Part 15

'THERE is much in the aspect of Divine Providence at the present time, both toward our own country and the world, to awaken gratitude and thoughtful joy. An unexampled spectacle is presented in the current history of the world. It is moving on almost without a ripple. The changes of time are taking place as noiselessly as the ordinary changes of nature. The decay of old and injurious social and political systems is going on like the crumbling of ruins in a desert, by the force of inherent tendency rather than by external violence; and milder and more benignant systems are appearing, not like those islands sprung by volcanic shocks above the bosom of the deep, but like the beauty of spring, or the glory of summer, by a natural and imperceptible growth. Within the memory of many yet living there was a very different state of things. Scarcely a month then passed without a shock, a press and medley in human affairs that amazed and bewildered men, and kept anxiety on the stretch. Such was the history of Europe. Every change was a concussion; every fear a storm; every revolution a convulsion. Not less in motion is society now, but it is like the motion of the spheres, grand and silent; and that silence is the emblem and the evidence of greatness and power in the present movement of Providence in human affairs. The once apparently random and divergent lines of that Providence now seem to be flowing to a common point, and terminating in one great result--the improvement and happiness of our race. Abating much of what has been extravagantly vaunted about the march of mind and the perfectibility of human society, it is still visibly true that the general condition of the world is improved and improving. Vast accessions have been made to science; knowledge has been diffused over a wider surface, than was ever before known; ignorance is felt to be a calamity if not a crime; truths that were formerly contemplated only in the closet of the sage, have become familiarized in the cottage and the common mind; the rights of men are better defined and understood; the power of rulers is swayed within juster limits, and is every where abandoning its old apparatus of racks and halters and dungeons as the means of governing immortal mind, and is silently conceding to it its alienable prerogative of free thought.'

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WE have little to chronicle of _The Drama_ proper this month. _Music_, vocal and instrumental, has kept this branch of the fine arts somewhat in the back-ground. We have had the pleasure to see Mr. MACREADY once only at the Park, on which occasion he personated the character of MELANTIUS in '_The Bridal_' with transcendent power. We have seen this fine actor in no part, if we except perhaps that of Werner, in which his genius shone so conspicuous. He was admirably supported by the scarcely subordinate characters represented by WHEATLY, RIDER, Miss CUSHMAN, and Mrs. H. HUNT. Mr. WHEATLY has evidently much of 'the heavy business' at the Park upon his broad shoulders, for he appears in two or three pieces almost every night. On the occasion alluded to, no sooner had the curtain risen after 'The Bridal,' than we found him making Stentorian love ('in a horn') to the 'Dumb Belle' of the evening, in which he excited shouts of uproarious laughter. At the BOWERY THEATRE, as well as at the CHATHAM, '_The Mysteries of Paris_' has run a most successful career. The OLYMPIC has been crowded nightly by the mingled attractions of opera and travestie; while the BOWERY AMPHITHEATRE and ROCKWELL'S Circus at NIBLO'S, have shared abundantly in the favor bestowed now-a-days upon popular entertainments. · · · 'DRESS always and _act_ to please your partner for life, as you were fain to do before the nuptial-knot was tied.' This is an old maxim, and here is 'a commentator upon it.' A newly-married lady is suddenly surprised by a visit from a newly-married man, when she straightway begins to apologize: 'She is horribly chagrined, and out of countenance, to be caught in such a dishabille; she did not mind how her clothes were huddled on, not expecting any company, there being nobody at home but her husband!' The husband meanwhile shakes the visitor's hand, and says: 'I am heartily glad to see you, JACK: I don't know how it was, I was almost asleep; for as there was nobody at home but my wife, I did not know what to do with myself!' · · · THE beautiful lines by Mrs. M. T. W. CHANDLER, elsewhere in the present number, illustrate, or are illustrated by the following passage from WARREN HASTING'S eloquent reflections upon the changes to which the SOUL is destined hereafter: 'When the hour is at hand which is to dissolve the mortal tie, the soul parts without regret with those delights which it received from its sensual gratifications, and dwells only, dwells with a fond affection, on the partner or pledges of its love; or on friends from whom it seems to be cut off for ever; and if it looks, as it must look, to futurity, these are the first objects of its wishes connected with it, and the first ingredients in its conceptions of celestial felicity. For my own part (and on a subject like this, where can we so properly appeal as to ourselves?) although my reason dictates to me the hope of a future happiness, whatever may be the mode of it, yet my heart feels no interest in the prospect when viewed as a scene of solitary, selfish enjoyment. It recoils with horror at the thought of losing the remembrance of every past connexion, and even of those whom it loved most dearly, and of being forgotten by them utterly and for ever. Is this too, it asks, one of the delusions of life? No; for all its other passions expire before it; but this remains, like hope, 'nor leaves us when we die.'' · · · THE '_Anglo-American_' literary journal has just issued to its subscribers one of the finest counterfeit presentments of WASHINGTON that we have ever seen. It is a print almost the size of a full-length cabinet portrait in oil, engraved in a masterly manner by HALPIN after GILBERT STUART'S celebrated picture. If this superior engraving is a sample of what the patrons of the 'Anglo-American' are hereafter to expect from its publishers, it is easy to foresee that that spirited journal has entered upon a long career of popularity. · · · 'T.'S '_Stanzas_' await his order at the publication-office. They are far from lacking merit, but are in parts artificial and labored. Lines eked out with accented letters, in which

----'all the syllables that end in éd, Like old dragoons, have cuts across the head,'

always seem to us to come rather from the head than the heart. We shall expect, nevertheless, to hear from our friend again, according to promise. · · · WE 'stop the press' to announce that Mr. PUNCH has just dropped in from England, bringing the latest intelligence from 'the other side.' He has lately visited several places on the continent, not so much to see them as to be enabled to say, like other English travellers, that he _had been there_. 'Mr. PUNCH, having arrived at Rouen late at night, left it very early the next morning, much impressed with the institutions of the city, both civil and architectural, as well as its manners, customs, and social life, which he is about to embody in a work called '_Six hours and a half at Rouen_,' to be brought out by a fashionable publisher.' From the reports of one of the learned societies, we derive the following important scientific information: 'Mr. SAPPY read a paper, proving the impossibility of being able to see into the middle of next week, from known facts with regard to the equation of time. He stated that, supposing it possible for a person to ascend in a balloon sufficiently high for his vision to embrace a distance of seven hundred miles from east to west, he would then only see forty minutes ahead of him; that is, he would see places where the day was forty minutes in advance of the day in which he lived. Thus he might be said to see forty minutes into futurity. It has also been proved that, in sailing round the world in one direction, a day's reckoning is gained; so that the sailor on his return finds himself to be 'a man in advance of his age' by one day. This one day, however, is the farthest attainable limit; and it is therefore impossible to see into the middle of next Week!' 'Mr. TITE, proprietor of the 'Metropolitan Bakedtatery' brought forward his new 'Low Pressure Potatoe-Can,' upon an improved principle. It was constructed of tin, and warranted to sustain a pressure of twenty potatoes upon the square bottom. Mr. TITE explained that the steam had nothing to do with the warmth of the fruit, but was quite independent of it.' 'Mr. FLIT brought forward his new and improved Street Telescope for looking at the moon. It was most ingeniously constructed, being to the eye a fine instrument of six feet long. Mr. FLIT explained, however, that the telescope itself was only an eighteen-inch one, the case being manufactured to increase its importance, in which the real glass was enclosed. The chief merit of this invention was, that the moon could be seen equally well on cloudy nights, or when there was none at all, the case enclosing an ingenious transparency of that body, behind which a small lamp was hung. Mr. FLIT could always command a view of any of the celestial bodies by the same means.' Here are a few items of law from '_The Comic Blackstone_:' 'The statute of EDWARD the Fourth, prohibiting any but lords from wearing pikes on their shoes of more than two inches long, was considered to savor of oppression; but those who were in the habit of receiving from a lord more kicks than coppers, would consider that the law savored of benevolence.' 'Unlawfully detaining a man in any way is imprisonment; so that if you take your neighbor by the button, and cause him to listen to a long story, you are guilty of imprisonment.' PUNCH'S idea of '_Woman's Mission_' differs somewhat from other reformers of the times: 'To replace the shirt-button of the father, the brother, the husband, which has come off in putting on the vestment; to bid the variegated texture of the morning slipper or the waistcoat grow upon the Berlin wool; to repair the breach that incautious haste in dressing has created in the coat or the trowsers, which there is no time to send out to be mended; are the special offices of woman; offices for which her digital mechanism has singularly fitted her.' Apropos of '_Missions_:' we perceive that DICKENS understands this vague verbal apology for eccentricity or humbugeousness, if we interpret aright his frail and tearful MODDLE; 'who talked much about people's 'missions,' upon which he seemed to have some private information not generally attainable,' and who, 'being aware that a shepherd's mission was to pipe to his flock, and that a boatswain's mission was to pipe all hands, and that one man's mission was to be a paid piper, and another man's mission was to pay the piper, had got it into his head that his own peculiar mission was to pipe his eye, which he did perpetually.' · · · A CURIOUS volume has recently appeared in Paris, entitled '_Poésies Populaires Latines antérieures au Douzième Siècle_;' and as sequels to the work, are certain satires upon the avarice and corruption of the papal government in the twelfth century, among which is the following curious parody:

'_Here beginneth the Gospel according to Marks of silver._--In that time the pope said to the Romans: When the son of man cometh to the seat of our majesty, say ye first, Friend, what seekest thou? But if he continue knocking, and give you nothing, cast him out into utter darkness. And it came to pass that a certain poor clerk came to the court of our lord the pope, and cried out, saying, Have pity on me at least you, O gate-keepers of the pope, for the hand of poverty hath touched me. Verily I am needy and poor; therefore, I pray ye, relieve my calamity and my wretchedness. But they, when they heard him, were very wroth, and said, Friend, thy poverty be with thee to perdition! get behind me, Sathanas, for thou art not wise in the wisdom of money. Verily, verily I say unto thee, thou shalt not enter into the joy of thy lord until thou hast given thy last farthing. And the poor man departed, and sold his cloak and his coat and all that he had, and gave it to the cardinals and to the gate-keepers; and they said, What is this among so many? And they cast him out before the doors; and he went out, and wept bitterly, and might not be comforted. Then there came to the court a certain rich clerk, great and fat and swollen, who in a riot had slain a man. He gave first to the gate-keeper, secondly to the chamberlain, thirdly to the cardinals; but they thought among themselves that they should have received more. And when our lord the pope heard that the cardinals and ministers had received many gifts of the clerk, he became sick unto death. But the rich man sent him a medicine of gold and silver, and immediately he was cured. Then our lord the pope called to him the cardinals and ministers, and said to them, Brethren, see that no one seduce you with empty words; for I give you an example, that as I myself receive, so receive ye.'

The corruptions of this era are equally well illustrated by a very amusing anecdote of 'a handsome Italian friar, _teres atque rotundus_, about thirty, and extremely bold and eloquent;' doubtless one of that class so felicitously limned by THOMSON:

'A little round, fat, oily man of GOD Was one I chiefly marked among the fry; He had a roguish twinkle in his eye And shone all glittering with ungodly dew, If a tight damsel chanced to trippen by; Which when observed he shrunk into his mew, And straight would recollect his piety anew.'

One day at a remote confessional of the church he declared an unholy and forbidden passion to a young and beautiful married lady, whom he had long 'followed with his eyes,' and begged permission to visit her at her residence. Struck with surprise at this new revelation of his character, she evaded reply, being secretly minded to inform her husband, when she returned home, which she did, word for word. He told his wife to contrive to let the friar come, alone and in secret, the next evening, which chanced to be that of Saturday, and the night before the Sunday of Saint Lazarus, on which occasion the friar was to preach. The appointment was made; the friar came, true to the late hour which had been designated; was received at the door, and shown into the lady's bed-room by a servant, who informed him that she had desired him to request the good man to retire to rest, and to say that 'she would be with him straight.' The friar prepared to comply with the direction, and was about stepping into bed, when the door opened suddenly, and the lady entered in great apparent trepidation, exclaiming: 'My husband is knocking at the door! For heaven's sake slip into that chest,' showing him a double one in the apartment, 'and lie there until I see what may be done! Meanwhile I will hide your clothes somewhere or other, as well as I am able. Heaven knows I fear more for your holy person than I do for my own life!' The unfortunate wretch, seeing himself reduced to such a pass, did as the worthy lady desired; while the husband, presently coming in, retired to rest with his wife, who had first locked the friar safe in the chest. The poor prisoner uttered sundry involuntary noises in the course of the night, and was in the direst terror at the inquiries which they awakened on the part of the husband. Daylight at length came, and the church-bells began to ring for prayers, which greatly annoyed the captive, who was to preach at the cathedral. The husband having risen, ordered two servants to carry the chest to the church and place it in the middle, saying they were ordered to do so by the preacher; and that unlocking the chest without raising the lid, they should leave it there; all which the fellows did very neatly. Every body stared, and wondered what all this could mean; some said one thing and some another. At last the bell having ceased to ring, and no one appearing in the pulpit, or any other part of the church, a young man rose and said: 'Really, the good friar makes us wait quite too long; pray let us see what he has ordered to be brought in this chest.' Having said this much, he before all the congregation lifted up the lid, and looking in, beheld the friar in his shirt, pale, almost frightened to death, and certainly appearing more dead than alive, and as if buried in the chest. Finding himself discovered, however, he collected his mind as well as he could, and stood upright, to the great astonishment of all present; and having taken his text from the Sunday of Lazarus, he thus addressed his congregation: 'My dear brethren: I am not at all astonished at your surprise in seeing me brought before you in this chest, or rather at my ordering myself to be brought thus: ye know that this is the way in which our holy church commemorates the wonderful miracle our LORD performed on the person of LAZARUS, in raising him from the dead who had been buried four days. I was desirous in your favor to present myself to you as it were in the form of LAZARUS, in order that seeing me in this chest, which is no other than an emblem of the sepulchre wherein he had been buried, you might be moved more effectually to the consideration of what perishable things we are; and that seeing me stripped of all worldly decorations, thus in my shirt, you may be convinced of the vanity of the things of this world, the which, if only duly considered, may tend greatly to the amending of our lives. Will you believe that since yesterday night I have been a thousand times dead, and revived as LAZARUS was; and considering my dreadful situation, remember (as it were with the memory of a similar penance in your hearts) that we must all die, and trust to HIM who can bestow upon us life eternal: but first ye must die to sin, to avarice, to rapine, to lust, and all those sinful deeds to which our nature prompts us.' In such language, and in such manner, did the friar continue his sermon. The husband, astonished at the extraordinary presence of mind which he displayed, laughed heartily at his success; and in consideration of the adroitness of the culprit, did not attempt any farther revenge; 'but,' it is added, 'he took very good care to shut his door in future against all such double-faced hypocrites.' · · · READER, what are you thinking of at this moment? 'Nothing.' Indeed! and so were we, and of how much a clever man once said upon the subject; observe: 'Philosophers have declared they knew nothing, and it is common for us to talk about doing nothing; for from ten to twenty we go to school to be taught what from twenty to thirty we are very apt to forget; from thirty to forty we begin to settle; from forty to fifty, we think away as fast as we can; from fifty to sixty, we are very careful in our accounts; and from sixty to seventy, we cast up what all our thinking comes to; and then, what between our losses and our gains, our enjoyments and our inquietudes, even with the addition of old age, we can but strike a balance of ciphers.' Happy are they who amidst the variations of nothing have nothing to fear; if they have nothing to lose, they have nothing to lament; and if they have done nothing to be ashamed of, they have every thing to hope for. · · · SENTENTIOUSNESS, let us inform 'S.' of Cambridge, and antitheses, do not consist of short sentences and inversion of words _merely_; and even the most felicitous examples in each case often sacrifice the sound to the sense. Here is an instance which is unobjectionable: 'I knew the old miser well. He amassed a fortune by raising hemp; and if he had had his deserts, would have died as he lived by it.' · · · JUST as the sheets of this department were passing to the press, we received the announcement of a public exhibition of two collections of pictures, which we have seen, and to which we cannot resist the impulse of directing the public attention. At the rooms of the National Academy, corner of Broadway and Leonard-street, may be seen Mr. COLE'S allegorical pictures of 'The Voyage of Life,' heretofore noticed at length in these pages; '_Mount Ætna, from Taormina, Sicily_,' one of the most noble paintings that ever came from this eminent artist's pencil; 'Angels ministering to Christ in the Wilderness;' 'The Past and the Present;' 'A View of Ruined Aqueducts in the Campagna di Roma,' and other pictures; altogether, an exceedingly fine collection. Indeed, the superb view of Ætna alone, with its vast and sublime accessories, is of itself an exhibition worth twice the price of admission. At the rooms of the APOLLO ASSOCIATION, nearly opposite the Hospital, in Broadway, Mr. HARVEY'S series of _Forty Historic or Atmospheric American Landscape Scenes_ are to be seen for a short time. It needed not the high patronage of Queen VICTORIA, the praises of English royalty and nobility, nor the warm encomiums of ALLSTON, SULLY, MOORE, and others, to secure attention to these graphic sketches from nature. They are their own best recommendation. Trust our verdict, reader, and go and _see_ if they are not. · · · 'TERPSICHORE' is the title of a very spirited satirical poem read at the annual dinner of the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Cambridge University in August last, by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, and copied in '_Graham's Magazine_' for January. We subjoin a passage which although abundantly poetical contains yet more truth than poetry. It 'bases' upon the DICKENS dinner:

HE for whose sake the glittering show appears Has sown the world with laughter and with tears, And they whose welcome wets the bumper's brim Have wit and wisdom--for they all quote him. So, many a tongue the evening hour prolongs With spangled speeches, let alone the songs; Statesmen grow merry, young attorneys laugh, And weak teetotals warm to half-and-half, And beardless Tullys, new to festive scenes, Cut their first crop of youth's precocious greens; And wits stand ready for impromptu claps, With loaded barrels and percussion-caps; And Pathos, cantering through the minor keys, Waves all her onions to the trembling breeze; While the great Feasted views with silent glee His scattered limbs in Yankee fricassee.

Sweet is the scene where genial friendship plays The pleasing game of interchanging praise; Self-love, grimalkin of the human heart, Is ever pliant to the master's art; Soothed with a word, she peacefully withdraws And sheaths in velvet her obnoxious claws, And thrills the hand that smooths her glossy fur With the light tremor of her gentle pur.

But what sad music fills the quiet hall If on her back a feline rival fall! And oh! what noises shake the tranquil house, If old SELF-INTEREST cheats her of a mouse!

Thou, O my country! hast thy foolish ways, Too apt to pur at every stranger's praise: But if the stranger touch thy modes or laws, Off goes the velvet and out come the claws!