Part 16

The simple '_Working-Man's Lesson_' involved in this anecdote, and the 'fulness of faith' which it embodies, are not unworthy of remembrance and of heed. It impressed _us_ forcibly. * * * 'TOM HOOD' once mentioned, 'in his own way,' his experience in crossing the Great Desert. He 'came to grief in the journey by means of 'getting off the track' of antecedent camelian-caravans. They had nothing to eat and less to drink, on their hot and toilsome journey. They encountered a 'simoom,' which a Yankee sailor described as 'a Boston East Wind _boiled_;' there was a mirage, too, in which they saw, far off on the level rim of the desert, camels and 'men as trees walking.' Long was their journey over the burning sands: and HOOD narrates that the travellers were reduced to the greatest straits. HUNGER and THIRST--terrible tyrants--asserted their prerogatives. 'On the dim, faint line toward Cairo,' says HOOD, 'we _thought_ we saw a well in the desert: for much people were gathered together far beyond us upon the level, sultry plain. We approached; we joined them: but only to be again, for the third time, most grievously disappointed.' 'It is no joke,' he adds, 'to be without food or water in an Egyptian desert. When we were at the worst, we went in ballast with the soles and uppers of the newest shoes in the caravan; and we were enabled to slake our burning thirst by a second-hand 'swig' at the cistern of a freshly-deceased and still warm camel, which had 'given _out_' early in the journey, and had now 'given _in_:'' This was certainly a bad state of affairs; but when we read the hardships of recent African travel, as recorded by the German African explorer, Dr. KRAPF, in his '_Researches in Eastern Africa_,' we could no longer deem the story fabulous. The good DOCTOR had succeeded in making his escape from an attack, which had been made upon himself and his party, by a band of sable 'salvages;' he had wandered far: was 'weary and way-worn,' and had lain down behind a bush, for protection against the keen wind which blew over the plain, from which he had no protection save the dry grass which he spread under and over his body. After a fitful slumber, he awoke unrefreshed, 'and started again.' 'I felt,' he says, 'the pangs of hunger and thirst: the water in my telescope-case ran out, and that in the barrels of my gun, which I had not drunk, had been lost on my way, as the bushes had torn out the grass stoppers, and so I lost a portion of the invaluable fluid, which, in spite of the gunpowder flavor imparted to it by the barrels, thirst had rendered delicious. My hunger was so great that I tried to chew leaves, roots, and elephant's excrement to stay it: and when day broke, to break my fast on ants.' Night came on; and he travelled on until day-light. Soon after day-break, he saw four immense rhinoceroses feeding behind some bushes ahead of him: they 'stared at him, but did not move.' 'Coming presently,' he mentions, to a 'sand-pit,' with a somewhat _moistish_ surface, 'like as a hart panteth for the water-brooks,' I anticipated the precious fluid; I dug into the sand for it, but only to meet with disappointment: so I put some of the _wet sand_ in my mouth, which only increased my thirst.' What ensues could not be better told than in the brave explorer's own words: 'About noon I came upon the dry and sandy bed of the river, which we must have crossed to the south-west only a few days before. Scarcely had I entered its bed when I heard the chattering of monkeys, a most joyful sound, for I knew that there must be water wherever monkeys appear in a low-lying place. I followed the course of the bed, and soon came to a pit dug by the monkeys in the sand, in which I found the priceless water. I thanked GOD for this great gift; and having quenched my thirst, I first filled my powder-horn, tying up the powder in my handkerchief, and then my telescope-case, and the barrels of my gun. To still the pangs of hunger, I took a handful of powder and ate it with some shoots of a young tree which grew near the water; but they were very bitter.' Such 'experiences' as these will serve to show how much the world owes to our indefatigable modern explorers, self-denying, self-abrogating men, like LIVINGSTONE and KRAPF, who scarcely 'set their life at a pin's fee' in pursuing unwearied their laborious and painful researches. * * * OBSERVE now how this old friend of ours _could_ write, if he _would_. In the pauses of his avocation as President of a Bank in 'Old Erie,' he drops us a hasty note, in which he says: 'At times I feel chock-full of unwritten words, and say to myself: 'I only wish I had the use of a stenographic amanuensis for about an hour or so. I would create an article worth an hour's existence.' I wish I could only stop growing older; I don't mind having time 'roll on,' for I shouldn't want to be always living at the same moment; but I don't care about rolling on with it, and finally being rolled off or 'dumped' off. I frequently smile at the consolatory remark of the divine to his hearers, that they had great cause to be thankful that Death was at the end of life instead of the beginning, for this fortunate arrangement of PROVIDENCE gave them time to prepare for the event. Now such reasoning appears at the first glance quite ludicrous; and yet when you analyze it you will find there is a great deal of force in it. I have scratched this off in the midst of my financial correspondence, and you are lucky not to find any 'dollars and cents' in it.' We wish 'E. P.' would come to the 'scratch' often. * * * JAMES SUNNEY, the 'Atmospherical Poet,' in our last, and the 'Blooming Bard' of a 'Blossoming Hotel,' in previous 'issoos,' is a man without envy of his inspired brothers in art. Song, to be sure, is his _specialite;_ but _music_ hath charms also wherewith to soothe his savage breast. We do not jest, on the contrary, we ask especial attention to the following fervent tribute, paid by Mr. SUNNEY to the musical powers of our friend and cosmopolitan correspondent, Colonel PIPES, of Pipesville, otherwise known as STEPHEN C. MASSETT, Esq., the popular vocalist, lecturer, and _raconteur_. Instantaneously the 'COLONEL' dispatches to us the flattering missive, or missile; as like unto a non-resistant catapult it was 'precipitated' from the o'ercharged brain of the appreciative poet. _We_ feel with 'PIPES:' for, as EDITOR of the KNICKERBOCKER, _we_ too have been 'indorsed' by SUNNEY, as a man, take us by and large, 'not likely to be met with by any body in a hurry!' But we keep our readers from the '_Letter from James Sunney, 'Blossoming Bard' of the 'Blooming Hotel,' to Colonel Pipes, the Ripened Reciter and Vocalist_.' Hear him for his cause, and 'hold your yawp,' till he has said what he has _got_ to say. Can't you do _that_ much? 'Sa-a-y?' Try it:

'_New-York, Nov._ 12, 1860.

'DEAR SIR: It affords me great pleasure to acknowledge the delicacy of delight and joy I felt while perusing the many songs composed and sung by you, at the palacious rooms in London and elsewhere. The presses of Great Britain has certainly paid a great tribute to your mental capacity and physical ability, as a vocalist superior to RUSSELL, whose name was entitled to record on the first pages of history. You are certainly a man of high standing and respectability, whose intellectual faculties has added much to the brilliancy of youth, taste, and grandeur. I rejoice at the testimony bore to your character by some of the most eminent and distinguished writers in Ewrop. Melody of the feathered songsters could not warble with more harmony through the refractive powers of the _Atmosphere_, than did your voluble fluency vociferate in the grand '_Adelaide of Australia_.' As an elocutionist, your name is eminently combined with the ablest men of the age; and elevated to a higher degree than my pen is able to expound. At the same time I cannot refrain from any thing that has a tendency to morality without giving it my humble but human approbation.

'Yours respectfully,

'JAMES SUNNEY.'

Where is our sable friend and correspondent of the Louisville Hotel? That colored orator and model letter-writer must look to _his_ sesquipedalian fame. But this aside. The above, Mr. SUNNEY, is fine prose; but you must look to your poetic 'bays:' not a _span_ of spanking 'bays,' Mr. SUNNEY, on the Bloomingdale-Road, but the laurel _greens_ by which 'bards,' although quite unlike yourself, were wont to be crowned. We repeat that you must look to _this_ kind of 'bays,' because there is a fellow-bard, a Yankee, yet a kindred spirit, down in Maine, who can rhyme you 'out o' house and home.' He is the '_Bard of Misery_,' and hence, of course, a most miserable poet. Where Sorrow dwells, there is his country. He revels especially in marine disasters: _there_ he 'expands and bourgeons.' A friendly 'DEVIL,' (no 'Goblin-Damned,' we'll be sworn,) writing to us from a newspaper printing-office in Bangor, Maine, says: 'Will you kindly permit me to approach your Most Excellent Ma'--gazine, of which I am a constant reader, with a little contribution which I have picked up from the many similar 'favors' which we have had the honor of printing for the 'Son of the Muse,' whose effusions, somehow, don't seem to what-they-call 'TAKE:' but I expect these passages _will_.' Our modest, welcome correspondent is right: the 'passages' which he has marked for us _must_ 'take.' For example: only a few 'brief stanzas' from the 'poem' depicting '_Levi P. Willey's Last Voyage to Cubey_.' LEVI had, 'by all accounts,' a hard time. 'A few' of his 'experiences' are recorded in the lines which we annex: EBEN BABBIDGE being the name of the skipper, 'as he sailed, as he sailed:'

'IN eighteen hundred and fifty-nine, It was to me a solemn time: To a port in Cuba I did go; What happened there you shall know.

'As GOD would have it so to be, I was cook on board the open sea; I was at work, the crew did know, And from my lungs fresh blood did flow.

'Unto the captain I did go, He did for me all that he know; He called the mate and all the crew, And for the doctor they did go.

'In due time the doctor came To stop the blood and ease my pain; He said that I must go on shore, And stop a day, or two, or more.

'And the Spanish people there Did use me well, I do declare; Five days on shore I did remain, Then went on board the brig again.

'My captain was so kind and good, He done for me all that he could, He is a kind and generous man, Would always lend a helping hand.

'SCOTT COOKSON was our second mate, As to my friends I will relate; He was loved and honored too, By the captain, mate, and the crew.

'ROSCOE, and GEORGE, and FREDERICK, too, That was the names of all the crew; They were smart and noble boys, To reef topsails it was their joys.

'When our brig was ready for to sail, We was blest with a pleasant gale; As GOD would have it so to be, We came to Boston in America.

'When we arrived in Boston town, We got a bed for to lie down, For I was tired and very weak, I had been three days without sleep.

'The next morning, at seven o'clock, We made bargain with the truck, Across the city for to go, To the Eastern Main Depo.

'From Boston to Camden I came, My lungs were weak and racked with pain, To the doctor I went straightway, He gave me some relief without delay.'

Still more 'terrible' are the '_Verses on the Loss of the Lady Elgin Steamboat_,' 'composed by A. W. HARMON,' the 'gifted' author of the foregoing animated lines. Our extract must be brief: but we can assure our readers that the entire 'lot' is fully equal to the subjoined 'sample:'

'COME old and young, pray now attend To the sad tale that I've now penned, About the _Lady Elgins_ fate, And her disaster on the lake.

'Captain JOHN WILSON, with courage brave, Esteem'd by all on land or wave, Associated in many minds, _And memories of the choisest kinds_.

'At the moment the ships together came, Music and dancing were the game; But in one instant all was still, In thirty minutes the steamer filled!

'Whether they were not aware Of their sad danger and despair, Or whether their appalling fate, Them speachless made, I cannot state.

'A boat was lowered with the design, If possible, the leak to find: To stop the leak was our intent, But in one half-hour down she went.

'The noble Captain firm and brave, Is thus supposed in trying to save That mother and her child he fell And died beneath the foaming swell.'

The 'verses' are too _horrible_ to bear farther quotation: 'The lake with fabrics did abound, and human beings floated round,' is the opening of a most miserable picture. SUNNEY, you have a 'rival near your throne.' * * * A CLEVER correspondent, dating from 'Saline Mines, Illinois,' sends us the following amusing specimen of '_Keeping Score by Double-Entry_.' It will be a 'nut' for book-keepers:

'YOU know ELIJE SCROGGINS, up here in White County? Yes? Well, about six years ago, ELIJE kept a kind of 'one-horse' grocery on the edge of 'Seven-mile Pararie.' I don't think he kept much beside 'bald-faced, thirty-day whiskey,' and may-be some ginger-brandy. Times were 'mighty tight,' and not much money stirring in that settlement; so ELIJE had to credit most of his customers till corn-gathering time, or till fur was good; and, as he had no 'book learning,' he used to make some kind of a mark for his different 'patrons' on a clapboard which he kept for the purpose, and then chalk down 'the drinks' against them as they got them, which in some cases was pretty often. One day there was a 'big meeting' appointed at the 'Possum Ridge school-house,' about five miles from ELIJE'S, and his wife persuaded him to go: so on Sunday morning they gathered up the children and 'toted' off to meeting to 'make a day of it.' Along through the day some of the neighbors getting a 'leetle dry,' went over to ELIJE'S to 'moisten their clay,' and finding the door shut, and nobody about, they were somewhat alarmed, and 'didn't know but some body was either sick or dead;' so they pushed in to see about it, and finding things all right, they concluded that ELIJE and his 'old woman' had gone off on a visit; so they took a drink all around, out of friendly feeling to him, and were about going off, when one of them caught sight of the tally-board stuck under the rafter, and pulled it down: and either out of pure devilment, or thinking it an easy way to pay off a score, gave it a wipe, and stuck it back again. In the evening, when ELIJE got back, he had occasion to look at his accounts for some purpose or other, when to his great amazement and dismay, he found it considerably 'mixed!' He scratched his head over it for some time, evidently trying to make it out, and finally calling his wife in he showed it to her, and said: 'There, that's what a man gets for going off and neglecting his business.' On the whole, however, he got over it pretty quietly for him, for ELIJE use to swear 'mightily' 'when his back was up.' He didn't have much to say now, though, but sat with his chin on his hands, and his elbows on his knees, looking in the fire all the evening: but on Monday morning he got up 'bright and early,' and taking down the clap-board, gave it a good wash, and began very industriously to figure away upon it. Two or three times during the morning his wife looked in, and he was still working away at it; and at dinner-time, when she came to call him, she ventured to ask how he was getting on. 'Well,' said he, holding the tally-board off at arms'-length, and looking at it very earnestly, with his head on one side, 'I don't know as I've got as much charged as I had, _but I've got it on better men_!''

'A new way to make old debts!' * * * HOW suddenly, how unexpectedly, in a _Winterish Day in the Country_, comes up the 'fond remembrance' of days and friends that are no more! As one walks mid-leg deep amidst the damp-rustling leaves, listens to the moaning of the winds, and watches the red sunlight dying into shadow between the folds of the hills over the broad river, the sad hours of memory come up in long review:

'I FELT the leaves were shed, I felt the birds were dead: And on the earth I snowed the winter of my soul!'

Expressive words, and only too true! * * * NOT less than a 'good many' readers of the KNICKERBOCKER can 'place' the parties who figure in this little anecdote, which we are assured is entirely authentic: 'A young lady named TAYLOR, meeting a former acquaintance named MASON, at a party, where the latter was assuming any quantity of importance in consequence of her wealth, and who did not deign to notice her, revenged herself by stepping into the group surrounding the haughty belle, and thus addressing her, with the most winning smile: 'I have been thinking, my dear MISS MASON, that we ought to exchange names.' 'Why, indeed?' 'Because my name is TAYLOR, and my father was a mason; and your name is MASON, and your father was a tailor.' There was a scene then; but there was no help for it. * * * 'I WAS exceedingly amused,' writes a Boston friend, 'by your double-brace of '_The Practical Jokes of the late Colonel E. L. Snow_.' I knew that original 'Joker' well. There was never any _mischief_ in his fun: it was always harmless and always good-natured. I spent a winter four years ago in your 'Great Metropolis,' and saw much of 'THE COLONEL' in the very barber's shop which you designate. One cold blustering morning he came in, and as he took his seat in the 'operator's chair,' he said, with a 'wondering' expression of countenance: 'That is a strange thing about the Fountain: it's frozen over sixty feet high!' 'Is that _so?_' asked three or four gentlemen, seated on a sofa, waiting their 'turn.' 'Yes: it's a fact: I saw it myself before I came in.' Out they rushed, to the Park Fountain, which at _that_ time used to throw up its white column of water into the clear, cold air. Pretty soon they came back 'disgusted,' and looking daggers at SNOW, 'It's all a lie!' they said: 'the Fountain is playing eighty feet high: HUMBUG!' 'No humbug at all,' responded the 'COLONEL:' 'I meant the Fountain in Union-Square! It's a good deal _more_ than sixty feet high from here; and I saw it frozen solid not more than half-an-hour ago!' 'The laugh' was on the other side now: but the victims were good-natured fellows, and laughed as heartily as the rest. On another occasion, upon entering the shop, I found SNOW 'in the chair,' with a very lugubrious countenance 'on him,' as the Irish have it. 'That was a terrible thing,' said he, 'which happened on the Harlem Railroad this morning!' 'What was _that_?' asked several 'voices.' 'Why,' explained SNOW, 'the entire New-Haven train, of eight cars, ran over four men and a young lady.' 'They were instantly killed, of course?' 'No: miraculous as it may seem, not a single life was lost!' 'Why, how was _that_?' 'Well, they were _under the Harlem Bridge_, when the train passed over them, and not a car touched them! Cur'ous, wasn't it?' * * * THANKS to our old _Boyhood's Friend_, 'J. B. B.,' for his notelet, written in our absence at the desk of our town-sanctum. One 'plum' in it we are going to transfer to our own 'pudding:' 'I met an old school-mate in the cars last evening, who gave me an amusing anecdote of a character who lived in Pittsfield, (Mass.;) a man full of hearty humor--his name S---- P----, Jr. He was at Cleveland; and recognizing a nephew across the street, hailed him, as he was walking along in solemn mood: and as he took his hand he said: 'Well, TOM, I understand you have sold out entirely and gone into a new business: taken up the MILLERITE business, eh!' 'Well, Uncle LEM.,' was the reply, 'what would _you _do if you certainly expected the Last Day would come at twelve o'clock to-day?' 'Why, TOM,' said LEM., laughing, 'I'll _tell_ you what I would do: I would just work till five minutes before twelve, and then I'd wash up!'' Not a bad reply to a 'hard question!' * * * CAN any of our readers or correspondents inform us who is the author of the ensuing stanzas? They are certainly very beautiful: and their melody and fervor lead us to think that they may be from the pen of Rev. Mr. BONAR, from whom we have heretofore quoted two or three exquisite effusions. These lines bear this motto, from ISAIAH: '_I will lead thee in the paths they have not known_:'

'HOW few who, from their youthful day, Look on to what their life may be; Painting the visions of the way In colors soft and bright and free; How few who to such paths have brought The hopes and dreams of early thought! For GOD, through ways they have not known, Will lead HIS own.

'The eager hearts, the soul of fire, Who pant to toil for GOD and man; And view with eyes of keen desire The upland way of toil and pain; Almost with scorn they think of rest, Of holy calm, of tranquil breast, But GOD, through ways they have not known, Will lead them home.

'A lowlier task on them is laid-- With love to make the labor light; And there their beauty they must shed On quiet homes and lost to sight. Changed are their visions high and fair, Yet calm and still they labor there; For GOD, through ways they have not known, Will lead HIS own.

'The gentle heart that thinks with pain, It scarce can lowliest tasks fulfil; And if it dared its life to scan, Would ask but pathway low and still; Often such lowly heart is brought To act with power beyond its thought: For GOD, through ways they have not known, Will lead HIS own.

'And they, the bright, who long to prove, In joyous path, in cloudless lot, How fresh from earth their grateful love Can spring without a stain or spot-- Often such youthful heart is given The path of grief, to walk in Heaven: For GOD, through ways they have not known. Will lead HIS own.

'What matter what the path shall be? The end is clear and bright to view; We know that we a strength shall see, Whate'er the day may bring to do. We see the end, the house of GOD, But not the path to that abode; For GOD, through ways they have not known, Will lead HIS own.'