"Stop a minute," said the lounger, who I perceived was something of a philosopher withal, "how could that be?-the water not more than half a fathom deep, and yet a ship of the line sailing in it." “Why, you land-lubber you,” replied the sailor, with no little scorn depicted in his countenance, "it's one of the rules of the service, that the Commodore must say how a ship shall sail, and none of my business." do with merchants, and have heard no particulars of the losses caused by the late storm." He cannot be a merchant, nodded the pedler; it may be he is a mechanic. “Philadelphia is a great manufacturing town, I believe. Do you know whether the mechanics have joined in TradesUnions in this city as they have in New York and Boston?" "I believe they have," answered the man in the pea-coat; "I heard a mechanic, who left the bar-room just as you en"Well, no offence, I hope," pursued the lounger, "but I tered, say that they had; and that they were talking about can't believe that story; and to tell the truth, stranger, Ia strike for wages." He is not a mechanic neither, noddon't believe your snake story neither." ded the pedler. What can he be? Perhaps he's a schoolmaster. "Do you know whether Pennsylvania has adopted any "I believe she has not, though we have a common-school system in operation in this city." I have got on the right track at last, nodded the pedler, but I will make sure of the matter. "What is the price of schooling, in the English branches, in this city" Here the familiar directed my attention to another group, seated nearer to the fire. The principal persons in the group soon attracted my notice. One of them, the familiar in-common-school system yet?" formed me, was a pedler from Connecticut. I had suspected as much the moment I saw him, from his dress, and more especially from the peculiar cast of his countenance. The other was a middle aged man of medium stature, dressed in an ordinary citizen's dress, with a pea-coat buttoned tight over his breast, and a physiognomy which, if you, reader, could make any thing out of it, you could do more than I could. There was a remarkable absence of all those peculiarities which would throw the least light upon his birth or his occupation. After looking at him for a few minutes, I concluded that he was one who would foil the most expert of those busy-bodies who are ever prying into other men's matters. But so thought not the pedler. From the first, he seemed determined to find out who the stranger was, &c. &c. After a few preliminary remarks about the weather, and some other indifferent topics, the following conversation took place between the two worthies: "They are improving New York City very much," said the pedler. "The upper part of the town is built in a much better style than the lower. Have you seen it lately?" No, sir. I have not been in New York for several years," Then you are not a citizen of New York, I guess?" “No, sir. I was born in Pennsylvania, and have spent the last twenty years of my life in this city." Here the peder gave a knowing nod of the head, which, the familiar informed me, meant so far so good. "I know where you were born, and where you live. Now for your name and occupation." "This city of your's is one of the finest in the Union, Mr. Jones. I think I heard the gentleman who just left the Fom call you Mr. Jones?" That's a lie, whispered the familiar in my ear; the gentleman who just left the room knew no more about his name than the pedler does. “No, sir, my name is Thompson; though I have not the pleasure of knowing the gentleman who just left us.” "I really am unable to say," replied the ordinary looking man; "I have nothing to do with schools myself." Not a schoolmaster, after all, thought the pedler. What can he be? He is an ordinary looking man, and wears a pea-coat. He cannot be a doctor, or lawyer, or parson. He does not follow the sea, nor staging; he is not a merchant, nor mechanic, nor schoolmaster. Ah! now I have it-fool that I am not to have thought of it before. He must be a carman. "What is the price of a good horse in these parts?" asked the pedler. "I cannot tell," replied the other; "I have nothing to do with horses, though I heard of one being sold the other day for one hundred and fifty dollars." Here the man in the pea-coat arose from his chair, and, stretching himself, gave a long yawn, and walked out of the room. Now, thought I, Mr. Pedler, your game is up. But no: so soon as the door was closed the pedler left his seat, and crossing the room to where the bar-keeper was stationed, asked him what was the occupation of the gentleman who had just left the room? "I did not notice the person who left the room," replied the bar-keeper. "Was he a middle-aged man?" "Yes sir," said the pedler, "and wore a pea-coat buttoned over his breast." "Had he sandy, blackish, brown hair, and eyes of no particular color?" inquired the bar-keeper. "Yes sir," replied the pedler, "and his name was Thompson." "Ah! Mr. greatest Thompson, was it? Why he is one of the Here, most unfortunately, a young friend came into my room, and, shaking me by the shoulders, "AL! perhaps not; I must have been mistaken in think-awakened me from my dream: for, reader, it was all a ng I heard him call your name. The late storm on the sea-dream; and, to this day, I know no more about the gentleCuast has been a very destructive one to the shipping. A man's occupation than you do. That night, I hoped I should sailor's life must be a very hard one in these rough times." be able to resume my dream, and satisfy my curiosity. But "Yes, sir, I suppose it must be." Here the pedler gave second nod, which meant, you don't follow the sea, I guess. There is but one kind of life which can at all compare with it in bad weather, and that is the life of a stage-driver. Do you know how the staging business is in this part of the world, this season?" Pretty good, I should think, from the number of persons I see travelling. The stages, as they come in and go out of the city, generally appear full; at least, when I happen to see them." Not a stage-driver neither, nodded the pedler. Can he be a grocery merchant? so far from it was I, that I dreamed of being buried in a snow-bank; and from that night to this, I have never been able to get on the same track again, or to learn any thing more of the ordinary looking man in the pea-coat. My Dear Nephew: During the summer of 1823, I spent several months in travelling through the Northern and Eastern States. On my return, I was detained for several days in Philadelphia by rainy weather. Being shut up in my hotel, and finding but little there to amuse me, in order to while away my time and save myself from a fit of the "Was there much merchandize lost during the late blues, I engaged in writing the accompanying piece. The storm? I guess some of the vessels must have been loaded first idea of it, was suggested by some incidents which had for this place." come under my observation a few days before. In crossing "I do not know," was the reply; "I have very little to New Jersey, from Easton to New York, by way of the Schoolie's-Mountain Springs and Morristown, I had the nickname the said person went by) would never imagine misfortune to fall in with a family of upstarts from New that the satire was meant for him: and to convince me that York City, who had been spending a few days at the springs; and when I commenced the present piece, I intended to have written nothing more than the part of it which forms the scene in a fashionable hotel. You may think that I have overdrawn their characters, but I can assure you I have not. On referring to a diary which I kept at the time, I find the following entry: 66 'September 4th.- Started from Easton, Pennsylvania, at four o'clock in the morning. Had but one passenger besides myself in the stage, until it reached the Schoolie'sMountain Springs. Here the stage was filled up with a family from New York City. The family consisted of--1st. One man apparently about forty-seven or forty-eight years of age, dressed in the extreme of the fashion, and having the air of a genuine braggadocia. 2nd. His wife, general appearance and deportment very much like those of her husband. 3d. A maiden sister of No. 2, far gone in a decline, not of health, but of years. 4th. Ten grown daugh ters of No. 2. 'James Thompson did from Georgia come, As likewise did his brother Thom.' he was correct in his judgment, insisted that I should go with him and hear him read it in the very presence of that person. I did go, but expecting to see a fight. In this, however, I was agreeably disappointed. Long-Tom seemed to enjoy it as much as any of us, and never, for one moment, suspected that he was the hero of the piece. Young has some admirable hits in his "Satires on Women"-one in particular occurs to me now; a case in which he seems to have summed up a whole character in a single line "She looks delightfully with all her might.” In my life, I have met with more than one lady who might, without doing any violence to truth, be thus described; and yet of the ten thousand persons who must have read this line since it was first written, I do not believe that one has ever applied it to herself. I have also noticed, that where a satire is so personal that those intended cannot but take it to themselves, they are generally offended, and not reformed. One cause of this is, that an author always introduces particulars, simply for the sake of embellishment: and when a satire is taken home, these are taken with the other particulars; and the person, feeling himself slandered in these particulars, takes offence at them. In the gossip scene, in the present piece, I have given to one lady "a rueful countenance," and to another "a pug-nose," &c. &c. These particulars were not because the actors in the gossipping scene which was my original, were distinguished by any such marks. Nor did I mean to say any thing to the disparagement of aid maids in general; for there is no class in the community for whom I have a more sincere respect-old bachelors only excepted. I speak of old maids in general, though. There are some whose feelings seem to undergo a sort of "saccharine fermentation" before they sour with age, and these― But enough of this. 5th. A third daughter, aged about twelve, very fidgety. 6th. A fleshy Irish servant girl, with a child of No. 2 in her arms. When the party came up to the stage-door, my companion and myself gave up our seats, and placed ourselves on the front seat of the stage, and, in return for our polite-introduced simply for the purpose of embellishment, and ness, heard such remarks as the following made by the females of the party: 'I thought we were to have the whole stage to ourselves. It is so unpleasant to be packed away in a stage with all kinds of people; I declare I will never ride in a stage again. The next time I come out to the springs, I will come in our own carriage,' &c. &c. When they came to seat themselves, No. 1 placed the fleshy Irish servant girl, with her precious burden, on the front seat, between my companion and myself, instead of taking that seat himself as any real gentleman would have done. As the day was very warm, the roads very dusty, and the child kicked and cried, and cried and kicked, most of the time, I believe I should have lost my temper entirely but for the amusement the party furnished me by their affectation of gentility. Soon after we left the springs, we passed one of those little round-topped hills, of which there are 10,000 in New Jersey alone, when No. 2 remarked to her husband, that the hill reminded her very strongly of the hills about Paris," &c. &c. The particular point to which I wished to direct your attention, in sending you this piece, was a similarity in its general plan to that of a celebrated piece, entitled “Phila delphia Unroofed," which appeared in the “Old Polyanthos," published some five or ten years before this was writ ten. I know you have seen the piece, as the bound volume of the Polyanthos containing it is in your father's library, and used to be one of your favorite books before you lea home. The similarity consists in this, that in both pieces the hero is conducted from place to place by a famılar This was the original from which I drew the "fashiona- spirit, and by his assistance is enabled to learn men's ble hotel scene" in the present piece, and each of the other thoughts; and in the conclusion, the author, to get rid of the scenes had an original about as much like them as this one. air of improbability which the piece would otherwise have When I wrote this piece, 1 intended to have sent it to the had, has made it all turn out a dream. In the subjects of Editor of one of the New York papers for publication, so the two pieces there is no similarity whatever. "Philadel that it might meet the eyes of the persons for whom a part|phia Unroofed” is a violent and personal political sature, of it was intended; but on thinking more maturely about whilst the present piece is entirely different in its charac the matter, I concluded that it would do no good, and so ter. In thinking of the two pieces, the question preseas threw it into my trunk. Indeed, I think it very questiona- itself-could I, for making use of the general plan of "P ble whether satire ever does much good, and for this reason-ladelphia Unroofed," be considered a plagiarist in the prothe persons to whom it applies very seldom take it to per sense of that term? I think not. When I wrote this themselves. There is always some one of their neighbors | piece, I did not recollect that any other piece on the same or acquaintances whom it suits so exactly, that, in the plan had ever been written; and it was not until several abundance of their liberality, they give it all to them. I weeks afterwards, that "Philadelphia Unroofed" occurred recollect, when in college, my room-mate once wrote a to my memory. I had certainly read that piece several satire, introducing into it some things so strikingly charac-years before, but its plan had become so thoroughly incor teristic of a certain fellow-student of ours, that when he read it to me, I could not hesitate a moment in fixing upon the original he had before his mind in writing it-and told him he must be careful not to let that person (naming him) see the piece, as he would certainly take offence at it. My room-mate confessed that the person I named was the original; but, at the same time remarked, that Long-Tom (the porated with my general stock of knowledge, that I had ea tirely forgotten the source from which I derived it. If we call that author a plagiarist who makes use of information of this character, I do not believe that there is an author on earth to whom you may not apply this title. My own view of the case is this: when an author has been possessed of any item of information, for so long a time as to forget the source from which he derived it, he may fairly make use of country and in Europe, remarks-"That it is vain to init without laying himself open to reproach. By far the quire to which the merit of the discovery most properly greater part of every author's thoughts are not strictly ori- belongs, since each discovered the fact without any knowginal with him. In the course of his reading, he is struck | ledge of what the other had done. The progress of science with some thought of the author whose works he is perus- is such, that important discoveries have often been made ing. He remembers it; and afterwards, when he is prepar- in several places at the same time." A similar remark ing to write on some subject, during the chrystalization of might be made, perhaps with greater justice, respecting the the materials of his intended piece, or that process in which works of literary men. The advancement of man in knowach thought assumes its proper place and the whole of his ledge has been such, that the same train of thought, and terials a regular form, this thought comes in among often the same forms of expression, have been used by difothers; and the author, entirely unconscious of the source ferent writers at the same time; and this without either from which it has been derived, makes use of it as if it borrowing from the other. And this will doubtless become were properly his own. If, for so doing, he is to be charged more and more frequently the case as knowledge becomes with plagiarism, the task of the author who will avoid the more generally diffused, and the facilities for transporting charge, is a difficult task indeed. books and periodicals are multiplied; and thus the progress in knowledge of all parts of the human family becomes equalized. But there is another view of this matter which is worthy of consideration. When an author of fiction brings forward a plan entirely new, the person who immediately copies from him is justly chargeable with plagiarism. But the plan of a piece is something of so general and comprehensive a character, that there can be but few which shall difSer entirely from each other; and hence, it seems to be admitted as a law in the Republic of Letters, arising ex neneesitate rei, that after a certain time the plan shall escheat to the Republic, and thus become the property of literary men in general. Such was the fact with respect to the plan of this piece at the time I used it. Since this piece was written, I have met with a piece, in the writings of soce old English author, published fifty or one hundred years before" Philadelphia Unroofed," written on this very an. Whether it originated with that English writer, or with some one still more ancient, I am unable to say. Do not understand me as claiming any originality in the plan of this piece originality and plagiarism are by no means the converse of each other; and all that I mean to say, is, that for using the plan in the circumstances in which I did, the name of plagiarist could not properly be given me, in any sense which would convey a reproach. In assuming such a position as this, I am aware that I pose myself to that tribe of literary scavengers who are aways on the look out for what they term plagiarisms-Lose who have called Scott and even old Milton himself, plagiarists, simply because they have happened sometimes to have the same turn of thought or expression which some ther author has had before them. There is nothing more natural than that authors, writing on the same or similar jects, should sometimes think and express themselves in the same way; more especially, if, for any reason, they zave been led to pursue pretty nearly the same course of reading. I recollect once writing a speech, in which I made use of a certain historical metaphor. A day or two after I had finished it, I received a copy of a speech devered on a somewhat similar occasion to that for which Lite had been prepared; and on examining it, I found that the anthor, in one place, had the same train of thought with myself, had made use of the same metaphor, and in almost the very same words. This coincidence I can easily account for. A very popular historical work had appeared a year or two before the time at which these speeches were Written; and in this work, the historical fact on which the metaphor was based, was stated. We had probably both of us read the same work at pretty nearly the same time, and had been struck with the same fact. Shortly afterwards, being called upon to speak in circumstances very similar, these circumstances suggested to both the same train of hought, and thus lead to the use of the same metaphor. Such cases as this, I consider very analogous to those of the simultaneous discovery of facts in science, by different men and in different countries. A very able writer in the Encyclopedia Britannica, when speaking of the simultaneous discovery of the true nature of lightning in this TO MY WIFE. BY A LAWYER. How shall I sing thee; of my heart Long has the muse my boyhood's flame, Alas! my weakness! well she spied Nor shall she weave the tinsell'd strain Bright emanation from the throne Smile in their tears, thy name to bless; Thou wert not young, when first I knew RAMBLING SKETCHES. BY A RUSTIC. the gay field and the fragrant meadow, or on the shady margin of the wood, rearing its simple stalk and delicate blue flower; and while its more flaunting rivals court the deceitful and too often fatal kisses of the April winds, it seems to shrink from their touch-an emblem of modest purity retreating from the dangerous admiration of the world. So sweetly does it seem to retire from notice that, in stooping to touch it, you might almost fancy its delicate blossoms were suffused with a soft blush Like virtue, it is enduring too; and though one of the first flowerets of Spring, it lingers till the leafy month of June, and sometimes even retains its freshness and fragrance under the beams of her sultry sister-July. And why, you will ask, if it be so worthy of notice, why has this gem among flowers attracted so little attention from the lovers of the beautiful? For two reasons-in the first place, because of its unassuming appearance; and, in the second, because it bears the unpoetical, unmelodious, shell-fish appellation of periwinkle! Who can connect any thing of the ideal, the beautiful, the spiritual, with such a title? It is a living, standing reputation of the idea that "The rose by any other name would smell as sweet," And, as if that were not bad enough, the vulgar have corrupted it into pennywinkle! Flora, forgive them. Spring-gay and genial Spring is abroad, and has clad the earth in her mantle of green, decked Now, Mr. Editor, I appeal to you as a man of with many a wreath of fair and fragrant flowers- sense, if it is not disgraceful to every lover of the the bridal attire in which she receives the warm Poetry of Nature," that this sweet child of embraces of the sun, who woos her with his gentle Spring should be suffered to retain so barbarous a beams, and fans her cheek with the breath of the cognomen. I am confident that you will agree soft south wind. Be not alarmed, dear reader; it with me and lend your aid, as one "clothed with is not my purpose to give you a rhapsody on Spring authority" in the literary realm, to free it from this and its glories, which have been the theme of odious misnomer, and bestow some more appro every bard and bardling from the happy days of priate title. Well then, Mr. Editor, what think Virgil, when poets used to sit in the shade and you of MARY FLOWER? Mary! who can describe mind sheep, down to the present iron age of this the sweetness of that exquisite name!—who can hard-working, money-making, “bank-note world." analyze the mysterious charm which it conveys? By-the-by-speaking of the old eulogist-he evi-Alike beautiful in all situations of life-alike apdently made a sly hit at the paper system when propriate to the high-born princess and the simple he wrote "non credite ripis," (trust not the Banks.) Virgil was decidedly a hard-money man. But to return to our subject. As I was saying, it is far from my intention to write a pastoral: I would as soon think of dosing you with a "Tale of Venice," full of "latticed windows," "dark lagoons," "swift gondolas," carnivals and masquerades, as of adding any thing to what has already been written, sung, and said about violets, primroses, daisies, or cowslips. Nevertheless, amidst the profusion of gayer beauties that have been each immortalized by the lays of a thousand admiring bards, there is one modest though lovely flower which passes unnoticed and unsung, that I would willingly rescue from oblivion. Reader; if your tastes are at all rustic, you must have observed it in strolling through peasant girl, it still floats on our ears with the same spell-like influence-the same mystic melody. To the young, the very name seems a warrant of loveliness; and even the grey-haired sire fee's his blood quickened in his veins at the sound of a name, which, perchance, recalls to his remenbrance the trials and joys-the hopes and fears of his early love. Then call to mind the associations connected with it-the Virgin-mother-the sainted Mazdalen―the gifted and beautiful Queen of Scotssweet Mary Howitt, in our own time-with a thoasand others who flit before the mind in a long array of loveliness. Yet, although "I have a passion for the name of Mary," deem me not, fair reader, a bigot in the faith. I can admire the sweet Ellen-the so Charlotte-the gentle Fanny-and the sublime | For Autumn will bring forth its clouds and its sadness, dance with the sylph-like Emily—and flirt with the Or crush, like a fiend, in the wild fit of madness, gay and graceful Lucy. Then there are Rosa, Louisa, Amanda, and a host of others, that fall with equal melody upon our ears, each touching some pleasant chord of memory or association, and breathing of "sparkling eyes," "rosy lips," and thrilling tones. But this is "rambling" with a vengeance. The bed of “periwinkles” at my feet recalls the subject; and when I look at the flower, so graceful, sweet and Mary-like in its appearance, and think of "Mary," so graceful, sweet and flower-like; it seems as natural that the first should be called Mary-flower, as that the bride should assume the name of her spouse, and excites some wonder that it should be known by any other. But you cloud in the west is admonishing me to retire; and, moreover, in spite of the romance of a mossy seat, on the bank of a crystal brook, the musquitoes that rise from the aforesaid brook will sting-an operation that has too much of the pathetic for my taste. I must therefore pack up my "stationary" and decamp, leaving it to you, Mr. Editor, to carry out the proposition of Your obedient servant, CARL. THE FIRST DAY OF MAY. From the isles of the South where the wild bee reposes, The welcome of joy, o'er the pine-circled mountains, Thro' the deep tangled forests by the pure silver fountains, Till the young buds awake from their long winter slumbers, An emblem is this of the world's fleeting vision, Aias! it is said, that the sweet hours of childhood, Be it then the wise thought in life's spring-time and beauty, To learn from the season the truths which it gave, That rose-buds of hope, twin'd with tendrils of duty, May shed their perfume o'er the heart and the grave. VOL. VI-49 Each promise that bloom'd on the first day of May. Yet beyond this sad world, in glory resplendent, ELLEN DALE. Ellen Dale is descended from an ancient English family of that name, in the county of Staffordshire, who are said to trace their origin as far back as to the time of Blank Adam, Esq, of Paradise, Gent.' Indeed, an old lady of the family, very wise in matters of that kind, was in the habit of dating the rise of the family at a period considerably anterior to that era, and the ordinary suavity of her manner was never so much interrupted, as when her peculiar views on this subject met with contradiction, or doubt. Ellen Dale, the subject of this memoir, was born by the best accounts, on the 17th day of October, in the year 1825. This anniversary she is in the habit of celebrating by a dinner of fried middling and ash-cake, and by kicking up her heels particularly high on that day. She was born at Barnhill, her father's residence, about three miles south of Tustenuggee, in the county of, and state of The house at Barnhill is perfectly retired, being at least a mile distant from the main stageroad; it is a large mansion, for that part of the country,-shaded by locust and oak trees. Her his friends and the public in general, was small of father, Robert Dale, commonly called Bobby by stature, but muscular and athletic, a capital swordsman, of a quick passionate temper, with the eye of a hawk, and the organ of combativeness in alto relievo on his head. Yet withal, he was of a gentle, amiable, generous disposition, the idol of his friend and pet of his family, of which he was, like Benjamin, the youngest son. He was a great lover of Indians, having spent a great deal of time among them, and being from his early boyhood of a roving turn. He was in the habit of hunting with the Chickasaws, Cherokees, and Choctaws; sometimes went accoutred in their costume,-huntingshirt, mocassins and leggins. He could imitate the ball-play, and perfectly versed in the several arts warwhoop exactly for the world; no bad hand at of bee-hunting, fish-spearing, deer-driving, and bear-traps. The Chickasaws, &c., were extremely |