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Do not to him, with hate too blind to see,
This stirs the town;' but will it long be stirred
Yet have I thought, so dreadful was my fright,
Regard my counsel: shallow wits despise,
Cherish his counsel in thy heart of hearts,
Submissive bow; and then, and not till then,
THE parley ceased: and Reason, thou hast
(Rare case, Mæcenas!) had the final word:
Portentous 'Signals' wave in billows high, [sky;
But in this modern Phoebus' quiver lies
(Forbid it Heaven!) drop withered at his praise!
Conceal this fatal weapon from his path;
SLEEPY HOLLOW. - During a recent delightful sojourn near the wizzard region of Sleepy Hollow, it was our good fortune to attend 'divine service' at the famous old Dutch church, as well as to obtain several pleasant records, connected with a narrative of certain events which once took place in its near vicinity; a story which has since been 'industriously circulated' at home, and in various languages abroad. There is a class of dogged unbelievers, who regard the 'Legend of Sleepy Hollow' as something too apocryphal for sober belief. What injustice such incredulous readers do to its conscientious author! There is not a character introduced in the whole sketch, nor the smallest bit of scenery, that had not its faithful counterpart in nature. We ourselves have often verified the Daguerreotypic truth of the reflected landscapes; we have enjoyed many a pleasant hour in the mansion of old BALTUS VAN TASSEL; we have been driven past the residence of the rich Mynheer, who parried the musket-ball with a small-sword, and who still exhibits the same to the incredulous, with the hilt a little bent; we have seen a brother of the veritable BROM BONES, a man of marvellous forecast, who, if we may believe himself, argued from the first that the 'Legend' would make that roystering blade famous. 'I tell'd BROM,' said he, 'that that story would be as good as five dollars to him; and it was, for an Englishman, who came down from York to ride through the Hollow, giv' him a five-dollar gold-piece, some years ago, just to look at him, and have a chat with him about ICHABOD CRANE, and old Balt. Van Tassel's KATRINE.' The 'Legend of Sleepy Hollow' fabulous indeed! The pulpit of the old Dutch church chanced to be supplied, on the Sunday to which we have alluded, by an itinerant vender of very poor and pious common-places, instead of the excellent clergyman who statedly ministers to the congregation. He was a Boanerges 'Son of a very Thunder;' and while he was putting obvious truths into the most vehement language, and apparently exulting in the idea that he was taking the rod of reproof out of his MAKER's hands, we could not avoid fancying that he must have sat for the portrait of a 'powerful preacher' at the East, whose style was thus depicted: 'Jotham Briggs, what on 'arth is the matter t' other side o' the river? Some darnation accident has played
Old Sam with the saw-mill! Jest hark, now- - how it grates!' To which Mr. Briggs responds: 'You considerable darned idiot!—it jest shows how much you know! That's the Rev. HIRAM JENKINS a-preachin'. He's a powerful expounder, and never throws away nothin'. Darn'd if you may'nt hear his word half over the state. He's a prime practitioner, and WILL be heer'd!' But the minister apart. We sat for an hour in a pleasant reverie, looking out upon the populous grave-yard, wherein ICHABOD CRANE used to figure on Sundays, between the services, reciting, for the amusement of the rustic belles, the epitaphs on the tomb-stones; the loud monotony of the discourse interrupted only by the spasmodic cough of a calico mare, tethered near an open window; the whisper of the breeze in the trees that skirt the adjacent stream; and the whistling sound of some vexed Rosinante, 'a-lashin' the flies with his tail.' And it was not until the speaker implored a dismissal-blessing upon the congregation, 'after they should have again sung to divine praise,' that our agreeable dream of the past was broken. It was difficult to keep one's countenance amidst the clustering thoughts that rose to mind, when the church-chorister, armed with a pitch-pipe, and facing the congregation, arose in the very place where his illustrious predecessor in the same vocation was wont to carry away the palm from the parson, and 'started the tune,' in which the primitive worshippers joined, in various note, but with hearty sympathy; bringing out, ever and anon, those tones which the historian informs us have legitimately descended from ICHABOD CRANE'S nose. It was a striking feature of the past, too, to see the rustic lads unrol their Sunday repasts, when the service was concluded, and stroll leisurely along the shady stream, or among the moss-grown tomb-stones, while the elders who lived near, rattled over the dusty roads that lead up the Hollow, to enjoy a more formal meal at home, previous to being 'brought together in the after part of the day' for the remaining 'gospel privilege.' The services at the Sleepy Hollow Church were originally performed in the Dutch dialect. It was at length proposed, at a stated meeting, that as there were many in the congregation who did not understand Dutch, and but few who could not comprehend more or less of English, the religious performances should be in English, at least a part of the time, and that English Bibles should also be used among the members. This proposition met with decided opposition from one old-school Dutchman. 'I don't know any t'ing about dat,' said he; 'I an 't going to give up my religion: I mean to stick to de fait' of my faders!' When remonstrated with, and informed that the change could in no respect vary his creed, or vitiate the faith of his fathers, he waxed exceedingly wroth, and put an end to all farther discussion, with: 'I shan't argue mit any body about it at all: I shan't alter my 'ligion! I'll stick to de fait' of my faders, and I'll stick to mine Dutch Bible, if I'm d-d for it! We believe it was this same choleric stickler for ancient usages, who refused to vote for a lightning-rod, when the old church was new. 'We've been,' said he, 'to great deal droubles, and great deal 'spence, to build a house for God Almitis; and now if he's a mind to dunder on his own house, and burn him up, let him dunder den! I shan't vote for de dunder-rod !'
THE FOREIGN REPUBLICATIONS. Mrs. MASON, late Mrs. LEWER, continues her series of republications, with unabated spirit and promptitude. In an incredibly short period after their arrival by the steam-packets, they are before their American readers, in a style of execution quite equal to the originals. We observe that Mr. BENTLEY still perpetrates his depredations upon the KNICKERBOCKER. The last number contains a 'Psalm of Life,' written by Professor LONGFELLOW for this Magazine, and My Mother's Grave,' by JAMES ALDRICH, from a late number, and both inserted not only without acknowledgment, but as original communications! Highly honorable! ... Since the foregoing was penned, the July number has reached us, containing another of Professor LONGFELLOW's 'Psalms of Life,' from the KNICKERBOCKER, without acknowledgment!' Go on, Sir!-go on!' The Church of England Magazine,' also, has a poem by WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK, credited, not to its original source, but to a Dublin magazine. This omission, however, is as evidently an accident, as Mr. BENTLEY'S is an intentional fraud.
THE CHRISTIAN EXAMINER maintains the high character which we predicted for it, under the editorial supervision of our valued friend and correspondent, the accomplished author of the 'Palmyra Letters' and the 'Letters from Rome.' Chief among the articles of the July issue, we have esteemed the Lecture by Rev. W. B. O. PEABODY, upon the 'Foundation of Christianity in the Wants of the Soul,' and the paper entitled 'Local Vestiges of the Early Propagation of Christianity in the City of Rome.' The first is marked by that purity of diction, and felicity of illustration, which are the characteristics of its author. Take, for example, the subjoined passage, enforcing the proposition that the thirst for religion is born in the human breast: 'Stifled and suppressed it may be; stiffed and suppressed indeed it is; buried deep, both in single hearts aud great communities, under a crushing weight of meaner interests and passions. Still it is there; and had we a divining-rod for the purpose, we could find the living spring, under all the worldliness that surrounds us We are told that engineers are now sounding the Asiatic deserts with Artesian wells; and they are sure to find the element far down beneath the sands that are whitened by the suns of ages. And those who, in the name of JESUS CHRIST, have gone into moral deserts, into those howling wastes of abandoned men in which the world abounds, exploring the haunts of sensual excess, the caverns of the dungeon, and the lanes of poverty, have found, if not weary in well-doing, they could set springs of devotion flowing, even there: all was not evil; the veriest rocks of the wilderness have melted under the touch of holy and geatle hands.' An equally admirable passage upon the independence of Christianity of all sects and parties, for its life and growth, we are compelled reluctantly to omit. A great amount of novel and interesting information is conveyed in the description of the 'Christian Antiquities of Rome.' The catacombs, which were at once the burial-places of the martyrs, and the humble and secret chapels of early Christian worship, are objects of great and sacred curiosity. These are labyrinthine galleries, deep beneath the soil of Rome, which were excavated before the Christian era, for the peculiar sand which formed a prominent ingredient in the ancient Roman cement. Along the sides of these galleries, rising in tiers above each other, are horizontal recesses, of the size of the human body, covered with slabs of marble. On these may now be read the first Christian inscriptions, and within the recesses lie the remains of the early marty rs and disciples of the faith. They discard the pomp of epitaphs; they merely express the prayer that the sleeper may rest in peace, and give the length of his earthly pilgrimage.' The following are some of the more simple inscriptions: O Domitius! mayst thou rest in peace;' Apthona! mayst thou live in God;''Farewell! O Sabina! Mayst thou live sweet in God,' and the like. Many of the Catholic antiquities are sufficiently apocryphal and amusing. Among these pious frauds,' is shown a spring, in a prison where PAUL was confined, which he caused to rise and flow, that he might baptize his fellow prisoners; and also on the surface of one of the solid stone walls, a print of the Apostle's face, indented by the keeper, in striking his head against it, while conveying him to his dungeon! The cavity is protected by bars of irou, lest devout worshippers should kiss away the impression! We were reminded, while reading the description of these very probable relics, of a remarkable curiosity we had lately encountered on the library-table of a friend, at his mansion on the Hudson. After having admiring a relic from the Alhambra, a piece of the Parthenon at Athens, with the sculpture of the Grecian chisel freshly preserved, and sundry interesting trifles from Italy and Spain, our host seized an instrument that looked very like a beautiful letter-folder, with an elaborately-chased handle, and holding it up, exclaimed: There! that is one of my choicest relics. What, now, do you imagine that to be? One attempted a surmise; another hazarded a guess; we confessed our utter ignorance. Well, Sir, that is the air-drawn dagger that Macbeth thought he saw! He was mistaken, you will remember; yet this is the dagger that he thought he saw! There is no doubt of its identity; for I obtained it in Scotland, at great expense.' This was the incarnation of a shadowy relic. Its interest was rather collateral, it is true; and not unlike that which attaches to a curiosity in the possession of a southern acquaintance of ours, who has in his collection the fork that belonged to the knife with which DESHA stabbed BEAUCHAMP, in Kentucky, many years since. The knife itself now divides the profits with a piece of the rope that suspended GIBBS, the pirate, in a western museum!
INTERNATIONAL COPY-RIGHT. We would call the attention of our readers to a 'Letter' upon this important theme, just published by Messrs. WILEY AND PUTNAM, in pamphlet form, and addressed to Hon. WILLIAM C. PRESTON, of South Carolina. It is from the pen of Mr. FRANCIS LIEBER, and is one of the clearest and best-reasoned essays upon the subject of which it treats, that we have ever perused. We shall aim to advert to it more at large in a subsequent number. This treatise, with the 'Plea for Authors,' and a short series of articles on 'International Copy-Right,' published a few mouths since in that excellent journal, the New-Yorker,' and written by Mr. SACKETT, of Brooklyn, will place the merits of this important question fully before the public.
Monthly Gossip with Readers and Correspondents. -The story of Micromegas, the Celestial Traveller,' in preceding pages, will arrest the attention of the reader. It is faithfully, and for the first time, to our knowledge, rendered into English, by a capable scholar, of the Amherst (Mass.) University. It contains touches of satire, upon the folly of war, the emptiness of merely speculative philosophy, and the vanity of human pretension, quite equal, as we conceive, to those in Bergerac's Journey to the Moon,' Rabelais' famous Voyage of Pantagruel,' or Swift's more celebrated Travels of GulliObserve, particularly, the keeping' between the travellers themselves, as well as between their globes and ours, and between them and the inhabitants of this little ant-hill.' As in the case of Gulliver, but grant Micromegas' first postulates, which nobody can gainsay; suppose such a planet and such a people as he and his friend come from; and every other step of the story follows naturally enough; and the improbability of the original is palliated by the artificial combination of the detail. Swift took Gulliver to Brobdignag, after he had sojourned in Lilliput; and it would be a pleasant return for a courteous condescension, if Mr. Locke, who has been to the moon, would take a friend with him, and repair to Saturn and Sirius, to repay the visit of Micromegas, and his little companion, the dwarf! 'Dramatic Drawbacks' will probably appear. It is a pleasant sketch of stage accidents, which have marred the theatrical enjoyments of the writer, at sundry times and in diverse places. Could he have been at the Bowery Theatre, when Hervio Nano, that wonderful deformed dwarf, by some defect in stage machinery, was compelled to hang for some minutes on the edge of a cloud? By the way, one cannot sufficiently admire the manner in which Mr. Hamblin' gets up' his melo-dramas. The effect of his union of physical and moral power is astounding. Now he spreads an ocean over the scenic area, and they that go down to the sea in ships,' to do stage-business in the great waters, are drowned in the sight of the audience; now, by a blast of gunpowder, he destroys a host of conspirators; and anon he restores the principal with a clap of thunder. We look forward, as the wag to Monk Lewis, for the production of some play, in which a water-spout shall be introduced, or a fall of snow, three or four feet deep, wherein the plot shall unfold itself by means of a general thaw! Care should be taken that the man who shows, should not overstep the modesty of nature, after the manner of a careless subordinate, who, in snowIng a violent storm one night at the principal theatre of a sister city, used up his fine mate.iel too early, and began to pour down paper-flakes two or three inches square, and finally rounded off with half sheets, and vexed at the prompter's importunity for more snow,' finished with a bundle,' in the ream! One should not look, however, for too close an imitation of real life now-a-days, in mimic scenes and personations. It would be in bad taste. The following, from a late English magazine, represents the manner in which the mirror is held up to nature' in the life-like performances of the French ballet: The scene is a beautiful wooded country in France, with a cottage on one side; lively music; Mr. Gilbert comes on as a peasant, in a blue satin jacket, with white silk sleeves, tight white breeches, and silk stockings, which prove that he has not been to plough that morning, at any rate: he taps at the cottage door, and Miss Ballin looks out at the window, and although it is just sunrise, she is up and dressed, with flowers in her hair, with a close-fitting velvet bodice and gauze petticoat made very full, and quite enough bustle to keep up the interest of the ballet. He lifts up his leg as high as he possibly can, and asks her to be so obliging as to come down and dance with him. She says she has no particular obJection, and leaves the window to descend the stairs, or ladder which leads to her cock-loft. The swain now gathers a nosegay all ready tied up; twirls round several times, to see that he is all right; hears the door of the cottage opening, trips across to give his bouquet to his love, when it is snatched by Miss Ballin's mother, who reprehends the conduct of Mr. Gilbert for coming a-courting at that time of day, tells him to go and work for his bread, and not be idling about there. The rustic swain asks the old lady to feel how terribly his heart beats; the mother informs Mr. Gilbert that his head is more likely to feel the beating:
Says he, at my heart I 've a beating
She drives him off, and then goes to market. Mr. Gilbert presently re-appears, and clapping his hands, eight of his young companions appear. All these are in such an independent state in happy France, that they are enabled to quit their village toil; and the most singular circumstance is, that all eight are accidently attired exactly alike, with pink vests, straw hats, and light blue smalls, with a black stripe down the seam. Of these youths the first named is about sixty years of age, and the latter approaching seventy-three, which renders it the more kind of them to come out and fatigue themselves at that time in the morning. There appears an excellent reason for their complaisance, because eight young female villagers, also dressed alike, (excepting one unfortunate, who has mislaid her white silk shoes, and is obliged to venture out in black prunella, thereby disarranging the uniformity which is so pleasing in well-regulated hamlets,) come now to the rendezvous. Each youthful swain in a moment selects his partner. Then all the sixteen point simultaneously to the cottage, and then touch their hearts and wedding-ring fingers, and then point to Mr. Gilbert, who shrugs his shoulders, extends his arms widely, and nods.' John Waters is over the water, or he would doubtless defend himself triumphantly, against the insinuations, nay the open incredulity, of Friend Hezediah Starbuck, Third,' touching his knowledge of Chowder.' Wait until his return, Friend of the Nantucket Shoal, for a rejoinder to thy missive. Peradventure some pellet may attain unto thee even there, which shall fracture thy glass tenement. Thou reasonest, questionless, from the conciseness and felicity of expression; the propriety and elegance of diction; the abounding tenderness and delicacy of feeling; and the urbane and courtly satire, of John Waters, that he can be little proficient in other matters than 'apt pieces of writing.' Know, then, that he may challenge comparison with the most renowned chef de cuisine in the French capital, for various knowledge in the 'art preservative of all arts'-the art of eating. In this regard, Mr. Waters has no rival near his throne in this country. But what a describer! We can answer for his Picture of the Boths' beautiful master-piece, (having beheld it in reality,) that the one is worthy of the other; and higher praise we could not award either. A child sleeping in dewy freshness in the softest of atmospheres, in Mr. Astor's drawing-room, and this noble effort of the Boths, would alone compose a gallery fit for a monarch. Till our eye-lids should no longer wag,' could we sit and regard the nameless charms of each of these productions, from the hands of three Favorites of Nature.' Speaking of Chowder: A correspondent inquires: What is that long anthem-peal' to which John Waters refers, in his 'Chowder' article, that often, when the shores are calm and tranqui!, takes possession of the air, and tells of the distant or the approaching storm 7'' By the mass, we cannot tell; but we believe it to be identical with
'that wild and incommunicable sound, Which in the Mexic Gulf the seaman hears, Vexing the deep profound ;'
of which the poet Simms speaks, in one of his admirable poems; but of his own knowledge, farther this deponent saith not. . . . Deeply do we sympathize with A Bereaved Mother,' and rejoice at the same moment, that the article upon the Erroneous Views of Death,' in our last number, should have afforded her joy and consolation.' Soon after the death of an affectionate husband, her little daughter was brought low; and those dear eyes, that I never looked into without pleasure, unless sorrow had suffused them, or illness dimmed their light, were soon closed forever, and the lips I had so often kissed, were faded and cold! Then the season's very joyousness but mocked my grief: for when
'I saw around me the wide fields revive,
With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring
I turned from all she brought, to those she could not bring!'
Such sentences as these are from the heart. All the mother' and the wife breathe in the tender thoughts, the touching language. Affectations, Look You,' shall have a place, with curtailment; for the writer's examples,' as pro longed, prove a little monotonous. The affectation' which springs from a smattering of the French language, might, however, have been enlarged, without detriment. A friend of ours records one out of a thousand instances, of daily occurrence: Come here, Gas-son,' said a young fopling, at one of our metropolitan eating-houses. A waiter presented himself. Your name is n't Gas-son, is it, Stupid? I called Gas-son,' yonder' and he beckoned to a lad, whom he had heard called garçon, the day before, to de his bidding! We have often laughed at the story of a person of pleasing address and appearance, who was encountered on board a steam-packet from Dover to Calais. It was observed, that whenever he obtained an auditor, he would address him courteously, and commence a discussion of the qualities of two carriages which were on the forward deck. That 'ere big coach,' said he,' is a nice 'un; but them 'ere scratches on the cab, them's the vorst on't, though!' A gentleman who heard these coarse remarks thrice repeated to different individuals, by a person of pleasing and gentlemanlike exterior, had the curiosity to inquire of one who seemed to be a companion voyager, why it should happen that his language was so strangely out of keeping with his general bearing; when lo! it transpired that he was a Parisian, sporting the little English he had learned of a cockney valet, in a brief stay in London, before his countrymen. Many an 'ignorant ramus' on this side the water makes himself equally ridiculous, in misapplying and mispronouncing the language of this ambitious Gaul; speaking it like the man whom Matthews describes, who boasted of his perfection in French, but gave the credit to his felicitous acquisition; he 'l'arnt it of a Garman, that l'arnt it of a Scotchman at Dunkirk !' We are glad to be able to mention, on the authority of a recent letter from Mr. Carlyle, that should an occasion occur, wherein he can write to edification and we have no misgivings that such a mind as his will not find occasion our readers may hope to hear at first hands' from the author of Sartor Resartus' and the French Revolution;' who does us the honor to say, that he has frequently met the Knickerbocker in London, and that it pleases him well;' and he adds, 'it seems to be becoming in England our chief representative of America, in its department.' .. Mr. Stephens' Discoveries of American Antiquities. Many of our readers will have seen, in the public journals, a brief reference to the recent discovery by Messrs. Stephens and Catherwood, at Quiragua, in Central America, while on their way to Palenque, of several gigantic statues, erect and prostrate, monuments, Titanian erections, obelisks, etc.; and this too before they had reached the scene of, or had actually commenced, their researches. Mr. Stephens, previous to his departure, kindly consented to keep Mr. Irving advised of his travels and discoveries; and these valuable and interesting communications will be inserted in the Knickerbocker. The reader will share our regret at learning that a pacquet, received for Mr. Irving, by a relation of Mr. Stephens in this city, has been accidently mislaid. There is reason to hope, however, that it is not lost; and we may presume that subsequent communications will reach us with regularity. The Eclectic Review,' several numbers of which we have received from London, is a publication of decided merit. American productions are reviewed in its pages with a laudable spirit of fairness and candor. We observe in a recent issue extended critiques upon Mr. Dewey's Discourses,' and Rev. John A. Clark's Glimpses of the Old World,' both of which are warmly commended. An article upon the Present Coudition of British India,' amply confirms the abuses which have been charged by an American writer upon the British Government in India, whose friendship for its ill-fated princes has been always fatal. It has pulled them every one from their thrones, or has left them there, the contemptible puppets of a power that works its arbitrary will through them. If they resisted alliance with the encroaching English, they were soon charged with evil intentions, fallen upon and conquered; if they acquiesced in the proffered alliance, they soon became ensnared in those webs of diplomacy, from which they never escaped without the loss of all honor and hereditary dominion; of every thing, indeed, but the lot of prisoners, where they had been kings. We have but time and space to acknowledge, as we are hastening to press, the reception from our accomplished correspondent and friend, C. C. Felton, Esq., the translator, a copy of Menzel's German Literature,' in three volumes, forming the seventh, eighth, and ninth of the Specimens of Foreign Standard Literature,' edited by Mr. George Ripley. We shall have more to say of these volumes hereafter; and therefore content ourselves for the present with the passing remark, that Menzel is a writer of extraordinary vigor and clearness, keen critical perceptions, pure moral and religious feelings, and in a wide range of literary and scientific acquisi tions almost unrivalled. The work before us was extremely well received in England, and strongly commended by the reviewers, one of whom compares the author to Burke. The Mermaid's Isle' is unequal. In portions it is exquisitely beautiful, reminding us of the finest passages in the Antient Marinere,' of Coleridge. We have left the MS. at the desk, with suggestions for corrections, as requested. Is there not a slight trenching, in one' Part,' upon the language of the Light of the Light-House,' by Epes Sargent, Esq. ?-one of the most charming poems that has graced an American periodical for years. We think so. In reply to the note of Bracebridge,' who asks to what other journals, beside the Knickerbocker, Mr. Irving is, or has been an original contributor' - he having seen a paragraph to that effect in a Boston gazette-we answer, on the best authority, to none whatever. We have on file a rich assortment' of articles for our next number; a capital one from the author of A New Home, Who 'll Follow;' the second part of Arthur's Superstition;' another' Reminiscence of the Late War ;' an Ollapodiana ;' the continuation of The Haunted Merchant,' which begins to develope the plot of the story; the second number of Ralph Ringwood;' a prose sketch, and 'Lines written in Affliction,' by John Waters; a letter from the American in Paris ;' the first of an entertaining series of Recollections Abroad,' from the letters of a friend; A Visit to the Pictured Rocks,' by H. R. Schoolcraft, Esq.; with other articles, in prose and verse, from old and favorite correspondents, which have been unavoidably omitted from the