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get a full-blooded pinter to pint 'em out, while I hold a candle to see which way be pints. It would'nt be a bart notion og sich occasions to ask the man in the steeple to ring which way the moon is. Lamps is lainps, and moons is moons, in a business pint of view, but practically they ain't mucb, if the wicks ain't afire. When the luminaries are, as I may say, in the ruw, it's bad for me. I can't see the ground as perforately as little fellers, and every dark night I'm sure to get a hyst - either a forred kyst, or a backered hyst, or some other sort of a hyst — but more backerds ihan forrerds, 'specially in winter. One of the most mfeeling tricks I know of, is the way some folks have got of laughing out, yaw-haw! when they see a gentlemau ketching a riggler hy:i - a long gentleman, for instance, with his legs in the air, and his noddle splat down upon ihe cold bricks. A byst of itself is bad enough, without being sniggered at; first, your sconce gets a crack; then, you see all sorts of stars, and have free admission to the fire-works; then, you scramble up, feeling as if you had no head on your shoulders, and as if it wasn't you, but some confounded disagreeable feller in your clothes; yet the jacksnipes all grill, as if the misfortunes of human nature was only a puppet show. I would n't inind it, if you could get up and look as if you did n't care. But a mun can't rise, after a royal hyst, without letting on he feels flat. Jo such cases, however, sympathy is all gammon; and as for seusibility of a winter's day, people keep it all for their own poses, and can't be coaxed to retail it by the small.'”
Some idea of the nature of bis 'hysts,' may be gathered from an incidental description of his extraordinary procerity:
"I can't borrow coats, because I do n't like cuffs at the elbows. I can't borrow pants, because it is n't the fashion to wear knee-breeches, and all my stockings is socks. I can't hide when any body owes me a lambasting. You can see me a mile. When I sit by ibe fire, I can't get near enough to warm my body, without burning my knees; and in a stage-coach, there's no room between the benches, and the way you get the cramp- don't mention it!'”
Here is another picture, which we ask each one of our readers fully to embody, and then say if it be not perfect. It is the portraiture of Mr. Duberly Doublington:
“ His eyebrows form an uncertain arch, rising nearly an inch above the right line of determination, and ihe button of his nose is so large and blunt as to lend any thing but a penetrating look to bis countenance. His under lip droops as if afraid to clench resolutely with its antagonist; and bis wbiskers hang dejectedly down, instead of bristling like a cheraui de frise toward the outward angle of the eye. The hands of Mr. Doubtington always repose in his pockets, unwilling to trust to their own means of support, and he invariably lcans his back against the nearest sustaining object. When he walks, his feet shufile here and there so dubiously that one may swear they have no specific orders where to go; and so indefinite are the motions of his body, that even the tails of his coat have no charaoteristic swing. They look, not like Mr. Doubtington's coatlails, but like coat-tails in the abstract - undecided coat-tails, that have not yet got ibe hang of any body's back, and have acquired no more individuality than those which dangle at the shop. doors in Water-street."
As elections are always pending, somewhere in the republic, a reference to Peter Brush,' and his advice touching 'politicianers, may not be amiss. He is one who 'loves his country and wants an office; he don't care what, so it's fat and easy.' He has been in many a busy skirmish, and has often assisted to blow the bellows of party, till the whole furnace of politics was alive with sparks and cinders; but it has availed his personal interests little, for we find him on the side-walk, 'a little elevated,' presenting a dirty 'circular recommend' lo a by-stander for his signature, 'for a fat post, either under the city government, the state government, or the gineral government.' 'Now, jist put your fist to it,' says he, in most persuasive tones, ' as he smoothed the paper over his knee, spread it upon the step, and produced a bit of lead pencil, which he first moistened with his lips, and then offered to his interlocutor.' He adds:
""I've a genus for governing -- for telling people what to do, and looking at 'cın do it. I want to take care of my country, and I want my country to take care of me. Head work is the trade I'm made for — talking - that's my line-talking in the streets, talking in the bar-rooms, talking in the oyster cellars. Talking is the grease for the wagon wheels of the body politic and the body corpulent, aby nothing will go on wcil till I've got my say in the matter; for I can talk all day, and most of the night, only stopping to wet my whistle. But parties is all alike-all ungrateful; no respect for genus -- no respect for me. I've tried both sides, got nothing, and I've a great raind to knock off, and call it half a day.'”.
*Dilly Jones' is a capital sketch. He has been successively driven from the employments of oyster-vending, 'pepree-pot'-soup peddling, though his 'cats was as fresh as any cats in the market;' from the bean-soup line, because his customers said, “kittens was n’t good done that way;' and, lastly, from wood-sawing, by the general consumption of coal. Time has changed every thing, and all occupations were carried on by labor-saving machinery. After declaring his intention of listing for a watchman, or turning city pig-catcher, a second thought strikes him:
""But what's the use? If I was listed, they 'd soon find out to hollor the hour, and to ketch the thieves by steam; yes, and thoy 'd take 'em to court on a rail-rend, and try 'em with biling water. Thoy 'll soon bave black locomotives for watchmen and constables, and big bilers for judges and mayors. Pigs will bo ketched by steam, and will be biled fit to eat before they are done squealing.
By-and-by, folks won't be of no use at all. There won't be no people in the world but tea-kettles; no mouths, but safety valves; and no talking, but blowing off sioain. If I had a little biler inside of me, I'd turn omuibus, and week-days I'd run from Kensington to the Navy Yard, and Sundays I'd run to Fairmount.'"
We have quoted but from a small portion of the volume, which abounds in similar etchings, interspersed with choice fragments of philosophy, and gems of humor. The illustrations, by Johnston, are exceedingly clever. He has embodied the conceptions of the author with truth and spirit.
The Girl's READING BOOK IN PROSE AND Poetry. For Schools. By Mrs. L. H.
SIGOURNEY. In one volume. pp. 243. New-York : J. ORVILLE TAYLOR, 'American Common School Union.'
Most gladly do we welcome tbis teeming little volume, and as cordially commend it to the attention and affections of parents and children, teachers, and pupils, wherever these pages are read. Our readers are not unacquainted with Mrs. SIGOURNEY's masculine intellect, and her high gifts as a writer, both in poetry and prose. They will therefore know how to estimate the work before us, when we tell them, that as a whole, it has never been excelled by any thing from its author's pen, in the purity of its moral lessons, and the grace and simplicity of its style. Higher praise we could scarcely award it. A single extract from 'Early Recollections,' depicting, as with a pencil of lighi, the evils of intemperance and war, musi limit our examples of the contents of this charming book :
" I saw a man with a fiery and a bloated face. He was built strongly, like the oak among trees. Yet bis steps were weak and unsteady as those of the tottering babe. "He fell heavily, and lay as one dead. I marvelled that uo hand was stretched out to raise him up.
“I saw an open grave. A widow slood near it, with her little ones. They looked downcast and sad at heart. Yet methought, it was famine and misery, more than sorrow for the dead, which had set ou them such a yellow and strivelled seal.
“I said, 'What can bave made the parents not pity their children when they hungered, nor call them home when they were in wickedness? What made the friends forget their early love? and the strong mau fall down senseless ? and the young die before his time?' I heard a voice say • Intemperance! And there is mourning iu the land, because of this.'
"Sol returned to my home, sorrowing. And had God given me a brother or a sister, I would have thrown my arms around their neck, and entreated,' Touch not your lips to the poison cup, and let us drink the pure water, which God has blessed, all the days of our lives.'
"Again I went forth. I met a beautiful boy weeping, and I asked him why he wept. He answered, Because my father went to the wars and is slain, he will return no more.' I saw a mournful woman. The sun shone upon her dwelling. The honeysuckle climbed to its windows, and sent in its sovet blossoms to do their loving message. But she was a widow. Her husband had fallen in battle. There was joy for her no more.
" I saw a hóary man, sitting by the way side. Grief had made furrows upon his forehead, and his garments were thiu and tattered. Yet he asked not for charity. And when I besought him to tell me why his heart was heavy, le replied faintly, 'I had a son, an only one. From his cradle, I toiled, that he might have food and clothing, and be taught wisdom.
** He grew up to bless me. So all my labor and weariness were forgotten. When he became a man, I knew po want ; for he cherished me, as I had cherished him. Yet he left me to be a soldier, He was slaughtered in the field of battle. Therefore, mine eye runneth down with water, because the comforter that should relieve iny soul, returns no more.!
“I said, "Show me, I pray thec, a field of battle, that I may know what war means. But he answered, ' Thou art not able to bear the sight. Tell me, then,' I entreated,' what thou hast seen, when the battle was done.'
"• I came,' he said, ' at the close of day, when the cannon ceased their thunder, and the victor and vanquished bad withdrawn. The rising moon looked down on the pale faces of the dead. Scat. tered over the broad plain, were many who still struggled with the pangs of death.
“They stretched out the shattered limb, yet there was no healing hand. They strove to raise their heads, but sank deeper in the blood which flowed from their own bosoms. They begged in God's name that we would put them oui of their misery, and their piercing shrieks entered into my soul.
*** Here and there, horses mad with paiu, rolled and plunged, mangling with their hoofs the dying, or defaciüg the dead. And I remembered the mourning for those who lay there -- of the parents who had reared them, of the young children who used to sit at home upou their knee.!
“ Then I said, tell me no more of battle or of war, for my heart is ead.' The silver-haired man raised his eyes upward, and I kneeled down by his side.
“And he prayed, 'Lord, keep this child from anger, and hatred, and ambition, which are the sceds of war. Grant to all that own the name of Jesus, hearts of peace, that they may slun every deed of strife, and dwell at last in the country of peace, even in heaven.'
The poetry of the volume is in all respects equal to the prose, of which the above is but an average specimen.
SIR WALTER SCOTT AND Mr. Cooper.– The following communications, placed in our hands by the author of the 'Pilot,' the 'Spy,' etc., will speak for themselves. We submit them to our readers without comment, farther than to ask attention to the col. lateral theme of international copy-right, embraced in the letter of Mr. COOPER, and the memorial of the AUTHOR OF WAVERLY, appealing 'to the liberality, perhaps in some bort to the justice,' of the American people. It gives us pleasure to see the arguments so often advanced in this Magazine, thus ably brought forward and sustained.
TO THE EDITORS OF THE KNICKERBOCKER.
GENTLEMEN: The diary of Sir WALTER Scott, as given by Mr. LOCKHART, contains the following allusions to myself:
• Norember 3, (1826.) – Visited Princess Galitzin, and also Cooper, the American povelist. This man, who has shown so much genius, has a good deal of the manners, or want of manners, peculiar to bis countrymen. He proposed to me a mode of publishing in America, by eutering the book as the property of a citizen. I will think of this. 'Every little helps, as the tod says, when,' etc.
November 6.-Cooper came to breakfast, but we were obsedes partout. Such a number of French. men bounced in successively, and exploded (I mean discharged) their compliments, that I could hardly fud an opportunity to speak a word, or entertain Mr. Cooper at all.'
In the evening to Princess Galitzin, where were a whole covey of Princesses of Russia, arrayed in lartan, with music and singing to boot. The person in whom I was most interested, was Mad. de Boufflers, upward of eighty, very polite, very pleasant, and with all the acquirements of a French court lady, of the time of Mad. Sevigué, or of the correspondent rather of Horace Walpole. Cooper was there; so the Scotch and American lions took the field together. Home, and settled our affairs to depart.'
The foregoing extracts are the only instances in which I am honored by the notice of Sir Walter Scott, so far as appears by the published diary, during his visit to Paris, in 1826. As I have given the world reason to suppose that my relations with Sir Walter Scott, at that time, were of a nature very different from what this diary will sustain, I feel it due to myself and to the truth, to lay the whole matter more plainly before the public.
On the subject of manners, I have very little to say. Sir Walter Scott struck me as having national peculiarities of this sort, and it is not surprising that the feeling should be reciprocal. The manners of most Europeans strike us as exaggerated, while we appear cold to them. Sir Walter Scott was certainly so obliging as to say many flat. tering things to me, which I, as certainly, did not return in kind. As Johnson said of his interview with George the Third, it was not for me to bandy compliments with my sovereign. At that time, the diary was a sealed boo kto the world, and I did not know the importance he attached to such civilities. But it may be that the allusion to myself, in this diary, refers to a fact which will be found in the following statement.
When it was known that Sir Walter Scott had reached Paris, I wrote a letter to him, containing a proposition for publishing in America, by which I thought he might be benefitted, in the unfortunate situation in which he was understood to be then placed. As his incognito, though but flimsily preserved, had not been formally laid aside, at that time, and as he makes a very similar comment on American manners, in connexion with a supposed invasion of his privacy by a lady of this country, I am led to believe
that he thought my letter obtrusive, at the moment he made the entry in his diary. Of that letter I possess no copy. It was written, to the best of my recollection, plainly, simply, and with the feelings I then possessed ; and I would cheerfully publish it, were it in my power. I purposely abstained from calling in person, in order that Sir Walter Scott, if he saw fit, might refer me to the publisher of the novels, or in any other manner evade the necessity of betraying himself. I confess I did not expect he would take any such course, the failure of Constable having rendered farther concealment next to impossible; nor was I disappointed, Sir Walter Scott visited me, opened the subject of the letter naturally, spoke of his works freely, and otherwise manifested any feeling but that of dissatisfaction at the liberty I had taken. The day but one after this visit, I breakfasted with him, on his own invitation, with a view to arrange our plan of operations ; the day succeeding that, he was with me again, for an hour, when he handed me the letter which accompanies this statement, and we parted as friends. That evening I saw bim for the last time in Paris, at the Princess Galitzin's, as mentioned in the diary.
Sir Walter Scott did not accept my proposition, but substituted a plan of his own. By this plan, he was to address a letter to me, in the character of the Author of Waverly, which was to contain an appeal to the American nation. For the authenticity of this appeal, I was to vouch, and I was to support it in the best manner I could. In order that the reader may better understand the whole matter, however, I give publicity to the following letters.
Mansion House, Philadelphia, March 9th, 1838. GENTLEMEN :
Some time in November, 1926, I wrote a letter to you, from Paris, enclosing one signed “The Author of Waverly, on the subject of the publication of his works in America. Doubtless you will recollect the circumstance, and most probably you retain the letters. You will much oblige me, by furnishing me with copies of both, and by relating the leading circumstances connected with their receipt, etc.
Very truly, yours, (Signed)
J, FENIMORE COOPER. Messrs. CAREY, LEA AND Co.
Philadelphia, March 14th, 1838. DEAR SIR :
In answer to your letter of the ninth instant, we have the pleasure to enclose you a copy of your letter, addressed to our late firm, dated Paris, November 9, 1826, and which, as appears by the date of our answer, must have been received about the last of Decernber, of that year. You have also a copy of the letter from the author of Waverly, enclosed at that time in yours, the original of which is in the hands of a friend, who has made the transcript.
We are, very respectfully,
CAREY, LEA AND Co. J. FENIMORE COOPER, Esq.
Monday morning, No. 6 York Buildings, }
March 12th, 1838. MY DEAR SIR:
I SEND you an exact copy of Sir Walter Scott's letter, verbatim, literatim, et punctuatim, I was about to say, but that cannot with any propriety be said of a leiter which is without any other points than periods.
There is no year, but it was written in 1826, and the words 'Rue Rivoli' ha been brushed over with the finger of the writer, but are quite legible in the original. The babit of signing his name, caused him to write his Christian name at the end of the letter; but a moment's reflection caused him to endeavor to obliterate it; it is still legible, however. I have copied the address to Mr. Cooper exactly.
Very truly, yours,
EDWARD D. INGRAHAM. Isaac LEA, Esq.
Paris, November 9th, 1826. The enclosed is a letter from the Author of Waverly, containing his decision on a subject which has been agitated between us, with much interest on my part. I was of opinion, that by proper assignments, and with sufficient care in publishing, copy, righis might be obtained by an English subject, for the same work, both in England and in the United States. I fell into the error, by my recollections of an examination which I had once made, with a view to ascertain what privileges an American might enjoy, in a similar situation. I still think that he is permitted to control the sale of his works in the two countries, bat I regret to see that a narrow, and as I conceive an impolitic, jealousy, has confined the right to works which are written by citizens, in our statute on the subject.
Cannot the force of public opinion be made to act in this case ? You have the reasong of the Author of Waverly, and may
add his feelings, as written by himself, in the enclosure. What would be the result, if you were to come before the public, with this communication to support you, making a pledge, on your parts, to account to a competent agent for a možety of the profits of the work in question, and calling on other publishers to respect a night, which ought to be far more sacred than it could be made by any legislative enactments? It is needless that I should say any thing in favor of a man who has so long nobly neglected his interests, in this particular, and who now only consents to listen to my proposal to give them this tardy attention, under the pressure of circumstances, which may not be named, though they render his motives so highly honorable to his character and his principles. I know that the struggle with himself has been severe and painful ; and that when he did determine to act in the matter, he manfully rejected all covert means to effect the desired object, but has come out with the dignity and frankness that became him.
If you think the appeal would be likely to be successful, permit me to name Mr. CHARLES WILKES, of New York, as a gentleman whose character would serve the object of the plan, for a suitable person to receive the emolument of the author's moiety, and, should such a step be necessary to satisfy the captious, to examine the account of sales. The well-known and merited reputation of this gentleman, will serve to silence the pretended doubts of those who may be interested in raising them; and as as he is perconally known to the author, his correspondence with the latter can be direct and confidential. In order still farther to quell suspicion, I have affixed a certificate to the letter of the author, to show that the document is genuine. My signature is well known at home, and may be easily verified. It is proper that I should here add, that my communications with the author of Waverly on this subject have been of the most unreserved character. I pledge myself to the truth of the letter, and to the identity of the individual.
I could wish that this striking, and, as I conceive, touching appeal, to the justice of our nation, would open the eyes of her legislators to the defects in the law of copy-right, as it now stands. No two nations ever before existed, in circumstances like England and the United States. The former possessed all the literature, while the latter stood ready, full grown and matured, to receive any and every impression which the writers of her rejected mistress might choose to convey. Is it at all surprising, that England should have exercised her moral dominion over us, so long after her political sovereignty had ceased? Perhaps the evil was, from the nature of circumstances, in some degree unavoidable; but I conceive that no measure taken by our government, could have so well assisted them in retaining this power, as that provision of the law of copy-right, which says that the works of none but citizens shall be protected. The whole range of English literature is thrown open to the American publisher. He chooses his book, after it has gone through the ordeal of a nation of readers, and he offers it to his countrymen, supported by the testimony and praise of reviews, that in their turn have come before the American public with a similar flourish of trumpets, to announce their cleverness and spirit. Against this formidable array of names, and of forestalled opinion, the native writer has to make head, or to fail. But, as if not satisfied with this advantage, the law throws the resistless power of money into the foreign side of the scale. What publisher will pay a native writer for ideas that he may import for nothing? Now I conceive that if the law were so far changed, as to permit the authors, if proprietors, of any book, etc., which had not been before published in the States, to lake out copyrights, it would in a great degree remove the evil. The measure would be liberal, at the same time that it would be just to ourselves.
I very well know that it may be said such a provision would raise the price of books, and that it would be creating a monopoly in favor of the large dealers. Monopoly' is always a safe cry in a popular government. But are not all laws of copy-right monopolies? They raise the price of books for a time, with a view to multiply them, and of course to extend knowledge. I readily grant, that so long as we can be content to import our ideas, we may receive them at a cheaper rate, under the present law; but then is it not wise to inquire into the prudence of giving such a large portion of the press into Srogn hands, especially in a government that receives not only all its power, but its
impulses, from popular will, and consequently from popular opinion ?