that much of the out-gushing vigor and natural dignity would be lost by such an emasculating process, the request has not been complied with. It is a poem that 'as it stands' can be read again and again,' and always with a new admiration! THE remarks which ensue, from the pen of a sound-judging and close-reasoning American savant, will commend themselves to all persons possessing true national pride and feeling. It is a gratifying fact, that the 'School of American Design,' at our noble 'Free Academy,' under the competent supervision of Mr. P. P. DUGGAN, (whose important mission abroad, and its valuable uses, we recently mentioned at length in this department of the KNICKERBOCKER,) is educating so many native artists of design; for this school will go far, before long, to supply the desideratum indicated by our correspondent:

'Tue Arts of Design, as a distinct matter of education, have been confined to France until within a few years. NAPOLEON Consulted the best interests of the empire when he made the arts of design part of the common-school education of France; for even the eye of the French blacksmith became Imbued with the grace of the 'line of beauty,' until his sturdy arm, obeying its impulse, forged forms which would have made a Cyclops blush. France warred with half of Europe without creating a heavy national debt; nor have her merchants and bankers ever been forced to a general bankruptcy: and why? Simply because the artisans of the nation held the whole world under contribution for French designs. One pound of American flax is returned to us in the form of French laces worth one thousand dollars; more than nine hundred and fifty dollars of which are paid for the design.

'In 1848, upward of one million dollars' worth of French furniture was imported into New-York by its wealthy citizens. Why not use American furniture? Are not our woods more beautiful? Is not our workmanship more durable, and equally good? Yes; but 'the design,' the beautiful and classic patterns of the French furniture, caught the fancy of the purchaser; and France benefited by this importation, into one American city, in a single year, more than it would cost to endow schools of our own to educate our mechanics in the arts of design.

'Within our recollection, England had no schools of design, and the patterns of her porcelain and China-ware were crude copies from the Chinese; a pagoda, a boat with six oars; a mandarin with a large umbrella, and all in 'true blue.' Until the time of WEDGWOOD, the English artisans designed nothing, and copied the French but badly; and many of her Royal Academicians of this day received their first instructions in WEDGWOOD's school attached to his porcelain manufactory. What parlor, even at this time, contains a handsome piece of furniture, a chandelier, vase, or candelabras, or even a carpet, the pattern of which is not a modification of some French design? Even the waste-paper of France is ground into papier-maché, and by the aid of design is sent to ornament the parlors of the princes of other countries. For this, France receives more than the value of the cotton-crop of the United States, and parts with nothing but the labor of her artisans. New patterns of French calicoes sell in our markets for six times as much as those made here, and simply from the superiority of their designs. In six weeks after their arrival, and sale at nearly one dollar per yard, the manufacturers of New-England are ready to duplicate them at one shilling ; but then the novelty is over, and the French design has profited France five times the value of the fabric, from its excellence of design alone. And all this is true, not only as relates to the advancement of taste, which renders the drinking-cup of the French cottager a pleasure-giving ornament. but as a question of political economy, and one that is worthy the deliberation of our best statesmen,'

'A SHREWD Yankee,' writes an occasional correspondent, 'residing in one of the interior villages of Connecticut, had heard much speculation and discussion going on among the bar-room orators of a little market-town which he was in the habit of occasionally visiting, touching the advantages that were to accrue to them from a proposed rail-road that was to pass within a short distance of his house. He prudently said nothing, but eagerly listened to the variety of projects discussed, "cordin' to law,' by which each one was to make his share of 'plunder' from the company; but none of them seemed to reach his own case, until it was mentioned that rail-road companies were liable to particularly heavy charges whenever they were obliged to invade the sanctity of a grave-yard. A bright idea immediately struck him; and, hastening home, he seized a shovel and

pick-axe, and quickly transplanted the mortal remains of his wife, which were quietly reposing upon a neighboring hill-side, hopelessly out of the reach of any possible rail-road disturbance, to the very centre of the line of stakes running through his meadow; and, rejoicing in his 'cuteness, he quietly waited to reap the fruits of this new species of culture. But a rather different result occurred from that which he had anticipated; for the parents of a lady whom he was about to make the successor of his first wife, got wind of the affair, and forbade him all farther intercourse with their family.' - OUR friend DEMPSTER,

the admirable Scottish vocalist, has set to very beautiful music 'The Maid of Dee,' from the tale mentioned in 'Alton Locke,' of a girl who, in bringing her father's cattle home across the sands, had been caught by a sudden flow of the tide, and found next day a corpse, hanging among the stake-nets far below. To our conception, it is very striking and picturesque:

'O MARY, go and call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home Across the sands o' Dee.

'Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair

A tress of golden hair,

O' drowned maiden's hair,
Above the nets at sea?

The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam, Was never salmon yet that shone so fair,
And all alone went she.

"The creeping tide came up along the sand,

And o'er and o'er the sand,

And round and round the sand,

As far as eye could see;

Among the stakes on Dee!

"They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel, crawling foam,

The cruel, hungry foam,

To her grave beside the sea:

The blinding mist came down, and hid the land, But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home And never home came she!

A CORRESPONDENT in D

Across the sands o' Dee.'

county, Ohio, relates the following incident as occurring in a village-church in his neighborhood: 'At the close of the service, last Sunday, the following announcements were made, with due solemnity, by one of the fathers: 'Prayer-meeting at Brother Wood's next Thursday evening; also, a 'shooting-match' at Brother RAHN's on Christmas. We hope the lovers of the good cause, and good venison, will turn out generally on both occasions. With respect to the latter, we may remark: Brother RAHN is a worthy man, though poor, and any assistance in this way will be thankfully received.' An actual fact, without the slightest exaggeration.' THERE is a solemn

THE

thought in this passage of a letter left behind her by the lady of a British officer, who in a moment of 'earthly despondency' laid violent hands upon her life: ‘In another world I am convinced I shall enjoy great happiness, and see all things gradually as they really are. Knowledge I have ever sought to acquire. How glorious it will be to be able to grasp it in all its ramifications in an eternal hereafter! Half the dull, plodding, senseless people of earth never think on, much less can they comprehend, what is meant by GoD, Heaven, and Eternity.' editor and proprietor of 'The Albion' weekly journal has presented his subscribers with a large and very superior steel-engraving, representing 'Columbus Propounding his Theory of a New World.' What 'The Albion' presents in this kind may always be assumed to be of no common excellence, and invariably in unexceptionable good taste. WAL, 'de nex' t'ing on de peppergramme,' as 'JULIUS' CHRISTY would say, is the following conundrum; and, reader, in the words of that inimitable 'darkey,' we ask you to 'propel, and fro' you' se'f upon de subjec' ob 'lucidatin' de same:' 'Had St. PETER lived before the Deluge, and been present at the escape from Sodom, would he, like the over-curious Mrs. Lor, have looked back? And s'posin' he had looked back, would he have been changed into a pillar of salt, or salt-PETER? And if the latter, would he have exploded?' 'E'yah! e'yah! dat's what we want to know!' SINCE the

occurrence of recent events in France, many 'odorous' comparisons have been instituted between NAPOLEON BONAPARTE and LOUIS NAPOLEON, not greatly to the advantage of the latter. A poetical correspondent dwells upon the career of the 'Great Captain,' and draws some rather strong inferences as to what would have been the result, could he have escaped from his island-prison. We have space but for this stanza:

'OH! could NAPOLEON have bu'st the chain
That bound him to his prison,
He'd ha' scared the nations once again
With that eagle-eye o' his'n!'

Isn't this one stanza about enough? 'I sigh for the Scenes my Boyhood Knew,' is the title of a song which, from to-day forth, will have less effect upon us than formerly: and this is the reason why. In passing up Broadway this cold winter afternoon, we stepped into the studio of Mr. F. B. CARPENTER, (Number 607, Broadway,) a young 'county-man' of ours; and after examining some very striking portraits of his, strong in delineation, faithful in coloring, and exceedingly well-handled, (especially a 'screeching likeness' of Mr. David Leavitt, Sen., of Brooklyn,) we were requested to sit for a moment longer, and were informed that we should 'see what we should see.' A landscape was placed upon an easel, under a good light. 'Do you recognize that scene?' asked Mr. CARPENTER: 'do you know it?' 'Know it!' we exclaimed; 'KNOW it!' Why, that is one of the sweetest scenes 'our boyhood knew!' Those swelling hills, blending so gracefully together; that verdant plain, stretching homeward, at so little distance; the white dwellings, gleaming amidst the verdure of that soft valley; ah! these are what 'OLLAPOD' saw from the same point of view, and which he describes so graphically in 'Ollapodiana.' And how faithful, how artistical, how DURAND and KENSETT-like, are the simple features of that scene! In looking at it, and going back to 'days that were,' we thought, with TENNYSON:

'O, WOULD that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me!'

But after all, it is only a very quiet, natural picture (by THAYER, another 'county' man, like ELLIOTT) of a simple, natural scene; yet it stamps the artist as a landscape-painter of keen perception, true feeling, and most felicitous touch; and, as DOGBERRY says, 'it'll go nigh to be thought so, shortly,' or else we have jeoparded 'our guess.' We knew Mr. THAYER, by repute, as an excellent portrait-painter, but his landscape surprises us even more than it delights us. And those who may visit the sanctum hereafter, will confirm our judgment. THE foling veritable epitaph should have been embalmed for posterity' in company with the exalted specimens of tomb-stone literature which appeared in our last number:

"THIS child, who perished by the fire,
Her christen-name it was SOPHIA;
Also her sister, MARY-ANN:

Their father was a clever man!'

Yankee 'clever,' we suppose. WE have a communication from the Rev. Mr. HUNTINGTON, author of 'Alban,' repelling, as 'shocking' to himself, certain inferences drawn from the work by a correspondent, in these pages. In all such matters, our motto is, 'Audi alteram partem;' and Mr. HUNTINGTON may avail himself of the implied privilege, should he so elect. WE misconceived the purpose of the Boston publication, illustrating the 'Western Wilds and Uncultivated Wastes of our Country, so faithfully delineated by our friend, Mr. GEORGE HARVEY. The pamphlets were intended to accompany the large illustrations,

which were exhibited by means of an optical apparatus and Drummond limelight, which Mr. HARVEY employed in his lectures upon this country in Great Britain. They are numerous; were painted expressly for the purpose, partly by Mr. HARVEY himself, and partly by some of the best English artists; and are of a high order of merit. By the aid of these illustrations, and the descriptions to which we have alluded, it strikes us that a travelling exhibition, in the different towns of the United States, might be rendered very attractive and profitable. In the right hands, it could not fail to be so. 'PRAY, may I ask,' said an English bibliopole of distinction, at an agreeable party where we had the pleasure to meet him the other evening, may I ask, whether in America the law-matrimonial entitles a man to marry the cousin of his widow?' 'Oh, yes,' answered a legal gentleman of eminence, who was present, that is admissible; but there has been some doubt in our courts as to the propriety of a man's marrying the sister of his deceased wife.' 'Oh, ay;' replied his querist: 'In England, it is somewhat different. There it has been, and is still held, that no man can marry the cousin of his widow, because, before he has a widow, he must die himself!' The 'catch' was adroitly plied, and, when exposed, created roars of laughter. The recently-agitated question touching incidentally the marrying of a wife's sister, was what diverted the reflection of the guests. WE laughed 'somedele' at this illustration, by a friend, of 'The Uncertainty of the Law: 'An acquaintance of mine,' said he, 'some years since, kept a fashionable watch-maker's establishment in Broadway, and considered his store-fastenings so secure, that he used to leave his customers' watches, brought to him for repair, hanging in the window. The store was in a very public place, and adjoining a large hotel, so that he thought it impossible that it could ever be robbed. One night, however, when the cold and sleet, added to the darkness, gave house-breakers an extra chance, they did enter his store, and stole eleven of his customers' watches, and, among others, the watch of his lawyer. The next day he apprised the customers of their loss, and advised with his lawyer as to the probability of his being liable for the value of the watches. The lawyer replied: 'If any of them sue you, come to me; but don't let any one know that any other one has sued you.' The watch-maker took his lawyer's advice: he refused to pay for the stolen watches, and each customer in turn sued him. His lawyer defended him; and as each customer was not aware of any other one having sued the watch-maker, they each brought their actions in the wrong way, and all alike. The lawyer succeeded in freeing his client from all these suits. A few months afterward, the watch-maker met me in the street, and seemed much excited. He commenced berating his lawyer soundly, as 'tricky' and 'untrustworthy.' 'What has he done?' said I. 'Why, you recollect those eleven watches that were stolen from my window?' 'Yes,' I said, 'I do; but I heard that your lawyer had beaten them all, and saved you from loss.' 'So he did with ten of them, but one was his watch; and after he had beaten the rest, he came to me, and said I must pay him for his watch. I told him he had beaten the other ten, and of course could not recover against me. 'Can't I?' said he. 'We'll see about that!' So off he went, and sued me, and I had to get another lawyer; and hang me! if he did n't get a judgment, and yesterday I had to pay it!' 'Well,' said I, which of the lawyers do you intend to employ for the future?' 'Why, you don't think I will ever employ Eagain, do you?' 'You had better employ him,' said I; 'for he evidently knew how to take good care of your affairs, and he seems to understand his own,

too!'

A CITY-BARD wants to give 'Old TEMPUS' some good advice through our pages. He says TIME is no longer a 'fast' man; that the telegraphs beat him, and COLLINS' steamers are 'gaining on him.' But he says:

'I WISH I owned an interest in that dog of yours,' said a neighbor in our hearing the other day, to another neighbor, whose dog would dart toward the legs of any one with whom he might be talking, and then 'back up again,' and look up in his master's face, as much as to say, 'Shall I pitch into him? — shall I give him a nip on the leg?' 'An interest in my dog!' said his master; 'what could you do with it?' 'Why,' replied the other, 'I'd shoot my half within the next five minutes!'

'Now comes, with an awful roar,
Gathering and sounding on,
The Storm-Wind, from Labrador,
The Wind Euroclydon-

THE STORM-WIND!'

'Ay; doesn't it come, though!' exclaims 'Young KNICK.,' as he looks out upon the blinding, driving snow, weaving its 'frolic architecture' in curling capitals, in all forms of grace, over the eaves of every house in the street; the street, that terminates in cloudy gloom at either end, like the bridge in the 'Vision of MIRZA ! ' What a day it is—this eighteenth of January, eighteen hundred and fifty-two! And what a carnival there will be in Broadway to-morrow, when, muffled to the ears, we peregrinate down-town to the printing-office with this 'Gossip' in the capacious pocket of our 'dread-naught!' Now comes back the memory of 'old days' in the country! We've been engaged for half an hour in drawing wood into the old homestead-mansion, on a hand-sled, and setting it up end-wise in the corner of the great generous fire-place, whose wide jambs seem to open, even now, their hospitable arms to welcome us. There is the big two-bushel cornbasket of chips, too, that 'OLLAPOD' and 'Old KNICK.,' with twin-faces and twinmittens, have digged from the vast snow-'placers' of the mountainous Onondaga region. That wood and those chips-sweet-maple and sweeter birch, and beech, and bass-wood-will furnish melted snow for a saccharine ice-cream dessert, when the 'Spitzenberg' and 'Seek-no-furders' and 'Greenin' apples are warm in that willow-basket, and the sweet cider is 'right,' in that blue pitcher. And after a sound night's sleep, we shall rise by candle-light, in the morning, and then you will see what that wood was brought in for! The 'log' has been placed; the 'back-log' has surmounted it; the 'top-stick' crowns the apex; the 'fore-stick' rests against the "and-irons;' and the intermediate 'cob-house' of timber, fired by the faithful 'kindling-wood,' is all a-blaze, and roaring up the chimney. You've lost something, if you haven't seen a scene like this, reader; but you can't recover your loss by 'advertising' in the New-York papers; potent as that method is, in other cases. Friends, it is a great thing, at some period of your life, to have lived in the country. THE recent death of Dr. T. OLCOTT PORTER, an elder brother of WILLIAM T. PORTER, Esq., editor of The Spirit of the Times' weekly journal, was an event as unexpected as it is universally lamented. No man, recently deceased in this community, left so many warm and admiring