Part 16

And thou, Illustrious! but too poorly paid In toasts from Pickwick for thy great crusade, Though while the echoes labored with thy name The public trap denied thy little game, Let other lips our jealous laws revile-- The marble TALFOURD or the rude CARLYLE; But on thy lids, that Heaven forbids to close Where'er the light of kindly nature glows, Let not the dollars that a churl denies Weigh like the shillings on a dead man's eyes! Or, if thou wilt, be more discreetly blind, Nor ask to see all wide extremes combined; Not in our wastes the dainty blossoms smile That crowd the gardens of thy scanty isle; There white-cheek'd Luxury weaves a thousand charms, Here sun-browned Labor swings his Cyclop arms; Long are the furrows he must trace between The ocean's azure and the prairies' green; Full many a blank his destined realm displays, Yet see the promise of his riper days: Far through yon depths the panting engine moves, His chariots ringing in their steel-shod groves, And Erie's naiad flings her diamond wave O'er the wild sea-nymph in her distant cave: While tasks like these employ his anxious hours, What if his corn-fields are not edged with flowers? Though bright as silver the meridian beams Shine through the crystal of thine English streams, Turbid and dark the mighty wave is whirled That drains our Andes and divides a world.

Under the similitude of a _German-silver-spoon_, 'used by dabblers in æsthetic tea,' we have the annexed palpable hit at the small-beer imitators of CARLYLE, and copyists after the external garb of the German school, who have occasionally shown themselves up in the pages of 'The Dial,' a work which formerly 'indicated rather the place of the moon than the sun:'

SMALL as it is, its powers are passing strange; For all who use it show a wondrous change, And first, a fact to make the barbers stare, It beats Macassar for the growth of hair: See those small youngsters whose expansive ears Maternal kindness grazed with frequent shears; Each bristling crop a dangling mass becomes, And all the spoonies turn to Absaloms! Nor this alone its magic power displays-- It alters strangely all their works and ways; With uncouth words they tire their tender lungs, The same bald phrases on their hundred tongues; 'Ever' 'The Ages' in their page appear, 'Alway' the bedlamite is called a 'Seer;' On every leaf the 'earnest' sage may scan, Portentious bore! their 'many-sided' man; A weak eclectic, groping, vague and dim, Whose every angle is a half-starved whim, Blind as a mole and curious as a lynx, Who rides a beetle which he calls a 'Sphinx.'

And O what questions asked in club-foot rhyme Of Earth the tongueless and the deaf-mute Time! Here babbling 'Insight' shouts in Nature's ears His last conundrum on the orbs and spheres; There Self-inspection sucks its little thumb, With 'Whence am I?' and 'Wherefore did I come?' Deluded infants! will they ever know Some doubts must darken o'er the world below, Though all the Platos of the nursery trail Their 'clouds of glory' at the go-cart's tail?

We should exceedingly like to hear Mr. A. BRONSON ALCOTT'S opinion as touching the _faithfulness_ of the foregoing. · · · THERE is a fearful lesson conveyed in the annexed communication from a metropolitan physician, who assures us that it is in all respects an accurate statement of an occurrence to which he was an eye-witness: 'Duty impels me, Mr. EDITOR, to lay before you one of the little incidents which my situation as a medical man has brought to my notice. There is no class of men who are led with keener perceptions to investigate human nature than enlightened practising physicians. They have a hold upon the affections and confidence of every class of society; and for this reason they should feel it incumbent upon themselves to act the part of _moral_ as well as _physical_ agents. For myself, I think it would be well if medical men were so far constituted missionaries, as to make it a duty to point a moral whenever it would be likely to be well received. I am aware that attempts of this sort with many persons would be vain or injudicious, and sometimes nauseate perhaps, like the accompanying drugs; but eventually it might prove salutary to the soul; and although cursed for good advice, is it not in the end a blessing? But to my story: I was called a short time since to a youth about twenty years of age: he had been only a few months in the city, and I had occasionally seen him, but had little acquaintance with him, being much his senior. When I entered, one of his fits of raving, occasioned by fever, was just coming on. I approached and took his hand: 'What do you want?' said he; 'you look so mild and yet so penetrating. I have not got any.' 'Any _what_?' said I. 'Any money,' he replied; 'the drawer was locked, and I could not get any without being seen; so go away!' 'I came to cure you, not to take your money,' I replied. 'Ah!' said he, 'did I not take some from you? Look! look! There they come! sixpences, shillings! See! see! how they tumble from the wall! Look! there is a piece of gold! See! look! there they keep coming! I never took all this!--at first I only took enough to get a cigar with, now and then. See! the room is filling! I shall suffocate!' 'What does this mean, young man?' said I; 'be calm.' 'Did they not tell you to _come and feel my pulse and see if there was not a sixpence in it_?' 'No, no; I came to make you better.' 'Better? _better_? BETTER? Here, hide these; don't let my friends know of them; they were stolen! I cannot look at them now. Ha! ha! ha!--I cannot!' I was induced to remain until the frenzy of the fever had passed off, and found the young man had intervals of reason. He was now in deep despondency. I inquired his name. He had dropped it, he said; he could not debase it. 'Debase it?' said I. 'Yes!' he answered, with a groan like a howl. The next day the young man sent for me again. He appeared much altered; said that he did not wish to live; that he had '_a gnawing at his soul_.' I remarked that he was very young to be tired of life; that if he had been guilty of any crime he should desire to live to expiate it. 'No,' he replied, 'the stain will always last!' I told him, not so; that if he heartily repented and turned to the right source for consolation, it would be vouchsafed him. 'I feel that I cannot live,' he replied, 'and my friends will be better satisfied to know that I am repentant in my last moments, and that I am gone, than they would be to think of me as a vagabond, let loose upon society: they will at least feel that I shall 'cease from troubling.' I have not the excuse that many delinquents have pleaded, early initiation into vice. My childhood was passed with pious relatives, who labored to instil religious principles into my mind; but I 'would none of their reproof.' My friends not being wealthy, I was left at a proper age to my own resources. I found a situation where my talents were appreciated by my employer, and perhaps too highly estimated by myself. I had a brother who was ten years my senior, whom I loved and esteemed--may Heaven keep him in blessed ignorance of my fate!--but I thought less highly of his intellect when I saw him excited by some sublime hymn, which angels might listen to, than I did of my own, when I turned from the devotions of the Sabbath to join my idle companions. In the situation I held, I might have gained respectability; but my besetting sin betrayed me so often, that the kind indulgence of a good master could no longer conceal my crimes. I now see that the sting inflicted by vice must and _will_ remain! We may repent, we may be forgiven; but the mind will not part with its bitter recollections!' I was here called away for a few moments, and when I returned, the unhappy young man was in the land of spirits! I learned that he was engaged to a highly amiable young lady, who relinquished him, and shortly afterward died of a broken heart. _Her_ sad fate threw him into a brain-fever, and as you perceive, decided _his_ likewise. Incidents like these I am aware have often been narrated; yet if the tragedy which I have depicted should be blessed to the use of any young man abandoned to temptation and addicted to small crimes, and lead him to reflection, it will be a gratification to feel that my feeble effort, with Heaven's help, has proved 'a word in season.'' · · · THERE are inequalities of merit in the '_Dirge_' of 'D. D.' of Hartford, though the _spirit_ of the verse is tender and touching. We annex a few stanzas, in illustration of our encomium:

THRUST him in his narrow bed, Heap the cold earth on his head, But be sure no tear ye shed-- Not a tear for him!

Bitter toil was his from birth, Dearly bought his homely mirth, While his master was of earth-- Now he's of the sky.

Death knocked at his door at night, With his crushing hand of might, Woke him to that morning light Which can know no noon!

When that sacred morning beam Wakes his spirit, life shall seem But a dreary changeful dream-- Soon o'er, and not too soon!

Patiently for few long years, Struggling with earth's giant fears, With hands too busy to wipe tears, Met he life's long shock.

Yet not all blank and desolate Was this poor man's earthly state; Hope, toil, content, can soften fate, As the moss the rock.

O! lost Brother! still and cold, Sunk like rain into the mould, Silently, unseen, untold-- Thou 'rt a GOD-sown seed!

It is a sad sight to look upon the corpse of a laborer, cut down in the midst of a toilsome life; his hard, knotty hands clasped upon the still breast, and the strong limbs laid in serene repose. And yet how happy the change! No longer does he ask leave to toil; no longer is he at war with poverty, for death has made it a drawn battle. He 'rests from his labors' where the rich and the poor meet together, and he hears no more the voice of the oppressor. · · · PERHAPS our readers will have observed that the _Sketches of East Florida_ are from no common pen. The description which has been given by the writer, of the delicious climate in that sunny region, may to many 'Northeners' seem exaggerated; but such is not the fact. A friend writing recently from St. Augustine, thus playfully alludes to the effect which the climate produces upon a New-Yorker: 'If a business-man could be caught up from the whirl of Broadway, and dropped in a warm climate, say that of St. Augustine, and left under a fig-tree to his own reflections, his first thought doubtless would be for an omnibus 'right up.' 'Rather queer!' he would say; 'a hot sun, sandy street, and not a carriage to be seen! There's a man out in his slippers, and a woman with her head tied up in a handkerchief--may-be a night-cap; probably some old Dutch settlers that went to-sleep with RIP VAN WINKLE. Wild turkeys, as I live, all about the market!--and oh, LORD! there's a little nigger with only a shirt on! Halloo there! you little nigger! tell me the way to the Broadway coaches! No coaches? no omnibii? Well, where's your five-o'clock boats?--where's your Harlaem rail-road? I want to go back to town!' Such would probably be his first go-off; and the next impulse would be to run, shout, cry fire! or murder!--any thing to produce a sensation; but unless very soon about it, he would find himself yielding to some strange influence hitherto unfelt; and it would be amusing to notice how soon the fretting restless man of the forty-second latitude would be tamed down in the thirteenth to the equanimity of a child asleep. The climate enters within the man, and brings out one by one some hidden and better impulse, at the same time laying a gentle hand upon his rougher humors; so that when he would shout, he hums, and when he would laugh, he smiles only; and in undertaking to run, he is caught about the waist; and goes floating smoothly around in the ground-swell motion of the Spanish-dance.' · · · WE perceive that the _Copy-right Question_ has been thus early brought before the National Legislature. From the present aspect of things we may indulge a well-grounded hope that authors who have worn themselves out in making other people happy, will not hereafter be left to perish amidst age and infirmity, unrelieved by the fruit of their labors. There is one argument exceedingly well illustrated in the recent address of the 'Copy-right Club.' In allusion to the floods of trash which have for months inundated the Atlantic cities and towns, the writer, addressing himself to American citizens, observes: 'In all other circumstances and questions save that of a literature, you have taken the high ground of freedom and self-reliance. You have neither asked, nor loaned, nor besought, but with your own hands have framed, what the occasion required. Whatever stature you have grown to as a nation, it is due to that sole virtue; and by its exercise may you only hope to hold your place. In almost any other shape than that of silent books you would have spurned the foreign and held fast to the home-born; but stealing in quietly at every opening, making themselves the seemingly inoffensive and unobtrusive lodgers in every house, they have full possession of the country in all its parts; and another people may promise themselves in the next generation of Americans, (as the question now goes,) a restored dominion which their arms were not able to keep. The pamphlet will carry the day where the soldier fell back.' · · · WE derive the annexed stanzas through a Boston correspondent. He assures us that the work of art which they commemorate is most honorable to the genius of the sculptor, who has been winning laurels ever since his removal to the tasteful city:

LINES

WRITTEN ON COMPLETING A MARBLE BUST OF THE LATE WASHINGTON ALLSTON.

BY M. A. BRACKETT.

UPWARD unto the living light Intensely thou dost gaze, As if thy very soul wouldst seek In that far distant maze

Communion with those heavenly forms That lifting to the sight Their golden wings and snowy robes, Float on a sea of light.

Anon far, far away they glide, Shooting through realms of bliss, Till from the spirit's eye they fade In heaven's own bright abyss.

Such are the visions thou dost wake, Such are the thoughts that rise In him who 'neath thy upturned brow Beholds thy spirit-eyes.

There is no stain upon that brow; Pure as thy holy life Serene and calm, thy heavenly face-- Within, no wasting strife.

How strangely have the swift hours flown As o'er the shapeless pile I poured the full strength of my soul, Lost to all else the while!

When fell the last faint stroke which told That thou and I must part, That all of life that I could give Was thine, how throbbed my heart!

Yet to this form that I have reared Should aught of praise belong, Not unto me the merit due, But Him who made me strong:

Who with his ever fostering care My wayward steps did guide, Through paths of flowers, in beauty cloth'd, Along life's sunny tide.

Semblance of him, the great, the good, Whose task on earth is done; Of those that walked in beauty's light Thou wert the chosen one!

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WE should like to see in some appropriate journal a sketch of the _Progress of Mechanics in the United States_. Without any question, the Americans are, in respect of that branch of science, behind no nation or people on earth. And yet no longer ago than 1791, a clock-maker from London, after public advertisement of his arrival from England for that purpose, visited our scattered cities and towns to repair clocks! 'Yankee ingenuity' was not then as now synonymous with the accomplishment of _any_ thing that can either be fabricated or 'fixed'. · · · WE have no remembrance of the communication referred to in a note from a correspondent at Albany, in which we find the following sentences: 'If received, I hope it was not amenable to the censure in a late number of the KNICKERBOCKER, of certain correspondence, for having been written 'too carefully.' Now I do flatter myself upon so _writing_, that compositors can have no excuse for blunders, though I am well aware that to be esteemed a Genious, one's chirography should very nearly approach unintelligibility. If this be true, the patience and good nature of an Editor must be severely tried; but I incline to the opinion that a man of Genious need not model after BYRON's facsimile,' and so forth. Our correspondent _does_ write a good hand; so good indeed, that we lament, as we gaze at it, that he does not know how to _spell_. A man may certainly be a '_Genious_' without being able to write a clerkly hand; but a man who is _not_ a 'Genious,' ought at least to be able to spell the word. As to writing 'too carefully,' our censor has mistaken the letter for the spirit of our remarks. · · · THE lines '_To my Mother_' are replete with the poetry of _feeling_. Their literary execution however is marred by deficiencies, which although slight, require amending. Our correspondent we are sure has the true poetical vein; and we shall not despair of hearing from her again. · · · A VERY 'inquiring' correspondent desires to know 'whether there is any thing below a _quartette_, in music?--a _pintette_ or a _gillette_?' He is also anxious, he says, to 'ascertain whether PUFFER HOPKINS is any relation to the pious poet who was in partnership in the psalm and hymn way with old Uncle STERNHOLD, a great many years ago.' Moreover, he considers it 'a little curious' that a black hen should lay a white egg; and states that he 'would give something handsome to be certain whether or no NEBUCHADNEZZAR'S hands, when he was out on grass, grew six-penny or ten-penny nails!' His remaining queries are profane; indeed, the last one goes somewhat too near the edge. · · · 'EVER anxious to please,' as the advertisements have it, we have placed the original department of the KNICKERBOCKER in a larger type; and it seems to us that we may ask with some confidence whether our readers ever saw a Magazine in a neater garniture than 'this same?' Only have the consideration to _reciprocate_ our endeavors to please you, good PUBLIC, and you 'shall see what you shall see.' There are certain delinquents upon our books, to whom we would venture to insinuate, in the most delicate manner conceivable, that 'it is high time somebody had a sight of somebody's money.' · · · A NEW style of frames for drawings, engravings, paintings, looking-glasses, etc., has recently been brought to great perfection, and into very general favor, by Mr. WEISER, at No. 43 Centre-street, near Pearl. They are composed externally of _glass-veneerings_, beautifully painted and shaded, so as to resemble different-tinted woods, tortoise-shell, or indeed any other colors that may be desired. These are painted on the inner side of the glass, which is so firmly cemented to the wood-frames as to be little liable to injury from jarring or even falling. With a gilt beading, they have a very beautiful appearance, by reason of the admirable lustre of the glass, which gives to them a polish finer than that of the most susceptible woods. They are, in short, exceedingly handsome, easily kept clean, always new and fresh, and what is worthy of mention, much cheaper than wood or gilt.

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.*. WILL our readers have the kindness to exhibit the ADVERTISEMENT OF OUR TWENTY-THIRD VOLUME to their friends? It will be found on the second and third pages of the cover of the present number; and they can testify to the accuracy of its unexaggerated statements. Many articles in prose and verse await examination or insertion, and a more particular reference hereafter. Notices are in type of new publications from the presses of Messrs. BURGESS AND STRINGER, M. W. DODD, J. WINCHESTER, the LANGLEY'S, D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, M. H. NEWMAN, WILEY AND PUTNAM, and of the 'Columbian Magazine,' which we are reluctantly compelled to defer to our February issue.