THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE

Of Literature, Art, and Science.

Vol. IV. NEW-YORK, NOVEMBER 1, 1851. No. IV.

Transcriber's Note: Minor typos have been corrected and footnotes moved to the end of the article. Table of contents has been created for the HTML version.

Contents

[THE GREAT EXHIBITION OF THE NEW-YORK STATE AGRICULTURAL SOCIETY AT ROCHESTER.]
[WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE.]
[AMERICA AS ABUSED BY A GERMAN.]
[REMINISCENCES OF THE LATE MR. COOPER.—HIS LAST DAYS.]
[THE LONDON TIMES ON AMERICAN INTERCOMMUNICATION.]
[THE LAST EARTHQUAKE IN EUROPE.]
[MR. JEFFERSON ON THE STUDY OF THE ANGLO-SAXON LANGUAGE.]
[THE OBELISKS OF EGYPT.]
[DR. LATHAM ON THE MOSKITO KINGDOM.]
[GOLD-QUARTZ AND SOCIETY.]
[INEDITED LETTER OF DR. FRANKLIN.]
[A BALLAD OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN.]
[REMARKABLE PROPHECY.]
[GREENWOOD.]
[AN AUGUST REVERIE.]
[HEROINES OF HISTORY—LAURA.]
[THE KING AND OUTLAW.]
[SAINT ESCARPACIO'S BONES.]
[DIRGE FOR AN INFANT.]
[THE CHIMES.]
[A STORY WITHOUT A NAME.]
[TWO SONNETS.]
[THE COUNT MONTE-LEONE: OR, THE SPY IN SOCIETY.]
[A GHOST STORY OF NORMANDY.]
[CREBILLON, THE FRENCH ÆSCHYLUS.]
[HABITS OF FREDERICK THE GREAT.]
[THE OLD MAN'S DEATH.]
[MY NOVEL.]
[FRAGMENTS FROM A VOLUME OF POEMS.]
[AUTHORS AND BOOKS.]
[THE FINE ARTS.]
[NOCTES AMICÆ.]
[HISTORICAL REVIEW OF THE MONTH.]
[SCIENTIFIC DISCOVERIES AND PROCEEDINGS OF LEARNED SOCIETIES.]
[RECENT DEATHS.]
[LADIES' AUTUMN FASHIONS.]

THE GREAT EXHIBITION OF THE NEW-YORK STATE AGRICULTURAL SOCIETY AT ROCHESTER.

EXTERIOR OF THE FAIR.

This is an age of Exhibitions. From the humble collection of cattle and counter-panes, swine and "garden sauce," at the central village of some secluded County, up to the stupendous "World's Fair" at London, wherein all nations and all arts are represented, "Industrial Expositions," as the French more accurately term them, are the order of the day. And this is well—nay, it is inspiring. It proves the growth and diffusion of a wider and deeper consciousness of the importance and dignity of Labor as an element of national strength and social progress. That corn and cloth are essential to the comfortable subsistence of the human family, and of every portion of it, was always plain enough; but the truth is much broader than that. Not food alone, but knowledge, virtue, power, depend upon the subtle skill of the artificer's fingers, the sturdy might of the husbandman's arm. Let these fail, through the blighting influence of despotism, licentiousness, superstition, or slavery, and the national greatness is cankered at the root, and its preservation overtasks the ability of Phocion, of Hannibal, of Cato. A nation flourishes or withers with the development and vigor of its Industry. It may prosper and be strong without statesmen, warriors, or jurists; it fades and falls with the decline of its arts and its agriculture. Wisely, therefore, do rulers, nobles, field marshals and archbishops, unite in rendering the highest honors to eminence in the domain of Industry, dimly perceiving that it is mightier and more enduring than their petty and fragile potencies. The empire of Napoleon, though so lately at its zenith, has utterly passed away, while that of Fulton is still in its youth.

A State Agricultural Society, numbering among its members some thousands of her foremost citizens, mainly but not wholly farmers, is one of the most commendable institutions of this great and growing commonwealth. Aided liberally by the State government, it holds an Annual Fair at some one of the chief towns of the interior, generally on the line of the Erie Canal, whereby the collection of stock and other articles for exhibition is facilitated, and the cost thereof materially lessened. Poughkeepsie, Albany, Saratoga Springs, Utica, Syracuse (twice), Auburn, Rochester (twice), and Buffalo, are the points at which these Fairs have been held within the last ten years. Recently, the railroads have transported cattle, &c., for exhibition, either at half-price, or entirely without charge, while the State's bounty and the liberal receipts for admission to the grounds have enabled the managers to stimulate competition by a very extensive award of premiums, so that almost every recurrence of the State Fair witnesses a larger and still more extensive display of choice animals. Whether the improvement in quality keeps pace with the increase in number is a point to be maturely considered.

The Fair of this year was held at Rochester, in a large open field about a mile south of the city, and of course near the Genesee river. Gigantic stumps scattered through it, attested how recently this whole region was covered with the primeval forest. Probably fifty thousand persons now live within sight of the Rochester steeples, though not a human being inhabited this then dense and swampy wilderness forty years ago. And here, almost wholly from a region which had less than five thousand white inhabitants in 1810, not fewer than one hundred thousand persons, two-thirds of them adult males, were drawn together expressly to witness this exhibition. The number who entered the gates on Thursday alone exceeded seventy-five thousand, while the attendance on the two preceding days and on Friday, of persons who were not present on Thursday, must have exceeded twenty-five thousand. Of course, many came with no definite purpose, no previous preparation to observe and learn, and so carried home nothing more than they brought there, save the head-ache, generated by their irregularities and excesses while absent; but thousands came qualified and resolved to profit by the practical lessons spread before them, and doubtless went away richly recompensed for the time and money expended in visiting the Fair. This Annual Exhibition is as yet the Farmers' University; they will in time have a better, but until then they do well to make the most of that which already welcomes them to its cheap, ready and practical inculcations.

ROCHESTER.

The President of the State Society for this year is Mr. John Delafield, long a master spirit among our Wall-street financiers, and for some years President of the Phenix bank. He was finally swamped by the rascality of the State of Illinois in virtually repudiating her public debt, whereby Mr. Delafield, who had long acted as her financial agent in New-York, and had staked his fortune on her integrity, was reduced from affluence to need. Nothing daunted by this reverse, he promptly transferred his energies from finance to agriculture, taking hold of a large farm in Seneca County, near the beautiful village of Geneva; and on this farm he soon proved himself one of the best practical agriculturists in our State. Before he had been five years on the soil, he was already teaching hundreds of life-long cultivators, by the quiet force of his successful example, how to double the product of their lands and more than double their annual profits. His enlightened and admirable husbandry has finally called him to the post he now occupies—one not inferior in true dignity and opportunity for usefulness to that of Governor of the State. And this is a fair specimen of the elasticity of the American character and its capacity for adapting itself to any and every change of circumstances.

INTERIOR OF THE FAIR.

The Annual Address at this Fair was delivered by the Hon. Stephen A. Douglas, now U. S. Senator from Illinois, and a very probable "Democratic" candidate for next President of the United States. It was an able and well enunciated discourse, devoted mainly to political economy as affecting agriculture, taking the "free trade" view of this important and difficult subject, and evidently addressed quite as much to southern politicians as to New-York farmers; but it embodied many practical suggestions of decided force and value. This address has already received a very wide circulation.

A public entertainment was proffered on Thursday evening to the officers of the State Society, on behalf of the city of Rochester, which was attended by ex-President Tyler, Gov. Washington Hunt, ex-Governor and ex-Secretary Marcy, Gen. Wool, Governor Wright of Indiana, &c. &c. Senator Douglas arrived in the train just before the gathering broke up. The presence of ladies, and the absence of liquors, were the most commendable features of this festivity, which was convened at an absurdly late hour, and characterized by an afflictive amount of dull speaking. Such an entertainment is very well on an occasion like this, merely as a means of enabling the congregated thousands to see and hear the celebrities convened with them; but it should be given in the afternoon or beginning of the evening, should cost very little (the speaking being dog-cheap and the eatables no object), and should in nearly all respects be just what the Rochester festival was not. As an exercise in false hospitality, however, and a beacon for future adventurers in the same line, this entertainment had considerable merit.

AZALIA.
The best Short-Horned Durham Cow over Three Years Old: Owned by Lewis G. Morris.

LORD ERYHOLM.
The best Two Year Old Short-Horned Durham Bull: Owned by Lewis G. Morris.

Neat Cattle stood first in intrinsic value among the classes of articles exhibited at the Fair. Probably not less than One Thousand of these were shown on this occasion, including imported bulls and cows, working-oxen, fat steers, blood-heifers, calves, &c. &c. Of these we could not now say whether the Durham or Devonshire breed predominated, but the former had certainly no such marked ascendency as at former Fairs. Our impression from the statements of disinterested breeders was and is, that where cattle are bred mainly for the market, a larger weight of flesh may be obtained at an early age from the Durham than from any rival breed, though not of the finest quality; while for milk or butter the Devon is, and perhaps one or two other breeds are, preferable. But this is merely the inference of one, who has no experience in the premises, from a comparison of the statements of intelligent breeders of widely differing preferences. Probably each of the half-dozen best breeds is better adapted to certain localities and purposes than any other; and intelligent farmers assert, that we still need some breeds not yet introduced in this country, especially the small Black Cattle of the Scottish Highlands, which, from their hardiness, excellence of flesh, small cost for wintering, &c., are specially adapted to our own rugged upland districts, particularly that which half covers the north-eastern quarter of our State. The subject is one of the deepest interest to agriculturists, and is destined to receive a thorough investigation at their hands.

EARL SEAHAM.
The best Short-Horned Durham Bull over Three Years Old: Owned by J. M. Sherwood and A. Stevens.

DEVON.
The best Devon Bull over Three Years Old: Owned by W. P. and C. S. Wainwright.

TROMP.
The best Hereford Bull, over Three Years Old: Owned by Allen Ayrault.

KOSSUTH AND BRISKA.
Best Foreign (Hungarian) Cattle, over Two Years Old: Owned by Roswell L. Colt.

Of Horses, the number exhibited was of course much smaller—perhaps two hundred in all—embracing many animals of rare spirit, symmetry, and beauty. Some Canadian horses, and a few specimens of a famous Vermont breed (the Morgan) were among them. Our attention was not specially drawn in this direction, and we will leave the merits of the rival competitors to the awards of the judges.

DEVON HEIFER.
Best three-fourth bred Devon Heifer: owned by George Shaeffer.

OLD CLYDE.
Best Foreign Horse: owned by Jane Ward, Markham, Canada West.

CONSTERNATION.
Best thorough-bred horse over four years old: owned by John B. Burnet.

SOUTH DOWN SHEEP.
Best Middle-Wooled Ewe, over Two Years Old: Owned by Lewis G. Morris.

Of Sheep, there were a large number present—at a rough guess, Two Thousand—embracing specimens of widely contrasted varieties. The fine-wooled Saxonies and Merioes were largely represented; so were coarse-wooled but fine-fleshed Bakewells and Southdowns. For three or four years past, the annual product of wool, especially of the finer qualities, has been unequal to the demand, causing a gradual appreciation of prices, until a standard has this year been reached above the value of the staple. Speculators, who had observed the gradual rise through two or three seasons, rushed in to purchase this year's clip, at prices which cannot be maintained, and the farmers have received some hundreds of thousands of dollars more for their wool than the buyers can ever sell it for. This has naturally reacted on the price of sheep, whereof choice specimens for breeding have been sold for sums scarcely exceeded during the celebrated Merino fever of 1816-18. Bona fide sales for $100 each and over have certainly been made; and it is confidently asserted that picked animals from the flocks of a famous Vermont breeder were sold, to improve Ohio flocks, at the late Fair of that State—a buck for $1,000, and six ewes for $300 each. These reports, whether veritable or somewhat inflated, indicate a tendency of the times. Where sheep are grown mainly for the wool, it is as absurd to keep those of inferior grades, as to plant apple-trees without grafting and grow two or three bushels of walnut-sized, vinegar-flavored fruit on a tree which might as well have borne ten bushels of Spitzenbergs or Greenings. But there is room also for improvement and profit in the breeding of sheep other than the fine-wooled species. The famous roast-mutton of England ought to be more than rivaled among us; for we have a better climate and far better sheep-walks than the English in the rugged mountain districts of New-England, of Pennsylvania, and of our own State. The breeding of large, fine-fleshed sheep of the choicest varieties, on the lines of all the railroads communicating with the great cities, is one of the undertakings which promise largest and surest returns to our farmers, and it is yet in its infancy. A hundred thousand of such sheep would be taken annually by New-York and Philadelphia at largely remunerating prices. Thousands of acres of sterile, scantily timbered land on the Delaware and its branches might be profitably transformed into extensive sheep-walks, while they must otherwise remain useless and unimproved for ages. These lands may now be bought for a song, and are morally certain to be far higher within the next dozen years.

LONG-WOOLED SHEEP.
Best long-wooled buck and ewe over two years old: owned by J. McDonald and Wm. Rathbone.

Of Swine there were a good many exhibited at the Fair, but we did not waste much time upon them. The Hog Crop once stood high among the products of the older States, but it has gradually fallen off since the settlement of the great West, and the cheapening of intercommunication between that section and the East, and is destined to sink still lower. Pork can be made on the prairies and among the nutwood forests and corn-bearing intervales of the West for half the cost of making it in New-England; no Yankee can afford to feed his hogs with corn, much less potatoes, as his grandfather freely did. Only on a dairy farm can any considerable quantity of pork be profitably made east of the Ohio; and he who keeps but a pig or two to eat up the refuse of the kitchen cares little (perhaps too little) for the breed of his porkers. So let them pass.

"Fancy" Fowls are among the hobbies of our day, as was abundantly evinced at the State Fair. Coops piled on coops, and in rows twenty rods long, of Chinese, Dorking, and other breeds of the most popular domestic bird, monopolized a large share of attention; while geese, ducks, turkies, &c., were liberally and creditably represented. The "Hen Convention," which was a pet topic of Boston waggery a year or two since, might have been easily and properly held at Rochester. Many of these choice barn-yard fowls were scarcely inferior in size while doubtless superior in flavor to the ordinary turky, while the farmer who opens the spring with a hundred of them may half feed his family and at the same time quite keep down his store-bill with their daily products. Small economies steadily pursued are the source of thrift and competence to many a cultivator of flinty and ungenial acres; few farmers can afford to disregard them. If thrice the present number of fowls were kept among us, their care and food would scarcely be missed, while their product would greatly increase the aggregate not only of thrift but of comfort.

J. DELAFIELD'S CHINESE HOGS.

"Floral Hall" was the name of a temporary though spacious structure of scantling and rough boards, in which were exhibited, in addition to a profusion of the flowers of the season, a display of Fruits and Vegetables whereof Rochester might well be proud. This city seems the natural centre of the finest fruit-growing district on the American continent—yes, in the whole world. Its high latitude secures the richest flavors, while the harsh northern winds, which elsewhere prove so baneful, are here softened by passing over lake Erie or Ontario, and a climate thus produced, which, for fruit, has no rival. Large delicious grapes of innumerable varieties; excellent peaches; delicate, juicy, luscious pears; quinces that really tempt the eye, though not the palate; and a profusion of fair, fragrant, golden, mammoth apples,—these were among the products of the immediate vicinity of Rochester exhibited in bounteous profusion. In the department of Vegetables also there were beets and turnips of gigantic size; several squashes weighing about one hundred and thirty pounds each; with egg-plants, potatoes, tomatoes, and other edibles, which were all that palate could desire. The fertility of western New-York is proverbial; but it was never more triumphantly set forth than in the fruit and vegetables exhibited at the State Fair.

Of butter, cheese, honey, (obtained without destroying the bees,) maple-sugar &c., the display was much better than we have remarked on any former occasion. And in this connection the rock salt from our own State works around Syracuse deserves honorable mention. New-York salt has been treated with systematic injustice by western consumers. In order to save a shilling or two on the barrel, they buy the inferior article produced by boiling instead of the far better obtained by solar evaporation; then they endeavor to make a New-York standard bushel of fifty six pounds do the work of a measured bushel of Turks Island weighing eighty pounds; and because the laws regulating the preservation and decomposition of animal substances will not thus be swindled, they pronounce the New-York salt impure and worthless. Now there is no purer, no better salt than the New-York solar; but, even of this, fifty-six pounds will not do the work of eighty. Buy the best quality, (and even this is dog cheap,) use the proper quantity, and no salt in the world will preserve meats better than this. The New-York solar salt exhibited at Rochester could not be surpassed, and that which had been ground has no superior in its adaptation to the table.

There were many tasteful Counterpanes and other products of female skill and industry exhibited, but the perpetual crowd in the 'halls' devoted to manufactures allowed no opportunity for their critical examination. Of stoves and ranges, heating and (let us be thankful for it, even at this late day) ventilating apparatus and arrangements, there was a supply; and so of daguerreotypes, trunks, harness, &c. &c. Nothing, however, arrested our attention in this hall but the specimens of Flax-Cotton and its various proportions exhibited by E. G. Roberts, assignee of Claussen's patents for the United States. We saw one intelligent influential citizen converted from skepticism to enthusiasm for flax-cotton by his first earnest examination. It will go inevitably. A cotton fibre scarcely distinguishable from Sea Island may be produced from flax by Claussen's process for six cents per pound; and a machine for breaking out the fibre from the unrotted stalk was exhibited by Mr. Clemmons of Springfield, Massachusetts, which is calculated materially to expedite the flax-cotton revolution. This machine renders the entire fibre, with hardly a loss of two per cent. as 'swingle-tow,' straight and wholly separated from the woody substance or 'shives,' at a cost which can hardly equal one cent per pound of dressed flax. Its operation is very simple, and any man who has seen it work a day may manage it. Its entire cost is from $125 to $200, according to size. It will be a shame to American agricultural enterprise if flax-cotton and linen are not both among our country's extensive and important products within the next three years.

The department of Agricultural Machinery and Implements was decidedly the most interesting of any. No other can at all equal it in the rapidity and universality of progress from year to year. Of Plows, there cannot have been less than two hundred on the ground, exhibiting a great variety of novel excellence. One with two shares, contrived to cut two furrows at once, seemed the most useful of any recently invented. The upper share cuts and turns the sward to the depth of five inches, which is immediately buried seven inches deep by the earth turned up by the deeper share. Since it is impossible to induce one farmer in twenty to subsoil, this, as the next best thing, ought to be universally adopted.

Seed-Sowers, Corn-Planters, Reapers, Fanning-Mills, Straw-Cutters, &c., &c., were abundant, and evinced many improvements on the best of former years. A Mower with which a man, boy, and span of horses, will cut and spread ten acres per day of grass, however heavy, on tolerably level land—both cutting and spreading better than the hand-impelled scythe and stick will do—was among the new inventions; also two threshers and cleaners, each of them warranted to thresh and nearly clean, by the labor of four men, a boy, and two horses, over one hundred bushels of wheat or two hundred bushels of oats per day. The testimony of candid citizens who had used them, and the evidence of our own senses, left no doubt on our mind of the correctness of these assertions. But we do not write to commend any article, but to call attention to the great and cheering truth which underlies them all. Agriculture is a noble art, involving the knowledge of almost all the practical sciences—chemistry, geology, climatology, mechanics, &c. It is not merely progressive, but rapidly progressing, so that fifty days' labor on the same soil produce far more grain or hay now than they did half a century ago. And every year is increasing and rendering more palpable the pressing need of a Practical College, wherein Agriculture, Mechanics, and the sciences auxiliary thereto shall be ably and thoroughly taught to thousands and tens of thousands of our countrymen, who shall in turn become the disseminators of the truths thus inculcated to the youth of every county and township in the country.

And thus shall Agriculture be rendered what it should be—not only the most essential but the most intellectual and attractive among the industrial avocations of mankind.

Horace Greeley

THE VIRGINIA REAPER. Exhibited at the Crystal Palace, and the New-York State Agricultural Fair, by Cyrus H. McCormick.

WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE.

Of the large number of young men in this country who write verses, we scarcely know of one who has a more unquestionable right to the title of poet than William Ross Wallace, who has just published, in a very handsome volume, a collection of his writings, under the title of Meditations in America. Mr. Wallace has written other things which in their day have been sufficiently familiar to the public; in what we have to say of his capacities we shall confine ourselves to the pieces which he has himself here selected as the truest exponents of his genius, and without giving them indiscriminate praise shall hope to find in them evidences of peculiar and remarkable powers, combined with a spirit eminently susceptible to the influences of nature and of ideal and moral beauty.

Mr. Wallace is a western man, and was born in Lexington, Kentucky, in the year 1819. His father was a Presbyterian minister, of good family, and marked abilities, who died soon after, leaving the future poet to the care of a mother whose chief ambition in regard to him was that he should be so trained as to be capable of the most elevated positions in society. After the usual preparatory studies, he went first to the Bloomington College, and afterwards to the South Hanover College, in Indiana, and upon graduating at the latter institution studied the law in his native city. When about twenty-two years of age, having already acquired considerable reputation in literature, by various contributions to western and southern periodicals, he came to the Atlantic states, and with the exception of a few months passed in Philadelphia, and a year and a half in Europe, he has since resided in New-York, occupied in the practice of his profession and in the pursuits of literature. Of his numerous poetical compositions, this is the first collection, and the only volume, except Alban, a Romance, intended to illustrate the influence of certain prejudices of society and principles of law on individual character and destiny, which was published in 1848.

His works generally are distinguished for a sensuous richness of style, earnestness of temper, and much freedom of speculation. Throughout the Meditations in America we perceive that he is most at home in the serious and stately rhythms and solemn fancies of such pieces as the hymn "To a Wind Going Seaward," "The Mounds of America," "The Chant of a Soul," &c.; but he occasionally writes in livelier and less peculiar measures.

The late Mr. Poe in his Marginalia refers to the following as one of the finest things in American literature; it is certainly very characteristic.

THE CHANT OF A SOUL.

My youth has gone—the glory, the delight
That gave new moons unto the night,
And put in every wind a tone
And presence that was not its own.
I can no more create,
What time the Autumn blows her solemn tromp,
And goes with golden pomp
Through our unmeasurable woods:
I can no more create, sitting in youthful state
Above the mighty floods,
And peopling glen, and wave, and air,
With shapes that are immortal. Then
The earth and heaven were fair,
While only less than gods seem'd all my fellow-men.
Oh! the delight, the gladness,
The sense yet love of madness,
The glorious choral exultations,
The far-off sounding of the banded nations,
The wings of angels at melodious sweeps
Upon the mountain's hazy steeps,—
The very dead astir within their coffin'd deeps;
The dreamy veil that wrapp'd the star and sod—
A swathe of purple, gold, and amethyst;
And, luminous behind the billowy mist,
Something that look'd to my young eyes like God.
Too late I learn I have not lived aright,
And hence the loss of that delight
Which put a moon into the moonless night
I mingled in the human maze;
I sought their horrid shrine;
I knelt before the impure blaze;
I made their idols mine.
I lost mine early love—that love of balms
Most musical with solemn psalms
Sounding beneath the tall and graceful palms.
Who lives aright?
Answer me, all ye pyramids and piles
That look like calmest power in your still might.
Ye also do I ask, O continents and isles!
Blind though with blood ye be,
Your tongues, though torn with pain, I know are free.
Then speak, all ancient masses! speak
From patient obelisk to idle peak!
There is a heaving of the plains,
A trailing of a shroud,
A clash of bolts and chains—
A low, sad voice, that comes upon me like a cloud,
"Oh, misery, oh, misery!"—
Thou poor old Earth! no more, no more
Shall I draw speech from thee,
Nor dare thy crypts of legendary lore:
Let silence learn no tongue; let night fold every shore.
Yet I have something left—the will,
That Mont Blanc of the soul, is towering still.
And I can bear the pain,
The storm, the old heroic chain;
And with a smile
Pluck wisdom from my torture, and give back
A love to Fate from this my mountain-rack.
I do believe the sad alone are wise;
I do believe the wrong'd alone can know
Why lives the world, why spread the burden'd skies,
And so from torture into godship grow.
Plainer and plainer beams this truth, the more
I hear the slow, dull dripping of my gore;
And now, arising from yon deep,
'Tis plain as a white statue on a tall, dark steep.
Oh, suffering bards! oh spirits black
With storm on many a mountain-rack
Our early splendor's gone.
Like stars into a cloud withdrawn—
Like music laid asleep
In dried-up fountains—like a stricken dawn
Where sudden tempests sweep.
I hear the bolts around us falling,
And cloud to cloud forever calling:
Yet WE must nor despair nor weep.
Did WE this evil bring?
Or from our fellows did the torture spring?
Titans! forgive, forgive!
Oh, know ye not 'tis victory but to live?
Therefore I say, rejoice with harp and voice!
I know not what our fate may be:
I only know that he who hath a time
Must also have eternity:
One billow proves and gives a whole wide sea.
On this I build my trust,
And not on mountain-dust,
Or murmuring woods, or starlit clime,
Or ocean with melodious chime,
Or sunset glories in the western sky:
Enough, I am, and shall not choose to die.
No matter what my future fate may be:
To live is in itself a majesty!
Oh! there I may again create
Fair worlds as in my youthful state;
Or Wo may build for me a fiery tomb
Like Farinata's in the nether gloom:
Even then I will not lose the name of man
By idle moan or coward groan,
But say, "It was so written in the mighty plan!"

The next poem is in a vein of lofty contemplation, and the rhetoric is eminently appropriate and well sustained. It is one of the most striking pieces in the book.

THE MOUNDS OF AMERICA.

Come to the mounds of death with me. They stretch
From deep to deep, sad, venerable, vast,
Graves of gone empires—gone without a sighn,
Like clouds from heaven. They stretch'd from deep to deep
Before the Roman smote his mailéd hand
On the gold portals of the dreaming East;
Before the Pleiad, in white trance of song,
Beyond her choir of stars went wandering.
The great old Trees, rank'd on these hills of death,
Have melancholy hymns about all this;
And when the moon walks her inheritance
With slow, imperial pace, the Trees look up
And chant in solemn cadence. Come and hear.
"Oh patient Moon! go not behind a cloud,
But listen to our words. We, too, are old,
Though not so old as thou. The ancient towns,
The cities throned far apart like queens,
The shadowy domes, the realms majestical,
Slept in thy younger beams. In every leaf
We hold their dust, a king in every trunk.
We, too, are very old: the wind that wails
In our broad branches, from swart Ethiop come
But now, wail'd in our branches long ago,
Then come from darken'd Calvary. The Hills
Lean'd ghastly at the tale that wan Wind told;
The Streams crept shuddering through the tremulous dark;
The Torrent of the North, from morn till eve,
On his steep ledge hung pausing; and o'er all
Such silence fell, we heard the conscious Rills
Drip slowly in the caves of central Earth.
So were the continents by His crownéd grief
Together bound, before that Genoese
Flamed on the dim Atlantic: so have we,
Whose aspect faced the scene, unchallenged right
Of language unto all, while memory holds.
"O patient Moon! go not behind a cloud,
But hear our words. We know that thou didst see
The whole that we could utter—thou that wert
A worship unto realms beyond the flood—
But we are very lonesome on these mounds,
And speech doth make the burden of sad thought
Endurable; while these, the people new,
That take our land, may haply learn from us
What wonder went before them; for no word
E'er came from thee, so beautiful, so lone.
Throned in thy still domain, superbly calm
And silent as a god.
Here empires rose and died;
Their very dust, beyond the Atlantic borne
In the pale navies of the charter'd wind,
Stains the white Alp. Here the proud city ranged
Spire after spire, like star ranged after star
Along the dim empyrean, till the air
Went mad with splendor, and the dwellers cried,
"Our walls have married Time!"—Gone are the marts,
The insolent citadels, the fearful gates,
The pictured domes that curved like starry skies;
Gone are their very names! The royal Ghost
Cannot discern the old imperial haunts,
But goes about perplexéd like a mist
Between a ruin and the awful stars.
Nations are laid beneath our feet. The bard
Who stood in Song's prevailing light, as stands
The apocalyptic angel in the sun,
And rained melodious fire on all the realms;
The prophet pale, who shuddered in his gloom,
As the white cataract shudders in its mist;
The hero shattering an old kingdom down
With one clear trumpet's will: the Boy, the Sage,
Subject and Lord, the Beautiful, the Wise—
Gone, gone to nothingness.
The years glide on,
The pitiless years! and all alike shall fail,
State after State rear'd by the solemn sea,
Or where the Hudson goes unchallenged past
The ancient warder of the Palisades,
Or where, rejoicing o'er the enormous cloud,
Beam the blue Alleghanies—all shall fail:
The Ages chant their dirges on the peaks;
The palls are ready in the peopled vales;
And nations fill one common sepulchre.
Nor goes the Earth on her dark way alone.
Each star in yonder vault doth hold the dead
In its funereal deeps: Arcturus broods
Over vast sepulchres that had grown old
Before the earth was made: the universe
Itself is but one mighty cemetery
Rolling around its central, solemn sun.

"O patient Moon! go not behind a cloud,
But listen to our words. We, too, must die—
And thou!—the vassal stars shall fail to hear
Thy queenly voice over the azure fields
Calling at sunset. They shall fade. The Earth
Shall look and miss their sweet, familiar eyes,
And, crouching, die beneath the feet of God.
Then come the glories, then the nobler times,
For which the Orbs travail'd in sorrow; then
The mystery shall be clear, the burden gone;
And surely men shall know why nations came
Transfigured for the pangs; why not a spot
Of this wide world but hath a tale of wo;
Why all this glorious universe is Death's.
"Go, Moon! and tell the stars, and tell the suns,
Impatient of the wo, the strength of him
Who doth consent to death; and tell the climes
That meet thy mournful eyes, one after one,
Through all the lapses of the lonesome night,
The pathos of repose, the might of Death!"
The voice is hush'd; the great old wood is still:
The Moon, like one in meditation, walks
Behind a cloud. We, too, have them for thought,
While, as a sun, God takes the West of Time
And smites the pyramid of Eternity.
The shadow lengthens over many worlds
Doom'd to the dark mausoleum and mound.

We do not remember any poem on Mahomet finer than the following:

EL AMIN.

Who is this that comes from Hara? not in kingly pomp and pride,
But a great, free son of Nature, lion-souled and eagle-eyed!

Who is this before whose presence idols tumble to the sod?
While he cries out—"Allah Akbar! and there is no god but God!"
Wandering in the solemn desert, he has wondered like a child
Not as yet too proud to wonder, at the sun, and star, and wild.

"Oh, thou moon! who made thy brightness? Stars! who hung you there on high?
Answer! so my soul may worship: I must worship or die!"

Then there fell the brooding silence that precedes the thunder's roll;
And the old Arabian Whirlwind called another Arab soul.

Who is this that comes from Hara? not in kingly pomp and pride,
But a great, free son of Nature, lion-souled and eagle-eyed!

He has stood and seen Mount Hara to the Awful Presence nod;
He has heard from cloud and lightning—"Know there is no god but God!"

Call ye this man an imposter? He was called "The Faithful," when,
A boy, he wandered o'er the deserts, by the wild-eyed Arab men.

He was always called "The Faithful." Truth he knew was Allah's breath;
But the Lie went darkly gnashing through the corridors of Death.

"He was fierce!" Yes! fierce at falsehood—fierce at hideous bits of wood,
That the Koreish taught the people made the sun and solitude.

But his heart was also gentle, and Affection's graceful palm,
Waving in his tropic spirit, to the weary brought a balm.

"Precepts?" "Have on each compassion:" "Lead the stranger to your door:"
"In your dealings keep up justice:" "Give a tenth unto the poor."

"Yet ambitious!" Yes! ambitious—while he heard the calm and sweet
Aiden-voices sing—to trample troubled Hell beneath his feet.

"Islam?" Yes! "Submit to Heaven!" "Prophet?" To the East thou art!
What are prophets but the trumpets blown by God to stir the heart?

And the great heart of the desert stirred unto that solemn strain,
Rolling from the trump at Hara over Error's troubled main.

And a hundred dusky millions honor still El Amin's rod—
Daily chanting—"Allah Akbar! know there is no god but God!"

Call him then no more "Impostor." Mecca is the Choral Gate
Where, till Zion's noon shall take them, nations in her morning wait.

Mr. Wallace has published a few songs. They have not the stately movement of his other pieces, and the one which follows needs the application of the file; but it is, like the others, very spirited:

AVELINE.

——The sunny eyes of the maiden fair
Give answer better than voice or pen
That as he loves he is loved again.—C. C. Leeds.

Love me dearly, love me dearly with your heart and with your eyes;
Whisper all your sweet emotions, as they gushing, blushing rise;
Throw your soft white arms about me;
Say you cannot live without me:
Say, you are my Aveline; say, that you are only mine,
That you cannot live without me, young and rosy Aveline!

Love me dearly, dearly, dearly: speak you love-words silver-clearly,
So I may not doubt thus early of your fondness, of your truth.
Press, oh! press your throbbing bosom closely, warmly to my own:
Fix your kindled eyes on mine—say you live for me alone,
While I fix my eyes on thine,
Lovely, trusting, artless, plighted; plighted, rosy Aveline!

Love me dearly; love me dearly: radiant dawn upon my gloom:
Ravish me with Beauty's bloom:—
Tell me "Life has yet a glory: 'tis not all an idle story!"
As a gladdened vale in noonlight; as a weary lake in moonlight,
Let me in thy love recline:
Show me life has yet a splendor in my tender Aveline.

Love me dearly, dearly, dearly with your heart and with your eyes:
Whisper all your sweet emotions as they gushing, blushing rise.
Throw your soft white arms around me; say you lived not till you found me—
Say it, say it, Aveline! whisper you are only mine;
That you cannot live without me, as you throw your arms about me,
That you cannot live without me, artless, rosy Aveline!

Our limits will not permit us to quote any of the remaining poems of this volume in full, and we conclude our extracts with a few passages penciled while in a hasty reading. In the piece entitled The Kings of Sorrow, the poet sings:

Was He not sad amid the grief and strife, the Lord of light and life,
Whose torture made humanity divine, upon that woful hill of Palestine?
Then is it not far better thus to be, thoughtful, and brave, and melancholy,
Than given up to idle revelry, amid the unreligious brood of folly?
For our sorrow is a worship, worship true, and pure, and calm,
Sounding from the choir of duty like a high, heroic psalm,
In its very darkness bearing to the bleeding heart a balm.
Brothers, we must have no wailing: do we agonize alone?
Look at all the pallid millions; hear a universal moan,
From the mumbling, low-browed Bushman to a Lytton on his throne.
Nor shall we have coward faltering: Brothers! we must be sublime
By due labor at the forges blazing in the cave of Time;
Knowing life was made for duty, and that only cowards prate
Of a search for Happy Valley and the hard decrees of fate:
Seeing through this night of mourning all the future as a star,
And a joy at last appearing on the centuries afar,
When the meaning of the sorrow, when the mystery shall be plain,
When the Earth shall see her rivers roll through Paradise again.
O! the vision gives to sorrow something white and purple-plumed:
Even the hurricane of Evil comes a hurricane perfumed.

In the same:

... The Storm is silent while we speak;
The awe-struck Cloud hath paused above the peak;
The far Volcano statlier waves on high
His smoking censer to the solemn sky;
And see, the troubled Ocean folds his hands
With a great patience on the yellow sands.

In Rest:

So rest! and Rest shall slay your many woes;
Motion is god-like—god-like is repose,
A mountain-stillness, of majestic might,
Whose peaks are glorious with the quiet light
Of suns when Day is at his solemn close.
Nor deem that slumber must ignoble be.
Jove labored lustily once in airy fields;
And over the cloudy lea
He planted many a budding shoot
Whose liberal nature daily, nightly yields
A store of starry fruit.
His labor done, the weary god went back
Up the long mountain track
To his great house; there he did wile away
With lightest thought a well-won holiday;
For all the Powers crooned softly an old tune
Wishing their Sire might sleep
Through all the sultry noon
And cold blue night;
And very soon
They heard the awful Thunderer breathing low and deep.
And in the hush that dropped adown the spheres,
And in the quiet of the awe-struck space,
The worlds learned worship at the birth of years:
They looked upon their Lord's calm, kingly face.
And bade Religion come and kiss each starry place.

In the same:

See what a languid glory binds
The long dim chambers of the darkling West,
While far below yon azure river winds
Like a blue vein on sleeping Beauty's breast.

In The Gods of Old:

Not realmless sit the ancient gods
Upon their mountain-thrones
In that old glorious Grecian Heaven
Of regal zones.
A languor o'er their stately forms
May lie,
And a sorrow on their wide white brows,
King-dwellers of the sky!
But theirs is still that large imperial throng
Of starry thoughts and firm but quiet wills,
That murmured past the blind old King of Song,
When staring round him on the Thunderer's hills.

In the same:

... Still Love, sublime, shall wrap
His awful eyebrows in Olympian shrouds.
Or take along the Heaven's dark wilderness
His thunder-chase behind the hunted clouds.
And mortal eyes upturned shall behold
Apollo's robe of gold
Sweep through the long blue corridor of the sky
That, kindling, speaks its Deity:
And He, the Ruler of the Sunless Land
Of restless ghosts, shall fitfully illume
With smouldering fires, that stir in caverned eyes,
Hell's mournful House of Gloom.

In the Hymn to a Wind, Going Seaward:

Move on! Move on,
Wind of the wide wild West! Tell thou to all
The Isles, tell thou to all the Continents
The grandeur of my land! Speak of its vales
Where Independence wears a pastoral wreath
Amid the holy quiet of his flock;
And of its mountains with their cloudy beards
Tossed by the breath of centuries; and speak
Of its tall cataracts that roll their bass
Amid the choral of the midnight storms;
And of its rivers lingering through the plains
So long, that they seem made to measure time;
And of its lakes that mock the haughty sea;
And of its caves where banished gods might find
Night large enough to hide their crownless heads;
And of its sunsets broad and glorious there
O'er Prairies spread like endless oceans on—
And on—and on—over the far dim leagues
Till vision shudders o'er immensity.

In the same:

——Troubled France
Shall listen to thy calm deep voice, and learn
That Freedom must be calm if she would fix
Her mountain moveless in a heaving world.

In a Chant to the East:

Still! Oh still!
Despite of passion, sin, and ill,
Despite of all this weary world hath brought,
An angel band from Zion's holy hill
Walks gently through the open gate of Thought.
Oh, still! Oh, still!
Despite of passion, sin, and ill,
One in red vesture comes in sorrow's time—
One crowned with thorns from that far Orient clime,
Who pitying looks on me
And gently asks, "Poor man, what aileth thee?"

In the same:

The nations must forever turn to thee,
Feeling thy lustrous presence from afar;
And feed upon thy splendor as a sea
Feeds on the shining shadow of a star.

In Wordsworth:

And many a brook shall murmur in my verse;
And many an ocean join his cloudy bass;
And many a mountain tower aloft, whereon
The black storm crouches, with his deep-red eyes
Glaring upon the valleys stretch'd below;
And many a green wood rock the small, bright birds
To musical sleep beneath the large, full moon;
And many a star shall lift on high her cup
Of luminous cold chrysolite, set in gold
Chased subtilely over by angelic art;
To catch the odorous dews which poets drink
In their wide wanderings; and many a sun
Shall press the pale lips of the timorous morn
Couch'd in the bridal east: and over all
Will brood the visible presence of the One
To whom my life has been a solemn chant.

In the Last Words of Washington:

There is an awful stillness in the sky,
When after wondrous deeds and light supreme,
A star goes out in golden prophecy.
There is an awful stillness in the world,
When after wondrous deeds and light supreme,
Sceptres refused and forehead crowned with truth,
A Hero dies, with all the future clear
Before him, and his voice made jubilant
By coming glories, and his nation hushed,
As though they heard the farewell of a god.
A great man is to earth as God to Heaven.

In Greenwood Cemetery:

O, ye whose mouldering frames were brought and placed
By pious hands within these flowery slopes
And gentle hills, where are ye dwelling now?
For man is more than element! The soul
Lives in the body as the sunbeam lives
In trees or flowers that were but clay without.
Then where are ye, lost sunbeams of the mind?
Are ye where great Orion towers and holds
Eternity on his stupendous front?
Or where pale Neptune in the distant space
Shows us how far, in his creative mood,
With pomp of silence and concentred brows,
The Almighty walked? Or haply ye have gone
Where other matter roundeth into shapes
Of bright beatitude: Or do ye know
Aught of dull space or time, and its dark load
Of aching weariness?

Mr. Wallace is somewhat too much of a rhetorician, and he has a few defects of manner which, from this frequent repetition, he seems to regard as beauties. Peculiar phrases, of doubtful propriety, but which have a musical roll, occur in many of his poems, so that they become very prominent; this fault, however, belongs chiefly to his earlier pieces; the extracts we have given, we think will amply vindicate to the most critical judgments, the praise here awarded to him as a poet of singular and unusual powers, original, earnest, and in a remarkable degree national. It can scarcely be said of any of our bards that they have caught their inspiration more directly from observation and experience, or that their effusions, whatever the distinction they have in art, are more genuine in feeling.

AMERICA AS ABUSED BY A GERMAN.

Having made it a point to faithfully report all that is said of our country by foreign travellers or journalists, we deem it a duty to lay before our readers not only the more agreeable accounts given by those who have impartially examined our institutions and manners, but also the more prejudiced relations of those who, urged by interest or ill-nature, have sketched simply the darker and more irregular outlines. And we are the more induced to follow this course since we are fully convinced that it is productive of equal good with the former. We have—particularly to English eyes—appeared as a people who eagerly devour all that is said to our discredit, and at the same time fiercely repudiate the slightest insinuation that we in any thing fall short of perfection. As regards the latter, we shall content ourselves with remarking, that even the disposition to deny the existence of imperfection among us, redounds far more to our credit, than the complacent exaltation of our weaker points to virtues; while as to the former, we are certain that a higher feeling than mere nervous, sensitive vanity, induces in us the desire

"To see ourselves as others see us,"

since there is no nation which more readily avails itself of the remarks of others, even when by far too bitter or unjust to improve. True to our national character of youthfulness, we are ever ready to act on every hint. We are, par excellence, a learning nation. Send even the young Englishman on his continental tour, and the chances are ten to one that he returns with every prejudice strengthened, and his vanity increased. But the American—ductile as wax, evinces himself even at an advanced period of life, susceptible of improvement, yet firm in its retention. That we earnestly strive in every respect to improve is evident from many "little things" which foreigners ridicule. For instance, the habitual use of "fine language," and the attempt to clothe even our ordinary trains of thought in an elegant garb, which has been time and again cruelly ridiculed by Yankee goaders, is to a reflecting mind suggestive of commendation, from the very fact, that an attempt at least is made to improve. Better a thousand times the impulse to progress, even through the whirlwinds of hyperbole and inflated expression, than the heavy miasma of a patois, the lightest breath of which at once proclaims the cockney or provincial.

For the entertainment of those who are willing to live, laugh, and learn, we are induced to give our readers a few extracts from a recently published work, by a German, entitled, Skizzen aus den Vereinigten Staaten von Nord Amerika: Von Dr. A. Kirsten, (or, Sketches of the United States of North America, by Dr. A. Kirsten,) a work in which the author, after exhausting all the three-penny thunder of ignorant abuse, coolly informs his readers, that he has by no means represented things in their worst light. The American public at large are not aware that among the rulers of Germany, emigration to America is sternly yet anxiously discouraged. Rejoiced as they are to behold our country a receptacle for the sweepings of their prisons and Fuchthaüser, or houses of correction, they still gaze with an alarmed glance at the almost incredible "forth-wandering" which has at times depopulated entire villages, and borne with it an amount of wealth, which, trifling as it may appear to us, is in a land of economy and poverty of immense importance. The reader who judges of Germany by Great Britain and Ireland, is mistaken. That emigration which is to the government of the latter countries health and safety, brings to the former death and destruction. As a proof of this, we need only point to the tone of all the German papers which are in any manner connected with the interests of their respective courts. In all we find the old song: Depreciation of America, as far as applicable to the prevention of emigration. To accomplish this end, writers are hired and poets feed; remedies against emigration are proposed by political economists, and where possible, even clergymen are induced to persuade their flocks to nibble still in the ancient stubble, or among the same old barren rocks.

Dr. Kirsten, it would appear, is either a natural and habitual grumbler, or a paid hireling. If the former, we can only pity—if the latter, despise him. Could our voice be heard by his patrons, we would, however, advise them to employ a better grumbler—one who can wield lance and sword against his foes, instead of mops and muddy water. A weaker lancer, or more impotent and impudent abuser, has rarely appeared, even among our earlier English decriers.

Like many other weak-minded individuals, the Herr Doctor appears to have started under the fullest conviction that our country was, if not a true "Schlaraffen Land," or Pays de Cocagne, or Mahomet's Paradise, in which pigeons ready roasted fly to the mouth, at least a realized Icarie, or perfected Fourier-dom. All the books which he had read, relative to America, described it in glowing colors, and inclined his mind favorably toward it. Such was his faith in these books, or also so great his fear, that these glorious dreams might be dissipated, that he did not even ascertain or confirm their truth by the personal experience of those who had been there, and we are informed naively enough in the preface, that previous to his departure he had but once had an opportunity of conversing with an educated German, who had resided for a long time in America. Such weak heedlessness as this does not, to our ears at least, savor of the characteristic prudence and deliberation of the German, and strongly confirms us in the belief, that the doctor wandered forth well knowing what he was about—in other words, that he went his way with his opinions already cut and dried.

"After an eight weeks' voyage I arrived in New-York. It was at the end of August. Even in the vicinity of the Gulf Stream a terrible heat oppressed us, which increased as we approached land; but it was in that city that I became aware of what the heat in America really was. Many visits which I was obliged to make, caused during the day a cruel exhaustion, while at night I found no refreshment in slumber, partly because the heat was hardly diminished, and partly from the musquitoes, and to me unaccustomed alarms of fire, which were nightly repeated, from which I found that life in America was by no means so agreeable as I had been led to infer from books and popular report."

From the single, mysterious, educated German with whom the doctor had conferred previous to his departure, he had learned that, in the United States, any thing like marked distinction of class, rank, or caste, did not exist; and that this was particularly the case among Germans living there. "The educated and refined knew how to draw into their society the less gifted, and it was really singular to observe in how short a time the latter rose to a higher degree of culture. People actually destitute of knowledge and manners, in fact could not be found. Moreover, I there anticipated a southern climate, for which I had some years longed."

How miserably the poor doctor was disappointed in these moderate and reasonable anticipations, appears from the following lamentable account:

"Ere long I, indeed, became acquainted with many Germans, who received me in the kindest manner, and of whom recollections will ever be dear to me. But this was not the case with the Americans, as I had been led to anticipate, nor indeed with the Germans, generally. Among these I found neither connection nor unity, and they mostly led a life such as I had in Germany never met with, while nothing like social cultivation, in a higher sense, was to be found. Led into the society of those who by day were devoted to business, but in the evening scattered themselves, here and there, without a point of union, I found myself in the noisy, but pleasure-wanting city, forlorn and unwell. Many, to whom I complained of what I missed in New-York, thought that it might be found in Philadelphia."

But even in Philadelphia our pilgrim found not the promised Paradise, where there was no distinction of rank or family, and where the more educated and refined would eagerly adopt him, the lowly brother, into their Icarian circle. Neither did he discover the golden tropical region—the southern heaven—for which his soul had longed for years. Alas! no. "After a residence of four weeks in New-York, I repaired to Philadelphia, and there found that among the Germans, things were the same as in New-York—in fact, there was even less unity among them." But although the doctor did not discover any Germans inspired with the sublime spirit of harmony, he certainly appears to have met with several who had acquired the American virtue of common sense.

"A German who had been for a long time resident in the United States asserted that he had, as yet, met with no fellow-countryman, who had been in the beginning satisfied with America. Others were of the opinion, that I would first be pleased with the country when I had found a profitable employment. And some others, that I would never be satisfied."

And so the doctor, ever dependent on others for happiness, looked here and there, like the pilgrim after Aden, or the hero of the Morning Watch, for the ideal of his dreams. The so-called entirely German towns in Pennsylvania were German only in name. The heat disgusted him with the south—the cold with the north. After residing nine months in Poughkeepsie, he returned to New-York, and there remained for some time, occupied, as it would appear, solely with acquiring information. This residence at an end, he returned to Germany.

We pass over the first chapters of his work, devoted to an ordinary account of the climate, animals, and plants of the country, to a more interesting picture, namely—its inhabitants. From this we learn that the American is cold, dry, and monosyllabic, in his demeanor and conversation. During his return to Germany he was delayed for a period of something less than nine days at Falmouth, England, where, during his daily walks, he experienced that in comparison with us the English are amiable, communicative, and agreeable. Indeed, he found that when, during a promenade in America, strangers returned his greetings, these polite individuals were invariably Britons, "which proves that while in more recent times, the English have assumed or approached the customs of other nations, the Americans have remained true to the character and being of the earlier emigrants, and are at present totally distinct from the English of to-day.

"This is especially shown by the demeanor of Americans towards foreigners, and nearly as much so by their conduct to one another. Regard them where we will, they are ever the same. In the larger or the smaller towns, in the streets or in the country, every one goes his own way without troubling himself about others, and without saluting those with whom he is unacquainted. Never do we see neighbors associating with each other; and neighborly friendship is here unknown. If acquaintances meet, they nod to each other, or the one murmurs, 'How do you do?' while the other replies, 'Very well,' without delaying an instant, unless business affairs require a conversation. This concluded, they depart without a word, unless, indeed, as an exception, they wish each other good morning, or evening. Nor are they less distant in hotels, or during journeys in railroad cars and steamboats."—"Continued conversations, in which several take part, are extremely rare. Any one speaking frequently to a stranger, at table or during a journey, runs the risk not merely of being regarded as impertinent, but as entertaining dishonest views; and, indeed, one should invariably be on his guard against Americans who manifest much friendliness, since, in this manner, pickpockets are accustomed to make their advances.

"In a corresponding degree this coldness of disposition is manifested towards more intimate acquaintances. Never do we observe among friends a deep and heart-inspired, or even a confiding relationship. Nay, this is not even to be found among members of the same family. The son or the daughter, who has not for several days seen his or her parents, returns and enters the room without a greeting, or without any signs of joy being manifested by either. Or else the salutation is given and returned in such a manner that scarcely a glance passes between the parties. The direst calamities are imparted and listened to with an apathy evincing no signs of emotion, and a great disaster, occurring on a railroad or steamboat, in the United States, excites in Germany more attention and sympathy than in the former country, even when friends and perhaps relatives have thereby suffered. Even the loss of a member of the family is hardly manifested by the survivors."

In a recent English work we were indeed complimented for our patience, but it was reserved for Doctor Kirsten to discover in us, this degree of iron-hearted, immovable, nil admirarism. But when he goes on to assert that "in the most deadly peril—in such moments as those which precede the anticipated explosion of a steamboat boiler, even their ladies preserve the same repose and equanimity," so that any expression from a stranger is coldly listened to, without producing evident impression, our surprise is changed to wonder, and we are tempted to inquire, Can it be possible, that we are such Spartans—endowed with such superior human stoicism?

"This coldness of the American is legibly impressed on his features. In both sexes we frequently meet with pretty, and occasionally beautiful, faces; but seldom, however, do we perceive in either, aught cheerful or attractive. In place thereof we observe, even in the fairest, a certain earnestness, verging towards coldness. From the great majority of faces we should judge that no emotion could be made to express itself upon them, and such is truly the case.

"That the nearest acquaintances address each other with Sir and Master, or Miss and Mistress, and that husband and wife, parents and children, yes, even the children themselves employ these titles to each other, has undoubtedly much to do with their marked and cold demeanor. But this must have a deeper ground than that merely caused by the use of distant forms of salutation.

"And yet, the Americans are by no means of a bad disposition, since they are neither crafty and treacherous, nor revengeful, nor even prone to distrust; on the contrary, quite peaceable, and by the better classes, there is much charity for apparent misery; seldom does one suffering with bodily ailments leave the house of a wealthy man without being munificently aided; the which charity is silently extended to him, without a sign of emotion. Those who are capable of work—no matter what the cause of their sufferings may be, seldom receive alms, for the Americans go upon the principle that work is not disgraceful, and without reflecting that the applicant may not have been accustomed to work, refuse in any manner to aid him. If any man want work, he can apply to the overseers of the poor, who are obliged to receive him in a poor-house, and maintain him until he find such. Much is done at the state's expense for the aged, sick, and insane."

After this our doctor lets fall a few flattering drops of commendation by way of admitting that this iron immobility of the American is not without its good points, but fearing that he has spoken too favorably, he brings up the chapter by remarking that—

"The here-mentioned good traits in the American character can, however, by no means overbalance or destroy the evil impression which their coldness produces, but merely soften it."

From our appearance and deportment he proceeds to a bold, hasty, and remarkably superficial criticism of education in America. The father of a family in America, we are informed, is occupied with business from morning to night, and leaves all care for the education and training of his children to the mother, who is, however, generally quite incapable to fulfil such duty. No teacher dare correct a child, for fear of incurring legal punishment, in consequence of which they grow up destitute of decency, order, or obedience. Some few, indeed, find their way eventually into academies and colleges, which are not so badly managed; but, as for school-boys, since there is no one to insure their regular attendance at school, they play truant à discrétion. As for the children of the lower and middle classes, they pass their boyhood in idleness, and grow up in ignorance, until at a later period they enter into business, when they are compelled to perfect themselves in the arts of reading and writing, yet they quickly acquire the business spirit of their fathers.

"The education of the girls is, however, of an entirely different nature. On them the mothers expend much care and trouble, which is, however, of the most perverted kind, since it is in its nature entirely external. Before all, do they seek to give them an air of decency and culture, which is, nevertheless, more apparent than real. In accordance with the republican spirit of striving after equality, every mother—no matter how poor, or how low her rank may be—desires to bring her daughter up in such a manner that she may be inferior in respectability and external culture to no one." "In fact, the daughters of the poorest workman bear themselves like those of the richest merchant. In their mien we see a pride flashing forth, which can hardly be surpassed by that of the haughtiest daughters of the highest German nobility. And that their daughters may in every respect equal those of others, we see poor men lavishing upon them their last penny; and while the boys run in the streets, covered with ragged and dirty fragments of clothing, the sisters wear bonnets with veils, bearing parasols, and while at school, short dresses and drawers."

After this fearful announcement, we are informed, that the poor girls profit as little in school as their unhappy brothers, and that no regard is paid to their future destiny.

"Even after the maiden has left school, her mother instructs her in no feminine employment, not even in domestic affairs, and least of all, in cookery. While the former lives, and the daughter remains unmarried, she (the mother,) attends to housekeeping, as far as the word can be taken in the German sense, while her daughter passes the time in reading, more frequently with bedecking herself, but generally in idleness. When the daughter, however, marries, we may well imagine how a house is managed in such hands. The principal business henceforth is self-adornment and housekeeping. All imaginable care is bestowed upon these branches, but none whatever on any other. Cookery is of the lowest grade; nearly every day sees the same dishes, and those, also, which are prepared with the least trouble. Very frequently, indeed, the husbands are obliged to prepare their meals before and after their business hours. Knitting and spinning, either in town or country, is unknown; only manufactured or woven stockings are worn, and shirts are generally purchased ready-made in the shops." "Washing is the only work which they undertake, and this is done by young ladies of wealthy family. This takes place every Monday, for there are very few families who own linen sufficient for more than a single week's wear.

"So long as the father lives, his daughters stick to him, useless as they are, and heavy as the burden may be to him. It is his business to see where the money comes from wherewith to nourish and decently clothe them: on this account the servant girls in America generally consist of Irish, Germans, and blacks. Even these, taking pattern from their mistresses, refuse to perform duties which are expected from every housemaid in Germany—for examples, boot-brushing, clothes-cleaning, and the bringing of water across the way, as well as street and step-cleaning; for which reason we often see respectable men performing these duties."

From this terrible plague of daughters, and daughterly extravagance, the doctor finds that poorer men in America are by no means as well off as would be imagined from their high wages. "The father with many daughters, so far from advancing in wealth, generally falls behind. Fearing the cost of a family, many men remain unmarried, and in no country in the world are there so many old maids as in the United States." From which the author finds that dreadful instances of immorality and infanticide result.

Filial duty, he asserts, is unknown. When the son proposes emigration to another place, or the undertaking of a new business, he announces it to his father "perhaps the evening before; while the daughters act in like manner as regards marriage, or, it may be, mention it to him for the first time after it has really taken place—from which the custom results that parents give their children no part of their property before death. Nothing is known of a true family life, in which parents are intimately allied to children, or brothers and sisters to each other." We spare our readers the sneer at those writers who have praised the Americans in their domestic relations, with which this veracious, high-minded, and unprejudiced chapter concludes.

In science and art, we are sunk, it seems, almost beneath contempt; the former being cultivated only so far as it is conducive to money-making. The professions of Divinity, Law, and Medicine, are badly and superficially taught and acquired. "There are, indeed," says the doctor, "in New-York and Philadelphia, institutions where the student has opportunities of becoming, if he will, an excellent physician; but these are far from being well patronized."

As regards general education, he asserts that, though a few professors in our colleges are highly educated men, this cannot be said of their pupils, since the latter set no value on knowledge not directly profitable, "and the backward condition of ancient languages, natural science, even geography, history and statistics, save as applicable to their own country, is really a matter of wonder."

But in the fine arts, it appears, we are sunk so far beneath contempt that we really wonder that the doctor should have found it, in this particular, worth while to abuse us. "There are but two monuments in all America worthy of mention, and both are in Baltimore. Philadelphia and New-York have nothing of the kind to show, though each city possesses two public squares or parks planted with trees, which are well adapted to receive such works of art, and where the eye sadly misses them." "Public and private collections of statues and pictures are altogether wanting, and the walls of the rich are generally devoid of paintings and copper-plate engravings. What they have generally consists of family portraits, or those of Washington and other presidents. But to dazzle the eye, we find in the possession of the wealthy, the most worthless pictures in expensive gold frames. Of late years a public gallery has been established in New-York for the sale of such productions. As far however as the works of native artists are concerned, we find among them none inspired by high art; on the contrary, they are generally, to the last degree, mediocre affairs, or mere daubs (wahre Klecksereien) not worth hanging up; the better however are exaggerated and unnatural both in subject and color. This is also the case with most of the copper-plate engravings exposed for sale in the French shop-windows, and which appear almost as if manufactured in Paris expressly for the American taste. The inferior appreciation of art in the Americans and their delight in extravagance is particularly shown in the political caricatures, which are entirely deficient in all refined wit, consisting either of stupid allusions to eminent men or party leaders, or direct and clumsy exaggerations."

By way of amends for all this abuse, our author admits that we excel in all practical arts and labor-saving inventions. "But in proportion to the backward state of the fine arts, is the advance which the Americans have made in all pertaining to mechanics, and technical art. Particular attention is paid to the supplanting of hand labor by machinery. Even the most trifling apparatus or tool is constructed with regard to practical use, and it only needs a more careful observation of this to convince us that in all such matters they have the advantage of Germany.

"It is often truly startling to see how simply and usefully those articles used in business are constructed—for example, the one-horse cars (drays or trucks?) and hand-carts, employed in conveying merchandise to and from stores. As a proof how far the Americans have advanced in mechanic arts, we may mention that high houses, of wood or brick, several stories high and entire, are transported on rollers to places several feet distant. Occasionally, to add a story, the house is raised by screws into the air and the building substructed. In either case the family remains quietly dwelling therein."

But alas, even these few rays of commendatory comfort vanish in the dark, after reflection, that it is precisely this ingenuity and enterprise in business and practical matters which unfits us for all the kinder and more social duties, and renders us insensible to every soothing and refining influence. No allowance for past events, unavoidable circumstances, or our possible future destiny, appears to cross the doctor's mind. All is dark and desolate. True, every man of high and low degree—the laborer and shop-man—the lawyer and clergyman, pause in the street to study any mechanical novelty which meets their eye—but ere they do this the doctor is mindful to suggest that they pass picture shop-windows without deigning to glance therein. The professions are studied like trades, and in matters of criminal law our condition is truly deplorable. It happened not many months since, he informs us, that the publisher of a slanderous New-York paper, was castigated by a lady, with a hunting whip, in Broadway, at noon. The said lady had been (according to custom) unjustly and cruelly abused in the journal referred to. So great was her irritation that she actually followed the editor along the streets, lashing him continually. But the finale of this startling incident consists of the fact that the lady, on pleading guilty, was fined six cents.

There is an obscurity attached to his manner of narrating this anecdote, which leaves the opinion of the author a little uncertain. Six cents would in some parts of Germany be a serious fine, worthy of appeal, mercy, and abatement. In different parts of Suabia and even Baden, notices may be seen posted up, in which the commission of certain local offences is prohibited by fines ranging from four to twelve cents. On the whole, as a zealous defender of the purity and dignity of woman, when unjustly assailed, we are inclined to think that the author sides with the lady.

But we need not follow the doctor further in his career of discontent and prejudice. Before concluding, we would however caution the reader against supposing that he expresses views in any degree accordant with the feelings and opinions of his countrymen. The best, the most numerous, the most impartial, and we may add, by far the most favorable works on America, are from German pens. In confirmation of our assertion that his work is unfavorably regarded at home we may adduce the fact that it has been severely handled by excellent reviewers among them; take for example the following, from the Leipzig Central Blatt. After favorably noticing the late excellent work of Quentin on the United States, he proceeds to say of the doctor's Sketches, that

"Herr Kirsten seems to desire to be that for North America, which Nicolai of noted memory was in his own time for Italy. Already, on arrival, we find him in ill temper, caused by the excessive heat, which ill-humor is aggravated by his being obliged to make many calls by day, and the musquitoes and alarms of fire which disturbed his slumbers during the night. In other places he was no better pleased.

"The Germans were disagreeable on account of their want of unity, the Americans from their coldness—in short, he missed home life—could not accustom himself to the new country, and returned after a sojourn of less than two years to Germany. In 'sketches,' resulting from such circumstances, we naturally encounter only the darker side of American life. Much may indeed be true of what he asserts regarding the natural capabilities, climate, soil, and inhabitants of the land, the manners and customs of the latter, their common and party spirit, education of children, and the condition of science and art; but particulars are either too hastily generalized, or else the better points, as for example, the characteristic traits of the people, their extraordinary progress in physical and mental culture, and the excellent management of the country, are either entirely omitted or receive by far too slight notice. His narrow-minded and ill-natured disposition to find fault is also shown by his reproaching the Americans with faults which they share in common with every nation in America, ourselves included, as, for example, excesses committed by political partisans. Still, the book may not be entirely without value, at least to those who see every thing on the other side of the water only in a rosy light, and believe that the German emigrant as soon as his foot touches shore, enters a state of undisturbed happiness."

So much for the critical doctor's popularity at home. In conclusion, we may remark that our main object in this notice, in addition to amusing our readers, has been to prove by this exception, and the displeasure which it excites in Germany, the rule, that by the writers of that country our own has been almost invariably well spoken of. And we have deemed these remarks the more requisite, lest some reader might casually infer that Dr. Kirsten expressed the views and sentiments of any considerable number of his countrymen.

REMINISCENCES OF THE LATE MR. COOPER.—HIS LAST DAYS.

A LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF THE INTERNATIONAL.

BY JOHN W. FRANCIS, M. D., LL. D.

New-York, October 1st, 1851.

My Dear Sir,—I readily comply with your wish that I should furnish you with such reminiscences of the late Mr. Cooper as occur to me, although the pressure of professional engagements absolutely forbids such details as I would gladly record. For nearly thirty years I have been the occasional medical adviser, and always the ardent personal friend of the illustrious deceased; but our intercourse has been so fragmentary, owing to the distance we have lived apart, and the busy lives we have both led, that the impressions which now throng upon and impress me are desultory and varied, though endearing. I first knew Mr. Cooper in 1823. He at that time was recognized as the author of "Precaution," of "the Spy," and of "the Pioneers." The two last-named works had attracted especial notice by their widely extended circulation, and the novelty of their character in American literature. He was often to be seen at that period in conversation at the City Hotel in Broadway, near Old Trinity, where many of our most renowned naval and military men convened. He was the original projector of a literary and social association called the "Bread and Cheese Club," whose place of rendezvous was at Washington Hall. They met weekly, in the evening, and furnished the occasion of much intellectual gratification and genial pleasure. That most adhesive friend, the poet Halleck, Chancellor Kent, G. C. Verplanck, Wiley, the publisher of Mr. Cooper's works, Dekay, the naturalist, C. A. Davis (Jack Downing), Charles King, now President of Columbia College, J. Depeyster Ogden, J. W. Jarvis, the painter, John and William Duer, and many others, were of the confederacy. Washington Irving, at the period of the formation of this circle of friends, was in England, occupied with his inimitable "Sketch Book." I had the honor of an early admittance to the Club. In balloting for membership the bread declared an affirmative; and two ballots of cheese against an individual proclaimed non-admittance.

From the meetings of this society Mr. Cooper was rarely absent. When presiding officer of the evening, he attracted especial consideration from the richness of his anecdotes, his wide American knowledge, and his courteous behavior. These meetings were often signally characterized by the number of invited guests of high reputation who gathered thither for recreative purposes, both of mind and body; jurists of acknowledged eminence, governors of different States, senators, members of the House of Representatives, literary men of foreign distinction, and authors of repute in our own land. It was gratifying to observe the dexterity with which Mr. Cooper would cope with some eastern friend who contributed to our delight with a "Boston notion," or with Trelawny, the associate of Byron, descanting on Greece and the "Younger Son," or with any guests of the Club, however dissimilar their habits or character; accommodating his conversation and manners with the most marvellous facility. The New-York attachments of Mr. Cooper were ever dominant. I witnessed a demonstration of the early enthusiasm and patriotic activity of our late friend in his efforts, with many of our leading citizens, in getting up the Grand Castle Garden Ball, given in honor of Lafayette. The arrival of the "Nation's Guest" at New-York, in 1824, was the occasion of the most joyful demonstrations, and the celebration was a splendid spectacle; it brought together celebrities from many remote parts of the Union. Mr. Cooper must have undergone extraordinary fatigue during the day and following night; but nearly as he was exhausted, he exhibited, when the public festivals were brought to a close, that astonishing readiness and skill in literary execution for which he was always so remarkable. Adjourning near daybreak to the office of his friend Mr. Charles King, he wrote out more quickly than any other hand could copy, the very long and masterly report which next day appeared in Mr. King's paper—a report which conveyed to tens of thousands who had not been present, no inconsiderable portion of the enjoyment they had felt who were the immediate participants in this famous festival. The manly bearing, keen intelligence, and thoroughly honorable instincts of Mr. Cooper, united as they were with this gift of writing—soon most effectively exhibited in his literary labors, now constantly increasing—excited my highest expectations of his career as an author, and my sincere esteem for the man. There was a fresh promise, a vigorous impulse, and especially an American enthusiasm about him, that seemed to indicate not only individual fame, but national honor. Since that period I have followed his brilliant course with no less admiration than delight.

It was to me a cause of deep regret that soon after his return from Europe, crowned with a distinct and noble reputation, he became involved in a series of law-suits, growing out of libels, and originating partly in his own imprudence, and partly in the reckless severity of the press. But these are but temporary considerations in the retrospect of his achievements; and if I mistake not, in these difficulties he in every instance succeeded in gaining the verdict of the jury. It was a task insurmountable to overcome a fact as stated by Mr. Cooper. Associated as he was in my own mind with the earliest triumphs of American letters, I think of him as the creator of the genuine nautical and forest romances of "Long Tom Coffin" and "Leatherstocking;" as the illustrator of our country's scenes and characters to the Europeans; and not as the critic of our republican inconsistencies, or as a litigant with caustic editors.

It is well known that for a long period Mr. Cooper, at occasional times only, visited New-York city. His residence for many years was an elegant and quiet mansion on the southern borders of Otsego Lake. Here—in his beautiful retreat, embellished by the substantial fruits of his labors, and displaying everywhere his exquisite taste, his mind, ever intent on congenial tasks, which, alas! are left unfinished, surrounded by a devoted and highly cultivated family, and maintaining the same clearness of perception, serene firmness, and integrity of tone, which distinguished him in the meridian of his life—were his mental employments prosecuted. He lived chiefly in rural seclusion, and with habits of methodical industry. When visiting the city he mingled cordially with his old friends; and it was on the last occasion of this kind, at the beginning of April, that he consulted me with some earnestness in regard to his health. He complained of the impaired tone of the digestive organs, great torpor of the liver, weakness of muscular activity, and feebleness in walking. Such suggestions were offered for his relief as the indications of disease warranted. He left the city for his country residence, and I was gratified shortly after to learn from him of his better condition.

During July and August I maintained a correspondence with him on the subject of his increasing physical infirmities, and frankly expressed to him the necessity of such remedial measures as seemed clearly necessary. Though occasionally relieved of my anxieties by the kind communications of his excellent friend and attending physician, Dr. Johnson, I was not without solicitude, both from his own statements as well as those of Dr. Johnson himself, that his disorder was on the increase; certain symptoms were indeed mitigated, but the radical features of his illness had not been removed. A letter which I soon received induced me forthwith to repair to Cooperstown, and on the 27th of August I saw Mr. Cooper at his own dwelling. My reception was cordial. With his family about him he related with great clearness the particulars of his sufferings, and the means of relief to which he was subjected. Dr. Johnson was in consultation. I at once was struck with the heroic firmness of the sufferer, under an accumulation of depressing symptoms. His physical aspect was much altered from that noble freshness he was wont to bear; his complexion was pallid; his interior extremities greatly enlarged by serous effusion; his debility so extreme as to require an assistant for change of position in bed; his pulse sixty-four. There could be no doubt that the long continued hepatic obstruction had led to confirmed dropsy, which, indeed, betrayed itself in several other parts of the body. Yet was he patient and collected. That powerful intellect still held empire with commanding force, clearness, and vigor. I explained to him the nature of his malady; its natural termination when uncontrolled; dwelt upon the favorable condition and yet regular action of the heart, and other vital functions, and the urgent necessity of endeavoring still more to fulfil certain indications, in order to overcome the force of particular tendencies in the disorder. I frankly assured him that within the limits of a week a change in the complaint was indispensable to lessen our forebodings of its ungovernable nature.

He listened with fixed attention; and now and then threw out suggestions of cure such as are not unfrequent with cultivated minds.

The great characteristics of his intellect were now even more conspicuous than before. Not a murmur escaped his lips; conviction of his extreme illness wrought no alteration of features; he gave no expression of despondency; his tone and his manner were equally dignified, cordial, and natural. It was his happiness to be blessed with a family around him whose greatest gratification was to supply his every want, and a daughter for a companion in his pursuits, who was his intelligent amanuensis and correspondent as well as indefatigable nurse.[1]

I forbear enlarging on matters too professional for present detail. During the night after my arrival he sustained an attack of severe fainting, which convinced me still further of his great personal weakness. An ennobling philosophy, however, gave him support, and in the morning he had again been refreshed by a sleep of some few hours' duration. I renewed to him and to his family the hopes and the discouragements in his case. Never was information of so grave a cast received by any individual in a calmer spirit. He said little as to his prospects of recovery. Upon my taking leave of him, however, shortly after, in the morning, I am convinced from his manner that he shared my apprehensions of a fatal termination of his disorder. Nature, however strong in her gifted child, had now her healthful rights largely invaded. His constitutional buoyancy and determination, by leading him to slight that distant and thorough attention demanded by primary symptoms, doubtless contributed to their subsequent aggravation.

I shall say but a few words more on this agonizing topic. The letters which I received, after my return home, communicated at times some cheering facts of renovation, but on the whole, discouraging demonstrations of augmenting illness, and lessened hope, were their prominent characteristics. A letter to me from his son-in-law, of the 14th of September, announced: "Mr. Cooper died, apparently without much pain, to-day at half-past one, P.M., leaving his family, although prepared by his gradual failure, in deep affliction. He would have been sixty-two years old to-morrow."

A life of such uniform and unparalleled excellence and service, a career so brilliant and honorable, closed in a befitting manner, and was crowned by a death of quiet resignation. Conscious of his approaching dissolution, his intelligence seemed to glow with increased fulness as his prostrated frame yielded by degrees to the last summons. It is familiarly known to his most intimate friends, that for some considerable period prior to his fatal illness, he appropriated liberal portions of his time to the investigation of scriptural truths, and that his convictions were ripe in Christian doctrines. With assurances of happiness in the future, he graciously yielded up his spirit to the disposal of its Creator. His death, which must thus have been the beginning of a serene and more blessed life to him, is universally regarded as a national loss.

Will you allow me to add a few words to this letter, already perhaps of undue extent. It has been my gratification during a life of some duration to have become personally acquainted with many eminent characters in the different walks of professional and literary avocation. I never knew an individual more thoroughly imbued with higher principles of action than Mr. Cooper: he acted upon principles, and fully comprehended the principles upon which he acted. Casual observers could scarcely, at times, understand and appreciate his motives or conduct. An independence of character worthy of the highest respect, and a natural boldness of temper which led him to a frank, emphatic, and intrepid utterance of his thoughts and sentiments, were uncongenial to that large class of people, who, from the want of moral courage, or a feeble physical temperament, habitually conform to public opinion, and endeavor to conciliate the world. Mr. Cooper was one of the most genuine Americans in his tone of mind, in manly self-reliance, in sympathy with the scenery, the history, and the constitution of his country, which it has ever been my lot to know. His genius was American, fresh, vigorous, independent, and devoted to native subjects. The opposition he met with on his return from Europe, in consequence of his patriotic, though, perhaps, injudicious attempts to point out the faults and duties of his countrymen, threw him reluctantly on the defensive, and sometimes gave an antagonistic manner to his intercourse; but, whoever, recognizing his intellectual superiority, and respecting his integrity of purpose, met him candidly, in an open, cordial and generous spirit, soon found in Mr. Cooper an honest man, and a thorough patriot.

How strongly is impressed upon my memory his personal appearance, so often witnessed during his rambles in Broadway and amidst the haunts of this busy population. His phrenological development might challenge comparison with that of the most favored of mortals. His manly figure, high, prominent brow, clear and fine gray eye, and royal bearing, revealed the man of will and intelligence. His intellectual hardihood was remarkable. He worked upon a novel with the patient industry of a man of business, and set down every fact of costume, action, expression, local feature, and detail of maritime operations or woodland experience, with a kind of consciousness and precision that produced a Flemish exactitude of detail, while in portraying action, he seemed to catch by virtue of an eagle glance and an heroic temperament, the very spirit of his occasion and convey it to the reader's nerves and heart, as well as to his understanding. Herein Mr. Cooper was a man of unquestionable originality. As to his literary services, some idea may be formed of the consideration in which they are held by the almost countless editions of many of his works in his own country, and their circulation abroad by translations into almost every living tongue.

I may add a word or two on the extent of his sympathies with humanity. What a love he cherished for superior talents in every ennobling pursuit in life—how deep an interest he felt in the fortunes of his scientific and literary friends—what gratification he enjoyed in the physical inquiries of Dekay and Le Conte, the muse of Halleck and of Bryant, the painting of Cole, the sculpture of Greenough! Dunlap, were he speaking, might tell you of his gratuities to the unfortunate playwright and the dramatic performer. With the mere accumulators of money—those golden calves whose hearts are as devoid of emotion as their brains of the faculty of cogitation—he held no congenial communion at any time: they could not participate in the fruition of his pastime; and he felt in himself an innate superiority in the gifts with which nature had endowed him. He was ever vigilant, a keen observer of men and things; and in conversation frank and emphatic. It was a gratifying spectacle to encounter him with old Col. Trumbull, the historical painter, descanting on the many excellencies of Cole's pencil, in the delineation of American forest-scenery—a theme the richest in the world for Mr. Cooper's contemplation. A Shylock with his money-bags never glutted over his possessions with a happier feeling than did these two eminent individuals—the venerable Colonel with his patrician dignity, and Cooper with his somewhat aristocratic bearing, yet democratic sentiment; the one fruitful with the glories of the past, the other big with the stirring events of his country's progress, in the refinement of arts, and national power. Trumbull was one of the many old men I knew who delighted in Cooper's writings, and who in conversation dwelt upon his captivating genius.

To his future biographer Mr. Cooper has left the pleasing duty rightly to estimate the breadth and depth of his powerful intellect—psychologically to investigate the development and functions of that cerebral organ, which for so many years, with such rapid succession and variety, poured out the creations of poetic thought and descriptive illustration—to determine the value of his capacious mind by the influence which, in the dawn of American literature, it has exercised, in rearing the intellectual fabric of his country's greatness—and to unfold the secret springs of those disinterested acts of charity to the poor and needy, which signalized his conduct as a professor of religious truth, and a true exampler of the Christian graces. He has unquestionably done more to make known to the transatlantic world his country, her scenery, her characteristics, her aboriginal inhabitants, her history, than all preceding writers. His death may well be pronounced a national calamity. By common consent he long occupied an enviable place—the highest rank in American literature. To adopt the quaint phraseology of old Thomas Fuller, the felling of so mighty an oak must needs cause the increase of much underwood. Who will fill the void occasioned by his too early departure from among us, time alone must determine. With much consideration, I remain,

Dear sir, yours most truly,
JOHN W. FRANCIS.

PUBLIC HONORS TO THE MEMORY OF MR. COOPER.

In the last number of the International we were able merely to announce the death of our great countryman Mr. Cooper. The following account of proceedings in reference to the event is compiled mainly from the Evening Post.

A meeting of literary men, and others, was held at the City Hall in New-York, on the 25th of September, for the purpose of taking the necessary measures for rendering fit honors to the memory of the deceased author. Rufus W. Griswold, calling the meeting to order, said it had been convened to do justice to the memory of the most illustrious American who had died in the present century. Since the design of such a meeting had first been formed, a consultation among Mr. Cooper's friends had been held, and it had been determined that the present should be only a preparatory meeting, for the making of such arrangements as should be thought necessary for a more suitable demonstration of respect for that eminent person, whose name, more completely than that of any of his cotemporaries and countrymen, had filled the world.

On motion of Judge Duer, Washington Irving was elected President of the meeting. On motion of Joseph Blunt, Fitz Greene Halleck and Rufus W. Griswold were appointed Secretaries.

Mr. Blunt said, that as it had been thought proper to consider this occasion as merely preliminary, and for the purpose of making arrangements to do honor to the distinguished author who has left us, he would move that a committee of five be appointed by the chair, to report what measures should be adopted, by the literary gentlemen of this city and of the country, so far as they may see fit to join them, for the purpose of rendering appropriate honors to the memory of the late J. Fenimore Cooper.

The motion was adopted, and the chair appointed the following gentlemen members of the committee: Judge Duer, Richard B. Kimball, Dr. Francis, Fitz Greene Halleck, and George Bancroft; to whom Washington Irving and Rufus W. Griswold were subsequently added. The meeting then adjourned.

This committee afterwards met and appointed as a General Committee to carry out the designs of the meeting: Washington Irving, James K. Paulding, John W. Francis, Gulian C. Verplanck, Charles King, Richard B. Kimball, Rufus W. Griswold, Lewis Gaylord Clarke, Francis L. Hawks, John A. Dix, George Bancroft, Fitz Greene Halleck, John Duer, William C. Bryant, George P. Morris, Charles Anthon, Samuel Osgood, J. M. Wainright, and William W. Campbell.

R. W. Griswold, Donald G. Mitchell, Parke Godwin, C. F. Briggs, and Starbuck Mayo were appointed a Committee of Correspondence.

Besides letters from many of the gentlemen present, others had been received from some twenty of the most eminent literary men of the United States, all expressing the warmest sympathy in the proposal to do every possible honor to the memory of Mr. Cooper. We copy from these the following:

From Washington Irving.

Sunnyside, Thursday, Sept. 18, 1851.

My Dear Sir:—The death of Fenimore Cooper, though anticipated, is an event of deep and public concern, and calls for the highest expression of public sensibility. To me it comes with something of a shock; for it seems but the other day that I saw him at our common literary resort at Putnam's, in full vigor of mind and body, a very "castle of a man," and apparently destined to outlive me, who am several years his senior. He has left a space in our literature which will not easily be supplied....

I shall not fail to attend the proposed meeting on Wednesday next. Very respectfully, your friend and servant,

WASHINGTON IRVING.

Rev. Rufus W. Griswold.

From William C. Bryant.

Rochester, Friday, Sept. 19, 1851.

My Dear Sir:—I am sorry that the arrangements for my journey to the West are such that I cannot be present at the meeting which is about to be held to do honor to the memory of Mr. Cooper, on losing whom not only the country, but the civilized world and the age in which we live, have lost one of their most illustrious ornaments. It is melancholy to think that it is only until such men are in their graves that full justice is done to their merit. I shall be most happy to concur in any step which may be taken to express, in a public manner, our respect for the character of one to whom we were too sparing of public distinctions in his lifetime, and beg that I may be included in the proceedings of the occasion as if I were present. I am, very respectfully yours,

WM. C. BRYANT.

Rev. R. W. Griswold.

From Bishop Doane.

Riverside, Tuesday, Sept. 22, 1851.

My Dear Sir:—...I beg you to say, generally, in your discretion, that I yield to no one who will be present, in my estimate of the distinguished talents and admirable services of Mr. Cooper, or in my readiness to do the highest honor to his illustrious memory. His name must ever find a place among the "household words" of all our hearts; a name as beautiful for its blamelessness of life, as it is eminent for its attainments in letters, which has subordinated to the higher interests of patriotism and piety, the fervors of fancy and the fascinations of romance. Very faithfully, your friend and servant,

G. W. DOANE.

Rev. Rufus W. Griswold.

From Mr. Bancroft.

Newport, R. I., Thursday, Sept. 18, 1851.

My Dear Sir:—I heartily sympathize with the design of a public tribute to the genius, manly character, and great career of the illustrious man whose loss we deplore. Others have combined very high merit as authors, with professional pursuits. Mr. Cooper was, of those who have gone from among us, the first to devote himself exclusively to letters. We must admire the noble courage with which he entered on a course which none before him had tried; the glory which he justly won was reflected on his country, of whose literary independence he was the pioneer, and deserves the grateful recognition of all who survive him.

By the time proposed for the meeting, I fear I shall not be able to return to New-York; but you may use my name in any manner that shall strongly express my delight in the writings of our departed friend, my thorough respect for his many virtues, and my sense of that surpassing ability which has made his own name and the names of the creations of his fancy, household words throughout the civilized world. I remain, dear sir, very truly yours,

GEORGE BANCROFT.

Rev. R. W. Griswold.

From John P. Kennedy.

Baltimore, October, 1851.

Dear Sir:—Your invitation reached me too late to enable me to participate in the meeting which has just been held at the City Hall in your city, to render appropriate honors to the memory of Mr. Cooper.

I rejoice to see what has been done and what you propose to do. It is due to the eminent merits of Fenimore Cooper, that there should be an impressive public recognition of the loss which our country has sustained in his death. He stood confessedly at the head of a most attractive and popular department of our literature, in which his extraordinary success had raised him up a fame that became national. The country claimed it as its own. This fame was acknowledged and appreciated not only wherever the English tongue is the medium of thought, but every where amongst the most civilized nations of Europe.

Our literature, in the lifetime of the present generation, has grown to a maturity which has given it a distinction and honorable place in that aggregate which forms national character. No man has done more in his sphere to elevate and dignify that character than Fenimore Cooper: no man is more worthy than he, for such services, of the highest honors appropriate to a literary benefactor. His genius has contributed a rich fund to the instruction and delight of his countrymen, which will long be preserved amongst the choicest treasures of American letters, and will equally induce to render our national literature attractive to other nations. We owe a memorial and a monument to the man who has achieved this. This work is the peculiar privilege of the distinguished scholars of New-York, and I have no doubt will be warmly applauded, and if need be, assisted, by every scholar and friend of letters in the Union.

With the best wishes for the success of this enterprise, I am, my dear sir, very truly yours,

JOHN P. KENNEDY.

Rev. Rufus W. Griswold.

From C. J. Ingersoll.

Fonthill, Philadelphia, September, 30th, 1851.

Dear Sir:—Your favor, inviting me to a meeting of the friends of Fenimore Cooper, did not reach me till this morning, owing probably to irregularity of the post-office. Otherwise I should have tried to attend the proposed meeting, not only as a friend of Mr. Cooper, but as one among those of his countrymen who consider his memory a national trust for honored preservation.

In my opinion of Fenimore Cooper as a novelist he is entitled to one merit to which few if any one of his cotemporary European romance writers can lay claim, to wit, originality. Leatherstocking is an original character, and entirely American, which is probably one of the reasons why Cooper was more appreciated in Continental Europe than even Scott, whose magnificent fancy embellished every thing, but whose genius, I think, originated nothing. And then, in my estimate of Mr. Cooper's superior merits, was manly independence—a rare American virtue. For the less free Englishman or Frenchman, politically, there was a freeness in the expression as well as adoption of his own views of men and things. And a third kindred merit of Cooper was high-minded and gentlemanly abstinence from self-applause. No distinguished or applauded man ever was less apt to talk of himself and his performances. Unlike too many modern poets, novelists, and other writers, apt to become debauchees, drunkards, blackguards and the like (as if, as some think, genius and vice go together), Mr. Cooper was a gentleman remarkable for good plain sense, correct deportment, striking probity and propriety, and withal unostentatiously devout. Not meaning to disparage any one in order by odious comparisons to extol him, I deem his Naval History a more valuable and enduring historical work than many others, both English and American, of contemporaneous publication and much wider dissemination. In short, if the gentlemen whose names I have seen in the public journals with yours, proposing some concentrated eulogium, should determine to appoint a suitable person, with time to prepare it, I believe that Fenimore Cooper may be made the subject of illustration in very many and most striking lights, justly reflecting him, and with excellent influence on his country.

I do not recollect, from what I read lately in the newspapers, precisely what you and the other gentlemen associated with you in this proceeding propose to do, or whether any thing is to take place. But if so, whatever and wherever it may be, I beg you to use this answer to your invitation, and any services I can render, as cordial contributions, which I shall be proud and happy to make. I am very respectfully your humble servant,

C. J. INGERSOLL.

Rev. Rufus W. Griswold.

From G. P. R. James.

Stockbridge, Mass., 23d September, 1851.

Dear Doctor Griswold:—I regret extremely that it will not be in my power to be present at the meeting to testify respect for the memory of Mr. Cooper. I grieve sincerely that so eminent a man is lost to the country and the world; and though unacquainted with him personally, I need hardly tell you how highly his abilities as an author, and his character, were appreciated by yours faithfully,

G. P. R. JAMES.

From Mr. Everett.

Cambridge, 23d September, 1851.

Dear Sir:—I received this afternoon your favor of the 17th, inviting me to attend and participate in the meeting to be held in your City Hall, for the purpose of doing honor to the memory of the late Mr. Fenimore Cooper.

I sincerely regret that I cannot be with you. The state of the weather puts it out of my power to make the journey. The object of the meeting has my entire sympathy. The works of Mr. Cooper have adorned and elevated our literature. There is nothing more purely American, in the highest sense of the word, than several of them. In his department he is facile princeps. He wrote too much to write every thing equally well; but his abundance flowed out of a full, original mind, and his rapidity and variety bespoke a resolute and manly consciousness of power. If among his works there were some which, had he been longer spared to us, he would himself, on reconsideration, have desired to recal, there are many more which the latest posterity "will not willingly let die."

With much about him that was intensely national, we have but one other writer (Mr. Irving), as widely known abroad. Many of Cooper's novels were not only read at every fireside in England, but were translated into every language of the European continent.

He owed a part of his inspiration to the magnificent nature which surrounded him; to the lakes, and forests, and Indian traditions, and border-life of your great state. It would have been as difficult to create Leatherstocking anywhere out of New-York, or some state closely resembling it, as to create Don Quixotte out of Spain. To have trained and possessed Fenimore Cooper will be—is already—with justice, one of your greatest boasts. But we cannot let you monopolize the care of his memory. We have all rejoiced in his genius; we have all felt the fascination of his pen; we all deplore his loss. You must allow us all to join you in doing honor to the name of our great American novelist. I remain, dear sir, with great respect, very truly yours,

EDWARD EVERETT.

Rev. Rufus W. Griswold.

Letters of similar import were received from Richard H. Dana, George Ticknor, William H. Prescott, John Neal, and many other eminent men, all approving the design to render the highest honors to the illustrious deceased.

At the meeting of the New-York Historical Society, on the evening of Tuesday, the 7th of October, after the transaction of the regular business, the following resolutions were moved by Rev. Rufus W. Griswold, and seconded by Mr. George Bancroft:—

Whereas, It has pleased Almighty God to remove from this life our illustrious associate and countryman, James Fenimore Cooper, while his fame was in its fulness, and his intelligence was still unclouded by age or any infirmity, therefore:

Resolved, That this society has heard of the death of James Fenimore Cooper with profound regret:

That it recognizes in him an eminent subject and a masterly illustrator of our history:

That, in his contributions to our literature he displayed eminent genius and a truly national spirit:

That, in his personal character, he was honorable, brave, sincere, and generous, as respectable for unaffected virtue as he was distinguished for great capacities:

That this society, appreciating the loss which, however heavily it has fallen upon this country and the literary world, has fallen most heavily upon his family, instructs its officers to convey to his family, assurances of respectful sympathy and condolence.

Dr. John W. Francis addressed the society in a very interesting speech, in support of these resolutions. Among the great men of letters, he said, whom our country has produced, there were none greater than Mr. Cooper. I knew him for a period of thirty years, and during all that time I never knew any thing of his character that was not in the highest degree praiseworthy. He was a man of great decision of character, and a fair expositor of his own thoughts on every occasion—a thorough American, for I never knew a man who was more entirely so in heart and principle. He was able, with his vast knowledge, and a powerful physical structure, to complete whatever he attempted. He had studied the history of this country with a large philosophy, and understood our people and their character better than any other writer of the age. He was not only perfectly acquainted with our general history, but was thoroughly conversant with that of every state, county, village, lake, and river. And with his vast knowledge he was no less remarkable for ability as a historian than for his intrepidity of personal character. I could not, said Dr. Francis, allow this opportunity to pass without paying my tribute to the merits of this truly great man.

Mr. George Bancroft next addressed the society. My friend, he said, has spoken of the illustrious deceased as an American—I say that he was an embodiment of the American feeling, and truly illustrated American greatness. We were endeavoring to hold up our heads before the world, and to claim a character and an intellect of our own, when Cooper appeared with his powerful genius to support our pretensions. He came forth imbued with American life, and feeling, and sentiment. Another like Cooper cannot appear, for he was peculiarly suited to his time, which was that of an invading civilization. The fame and honor which he gained, were not obtained by obsequious deference to public opinion, but simply by his great ability and manly character. Great as he was in the department of romantic fiction, he was not less deserving of praise in that of history. In Lionel Lincoln he has described the battle of Bunker Hill better than it is described in any other work.

In his naval history of the United States he has left us the most masterly composition of which any nation could boast on a similar subject. Mr. Bancroft proceeded in a masterly analysis of some of Mr. Cooper's characters, and ended with an impressive assertion of the purity of his contributions to our literature, the eminence of his genius, and the dignity of his personal character.

Dr. Hawks spoke with his customary eloquence of the personal character of Mr. Cooper, his indefectible integrity, his devotion to the best interests of his country, and his religious spirit. He approved the resolutions which had been offered to the society.

The Rev. Samuel Osgood said:

It must seem presumptuous in me, Mr. President, to try to add any thing to the tribute which has been paid to the memory of Cooper, by gentlemen so peculiarly qualified from their experience and position to speak of the man and his services. But all professions have their own point of view, and I may be allowed to say a few words upon the relation of our great novelist to the historical associations and moral standards of our nation. I cannot claim more than a passing acquaintance with the deceased, and it belongs to friends more favored to interpret the asperities and illustrate the amenities which are likely to mark the character of a man so decided in his make and habit. With his position as an interpreter of American history and a delineator of American character, we are in this society most closely concerned. None in this presence, I am sure, will rebuke me for speaking of the novelist as among the most important agents of popular education, powerful either for good or ill.

Is it not true, Sir, that the romance is the prose epic of modern society, and that we now look to its pages for the most graphic portraitures of men, manners, and events? Social and political life is too complex now for the stately march of the heroic poem, and this age of print needs not the carefully measured verse to make sentences musical to the ear, or to save them from being mutilated by circulation. The romance is now the chosen form of imaginative literature, and its gifted masters are educators of the popular ideal. What epic poem of our times begins to compare in influence over the common mind with the stories of Scott and Cooper? Our novelist loved most to treat of scenes and characters distinctively national, and his name stands indelibly written on our fairest lakes and rivers, our grandest seas and mountains, our annals of early sacrifice and daring. With some of his criticisms on society, and some of his views of political and historical questions, I have personally little sympathy. But, when it is asked, in the impartial standard of critical justice, what influence has he exerted over the moral tone of American literature, or to what aim has he wielded the fascinating pen of romance, there can be but one reply. With him, fancy has always walked hand in hand with purity, and the ideal of true manhood, which is everywhere most prominent in his works, is one of which we may well be proud as a nation and as men.

The element of will, perhaps more strongly than intellectual analysis, or exquisite sensibility, or high imagination, is the distinguished characteristic of his heroes, and in this his portraitures are good types of what is strongest in the practical American mind. His model man, whether forester, sailor, servant, or gentleman, is always bent on bringing some especial thing to pass, and the progress from the plan to the achievement is described with military or naval exactness. Yet he never overlooks any of the essential traits of a noble manhood, and loves to show how much of enterprise, courage, compassion, and reverence, it combines with practical judgment and religious principle.

It has seemed to me that his stories of the seas and the forests are fitted to act more than ever upon the strong hearts in training for the new spheres of triumph which are now so wonderfully opening upon our people. Who does not wish that his noted hero of the backwoods might be known in every loghouse along our extending frontier, and teach the rough pioneer always to temper daring by humanity? Who can ever forget that favorite character, as dear to the reader as to the author—that paladin of the forest, that lion-heart of the wilderness, Leatherstocking, fearless towards man—gentle towards woman—a rough-cast gentleman of as true a heart as ever beat under the red cross of the crusader. The very qualities needed in those old times of frontier strife are now needed for new emergencies in our more peaceful border life, and our future depends vastly upon the characters that give edge to the advancing mass of our population now crowding towards the rocky mountains and the Pacific coast. It is well that this story-teller of the forest has been so true to the best traits of our nature, and in so many points is a moralist too. As a romancer of the sea, Cooper's genius may perhaps be but beginning to show its influence, as a new age of commercial greatness is opening upon our nation.

Mr. Cooper did not shrink from battle scenes and had no particular dread of gunpowder, yet his best laurels upon the ocean have been won in describing feats of seamanship and traits of manhood that need no bloody conflict for their display, and may be exemplified in fleets as peaceful and beneficent as ever spread their sails to the breezes to bear kindly products to friendly nations. As we sit here this evening under the influence of the hour, the images of many a famous exploit on the water seems to come out from his well-remembered pages and mingle themselves with recent scenes of marine achievement. Has not the "Water Witch" herself reappeared of late in our own bay, and laden not with contraband goods, but a freight of stout-hearted gentlemen, borne the palm as "Skimmer of the Seas," from all competitors in presence of the royalty and nobility of England? And the Old Ironsides, has not she come back again, more iron-ribbed than ever—not to fight over the old battles which our naval chronicler was so fond of rehearsing, but under the name of the Baltic or (better omen) the Pacific, to win a victory more honorable and encouraging than ever was carried by the thundering broadsides of the noble old Constitution! The commanders and pilots so celebrated by the novelist, have they not successors indomitable as they? and just now our ship-news brings good tidings of their achievements, as they tell us of the Flying Cloud that has made light of the storms of the fearful southern cape, and of the return of the adventurous fleet that has stood so well the hug of the Polar icebergs, and shown how nobly a crew may hunt for men on the seas with a Red Rover's daring and a Christian's mercy.

It is well that the most gifted romancer of the sea is an American, and that he is helping us to enact the romance of history so soon to be fact. The empire of the waters, which in turn has belonged to Tyre, Venice, and England, seems waiting to come to America, and no part of the world now so justly claims its possession as that state in which Cooper had his home. Who does not welcome the promise of the new age of powerful commerce and mental blessing? Who does not feel grateful to any man who gives any good word or work to the emancipation of the sailor from his worst enemies, and to the freedom of the seas from all the violence that stains its benignant waters? While proud of our fleet ships, let us not forget elements in their equipment more important than oak and iron. In this age of merchandise, let us adorn peace with something of the old manhood that took from warfare some of its horrors. Did time allow, I might try to illustrate the power of an attractive literature in keeping alive national associations and moulding national character, but I am content to leave these few fragmentary words with the society as my poor tribute to a writer who charmed many hours of my boyhood, and who has won regard anew as the entertaining and instructive beguiler of some recent days of rural recreation. May we not sincerely say that he has so used the treasures of our national scenery and history as to elevate the true ideal of true manhood, and quicken the nation's memory in many respects auspiciously for the nation's hopes?

It is understood that a public discourse on the life and genius of Mr. Cooper will be delivered by one of the most eminent of his contemporaries, at Tripler Hall, early in December, and that measures will be adopted to secure the erection of a suitable monument to his memory in one of the public squares or parks of the city. On this subject Mr. Washington Irving has written the following letter:

Sunnyside, October, 1851.

My Dear Sir:—My occupations in the country prevent my attendance in town at the meeting of the committee, but I am anxious to know what is doing. I signified at our first meeting what I thought the best monument to the memory of Mr. Cooper—a statue. It is the simplest, purest, and most satisfactory—perpetuating the likeness of the person. I understand there is an excellent bust of Mr. Cooper extant, made when he was in Italy. He was there in his prime; and it might furnish the model for a noble statue. Judge Duer suggested that his monument should be placed at Washington, perhaps in the Smithsonian Institute. I was rather for New-York, as he belonged to this State, and the scenes of several of his best works were laid in it. Besides, the seat of government may be changed, and then Washington would lose its importance; whereas New-York must always be a great and growing metropolis—the place of arrival and departure for this part of the world—the great resort of strangers from abroad, and of our own people from all parts of the Union. One of our beautiful squares would be a fine situation for a statue. However, I am perhaps a little too local in my notions on this matter. Cooper emphatically belongs to the nation, and his monument should be placed where it would be most in public view. Judge Duer's idea therefore may be the best. There will be a question of what material the statue (if a statue is determined on) should be made. White marble is the most beautiful, but how would it stand our climate in the open air? Bronze stands all weathers and all climates, but does not give so clearly the expression of the countenance, when regarded from a little distance.

These are all suggestions scrawled in haste, which I should have made if able to attend the meeting of the committee. I wish you would drop me a line to let me know what is done or doing.

Yours very truly,
WASHINGTON IRVING.

The Rev. Rufus Griswold.

The plan thus recommended by Mr. Irving will undoubtedly be approved by the committee and the public, and there is little doubt that it will soon be carried into execution.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The accomplished authoress of "Rural Hours."—Ed. International.

THE LONDON TIMES ON AMERICAN INTERCOMMUNICATION.

We are by no means confident that the Mexican War, with all its victories, was more serviceable to our reputation in Europe, than the single victory of Mr. Stevens, in his yacht America, off the Isle of Wight. This triumph has been celebrated in a dinner at the Astor House, but the city might have well afforded to welcome the returning owner of the America with an illumination, or the fathers, in council assembled, might have voted him a statue. Mr. Collins and Mr. Stevens have together managed to deprive England of the "trident of the seas," and as soon as it was transferred there began a shower of honors, which continues still, from the Times down to the very meanest of its imitators. From that time the Americans have had all the "solid triumphs" in the Great Exhibition. We have been regarded as a wonderful people, and our institutions as the most interesting study that is offered for contemporary statesmen and philosophers. We copy below a specimen of the leaders with which the Times has honored us, and commend it to our readers, not more for its tone than for the valuable information contained in it:—

LOCOMOTION BY RIVER AND RAILWAY IN THE UNITED STATES.

England has been so dazzled by the splendor of her own achievements in the creation of a new art of transport by land and water within the last thirty years, as to become in a measure insensible to all that has been accomplished in the same interval and in the same department of the arts elsewhere, improvements less brilliant, indeed, intrinsically, than the stupendous system of inland transport, which we lately noticed in these columns, and having a lustre mitigated to our view by distance, yet presenting in many respects circumstances and conditions which may well excite profound and general interest, and even challenge a respectful comparison with the greatest of those advances in the art of locomotion of which we are most justly proud.

It will not, therefore, be without utility and interest, after the detailed notice which we have lately given of our own advances in the adaptation of steam to locomotion, to direct attention to the progress in the same department which has been simultaneously made in other and distant countries, and first, and above all, by our friends and countrymen in the other hemisphere.

The inland transport of the United States is distributed mainly between the rivers, the canals, and the railways, a comparatively small fraction of it being executed on common roads. Provided with a system of natural water communication on a scale of magnitude without any parallel in the world, it might have been expected that the "sparse" population of this recently settled country might have continued for a long period of time satisfied with such an apparatus of transport. It is, however, the character of man, but above all of the Anglo-Saxon man, never to rest satisfied with the gifts of nature, however munificent they be, until he has rendered them ten times more fruitful by the application of his skill and industry, and we find accordingly that the population of America has not only made the prodigious natural streams which intersect its vast territory over so many thousands of miles, literally swarm with steamboats, but they have, besides, constructed a system of canal navigation, which may boldly challenge comparison with any thing of the same kind existing in the oldest, wealthiest, and most civilized States of Europe.

It appears from the official statistics that, on the 1st of January, 1843, the extent of canals in actual operation amounted to 4,333 miles and that there were then in progress 2,359 miles, a considerable portion of which has since been completed, so that it is probable that the actual extent of artificial water communication now in use in the United States considerably exceeds 5,000 miles. The average cost of executing this prodigious system of artificial water communication was at the rate of 6,432l. per mile, so that 5,000 miles would have absorbed a capital of above 32,000,000l.

This extent of canal transport, compared with the population, exhibits in a striking point of view the activity and enterprise which characterize the American people. In the United States there is a mile of canal navigation for every 5,000 inhabitants, while in England the proportion is 1 to every 9,000 inhabitants, and France 1 to every 13,000. The ratio, therefore, of this instrument of intercommunication in the United States is greater than in the United Kingdom, in proportion to the population, as 9 to 5, and greater than in France in the ratio of 13 to 5.

The extent to which the American people have fertilized, so to speak, the natural powers of those vast collections of water which surround and intersect their territory, is not less remarkable than their enterprise in constructing artificial lines of water communication. Besides the internal communication supplied by the rivers, properly so called, a vast apparatus of liquid transport is derived from the geographical character of their extensive coast, stretching over a space of more than 4,000 miles, from the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the delta of the Mississippi, indented and serrated with natural harbors and sheltered bays, fringed with islands forming sounds, throwing out capes and promontories which inclose arms of the sea in which the waters are free from the roll of the ocean, and which, for all the purposes of navigation, have the character of rivers and lakes. The lines of communication formed by the vast and numerous rivers are, moreover, completed in the interior by chains of lakes presenting the most extensive bodies of fresh water in the known world.

Whatever question may be raised on the conflicting claims for the invention of steam navigation, it is an incontestable fact that the first steamboat practically applied for any useful purpose was placed on the Hudson, to ply between New-York and Albany, in 1808; and, from that time to the present that river has been the theatre of the most remarkable series of experiments of locomotion on water ever recorded in the history of man. The Hudson is navigable by steamers of the largest class as high as Albany, a distance of nearly 150 miles from New-York. The steam navigation upon this river is entitled to attention, not only because of the immense traffic of which it is the vehicle, but because it forms a sort of model for all the rivers of the Atlantic States. Two classes of steamers work upon it—one appropriated to the swift transport of passengers, and the other to the towing of the vast traffic which is maintained between the city of New-York and the interior of the State of that name, into the heart of which the Hudson penetrates.

The passenger steamers present a curious contrast to the sea-going steamers with which we are familiar. Not having to encounter the agitated surface of the ocean, they are supplied with neither rigging nor sails, are built exclusively with a view to speed, are slender and weak in their structure, with great length in proportion to their beam, and have but small draught of water. The position and form of the machinery are peculiar. The engines are placed on deck in a comparatively elevated situation. It is but rarely that two engines are used. A single engine placed in the centre of the deck drives a crank constructed on the axle of the enormous paddle-wheels, the magnitude of which, and the velocity imparted to them, enable them to perform the office of fly-wheels. These vessels, which are of great magnitude, are splendidly fitted up for the accommodation of passengers, and have been within the last ten or twelve years undergoing a gradual augmentation of magnitude, to which it would seem to be difficult to set a limit.

In the following table, which we borrow from the work on Railway Economy, from which we have already derived so large a portion of our information, are given the dimensions and the details of fourteen of the principal steamers plying on the Hudson in the year 1838:—

The changes more recently made all have a tendency to increase the magnitude and power of those vessels—to diminish their draught of water—and to increase the play of the expansive principle. Vessels of the largest class now draw only as much water as the smallest drew a few years ago, four feet five inches being regarded as the maximum.

It appears from the following table that the average length of these prodigious floating hotels is above 300 feet; some of them approaching 400. In the passenger accommodation afforded by them no water communication in any country can compete. Nothing can exceed the splendor and luxury with which they are fitted up, furnished, and decorated. Silk, velvet, the most costly carpetings and upholstery, vast mirrors, gilding, and carving, are profusely displayed in their decoration. Even the engine-room in some of them is lined with mirrors. In the Alida, for example, the end of the engine-room is one vast mirror, in which the movements of the brilliant and highly-finished machinery are reflected. All the largest class are capable of running from twenty to twenty-two miles an hour, and average nearly twenty miles without difficulty.

In the annexed table are exhibited the details of ten of the most recently constructed passenger vessels:—

It may be observed, in relation to the navigation of those eastern rivers (for we do not here speak of the Mississippi and its tributaries), that the occurrence of explosions is almost unheard of. During the last ten years not a single catastrophe of this kind has been recorded, although cylindrical boilers ten feet in diameter, composed of plating 5-16ths of an inch thick, are commonly used with steam of 50lb. pressure.

Previously to 1844 the lowest fare from New-York to Albany, a distance of 145 miles, was 4s. 4d.; at present the fare is 2s. 2d.—and for an additional sum of the same amount the passenger can command the luxury of a separate cabin. When the splendor and magnitude of the accommodation is considered, the magnificence of the furniture and accessories, and the luxuriousness of the table, it will be admitted that no similar example of cheap locomotion can be found in any part of the globe. Passengers may there be transported in a floating palace, surrounded with all the conveniences and luxuries of the most splendid hotel, at the average rate of twenty miles an hour, for less than one-sixth of a penny per mile! It is not an uncommon occurrence during the warm season to meet persons on board these boats who have lodged themselves there permanently, in preference to hotels on the banks of the river. Their daily expenses in the boat are as follows:

Such accommodation is, on the whole, more economical than a hotel. The bedroom is as luxuriously furnished as the handsomest chamber in an hotel or private house, and is much more spacious than the room similarly designated in the largest packet ships.