a nation should desire it,
“Let us therefore make a few enquiries what the human race are.
In the first place, in respect to their form, which has some relation to
the subject, although it may appear a distant one; and in the next,
with respect to their disposition or character, on which, in point of
fact, governments depend for their development. Do we find perfec-
tion of form or character in any member of the human race with
whom we have ever been acquainted? A French author has very
truly observed, that we are surrounded by merely halves and quarters
of men.
With reverence be it spoken, the reason why angels are not permit-
ted to visit the earth, except at very distant intervals, is because they
would be stared at as curiosities; and yet the accounts which are giv-
en to us of angelic natures is, that they merely exhibit all the good
qualities of which man is capable, wrought to the highest degree of
intensity. Who ever saw perfection in the human figure? and what
lumps of men we see around us, and what a variety! Why is it that
the statues of the Apollo di Belvidere and the Venus de Medici al-
ways excite in us such emotions of pleasure and delight ? If we met
Apollos walking in the street, and Venuses were our companions eve-
ry moment of our leisure hours, we should pass by the statues with-
out observation. It is because they are very beautiful and differ from
anything we see in common life, that they attract our notice.
“Monarchy, especially hereditary monarchy, is expensive; it is so
of necessity. All people, all nations, connect ideas of dignity with
expense and luxury. It is a false association of ideas, but so general,
that it is adopted by every nation. It is therefore necessary that the
monarch presiding over the destinies of a nation should excel all his
subjects in luxury and expense, as much as he exceeds them in power.
There have been but two monarchs since the commencement of time
who were maintained at a very trifling cost to their subjects; and the
nations over whom they ruled were so exasperated against them on
that account, that they put one to death and were constantly conspiring
against the other. The first was the beautiful white ox that reigned
in Egypt, and of whom an account is given in the pages of Herodotus.
He was one of the best monarchs the world ever saw ; he never en-
gaged in bloody wars to gratify an unreasonable ambition, or to ex-
tend his dominion; and while he chewed the cud, his subjects were
peaceful and happy. It was under his reign that some of those beau-
tiful temples were built, which have attested to a later age the pow-
er and magnificence of ancient Egypt, and which the modem degen-
erate nations of Europe make not even an attempt to imitate. A
plentiful supply of grass, with a little corn and pure water, were all
that he required; but at length his subjects were so indignant against
him, because he would not spend more money, that they rose in rebel-
lion, effected a revolution, and cruelly put him to death.”
If fancy (as we justly conceive the case to be) represent
the leading traits in the intellectual constitution of Mr.
Willis: sentiment, we apprehend, with no less characteris-
tic force, forms the most prominent features in the genius
and writings of Mr. Dana. No mere sentimentalist, our au-
thor is emphatically a man of sentiment: no hypocritical Jo-
seph Surface, full of cant and moral pretensions, but a genu-
ine man of feeling, unlike, or rather superior to, Mackenzie’s
hero, in being, in addition, a true philosophic observer of
life and character, a stem self-student, and, a powerful
painter, according to the stereotyped phrase, of men and
manners.
This attribute of sentiment, in the instance of our author,
is at one and the same time, a moral and an intellectual
quality, religious, high-toned, upright, masculine, partaking
of the softness of Mackenzie and the stern dignity of Words-
worth. Apart from this faculty, Mr. Dana is a writer of
great purity and power, of much acuteness and elegance in
other walks than in those of philosophic sentiment or of
sentimental description; but in those he is a master, and
ranks first among his contemporaries and countrymen. He
has vast powers in depicting the struggles of the darker pas-
sions, jealousy, hatred, suspicion and remorse. Paul Felton
has touches of Byronnic force, and discloses a similar vein to
that so fully opened and with such popular effect in the
works of Godwin and Chas. Brockden Brown.
This, however, is what one would call, perhaps, with a
certain degree of innocence, the uncomfortable portion of
Mr. Dana’s genius, and of which the tendency is doubtful.
It is an open literary question, as to the extent that such
characters as that of Paul Felton should be taken, for the de-
lineation of real characters. An idiot, a madman, a mono-
maniac, may be made very effective in vigorous description,
but is not the simple-hearted Jonathan Fords, for example,
The sentiments of the writer even in the midst of these
harrowing scenes, comes in as an angel during a whirlwind
excited by the most malicious fiends in hell, spreading a hea-
venly calm, and casting a pure bright effulgence over an at-
mosphere of gloom and despair.
In Paul Felton, Mr. Dana has exhibited power in depicting
passion, as well as sentiment: and the same criticism ap-
plies to his Thornton, though in a much inferior degree.
Yet he is most at home in pictures of domestic life; in de-
scribing the charm of home scenes, in realizing the ideal of
conjugal felicity. Strange, that the author, who as a man is
so enthusiastic on such a theme, should, as a poet, (for he is
one as much in Tom Thornton and Paul Felton, as in the
Buccaneers,) delight in pictures, also, of gloom, of crime, of
remorse.
Sentiment furnishes the key, also, to the criticisms of
Dana. We noticed this in his lectures a few winters since
on the poets and dramatists. He finds this, his favorite facul-
ty, beautifully expressed by the ballad writers and the Shaks-
perian dramatists among the old writers; and by Words-
worth and Coleridge, among the new; and to them he has
given his heart. The single critical paper in the volume of
Dana’s selected works, on the acting of Kean, is full of it, no less
than of acuteness and deep insight into the mysteries of art,
both of which indeed are colored and refined by it, to a point
and degree that may be honestly declared as not being very
far distant from perfection. The paper is almost equal in its
way, to Elia’s admirable miniature sketches: differing, as
widely in spirit, as they resemble each other in execution.
As a writer of sentiment, love, in its forms both of senti-
ment and passion, (for it varies in different natures, and is the
offspring of the temperaments of the affections and of the
fancy, according to the individual constitution, mental or mor-
al, or sensitive of the recipient and cherisher of it,) constitutes
the staple of Dana’s inventions and speculations—of love in
all of its degrees, he is a delicate limner or a vigorous pain-
ter, according as the subject is a delicate woman or a manly
man: a quiet, retired, meditative nature, or a stirring, active,
ambitious character. The female character has full justice
done it, by the writer of Edward and Mary. Judging from
his writings on this subject, Mr. Dana has been a happy man.
Yet he can paint a weak credulous mother, or a dashing,
heartless woman of fashion (see Tom Thornton) with as
subtle skill as he can delineate the fond, confiding heart, the
clear and wise judgment, the gentle and amiable tastes, of
a true woman and a good wife.
We have other points to speak of, than that only of our au-
thor’s sentiments, however, and must not dwell too long on
that.
Mr. Dana has been connected in ties of literature and fami-
ly connection, with the first artist and finest poet of our
country. Allston and Dana married sisters, and remained to
the last intimate associates. We have heard Mr. D. speak of
his works out at Cambridgeport (we think where Allston re-
sided) and his conversations there with the Poet Painter, as
among his richest pleasures, nor should we forget that Bry-
ant was the early associate, as he remains the "oldest friend
of our author. Some of Dana’s finest portrait contributions,
were included in Bryant’s New York Review. The father,
too, is happy in a son who has written one of the best books
The late reviews of American novelists, in the Quarterly,
just and fair in the main, was yet guilty of omissions that
should have been noticed at the time, and filled up by a
competent critic. It is not our purpose, at present, to occupy
the whole ground, nor fill the entire vacancy—that is to be
left to the writer, who can honestly appraise the merits of
the authors less unnoticed, in a sort of article supplementa-
ry. Three comic writers, at least as worthy of notice as Miss
Leslie,—Neale, Matthews, and the author of Harry Fran-
co, our best comic satirists since Paulding’s Salmagundi,
have escaped notice entirely; while two serious writers, of
unquestionable excellence, Allston in his Monaldi, and Dana,
in certain prose dramas, among prose fictions, what the
masterpieces of Heywood or Middleton would prove by the
side of the Shaksperian drama, have been passed by without
ever attracting a casual remark.
This neglect may furnish some excuse for the foregoing
remarks and the critical observations that may follow, al-
beit, we had hoped the task might have been committed to
other hands. Nor shall we attempt to disentangle the mesh-
es of the tales themselves; skilful unwinding of the thread
of a narrative, or the decomposition of a plot, or an analysis
of the conduct of the incidents, ranking in our opinion, when
well done, almost with the original poem that gave birth to
the fiction. And as we do not write tales, but merely criti-
cisms upon them, we shall speak of the qualities displayed
in the construction of these narratives, rather than the inci-
dents or the characters they contain. Another and an equal-
ly good reason, as it appears to us, for the present sketch,
may be found in the fact, that our authors had been gradu-
ally lost sight of by the generation of readers that have risen
since he wrote. To a large number, we fear, nothing of
Dana is known beyond his name; with whom, too, his name
is getting to be matter of tradition. It is now nearly a quar-
ter of a century, since we have seen anything in print by the
author of the Idle Man. During which period so many can-
didates for public honor and claimants for a niche in the
temple of fame have been pouring in, that the public eye is
well nigh clouded by the sparkling ephemerida, and the
public ear confounded by loud clamors and noisy appeals.
In the midst of this hubbub, the silent speculative genius
of Dana, and the power, the purity, and the data-tei-tagic genius
of Dana’s writings, have passed almost unregarded.—
Among the thousands who devour James, the tens who
study Dana may be easily enumerated; the lovers of his-
torical melo-drama, see nothing in simple, undisguised,
unaffected, yet most real and vigorous, true dramatic paint-
ing. Perhaps the American is too much of a philosopher for
those readers, who are captivated by detailed narrative and
circumstantial description; though, as a mere writer of tales
full of striking characters, closely crowded with stirring in-
cidents, set in a frame of poetic description, and enshrined
within a halo of imagination, Dana is in the first rank of no-
velists. It is wrong to speak of him as a mere tale writer:
for his tales are not only as long as certain short novels (as
long and longer than Rasselas, Zadig, Candide, the Man of
Feeling, or the admirable fictions of Richter, Zschokke,
and other German novelists) but they are as closely woven,
that they read sometimes like abstracts of longer works.
There is nothing to be spared; the utmost economy is ob-
served, consistent with real richness and vigor. Yet, as we
said, the evident philosophic character of the author, the
basis, indeed, of his portrait character, as well; the love of
speculating upon character, the motives to action, the prin-
ciples of conduct, may deter the mere readers for amuse-
ment, since Dana is manifestly a teacher of men, and is to
be estimated rightly only in that character. He had selected
prose fiction, we imagine, only as a vehicle for conveying
certain pictures of life, portraits of individuals, certain whole-
some moral satire, an ideal of contented private enjoyments,
and of a life of action, enlightened duty. His invention
is probably, therefore, voluntary, and the offspring of ready
impulse. Hence a want of the popular manner and of the
“taking” style. He is not a popular writer, and has,
rightly, not aimed at popularity. This he confesses, and
We insinuate nothing, byway of comparison between the
two; for Milton is first among the greatest, while Dana
would be too wise to accept of a place among the greatest at
all. He is first among the lesser lights, the Dii Minores of
our literary firmament.
The facts of Mr. Dana’s literary career are known to few.
Beside the history of his literary connexions, mentioned be-
fore, we have heard of little else. We once heard Mr, D.
speak of his life as passed in his room. He has been much of
an invalid, and has led, we understand, a retired life. The
only account the public at large, even here, at home, have
of one of the first men we can point to, is to be found in
Blackwood’s Magazine for 1824 or 5. It occurs in a para-
graph, in a series of papers on American writers, ascribed to
John Neal, and evidently from his pen. It is instinct with
the shrewdness and sense of that very clever man, and dash-
ed off in his slashing off-hand style. Without a number of
the Magazine by us, we must quote from memory. Neal
complains of Dana’s indolence and careful polish; though he
gives high and just praise for soundness, purity, and true
genius, he adds certain censure on his excessive care, some-
what after this manner. Dance (a misprint) is pure, sound,
full of genius, but timid, where he has a fair chance, shuts
the wrong eye and is apt to miss. Fond of carving heads,
or cherry stones with his friend Bryant; but the public care
nothing for the otto of prose.  When or how long Dana edited
the North American Review, we cannot exactly discern.
Two only of his reviews have attracted much attention—on
Moore and on Hazlitt’s lectures—the latter harsh, and we
think, unjust. Mr. Dana thinks (or did think) Hazlitt very
much inferior to the notion his admirers entertain of him.
The paper on Moore is just, manly, and creditable to the
critic’s heart, as well as his taste. Much excellent matter is
doubtless buried under a heap of quarterly rubbish. Neal,
in a concluding sentence, reproves our author for his silence
and indolence, stating that Dana had done in several years
as much as he (Neal) could have done in as many weeks or
months. Very likely, but with a difference; with a different
quality, we make bold to think, however, and hardly destined
to survive its year or deeds. Neal, with great cleverness,
and wit, and industry, has furnished hardly anything, except
a few critical sketches and moral essays, with a few brilliant
tales, that show how much more might have been accom-
plished. Neal could have been the first magazine writer of
his day; but he could never equal Dana, lacking, as he does,
the profound and subtle genius of the latter.
In a general survey of the genius of Dana, we may remark
his defect of wit and humor. He sometimes indulges in
playful sarcasm, as in the letters from town (would he had
given us more), which are models of their kind—elegant,
familiar, and Addisonian, in the best sense—the natural union
of sense and gaiety, of reflection and feeling.
Dana is a master of characters: his observation is keen
and benevolent, and can at the same time grapple with vig-
orous and strongly-marked characters. He has painted a
character in the First Letter, which somewhat resembles his
own; and which, together with the character of Edward,
and a few touches (of the maiden kind) in the youthful cha-
racter of Paul Felton, go to make up a pretty fair and just
idea of the author.
Dana has more imagination than fancy, and which gives
his fictions the air of reality. He is too habitually serious to
be fanciful or fantastic. His imagination delights in tragic
situations, and dark characters, and terrible deeds, that carry
a fearful moral with them. His style is admirable; close,
clear, precise, final. He is equally powerful in his critical
capacity, as he is an original writer. His essays are musings,
the finest reflections of a scholar, and many given to reverie
and sentimental disquisition. The man, too, is but the natu-
Dullness and absurdity are not the only or the least causes
of the decline and fall of the present Drama. The stage has
something to answer for, on the”score of positive inhumani-
ty. In Hogarth’s delightful print of the Strolling Players
behind the scenes, the characters are represented as preparing
for a burletta. The imperial Eagle of Jove is feeding one of
the bantlings of the company with pap out of his projected
talons; the tragedy Queen raves to the imaginary gods, while
a rent is getting stitched on her leg; two imps are quarrelling
for a pot of porter; a lady is pleasantly distressed at the ap-
pearance of her first pair of breeches, and reinforces her
courage with a glass of cordial; the mitre is filled with play
books, and a cat is tossing the royal globe on the floor as a
bauble. It is a very happy print to look at, for every charac-
ter in it, is steeped to the very crown in that sovereign bath
for the misfortunes of the world, the humor of a full overflow-
ing heart. But alas! the picture has its reverse, and the same
great master might have drawn upon the same scene for addi-
tional materials to his shuddering prints of the Four Stages
of Cruelty. He might have set his burletta in motion, and
anticipated a scene which has just occurred at Drury Lane,
and forms one of the most horrible realities, yet one so obvi-
ous that it may occur again, at any moment, of the theatrical
life. Miss Clara Webster, a dancer of ability and a favorite
with the audience, was performing in the opera of the Revolt
of the Harem, in the bath scene, where there is a miserable
attempt at the representation of water, and women bathing
in it, that, when we witnessed it at the Park Theatre, seemed
as natural and agreeable to the eye, as the stiff, tawdry.
French pictures smeared on band boxes. There is nothing
to be said against the indecency of such an exhibition, for it
was too painful and revolting to produce any other feeling
than an uncomfortable disgust. Painted actresses with star-
ing eyes, fixed on a narrow strip of foothold, like rope-walkers,
illuminated in a glare of light, like Dante’s figures in purga-
tory, offer the least attractive subject of contemplation in the
world. Miss Webster was engaged in this gross show of
tinsel, when her gauze dress took fire from the lights placed
below. She was immediately enveloped in flames, and ran
about the stage shrieking for help, avoided and shaken off by
the other dancers, at the peril of their lives, till the carpenter
at the side scene, rolled himself over her, and extinguished
the fire at the cost of great personal suffering to himself. She
was taken home to die—and the play went on to the conclu-
sion. This reads like a reflection on the humanity of an Eng-
lish audience. So it occurred. Yet, as they were men and
women, that vision, clad in fire, must rise up before them as
a horrible portent—the extremest agony of pain, lit up by the
blaze of a theatre. What light foot can tread the boards
again? This disaster will, doubtless, attract the attention of
men of sense and feeling, who busy themselves in England,
in all such cases, Sydney Smith may find a deeper horror,
and a more available subject for relief in this, than in the fa-
mous Railway Disaster with locked doors. A similar fatal
occurrence in France, vividly related by Froissart, took place
in a species of mummery and masking, at the Court of
Charles VI.
It remains for theatrical managers to take the strictest pre-
cautions against the recurrence of similar accidents in future.
We have often noticed with alarm, the flaring of the foot-
lights at the very steps of the actresses. The lights should
be carefully protected, as recommended by the London Coro-
ner, with a net-work of wire, and as he exhibited, the dresses
might also be rendered incombustible. Such steps are sug-
gested, not only by humanity, but by the interests of managers.
An occurrence of the kind happening here, would damn the
boards of any theatre to perpetual infamy. The whole data-tei-tag
of dangerous theatrical performances should beat once modi-
fied and amended. There is little pleasure for the audience as
safety for the performers, in these exhibitions. Ellsler really
delights us by her grace of motion, and piquant archness in
walking across the stage; she simply shocks all agreeable
feeling when she transports herself on a wire, or hangs sus-
pended from the ceiling. The blue-lights and sulphur are a
nuisance which, out of the theatre, would be indictable at
common law. On what principle a manager fills the house
with soot and smoke, unless to give color to the assertions of
those pious people who maintain that the stage is the devil’s
portal, we are at a loss to conceive. Mr.
There is a host of minor grievances, each sufficient in it-
self to account for the general disappearance of the audiences,
without recurring to the unfortunate laws of the drama, for a
single argument. There is one sentiment that, we have ob-
served, always comes home to the house, and is delivered
with an air of perfect naturalness, by the actors. It is the
passage in Hamlet where “the air bites shrewdly—it is very
cold.” There is no mock unction in the player’s art here.
We should have no plays performed in winter but such as
Macbeth, Hamlet, and others lying in hyperborean regions, to
keep up the historical keeping which Mr. Macready so much
values. Masaniello, or the Tempest, are absurdities.
Now we have a very great respect for the cast-iron stove at
the Park Theatre, with its open mouth in the lobbies, and the
pieces of coal, set on like oysters, to roast. It does something
to fill up a vacuum in the deserted hall, and it is society for
the door-keepers, who have frequently nothing else to look at;
but bless you! for all purposes of warming the Theatre, it
might as well be round the comer, or supply fuel for the politi-
cal bonfires in the Park. Within there is neither flue, nor fire,
or pipe visible or perceptible. It is a comfort even to see poor
Grandfather Whitehead warm his feeble fingers, in the per-
son of Mr. Chippendale, over the painted embers of Langley’s
inhospitable hearth. Pity the poor actors! We have seen a
strong current of air sweep the ribons of an actress’s hair, and
a star, too, round into her face, that she could scarcely sing
for the annoyance. Bare n ecks look pitiable in such northern
blasts. Oh “the pity of it, the pity of it,” Mr. William B.
Astor!
There is another word to be said, too, of those curiously
contrived instruments of torture for the audience, the boxes,
which to gentlemen who have legs, recal the idea very sen-
sibly, of Ravaillac’s boots. The problem of what infinitesimal
quantity of straw will protect the covering of the seats from
too exhaustive a friction on the boards underneath, has been
very satisfactorily solved too. Verily, if a man goes to destruc-
tion through the gate of the theatre, he goes to it like a Po-
pish anchorite, without ever treading the soft primrose path.
Our countrymen are very much in the habit of pointing to
the Patent Office in Washington to prove the fertility of the
inventive powers of the nation. But it would require a dozen
such collections to weigh against the contrary evidence of the
Blue Book. Combination is the word for the Patent Office.
Imagination or invention, we can lay no claim to, if we look
to our national nomenclature for the proof. In the immense
catalogue of American names, there is hardly one we can
claim as our own. They are all of foreign or Indian deriva-
tion. The inconceivable repetition of certain names of towns,
proves us to be the most unimaginative people in the whole
world. There are one hundred and eighteen towns and
counties in the United States, called Washington. In all
Europe, there is but one London; we have five Londons, one
New London, and seven Londonderrys. We have six towns
called Paris, tweny-one Richmonds, sixteen Bedfords, nine
Brightons, nine Chathams, eleven Burlingtons, sixteen Dela-
wares, fourteen Oxfords, fourteen Somersets, nine Cam-
bridges, twenty-five Yorks, and other English names in pro-
portion. There are twelve towns with the prefix of Big, four
Great, and sixteen Little. There are nine Harmonys, seven-
ty-eight Unions, and eighteen Concords; forty-four Libertys,
and thirteen Freedoms; twenty-one Columbias, and seven
Columbuses. There are one hundred and four towns and coun-
ties of the color Green, five Vermillions, and twenty-four
The indigenous shrubs and fruits of the country give names
to but few towns. The Pepperidge, one of the most beauti-
ful of our forest trees, has never been used at all, nor the
Persimmons; but we have a Willow and a great many Oaks.
We have thought it would be a good way to compel the
country to tax its imagination, by passing a law prohibiting
the use of a name for a town or county that had ever been
used before for the same purpose; but such a law would
lead to worse consequences still, all our towns would then
be numbered, as our new streets are now, and we should
have Nine hundred and twenty-first city, Fifty-fourth county,
New York, and we should see letters directed to Eighty-fourth
city, Sixty-fifth street, Forty-first county. Sooner than live
in such an arithmetical world as that, we would infinitely
prefer a dozen Joe Davieses, and ninety-one Jacksons.
Mr. Bumble, the beadle in Oliver Twist, was very indig-
nant at a pauper, who went and starved himself to death, on
purpose to bring odium upon the parish overseers; and Mrs.
Corney, the matron of the poor house, made terrible com-
plaints that some old woman or other, always took it into her
head to die, just as she, (Mrs. Corney,) was going to take
a comfortable cup of tea. The poor are terrible bugbears to
the rich; little emaciated children and pallid old creatures,
with their rags fluttering in the winter wind, are forever in-
truding themselves upon the elegant repose of the well-off.
A clergyman, who published his complaints on this subject,
not long since, made a very feeling statement of his griefs,
in not being able to eat his breakfast in quiet, for the obtru-
siveness of street beggars, who would be asking for some-
“Look at this little rascal,” said the legal gentleman, “he
goes about without shoes or stockings, on purpose to make
people buy his almanacs.”
The culprit was a beautiful little fellow, of some ten years
with a profusion of glossy hair, and a look of intelligence
which showed that he or his parents had seen better times.
His feet were the color of mahogany, and they looked as
though they were touched with the frost; his dress was ex-
ceedingly scant, but he had a very healthy look, notwith-
standing. Indeed I have rarely seen a prettier boy. In spite
of his rags, and destitution, he had such a look of happy in-
nocence, that I doubt not John Jacob Astor would gladly
have changed places with him, and given his twenty mil-
lions for the poor boy’s ruddy cheeks, bright eyes, and frosted
feet.

The little fellow blushed at the question, and looked
down at my boots, at which I blushed in return.
“Indeed, I should be very glad to wear shoes, if I could
get them,” he said, “but it is more than a month since I have
had any. Perhaps it is some other boy that the gentleman
means.”
"No, no, you are the very scamp,” persisted the lawyer.
“There’s a boy boards with my mother, it may be him,”
continued the youngster.
 I inquired.
“She takes this little boy, because he has got no mother,
and when he gets a shilling by selling almanacs, he gives it
to her. Will you buy one of my almanacs?”
‘‘Don’t you;’’ said the lawyer, “depend upon it, he’s a
cheat.”
“I hope he is,” I replied, “there’s something to be hoped
of a boy who can endure such hardships as this little fellow
does, for the sake of two or three cents profit on the sale of
an almanac. Just cast your eyes on the opposite side of the
street, and look at the sleek negro, dressed in a cocked hat,
and a laced coat, at the entrance of that fancy bazaar; what
do you think he wears that finery for? Is it not to entice
customers into his employer’s shop? Look a little further, at
those immense sheets of plate glass in a hatter’s window,
what do you think they are for? Solely to admit light, or to
induce customers to drop in? for what purpose do you carry
that bundle of tape-tied papers under your arm, if not to gain
clients, by persuading the world that you are overrun with
them, knowing as you do that it is the way of the world to
help the prosperous?
“Very possible!” thought I, “seeing that you live by it.”
The Chatham.—Chatham street has been a favorite loca-
tion for theatres during the past twenty-five years. Since
Barriere had his Pavilion and lemonade garden, where the
Chatham street chapel afterwards stood, there have been
some half a dozen different Thespian temples erected in the
neighborhood. The first dramatic representation that we
ever witnessed was under Barriere’s management, and we
remember hearing a good many discussions among the fre-
quenters of that data-tei-tagic spot, about the relative merits of
Mrs. Entwistle and Mrs. Waring. It was here that Gene-
ral Morris, then only a colonel, produced his first Opera of
Briar Cliff, in which that immortal song was introduced,
“William was holding in his hand, &c.” long before the days
of Henry Russell and the “Tree,” and long before “long
time ago,” even; here, too, Mr. Woodworth, the coadjutor
of the Brigadier in the Mirror, produced the beautiful native
Opera of the “Forest Rose,” and the celebrated Micah
Hawkins brought out some of his data-tei-tagic dramas. These
were the palmy days of the drama, when the celebrated
The Chatham street people are essentially dramatic in
their character: they are exceedingly fond of theatrical dis-
play, as may be seen by walking through that renowned
thoroughfare any sun-shiny morning, or clear evening. Ev-
ery thing here has an air of exaggeration and caricature. It
was here that the big boot was first set up. You look in
vain lor repose or quiet. It appears, therefore, the most
natural thing in the world that a theatre of some kind should
always exist in Chatham street. The Park Theatre has
been closed, to make room for the data-tei-tagic equestrians, but
the Chatham is still devoted to the legitimate drama; what
that is we do not very clearly comprehend, but we believe
that tragedies and comedies in five divisions, which do not
represent real life, are generally called the legitimate dra-
ma. The prices of admission to the Chatham theatre are by
no means extravagant, a shilling being the price to the pit,
and two shillings to the dress circles. A corner of the pit is
partitioned off to form a saloon, at the entrance of which
hangs-a transparency, informing the patrons of the drama
that the best of liquors are sold within at three cents per
glass, and that pigs’ feet and soused tripe may be obtained at
the bar. This is all legitimate, of course; the city authori-
ties confer the privilege of selling the best of liquors at three
cents per glass to the youngsters who frequent this Thespian
temple, as a special license; and take part of the profits of
the same, to help support the rogues of one kind and another
that are made by such means. We thus see how regularly
and beautifully the cog-wheels of society are moved, appa-
rently giving motion to each other, without revealing the
power which sets the whole a-going. By way of antidote
to the “best of liquors,” the theatrical decorator has made
an imitation of the entrances of the House of Detention in the
two ornamental doors at the sides of the proscenium, which
seem to say to the youngsters in the pit, “take care!”
This is a very happy idea, and the Egyptian style of archi-
tecture harmonises very well with the other parts of the
house, particularly the view of West Point on the drop cur-
tain, which contains some very remarkable examples of draw-
ing in perspective.
We heard a very eloquent sermon a Sabbath or two since,
on the destitution of the Turcomans in respect of good books.
The preacher, who was a bishop, shewed himself perfectly
familiar with the reading of the Sultan’s subjects, and begged
very hard for aid to send them something better. We won-
der whether there be a licentiate, or a doctor of divinity in this
great city, who has ever troubled himself to inquire into the
nature of the mental food which is nightly administered to
the young care-for-naughts, who fill the pit and galleries of
this theatre? Yet it is surely of as much importance, in
Bulwer’s Lady of Lyons was recently played here to a
crowded house, and the virtuous sentiments contained in it
produced rounds of applause. We could not but feel vexed
that the author had so spoilt an admirable moral, one so
well adapted to benefit an audience of apprentices, in misre-
presenting the true story upon which his drama was found-
ed. La Perouse, or the Bellows-Mender, was the tale which
he worked into a play; bnt by changing the course of ac-
tion, by which the hero raised himself from poverty, he en-
tirely destroyed the beauty of the moral, and rendered his
drama much less effective than it would have been, if he
had adhered to the integrity of the narrative. La Perouse,
the original of Claude Melnotte, to prove himself worthy of
the wife whom he had unworthily won, goes to Paris, and
by industry and strict integrity in trade acquires a fortune,
and returns to claim his bride, who has retired to a convent;
but Bulwer has made him a soldier, who makes himself rich
by robbing the Italians, and returns after two years of but-
chery and plunder, tricked out in epaulettes and plumes, and
rescues his bride just as she is about to sell herself for mo-
ney to his rival, after having sworn fidelity to her first hus-
band. The whole teaching of his play is mischievous, and
the sentiment of it exceedingly mawkish. As a work of art,
the Lady of Lyons does not rise above the low standard of
the conventionalities of the stage. People make long ha-
rangues at the elbows of others, who conveniently remain
deaf and blind to all that passes, until the proper time comes
for them to open their ears and eyes. Claude Melnotte re-
turns from Italy after an absence of nearly two years, and is
not recognised by his wife during a long conversation, because
it would disturb the denouement of the plot if he were to do
so. There are, in truth, as many gross inconsistencies in the
drama now, as in the days of Nick Bottom. While, in all
other departments of art improvements have been made to
meet the exactions of a critical age, the stage has remained
unchanged for the last two hundred years; we do not mean
in the machinery of the stage, which is of no account, but in
the construction of the drama, which is every thing. If
Shakspeare could be laid on the shelf for half a century, an
incubus would be removed from the drama, and it would
rise to a level with the other arts.
Sir,—On the 16th of January I was requested by my friend
Dr. S. Vital Bodinier, recently from Paris, to witness the
extirpation of a humor from the neck of a female, which he
said would be performed without her consciousness, and
without suffering, “while she was in a magnetic sleep," he
having operated twice under similar circumstances in Paris,
and with success.
Being rather incredulous, but at the same time extremely
anxious to see so great a boon conferred upon suffering hu-
manity, I went to No. — Chambers street, previous to the
hour appointed for the operation (which was half-past one),
in order to witness the process of putting the female to sleep.
After being in the house about five minutes, the patient came
into the basement room and seated herself in an easy chair.
She seemed extremely bright and nowise sleepy, with a rosy
cheek, black eyes, and dark hair. After an inquiry or two
as to her health, and feeling her pulse, which was natural,
Dr. B. proceeded to make what are termed “magnetic pass-
es,” and so successfully, that in five minutes the eyelids
drooped, and in ten minutes—say at twenty minutes of twelve
—she was sound asleep. I learned from Dr. B. that she
had been placed in this state some ten or twelve times pre-
viously, with a view to secure her entire insensibility. Dr.
Bodinier now demonstrated on the female the operation to
be performed, and requested me to examine the tumor. It
was a lymphatic tumor in the parotid region, which had ex-
isted for five years, but had increased very rapidly within a
few months. I left the patient at twelve o’clock, still sleep-
ing soundly.
I returned to the house at quarter past one, in company
with Prof. J. W. Francis and Mr. J. S. Redfield, the pub-
lisher. A few moments after, we were joined by Drs. Mott,
Belafield, J. Kearney Rodgers, Taylor, Nelson, Dr. Alfaro,
a highly distinguished physician from Madrid, Mr. Parmly
the dentist, and one or two others. Descending to the base-
ment, we found the patient still asleep, a fact of which I
believe all the medical gentlemen present were satisfied.
Every thing being arranged, Dr. Bodinier stated briefly that
the operation would be neither rapid nor brilliant, on ac-
count of the facial nerve, the division of which caused great
deformity. He then with a convex bistoury made an incision
two inches long, beginning below the lobule of the ear, dis-
sected the tumor from its lateral attachments, separated it
from the subjacent parts with the blunt edges of a pair of
curved scissors, and removed it; it was the size of a pullet’s
egg, and the operation occupied two and a half minutes only.
During this operation I stood at the head of the patient.
There was not the slightest change in her face or respiration;
she continued to sleep on quietly and calmly through the
whole of it. Dr. Bodinier seemed to be operating rather
upon a cadaveo than on a living being. The wound was
now dressed, and the patient still remaining unconscious,
previous to the departure of the gentlemen who witnessed
the operation, Dr. B. invited them to return and see the pa-
tient roused. I availed myself of the invitation, and went
again to the house at ten minutes past four. She was still
sleeping, but at quarter past four, the time indicated, she was
demagnetized by Dr. B., Drs. Taylor, Parmly, and others
being present. I immediately inquired, “How she felt?”
She answered, “rather tired.” “Had she suffered during
her sleep?” She said, “No.” “Had she been cut?” She
The operation was performed very skilfully, and Dr. B.
justified the high expectations formed of him, by his great
reputation in Europe, and the manner in which Prof. Berard,
of the Hospital La Pitie, the celebrated Orfila, Dean of the
Faculty of Medicine, and the illustrious Guizot, Minister of
Foreign Affairs, have spoken of him in their letters to this
country.
This, however, is not the only case in which surgical
operations have been performed, the patient being in a mag-
netic sleep. Some six years since, a schirrous breast was
extirpated at Paris by Prof. J. Cloquet, the details of which
were communicated by him to the “Academie Royale.” Dr.
Bodinier also, as we have already stated, operated twice in
June last, at Paris, successfully. Some two years since a
leg was amputated at Bangor, and lately I see by the papers
that at Augusta, a tumor has been removed from the breast.
I have thus complied with your request to state what I
witness solely from a sense of justice to the distinguished
surgeon who performed the operation. I have told you
what I saw. You can draw your own conclusions.
On the loth of February, 1828, a society of Amateurs was
formed in Frankfort, under the name of the “ Lieder-Kranz,”
Wreath of Songs; partly for social intercourse, but mainly
for the practice of Vierstimmigen Mannergesang, quartette
chorusses, songs composed for four male voices, first and se-
cond tenor and first and second bass. As every thing new in
art or literature creates a sensation in modem times, it was
very natural that the performances of the Lieder-Kranz
should cause a considerable excitement. The society conti-
nued for several years to prosecute its objects, and by the
amount of its fine talents and a continual striving after the
most data-tei-tagical compositions, it ventured at last to give a
public performance. It did so on several occasions, prompted
by a holy desire to honor the greatest poets of the fatherland,
Schiller and Goethe; to do honor to the European master of
sound, Mozart; and to make a thank-offering to the immor-
tal Guttenberg. It did so, too, to gratify the feelings of the
heart for the sufferings of others, and to turn the natural sym-
pathy for misfortune to productive effect.
The satisfaction shown by the public at these performan-
ces, was the best acknowledgment of their merit; at the
same time, it gave an impulse to the perfection of the Ger-
man Mannergesang; and finally, it was an exhortation to
unite with the whole Fatherland in a grand national vocal
festival. The Lieder-Kranz entertained the joyful hope, that
its intentions would everywhere be received with eagerness.
Its object was not by this Festival to prepare a mere pass-
ing enjoyment for the participators, but to lay the corner-
stone of an imperishable institution. The proceeds of the
Vocal Festival were to be appropriated to the foundation of
a Musical Institute, to be called the “Mozart-Stiftung;" in-
tending thereby to erect a moral monument to the greatest
tone-poet of the world. The first performance of the Lieder
Kranz for the benefit of the Mozart Institute, took place at
Frankfort in July, 1838, and the constitution of the society
The Constitution of the “Mozart-Stiftung” consists of
forty sections, detailing the manner in which its objects shall
be attained, the principal of which are the education of
youthful musical talent, and the production of musical com-
positions. Youths of all countries, where the German lan-
guage is spoken, can receive the aid of the Institute, provi-
ded that their lives are blameless, and their musical talents
respectable.
It was natural that all artists glowing with a true love for
this science, should contribute, either by concerts or by their
compositions, to the perfection of the Mozart Stiftung, and
the completion of this admirable work. The noble Franz
Litzt was one of the first who gave concerts for the benefit
of the institute; among other contributors we find the names
of Spohr, Ferdinand Hiller, Mangold. Dr. Felix Mendelssohn-
Bartholdy, the composer of the Lobgesang, has promised to
write six Vierstimmigc Mannergesange for the benefit of the
institution. Franz Litzt has given it four imposing choruses.
The highly-esteemed Schnyder Von Wartensee, one of the
honorary members of the Lieder-Kranz, gave the institute a
sum of money for the formation of a particular fund for the
purchase of data-tei-tagical music. This happened very oppor-
tunely, for they were enabled to purchase thereby a great
part of the works of Sebastian Bach from the estate of (alas,
too early dead!) John Nep. Schelble, the worthy founder of
the “Cecilien Verein” in Frankfort. From New York, also,
the sum of one hundred and sixty florins was sent to the Mo-
zart Institute by friends of the cause.
Slowly, but surely, this magnificent work approaches to
completion, and the joyful consciousness of a noble deed will
compensate its high-hearted founders for the indefatigable
zeal which they have shown in their interest for the German
National Monument—the Mozart-Stiftung.
The Governor’s Room in the City Hall.—The suite of
rooms in the City Hall, called the Governor’s Room, can be
visited, free of cost, at any time of day, by application to the
keeper. The chief attraction here, consists of the pictures,
of which there are a good many, mostly authentic portraits.
The Mayors of the city are all here, of the common kit-cat
size; and the Governors of the State are represented at full
length. The best picture among them all, is the portrait of
Governor Yates, by Vanderlyn. It is the best that he ever
painted; superior, in truth, to his Caius Marius. It proves
that the only true historical painting, is portraiture. The best
painted head in the collection, perhaps the best in the country,
is the portrait of Governor Marcy, by Page; the general ef-
fect is inferior to some others in the room, owing to an ill-
disposed flag suspended over the head of the Governor, and an
uncomfortable prominence which is given to a ponderous
table cover; but in other respects it is an admirable painting;
one that does honor to the arts in this country, and which
should be seen by every foreigner who would form a just esti-
mate of the advance of art among us. There are also two por-
traits, by Inman; one, the most elaborate of all his pictures,
of Mr. Van Buren; the other, one of his most free and dash-
ing subjects, of Governor Seward. Here, too, is a full length
portrait of Lafayette, painted by Mr. Morse, the President of
the National Academy; it is a very passable portrait, but the
most unnatural piece of coloring that was ever seen. But its
merit as a painting will always be of secondary interest; as
a portrait of a man, whose name will ever be dear to an
Some of the most interesting pictures here, are the portraits
of the heroes of our last war; may it ever remain the last!
Those of Perry and Hull, particularly,are very spirited, though
not to be commended as mere works of art. The citizens of
New York pay a good round price for these pictures, and they
should avail themselves oftener than they do, of their right to
inspect them. The children of the charity schools in London,
have the privilege of visiting the lions in the Tower, free of
charge; and the children of our Public Schools should be
allowed to visit the Governor’s Room on a certain day of the
week. It is the only free gallery in the city, and should be
made the most of.
A block of brick stores has just been built upon the site
of the old Wall Street Church, in which a novelty in street
architecture has been introduced, that will probably be exten-
sively copied hereafter. It consists of clustered pillars and
gothic ornaments, the effect of which is by no means unplea-
sant. There is now every possible style of architecture in
Wall Street, excepting only the Egyptian. There are sphinx-
es at the entrance of some of the banks, we believe, which
must be owned area very suitable emblem for such a purpose.
The Cyclopean is the favorite style in this region; and it ap-
pears to have been adopted to give an impression of stability
to the corporations which do their business in the buildings.
Herodotus relates an anecdote of a certain king who employed
an architect to build him a treasury for his wealth, which it
should be secure from thieves. But the architect left a stone
loose in the building by which means he and his son entered
it and stole the king’s gold. The public should not place too
great faith in these Cyclopean structures in Wall street, lest
there be a loose stone somewhere, through which the con-
tents of the vaults may be abstracted. There are two build-
ings in Wall street, which are probably the costliest that
were ever built in any part of the world; the Custom House
and the Exchange. One is a mountain of granite and the
other of marble. They will doubtless stand forever, monu-
ments of the inefficiency of mere money to produce anything
great in art without the assistance of knowledge or genius.
Catalogue of the Mercantile Library in New York,
1844.—The library of this all-important institution now con-
tains 21,000 volumes, the use of which can be had for the
mere trifle of two dollars the year. We are surprised to
learn that the members of the association do not increase
more rapidly. Every merchant in the city should see
that his clerks are all subscribers to it; and where they
cannot afford it, it would be to the interest of the em-
ployer to present the employed with the necessary funds.
The present Catalogue is divided into three parts. In the
first, works are arranged in alphabetical order, under their au-
thors’ names, or, if anonymous, under the leading word in
the title. In the second, they are data-tei-tagified under general
heads, which are themselves arranged alphabetically. The
data-tei-tagified Catalogue forms an index to the Alphabetical Cat-
alogue, and reference can readily be made from the former to
the latter, as the first word in the title of every book is the
same in both. Biographies, only, stand, in the body of the
Catalogue, under their authors’ names, and, in the index, un-
der the names of their subjects. The third part, or Appendix,
comprises Novels, which are not in the other divisions of the
Catalogue.
The Difference.—The Chimes, by Dickens, was sold in
London at a dollar and a quarter; it is sold here at a six-
pence. The London edition is better printed, of course,
and better bound, with gilt edges, and illustrations; but the
illustrations are by no means good ones, although they are
by such celebrated artists as Maclise and Leech. The
book is about equal to a shilling volume, and the publisher
and author divide the enormous profits on the sale of the
Work between them—which is right and proper. Such a
book, so published, in the United States would not sell at
all. We doubt whether one copy could be disposed of at
such a price. Two of our publishers paid thirty dollars each
for their copies, to the importer; they issued their editions
at the lowest possible fraction—four cents to the trade; and
the next day the entire book was reprinted by a newspaper
publisher and sold for two cents. Knavery and swindling
can descend no lower. But this is neither knavery nor swin-
dling, but fair and legal trade; by which nobody makes any
thing, and all for the want of a copyright law. Lawrie Todd
states that Galt got three thousand guineas from the sale of
the book of that name; we are informed that Mary Clavers,
the author of two very popular books, has not received fif-
teen hundred dollars for all that she has ever written. One
of the publishing houses that paid thirty dollars for an early
copy of the Chimes, had the MS. of an original work by an
American author of established reputation, whose writings
have been extensively republished in England, offered to
them gratis, upon condition of their publishing it, and they
declined it.
Mayor Harper has refused to sign the bill, giving the
use of the Rotunda, in the Park, to the New York Gallery of
Fine Arts, because he thinks it would be establishing a bad
precedent. The reason is a good one. To show the Com-
mon Council that it was not owing to hostility to the cause
of art, the Mayor informed them that he was a member of
the institution. The price of life-membership is one dollar.
John P. Ridner, Esq. of this city, for several years the su-
perintendent of the Apollo Association, has recently been ap-
pointed an honorary secretary of the Art-Union of London,
and is authorised to receive subscriptions for that institution.
The engraving to be distributed by that association to the
subscribers of the present year, which will terminate on the
31st of March next, will be executed by Mr. G. T. Doo, from
a celebrated painting by W. Mulready, R. A., called “The
Convalescent.”
The Harpers, it is said, are going to publish a new work
by Cornelius Matthews, in April, to be called “Little Abel
and Great Manhattan.”
Mr. Prescott is engaged upon a new work, the “Con-
quest of Peru,” which will probably equal in interest his
last publication.
Simms’s Monthly Magazine has just made its appearance
from the Charleston press. It professes to be a Southern and
Western Review, and the first article in it is called “Ameri-
canism in Literature,” which is chiefly remarkable for con-
taining nothing in relation to that subject. There are papers
by Mr. Headley and Evert A. Duyckinck, and a few slight
notices of books by the editor. Mr. Simms complains of the
great amount of money which the South expends for North-
ern productions in art and literature, and of the small amount
which the North pays for Southern works of a like data-tei-tag.
Probably not without good reason; and if he were earnest in
his desire to produce a Southern magazine, he should, in his
initial number at least, have filled his columns with the pro-
duct of southern pens. The best things in the present num-
ber come from the north.
It is said that Bishops are going out of fashion. Several
ladies have been seen in Broadway without these appen-
dages.
Appleton’s Historical Library. History of France, from the earliest period
to the present time. By M. Michelet. Translated by G. H. Smith, F.G.S.
D. Appleton A Co., 200 Broadway. No. 1, pp. 158. Price 25 cents.
The merits of Michelet, as a historical writer, are too universally
well known to require any commendation at this time. The need of a
work like this has long been felt among English readers, and the
American publishers have conferred an obligation upon the public by
the issue of this marvellously cheap edition of a desirable work. The
present number contains 158 pages in double columns of neatly print-
ed matter. The end of the second book, included in this number,
reaches to the time of Hugh Capet, and the third begins with a geo.
graphical picture of France. This cannot fail to be a profitable publi-
cation, for even though the publisher should reap no profit from it, the
public will. We have but one charge to prefer against the publica-
tion. It does not inform us where the translation was made. It may
be inferred from the absence of any note of copyright that it is repub-
lished from an English edition; but it is an inference which we have
no right to draw.
Forest Life. By Mrs. Mary Clavers, in two volumes. Farmer & Daggers,
30 Ann Street.
A new edition of a very popular work. Mrs. Clavers was a resi-
dent of Michigan when Forest Life first came out, but she is now a
resident of this city.
As a narrative writer she deserves a place at the head of American
female authors, and as a delineator of character she is greatly in ad-
vance of them all. Since her return to city life she has published
nothing but an occasional sketch in a magazine; but the materials
for a book are as abundant in our high-ways, as m the by-ways of
the west. And we hope to see an announcement before long, of a
work from her hand, sketching the peculiarities of city life, wherein
she would be free to exercise her fine powers of observation, without
the fear of displeasing one of their high mightinesses, the editors of
the pictorial magazines. It is not a little remarkable that these gen-
tlemen are extremely fond of tales of love, seeing that they generally
have so so little of that commodity themselves, excepting for them-
selves.
Uncle Peter’s Fairy Tales. Farmer & Daggers, 30 Ann Street.
This little book was designed for English children between the ages
of eight and fourteen, and it contains too many local allusions, we
should think, to prove a very profitable book for readers of the same
age on this side the Atlantic. It is not as prettily printed as a book of
Fairy Tales should be, but well enough for the price asked for it. It
has several entirely unpronounceable names in it, which will render it
less acceptable to those for whom it was designed than it would other-
wise be, Children being very delicate critics, and requiring the purest
and most idiomatic English in their reading. In other respects it is a
delightful work of the data-tei-tag to which it belongs; and a friend, in
whose judgment we have implicit faith, says that he pities any grown
up man who is not fascinated by it.
Poor Jack, Illustrated with Wood Cuts from designs by Stansfield: Farmer
& Daggers, 30 Ann Street.
Poor Jack is the best of Captain Marryatt’s sea stories—novels is
not the right names for books like his. We have always felt exceed-
ingly mortified to hear him abused by our countrymen, who appear to
have strangely misunderstood his character. Captain Marryatt is a
genuine sailor; there’s nothing about him but suffers a sea change.
He must not be judged by the standards by which other men are
measured. As a delineator of the sailor character, he has never been
approached, but they are not sailors only that he has delineated;
sailor’s wives, children, tradesmen, in short, all who live by naviga-
tion, from the bum-boat women to the ship carpenter, are all pre-
sented in his pages with the truthfulness of a daguerreotype. His
stories are all clumsily constructed, but we read them, not for the sake
of the plot, but for the characters which they contain, as we read
Shakspeare’s historical tragedies.
Lawrie Todd. By John Galt, with an original preface by Grant Thorburn.
New York : Farmer &c Daggers, 1845.
We have here a new edition of this once popular work, with a pre-
face from the Original who furnished the author with the hints for his
volume. Mr. Thorburn informs us that Galt received three thousand
pounds from the sale of this work alone. An incredible sum, consid-
ering the character of the book. If the author had accomplished no
While Mr. Thorburn lives, Lawrie Todd will find plenty of readers,
and when he shall be numbered among the departed, a long time
hence, we hope, Lawrie Todd will preserve his memory to another
generation.
The Book of British Ballads. New York: James W. Judd & Co., New
World Press.
This is a reprint from Mr. Hall's illustrated edition, with a very sen-
sible and straight forward introduction by Park Benjamin. The Bal-
lads are fifty-two in number; some of them, but not all, the best in
the language. Mr. Hall’s book was a very costly one, and probably
the best specimen of illustration in wood cuts ever published in Eng-
land; and we have no doubt but that a republication of the prints
would have been profitable here. It is the designs, more than the cuts,
which make the high cost of illustrated books, and as these could
have been got for nothing, we regret that the experiment was not
tried of publishing a fac simile. The book is a valuable one as it is,
and we are glad to learn that the Editor has found it a profitable one.
Mike Martin, or the Last of the Highwaymen. By F. A. Durivage.
Boston: Charles H. Brainard & Co., 1845.
This is the story of an Irish pick-pocket of the same name, who
was hung in Boston twenty-three years ago. His confession was very
ample and romantic, and Mr. Durivage has worked it up into a ro-
mance of the Jack Sheppard school. Such characters, if held up in a
proper light, may do good after their execution, to others besides the
surgeon; but when made the heroes of romance, there is but too much
danger that their evils will live after them. The rope that ends their
lives does not always end their mischiefs. All writers who take a
thief for their hero, should also take the History of Jonathan Wild for
their model.
Punch’s Snapdragon. Farmer & Daggers, 30 Ann Street.
Some two or three hundred years hence, Punch will be looked upon
as a veritable personage, and learned lecturers will read essays before
Village Lyceums on his life and times. One half the good things at-
tributed to Rabelais are as old as Herodotus; but there seems to be
a disposition with the world to father upon one individual all its jokes
and smart sayings. Punch’s Snap-Dragon, as republished, is a rich
two shillings’ worth of fun and satire
Manners and Customs of Nations. Parley’s Cabinet Library, Part I. John
Allen, 139 Nassau St. New-York.
This well known series of children’s books has reached the seven-
teenth number, which is now before us. The frontispiece is a well cut
wood engraving of a street scene in Paris, which gives a lively and
truthful representation of one of the picturesque views in the French
Capital.
The Southern Quarterly Review for January, contains the following
articles:
Education in Europe by D. K. Whitaker, the Sieur de la Salle, by J.
D. B. De Bowe. Literature of the Bible, by Rev. Dr. Hamilton of
Mobile. Life and Writings of Rabelais, by G. F. Holmes. La Hav-
ane, by Hon. A. H. Everett, Works of Wilhelm Hauff,by Miss M. E.
Lee, Miss Gray’s History of Etruria, and Memoirs of Aaron Burr, by
F. B. Porter of Tuscaloosa.
Chemistry, as exemplifing the Wisdom and Beneficence of God. By Geo.
Fownes, Ph. D., F. R.S., etc. In 1 vol. small 8vo. Price 50 cents. Wiley
and Putnam.
Works of this data-tei-tag are valuable only for whatever positive informa-
tion they may contain. If such a project for impressing men with an
idea of God’s power were carried out, as that proposed in the Bridge-
water treatises, and other works of a similar kind, every object in cre-
ation from an ant to an elephant, and every member of every animal
would require a separate volume, before the plan could be complete.
But we trust that the perception of mankind is not yet so completely
blunted, as to require this kind of pointing to the wisdom of God, as
displayed in his works.
The New York Vocal Society.—After endeavoring to correct ex-
isting abuses, the next duty of a journalist is to call the attention of
the public to any thing which may be in operation for its benefit ox
amusement. We regret to say that even when awakened, the public
is but too often neglectful of much that is truly excellent, unless it
happens to hit decidedly the taste or fashion of the moment, irrespec-
tive of its merits or its tendency. Such is the case, unfortunately, with
the Society in question, for although its objects are of the highest mu-
sical importance, and its performance fully equal to the noble works
it executed, yet it has asked in vain for public sympathy and support.
We cannot account for this lukewarmness, otherwise than that it has
not yet become the fashion to admire data-tei-tagical Vocal Music. To repine
at this want of appreciation, is vain; to remonstrate, useless; we can
only hope that taste will be of a rapid and healthy growth, far out-
stripping the petty brushwood and creeping parasites, which encumber
it with rank luxuriance.
The Vocal Society was founded in the early part of the year 1843.
Mr. George Loder, we believe, originated the idea, and on suggesting
it to some musical friends, a meeting of the profession was called, and
after some discussion, it was determined to establish a society, for the
purpose of practising and performing the highest data-tei-tag of Vocal Con-
certed Music, whether Glees, Quartettes, &c., or Chorusses. The So-
ciety to be called the New York Vocal Society, and to consist of Pro-
fessors of Music, with a due proportion of amateurs, Ladies and Gen-
tlemen. Both professor and amateurs to be vocalists, of course. A
Constitution was then formed, and the Society met for practice, after
electing a President, in the person of Fanning C. Tucker, Esq.
Having seen it fairly started upon its doubtful voyage, we will exa-
mine the materials of which it was composed, for upon these depended
its durability and the success of its undertaking. Among the Ladies of
the orchestra, were Mrs. Edw. Loder, Mrs. Burkhardt, Mrs. Weiden-
hoffer, Mrs. W. A. King, the Misses Watson, DeLuce, Cumming,
Windmuller, &c. Among the gentlemen, were Messrs. G. Loder,
Timm, H. C. Watson, Alpers, W. A. King, Beames, Maynard, Mas-
sett, Kyle, J. A. Kyle, Ensign, Ives, Reiff, with many others, equal in
every way to their duties.
From such an array of names, it would appear to us that the public
should have placed unlimited confidence in the stability and sterling
excellence of the undertaking, to which these names were appended
as a guarantee. But on glancing over the list, the eye dwelt not upon
a long array of Madames and Signors! they were, alas! but simple
Mistress, Miss, or Mister! Was it to be credited that any vocal mu-
sic worth the hearing, could proceed from throats neither Italianized
nor Frenchified—in short, from throats where the nightingale never
nestled? The idea could not for one moment be entertained; and so
the Vocal Society was left to struggle, unaided and unsheltered by
public fostering, against every difficulty. It did struggle, however, and
manfully too, for, by the self-sacrifice of the principal professors, as-
sisted by the amateur members, and some twenty subscribers, (we
should like to publish their names, that they might be honored as true
lovers of music) four admirable Concerts were given in 1843-4, and the
first season concluded, leaving the Society free from debt. This was
a great achievement, considering the adverse circumstances; but the
Society had made nothing: no dividend was paid to the actual members,
and the hopeful spirit (a vile spirit of gain!) was dead in the breasts of
many of them, and their interest in the Society (monied interest) had
ceased forever. Had there been but a dividend of two dollars each, it
would have served to have kept up the spirit of hope among the mer-
cenary, and have induced them to cling to the Society for the shadowy
chances of the future. Those who sacrificed time and money to sus-
tain the character of the Society, were by no means disheartened.
they did not labor for a consideration; the Art and its interests anima-
ted their endeavors throughout, and neither the want of appreciation
in the public, nor the lukewarmness, and even treachery of some of its
own body, could induce them to slacken their efforts in what they
deemed a just cause.
We will give a brief account of the works which were performed at
the four Concerts of this Society. Some twenty of the finest English
and Italian madrigals were performed in a manner never equalled in
this country; several exquisite glees, both English and German; two
grand pieces, called Psalms, by Spohr, beside selections from the Last
Judgment, and smaller pieces by the same great composer; a wonder-
ful composition called the Forty Second Psalm, and an exquisite Ave
Maria, by Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, also pieces by Haydn, Hum-
mel, Weber, and many other great names. The most important of
We shall, in a future number, discuss its prospects for this its second
season, and place in a prominent view its advantages as a school for
data-tei-tagical music.
My brother did not expect that you would print his letter about
the boys, and we have had the laugh on him all the week; they have
been at a Polka party every night since, which has made him dread-
fully out of temper. But I tell him that there is a certain quantity of
nonsense in every man, and that it is much better it should evaporate
in his youth, when frivolousness seems natural, than to be locked up
by restraint until he gets old, and then burst out when nobody expects
it. For my own part, I despise a frivolous old man, as much as I do a
grave young one; and I am well pleased to see the boys follow the
course of nature, and dance before they get too heavy. Of all things
] dislike to see a stout old gentleman in a cotillion.
But there is one thing, Mr. Editor, which I wish you would attend
to—Punning. A gentleman who visits our house, puns about every-
thing. I cannot open my mouth, but he answers me with a pun. I am
sure it is dreadful uncivil; don’t you think so? Dr. Johnson, I have
been told, said that a man who would make a pun upon another’s name
would pick a pocket. And really, the gentleman I allude to, makes
such dreadful puns about everybody, that I have thought it best to
lock up all my trinkets whenever he calls upon us. Can’t you write
something very severe about this vile habit? I am afraid that I shall
fall into it myself, if I admit the punning gentleman into my company
any more. I have written off a long list of his puns, which I mean to
send you, to satisfy you of the enormity of his offence. What makes
it more singular, is the fact, that none of us ever laugh at his puns, al-
though he always laughs himself. Your friend,
Notice to Readers and Correspondents.—Our promised Engra-
ving of " a Suspended Bishop,” ice are compelled to omit this week
in consequence of an accident to the artist who had it in hand. It will
be given next week.
The communication of "G. H. S.’’ "Somerville and " G. T.” are left
at the desk of our publishing office.
In reply to " E. V." we pay for all communications that are worth pay,
according to agreement. We shall be happy to receive his sketches.
The letter of Dr. Doom was intended for our last week's paper, but it
arrived too late.
BY FREEMAN HUNT, Editor and Proprietor. Pub-
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D APPLETON & CO. have just published, THE LIFE
.AND CORRESPONDENCE OF THOMAS ARNOLD, D.D.
By Rev. E. P. Stanley, M.A. From the Third English Edition, 2 vols.
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The Life of Dr. Arnold will be found to be of unusual value and in-
terest to all literary persons, Heads of Colleges and Seminaries of
Learning Students and Teachers in public and private schools.
No considerable review in England, representing either the high or
low parties in Church or State—no weekly or daily publication has
failed to express the wonderful power and beauty of this volume of
Biography.
NEW HISTORY OF THE FRENCH REVOLU-
TION. D. Appleton and Co. have recently published—History of the
French Revolution—its causes and consequences; by F. Maclean Row-
an; 2 vols 18mo, cloth 75 cts., or 1 vol. 63 cts.
“This work has many and valuable recommendations. Its compi-
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sentially popular, its arrangements clear and methodical, and the
whole form as condensed, comprehensive, and succinct a history of the
most important event of this age, (both in itself and its consequences,)
as we remember to have seen in so brief a space.”—English Critic,
Sept. 16, 1844.
In a few days, Part 2, price 25 cents—
HISTORY OF FRANCE, from the earliest period;
translated from the French of M. Michelet, by G. H. Smith.
The celebrity of this work on the continent, and the want in English
literature of a good history of France, has induced the publishers to
introduce it to the American public at a price within the means of ail.
THE neglect of the Teeth is the cause of much suffering
and regret, and should not be disregarded by the most thoughtless.
The undersigned having received the benefit of Dr. A. G. Bigelow’s
professional skill, and believing him well qualified in the science of
Dental Surgery, and an accomplished and skillful operator, we most
cheerfully certify to the ease and safety with which Dr. B. performs
the various and important operations, so essential to the usefulness,
durability, and beauty of the Teeth.
THIS volume will consist of articles by members of the
_L Ethnological Society, relating to various topics of interest to the
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pages 8vo., printed on good paper and in the best manner.
A number of engravings illustrative of the several papers, will ac-
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AND PHOTOGRAPHIC DEPOT, 251 Broadway,
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Price of these superb Photographs reduced to that of ordinary ones
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N. B.—Imported German Cameras, also French and American In-
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By Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. Being an Introduction to the Boy’s Read-
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by nearly One Hundred and Fifty Engravings. A very interesting and
instructive Book for Children, whether in school or out. Published by
TURNER & HAYDEN. No. 10 John Street,
And for sale by all the Booksellers.
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For sale “Goldsmith’s Gems of Penmanship,” elegantly bound.
Price Five Dollars.
From the Courier and Enquirer, July 27,1844.
Goldsmith’s Gems of Pennmanship.—The Chirographic art is
much more important to mankind than it is generally considered, and
Mr. Goldsmith may well claim to be considered at its head. The
volume before us exhibits more taste and ingenuity, and higher proofs
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From the New York Express.
Goldsmith’s Gems of Penmanship,—We have seen the original, as
executed by his own hand, and a more beautiful, and indeed a more
wonderful display of the power of that little instrument which is said
to be “ more potent than the sword,” we never witnessed before.
The Broadway Journal will differ from any of the weekly Peri-
odicals now published in this city, as it will be made up entirely of
original matter, consisting of Essays, Criticisms on Art and Literature,
Domestic and Foreign Correspondence, and Literary and Scientific
Intelligence.
Illustrations will be given as often as good original Designs can
be procured, and drawings and plans of all new public buildings that
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to make it worthy of patronage.
Efficient aid has already been secured in the services of some of the
best writers in the country; but it is hoped that a free channel be-
ing opened through which true-hearted men may “let loose their
thoughts,” will be the means of drawing out some of the slumbering
talent amongst us which has not yet been seen afloat on the surface of
our periodical literature.
The Broadway Journal will espouse the cause of no political par-
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ures, that a patriotic regard for the welfare of the country may dictate.
It will be printed on fine paper with clear type, in the Octave form of
16 pages, double columns.
The narrative is a very curious one, and brings before us “the form and
pressure” of the period, with all the natural incidents of such an event. It
may serve, while it fixes the reader’s attention profitably upon this data-tei-tag of
occurrences, to relieve by its historic distance, the painfulness of the more
recent misfortune. We follow the old English of Lord Berner’s translation,
modernizing the spelling.
"It fortuned that a marriage was made in the king’s house between a
young knight of Vermandois and one of the Queen’s gentlewomen; and be-
cause they were both of the king’s house, the king’s uncles, and other lords,
ladies, and damsels made great triumph; there were the dukes of Orleans,
Berry, and Burgundy, and their wives, dancing and making great joy. The
king made a great supper to the lords and ladies, and the queen kept her
estate, desiring everyone to be merry : and there was a squire of Normandy,
called Hogreymen of Gensay, who advised to make some pastime. The day
of the marriage, which was on a Tuesday before Candelmas, he provided for
a mummery against night: he devised six coats made of linen cloth, covered
with pitch, and thereon flax like hair, and had them ready in a chamber. The
king put on one of them, and the Earl of Jouy, a young lusty knight, another,
and Sir Charles Poictiers the third, who was son to the Earl of Valentinois,
and Sir Evan of Foix another, and the son of th6 Lord Nantouillet had
on the fifth, and the squire himself had on the sixth, and when they were
thus arrayed in these said coats, and sewed fast in them, they seemed like
wild savages full of hair from the top of the head to the sole of the foot. This
device pleased well the French king, who was well content with the Squire
for it. They were apparelled in these coats secretly in a chamber that no man
knew thereof but such as helped them. When Sir Evan of Foix had well ad-
vised those coats, he said to the king, “Sire, command straitly that no man
approach near us with any torches or fire, for if the fire fasten on any of
these coats, we shall all be burnt without remedy.” The king answered and
said, “Evan, you speak well and wisely: it shall be done as you have de-
vised,” and incontinent sent for an Usher of his chamber, commanding him
to go into the chamber where the ladies danced, and to command all the
varlets holding torches to stand up by the walls, and none of them to ap-
proach near to the savages that should come thither to dance. The usher end
the king’s commandment, which was fulfilled. Soon after the Duke of Or-
leans entered into the hall, accompanied with four knights and six torches,
and knew nothing of the king’s commandment for the torches, nor of the
mummery that was coming thither, but thought to behold the dancing, and
began himself to dance. Therewith the king with the five other came in;
they were so disguised in flax that no man knew them; five of them were
fastened one to another: the king was loose, and went before, and led the
device.
“When they entered the hall every man took so great heed to them that
they forgot their torches. The king departed from his company, and went
with the ladies to sport with them, as youth required, and so passed by the
queen and came to the Duchess of Berry, who took and held him by the arm
to know what he was; but the king would not show his name. Then the
duchess said, “ You shall not escape me till I know your name.” In the mean
season great mischief fell on the other, and by reason of the Duke of Orleans;
howbeit it was by ignorance, and against his will, for if he had considered
before the mischief that fell, he would not have done as he did for all the
gold in the world: but he was so desirous to know what personages the five
were who danced, he put one of the torches that his servant held so near,
that the heat of the fire entered into the flax (wherein if fire take there is no
remedy) and suddenly was on a bright flame, and so each of them set fire on
one another; the pitch was so fastened to the linen cloth, and their shirts so
dry and fine, and so joining to their flesh, that they began to bum and to cry
tor help. None durst come near them. They that did, burnt their hands, by
reason of the heat of the pitch. One of them, called Nantouillet, advised him
that the buttery was thereby.  Yet he was sore burnt with the fire. When the
queen heard the cry that they made, she doubted of the king, for she knew
well that he should be one of the six: wherewith she fell in a swoon, and
knights and ladies came and comforted her. A piteous noise there was in the
hall. The Duchess of Berry delivered the king from peril, for she did cast over
him the train of her gown, and covered him from the fire. The king would
have gone from her. ‘ Whither will you go?’ quoth she, ‘ you see well how
your company burns. What are ye?’ 'I am the king.’ quoth he. ‘Haste you,’
quoth she, ‘ and get you into other apparel, that the queen may see you, for
she is in great fear of you.' Therewith the king departed out of the hall, and
in all haste changed his apparel, and came to the queen; and the Duchess of
Berry had somewhat comforted her, and had shewed her how she should see
the king shortly: therewith the king came to the queen; and as soon as she
saw him, for joy she embraced him and fell in a swoon; then she was borne
unto her chamber, and the king went with her.  ‘Save the king, save the
king!' "