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Think what associations cluster around the hearth-stone- | aspiration; that it is multitudinous in its forms, and many. think what pure simple delights it has fostered, and cling to sided; that it is the language which goes to human hearts, it as a holy and a sacred thing. Every generous virtue and lifts them up-the one touch of nature which makes flourishes by its side. Its noble pleasures are the surest the whole world kin; of course that it is these things, is an bars you can erect against the growth of vice or dissipa- absurd error, and that we are all wrong; that the poets bare tion. No man could be reared under its happy glow and go all been wrong, and everybody wrong, and nobody right but forth into the world hard, selfish, cruel, or vicious.
our critic and the early Greeks with their first lyrie Poetry never had a sweeter or a nobler theme than the efforts ! fireside. It has sung of it in all ages. History, too, has “What is poetry ?" Rather, what is it not? We are sick recorded its glories and its virtues-telling us how men, of theories about it, of curious dissections, of learned dis inspired by its name, have fought in its defence, as men for quisitions, crammed with fantastic unintelligibility. Poeta naught else have fought. It has been the talisman to make will write, out of the abundance, fullness, and richness of heroes-it has moved to deeds of valor more heroic than their being, saying that which they can say best, speaking ever those in the name of glory or fame. We know how | according to their nature--and the world will catch up their our own fathers fought for its sacred purity, and how many words, if true and earnest, and practically put the critics times their blood was shed by its very side. “Fight for to contempt-critics, who would have poetry like cheeses, your altars and your hearths !" has ever been the patriot's all of one stamp and mould. war-cry. What, shall the new one be, in the words of a modern author, "Fight for your stoves !”
-All things have their uses—it is said, and we will not Stern iconoclasts as we are, we pull down and break up dispute it, although we shall cling to a few mental reservaall the old sacred images which Poetry and Fancy have con- tions long since made, but which are not worth mentioning, secrated and made holy. Our harsh and soulless utilitarian- however. But one of these same reservations has just been ism crushes out of our way of life everything that is grace shaken, and even threatens to go over in support of the proful, picturesque, and poetic. We extract from existence all verb. Flirts (we are referring to those of the feminine genharmony, color, feeling, beauty, pleasure, and immolate our-der) we were always firm in the belief, and supported too, no selves upon the rugged altar of the Practical. Human doubt, by an abundance of wise heads, whom we will not nature revolves in cycles, so they say. The civilization of quote--for wisdom somehow got awkwardly wed to loquawhich we boast so much, and which strides on so formidably ciousness a long time ago-firm in the belief, as we were towards the useful and the material, treading down a thou. saying, that they were of no mortal use, excepting to break sand wayside flowers, crushing out a thousand attributes of hearts, and the like. But, in a singular statistical table non humanity, is in danger, in its insane devotion to mere under our eye, we discover that all this while they have been utility, of bringing us back to the dead level of the old bar- serving the country in a way which is only one degree barism.
removed from the patriotic. Nine-tenths of the army
recruits, so this statistical document in cold figures declares, -“What is Poetry ?” is a question asked in a recent issue are driven to the extremity of rations, barracks, drills, &c., of a critical contemporary, and answered in a long disquisi- in consequence of women! This is an extraordinary state tion which ends by discovering that, after all, there is of affairs. Are we to conclude that if the fair ones were all no poetry-nor poets! We shall not attempt to set up true, honest, and sincere, we should be deprived of a publie our poor opinion against this mighty discovery. We will try defence? Would we be minus an arıny! Would the War and accept it with what faith we can. It would be presump- Secretary, in the case of any such contingency, lay before tion for us to insinuate the possibility of an error in this the Congress a plan to reproduce the cause, and offer presweeping assertion, for we do not pretend to be wise or miums for hard-hearted women-for accomplished flirts, and learned in the anatomy of literature. We confess to very successful coquettes ? Would our statesmen be impelled to little sympathy with that feeling which travels through look around for some other heart-breaking first cause, as a the realm of creative art, as if it were a museum- means of army replenishment ? In case of war, would mis peering among ribs, and sockets, and joints--interested and chievous women rise so far in the social scale as to over-top animated only by the skeletons and dry bones of literature. the true and faithful ones? And will faithlessness on the We prefer the creations of art and genius with flesh and part of women, in the view of the great service it renders blood immunity from the scalping-knife and dissecting the state, become a political and patriotic virtue? A hunroom. This miserable weakness, of course, unfits our judg- dred such questions suggest themselves. ment, and deprives us of the right to any respect for our And not only these, but others in another vein. Why is impressions. At the same time, with becoming modesty, the army so favored by these unfortunate Corins? Is it and with all that awe and deference the great and learned because of the old and romantic association of war and love critic demands and expects, we cannot quite accept the arbi- two things once wedded, and now supposed to be divorced? trary definition of his question—“What is Poetry? The lan- Was the old affinity true, and the separation unnatural! guage of enthusiasm," he says, nothing more. Come And do these fellows, roughly tumbled out of love, rush to down from your pedestals Shakspeare, Milton, and all ye its next of kin, glorious war? Titans, and if a rapturous and boisterous Bacchanalian song Venus and Mars always have jostled each other. But the can be found, lift it up with bay and laurel, and worship it, old way was, for gallants to draw sword and blood) in world-worship it, ye poor, mistaken Byrons, and Shelleys, behalf of love ; now, it appears, the pomp and circumstance and Dantes, and the rest of you mis-crowned ones!
of glorious war is not the incentive and friend of love, but Of course the critic's opinion is right, for he has studied its antidote. the matter--and we have not. Of course the impression But who would have thought that so much romance (which will linger in spite of the critic) that poetry is the underlay these uncouth fellows—and who cannot help suspectlanguage of beauty, of emotion, feeling—the language of ing that, after all, the statistics may have taken a romantic
turn, and the patriotic virtue which Uncle Sam must canonize, I
Little white Lily
Said, " It is good : is not women-but drink ?
Little white Lily's
Clothing and food! - It is said that the editor of the London Times—that
Little white Lily mysterious antocrat of Printing-House Square- is in our
Drest like a bride! midst, taking notes. If so, he wraps himself up in the same
Shining with whiteness,
And crown'd beside !" impenetrable veil in which he so darkly enshrouds his identity at home. Who can he be? Where is he, and
Little white Lily what is he like? It is startling to think that the ogre may
Droopeth in pain, be at your elbow at any moment—that he might have been
Waiting and waiting that big-whiskered fellow in the omnibus this morning, who
For the wet rain. stared and frowned so ferociously at the little boy opposite,
Little white Lily with a basket upon his knee; or possibly that awkward
Holdeth her cup;
Rain is fast falling, fellow in English gaiters, who thrust his cotton umbrella
And filling it up. (blue cotton, with an eagle head), so clumsily into your side, and stared at you afterwards as if he expected you to
Little white Lily apologize ; or, quite likely, that little cockney, dapper and
Said, "Good again, brisk, you saw the other day, eagerly inquiring for a “'ack
When I am thirsty man" to take him to the “ Hastor;" or, that moody fellow
To have nice rain ! at the last party, who, like a sponge, soaked up what every
Now I am stronger, body else said or did, and never dropped a word himself; or
Now I am cool, -we dare not speculate farther, for his awful eyes may rest
Heat cannot burn me,
My veins are so full !" upon this page, and a terrible retribution await us hereafter.
Little white Lily If his mission result in a better feeling towards this coun
Smells very sweet, try (and a little more accurate information), on the part of
On her head sunshine, his journal, there will be some cause to congratulate our
Rain at her feet. selves upon his visit. Astute, wise, clear-headed as the
" Thanks to the sunshine ! great Thunderer is upon most matters, in everything apper
Thanks to the rain ! taining to America it is besotted, blind, prejudiced, and
Little white Lily simply ridiculous. The last hoax so successfully played
Is happy again !" upon it, in reference to the alphabetical duels, A, B, C,
----A GREAT many people suppose that hooped petticoats upon the Georgia railroad, is an evidence of how it will
of how it will are nothing more than inventions to combine expense, ingulp down anything relative to America, no matter how
convenience, and absurdity. They are not aware, perhaps, monstrous or absurd, with an appetizing relish. Our readers
that to them is due the first suggestion in France of one of probably know the upshot of this ridiculous affair—this
the most important inventions of modern times. Our new moon hoax (half a dozen duels, and nearly as many grandmothers, as everybody knows, wore petticoats similar murders, in one day's ride upon a Georgia railroad) which to those of the present time, but not always hooped-starch ended in the Times attempting to explain the matter by de- serving, in some instances, as a substitute. These, when caring the affair to have taken place in 1828—some dozen washed, were dried on osier shapes, that they might preserve years or so before the erection of a railroad in Georgia, or their bell-like proportions. A washerwoman (we use the the invention of revolvers, the terrible weapons used upon language of our authority) of Paris, having set up a pettithe sanguinary occasion!!
coat in this way before an ardent fire, and, in order the It is certainly to be hoped that our High Mightiness will better to concentrate the heat. having drawn the strings grow charitably disposed-or else, if he must open his tightly at the top, the air beneath became so rarefied by the wrath and fury upon us, that he will manage always to be heat that the petticoat, despising the support of its osier as successful as in his recent attempt, and be sure to catch frame, began slowly and majestically to make an ascension. a Tartar-i. e., an Arrowsmith!
The washerwoman naturally concluded that nothing but
supernatural agency could have caused such a movement in - In a volume of poems by a new poet in England so passive an article, and shrieks and faintings became the (Within and Without, a Dramatic Poem), occurs the follow- order of the day. It so happened that on the spot was a ing exquisite little song, which we have clipped and trans- paper manufacturer, nanied Montgolfier, who had studied a planted here. It is sung by little Lily, “one of the most little of Priestly in his leisure hours. Fancying that for the spirited and touching creations in the whole range of terrific demonstration of diabolical handiwork some solution poetry :"
might be found in his favorite volume, he left other neigh
bors to employ such moral and physical restoratives as the LITTLE WHITE LILY.
state of the blanchisseuses required, and sought therein an
explanation of the phenomenon. The result of his studies Little white Lily
was the appearance of the “Montgolfières "—the first bal-
loons that were ever produced in France.
-Town talk, as usual, turns mostly upon things operatic Sunshine has fed ;
and dramatic, spiced a little by Maretzek's victory at the Little white Lily
Academy of Music, and varied by a good deal of enthuIs lifting her head.
siasm for Thalberg, whose concerts have been turning
A spark is kindling of the flame
That burned in your great Uncle's breast,
And made him spurn inglorious rest-
the heads of the amateurs, and tuning them up to a pitch of almost dangerous excitement. A new energy is infused into home music, and pianos are thrummed with vastly increased vigor, by the example of the great pianist. The mania, like all other manias, will die out, but not without an elevation of the standard of execution, for which we may well be thankful.
In art circles, the talk is upon the lamented death of Paul Delaroche, cut off in the midst of a grand career. Delaroche was not only at the head of French artists, but confessedly the greatest historical painter of his age. Singularly enough, some of his finest compositions were from subjects in English history. Delaroche was, in truth, a fine genius.' His portraits showed it. His head, in massiveness, singularly resembled the great Napoleon's.
The little folks, of course, are busy thinking and talking about the holidays, now so fast approaching. We hope they, and all others, like the Santa Claus pictures we give them this month ; and we beg to suggest that we are entitled to a little credit for this idea of illustrating the time-honored poem—the delight of everybody at every recurring Christmas. This little classic is from the pen of Clement C. Moore, a good old Knickerbocker; and, as his lines abundantly evince, thoroughly imbued with the spirit of St. Nicholas, and his delightful custom of nocturnal visits. Constitutions may be overturned, states may fall; but of all the calamities that could visit us, we should lament most the dethronement of glorious old Santa Claus. The Gradgrinds are levelling their shafts at him, but he is staunch—and our prayer is, that he may endure for ever!
Whether Mr. Buchanan will repent him of his long and obdurate bachelordom, and timely secure a mistress for the White House, as shrewdly whispered, or whether the Presidential levees for the next four years are to lack the presiding graces of womanly wit and beauty, is another question that agitates, not only town circles, but social circles everywhere. A lady, whose distinguished accomplishments shed lustre around the Presidential mansion during the administration of Mr. P. (not Pierce, of course), has been whispered of in the above connexion-but we say nothing, excepting to hint that, if a consummation so devoutly to be wished should ensue, socially, at least, the next administration will prove a brilliant one.
Imperial Boy! what hopes in thee
Are centred by the sons of Earth,
Has rung the tidings of thy birth :-
The worid on red Marengo's plain,
Was Austria's helm in twain :Remember well the King of Kings
Whose blood is warming at thy heart, And shielded by his Eagle's wings,
In honor's race uprise and start, But, ah ! like him, chase not too far
Ambition's wild and blood-red star. He had his mission to perform, But closed his day in night and storm: He robbed the tyrant of his spoil,
And rotten pomp to ruin hurled, And needed not anointed oil
To overawe and rule the world.
The tribes of men that people earth
Be allies in the cause of right
And morning follows night.
-MR. W. H. C. Hosmer has just handed us the following fine Poem, too late for this number, unless we admit it here, which our readers will thank us for doing :
I pray thee, chosen child of Fate !
Unmatched in Shadowless renown;
To wear an Empire's crown. Born at a bright, propitious hour,
When blades are sheathed, and helms unlaced, And healing dews succeed the shower
Of slaughter on a land laid waste,
Be calm as Autumn's cloudless eve
May stricken nations grieve!
THE KING OF ALGIERS.
Heir of an empire, proud and vast,
Of old held reign, Thy natal hour is come at last. Where is the prophet who can cast
Thy horoscope, Imperial Boy! While memories of a glorious past,
Commingle with a nation's joy? The lines of fate are written down,
But mortal vision is too blind
To look the future's veil behind, Proud infant wearer of a crown!
The first Napoleon reigns in France,
For death can only coftin clay
The mighty never pass away Like the frail, wind-blown leaves of Chance; And may we hope that in thy breast, Young eaglet of the household nest!
To our Correspondents:
We are compelled to answer, through the magazine, those persons who have been kind enough to offer us manuscripts, for any attempt to reply to all the letters on this and other subjects, that fill our table every morning, is simply impossible, if we expect to write anything for the magazine our selves, which its subscribers seem to desire.
When we started this work, and before the first number was printed, all our business arrangements were made, and
the funds designed for each department disposed of as we be met with disappointment. We know how hard a path thought to the greatest advantage, both for ourselves and that of literary labor is, and among females, how few occaour readers. Thus but little room was left for chance con- sions there are for female industry and talent; but commertributions, consequently we are in no position to offer any cial rules must be enforced in business, though they go remuneration to those that may be forwarded to us, unless against every sympathy of the heart, if that business is of the most remarkable merit. The truth is, our pages are expected to prosper. To purchase more manuscript than already full of the best talent that can be obtained, and we can print would be pleasant to our feelings, but ruinous, without increasing the size we cannot enter into any more like every other extravagance, to our enterprise. But for engagements.
this drain upon the feeling—for to reject or neglect an artiWe are pained every day by this necessity of rejecting cle is always with us a pang—the life of an editor would be articles, often of real worth, without explaining the reason, comfortably pleasant-as it is we must take the evil with the for to attempt that, personally, would be to exhaust our- good, and be grateful. In order to divide the literary selves in answering business letters, when other and import duties, that threaten to be very heavy, Mr. Oliver Bunce has ant duties are imperative.
been associated in the editorship of this magazine. To his If we had the power to please ourselves, no appeal for decision all manuscripts will be submitted, and all letters sympathy or advise, no offer of literary contributions should regarding them should be sent to his address.
Recollections of a Life Time; or, Men and Things I have I strong colors and sharp outlines. Mr. Goodrich is a FederalSeen, by S. G. Goodrich, is one of the most agreeable and ist, and adheres to the old party with tenacious courage, and entertaining books we have read this season. S. G. Good- defends it with spirit and eloquence. The political chapters rich, it is scarcely necessary for us to remark, is the veritable in his work will be accused of partisanship. For our part, and renowned Peter Parley, the classic of the nursery, the we like the book all the better, because its opinions are delight and wonder of the little folks. Over seven millions bold and decided--and, with all his partisan feeling, of the Parley books have been sold, so the author informs the author evidently seeks and desires to do justice. us; and this mercantile test of their value and excellence, we His defense of the IIartford Convention is convincing. He consider the best that can be given. The genius for juve | lifts it above all suspicion of treasonable design, but does nile writing is more rare than supposed, and we have seen in not clear it entirely from the charge of inexpediency, nor recent years how the highest intellects have not disdained to prove it to have been necessary or wise. His picture of the employ their pens in this species of composition. Dickens, rise of Jeffersonian Democracy is amusing. According to Hawthorne, Thackeray, Mary Howitt, and the Swedish him, the decadence of politeness and good breeding began Anderseen, are among the most exalted examples. But, with the decline of Federalism. Jefferson affected to be Mr. Goodrich was the pioneer in this branch of literature- very simple in his dress, taste, and manners, which was and, although his success was extraordinary, he had to praised in him as evidence of his democratic feeling. A encounter not a few prejudices, and to experience a species of certain coarseness of manner began to be apparent, to be contempt and disdain for his labors.
defended, justified, and encouraged by the democratic The present work is Mr. Goodrich's life history, an epi- leaders—or Republicans, as they were then called. Rudetome of what he has seen and experienced; and embraces aness and irreverence grew to be recognized as the test of vast range of incident, anecdote, and observation. Mr. Good-democracy and our author illustrates his position by the rich is over sixty years of age. He was contemporary with following anecdote, which he declares to be historical : the great intellects of the early part of the present centuryan eye-witness of many events that have now become mat- « About this time there was in the eastern part of Con. ters of history—the friend and companion of distinguished necticut a clergyman, by the name of Cleveland, who was litterateurs, divines, and statemen; and his volumes are noted for his wit. One summer day, as he was riding along, crowded with anecdotes and personal incident of notables he came to a brook. Here he paused to let his horse drink. no less distinguished than Walter Scott, Lord Jeffrey, Lock
and Joffroy Look | Just then, a stranger rode into the stream from the opposite
direction, and his horse began to drink also. The animals hart, Talma, Hannah More, Madison, Jefferson, Monroc, bart, Tama, hannan More, Madison, venerson, Monroe, approached, as is their wont under such circumstances, and Adams, Duke of Wellington, Chalmers, Cooper, Percival--in thus brought the two men face to face. fact, almost every conspicuous personage of America, Eng ""How are you, priest!' said the stranger. land, and France, during the present century. Mr. Good “'How are you, democrat ?' said the parson. rich was born in Connecticut. The early part of his work
“How do you know that I am a democrat?' said one. affords us a fine and faithful picture of New England life
« • How do you know that I am a priest ?' said the other.
“I know you to be a priest by your dress,' said the fifty years ago. His father was a clergyman, upon a salary
& ciergman, upon a salary stranger. of four hundred dollars a year, out of which he managed to “I know you to be a democrat by your address,' said raise a large family, to educate one of his sons at college, the parson." and to die worth four thousand dollars! This was in the time of old-fashioned frugality and simplicity. The man- But this social distinction between the parties soon ners, life, and habits of that period, are daguerreotyped by passed away. our author with fidelity and spirit; and the portraits of Con- The portion of the book devoted to literary men, is, hownecticut celebrities, such as Dr. Dwight, Otis, Oliver Wal- ever, the most interesting. There is a chapter describing cott, Brainerd, Percival, Professor Silliman, are rendered in an evening spent with Walter Scott, which is of peculiar interest. There are several pages devoted to Percival, so I of this kind, than Frank Forester (H. W. Herbert). His recently deceased, with characteristic anecdote; some very name is sufficient guarantee of its excellence. We, of course, amusing insights into the habits of Brainard, and his mode are not a sportsman, but, notwithstanding this, we can truly of literary composition-an appreciative chapter upon Haw- say, that we have been greatly interested in reading some thorne and Willis, both of whom made their literary advent portions of this book ; that it seems just the thing for our under Mr. Goodrich's auspices. In fact, the whole work is young friends, and undoubtedly will be a favorite volume a rich repertoire of literary anecdote.
with them; that it is copiously and finely illustrated, and We are compelled to bring our notice to a close, without very beautifully gotten up in the way of print and paper; touching upon many points which we had designed to do. I and, added to these advantages, it is comparatively cheapThe book is a charming one, let us say-appreciative, dis-, a 12mo. volume of 480 pages. Price, $1 50. (Stringer & criminating, marked by rare good sense, simple and agreea- 1 Townsend.) ble in style, and altogether a success. It is published in,
- Chanticleer, a Thanksgiving Story, by Cornelius two volumes, in good style, and illustrated. (Miller, Orton &
| Matthews, has been re-published this season in a very pretty Mulligan.)
style, with illustrations, and makes a neat and acceptable --" The Complete Manual for Young Sportsmen : with holiday book." “Chanticleer" was first published about two directions for Handling the Gun, the Rifle, and the Rod; the years ago, and was a success. It was, and is, ranked with Art of Shooting on the Wing; the Breaking, Management, the Vicar of Wakefield, not without some degree of jus. and Hunting of the Dog ; the Varieties and Habits of Game; tice. It is well marked in its characters, felicitous in tone, River, Lake, and Sea Fishing, &c., &c. Prepared for the and if not as genial as we might expect from such a subject, instruction and use of the Youth of America. By Frank it illustrates, fairly and truthfully, the great festival of New Forester, author of Fish and Fishing,' The Field Sports,' England. The greatest fault of the book, we think, is its &c.” We have copied the title page of this valuable, inte melo-dramatic plot, which removes it from the sphere of resting, and beautiful work in full, as nothing we could say ordinary Thanksgiving experiences. But we rejoice in the in its behalf would so fully explain its nature and purpose. book, and wish we had more like it. (Brown, Loomis & There is no man in the country better able to prepare a book | Co.)
FASHIONS FOR JANUARY.
Actual Costume, selected at the Various Establishments, given as Authority by the Editor of this Magazine. Our fashions for the season are now so nearly defined, of galloon, two flounces quite plain and cut slantwise of the that we can speak of them with considerable certainty; and velvet, purchased at Bell's. A large half-shawl of black, though our room is limited, we will endeavor to give some surrounded by a flounce of wide Brussel's lace gave an air idea of the novelties that have been given to the fashiona- of great richness to this toilet. ble world during the present month.
Bonnets without coming more upon the face, are es. Among a splendid variety of evening and street dresses, tended downward by the cape; till they appear to have just completed in the dress-making department of Genin's increased in size without having done so. In general style Bazaar, 513 Broadway, we select two for description. One there is but little variety in the form, though it is as impos is a ball-costume of pink glacé silk, with three broad sible to find two bonnets alike as it would be to match two flounces. Over each flounce there is one of white tarletane, autumn leaves, among the thousands that have been dropwhich, however, does not descend to the edge of the silk ping away from our forest trees during the month. We flounce, but leaves between two and three inches of the lat give a description of two from the show rooms of Mrs. ter uncovered. The white tarletane flounces are edged with Cripps, 312 Canal st. One bonnet, intended for a young lady, a double puff, through the middle of which runs a wreath which we admired for its simplicity and richness, was a of rose-buds, intermingled with bright green moss instead white plush taffeta laid plainly on the foundation. The of foliage. The silk corsage is covered with white tarle front was edged to the depth of two or three inches with tane, and trimmed with puffs and narrow wreaths of rose- puffings of tulle, which extended round a deep and slightly buds, forming bretelles. The bouquet du corsage is composed pointed cape. These puffs of tulle were scattered thickly of roses and foliage. The sleeves, which are extremely with clusters of bluetts. The face trimming was a full ruche of short, are trimmed with puffs and narrow wreaths of roses. blonde, enlivened on one side with a rich, blue cactus with The front hair should be disposed in rouleau curls, between long, flowing streamers and brown velvet leaves-on the which are narrow wreaths of roses. A pocket handker- other side was a cluster of bluetts. chief with a broad border of guipure corresponds with this A bridal bonnet at the same establishment, is still more dress.
| beautiful than the one we have just described. The material The other costume, just completed for a reigning belle, at is white satin, divided with shirrs and banded between the same department, was an elegant street dress of heavy each shirr with folds of white royal velvet. On the edge, are silk, with broad stripes, green and black, on which embroi-a rich border of white velvet, two rows of exquisite blonde, dered wreaths meandered. The skirt was plain, the body and a fold of velvet edge the cape. On the left side, perched very long in the waist in the jacket style, but square in near the edge, was a white bird of Paradise, with marabout front à la Raphaël, and surrounded at the top by a green plumage floating downward, a perfect torrent of feathery and black fringe with a galloon to match. The sleeves were snow, which scattered its flashes profusely over that side of not very long, plain down to the elbow, with a band made the bonnet to the curtain. On the right, was a magnificent