COOKE, of Virginia. He was an early contributor to the KNICKERBOCKER, and was a poet of deservedly good repute. He leaves behind him a large circle of friends, who deeply lament his untimely departure from among them. A few months before his decease, he communicated the following beautiful 'Lines to my Daughter Lily,' to the pages of the 'Southern Literary Messenger' Magazine:

'Six changeful years are gone, LILY,

Since you were born to be

A darling to your mother good,
A happiness to me:

A little shivering, feeble thing,

You were to touch and view, But we could see a promise in Your baby eyes of blue.

"You fastened on our hearts, LILY,

As day by day wore by,
And beauty grew upon your cheeks,
And deepened in your eye;
A year made dimples in your hands,
And plumped your little feet;
And you had learned some merry ways,
Which we thought very sweet.

And when the first sweet word, LILY,
Your wee mouth learned to say,
Your mother kissed it fifty times,
And marked the famous day:
I know not even now, my dear,
If it was quite a word,

But your proud mother surely knew,
For she the sound had heard.

• When you were four years old, LILY,
You were my little friend,
And we had walks and nightly plays,
And talks without an end:
You little ones are sometimes wise,
For you are undefiled;

A grave grown man will start to hear
The strange words of a child.

...

When care pressed on our house, LaLY,
Pressed with an iron hand,

I hated mankind for the wrong
Which festered in the land:
But when I read your young frank face,
Its meanings, sweet and good,
My charities grew clear again;
I felt my brotherhood.

And sometimes it would be, LILY,
My faith in God grew cold,
For I saw virtue go in rags,

And vice in cloth of gold;
But in your innocence, my child,
And in your mother's love,

I learned those lessons of the heart
Which fasten it above.

At last our cares are gone, LILY,
And peace is back again,
As you have seen the sun shine out
After the gloomy rain:

In the good land where we were born
We may be happy still;

A life of love will bless our home-
The house upon the hill.

Thanks to your gentle face, LILY,
Its innocence was strong
To keep me constant to the right,
When tempted by the wrong:
The little ones were dear to HIM
Who died upon the Wood-
1 ask His gentle care for you,
And for your mother's good.'

These lines are very touching: and the reader will lament, in common with the writer's bereaved friends, that a heart so warm should now be cold and silent in the grave. . . . A KEEN appreciator of the humorous and the burlesque, who writes a story almost as well as he narrates one, sends us the following. It would try the sides of a dyspeptic Quaker on 'First-Day: "And the wilderness shall Blossom as the rose.' We were always 'forcibly reminded,' as our friend Dr. VAN VELZOR used to say, of this passage whenever we met the good-natured, rosy face of BLOSSOMColonel BLOSSOM, of the Canandaigua Hotel, in days of yore, when coaching was all the go, and the fastest kind of going was by the 'Telegraph' — not over the wires, two hundred thousand miles a minute, but by the good old-fashioned fast-coach ‘Telegraph,' six miles an hour, and no mistake; through to Buffalo in sixty hours, with good luck, and did n't get 'stuck' in the neighborhood of Oneida Creek. But we made it a p'int to stop with BLOSSOм one night, any how. BLOSSOM! chiefest of BONIFACES! thy face radiant with good humor and comfortable dinners; thy eye sparkling with wit and mirth; and thy whole outward man suggestive at once of good things past, present and to come! Alas! where be thy jests and dinners now! BLOSSOM is not! We have stood within the halls made pleasant by thy superintending presence, before the horrid shriek of the steam-whistle profaned the solitude of the forests, and as the refluent wave of time rolled back upon us the recollection of former years; how when at night we gathered around the social fire-place, and lis

one.

tened to the wonderful adventures of the travellers who had been all the way to Niagara and Genessee Falls; BLOSSOM was there, ready for his quiet joke; and he was the meekest of men when seeking for it, and offended nobody. I used to think he went into the baggage-room to laugh alone, so unoffending was he. But we are getting off the track. How he loved a joke for the joke's sake! We must mention Lobsters were formerly quite scarce at Canandaigua, on account of their not being found in the waters of Canandaigua Lake, nor in the streams circumjacent! BLosSOM had been to the city, procured a fine one, packed it carefully, and took it home with him. The fact was duly proclaimed, the lobster boiled, his friends invited—and the supper came off. There was a quaint, dogmatical old fellow, a shoe-maker named JOHNSON, an authority in the village, who had lost all his teeth but two, and those were in opposite sections of his mouth. He had never seen a lobster, nor had the slightest idea of what kind of an animal it was. BLOSSOM, tipping the wink to his confréres, helped him to one of the claws, as large as a stone, and about as hard. 'How do you eat the 'tarnal thing, any how?' said JOHNSON. 'O go right ahead with it,' replied BLOSSOM, 'just as it is; need n't be afraid of it; don't want any seasoning.' After diligent but somewhat protracted efforts, the old man succeeded in drilling a hole, and establishing a suck, got a taste of the interior. Seeing this position of affairs, BLOSSOM, with the most imperturbable gravity, inquired: "Well, how do you get along? - how do you like it?' 'Waäl,' said the old man, 'I kind o' like the peth on 't!' The company only smiled; they did n't laugh, until the old gentleman left; and he do n't know any thing about it to this day-they were so polite and well bred! BLOSSOM's spirit must linger about there yet. A friend of mine stopped at the hotel a short time since, and took his seat near the blazing fire, and formed one of quite a large circle of smokers. Presently a fancifully-dressed young gentlemen entered, and stepping within the circle, planted himself directly in front of one of the gentlemen enjoying his Havana, who was expectorating in sundry directions, between his legs, on either side, in curves, and, as it were, in a fit of desperation, after accumulating a full supply, in a direct straight line. The young dandy, apprehending the discharge, moved one side. 'Don't stir, Sir; don't disturb yourself,' said the smoker; 'I think I can spit through you!'' THERE are few of our readers who do not well remember the 'Philadelphia Museum,' published by E. LITTELL, Esq., with a single exception, the best publication of its kind ever issued in this country. That exception is 'The Living Age,' a weekly publication, in the book form, now issued in Boston, under the supervision of the same competent editor. We content ourselves, on this occasion, by calling especial attention to the Advertisement of 'The Living Age' on the third and fourth pages of the cover of the present number of the KNICKERBOCKER; simply adding, that we fully indorse the encomiums which are there passed upon the work by some of the first minds in the country, and that we shall take frequent occasion hereafter to show the reason of the faith that is in us.' ... A MISSIONARY in China writes: 'The sky is in a universal flutter of kites. I counted this afternoon, from my window, ninety-three, which were flown at various heights with great skill. Some represented hawks, and admirably imitated their manœuvres in the air, poising themselves, and sailing and darting; gaudy butterflies floated around, and dragons, formed of a long succession of circular kites, with a fierce head, flew about the sky. The majority were of merely fanciful shape. Loud noises, like a wind instrument, could be heard from them. The most amusing form was that of a huge fish, as it swam through the blue above, moving its tail and fins with a ludicrously natural effect. Those like animals are also flown in pairs, and made to fight.' We sent up a Chinese

kite for Young KNICK.' once, a present from a friend. It was made of the softest Chinese paper, gorgeously painted with the choicest colors of the 'celestial flowery land.' It was in the shape of a fiery dragon, and when it glared down upon us with its great eyes from the sky, it looked like APOLLYON in our first copy of ‘The Pilgrim's Progress,' when he 'straddled quite over the whole breadth of the king's highway,' squared off, and told CHRISTIAN to come on,' for he was ready for him! The appearance of that awful dragon in the air, which was full of American kites, not only made a terrible fluttering among the latter, but brought a street-full of boys to look at 'Old KNICK.' on the top of the house, who was 'at the wheel,' as it were, of the odd craft, and navigating it to the best of his ability. But more about kites anon. We want to tell our metropolitan boys how to make and sail 'em. There's a great deal of ignorance afloat 'in community' on this subject—a great deal. . .,. Mɛ. WEBSTER, in his recent speech, speaking of political becoming sectional - ' religious' disputes, observed that 'it was in the nature of man, that religious disputes are apt to become warm.' We thought of this while reading the annexed passage in the last 'Methodist Quarterly Review,' South:

"DR. DIXON and Dr. LEE are both wrong, if they intend to say Dr. PECK has been engaged in any controversy, strictly and properly speaking. It is but just to him to add, that with a skill in priestcraft, and without a talent for controversy, he descends to a point infinitely lower. Witness his skill in the art of defamation as exhibited in his critique of the 18th October, 1848, upon the Appeal of the Southern Commissioners; and in his editorial of September 6th, 1849; productions which, in point of taste and temper, would do honor to any huckster in the lowest markets of London, or any jiskwoman that can be found short of the Five Points, in any part of the City of New-York.'

6

It strikes us, on a hasty perusal, that this language would be considered rather 'strong,' even in a 'secular' journal. LAUGHED to-night at a Panama joke a good deal. You see, when Mr. and Mrs. F- left San Francisco, among other pets, they had a handsome little native-born spaniel, not a 'woolly' spaniel ' exactly,' but like unto it, which was a great favorite. Its personal habits, however, were not of the cleanliest, and the sailors, who had the 'corrective' of them on deck, did not greatly affect that duty; and so it chanced that one dark night that four-legged pet disappeared. Great was the lamentation of Mrs. F― thereat. 'Hope darkened into doubt, doubt into fear, fear into despair.' 'Where can the poor little fellow be ?' said she, for the twentieth time, to the captain, at breakfast, on the morning of the third day after the loss of her favorite. 'I've sat up,' said the captain, musing, 'sometimes till two o'clock in the morning, to see if I could catch 'em at it. I never could do it! I don't know how it is,' he added, consolingly, after a long pause, 'but we 're lost fewer dogs overboard this trip than on any previous passage! The passengers who heard 'what the cap'n said,' inferred that all farther inquiry for the missing spaniel would prove 'adscititious and supererogatory.' . . . Ir was a 'pleasant sight to see' 'Young OLLAPOD' and 'Young KNICK.' the other evening, at a circus in theCity of Brotherly Love,' their hands over each other's shoulders, enjoying the wonderful' sports of the ring' and the ancient jokes and tricks of the clown. Thought was busy, as we regarded these young spirits; and therewithal the water stood in our eyes,' while their's were swimming in laughter. But it was only an epitome of life, in its best estate-smiles and tears. WE commend attention to The Mysterious Pyramid' in preceding pages. The style is a mingling of CHAMPOLLION and SAM. SLICK, LAYARD and JACK DOWNING; while the dramatic portion is a cross between VICTOR HUGO and Mrs. Radcliffe. MR. BASS, a worthy man and an excellent actor, has taken the Astor-Place Theatre for the spring and summer season, with a very talented company. We shall advert more at large to his arrangements in our next number. . . . 'THERE is much knowledge of human nature, as well as keen

satire, in the tale which ADDISON tells of the atheist, who, bewailing on his death-bed the harm his works would do after he was gone, quickly repented of his repentance when his spiritual adviser unhappily sought to alleviate his grief by assuring him that his arguments were so weak, and his writings so little known, that he need not be under any apprehensions. The dying man had still so much of the frailty of an author in him as to be cut to the heart with these consolations; and, without answering the good man, asked his friends where they had picked up such a blockhead, and whether they thought him a proper person to attend one in his condition.' This reminds us of a certain publisher of a Magazine, who clipped off the end of an article by the late SAMUEL L. Knapp, because it was taking up too much room; and who, when remonstrated with for putting a 'full stop' to his piece, where there should only have been a comma, after several abortive attempts at pacification, said, 'Oh, let it go in, KNAPP, let it go in! It's well enough as it is just look at it; see, now; beside, you know, nobody'll read it! So what's the odds? — what's the odds, KNAPP!' The paper was withdrawn. 'CHARLES DICKENS, according to an English paper, is received. in the best English society. He lately dined with LORD JOHN RUSSELL and a party of the highest rank.' So says a metropolitan daily journal. Well, what of it?' Distinction in literature is a better title than inherited dulness, and quite as honorable as mere political distinction. But Mr. DICKENS is not now for the first time holding a prominent place in the highest intellectual and noble circles of the metropolis. He has heretofore frequently entertained, and been entertained by, the nobility of England. . . . THE twentieth volume of our old and esteemed contemporary, the 'New-York Spirit of the Times,' makes its appearance in a new and tasteful typographical garb, and now presents an added attraction to its thousands of readers. In the character and variety of the contents of 'The Spirit,' as with appropriate sententiousness it is aptly termed, ' for short,' no change was needed, or desirable. Under the able editorial management of WILLIAM T. PORTER, Esq., who has stood at the helm of the popular craft from its commencement, it has obtained a celebrity which few similar journals enjoy, and which it has fairly and honestly earned. Of all our sports of forest, field and brook,' it has been the steady supporter and conservator, and it has embodied in its capacious columns various articles, in prose and verse, of rare merit. It has, as it always has had, our best wishes for its triumphant suc'PUNCH' has established a 'New French Vocabulary,' after the popular method of French made Easy.' His first lesson is limited to the 'calls' common at a London inn:

cess.

In a recent trip to Philadelphia-which, since the death of one who made it a

pleasure always to visit it, we had not seen-we were struck with many changes, that have greatly improved and beautified the village-for Philadelphia, though an immense place, is still only a very large village. The absence of shipping is the first thing which will strike a New-Yorker, and the next, the narrowness of the streets, in comparison with the principal streets and avenues of the 'Commercial Emporium.' The small number of steeples, also, is another defect in the appearance of Philadel phia, although we remarked several new and tasteful ones, which have done much to improve the general aspect of the place. We were taken by a congenial and obliging friend to see many of the prominent objects of attraction, some of which we had hoped to be able to advert to. We must say that Fairmount retains all its original and even much added loveliness. It is indeed a most charming spot; marked every where by the exercise of good taste in its embellishments, and a beauty of position which nothing could enhance, Girard College, looming in the distance above the city, like the Parthenon at Athens, as you approach or depart from town, is a magnificent structure, replete with beauty, sublime in its vastness, and only little in the little use to which it is now applied; the only purpose to which any of its halls and apartments are now devoted being to 'startle the marble echoes,' and afford a storeroom for the miserable household furniture of the 'old miser, who gave the money to build the edifice, when he could keep it no longer, and must give it to somebody.' This, reader, is Philadelphia criticism, not ours; for verily, it was a pleasant thing to look down from the marble roof a matchless prospect does that roof afford!-upon the blue uniform'd orphans disporting in the spacious grounds, turning to mirth all things of earth,' and secure against want and all vicious influences. . . . THE following lines were penned by Lord Nozoo, in 167–. They first appeared in the about the time of the reign of the first

For years, upon a mountain's brow,

A hermit lived the LORD knows how.

Plain was his dress, and coarse his fare;
He got his food-the LORD knows where.

His prayers were short, his wants were few;
He had a friend the LORD knows who.

in England:

'No care nor trouble vexed his lot;
He had a wish-the LORD knows what.

At length this holy man did die;
He left the world-the LORD knows why.

'He's buried in a gloomy den,

And he shall rise - the LORD knows when!"

WE beg to say to 'FATHER AARON' that we consider Slavery in the District of Columbia' a theme better befitting partisan or sectional journals than the pages of a literary Magazine like the KNICKERBOCKER. At all events, the paper is not to our taste: it therefore awaits the order of the writer at the publication-office. ... Wg suppose every body has long before this seen BURTON in The Serious Family.' His impersonation of the 'big-gun' of moral reform, AMINIDAB SLEEK, is one of his happiest efforts. It is oily and unctuous, side-splitting, a great promoter of jollity, and a smoother-down of incipient wrinkles and the ugly crow's-feet of care. The character is by no means original, however; it is a decoction of 'MAWWORM' and 'CANTWELL,' with a due infusion of the old stock hypocrite, the middle-aged, white-cravatted, Methodistical sneak of the stage. The moral of the play is also old. Many of the sentiments, and the wholesome truth that Captain MAGUIRE teaches Mrs. CHARLES TORRENS, namely, that men will seek abroad for the pleasures which are denied them at home, are to be found in the old comedy of 'The Way to Keep Him.'. . . NOTICES of Goupil and VIBERT's Engravings, 'Pendennis,' PHILIPS AND SAMSON'S 'Shakspeare,''King of the Hurons,' 'The Two Worlds,' AGASSIZ's 'Lake Superior,' etc., are not overlooked, but only of necessity delayed. The same' of contributions.