Chapter 12

THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN.--We wish it were possible to transfer to this printed page the beautiful chirography of the annexed communication, which proceeds from the pen of a lady who, with a few others of her gentle sex, sat out the reading of the lecture upon the '_Rights of Women_,' by Mr. JOHN NEAL, at the Broadway Tabernacle last winter, and which was so heartily laughed at by the press and the town for a day or two after. It is gratifying to remark that _women_ themselves have been the prominent satirists of the characteristic absurdities put forth on the occasion alluded to. But to our fair correspondent: 'APPEAR, bright Spirits of the ancient Nine! (for you were women, and can well appreciate my appeal) arrayed in all the panoply of your charms! Thou, MINERVA! aid me with thy wisdom! Ye, most lovely GRACES! attend me with the power of honey-like persuasiveness! And thou, JOHN NEAL! arrayed in the drapery of the softer sex, gracefully to maintain the lofty eminence whereon thou standest, assist me with the glorious power of thy overwhelming eloquence, while I assert the high prerogative of Woman! Yet when I dwell on the brilliant efforts accomplished by thy mighty genius in our behalf, the pen falls powerless from my despairing hand, and I can merely point to thee as the potent champion of our down-trodden rights! Instead of dwelling in dull obscurity, victims to the caprice of men; mending their thread-bare clothing and scolding servants--base, unwomanly pursuits!--instead of listening in silence to the storms of political debate; instead of remaining within the shadow of our own roofs, and gathering around the domestic hearth the thornless roses of existence; rendering home a haven of rest to the weary and care-worn; instead of slumbering idly, in the security of our mansions, when the torrent of war rolls over the land; instead of girding then our brothers for the stormy fight, bidding them GOD-speed; instead of ignobly bending before the tyrannical power of Man, thou, O! astute NEAL! wouldst have us pluck the laurel-wreath from our kinsman's brow, and bind it on our own. Thou wouldst have us rise in all the dignity of offended 'equality,' and boldly assert the holy right of '_free suffrage to all_!' Why, forsooth, should _we_ rather be confined to the narrow circle of home than our friends of the other sex? Are we not as capable of sounding the loud alarm of war, of mingling in the strife and tumult of the battle-hour, as the ladies of antique Amazonia, or the warrior-_men_ of our own day? Have we not intellect enough to cope with the WEBSTERS, the CLAYS, and the WRIGHTS, in the halls of Congress? Is not our dignity sufficient to maintain, with honor to our country and ourselves, the various offices of the government? Why may not our superior talents elevate us to the lofty station of the presidential chair?--to become Ambassadresses, Generalesses, Stateswomen? Surely our intellect is as lofty, as noble, and as clear as that in which proud man exults. Arise then, Women of America! Study immediately the tactics of military discipline; proceed to the green savannahs of Florida; wrest their authority from those who now possess it, and deck your own brows of loveliness with the wreaths of conquest and of glory. March to the halls of legislation; demand from statesmen there assembled the concession of 'woman's rights,' and desert them not till that 'vantage ground' is well secured. Then, ladies, will you be enabled to cast aside with disdain the bonds of domestic confinement, which insure merely your peace and happiness; to mingle your shrill cries with the tumult of contending armies, confounding confusion itself with your loud clamors! You may then unite your voices with the shouts of opposing factions at the momentous periods of election, huzzaing for your candidates, and gathering all your influence to win success for them. So shall you nobly fulfil the high destiny allotted you, instead of longer enduring the degrading cares attendant on the happiness of your fathers' and your husbands' homes. So shall you take by storm the hearts of men as well as the citadels of your enemies; forcing them to admire those female 'braves' who so kindly relieve them of the weighty burden of their cares.' Capital! This mock-heroic is just the vein for a theme so ridiculous as the insane crudities here touched upon. By the by; a private note advises us that 'there have been recent symptoms of chuckling exhibited by the 'champion of women,' on the supposition, real or assumed, that the attention of the legislatures of several States had been diverted toward 'woman's rights' in the matter of personal property between man and wife, by reason of the lecture aforesaid!' It is unnecessary perhaps to add, in justice to the public sense, that the action of three or four States upon this subject had a far different origin, as their legislative records will abundantly show.

OLE BULL.--We confess ourselves among the uninitiated in the mysteries of music. We are quite aware that it is not a little dangerous for one who would not lose _caste_ in society to assert that he does not greatly admire that ill-assorted compound of '_strains_' which is usually designated by the hackneyed phrases of 'brilliant execution' and 'difficult passages;' passages which Dr. JOHNSON wished were 'not only _difficult_ but _impossible_:' we cannot force an admiration nor affect an enthusiasm which we do not feel. Indeed, we have always had great sympathy for the amateur of fashion who aspired to great refinement of taste, to exhibit which, in one branch of art, he gave on one occasion an entertainment of instrumental music. While the musicians were _all_ at work, he seemed delighted with the performance; but when one instrument chanced to be engaged upon a solo, he inquired, in a towering passion, why the others were remaining idle? 'It is a _pizzicato_ for one instrument,' replied the operator. 'I can't help that,' replied the virtuoso; 'let the trumpets _pizzicato_ along with you; they're _paid_ to do it!' Now in regard to musical knowledge and taste, this hopeful amateur has many a counterpart in this day and generation, and in this same city of Gotham. In the case of OLE BULL, however, there has been no call for _affected_ admiration. He has _compelled_ not only admiration but enthusiasm; not indeed by mere artistical 'execution,' although in this he is acknowledged to be preëminent, but by the creations of _genius_, which 'take the full heart captive.' Let the distant reader imagine an audience of three thousand persons awaiting in breathless expectance the entrance upon the Park-stage of this great Master. The curtain rises, and after the lapse of a moment, a tall manly person, with a frank, ingenuous expression of countenance, emerges with an embarrassed salutation from the wing, and with another somewhat less constrained, stands in front of the orchestra, the focus of every eye and glass in that brilliant assemblage. Pausing for a brief space, as if to collect himself, he raises his bow, and with a slight motion, beckons to each member of the orchestra in turn, who 'start into sound' at his bidding as if touched by the wand of ITHURIEL. When the tide of harmony has reached its flood, and is gradually ebbing back to fainter sounds, the Master raises his instrument to his shoulder and lays his ear upon it, as if listening for his key-note amidst the tones that are serpentining through his brain. When to the audience 'nothing lives 'twixt these and silence,' a strain which has at first a dying fall imperceptibly swells on the ear. It is _the_ instrument, beyond all peradventure; and from that moment you are 'all ear.' While you are wondering why you never knew before that there was such a _volume_ of sound in a violin, a passage of infinite pathos arrests your _heart_, and you find your eyes moistening under its influence. It subsides into tremulous tones that retreat farther and farther from the ear, until they seem to come from a mile's distance; anon, they begin to approach again, and swelling gradually upon the 'aching sense,' almost overpower you with their fulness of melody. This transcendent effort of genius reminded us of the phantasmagora, or 'magic lantern;' for what the lessening and enlarging figures of that instrument are to the _eye_, OLE BULL'S magic sounds are to the _ear_. We had intended to allude in detail to several of the performances of this great Master; but we lack the requisite space. We can only instance the 'Norwegian Rondo,' the 'Themes from BELLINI,' and the 'Carnival at Venice,' as eminently justifying the fervent enthusiasm which they excited. It was no unnatural combination of splendid sinuosities, of small notes split into hexagonals, and attenuated into tremors that were 'no great _shakes_' after all, which entranced the audience; it was full, rich tones; it was melody, harmony, that won their loud and almost irrepressible applause. We have not yet had the pleasure to hear VIEUX-TEMPS, the distinguished violinist recently arrived among us. His numerous friends and countrymen in the metropolis rank him even above OLE BULL. We are inclined, however, to trust the comparison made by an eminent brother-artist, who assisted at his first concert: 'VIEUX-TEMPS,' said he, 'is a very accomplished _artist_; but OLE BULL is a magnificent _genius_.' We shall have something to say of VIEUX-TEMPS, ARTOT, and Sig. CASSELA, in a subsequent number of the KNICKERBOCKER, should time and occasion serve.

A SECOND 'RALPH RINGWOOD.'--We have a western correspondent, a 'man of mark' in his region, and far from unknown elsewhere, who has seen a good deal of the world, and whose entertaining epistles always remind us of the graphic '_Experiences of Ralph Ringwood_,' as recorded in these pages by WASHINGTON IRVING. Here is a fragment of youthful reminiscence, fresh from his mint, 'which it is hoped may please;' and if it _does_, we will use our 'selectest influence' to induce him to write out for us a series of papers containing his complete autobiography, which we have good reason to believe would overflow with romance and strange vicissitude: 'I was raised,' he writes, 'as we western folks term it, in a small village some fifteen miles from Boston, and when about sixteen years of age I paid a visit to the metropolis for the first time in my life. When I first arrived there I spent some hours in trying to hunt up an old play-mate who had been bound apprentice to a Boston mechanic some two years previous. I could hear nothing of him, however, and so gave up the search. But one day, while sauntering down the main-street, and wondering at all I saw, I suddenly encountered a strange sight. It was _a sheep_, dead and dressed, but moving along the side-walk in an upright position, and apparently without help! Puzzled at this phenomenon, I turned round as it passed me, in order to observe it more closely; when to my astonishment I discovered a boy behind it, who with the sheep on his back was shuffling along the walk, stern-foremost. I was still more astonished when I recognized in this lad my old and long-sought playmate. 'DICK, my boy!' said I, grasping his hand warmly. DICK seemed a little embarrassed at first; but after a moment's hesitation, he threw down his load spitefully, and seizing my hand returned my grasp as cordially as it had been given. 'For GOD's sake, DICK,' inquired I, 'how long is it since you commenced walking backward?' 'Not a great while,' replied he, with a grin. 'To tell you the truth, FRANK, I saw you looking in the jeweller's window there, and knew you at once; and as I didn't care to be seen by an old comrade with a sheep on my back, I was in hopes to escape your observation by walking in the manner in which you saw me.' 'And that was the very thing which led me to discover you,' I replied; 'you might have passed me in the ordinary way, nineteen times in every twenty, without being recognized.' 'Well, it's all one now, since you have found me out,' said DICK. 'But what, after all, are you going to do with that measly-looking animal?' I inquired. 'Eat it,' replied he, with a comical twist of the nose; 'I have to lug one home every day; we apprentices live on them altogether. I'm a sheep myself, almost; _b-a-a-h_!' and here he imitated the cry of that animal so naturally, that I had no doubt of the truth of his statement. After a few moments' conversation, chiefly about home, the clock struck ten, when DICK suddenly resumed his load, and after giving me the directions to the 'old man's' house, and exacting a promise to call and see him in the evening, he started for home. At the appointed hour in the evening, I called to see him, as agreed upon, and found him waiting for me. But what a different-looking personage from the one I met in the morning! He was now very smartly dressed in a small black frock-coat, and drab gaiter-trowsers strapped tightly over a pair of nicely-polished boots. On his head a black velvet cap, from which two enormous tassels were swinging, was setting jauntily on one side, while in his hand he carried a little silver-headed cane, with which he occasionally rapped his legs. In my unsophisticated eyes he was a very paragon of gentility, and I couldn't help contrasting him with my own countrified appearance. However, I had but a moment for reflection; for sallying into the street, with me at his heels, DICK at once proposed going to the theatre. I agreed without hesitation, for the big play-bills had been staring me in the face all day, and on them were emblazoned in large capitals the names of COOPER and FINN, who were to play together that evening in one of SHAKSPEARE'S comedies. When we arrived at the play-house, DICK took me aside, and pointing to the little window in the office, proposed that I should go and purchase the tickets; 'because,' said he, 'the box-keeper knows me.' I couldn't exactly comprehend why the fact of his being known to the box-keeper should prevent his purchasing the tickets himself. However, I supposed it was all right, and so I crowded up to the little window, and after awaiting my turn, obtained two pit-tickets, for which I had to pay out of my own pocket, of course. Dick took them from me when I returned, and then again resuming the lead, he conducted me into the lobby of the play-house. Here he handed the tickets to the door-keeper, at the same time nodding his head toward me, in order to intimate to that gentleman that I was under his special patronage, and that the other admission was intended for me. Once seated in the centre of the pit, DICK seemed to be in his glory. He ogled the ladies in the boxes, and whistled and shouted and stamped, and cried 'Physic!' until I thought he would split his throat. But when at last the gloomy curtain rose and the stars of the evening stood glittering before us, he clapped and shouted so much louder and longer than all the rest, that the whole audience gazed at him with admiration. He would have gone on applauding, I verily believe, until the end of the play, had not a tall gentleman, with a red handkerchief round his throat, and carrying a long pole, rapped him over the head, and peremptorily shouted 'Silence!' From that moment DICK was as mute as a Quaker, until the end of the play; when rushing out and dragging me after him, he proposed that we should go and finish the evening at a celebrated coffee-house, kept by 'a particular friend of his,' and where he had agreed to meet some half-dozen fellow-apprentices. Here we stayed until a very late hour, drinking and smoking, telling stories and singing songs. As it grew later, our companions one by one walked or reeled out of the bar-room, until we two were left the only tenants, save the landlord. The latter then commenced closing the house, and hinted pretty strongly that it was high time we were going. I turned to DICK, who had been remarkably silent for some time, when to my utter dismay I discovered that he was perfectly insensible from drink. I looked up to the landlord for counsel. He was a short, _squab_ man, with a bulbous excresence growing out from between his shoulders, that I suppose passed for a head, though it looked like a wen; a kind of expletive, to wear a hat on, or to fill up the hollow of a shabby wig. 'What shall we _do_ with him?' said I. 'Hustle him out!' cried he; 'hustle him out! he didn't get his liquor here: I've no room for such company!' I then endeavored to put my companion upon his feet, but his legs bent under him, and his whole body seemed as limber and lifeless as a wet rag. 'You can't do any thing with him in _that_ way,' continued the landlord; 'if you want to get him home to-night, you must take him on your back and carry him there yourself. He'll be bright enough in the morning.' I saw no other way of proceeding; and so, being strong and athletic myself, while DICK was of slight proportions, I managed, with the assistance of the landlord, to get him upon my back, and then started for his master's house. As my burthen was perfectly speechless, I had plenty of time for uninterrupted thought as I trudged along; and I couldn't help contrasting the apprentice of the morning with the apprentice of the present moment. _Then_, though rather coarsely dressed, and smooched with the marks of labor, he blushed at being caught with a sheep on his back, though he had come honestly by it; but _now_, though bedecked in the habiliments of a gentleman, he was being carried home himself like a beast on the back of a companion. On reaching his master's house I laid him down upon the door-sill, where he commenced breathing intensely through his nose, while I fumbled round for the handle of the bell, which I rang. The 'old man' himself came to the door, and looking down at his apprentice, shook his head sorrowfully. Then turning to a black domestic, who with a candle in her hand stood grinning behind him, he said, 'Here's DICK come home drunk again, Dinah; you must take him up stairs and get him to bed in the best way you can.' The old gentleman turned away with a tear in his eye, and I also departed, leaving DICK, who had come to his senses a little, struggling in the arms of the brawny black, and vainly trying to kiss her polished cheek. Thus ended my first youthful adventure in a city.'

GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS.--We encounter in our personal correspondence not a few comments, pro and con, upon the papers on '_Mind and Instinct_,' which appeared in the last two numbers of the KNICKERBOCKER. Our friend and correspondent, 'HARRY FRANCO,' among others, in a gossiping epistle to the Editor, writes as follows:

'I HAVE been considerably interested in your correspondent's paper on mind and instinct; only I rather wonder at his laboring to prove a theory which few are inclined to question. But he does not after all, it appears to me, draw the right conclusions from his argument. All living beings have a mind, or reason, or what you will, which prompts them to do all that their animal functions are capable of performing. In this respect man is as much governed by instinct as a brute. My neighbor's dog every night when I come home walks up to me, wags his tail, and looks in my face, and says in his way, 'How are you?' His master gives me a nod, takes his pipe from his mouth, and says the same. But when a stranger comes to my door, neither the dog nor his master salutes him; but were he to fall into the brook, they would both run to pull him out. Are they not both influenced by exactly the same feelings? If I should ask my neighbor to endorse my note, he would look sulky, hem! and haw! and refuse; if I should attempt to take a bone from his dog, the brute would snarl and growl, and perhaps bite me. Do you see any marvellous difference between the two animals? A near neighbor of mine, about six months since, had a little boy of four years old, who had a spaniel of which he was very fond. One day during the absence of the father, the child was taken ill with the croup; the mother was alarmed, and it so happened that her servants were away, and she had no one to send for a physician. The poor woman was in great tribulation, for in spite of all her efforts the child grew worse. In about an hour after the child was taken ill, her father's carriage stopped at the door, and her mother made her appearance. Her father's house was about two miles distant. The grandmother said that Carlo, the sick child's dog, 'came running into the house, all bespattered with mud, and flew about and acted so strangely that she knew something must be the matter with little Billy, her grandson, and she came to see what it was.' Until then, the mother of the child had not noticed the absence of the dog from the room, for the boy was playing with him when he was taken sick. The child remained ill three or four days, and then died; and during the whole time the dog never left his bed-side; he watched by the corpse until it was buried, and then took possession of the little boy's chair, which he would allow no one to touch, not even the child's mother. Every day he absented himself for three or four hours; and the father one day going to look at his child's grave, found that the dog had almost scratched his way down to the coffin. He was after this kept within doors; but he refused to eat, and in a short time died in the chair of his little master. If I had time, I could tell you a story almost as touching, in relation to a pig, an animal that phrenologically speaking has generally been looked upon as somewhat deficient in the region of the sentiments.'