deeper than the bosom of any man, and which comes bome to what the great moralist of England' calls the most important business of the day to every man, namely, his dinner. If the exhibition and the carving of our food are to be banished from our boards, farewell to the honest pride of the host in his successful catering, and to the joy of the cook in the brightness of her roast! Banish carving? Banish all the world! Thou and I, dear Editor, must both long have remembered a gentleman, whose excellence at this delightful art was one of the wonders of his time. Honest BOB WALKER! Yes, I think his name was Bob! To see him with his fork thrust home in the breast of a canvass-back duck, and his face beaming with benevolent intentions toward the expectant parties, was enough to have created an appetite under the ribs of death! ... What a master he was of his bird! After the fork was once inserted— and he planted it with an effortless grace the severance of the limbs was a matter of charm! The duck touched the dish par courtesie, while legs and wings were laid on one side, somewhat in the form and posture that we used at the dancing school to call the double allemande,' when we practised figures with misses who wore sashes of pink and blue digress not, good heart' and these being disposed of, was it not a gratification to behold the glorious bird, with its back extended on the dish, yield up its round and matchless breast to the exquisite divisions of that unerring knife!'

Could any thing be more picturesque and LAMB-like? An uncompromising enemy to the decadence of our ancient usage, would almost be willing to be 'served' at the board of such a felicitous defender of a noble science, not as a guest, but as a meat!

A CORRESPONDENT, in a brief note to the editor, speaks in exalted terms of praise of the lectures recently delivered by the Rev. Mr. LEVINS, upon the life and character of GRATTAN. We regret that our avocations did not lead us to a survey of the newspapers, wherein these lectures were advertised. For no name in Irish history have we a more deep respect and honor, than for that of GRATTAN. Many years since, we read in the Edinburgh Review, and never have forgotten, a sketch of this great man's character. We quote from memory, and a mnemonic line or two of our note-book, what we believe formed the concluding passage: 'No government ever dismayed him, the world could not bribe him. He only thought of his country; lived for no other object; dedicated to her his elegant wit, his manly courage, and all the splendor of his astonishing eloquence. He was so born, and so gifted, that poetry, forensic skill, elegant literature, and all the highest attainments of human genius, were within his reach; but he thought the noblest occupation of man was to make other men happy and free; and in that straight line he went on, for fifty years, without one side-look, without one yielding thought, without one motive in his heart which he might not have laid open to the view of God and man. He is gone! but there is not a single day of his honest life, of which every good Irishman would not be more proud, than of the whole political existence of his countrymen, the deserters and betrayers of their native land!' An eloquent tribute, and just as eloquent.

We have yielded a portion of our department of literary notices to a review, from an able and disinterested hand, of Dr. CHANNING'S pamphlet upon the new science of medicine, concerning the principles and nature of which we are free to confess a general ignorance. It is an undoubted fact, however, that very many professional names, of the highest authority in the old world, are numbered among the converts to the new theory, and not a few in this country; including such inveterate opposers of every species of quackery, as our friend Dr. TICKNOR, whose recent calm and apparently well-reasoned letter upon this science we may consider hereafter. Certain it is, moreover, that the new doctrine is exciting much discussion, even among those learned doctors who have, in the ancient way, 'practised to a great extent in this community.' We have seen the old school' medicine-man' arrest a brother practitioner, as he was rushing from an act of phlebotomy in the west, to insinuate a bolus in the east, and while he held him by the button-hole, tell him of the ridiculous principles of the new theory; and yet both these persons are now its hopeful converts. The alleged simplicity of homeopathy may not a little aid its pretensions. FOOTE has left his verdict against medical mysteries, in his whimsical definition of a physician, whom he describes as a grave, formal animal, who picks our pockets by talking unintelligible stuff in a sick man's chamber, till nature cures, or medicines kill him.' Howbeit, blessing and honor,

say we, be upon the head of the true physician, of whatever creed, for his is ever a work of mercy and of love. There be those among us, however, who, in circulating their .quack nostrums, care little whether they make the well sick, or the sick sicker. 'Do you eat well?' is the language of one of our modern pill-venders, in the manufacture of a patient. 'Yes.' 'Do you sleep well?' 'Yes.' 'Eh?-that's not exactly the thing for one in your condition! I'll do away all that for you. Take four of these every morning, and four after dinner. You'll soon see a change!'

FROM a kind and entertaining companion, whose visits to our 'sanctum,' fruitful as they always are of the pleasantest intellectual discourse, can never be untimely nor unwelcome, we derive the subjoined anecdote, gathered originally at the table of an illustrious nobleman in England. It strikes us as well deserving embalmment in these pages. Certain it is, as MATTHEWS was wont to say, 'it made a great laugh at the time.' The Rev. Mr. SIMEON, a zealous divine of the Church of England, though of Jewish descent, was a man whose wit and humor almost equalled his piety. A worthy though credulous and simple-minded lady of his acquaintance, Mrs. L, once related to him a wonderful story, of a clergyman who had recently received a message from a lady in trouble, requesting to see him, but stating that he must come blind-folded. He complied. He found the lady in bed, in great affliction, and recollected to have often seen her in church, one of the most attentive and devout of his congregation. She informed him that she was a Jewess by birth, but a Christian by conviction; that she wished to be confirmed in the church; that her relatives opposed it, and finding her resolute in her purpose, had determined to make way with her. And there,' said she, pointing to a heap of stones, in a corner of the room, there are the stones with which they intend to stone me to death to-morrow! Did you ever hear so shocking a story?' continued Mrs. L—; ' and what makes it worse, the clergyman was brought away again blind-folded, so that there is no knowing who the lady was, or how to help her, or what has become of her!' 'Madam,' said Mr. SIMEON, gravely, 'all farther meddling in the matter would be useless. The poor lady is dead. She was stoned to death, as she predicted. I can assure you of the fact, for I swallowed the stones after the ceremony!' 'Ah,' said the good lady, 'you are jesting; but I assure you the story is true. I heard it from Mr. Grimes, who told it with tears in his eyes.'' Mr. Grimes Mr. Grimes?' replied Mr. SIMEON; oh, is not that the gentleman who was tired of the version of the whale's swallowing Jonah, and insisted that it was Jonah who swallowed the whale?' 'Indeed!' exclaimed the good Mrs. L-; 'well, I did not know that any one held that belief!' On the same occasion, the following amusing instance of kingly ignorance and stupidity, was related by a distinguished foreigner present. The late King of Naples was not very remarkable for his knowledge of literature and literary people. He inquired casually, one day, of one of his courtiers: 'But tell me, what has become of a man who was here some time since, qui avait la tête un peu monter? (who had his head a little turned;) ALFIERI, I think was his name; what's become of him? The courtier, blushing at the king's ignorance, exclaimed : 'He's dead, sire.' 'Dead, eh? dead-is he? He was a singular fellow; he kept very fine horses. And, he's dead, is he? How long has he been dead?' 'Fifteen years, sire.' Ah! fifteen years! He kept very fine horses!'

WE are glad to perceive the currency which has every where been given to Mr. PALMER'S fine poem, 'LIGHT,' in our last number. There is scarcely a public journal in the country, in which it has not appeared, and in many with the accompaniment of high and cordial praise. The following, from one of the most popular contributors to this Magazine, may serve as a sample of many kindred tributes, contained in the notes of correspondents: 'Mr. PALMER must have been full of his theme, when he wrote 'LIGHT.' It absolutely sparkles. In reading the first stanza, I could hardly convince myself that I did not see the scintillations starting from the page. The two last lines

of the second stanza are rich and beautiful in the extreme; and throughout the whole, there is a fine manly feeling, and a pious spirit. One feels that the writer is neither an atheist nor a tailor; that the object of his adoration is the King of kings, and not the king of the dandi s; that he is one who would not, after spending an hour with an intellectual man, sit down and write an account of the cut of his coat, and the tie of his cravat. You did right to announce him as 'a true poet.' His verses bear more evidence of genius than of art. They are sparkling, but not meretricious; mellifluous, but not flimsy; energetic, and yet graceful; but above all, devout, without whining. I hope you will cherish the author.' 'Your Mr. STREET, too, is a fine poet, who possesses a most Daguerreotypic eye.' The reader will be glad to learn that Mr. PALMER'S future communications will appear exclusively in the KNICKERBOCKER.

THE LATE DR. FOLLEN.-'A Discourse occasioned by the Death of the Rev. Dr. FOLLEN, by WILLIAM E. CHANNING,' has been sent us by the publishers, Messrs. JAMES MONROE and COMPANY, Boston. It is marked with the best characteristics of its distinguished author, both as a religious and literary performance. Having recently devoted some space to a sermon, similar, in some respects, from the pen of Rev. Orville Dewey, of this city, we shall content ourselves with calling the reader's attention to the entire discourse, of the merely literary merit of which he may form an estimate from the following passages. Speaking of the burning of the ill-fated Lexington, Dr. CHANNING observes:

It is not my desire to bring back to your imaginations that affecting scene. Our imaginations in such seasons need no quickening. They often scare us with noreal terrors, and thus our doubts of God's goodness are aggravated by the fictions of our own diseased minds. Most of us are probably destined to pass through more painful, because more lingering deaths, than the lamented sufferers, who have within a few days been so suddenly summoned to the presence of God. The ocean is a softer, less torturing bed, than that which is to be spread for many here. It was not the physical pain which I shuddered at, when I first heard of that night of horrors. It was the mental agony of those, who, in a moment of health and security, were roused to see distinctly the abyss opening beneath them; to see God's awful ministers of fire and sea commissioned to sunder at once every hold on life, and to carry them so unwarned into the unknown world. Even this agony, however, in the first moment of our grief and horror, was perhaps exaggerated. When my mind, composed by time, now goes back to that flame-encircled boat, I search for one among the crowd, who was singularly dear to me, the close and faithful friend of many years; and as he rises to my mind, I see no terror on his countenance. I see him with collected mind and quick eye looking round him for means of escape, using every energy of a fearless spirit, thoughtful too of others as well as of himself, and desisting from no efforts of love and prudence till the power of effort failed. I see indeed one agony; it was the thought that the dear countenances of wife and child and beloved friend were to be seen no more ou earth. I see another, perhaps deeper agony; it was the thought of the wo which his loss was to inflict on hearts dearer to him than life. But even at that hour his love was not all agony; for it had always lived in union with faith. He had loved spiritually; he had reverenced in his friends an infinite, undying nature; ho had cherished in them principles and hopes stronger than death. I cannot doubt that in that fearful hour, he committed them and himself with filial trust to the all-merciful Father. I cannot doubt, that death was disarmed of its worst terrors, that the spirit passed away in breathings of unutterable love and immortal hope. Thus died one of that seemingly forlorn, desolate, forsaken company; I hope, thus others died. But one such example mingles with the terrors and agonies of that night so much that is heavenly, soothing, cheering, that I can look at the scene without overwhelming gloom, and without one doubt of the perfect goodness of God.' · We may learn from the friend we have lost, now sleeping in the ocean, another lesson. We may learn the glorious power of virtue, how it can throw a brightness over the most appalling scenes of human life, and can rob the most awful forms of death of their depressing influence. To the eye of sense, what a sad spectacle was the friend we have lost, first circled with flames, then weltering in the cold, lonely sea. At the moment of hearing the sad news, a feeling of horror oppressed me; but soon a light beamed in this darkness, and it beamed from his virtues. The thought of the spirit which I had communed with, gradually took the place of the body, which had been taken from us under circumstances so appalling. I felt that the spirit which had informed that body, had spoken through those lips, had beamed from that benign face, was mightier than the elements. I felt that all the waves of ocean could not quench that spark. I felt how vast, how unutterable the transition from that burning deck and pitiless sea to the repose and life of a better world. I felt that the seal of immortality had been put on the virtue, which we had seen unfolding on our earth. Still more, his virtues have gradually brought back to my mind his outward form divested of painful associations. As I now think of the departed, his countenance is no longer defaced by death. It rises to me in the sweetest, noblest expression which it wore in life. Thus the body, through which virtue has shed its light, becomes hallowed and immortal to the memory and the heart.'

It is gratifying to perceive, from these and kindred passages, that Dr. CHANNING's own style is not in accordance with a principle which he once, we may believe hastily, laid down; namely, that clearness was not an essential element in good composition.

MISS SHIRREFF AND MR. WILSON have just commenced an engagement at the Park Theatre, in an opera which has a high reputation in Paris, where it was played upward of two hundred nights, with undiminished attraction. The music is by ADOLPHE ADAM, and is said to abound with melodies of a pleasing and effective kind; and we doubt not it will prove to be very popular here. Indeed, if we may judge of the opera by the romance so charmingly sung by Mr. WILSON, at several of his late brilliant concerts, where it was received with marked enthusiasm, its success is certain. The plot is represented to us as good, and many of the situations as exceedingly comic. We may now hope to see the Park, as of old, filled nightly with the beauty and fashion of the town. As the engagement of these artists is only for ten nights, we fear it will be impossible for them to produce any other novelty during that period; since to produce an opera well, requires weeks of preparation. But should a rëengagement be effected, at a future time, with these admirable performers, before they leave our shores for England, it would unquestionably give great satisfaction to our music-loving citizens, to hear ‘Amilie' again. And how well it might here be cast, with nearly all the original performers who were in it, when it was first produced at Covent Garden! Miss SHIRREFF and Mr. WILSON, in their original parts of 'Amilie' and 'José,' and MANVERS as the original 'Anderl Brenner;' GIUBILEI would make a capital representative of the 'Count,' and Miss POOLE, in the part of 'Lelia,' would give the public an opportunity of hearing the music of that part sung. The leader, too, Mг. THOMAS, was the leader at Covent-Garden, when 'Amilie' was produced, and led it every night. His perfect acquaintance with it, therefore, and his steady, quiet, and unobtrusive manner in his situation, would throw a new and additional charm around this much-admired opera. We must have 'Amilie,'

Mr. SIMPSON!

AMERICAN LITERATURE. We tender our cordial thanks to Rev. LEONARD BACON, of New-Haven, for a copy of his 'Discourse before the Society of Phi Beta Kappa in Yale College,' in August last. It is a sound, manly, and very forcible illustration of the proper character and functions of American Literature. The observations upon feudal privileges; the eloquent defence of the nobility of of labor, physical as well as intellectual; the inculcation of frugality and simplicity of manuers; and the exposition of the tendency of the religion of the Bible, as a constituent force, a grand element, in the civilization and literature of the American people; these stamp Mr. BACON as a true American, an admirable writer, and a practical Christian. We cannot resist the inclination to quote the following paragraph, as forcibly exhibiting the influence of the old hereditary distinctions upon the common mind in England, where even now the greatest honor is to rise to the level of the old feudal aristocracy:

'The orator in the House of Commons, whose eloquence adorus and enriches his mother tongue; the patriot statesman, whose skill guides his country through the storm; the jurist whose genius and industry have thrown light along the Gothic labyrinths of the law; the warrior whose exploits, on the deep or on the land, have made the meteor flag of England' burn more terrific than he fore; mounts at last to the peerage, and thus attains the goal of his ambition. And what an ambition! He is a peer indeed; but he comes a norus homo into the circle of the old nobility. He is a peer indeed, and is permitted to uphold the decayed aristocracy, by bringing to its aid the vigor of his talents, and the lustre of his perform nces; but after all, the stupid descendant of some ironfisted, leaden-headed old baron, of the days of King John; the coroneted gambler, whose blood has crept through' titled scoundrels ever since' it was ennobled by the Tudors; yes, and the rowdy profligate who traces his pedigree back to some unmentionable female in the court of Charles the Second; takes precedence of him, and blesses himself as of a more illustrious birth than this newcreated lord of yesterday. Meanwhile, the man of science and of letters has no hope of rising to so glorious an eminence. The astronomner who writes his name among the constellations; the chemist at whose analyzing touch nature gives up her profoundest secrets; the inventor who gives new arms to labor, new wings to commerce, and new wealth and comforts to mankind; the historian who illuminates his country's anuals, and turns into wisdom the experience of past ages; the poet who entrances nations with the spell of song and fable; seeks the patronage of the high-born, happy to share that patronage with actors and Italian fiddlers; thrice happy if the king, decming him fit to stand in the outer court of aristocracy, shall dub him knight, or exalt him to the rank of baronet. Thus DAVY, transformed into Sir Humphrey, or BREWSTER, elevated into Sir David, is made equal in rank with such samples of human nature as Sir Mulberry Hawk; even as NEWTON, after having revealed the system of the universe, and having made his simple plebeian name the most illustrious in the history of human knowledge, was belittled into Sir Isaac, and enabled to stand in the court of Queen Anne at the same degree of greatness with Pope's

'Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain,
And the nice conduct of a clouded cave.

Thus the Ariosto of the North,' after having filled the world with his fame, received the honor of a baronetcy, and was made almost respectable enough to be company for such as the high-born Earl of Munster, and the noble Marquis of Waterford. Thus perhaps, if MILTON were to come to life again, under the present administration, and were so far to divest himself of his old Puritan and republican whims, as to make himself agreeable to my Lord Melbourne, we might hear of Sir John Milton, the author of Paradise Lost!'

Who does not feel the full force of this strain of eloquent satire, and respond to the honest indignation of the writer?

THE DRAMA. We regret that we are again compelled to postpone a large portion of the remarks of our able theatrical critic upon the doings at the PARK THEATRE.' But as there is matter in his first critique of more than a temporary interest, it will not be lost hereafter to our readers. He pays an elaborate tribute to DONIZETTI's beautiful opera of 'The Love-Spell,' the overture, and the admirable singing of Miss POOLE, Mr. MANVERS, Mr. GIUBILEI, etc.; concluding with a most laughable description of the 'chariot, and the horse thereof,' in which Doctor Dulcamara' makes his imposing entrée, wherein he gives the following sage advice to the manager: Let there be one gentleman to officiate as the fore-legs of your quadrupeds, as well as one to play the hind-legs; and let him who playeth the hind-legs feel himself equal in dignity to the artist in the anterior department; so that the 'entire animal' shall move naturally and quietly along, and the hind-legs be not overtasked!' 'C.'s second communication is devoted to a just analysis and commendation of the acting of Mr. and Miss VANDENHOFF, and to some admirable comments upon Mr. HENRY PLACIDE, in connexion with a notice of his benefit, and receut departure for England. Crowded as we are, we yet cannot omit the following, which is as true as it is satirical: Mr. PLACIDE has been gradually winning upon the admiration of the public, until he has become their greatest favorite; and most deserving is he of the high reputation which he enjoys among us. In these days of charlatanism, when the drama has become a sort of stalking-horse, to bear upon its back the grimace, buffoonery, gaggery, and rant, of quacks and pretenders; when a comedian is measured by his capacity to improvise coarse jokes, as foreign to the subject as to common decency, or to distort the features by such grimace as will 'set on barren spectators to laugh,' while the true wit of the scene, if any such there be, is left to itself; when the antics of the buffoon are the true spice and season' of a popular comedian; while the drama has been thus degraded by certain of its members, here and elsewhere, who have found a quickly-earned notoriety in the applause of the unthinking; it required a dignity of purpose, a steady and honest perseverance, to sustain the just character of a true comedian. With all his great talents, such have been the impulses which have urged Mr. PLACIDE in his career, and he has for his reward the reputation of being the first of his class in this country, and we believe equal to the best of any other.... Much more could we say of Mr. PLACIDE's merits; of the respectability which he has thrown around his profession, both upon the stage and in his intercourse with society; of his unwearied attention to his duties; of his constant respect for his audiences, and his invariable exertions to gratify the few, as earnestly as to please the many.' We had written, but must also omit, a sketch of the performances at the BOWERY THEATRE, where Mr. FORKEST has been fulfilling an engagement with his invariable success; of Mr. HILL's triumphant career at the 'NEW CHATHAM;' and of the lively and popular entertainments at the 'OLYMPIC,' whose capable manager, in the richest strain of burlesque, 'ever anxious to snatch at and seize, with the utmost avidity, every thing in the line of novelty and genius,' lately announced, that he had succeeded, 'at not very enormous expense,' and 'without much trouble,' in inducing Mr JOHNSON to make an operatic effort,' in which he was to dance and sing Jim Crow,' together with All round my Hat!'

MR. WINTHROP's ADDRESS. We shall embrace another occasion to present our readers with several extracts which we have marked for insertion in an 'Address delivered before the NewEngland Society,' in this city, in December last, by ROBERT C. WINTHROP, Esq., a near descendant, in direct line, from the 'Pilgrim Fathers,' whose history and character he has so eloquently set forth. The city reader, who sat among the breathless auditory that crowded the 'Tabernacle,' during the delivery of this distinguished performance, need only to be told, that in the dignity of types it is scarcely less impressive; and by a parity of reasoning, those who read only, can form some idea of the effect created by that additional appeal which is to the eye and ear; the eloquence of personal presence, graceful gesture, and an impressive and musical voice.