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genius, but his style is as yet crude and uncultivated. His imagination 'is a good blood mare, and goes well; but the misfortune is, she has too many paths before her.' 'A Chapter on Beards,' in which the Folly and Wickedness of Shaving are Demonstrated,'' National Recollections,' as connected with American Literature, Life and Love in the Abstract,' and' Lines about a Nose,' together with several poems of greater or less length, received during the month, are under consideration. ... 'P.,' who asks us to inquire the age of a friend and correspondent, is not aware, we suppose, that he is slightly impertinent. Ask a lady her age! We once put the question to an elderly female, whom we supposed had ceased to feel any sensitiveness on the point, and her reply was, that she was considerably advanced in years;' and she was, if not more. She could not have been far from sixty! We have always admired the considerate forecaste of the kind husband who, every new year's morning, kissed his wife affectionately, and asked, 'Well, my dear, how old are you to be this year?' Such deliberate precaution obviated many awkward mistakes and contradictions. It is a little singular, by the way, that a Frenchman never asks one's age, nor will he ever give a direct answer concerning his own; but evades the query with some such equivocal answer as: 'Oh, mon Dieu! I am as old as the town;' or 'I thank God, I am in good health,' etc. 'A Roman Catholic,' who complains of the poetical fragment entitled' Confessions,' in our last number, is too sensitive, by half. Let him look into the periodicals of Roman Catholic Ireland itself, and he will find playful witticisms, and satirical anecdotes, infinitely more piquant and pungent in their tendency than the trifle in question. The following, for example, is from a Dublin journal: 'Have you any thing else whereof your conscience should be purged ?' asked Father Phelan, of a kneeling culprit at the confessional. Yes,' replied the penitent; 'I have committed the mean sin of theft. I have stolen this watch. Will your reverence accept it of me? Me!' exclaimed the pious priest; I receive the fruit of your villany! No; instantly return the watch to its owner!' 'I have already offered it to him,' replied the culprit, and he has refused to receive it; therefore, holy father, I beseech you to take it.' 'Peace, wretch!' rejoined the priest, 'you should have repeated the offer.' 'I did repeat it, your reverence, but he would n't touch it.' Then,' said the priest, I must absolve you from the sin you have committed.' The purified thief had scarcely departed, when the astonished father discovered that it was his own watch that had been stolen from the place where it had been deposited, near the confessionary!' In the last number of the Dublin University Magazine,' there is an amusing sketch of a colloquy between a priest and a peasant, touching the release of the father of the latter, (a yery hard case,' who was not afraid of the devil himself,) from purgatory. I've a batch comin' out on Tuesday week,' said the priest, and if you were to make great exertions, perhaps your father could come with 'em.' Two masses in the morning, fastin',' says Father Roach, is two, and two in the afternoon, is four, and two at vespers, is six,' says he; 'six masses a day for nine days is close by sixty masses; say sixty,' says he,' and they'll cost you mind Mickey, and do n't be telling it again, for it's only to yourself I 'd make them so cheap - a matter of three pounds.' After some haggling, on the part of the son' which is silenced by the priest's picture of his father's unpleasant situation, he consents to the three pounds, in small weekly instalments. These, after brief punctuality, begin to grow less and less, and finally dwindle down to nothing, leaving a balance of ten shillings unpaid. The priest tells Micke that his father is mighty displeased at the way he is doin' of late that he himself had been down there, for three quarters of an hour the night before, gettin' out Luke Kennedy's mother,' (' dacent people the Kennedys - never spared expense !') that the ould gentleman thought it was a queer thing, that for a matter of ten shillings he was to be kept there so long;' and 'when Luke's mother was leaving the place, he saw the door open, made a rush at it, and before it was shut, he got his head and one shoulder outside of it; and so ye see, Micke, a thrifle more 'll do it. You've lightened my heart, your reverence!' exclaims Micke, putting back the ten shillings which fear had drawn from his pocket; I've saved my money; for if it was my father you seen, with his head and one shoulder outside the door, then by the powers! the devil a jail or jailer, from h-ll to Connaught, would hould him! So the top of the morning to you, father Roach!' and away went Micke, laughing. We hope 'A Roman Catholic' will contrast our fragment favorably with these native sketches.

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OUR NEW Volume.

We would respectfully invite the attention of our readers and friends to the Advertisement of the Sixteenth Volume of the KNICKERBOCKER, On the second and third pages of the cover of the present number; and shall esteem it a favor, if those editors who receive our Magazine in exchange, will give it an insertion, and call the public attention to it, in their columns. We are gratified in being able to state, that the demand for the sixteenth volume, thus early, has compelled us to reprint some of the early sheets of the present impression, and obliged us to add to our largest issue hitherto, (independent of erasures from our list,) five hundred copies, three-fourths of which are already taken up. We ask but only PAYMENT from delinquent subscribers to carry out certain plans of improvement, external and internal, in the KNICKERBOCKER, which we are free to believe will agreeably surprise even the best friends and warmest admirers of the work.

THE January and June numbers of the KNICKERBOCKER, for 1840; January and February, for 1839; February and April, for 1838; and July, September, and October, for 1837, are much wanted, being out of print. Any subscriber having either of these numbers to spare, will greatly oblige us by forwarding them by mail; for which any other specified number, on hand, will be exchanged.

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WITH A COMPARISON BETWEEN THE LESSONS OF THE COUNTRY AND THE TOWN.

THE author of the Natural History of Selborne was a clergyman of the Church of England, a lover and careful observer of Nature; who employed his leisure hours in researches connected with his native parish of Selborne, South Hampton county, England. Although Mr. White died in 1793, a late British journal says, that his book, in company with those of Bewick and Montagu, has had much influence in promoting the taste for the study of Ornithology in that country. It is written with simplicity and elegance, and shows a mind warmed by its favorite pursuits. In the biographical sketch, prefixed to the last edition, we are told, that 'being of an unambitious temper, and strongly attached to the charms of rural scenery, he early fixed his residence in his native village, where he spent the greater part of his life in literary occupations, and especially the study of Nature. This he followed with patient assiduity, and a mind ever open to the lessons of piety and benevolence, which such a study is so well calculated to afford. Thus his days passed tranquil and serene, with scarcely any other vicissitudes than those of the seasons, till they closed at a mature age.'

We gather from the inscription on his monument, in the chancel of the Parish Church, that he was a faithful pastor; dearly loved by his parishioners and family; kind to the poor; and that he died at the advanced age of seventy-seven years.

The other volume, the title of which accompanies this article, is one of a series of reports of scientific surveys, made under the auspices of the legislature of Massachusetts, from the year 1830 to the present time. In the publication before us, the portion of most general interest is upon the Birds of Massachusetts;' and is executed by the Rev. WILLIAM B. O. PEABODY, of Springfield, in that state.

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*THE Natural History of Selborne, by the late Rev. GILBert White, A. M., Fellow of Oriel College, Oxford. With additions by Sir WILLIAM JARDINE. Philadelphia: CAREY AND LEA. Reports of the Fishes, Reptiles, and Birds of Massachusetts. Published agreeably to an order of the Legislature, by the Commissioners on the Zoological and Botanical Survey of the State. Boston: DUTTON AND WENTWORTH, Priuters to the State..

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The accounts which Mr. Peabody has given of the birds of his state are necessarily incomplete, and are intended to be supplementary to those of other ornithologists. But they are marked by chasteness and beauty; and show industry, and above all, a love of this pleasing branch of science, worthy of imitation, and which we rejoice to believe is spreading. Without making any analysis of either of these works, we avail ourselves of the fact that both these contributions to Natural Science have been furnished by country clergymen, to make some remarks on the opportunities and the duty in the country of becoming wise.

The COUNTRY, in distinction from Town, is praised for many things. The invalid praises it for its pure air; the merchant and professional man praise it for its quiet; the victim of artificial life praises it for its simple pleasures; the ruined speculator turns to it, that he may fulfil the universal law, and earn his bread by the sweat of his brow. But there is error mixed with truth here. Who does not know many a man of noble character in the country, upon whom the breezes that blow there, wake a spirit within, which feels pent within its perpetual hills, and who pants for a wider sphere of action? To whom the green earth, is an unweeded garden,' and the music of forests and birds, tame and lifeless? He sees a form you cannot see; he hears a voice you cannot hear.' The city haunts him by night and by day. And there are flashing upon him visions of usefulness in its narrow streets, which if he cannot realize, and there are sounding for him calls of duty in its Babel din, which if he cannot answer, his soul will faint and die.

Then there are the libraries of town; its trophies of art; its music; its paintings; its statues. There are higher forms of intellectual life in town; the demand for genius and learning, and the supply. As iron sharpenth iron, so man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.' Society, the great sharpener of mind, is ever whetting in her armory the keenest weapons, for her battles and tournaments. Then there are the noble charities of town; its hospitals for the sick; its houses of industry for the poor; of reformation for the bad; its asylums for the insane, the blind, the widow and orphan. And under the pressure of stronger motives, where men are crowded together, there is begotten sterner resolve, intenser action, more heroic self-denial, martyr-like endurance, and holier faith, than in the less exacting lot of country life.

Therefore, when the country is praised, let it be recollected that the lights in the picture suppose shadows. There can be better things than pure air, green fields, tranquillity, and naturalness. Country people, too, are praised; and very much for the same qualities as the country. They breathe a pure air, and they are healthy. They have good food, and work, and they are strong. They have little money, and they are prudent. They are moral, for they do not fall into temptations, which do not beset them. They are simple, for they do not indulge in pleasures, which they cannot get.

Now there is an important sense in which these statements are true. But is there not in them as much satire also as truth? It was said of a man who was proud of keeping a good horse, that he always appropriated to himself the merit of his beast. If praise come

from these things, should it not be shared with the ox and the ass? What would be thought of any administration at Washington, which should claim a man's vote, because New-York and New-Orleans are at the mouths of the Hudson and the Mississippi, and Lowell is at the confluence of the Concord and Merrimac? Are men to be praised for circumstances, over which they have, by no possibility, control? Did they make the pure air and green fields? And does not the same skin which is bronzed by the country sun, bleach in the city shade? Do not the bones, and the sinews, which strengthen and toughen in wielding the axe, and driving the plough, grow flaccid and puny, when chained to the counter, and caged in the office?

Ay, does not the same human heart throb in the one place, which throbs in the other? Do habits of expense, luxury, and folly, and corruption, grow from without or within? Why, the weeds in the fields do not grow unsown; though it may be that the farmer cannot tell whence the seed comes. Set down in the plainest New-England village the seductions, the rivalries, the wealth of great cities, (to say nothing of the beggary to pick up the crumbs, the corruption to pander to the passions, and the crimes to find shelter and opportunities, which follow in their train,) and how long will it be before that village will emulate in iniquity great Babylon itself? We read of Jeshurun,' that he waxed fat and kicked.' It is a truth which has not yet died out.

If pure air, then; healthful occupations; simple pleasures; leisure, and absence of temptations, be good, they are good only as opportunites. They are good only as responsibilities. They are good as they stimulate men to improve them; by their help to become wiser and better; as they use them to set them forward on an endless journey of increasing light, virtue, and happiness; as through them we strive to gain juster views of life, and more faithfully to fulfil its duties. But as means of escape from toil; as refuges for idleness; as stalls to fatten in, grow sleek, lazy, stupid, and selfish, the pleasant pastures of country life are for cattle, not men. And if women must make green banks of flowers couches for sickly sentiment, ending in nothing salutary to others and themselves, the sooner they quit them, and exchange bland zephyrs for rougher winds, which brace the soul, the better for them. It has been well said of Dr. Johnson, that he made shipwreck of his happiness; and it was little consolation, that he wrecked his bark on beds of pearl and rocks of coral: A condition of comfort, leisure, retirement, may cost men too much. The body may flourish at the expense of the soul.

What then are the opportunities in the country of becoming wise? They consist in superior opportunities, in many (not in all) respects, of gaining knowledge; and in the peculiar advantages in the country for applying those correctives to the acquisition of knowledge, which make intellectual progress a good.

These opportunities exist in the country. To prove that men have more leisure, for instance, there than in town, for reading, reflection, the observation and study of Nature, would be like proving that the breeze which pours over hills and woods, meadows and brooks, is better than the pestilent congregation of vapors' which steams up from narrow lanes, stagnant pools, and noisome heaps. It would be

like proving that the green of Nature is better than red brick; and that to sweep with the eye the hemisphere of the heavens, is better than to gaze at the patch of sky and cloud between groves of chimneys and fields of slate.

Why, the leisure of the yeoman is seen in his gait. It is seen in his appointments of business. He rarely makes an engagement at a definite hour. And if you reproach him for his want of punctuality, he will tell you coolly, 'it is always one o'clock until it is two.' You may see his leisure in the honest old country invitation to tea, for three o'clock in the afternoon; and you may see it spread on the table, in work in earnest, with knife and spoon, he gives you to do. In winter you may see this same leisure at the village tavern and store, gathered in groups round the stove; and almost any spring-like day, you may see leisure basking in rows on the sunny side of the street. But when Summer comes, how seldom can you see, according to MILTON'S Sense,

'retired Leisure,

That in trim gardens takes his pleasure!'

How seldom can you see it climbing the mountain, threading the forest, skirting the lake for a rare wild flower; searching the valley for a mineral; exploring the rocks and the caverns for traces of the Creator's hand in the mighty processes by which the earth was formed, and covered with verdure, and fitted to be the abodes of life? How seldom can you see it watching the stars, and studying their celestial harmonies! How many of our yeoman have searched out the secrets of their grasses, mosses, and plants? How many of them know the habits and names of their singing birds, those emblems of gladness, which come with the genial sun, and the live long summer pour round their notes of music and love?

There is leisure, then, in the country. But is it leisure improved? Are those morning hours spent where Milton says they should be, 'up-stirring in winter often ere the sound of any bell awake men to labor or to devotion; in summer as oft with the bird that first rouses, or not much tardier, to read good authors, or cause them to be read, till the attention be weary, or memory have its full fraught; then with useful and generous labors, preserving the body's health and hardiness, to render lightsome, clear, and not lumpish obedience, to the mind. And those long winter evenings, too; are they embalmed in the memory by well-spent hours? Will their history tell of minds enlarged, social bonds strengthened, the tender charities of our nature cherished, hearts and lives made better? What a noble heritage may be at once entered and enjoyed, by the men and the women who will away with unworthy passions and low pursuits, and awake to the privileges of country life! Hard work; but grand intervals of leisure. Few books; but those they have, studied well, and made their own. The spirit of learning without its foppery. Then Nature, free, bountiful, unbounded Nature, with her multitudinous faces of joy, always before them!

Why then is the acquisition of natural science so rare in the country, where the inducements and opportunities to make it, are so many? Why the prevalent ignorance, or which is the same thing,

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