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has acknowledged many an'act' of their kindness and taken the benefit of the act. He takes me into the City Hotel, helps himself to biscuit, the good man of the house regarding him with resigned silence. He then introduces me into the reading-room, and says he will talk with me. *My friend and pitcher,' says he, supposing that he addressed a waiter, and calling him up by a wink of the eye and a motion of his first finger, 'give this here sofa a dusting.' I saw by the stare of the major-domo that some little mistake had occurred, and so intimated, by a gentle touch of the elbow, to the Bilcox ; upon which he caused his teeth to shine, and passed it off by a philosophy alike sparkling and shallow : "My friend,' says he, for he always reiterates that endearing title, “my friend,' what was I going to say ? Oh,' said I, let me tell you that I regard you sometimes with admiration; I mean with wonder. How do you maintain such a charming cheerfulness? You have had losses, you have had troubles?' 'Enough to weigh down an elephant, my friend !' Or to break the back of an ass? • Jus' so, jus' so: I have passed through the fiery fur. nace of innumerable horsewhippings; I have been kicked; they can't conquer me! Dreadfully scorched, and cuffed, and had my share of domestic afflictions, and my nose broken, and the erysipelas; lost a dear boy, and my furniture sacrificed under the hammer; my collar-bone broken, and slurs on my reputation; had one of my ears bit off. My friend,' said he, looking me full in the face,“ put your ear down close — Bilcox, your looks are now cannibalish! “Jus' so, jus' so; put your ear down close, and I'll tell you the secret that sustains me.' I listened attentively, and with deepest interest; I heard him breathe the word “Philosophy! Yes,' said I; 'it would sustain any man. It sustains you. Somewhat though in an inferior degree, like true piety - My friend,' said he, grasping my hand with energy,“ upon my soul I am glad you mentioned that word. Last summer at Pleasant Valley I was truly pious. My sensations were subdued, my mind was peaceful, calm, quiet, composed, unruMed. Nothing troubled me; it was the happiest season of my life. When the Sabbath came round, it found me with a clean shirt, and I used to go to the little church, and pa’take the sacrament.' 'I trust,' said I, “that you were more attentive to the discourse than a Dutchman in the same parish. The parson said to him, *The Sabbath must be to you a sweet day of rest?' · Yaw,' quoth he,' I goes to the church, and I opens my pook, and puts my heels up, and throws my head back, and looks right straight at you, and thinks of nothin.?' Jus' so, jus' so. I was very pious ; had given my heart away. I was ready to die.' Yes, you kept the commandments then. You invited me to come to your place and eat cherries. I was very modest, and declined. At last I said, 'I love them very much ; I will go.' You pressed me, and insisted that I should fetch a basket. I modestly said, “No, I will eat as many as I want, and carry none away.' You said, “My friend, go back after a basket; you shall carry some home to your family.' I yielded. You conducted me to the trees and said, “Take your fill; I will go into the house, and take you back in my little wagon, when you are ready to go. I clambered seven trees in succession, and devil a cherry could I find; and with an empty belly and an empty basket, searched in vain for horse, wagon, cherries or — Bilcox.' 'Jus' so, jus' so. I was then pious. I kept the commandments. Ah, my friend, the best-meaning persons err. I fear I have swore since that. You know what a time I had with Addix; it would have put a saint in purgatory, and killed a common man with vexation.' "What kept you up?' Philosophy. I should have been in my grave without it. I tell you, my friend, I have got the most indomitable courage. Yet I can't get along; I swear I can't get along! «Why not? you have resources in yourself. You are never lonely on a rainy day; you have seen the world.' • Yes, my friend, I have been in Rome; seen the Corso, seen the races; been fired with enthusiasm with the classical air breathed by the CÆSARS; the inscriptions on the walls, * SENATUS POPULUSQUE ROMANI.' Sometimes I think of that, my friend; or if time hangs heavy on my hand, I read; either the sentimental Gibbon, or Hume's natural history of England, or Byron's Corsair, or the Bible, or the splendid CHESTERFIELD, or the charm. ing SHAKSPEARE, or the classical Cicero, or the elegant Homer, or the pleasant Milton, or the sublime CÆSAR, or the pretty PINDAR, or the divine SMOLLET, or WEBSTER's Re

ply to HAYNE, talking about drums and militia training, or the exquisitely-sweet LONGFELLow; every thing, in short, from history down to political economy and civil engineering, and so on to literature in general.' “Woman -?' 'My friend, you kill me dead! Sweeter than the rose of Sharon, she plants me in the midst of a tangent of raptures, and drives me off into obstetrics! My friend, if there is any thing in this world which sooths my delinquencies, touches up my good traits, chisels out my character to its fair proportions, leads me back captive to Babylon like the children of Egypt, and sets me all up on end, it is the spectacle of a captivating woman trying to exercise a domination over me; putting her soothing hand in mine, looking up to me with a pair of dove's eyes, and with persuasive ability foisting herself on my attention. It's the mint-julap of delight, and the sherry-cobler of satisfaction! I would n't exchange my position for the crowned heads of Europe, or for the petty princes of Germany. The struggle is an excruciating one whether I wont die of a fit. Have I explained myself on that point? What think you of me now, my friend ?" Oh, I think you ’re a — - Bilcox!'' This gentleman reminds one of the dreadful bore encountered on the Sacrâ Viâ, in Rome, by HORACE. JEREMY Taylor, in allusion to babblers, while writing on the Good and Evil Tongue,' says of 'multiloquium,' or talking too much: ‘Much speaking is sometimes necessary, sometimes useful, sometimes pleasant; and when it is none of all these, though it be tedious and imprudent, yet it is not always criminal. Such was the humor of the gentleman Martial speaks of. He was a good man, and full of sweetness and justice and nobleness; but he would read his nonsenseverses to all companies. There are some persons so full of nothings that, like the straight sea of Pontus, they perpetually empty themselves by their mouth, making every person or single company they fasten on, their Propontis. We have already welcomed to our pages the writer who is so good as to send us the following, which will commend itself to general perusal. By the by, if the reader has never seen Rersch's illustrations of SchilLER’s ‘Song of the Bell,' let these lines be a mnemotechnic symbol to prompt him to compass that pleasure:

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EUREKA! we have found it at last! The ' lamp that lights us on our way' burns with a flame bright and clear as the 'stars that clip us round about! Many thousands of lines,

street.

intended for your edification have we written, reader, while we were vexed and perplexed in the extreme' with the black snow-storm that was falling silently from the chimney of our camphine reading-lamp, upon every thing around us; smooching fair works of art, covering elegant literature' with lamp-black, and tasking the temper almost beyond endurance. For four years we have borne with the offending vessel; for sometimes it would behave with propriety, and give promise of amendment, which however was seldom redeemed. We have therefore cast it from us; and there now stands in its place on the editor's table one of Cargel's Mechanical Lamps, manufactured in Paris expressly for the dépôt of the American agents, Messrs. DIACON AND SAXTON, at Number Twenty, John

We have tested this lamp, and have found it the very thing. Simple and concealed machinery pumps the oil up to the wick in regular and regulated supply; the light is abundant, clear, and widely diffusive ; there is no smoke, no smell; and with trifling care, it is liable to no disorder. These lamps may be had in every variety in which artificial light is used; they are tastefully got up;' and in some of their forms, are most exquisite ornaments of the drawing-room table and the mantel-piece; the supporting vases, the globes and shades, being often of the richest workmanship and design. We commend them, in the sense of conferring a favor upon our readers, to all who want light upon any subject, that can be examined at night. • • . We have read Bishop Southgate's 'Letter' in reply to a recent pamphlet from certain American Missionaries at Constantinople, with mingled emotions. That the writer's bearing toward his fellow-laborers in the Oriental vineyard of the Lord was in the main courteous and gentleman-like, we conceive to be established; that there was disingenuousness on the part of his accusers, and what a layman would be apt to term sneakishness,' is abundantly evident from the labored dictated' letters of their secretary. But why should Mr. SOUTHGATE a pulogise for, or seek to excuse, the act of partaking the Sacrament with his evangelical brethren? I had been two years without the Sacrament,' he says, “and was suffering inexpressibly from the privation. I therefore communed with my Congregational brethren. But I did it at the moment with considerable hesitation, and regretted it as soon as it was done. I resolved, moreover, never to do it again.' Indeed! And was this the spirit in which you sought to proclaim to the benighted' Orientals the doctrines of the Prince of Peace? Could not forms and creeds be suspended on an occasion such as that? Why did not the Bishop call to mind the REDEEMER's own words, so well paraphrased in the stanza:

'In memory of your dying Friend,
Do this, he said,' till time shall end;
Meet at my table, and record

The love of your departed LORD.' The fact upon which we are animadverting is one of the things whereof Bishop SouthGATE ‘humbly prays that he may have grace to speak with plainness and sincerity.' Without assuming to insult the majesty of Heaven by asking its endorsement of an act of Christian illiberality, we may yet liumbly hope to be forgiven for characterising such an offence as we think it deserves to be characterized. : . . There is one consolation for our · Ann-Arbor: correspondent. His life is insured, so long as he has the fever and-ague; since it is perhaps one of the worst features of that most contemptible disorder, that no one ever dies of it. We can only give our correspondent the advice of Hood's doctor's. maid: “Take bark; the best form is the canine pill. If this proves effectual, we shall expect the second half of the · Border Tale.' We are reluctant to make a commencement until we have secured the conclusion. This remark will also apply to several other half-finished communications, which it is unnecessary more particularly to designate. There should be a oneness' in papers submitted for consideration. · · SINCE the clever satire of Marryat upon the novels of the modern Italian school, wherein the hero, ABSENPRENSENTINI, ' feels his way along the slimy wall,' and kills seven midnight antagonists in succession, each of whom "expires without a groan,' we have not encountered a better thing in its kind than the following, which we transfer from a late number of the New-York

Emporium.' It hits to a nicety the style of one who has probably written more works' (unmistakeably his own) than he has ever read of other authors:

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I HAVE been very much lauded by the public, but not half so highly as I deserve. My 'L-itte,' my•Captain K-dd' my • Burt-n,' are the finest things ever written, except the following. I am willing to stake my reputation upon the thrilling, exciting, magnificent, sublime, glorious pages of the • Phantom Clam-Sloop.'

VOLUME I.

CHAPTER "T was a horrible night; wild shrieked the storm-spirit above the mad waves; the foam was white ; the wild lightning leaped from the abyssmal vaults of Heaven; and the tempest howled like a tiger stung by a spider. Heaven! is that a vessel upon the gloomy waste of waters!

I.

CHAPTER II.

Ho! brace the helm, there! Let go the main-sheet! Furl up the clue buntlines: Ha! ha! we'll yet bafile the storm!'

These words proceeded from the mouth of one who stood upon the main-truck of the Phantom Clam-Sloop.' Dark was his complexion, but clear; his eye keen and flashing ; his teeth white and well-set; his smile was the smile of an angel, and his glance the glance of a fiend! These peculiarities were revealed by the lurid gleam of the lightning.

CHAPTER III.

Far in the distance could be seen a frigate approaching rapidly.

“Ha!' said Eugenio de la Oysterelyo,' think they thus totake the Phantom Clam-Sloop! Ho! clap on all sail, till the spars bend to the strain!' He was obeyed!

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THE chase now became exciting; the frigate gained rapidly upon the little vessel of Eugenio, which was now approaching a ledge of rocks. These rocks stretched entirely across the straits through which the vessels were hurrying; their tops could just be seen above the black waters. Fast came the frigate; nearer drew the Phantom Clam-Sloop to the rocks. Oysterelyo called his crew, and in a few words informed them of, and prepared them for, his project. They were almost upon the rocks, and the frigate was almost upon them.

Now!' shouted the huccaneer, and at the word the men darted from the prow to the stern; thus raising her bows entirely out of the water; at the same moment a wave seized the vessel and uplifted her.

Now!' shouted Eugenio again; and the men sped back to the bow; and by this manæuvre, and the strength of the wave, the vessel leaped clear over the ledge of rocks.

*Ah! ha!' said the deep voice of Oysterelyo. The frigate struck upon the reef, and all were lost! High above their shriek of death pealed the exulting shout of the buccaneers : "Vive la Phantom Clam-Sloop!

END OF VOLUME FIRST.

VOLUME II.

CHAPTER I.

"Sweet lolliadelliana,' said de la Oysterelyo, 'I love thee with an overwhelming passion. The frantic tigress, bounding from her lair, not so loves her cubs. The soaring eagle bears less affection for its young!'

* Ah,' she murmured, 'I am sad — sad, sad, Eugenio!' "Why art thou sad, my soul?' he asked.

• When I think of my home, from which thou has lured me; my father-ah, Heaven!' and she struck her white forehead passionately. 'O Oysterelyo! my brother is a captain in the navy. If ye should meet

*Nay, chase away thy gloom, sweet love, with the hunting-hounds of song:' And she sang :

SONG.

.MY 11fe is like a withered rose,

That's felt the lichtding's blast;
My goul in as the air that blows

Around the tapering mast.

And sad, ay, sad, o very sad,

This trembling heart of mine :
Grent Heaven! Olet me not go mad!

But why should I repine?'

A gun sounded.
*Ha!' said Eugenio, that calls us to the sea! Come, lolliadelliana, let us embark!

CHAPTER 11.

SCARCE had they left the shore, when they saw a man-of-war - which first fired a broadside and then gave chase.

'I know her!' screamed lolliadelliana ; ' 't is the Scorpion of the Seas! 't is my brother's ship!' Whereupon she immediately fainted!

* Ha!' said Eugenio, "bear her to the cabin, and run up the black flag !

The vessels met. In a moment they were locked yard-arm and yard-arm. And face to face stood Eugenio de la Oysterelyo and the brother of Jolliadelliana.

• Turn thee, ravisher: yelled the captain.

• Ah ! ha! shouted Eugenio, and their swords met; but in the midst of the battle, the fair girl rushed from the cabin, flung her arms round the peck of the buccaneer, and exclaimed:

• Hold! hold, Plantagenei, I love him yet;' but at this moment the sword of the brother pierced the pirate's side — and at the same moment, the sailors gained possession of the sloop.

I will baffle ye yet!" shouted Eugenio ; and clasping Tolliadelliana, he sprang upon the maintruck. One moment the form of the pirate was revealed by the lightning; he dashed his matted hair from his forehead, clenched his teeth, shook his fist, and jumped overboard.

CHAPTER III.

The next day he was found far out at sea, upon a raft, with nothing on him but a flannel-shirt, sitting on a tea-box, playing the flute. Upon the tea-box was written the words — PHANTOM CLAMSloop!' This was all that remained of that ill-fated vessel!

FINIS.

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We lament, in common with all who knew either the departed or his writings, the untimely death of the late MATTHEW C. Field, Esq., co-editor with his brother JOSEPH, of the • St. Louis Reveillé.' 'Prazma’ was always a favorite of ours, although we never saw his face. He wrote prose and verse with equal facility. His poetry was remarkable for its melody of versification and the deep feeling which pervaded it; and such of his prose-sketches as we have encountered were characterised by great faithfulness of description and picturesqueness of scene. We are not surprised to learn, from those who knew him most intimately, that he was a kind and gentle spirit: all his writings indicate the fact. •The Sea his body but Heaven his spirit holds. Our sympathy is with his surviving friends. · Our Hartford correspondent, in his sketch of The Yankee in 'York,' tells us, in a very graphic manner, how he was done' one pleasant morning in October last, at a mock-auction ‘saloon' in Chatham-street, and again in the afternoon at the Beaconcourse, Hoboken,' by a very pleasant-spoken man, who had a great many persons about him, while he was rolling something around on his knee!' Verdant individual! He was victimized of 'an X.,' by one of those professional gentleman, who with three thimbles and a pea on a propped-up leg, ' astonish the by-standers with: 'Here's the sort o' game; three thimbles and vun litle pea; vith a vun, two, three, and a two, three, vun; catch him who can; look on, keep your eyes open, and never say die! Never mind the change and the expense: all fair and above board ; them as do n't play can't win, and luck attend the daring sportsman. Bet any gen'l'man any sum of money, from ten dollars up to a quarter, that he does n't name the thimble as kivers the little joker.' Here some green-horn whispers his friend that he distinctly saw the pea roll under the middle thimble ; an impression which is immediately confirmed by a gentleman standing by, and who in a low tone regrets his own inability to bet, in consequence of having unfortunately left his purse at home, but strongly urges the stranger not to neglect such a golden opportunity. The plant' is successful; the bet is made; the stranger of course loses; and the gentlemen with the thimbles consoles him, as he pockets the money, with the assurance that it's all the fortin o' war: this time I vin, next time you vin: never mind the loss; do it up in a small parcel, and break out in a fresh place. Here's the sort o' game, gen'l'men; three thimbles and vun little pea; with a vun, two, three, and a two, three, vun; catch him who can,' and so-forth. We are struck with the following remarks of Longinus in his Ninth Section on The Sublime.' "We ought to spare no pains to educate our souls to grandeur, and impregnate them with generous and enlarged ideas. But how, it will be asked, can

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